Quietus.

Remove the thorns with your own bloody hands
There’s no-one to help, not a soul
The fear gripping the ribs in painful bands
You shuffle forwards, retch, cry and moan

The air is empty, lingering with the promise of getting worse
Dry, damp, cool, warm, still, and breezy all at once
A gale whips up the alien leaves with an alien force
Blue to black to blue to black, bruised by fists and cut by a sword…

Back in the coolness of a musty room…

The blood seeps up the skin in beads
Like sweat but only darker, filthier, thicker than water
Your face is contorted with rage, distorted with pain, covered in sweat sheen
A battle lost, then a battle won, life’s not a bed of roses but a throne of thorns

Your heart thumping in your head, the emptiness of your emotions
Making you ache for the love long lost, a lost... lost cause
A dreamer still inside you, toying with the foolish notions
Of a world past gone, of happiness dead and born, of grief ungauged

The ruby red beads on the jeweled bracelet run loose, dance around
Moving about with ferocity unbound
Untamed, unchallenged, they pounce about with the air of a egocentric maniac
Who pushes people about, running into them, flowing, weaving, for him there’s no turning back

You jump back to the bruised alien leaves, back to the sad distant moon…

The leaves still dead and worn, blue to black to blue to black,
The earth hadn’t sheltered itself, had looked up, frightened but pride intact
Been bruised by the mighty sky, by the hailstorms it sent towards her
The leaves been bruised, but unseen, her head still held high

On the ground now, smelling the earth, her beautiful smell
You clutch the stones, the leaves, the twigs,
You shook with fear while the air stood still with incoherence
A beetle crawls towards you, up on your hand
He still had a life to live, his ending unplanned

The moon sat serenely, indifferent to your ghastly stare
Lumbering away in his sleep, dreaming of nutcracker fairies and cashel blue cheese
His face cratered, seemed destroyed, dark blotchy patches forgot to turn red when it cried
The numbness attacked your legs, creeping up to your chest, engulfed you, the pain ceased. And it was dead.
While in the still, silent, orange glowing room, the rubies made a glove for you
A beautiful glove with a hundred rubies and nothing else, the hand was no longer tense
It marveled at the redness of the royal hand, a red glove of rubies shimmered as it sped
The opaque redness dripped down ahead

The stinging pain like a nettle bite, spread across the fingers,
Shooting up through the forearm to the shoulder to the neck
To your smile
As you take one last look the room, your signs it still bore

Everything heaving up in a great uproar, the heart jumping, thrashing to get out through your ribs
The jumble of thoughts straightened to become a thin line
Broken, it traveled in straight lines, green to black to green to black
The whiteness shushed the noise in a sweeping motion of a ruby hand

As the eyes close, the silence morose,
You feel happy as a child on his first bicycle ride
As everything slows down to an imaginary race
The hands turn cold, the memories lie in folds

Everything turns to unbreakable ice and you feel…
And you feel your heart and your soul fall dead inside.

One Better Than the Last..

So this blog celebrates going one better than the last blog of mine, which boasts of thirty wonderful posts. This is the thirty-first, finally.

Err..sorry, that was way too show-offy! :p

So, this wretched habit of tapping away on the keys putting up awful stories and penning down futile ruminations of a very uncultured mind, came into existence on the Ninth of September '06. The posts weren't so wonderful as to take a look at. But thankyou for the encouraging comments which you typed down for the very undeserving me.

Ahem, I tend to be a little melodramatic. Take care. Stay Happy!! :)

You Are a Comma

You are open minded and extremely optimistic. You enjoy almost all facets of life. You can find the good in almost anything. You keep yourself busy with tons of friends, activities, and interests. You find it hard to turn down an opportunity, even if you are pressed for time. Your friends find you fascinating, charming, and easy to talk to. (But with so many competing interests, you friends do feel like you hardly have time for them.) You excel in: Inspiring people You get along best with: The Question Mark

What Punctuation Mark Are You?

On a dark desert highway..

Being a travel writer can be a thrilling experience for any person. Recently, I came across this short story by Roald Dahl, who is infact a great writer for adults, as well as children. Having read almost all his Children's stories long back, I plunged into this one as enthusiastically. I'd read this book twice before, but the stories seemed as fresh as ever. "The Visitor" is one of his feats as a short story writer. All the other stories in the book are as good but this one really hit the spot.

The roads can be fascinating in a very metaphorical sort of a way. Geographical, for some folks. The views, the people, the life. With your own two eyes. Be it any place with civilization.. you get to see a good deal. Even without. The wilderness revels in its own glory. There are innumerable accounts of people coming across strange circumstances, people or seeing something plain weird while they're travelling. Almost all of us get something to tell the others when you get back.

Personally, I had once dreamt of becoming a travel writer, going to strange and even eerie places on my own. A lot of things inspire idiots like us who dream everyday and run away from reality as if it's plague. No, there is no "running" away, but we just don't like visiting the place. There's nothing sweeter than Home Dream Home. But we do visit sometimes and yes, the memory always remains deeply etched into the brains. Painful memories. And we say, thank goodness, we don't actually live there. Poor people, wasting away their lives stuck in one boring place when they could travel away their lives on the roads of Dreamland. Reality is an absolutely fixed place. And boy, when you get stuck.. you get stuck real bad.

Everyone thinks a romantic is a stupid, absent-minded person and they go on goading themselves that they are some intellegent people with their feet firmly set on the ground, with work to do. Jobs to attend to and life to get on with. They don't know they're missing out on what life really is. These people, they run away from fiction saying they rot the brain, fill it with strange stuff which is not good for you. But they're wrong. Once you start living to what you just know, then you're gone for good. What you know in this tiny, mean life is just what your infernal brain thinks. They never get to know what a hundred other think of everything.

They get stuck in the mud knee-deep, getting on with squirming to get away from stress that they build on themselves. The world is not cruel, the cruelty is what you make of the world. People get tangled in this whole mess of affairs which they take responsibility of. Duties, they call it. Too many things to take care of. They search for things to be happy about, forgetting that there are people having bigger problems who only think about making others happy.

So, these people should be shook by the shoulders and told that the world in NOT reality. The world is a dream waiting right there on the bookshelf, down by the lane, a hunder kilometres away, in some forest.. in another country. There's a whole new world out there for you to escape to instead of blaming every other person for what the world has come to. Selfish, self centred people with only money on their mind, it's all about them. Not some poor small boy starving when he gets no food all day, not a dolphin who's been trapped just because someone needs cheering up. It's not about seals dying, not about some poor animals who have to die because something had to be tested just to make it right, just so it could be sold for money to give you a better life.

How can a country be labelled better on what weapons it has? Why make weapons when we aren't supposed to kill each other? Anyway, if people decide on what they want for reality, they can make a difference. A good life is not too far away when the line between dream and reality starts to fade. But first, we need to start dreaming.

Just A Story.

I experienced my very first Writer's Block and I really don't think I'm over it yet. But, there's no harm in trying. Just last night I experienced wild flow of creativity which I found difficult to channel. Basically because I was torn. It resulted from to a lot of personal "shit" which I guess.. just HAPPENS.

So here I have it, a short story for you to critisize. Or praise. Preferably, both. I hope you like twist-in-the-tale stories. Here goes:

Evangelina glanced irritably at the clock and realised that Derek was late in calling her once again. No surprises here, she thought. She unfastened the latch to the balcony and stood there at the door experiencing the welcoming smell of eucalyptus leaves in the night air. The cool air soothed her and she slowly began to relax. The much creased forehead of hers and was starting to become smooth again. She breathed in deeply and let out a heavy sigh. Stretching her hands up, she yawned and smiled a blissful smile.



Then she came forward to the railing slowly and settling her hands comfortably on the cold black metal, closed her eyes. She could hear the sound of the night insects and as she opened her eyes, a bat or two swooshed away swiftly near a tree she could just see in the distance. A very familiar sight. She turned around resting her back on the railing and stretched back her neck so she could have a good look at the stars. They look beautiful, as usual, she thought. The moon was not visible from this part of the house. She'd have to go to the terrace. But she was violently brought back to reality when she remembered she had a phone call to attend to.

She hurriedly entered the room and started pushing a button to see if anyone had called. She didn't really trust herself to be vigilant anytime of the day. She had always been a daydreamer, always. Thank God, no calls since the afternoon. This was getting tiring. She laid down on the bed beside the phone and a couple of books she had been reading last night. Slowly, she raised her arm and brought her wrist up to see. No, it looked normal. Quite unlike what it looked exactly a month ago. She experienced a dull pain in the chest and a sinking feeling in her stomach as she recollected what she the same wrist had looked. Hideous. What had actually come over her that she had decided to end her life, she couldn’t really understand. An intense look set upon her face as she pondered over it.

Derek had always been a good person. Was it she who had caused all this to happen? Sure, everything was all right between them NOW. But there wasn’t a time when everything was ACTUALLY all right between them. She sat up straight and brought her knees close to her face and tucked them under her chin. Rocking back and forth, she remembered what had actually happened and tears slowly welled in her eyes. She wiped them with the back of her hand and absent mindedly picked up a book from the side table. Opened the page she’d left at and started reading to keep her mind off everything.
Five. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty minutes passed, still no phone call. She stared at the phone and picked it up to see if it was working. Yes, it was. He must be really busy to delay the call. Or was he? She was sure he loved her. He did. He absolutely did. Well, he did say that. But, maybe he just SAID that. She was no mind reader. Ever since they’d been together, not one day had passed that she’d not told herself that she was not good enough for Derek. Never good enough. He was everything she could ask for, but she… she did not fit the bill. She was all right, but definitely not good enough for him.

Nonsense, I’m good enough for anything. There’s a lot of negativity in you. Stop underestimating yourself, Eva. You’re as good as any other girl. Even better, she thought. She knew it was her alter ego speaking. She sucked in air as she fondly thought of what her opinion of herself was. She had a lot of mental testimonials she had verbally received earlier. From a variety of people. Certainly, she was not just good as any other; she was one of the better part of the population. Right. That settles it.

Derek’s to blame. It was he who painted her world black. It was he who told her that she wasn’t what she thought she is. A number of times, a lot was said about her to herself. Enough said. The old spirit was back. Very good, she’d see that she gets her life back. As soon as he called, she’d tell him to go his own way. That would do well for now.

As she was thinking what else she had to tell him… there came a sudden loud crash from just outside the house. She experienced a wild adrenaline rush and hurried to the balcony. And that was a sight to behold; there lay a car not far from their own family car, totally upturned, windows shattered and the tires still rotating rapidly on their own accord. Wow, she’d never seen anything like this.

With a shock, she thought that there MUST be still somebody inside the car, the driver. She could see no-one standing near the car or anywhere around it. Being almost midnight, she could see no-one else on the street too. Oh my God! This needs urgent help, she thought and racked her brains. She turned around and ran to her parents' bedroom and banged on it with full force.

“Hello!! Open the door, please! We’ve got an emergency here!!!”

There came a sleepy voice from the inside, “Uhh.. yes? What is it, Eva? Can it wait till the morning, please?” It was her father.

“NO!! It’s not about me. Come outside! There’s been an accident!!”

“What?? Wait a second.” In about a couple of seconds he was at the door in his robe and her Mum was struggling to get out of bed. “Where? What happened??”

“Just outside.. hurry!! I guess someone’s still trapped inside the car!”

The three of them hurried to the main door, out of it, and reached the car just in time. Now that her mind was starting to clear, she saw that the car was just a few yards away from their own and if it hadn’t stopped where it was, there would have been serious damage to their car as well. She went with her Father to the other side, the driver’s side. There he was, half his body outside the window and the other half jammed under the car. It was tight position, but not dangerous. Her father helped the person out of the car, and with a little help he slid out from under it and thanked her father profusely. He wasn’t hurt except a few bruises and some scratches on his arms. Everyone turned to look at the car and unfortunately, the car wasn’t as lucky as the driver.

“How DID this happen??”

“I don’t know, it skidded and then… I really don’t know.”

Evangelina looked at the driver and saw that he really didn’t look too well. There was something strange with the way he looked. His eyes were a bit swollen and red, and he couldn’t speak properly. He seemed dazed, because of the accident, most probably, she thought. It seemed as if he’d pass out any second. Strange. She looked at the car again and up at her parents. She saw out of the corner of her eye, her Father nudging her Mother and telling her to take her inside.

As they got inside, her Mother told her to go to bed immediately. She had to get up for school and it was much later than midnight by then. She asked her if she could have some water first, and went into the kitchen and brought back a glass of chilled water. She sipped it slowly and shook her head to help her get the incident out of her mind. Her father appeared at the doorway and locking up the door as he came inside, told Eva to fetch him a glass too. She did as she was told as she came back she could hear her parents conversing quietly, she stopped to listen. Listening intently, she could make out the words that were being half whispered – “yes, you’re right…drunk…had a fight with someone…couldn’t say anything properly but yes,…told him to go home… fetched a cab..” So that was it.

She re-entered the room and her parents stopped conversing suddenly and sat there quietly without looking at her. She told them that she’s going to her bedroom now. They both nodded and smiled at her. As she turned, she asked them, “Oh, by the way, how did that accident happen?” They both stared at her and her father replied, “Nothing, just a stray cat or something in the way. You go to sleep. Good night.” She turned around and went to her own room. Amused. What made them say this? Always a problem with parents. They think we’re not grown up enough.

Just as she sat on the edge of her bed, the phone rang and she picked it up at the first ring. “Hello!!?”

“Hey there, Eva! Sorry…was a bit busy with the homework. Too much of it nowadays, eh? I hope you don’t mind?”

“Yeah… no problem. You think I’d get angry on such a thing? Aww, you’re such a sweetheart! And you just WAIT till you hear what happened…”

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Thank you for reading. Please don't forget to comment, or I won't ever know if you read it or not. Thankyou, once again! :)