I’m the red in blood, the ochre in hate,
And all the color that blind men see.
I’m the sting in a tear, every day of the year,
But I still don’t know what makes me, me.
Roses will wilt when winter comes ‘round,
I’m sure god and I don’t agree.
I’ve been searching the gloom for that distant mast,
But I still don’t know what makes me, me.

White noise,
Alone, even in a sea of people.
The muck sticks, irregardless of how many times I wash.
My mind hums the melancholic strain of broken dreams,
For there was a time when I was free.
A child flying into her father’s arms,
There was a time when my heart was whole.

My angel

Sweet angel of mercy, tolerant of my sins.
Talk to me gently; let me sleep under your wings.
And in the morning when the sun leads the way,
I’ll move on to another city, move on the bigger things.

New songs to be learnt, new people to meet.
Flavors to savour and conversations to relish.
Let me give of myself; help me hold you in my arms.
I have nothing to judge you by, and I hold no yardstick for love.

Let me be your weekend muse, be your yesteryear’s conversation.
Let me be the sweetest dance you have ever had.

Remember me not for who I am, but for what I lived.
And what a difference I made.

And when I shift your burden slightly, or when you sleep, content.
Ill slowly return into the shadows, that my god lovingly sent.
My sweet angel awaits me there, to hide me under his wings.
Someone to love me till morning, till he brings new beginnings.

Metamorphosis

Pretty, pretty butterfly,
Bursts of color against the sky
How did you change as time flew by,
From a creepy caterpillar ?
You used to crawl but now you fly,
Yet one day all flowers die,
And beauty is but the dirty lie
Of a creepy caterpillar.

The Shadow Master

Within padded walls and locked doors, I stare at dancing shadows. They say I’m mad. Mentally ill, as a decent man would say.

Two little men emerge out of the shadows. They take each others hand and merge into a dog, which becomes a deer’s head, which turns into a big bird.

My hands twist around each other weaving an unconnected story on the ceiling.
Of what I have seen and I have not. What I like and what I don’t. Of all my friends.

Long nights I have spent with my shadows. Some have grown with me and others visit me on and off.

------------------------------
The first shadow I met is a big black dog. He came to me quite by accident and remains till now, my most trusted companion.

It was a cold winter’s morning when uncle came from a foreign country with a foreign tongue and foreign candy. All of ten years, hiding behind mama’s sari, I was coerced into a loving embrace by a big handful of colourful sugary delights. Mama loved him; she said he knew how to keep a woman happy. She said daddy should have learnt something from uncle.

Three nights he stayed with us. Him and his cheerful, rumbling belly. On the third, mama had to go into town and couldn’t come back before dawn because of the heavy snowfall. It had cut off the power lines and the house was lit by a soft permeating candlelight.

The whole night he violated me. Touched me in ways that I cannot speak off even now. He had his whole weight on my fragile body as I twisted my arms helplessly in the air smouldering with silent screams.

As my fingers struggled to keep me afloat, scratching through the thick air, I could see him- The big black dog. My eyes widened and all pain disappeared as I looked past uncle at the looming shadow on the wall.

He turned abruptly, thinking someone had walked in on his dirty act. I continued to stare wide-eyed as the majestic dog looked back.

“What are you looking at, child? Are ye going mad?”

He spat at me with cold disgust and tumbled off me, awkwardly pushing my arms to one side.

The dog was gone. The next morning, uncle was gone too.
I told my mama what happened and she told me to go play and not make up dirty stories.
------------------------------


In school, they didn’t like me. Me or my small town clothes. They poured water on my chair everyday and told the teacher that the mad girl went pee-pee in class.

While they danced at parties with their sweethearts, I stayed home and cried.

Mama had new uncles coming over, and made me stay locked in my room when they were there. She never let me see them but I always heard them speak and knew what they must be like.

“Shalini, do that again”, or “Ohhh shali, I love you like that” or sometimes even “Are you sure the kid is out cold?” Rustic, hungry voices meandering over mother’s body like greedy fumes.

I made shadows of them on my walls. I made them do all the dirty things they spoke of. Sometimes, on very lonely nights, I kept myself entertained by making a giant bird rip their heads off as I heard their loud, painful moans emanating like a disgusting stench from the room beyond.

Days and nights flew by with my new pastime. When class got boring, I made little men march beside me on the wall. I got slapped for not looking at the board and then killed my teacher with a shadow hammer, on my wall that night.
------------------------------


Tarik joined school the year after I left. He moved in next door with his grandparents and stared at me through the blinds of his house. I heard that in school they told him I was mad and he laughed and said that he was, too.

I kept myself busy with a supermarket job and my shadow play.

One night, two months after he moved, there was a sharp rap on my window almost scaring me to death. I shifted the curtains nervously and saw him standing right outside, in my house compound. I saw his grim face and pitch black eyes half lit by the moonlight and he crooked his head forward.

“What do you keep doing with your hands?” he asked in a low deep voice.

“Shadow play.”

He looked taken aback.

“I like shadows,” I replied, hoping that that would clear it out.

He was unnerved.

“Can you teach me?”

My heart paced. I would have the opportunity of having real human company, I realised.

“Ummm… sure.”

He came through my window every night after that. We made new characters together, as his expertise grew instantly.

One night my Indian girl was teased by his boy. He made him pull her long shadow plait and spin her around in circles. As I laughed with glee, he turned and kissed me.

Our play turned into a passionate dance of stories within us. He was a true shadow master. His eagle’s sharp claws and my dogs fangs dug into everyone who ever dared to call me mad.

We kissed tenderly. We interweaved our fingers and directed magic on my wall. And we kissed again, and again and again. I never thought I would ever find a love this pure.

As weeks flew by , there was a new found urgency in his kiss. The tenderness replaced by a strong passion. The palms which cradled my head wandered through the folds of my blouse.

One night, there was a strange gleam in his eyes.

He said he wanted to show me love like I had never seen it. He said that this is what lovers did to redeem themselves. He said that he wanted to see the woman in me.

His touch was rough. His lips traced a hungry trail on my stomach as I started to sweat, uncomfortably.

He bit my shivering skin and raised my hands above my head while he teased me.

Suddenly, I saw them. The eagle and the dog, stretched on the wall in front of me.

The eagle looked maniacally at the whimpering beast as he crouched with head low and tail between his legs.

I started to thrash out at Tarik and he continued to bite me playfully, laughing as he held me down.

There was a flash of white light and everything happened at once, yet in slow motion.

I felt him pierce my body and break into me. I felt a burst of uncontrollable pain.
I saw the dog leaping through the air and ripping the eagle’s neck. I heard him scream as I bludgeoned him to death with the candle stand, wet wax dripping all over his skin melting it to a goo.
------------------------------

Mama broke in three days later because of the stench. She found that I had arranged Tarik’s limbs to replicate a large pedestal over which my dog stood majestically, overlooking a cheering crowd.

I will always remember her face like that. Frozen in a soundless scream as a strange uncle looked bewildered behind her.
------------------------------

The trial was two weeks from then. My attorney said he was going to plead insanity.
I was nervous because I was handcuffed and lonely. When they put me on the stand, I turned away from the shutters and my hands broke free, and there he was my trusted dog.

The verdict was passed, the jury found me mentally unstable. Mad, if you must.
------------------------------


We have been here for four months now and I couldn’t be happier. He doesn’t need food and they feed me well. We go for long walks on the grounds at dusk and I throw a stick for him to bring back to me.

The staff is friendly, but I don’t have any friends.

Maybe they are scared of my canine friend. I’ve tried convincing a few of them to pet his head gently but they run away in fear. He doesn’t seem to like them very much either.
He is fiercely loyal and says he disapproves of people who call me mad.

Shyma Shetty
13/10/07

Greetings. Wow, im still getting comments though its been months since i posted. Well.. I jus feel like I've fallen off the map. Before anyone worries (lemon) :-) i'm doin alright, just been hella busy at college. Like they say, school always comes first. (Okay, 'they' dont really say that but wattheheck eh?) I have been writin on n off. Random ramblings so I havent really bee able to edit n post. Have some patience boys and girls, she'll be back as soon as she gets some things done. :-) Untill then, keep writin to me. I always have time to reply. And remember guys, prose be4 hoes. :-) I'll leave u with that.

Shyma
Saving the world before bedtime

Oh, Sweet smack.

A loud, crisp voice fills the room like a stinky burp. “The president will be out in a few minutes to deliver the speech that could alter the…” I groan painfully. Nothing worthwhile ever happens in this fucking country. Not even a decent show to watch on television.
I clench my white knuckles and my stomach twists horribly. My vision dances a slow excruciating dance. There’s a tick in my neck which keeps throbbing. Damn, I feel sick.

There’s a quick knock on the teak doors. In one quick motion, I flick the television off and rush to the door. My palms are sweaty. It would be hell if somebody finds out. I flatten the front of my skirt with my palms, and twist the knob. A brown grubby hand thrusts a package forward. Before I can thank him, he’s gone. I push the door and turn the knob with a soft click. Sliding my hands under the seam of my top, I slip my belt off with a slight tug and collapse on the floor beside the door.
I jump when the cold marble touches my bare thighs. Fucking A/c’s, I curse under my breath. My heart’s throbbing loudly against my chest. I fold my legs under me and start cooking up.

The orange glow of the lighter flame against the spoon makes me think my mother’s disapproving face. Ah, the sweet prospect of smack. It fills my chest like a balloon. I tie the belt around my upper arm as tight as I can and grip one end between my teeth. Restlessly I tap my vein, which bulges healthily. I stab the needle in and push the plunger. My pupils constrict as the heroin shoots through my veins. My head swings lazily and I have to take deep, slow breaths or I will fall over.

Goddamn yellow walls make me sick. This mirror makes me look ugly. My lips look blue and my breath rattles against the glass. The yellow walls framing my head in the reflection, makes me want to want to throw up on my feet.
I tie my thin, long hair in a tight bun and dab on some concealer under my eyes. I slip into my coat and go out in the hallway. I can’t believe I have to do this now. I feel like jesus with a fucking cross to bear.

I’m at the plush purple doors. I take a deep breath and force a warm smile on my face as I push the doors open. “Good morning, madam president, the delegates are waiting for you in the next room.” I roll my eyes.
“Good morning Paul, please direct me towards them”.
Fucking waste of a great morning.

Untitled

Soft brown eyes and a delicate aura, he stands in front of me. A shadow of a man, lost between the pages of yesterday and tomorrow, as they flutter around him like weeping veils. If you looked closely, you could catch traces of the soldier who once was, who slowly withered in the winds of change.

“Do you love me?” he asks and clear blue tears meander down his cheeks.

If he was a flurry of words, he would be a poem. If he was an element of design, he would be a snowflake. Unassuming, honest and beautiful.

The air is thick with a thousand unsaid words as they cling to their invisible threads in the air, ready to drop at a second’s notice. I know what to say, but I don’t know how to say it. I maintain my stony demeanour and prepare for an outburst.

But none comes.

When men break, their ego ruptures. Then comes the detaching of all hope from their souls, like the peeling of an apple in long, deliberate strokes. Then as quick as the slicing of a sword through thick mist, their heart shatters. Here in front of me today stands a shattered man.

“Do you love me?”, he repeats. Louder than before, his voice carries the burden of a newfound bitterness. “Where were you when I needed you, huh?” A loud sob pierces the tone of his voice. “They told me you wouldn’t come to me, and I believed in you and…and… loved you… and…and…” He stops and looks into my expressionless eyes.

Suddenly a maniacal urge has takes over. One of those raw human emotions noone can be hanged over. He grabs the nearest candle stand and hurls it at me. It misses squarely and shatters against the wall behind. A second one quickly follows, and misses again. His anger has rapidly diminished into a dull pain and it hits the floor with a gentle thud.

He comes into my house, unannounced at three in the morning and disturbs my possessions. Calmly, I wait for an explanation.

His knees give way and he weeps, his head resting on his wet palms. Loud wails like bleeding rolls of thunder. Cries that will slit the wrists of anyone listening and wrench the joy out of anyone’s heart.

My hurting baby, in front of my own eyes. How I want to touch him, hold him, caress him and love him. Comfort him like cushions of cloud in a midsummer sky. Yet, I remain impassive. I cannot break the rules, I cannot tell him how I love him. Helpless and reeking of guilt, I watch him leave. Slowly it dawns upon me that he will never come back.

He turns his back to me and drags himself out of my doors in silence. Unable to bring myself to stop him, I drown in the eerie silence around. It is a modern era where belief without proof is laughed upon. And today, the silence of a god has lost him another child.

My affair with my writing

Tempestuous emotions, unbridled desires,
Primal hazes like bright green flames of zinc.
I bleed every last bit of lust onto parchment,
My crimson blood outlines droplets of ink.
The voices in my head translate onto paper,
Making sure their urges transpire.
They scream my name in arduous fervor,
Licking their parched lips with desire.
These words- they caress my trembling skin,
Like a mouthful of air when I drown.
I feed on my writing,
Slowly, leisurely- Savoring every verb and noun.
Turning them over and over with my tongue,
Saccharine sweetness seeping through my veins,
Fulfilling my primal ache to feel,
Elevating me from my novice chains
Stray words tease me mischievously,
Making me go weak in the knees.
Their rhythmic pulsing, their dirty dancing,
They sketch a merciless tease .
Oh, these obsessive moments, these fanatical urges,
These lines spelt out with compassion.
They deliver me from my bleak existence,
Oh, these eccentric spasms of passion.
Nothing can compete with these ripples of pleasure.
No pretty boys and no nasty toys.
The ache is fulfilled, the magma simmers ,
Fading into a buzzing white noise.

Voices- black and menacing,
Ominous blood stained glitter.
My scarlet screams,
These vicious schemes,
Like meandering scratches of litter.

The violet blood, it seeps out,
Out of that lone love letter.
My immaculate dreams,
ripped from the seams,
I’m bitter, bitter, bitter.

Welcome to my window

*ring*
The fucking alarm
*riiiiiiiiiiiiing*
In your head.
*RIIIIIIIIIIIING*
Screeching, shooting through the tunnels of your mind.
No, you’re not asleep- your heart’s pounding against your ribs. The alarm never rang. You should be asleep. You should be asleep.
Yeah, you should be asleep.
Boredom leading to neurosis leading to insomnia. You’re a nocturnal creature now.
Those frightening eyes- that threatening glare could almost be mistaken for fear.
Well, almost.
So much hate, a quiet fury that can move mountains.
You pick at the scabs over and over till your nails are dirty but the blemishes remain.
Cold shivers only your spine can endure.The horrendous emptiness only you can feel.
Crack your white knuckles, drool on your chin, loll your head about. Three minutes have gone and they will never come again. Cigarettes and sex, nothing can change what only the passing of time can diminish.
Pick that up that gun, bitch.
You are just a statistic, like the rest of us.
Defeated and inadequate, worthless and insignificant.

*click*

*click*

Who forgot to load the damn thing?

Shrill laughter echoes through the night. Like thunder that starts low and picks up momentum.
Magical yet so, so, soooo bad.
The alarm rings in 3 hours.

You’re laughing when you should be asleep.
You should be asleep. Yeah, you should be asleep.

The end

The end.
Stark naked.
Stripped of all societal binds.
No one ever tells a tale with a beginning like this.
A beginning that starts at the very end.
No need for a warm up.
No need for a rethink.
An arm and a leg, A leg and an arm.
And I jump.

20…19…18…17
An unwelcome visitor,
A misplaced gene
Freefalling,
Drawn curtains and beer bellies.
I cannot shake off my sins as easily as my clothing.

16…15…14…13
Nicotine, rotten luck and caffeine
A downward plunge, an affair with destiny
Lightheaded, Clear hearted
I’m flying without wings.

12...10…9…8
You scramble around but fall down straight.
Flashes of light. Soiled photographs.
Nothing to take, and nothing to leave behind.

7…6…5…4
You give a little, they want some more.
No one matters, no one cares.
From dust we come, to dust we disappear.

3…2…1…0
Bone crushing, devastating.
Fresh blood on cold cement.
Splattered like wet fingers of fatality
Every bone in my body shattered.
And there is no pain.
- I died long before I died.

Zero.
Where even time ceases to exist.
Within my end, I found my beginning.
And my final leap gave me something that I never had.
A few moments, in midair
A few seconds,
Of life.

Behind my fortress

Impenetrable walls, listless stone.
Layer over layer, over layer.
Constructed by aggressive urges,
Tainted blood and meandering tear.

Built through decades and gathering no moss.
Unseen, cloaked by a thin layer of skin.
Vines of veins in sweltering sauce,
Unfathomable- An unborn twin.

My stories are thrown across these walls,
Twenty one years of stains.
Scarlet like shame but liberating,
Yes! Liberating,
Tales of hands clutching reigns.

Behind these pillars of stone I sit,
my scepter in my hand.
The world is my durbar, methinks,
it stretches through the land.

Velvet cloaks and mojri’s or tee shirt and torn jeans.
I choose my attire with indifference,
my castle splits at the seams.
With secrets untold and I, am master of my masks.
Maneuvering through crowds unfazed, with a whole kingdom is quite a task.

Whitewashed every fortnight- these glamorized, virginal walls.
No doors or windows, lest you see,
That its night inside, before night falls.

Interiors bathed in hatred, just for my fingers to feel
Passion- carelessly flung over stark interiors, just for my eyes to see.
The aroma of decay and rebirth, which only I can smell.
The tang of years of injustice, just for my tetchy taste buds.

Now how does one break a wall- a wall that isn’t really there?
And why does one want to be in someone else’s nightmare?
Sticks and stones, they slash my skin, but I am sheltered in my creation.
Why would I entertain the nosy concerned, and create this unwanted liaison?

You know me, yet you don’t know me.
You see me, yet you will never really see.
My life is an open book, which I have painstakingly edited.
Composed, written, undone, accredited.

I’ve built this prism with parallelograms,
To grasp my essence, it’s a guide.
Your personality steers this prism of mine.
And reflects my chosen side.

Yet, he remains unsatisfied
He wants to know me, like I know me.
Feel my pain, breathe my tenderness
Bathe in the blood running through this void,
Make love to my soul and dive into my eyes,
He wants to trudge through the lines on my palm.
Secured in my present, With my past behind him, and my future ahead.

And he tried.
Oh! He tried in vain.
Coaxing, goading and cajoling.
Vacant eyes and hostile interpretation,
Nothing he said could bend my creation.
And he drew a blank.

Hammers and hacksaws could not faze me,
Words were never able to taint me.
Requests- not strong enough to break me.
And my façade was blank.

He sat with me, months on end
Scrutinized me, with feverish fervor.
Each person got a different me, he noticed.
He played the most considerate observer.

Every night he danced with a different me,
Careless tunes playing in my head.
Laughed when I was happy and cried while I bled.

Every day he learnt something more.
Believed me, without a shred of a doubt
Wooed all the different women that make me,
He started to wear me out.

He leaned against, while I cowered within,
These walls that could withstand push and shove,
Slowly eroding my stone defenses
With the pristine purity of love.

Someday I’ll stroll through my kingdom,
With his hand secure, in mine.
Till then my stories will remain splattered,
In a fragmentary rhyme.

Lots of love, kisses and presents,
A match made in heaven.
Winners in the raw game of destiny,
Lovers in times of war.
What love do you speak of, that is not built on trust.
Questions- uncalled for,
Answers- unsatisfactory.
Fancy talk and bitter sarcasm,
All disguised under the freedom of unconditional love.
What kind of point is made, that hurts a future?
What love is intolerant of each other’s shortcomings?
What attachment gives right to abuse something confided to you?
What arrangement is that which is but a breech of blind trust?
Words that turn poisonous and seep into each other.
One poisons the mind, and the other poisons the very foundation of love.
Do you know her well enough to tolerate her past?
Envision the future, and see your unborn children in her eyes.
Can you still see them through the bitter tears that question why?
Why you make her pick up the pieces and keep moving on,
If only to shatter her again and again.
All in the name of love.
Yes, love;
it’s a very tricky game.
You are not her, and she cannot be you,
Yet you say that your love is a reason to live.
What if one day you ask her for her heart?
And then it hits you, that there’s nothing left of her to give.

Perverse glances curving into an inhibited smirk,
Clammy palms meander over trembling curves.
Squeezing, hurting, and tearing.
There’s no pain more hurtful than raw guilt.
She holds her breath to escape the filthy stench.
Fifteen minutes.
And a lifetime of hate.
Fifteen minutes, blue blood stains.
She slips a hand into her pocket
Ah, the squeal of crispy new notes.
She’ll be back again.

My god, he hath no name.
Deft tales concocted by mere human minds hold no meaning to him.
He is neither my savior, nor my creator.
He is me,
And I am but a figment of my god’s whims and fancies.

You know I’d never kiss and tell
Sugary memories, the devil’s hotel.
He cast this perfect murderous spell
And I dipped my tongue in poison.
*hissssssss.....*
Hide in black veils and the shadow of might,
Through the dungeons of the night,
Oh, it was a deplorable plight,
When my love succumbed to poison.

Today i did something I have never tried before.I wrote a song.
Temme what you think of it.

Hello, my friend,
We are at the end.
Here’s to starry, starry skies, and zephyrs of wind .
The storm lies still and the dust has settled,
Hoist the sails and we travel again.

Here’s a bag for the pieces of your ragged self,
Here’s a bottle to forget what you have seen.
A penny saved is a penny gained,
Pick up your dreams and let’s sail again.
------------------
Chorus
Today you see,
A different side of me.
My wings were bound,
But my mind was always free.
I see you burn,
but you’re never alone.
Never alone.
You’re never alone.
--------------------------------------
I know the sounds of the dead,
resonate in your head.
Oh the things she said, the terrible things she said.
The wisdom in my face drowns in your clear blue tear,
I watch you fall, watch you fall as I am standing here.

Hold on to me, brother,
Open your eyes wide.
Look with me into the horizon, for we are setting sail tonight.
We sail on the yellow ship, she knows us naught.
Throw your worries in the sea, we’ll figure it out
------------------
Chorus
Today you see,
A different side of me.
My wings were bound, But my mind was always free.
I see you burn,
but you’re never alone.
Never alone.
You’re never alone.
--------------------------------------
Hello, my friend,
We are at the end.
I have a spare mattress and a song to lend.
Two deep breaths and one backbend.
Hoist the sails and we travel again.

Suede slippers and a heavy heart,
Together we stand, but we’re miles apart.
Shake those fears off, wipe those tears off.
Fly with me, brother
Fly with me now!
------------------
Chorus
Today you see,
A different side of me.
My wings were bound,
But my mind was always free.
I see you burn,
but you’re never alone.
Never alone.
You’re never alone.
--------------------------------------

Today I feel inspired. I finally decided to put down 100 things about myself, as I had promised.

Disclaimer: Credit goes to a certain blogger who goes by the name of lemonade.

1) If I was a color, I’d be fuchsia.

2) I love most dogs more than I like most people.

3) I’m a sucker for clever lines and people who quote other people.

4) I hate butterflies. You can call it a phobia, but I know they are secretly evil.

5) I love diamonds and hate pearls.

6) By the end of most days, my kajal smudges but I still wear kohl everyday.

7) I listen to all genres of music and belt it out loud. I can totally sing to save my life.

8) I love short skirts and plain chucks.

9) I hate people with limp handshakes. Feel all..Ewww, get away dude!... types.

10) I buy things which I don’t need, more often than not.

11) I don’t trust people who touch their nose while talking. It immediately puts me off.

12) I close my eyes when I dance and when i kiss.

13) I don’t like alcohol as much as my friends like it.

14) I usually trust everyone. I am pretty naïve when it comes to people I meet.

15) I haven’t tied my hair in 21 years…. And it’s in great shape.

16) The first time I entered a club was in sixth grade and the first time I got hammered was in the ninth.

17) I find bright Colors fascinating. And the number 13 also. I don’t know why.

18) I was always the comedian of the class.

19) I was completely immersed in the occult sciences for 3 years of my college life.

20) I tell really bad jokes. And they make me laugh as much every time I repeat them.

21) I have a really bad track record for not sticking to anything for more than a couple of months. (sports…hobbies…classes…courses…boyfriends…hangouts…bright ideas)

22) I suck at keeping in touch with old friends…but I always pick up wherever we left off when I meet them years later.

23) I wish my room was pink, purple and black. Though I don’t know why.

24) I am an utterly loyal friend but I hate it when someone irritates me and I cant avoid them on account of being that close to them.

25) I read every book by Sidney Sheldon and the entire famous five series when I was in school and I’m waiting eagerly for the last harry potter book to be out!

26) If I had a choice between being a famous movie star or a well known author, I’d pick the latter.

27) I would date an ugly guy who can make me laugh and has great hair.

28) I have the worst memory. Sometimes I think I should get myself checked because it might just be a serious disorder. (But then I forget.. haw haw)

29) I cry at movie halls. Like a big soppy baby. I also cry when I read sad stories. Towards the end, when everythin works out for the protagonist I also cry wit joy.

30) I have seven piercings and I don’t adorn any of them anymore.

31) I have a tattoo of a butterfly. I know I got it because of my phobia but I don’t remember my
wise-ass explanation for it.

32) I am an extrovert and I can chat up just about anyone.

33) I am always surrounded by people but often feel alone.

34) I have an IQ of 134.

35) My first kiss was when I was 14 years old. And it was terrible….I cried for hours. Makes me grin and feel all stupid when I think of it now.

36) When I decided to write this, I thought it would be easy. Lemon’s right, It’s a friggin tough job,this.

37) I learn the lyrics of all the songs I like.

38) Everytime I hear a new song or watch a movie trailor I like, I type it out on my phone and save it in my drafts folder so I can download it or rent the movie, later.

39) I get easily emotional about things and people I care about.

40) I save all my material memoirs including notes in a brown box in my last drawer.

41) I write little notes on word and then I close it without saving it.

42) I fear failure. It keeps me from giving things my 100%.

43) I love myself. I can also be utterly vain. Everytime i pass a mirror, i cant help but look.

44) I can only write and sketch really well with a black gel pen. Weird quirk, eh?

45) I have never been so much in love as I am now.

46) I never wear a watch.

47) Im scared of driving on Bangalore roads. It keeps me from getting my license.

48) I cant remember the last time I drank milk. Ewwww.

49) Studying fashion at NIFT is the worst decision I have made in my life.

50) I worry way too much.

51) Whenever I do something I should’nt have, I always…always… get caught!

52) If I don’t hang out at a coffee shop for two days in a row, I start getting withdrawal symptoms.

53) If my folks knew 10% of the things they don’t, I would be disowned from the family, methinks !

54) I love corny reality shows. Oh, don’t gimme that look, we all have our vices.

55) I have never stayed single for a long time since ninth grade.

56) I used to say “awesome” a lot. And suddenly stopped.

57) When I feel like doing something and I cant get to it immediately, I start feeling really restless and twitch and squirm in my seat till I can do it.

58) I love dressing up for winters.

59) I know I’m going to be really famous one day, but I don’t know how. I have wanted to be everything from a professional comedian, dancer, tv presenter, writer, sportsman, stylist, journalist, designer, industrialist to a bum who can drink beer and watch tv all day.

60) I need six hours of sleep everynight. Otherwise I get all cranky.

61) I can talk for hours. ..strangely i love listening too.

62) I love arguments when they get all heated up, even if I lose.

63) I adore a few select movies which I watch back to back umpteen number of times.

64) I have a bigger vocab than anyone I know.

65) I can watch any movie in the theatre, keeping genre, language and rating apart.

66) People usually think I have too much attitude when they see me for the first time, and immediately change their mind after talking to me.

67) Everyone I know is shocked that I write.

68) I take 10 mins to shower and 5 mins to get ready, and always look my best.

69) I play hard to get and enjoy the chase.

70) I love how my skin is flawless.

71) I hate babies, flowers and fugly clothes. In no particular order.

72) I always get my way. I believe that compromise is the art in which everyone believes that they have gotten the bigger piece of cake. When push comes to shove, I’d still do it in a subtle sweet way and noone realizes what they've been made to do.

73) I don’t yell. When I’m angry, I’m sarcastic and get all quiet.

74) I’m a sucker for compliments. And I remember most of them.

75) I love thoughtful gifts. I don’t remember the last time I got something I really needed. I prefer storebought gifts to anything someone made, even though that takes more effort.

76) I love ugly toys. Besides that, I can letch shamelessly at Barbie’s in a toy store all day.

77) I absolutely love candy! I don’t like chocolate and ice cream that much.

78) Clubbing gives me an adrenaline rush.

79) The arrival of my birthday every year makes me very sad, and I can’t figure out why.

80) I have been to an umpteen number of summer camps and still never gone on holiday with my friends just on a whim.

81) I have a chronic stomach ache which baffles docs, and take a particular banned painkiller for immediate relief and don’t tell my dad coz he’ll yell at me for it. *grin*

82) I can’t be a mean bitch. Even if I want to.

83) I can show up anyone on the dance floor and I can whip up a mean meal.

84) I also go by the name “Maashtarr dishhastar” Its unbelievable how weird things keep happenin to me. Sometimes it feels like the dude up there puts up a ppt. presentation for his peeps and uses excerpts from my life as slides.

85) I know its being horribly judgemental, but I look down upon people who are not up to date on the latest look to sport.

86) I quit the stuff when I od’ed three years ago and I’m still scared to even smoke pot.

87) I love meeting people and I generally hit it off wit them most of the time.

88) I hate small talk. BORING.

89) Freedom in every way is crucial for me. When I feel even slightly tied down, I feel depressed.

90) I love looking at old pictures. I get all happy and nostalgic.

91) I’m a true blue Piscean. It’s fascinating how star signs divide people into personality groups and weirdly, I fit in here snugly.

92) I have had a billion best friends throughout my teenage years.

93) I visited a shrink years ago, though I don’t think I needed one.

94) I am game for almost anything, anytime, though I get bored real easy.

95) I wish I knew someone exactly like me. Then I would pick her brains and we would both forget about it the next day. Haw haw

96) I think the ideal husband material is my dad. Except wit more hair on his head.

97) I still miss my doggie Rimbo. She died in my arms a year ago, after enriching my life for eleven years.

98) Whenever I watch a good movie or read a good book or listen to something I like, I force people around me to do the same. Its this intense craving to share my excitement. It drives me crazy if I cant discuss it wit someone who doesn’t feel the same way bout it like I do.

99) I hated rang de basanti. It was the most idiotic, senseless movie ever. Hrithik roshan and salman khan can kiss my derriere and salaam e ishq can take a holy leap.

100) I come across as a different person to different people I meet. I don’t think anyone has seen all sides of me yet, and I find that strangely comforting.

The first date

The kindest way to describe my teenage years is to say that they weren’t easy. Sex, drugs, rock and roll. Angst ridden, I was a rebel without a cause. Giving my heart away to strangers with open arms, hoping for a miracle. Praying for something different every time. Whirlwind romances and long distance relationships flew by and I raced on with the wind in my hair and a map in my hand. I knew the intricacies of lust. Hungry for excitement, I would move on. I was no heartbroken teen. Love was an illusion. Written about by dead poets and romantic fools.

We are today’s children. Pragmatic and impatient.

He told me he loved me. I was with him for a long time. Loyal and thoughtful as I was, I was also commitment phobic. He built castles in the air, where we were king and queen to the mass minions. He thought this was the best thing that ever happened to him and he considered my indifference as thoughtful consent. I was hungry for more. This could’nt be it, something was wrong. Two and a half years of restlessness and I was ready to move on.

Yes, I missed him. I missed a good friend. When I think about it honestly, being the egotist that I am, I just missed a sincere admirer.

I found solace in another friend. A fellow pragmatist. He had been there, done that and the comforting part was, he found comfort in our conversations too.

The late night talks we used to have, have undoubtedly shaped the way I perceive the world now. Within him I found the friend I needed. Nights turned into days. The sun rose and set with passionate conversations about nothing. There was a certain surety in his voice that I looked forward to whenever I had had a terrible day. There was a certain excitement in his breath that made me run to the phone every time something fun happened. I learnt to laugh at myself and believe in what the future holds for me. I learnt to enjoy our comfortable silences. The days in the calendar flew by rapidly. I kid you not, there were so many occasions were I felt like I was head over heels in love with him. I kicked myself in the shins and laughed it of. Drawn to each other by an invisible umbilical cord we spoke every day for eight months, till we knew each others schedules on the back of our hands.

He told me how relationships are futile. Ineffective, fruitless and a waste of emotions. I believed it. I told him how he was so much more than my best friend. He was like an alter ego. He believed it. We had nothing in common, but nothing to lose. We decided to go on a date.

A date! The storm in my head brewed again. Yes, he was all that no one else could be. But what if he was a work of fiction, spun by my very eccentric, lonely and lost mind? What if I had given him more credit than he actually deserved? What if the date was an anti-climax? I could lose my entire support system, my raison d’etre if this didn’t work out!

But what if it did? What would that mean? What would it be like?

The stakes were high. Being the gambler that I am, I decided to put all my emotions on a stray chance and go through with it.

He called me. He was waiting on the first floor and I was still taking small unsure steps, with my friends giving me looks of condolence from the car behind me. There was absolutely no backing out now.

When I got halfway up the stairs, I laid my eyes on him.

His eyes were fixated on my elated smile. His eyes… I have never seen eyes like his. They are always wet with stars of the night sky. That moment is frozen in my memory forever. It felt like the close of play. When dust settles in a cease fire. Like invisible people were applauding the beauty of the sentiment that hung in the air between is. He walked down the stairs and met me.

My brain was on overdrive. How the hell do I greet him?!? Apparently he had no clue what to do either!

The start of a kiss which turned into a really awkward hug later, we went inside the crowed pub. He held my hand, throughout.

He had a smug grin on his face after he secretly checked me out, trying very hard not to make me uncomfortable.

Well, men will always be men.

We sat down and almost immediately, he pulled my face close to his and kissed me.

Tongue-tied I sat there, grinning like a brain dead puppy. I was so happy! More importantly I knew that this had to be wat love was like! I could give up everything I had and everything I was just to be in that moment wit him!

So as you must have figured by now, the date was no anti-climax. We had one more amazing conversation, one more drink than we should have had and one more mind blowing kiss. He cancelled other appointments and came back with me.

The next morning I asked him innocently, “So…uhh… where are we now?”

My question was met wit blank stares and incoherent mumbles.

For a moment I was stunned. He explained how his work keeps him occupied and he wouldn’t be able to give me the time I deserved if we got together. He stated, matter-of-factly that it would be draining for me to get involved wit him.

I regained my composure and tried to look calm.

If the barrel of a gun was in my mouth, I could yawn, methinks. I’m a good actor. Correction: I’m a brilliant actor.

He continued talking.

“ I realize it would be a lot of trouble for you to get into a relationship with me. But I’m selfish… and I wanna trouble you for the rest of your life.”

And he smiled. Like a goddamn Buddha.

I wanted to jump on him and hug him and kiss him and scream and.. and…and…well… but I just sat there. Tongue tied. (Brain dead puppy is my style, after all!)

It’s been three months since we have been going steady. Every day is a benediction. In this short span, I have loved him with every fiber of my being and will continue to do so. In a world where everyone seeks perfection, I have found my better half in an imperfect yet passionate individual, just like myself. We argue and it is constructive. We laugh and it is heartwarming. We build our future together on the solid foundation of our first date, three months ago, and I couldn’t be happier.

Today we are a team.
A team.
I don’t know what the future will bring but I know we are a team.

Blissfully ignorant, we still hang on to our old pragmatic selves and walk into the horizon.

Only this time around, we believe in love.

Ode to a faithful companion

I miss you little baby, I miss you so much. It’s been a year and I’m still dealing with your loss everyday. In some bizarre way I still feel you around me. Today I felt like I caught a glimpse of you and I jerked my head around but you were gone. I wanna reach out and touch you again. Swim wit u in the lavender skies, look into your angel eyes. Noone knows about these wars I fight. The world moves around me and I’m standing still. That numb emptiness is a shadow which walks beside my now. I’m standing still in the middle of the fields, under the vast night sky. I’m looking up and blowing the stars a kiss. The most loving wish- It’s my baby’s birthday tonight. Happy birthday my darling Rimbo. I will always hold you close to my heart. You were all I ever had- The diamond in my penniless purse.

Imperfect, they stroll among us, striving for perfection. Flawed, they make empty conversation; intoxication for hungry minds. I can’t decide which one is worse. The sound of two strangers clinking shot glasses and hooting or the silence in my head when I watch that happen. Hmmm…Strangers become acquaintances; meet to part and part to meet. She waves at me and gives me a warm hug and I don’t even know her name. He slaps me on the back and asks me why the fuck I don’t call. I don’t think I have ever…ever met him before. They say it’s important to know people for who they are. Does anyone care for WHAT they are, really?

They clean their homes when company comes over; slide the clutter under the couch. Conduct and civility, before reasoning. Frigid, impersonal and uncouth. I don’t get why we do that. Everyone knows that we are uncouth anyway, right? Because they are too, but they choose to feign ignorance.

The world is strange. And we are a strange, strange people.

Has anyone stepped up and asked “why”? Questioned our very culture? A culture that creeps around the vines of our very being, making us the people that we are? A culture that teaches you that the coolest child is the one who gives proxy and doesn’t get caught and the cleverest mother is the one who leaves her child at day care and calls in sick to go shopping with her girlfriends. A culture that makes you pick up random people just for a twenty minute fuck. A culture that makes you keep a buddy waiting for hours and helps you fib to make up for it when you both know that you could have got there on time. Yet it makes you angry when you wait…. Doesn’t it?

People come and people go. They make conversations etched in sand which is too close to the water. Blemished, they tell me that I’m loved. I feel like my white shirt has just been stained.

All they want, they say… is to be truly happy. And they say this with wide grins on brazen faces. How can they be happy when they can never be satisfied with what has been offered to them? And if they can’t be happy then why pretend to be? Why waste so much paint to color your pale demeanor till the moment you get drunk enough to cry? You’re imperfect, that’s what you are. Why can’t you just accept that?

They always want me to make them whole. Tell them how life has been unfair and how I will stand by them till the seven seas part and other crap. They will buy all the kind crap others give them, even though they know its just empty talk. Momentary satisfaction is better than permanent discontent, I am told.

Dying children in Somalia and killer waves in the south east take a backseat to the broken heel of your brand new stiletto.

Aww… I sympathize.

Sympathize for how you will never know what it’s like to feel. You will never experience heartbreak because of someone else’s broken heart and you will never really… really know love.

Destined to be associates, we walk together but are never on the same plane. You tell me how much you need me and how glad you are that I’m with you.

I know you want me.

You need me because you are incomplete. You take bits and pieces of everyone you admire and you hope to build a new you. Condemned, I let you tear me apart, though I don’t really know why.

I stand here today, many battles later. Many people and many wants have flown by and got misplaced in time. Bruised, yet hardened by the world, I have been ripped apart and bits of me have been sewn into everyone around me. Sometimes they talk like me and sometimes they walk like me, yet they will never really be able to leave themselves behind. And that’s saddening.

Today I feel incomplete, yet I am completely in peace with it.

The dull throb

*Bang bang bang bang*

They killed my baby as I looked on

*whack whack*

*thump thump*

They killed my baby before she was even born.

Go ahead, emote!

Run.
My first impulse.
But I stand unmoved.
Cry.
I wish I could.
But there’s no wound to heal.
Hide.
I think I will.
Shrink into the dark corners of my mind.
Scream.
I think I am.
But there isn’t the slightest sound.

Ego

He’s sinking.

Suffocated and disturbed.

Everything seems to pale in comparison.

He does’nt mean to be selfish but he does’nt notice me bleed.

Who will catch me when i fall?

I love him, still.

The Loner

You rush past me in a distorted world with indistinct eyes and a blurry demeanor.

I don’t remember your face and you don’t see mine.

I drive through infinite country roads. Dim burrow’s from destination to destination.

Cacophonous thoughts drown my senses and I realize that I don’t want to know you,

but I have no choice. No choice, because I have made my choices.

Leaning out of the window precariously, I see you toss your head back and laugh.

You don’t feel the bitter steel of the gun on your temple.You choose to be a simpleton and the utter inevitability of your joy weighs on me.

You smile at me.

Empty.

You look into my eyes.

Empty.

We hold hands and lose ourselves in the moment, in our own different ways.

You wonder if I like you and I wonder if I will ever be content.

You talk about your new shoes and exquisite interiors of exclusive studio’s, while I think of village fields flickering with fireflies, dark silhouettes on street corners and the plight the unborn fetus. And we both smile.

We both smile.

We cannot be more different, yet more alike. I have no interest in hearing what you have to say and you don’t want to find out what I’m not saying.

I don’t want to know what you do, but what you ache for. Can you describe the dull pain you suffer as you smile? I want you to tell me where it hurts and if you are fixing it.

I want to feel your passion, be lost in the trance of your fervor. If you were not here with me, where would you be? If you could get anything you want, what would that mean to you? Tell me what it was like when you were a baby. Can I hear your prayer? Can you show me where you buy your masks? Give me hope against the condemned mundane.

Save me.

I contemplate the nature of my curse. I cannot run away from you because you are everywhere I go. In every street corner and every page of my book.You are every man and every woman I meet.

You don’t know me, and I don’t like you.

Quote i came across

I read this quote from teh War of teh Roses by Danny DeVito..

There are two dilemmas that rattle the human skull: How do you hang on to someone who won't stay? And how do you get rid of someone who won't go?

Hmm... Touche!

I know he will be here soon. Out of nippy winter morning, standing at my doorstep with a forlorn look about him.

I wait patiently, curled into a ball on my wheelchair.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

A soft knock on my teak door. Even evil is well-bred.

His hood is midnight black, yet he looks jaded. His cloak is wet to the bone, yet he will not shed it for comfort.

He beckons for me to follow him out. Out into the summer, where the hour stands still.

Finally!

There are tears of joy in my eyes, yet he stands unmoved. I hum the most joyous song with careless pleasure but he cannot hear the melody in my head. He cannot sense the tune played on my throbbing veins.

He was never meant to feel.

My worldly pleasures sit around like dust in an old mansion. I shed my coat along with my handicap and take my last walk.

I turn to him and grin.

“Thank you, I have been waiting.”

He raises his hood and smiles in acknowledgement. Confused, yet amused he follows me, scythe in hand.

Not many welcome death.

He left his thoughts with me. Some incomplete, some unscathed, legacy’s of some kind.

He’s going on his way, in his pocket there’s a smile.

He will wear it at the masquerade tonight.

A Tribute

When I close my eyes, it’s you that I see. Burning like a fabulous roman candle.

You annihilate me. Essentially, my ego.

When you look into my eyes, I feel stripped of all my masks. I know you see through me. See my 20 wasted years in a heartbeat.

Lub-dup.

All the laugh lines… all the scars. Every time I have fallen. Every time I have sewn myself up.

When I close my eyes, it’s you that I see.

I feel fragile, yet it’s not a threat. Drained of all emotions, I just want to sit back and be truly taciturn. Watch your every move and feel every movement of your jugular vein.

The thought of your kiss makes my lip tremble. You faze me like a ripple of sheet-lighting across the mid-summer sky. Or sparks exploding through the stars on a diwali night. Petals scattered in the air or the close of play.

When I close my eyes, it’s you that I see.

Intoxicated by your company, obliterated of all negativity, I sit dazed. A hundred thoughts in a second, a hundred shrieks in a whisper, dancing in frenzy, fighting to break free and encircle you. Yet, curbed in the penitentiary of my mind.

When I close my eyes, it’s you that I see.

These are but mere words, and words can do you no justice.

I want to laugh and cry at the same time, but my mortal emotions can do no justice to what I feel. It is inexplicable, unfathomable love. As wholesome as a mother’s hug, as pure as a baby’s tear.

I want to give myself to you, surrender to the clutch of your hand. Bask in the warmth of your gaze. Your aura submerges me, like a tepid tide gliding on my shivering skin. Holding me in its velvety embrace. Creeping over my body with soft inexorableness crushing my impulse to struggle.

When I close my eyes, it’s you that I see.

As I sit alone, I think of your knowing eyes and beam. It is as mind-boggling and comforting as the scent of wet mud drifting through a lonely sailor’s nostrils when he is far out at sea.

As Elizabeth Browning once said – “How much do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach. “

When I close my eyes, it’s you that I see.

And I’m comforted, and wouldn’t have it any other way.

MINDGAMES

I clutch the wet grills of the window
and look out at the pouring rain.
A million flashing images blind my inward eye,
as they dance like burning flames within me.

I’m trapped,

Curbed in the prisons of my mind

Solitude strikes a match in my soul.
It makes me wonder about my very existence.

About how my mind works and where I am because of it.

So many questions burn my insides;
they speed through the countless tunnels of my mind

Like the erratic flight of a thousand butterflies

Unanswered- they devour me slowly,

Sometimes I’m so sure I have a solution.

The solution, which everyone stands by

Everyone…

Except me

Because my heart speaks otherwise

I am aware of the easy way out.

The rational way out,

But somewhere deep down, there is a dull ache

Because the ways of the heart defy all logic.

And that’s what makes you do otherwise

Makes you do things you can’t explain

And whatever the consequences,

Whatever the price,

The strangest thing is its so satisfying

Intoxicated

Your eyes, I gaze into your abyss.

Enchanting, inviting and delightfully mysterious.

I’m intoxicated.

I’m drinking in your every graceful movement.
The world around is blurry and you’re the only thing I see.

When you walked in, the world stopped and let you float like an angel and settle into your chair.

The way you cross those silky legs and twirl a lock of hair around your index finger has kept my total attention.

You look at me with those alluring brown eyes. Your tender lips curve into the slightest smile.
You meet my gaze and our thoughts entwine.
I wish to caress your delicate body and be lost in those warm, foxy eyes.

I stand up slowly and my knees are wobbly. There are a million tiny butterflies in the pit of my stomach.
You’re still looking at me with that demure look.
Before I know it, I’m being pulled towards you by some great unseen force.

I can’t think straight and I feel like an inconsequential love-sick puppy.

Before I know it, I’m standing in front of you and you’re looking into my eyes searching for what I’m not saying.
There’s a lump in my throat.

Do I dare to express the emotions I feel and the beauty I see, place into words how much you mean to me?

I clear my throat.

”Can I take you’re order, please?”

JUST AN OPINION

You think you’re in love?

Tell me something, have you ever been in love before?

Have you ever locked eyes with a stranger and known that you would spend the rest of your life worshipping her? Did you feel that solid connection which draws you to her like the recoiling of your umbilical cord?

Yeah? You think you have?

Ever felt something so powerful that the moment you laid eyes on that person, you were mesmerized?

That you wanted to lay your useless life before her and serve her until the end of time? Have you ever experienced that mammoth passion speeding through every vein in your body making you a lovesick puppet, who is only too willing to be led around by the nose?

Has it hypnotized you, made you all hazy eyed and brought you down to your weakest and then left you in unknown territory, groveling in the dark?

It has, huh?

Ever felt the searing pain mixed with pleasure where you scraped her name on your arm with that rusty nail u found? Over and over again till there was no skin left to cut?

Have you had long conversations withher in your head all night, but didn’t have the nerve to look at her across the street? Have you whispered that you loved her so many times that people think you’re deranged?

Have you felt like you could give your life up for her, if she could just acknowledge your feelings? And then thought, oh, well, if she refused to, you would shrivel up and die, anyway?

Have you made love to her so many times in your head that you feel like you are just part of one entity?

Have you ever wanted to die every single moment that she wasn’t in front of you because you were so sure that she was the reason for you to be born?

Do you know how it is when you have no defenses? No suit of armor and no plans to overpower heartbreak?

No? Are you sure?

Have you seen the love of your life walk off holding someone else’s hand and felt like your heart were being shredded like a piece of waste paper? Have you loved someone and yet hated them so much that you couldn’t breathe? Have to tried to rationalize your feelings, justify the resentment, deny the guilt and pain, because they were so perfect in your eyes?

Have you drowned yourself in alcohol hoping you would never wake up to go through the same heartache again and yet hoping that you would see them the next day?

Have you cried yourself to sleep so often that you cannot remember the last time you were truly happy?

You haven’t?

Can you even fathom what that is like?

Do you think it’s easy? It’s better to have loved and lost than…blah, whatever? Do you think it works that way?

Do you think there is anything in the world that could cause so much pain? So much pain, that it would eat you away one moment at a time and yet never just kill you and get it over with?

You can’t think of anything? There’s nothing worse, is there?

Should you do that yourself? Do you think I’d be able to see you going through that kind of torture?

I care about you and don’t want to see you get hurt. Please take my advice.

Don’t fall in love.

How do I know?

I ought to.

You see, a long time ago, I fell in love with you.

Tiger

Lush green trees enveloped the place. Withered leaves were flying by nomadically. I could smell the damp mud in the air,and I took a deep breath of the fresh jungle breeze.It hit me like a blast of ice.I let out a pleasant sigh and settled down to observe the breathtaking view before me.

I was sprawled on a rock at the edge of a cliff. All I could see around me was green, green and more green.A typical view of a rainforest interior, in the middle of the rainy season in India. A cascade of sparkling blue water tumbled down ahead.

I stretched my powerful limbs, the kind only a full grown Bengal tiger can possess.

It had been hours since I had eaten and hunger was getting to me.

The faint crunching of leaves suddenly sharpens my mind and I retreat from my position overlooking the jungle. I crouched, careful not to be seen.

A herd of unsuspecting deer were carelessly approaching the waterfall.

I descended the rocks at the speed of light, making the slightest sound.My ravenous eyes spotted my prey, leaping in the water as her mother looks on with pride.It was a female: a little one at that.She was perfect.

My stomach was getting beginning to growl and grow impatient.

The setting sun spread the horizon with an orange glow.

My heart was filled with fervor, as the herd started to move away.

It was definitely now, or never.

I sprang up with a cold determination, and the fear I generated was immense.

As I raced along the speeding herd, I kept my unforgiving eyes on the little fawn.

Her eyes shone with the inborn hostility towards me, as she felt the inception of death.

She tried to run fast on her fragile legs, but she was no match for me. She was soon panting.

I seized the opportunity and closed on my kill.My sharp teeth bore into the succulent fold of her thigh, but she somehow managed to escape my jaws.

Boy, I sure was growing old.

I caught up with the dying fawn once more.Her eyes were a chilly blue, now.

This time I wanted to take no changes.I waited till I was really close to her and then jumped and pushed her down.

I could see that it was her worst premonitions come true.

Her heart was beating rapidly in her tender chest and I could feel her soft fur under me.

I could see that pain seared through her soul.She was a tough one though.She clenched her muscles and shut her eyes tight, while I ripped her flesh with my claws.

It was pitch dark when I retraced my steps.I had reduced the fawn to a pile of bones.

I effortlessly climbed the cliff, with my face streaked with fresh blood.

I lay down on the rock overlooking the falls, once again.

I licked my lips and let out a satisfied sigh, and waited patiently for my next victim.

TULIPS

A single tear meandered down my stained cheek and fell onto the wet mud. I leaned in closer to the grave and gripped the lining of my jacket’s pocket. I don’t like to cry. Grandpa always said that big girls never cried.

Ever since I can remember, it’s just been grandpa and me-his little princess (as he called me).We lived in the villa near the big field. You would know it. It’s the field where tulips bloom every spring. The biggest, most beautiful tulips that you ever saw. Grandpa and I spent hours on the old cane chair on the porch, looking at the tulips sway in the breeze. Sometimes, I would doze off on his lap, and I would wake up hours later, only to find him still staring at the flowers with that faraway look in his eyes and the satisfied smile on his face.

When I was very little, Aunt Anu brought me to grandpa’s villa with my suitcases. She was my mother’s friend and I didn’t like her too much. When I asked her why she had brought me here then, she simply told me that my parents had been killed in a car accident and that from now on I would be staying with my grandfather and that there were no two ways about it. When she told me that then, it didn’t really bother me much. I guess it was only because I was too young to comprehend the consequences and because I was never too attached to my parents as they were always away.

The day we arrived at the villa is still etched in my memory so clearly. I was really nervous when we first knocked on grandpa’s old teak door, not knowing what to expect. When the giant door opened, I saw a jovial silver haired man with a pot belly, staring down at me with twinkling eyes. He took me in his arms and after some small talk, dismissed Aunt Anu with a mere wave of hand.

I felt really insignificant within the walls of the villa. Everything from the stone fireplace to the dusty shelves of books in the study, were so enormous. I refused to talk to grandpa the whole evening and tucked myself in, in silence. Confused and hurting, I cried myself to sleep, while grandpa looked on from the door with a pained and helpless expression.

When I got up the next morning, a deliciously sweet smell took over my senses. I opened my eyes and saw dozens and dozens of tulips. Over the dresser, under the curtains, on the door, there were tulips everywhere. In between the purple blooms was a piece of crumpled yellow paper with a note from grandpa in his neat handwriting. Since that morning, grandpa and I have been inseparable.

Since the last couple of years, grandpa had been really sick and he refused to get medical help. Doctors who diagnosed the cause of his death suspected a weak heart and they said that there was nothing that they could have done to save him.

A few days ago, when I had called him from college he had sounded really bad. He wasn’t his usual cheerful self. That’s when I knew something was terribly wrong. Unfortunately, it was too late when I got back, and he was already gone by then.

It started to rain and I could get the pungent smell of wet mud mixed with the fruity scent of spring. Aunt Anu was honking her Maruti outside the cemetery gates. I stood up and whispered my last goodbye to grandpa and turned around to leave. That's when I saw it.

On the far side of the graveyard, I spotted a burst of purple. Giddy with anticipation, I broke into a run. There, under a big oak tree was a large bouquet of the most beautiful tulips I had ever seen. There were no graves in sight and the whole place was deserted. Yet the flowers looked like they were freshly picked.

Aunt Anu was still honking. I heard a peal of thunder and it was starting to get dark. Surprisingly, I feel like the rain was cleansing me of my pain. I felt for the crinkled yellow note in my pocket which grandpa had written me on my first day in his house, fifteen years ago. “Tulips will bloom every spring for you, princess”

I smiled and headed off towards the car with the bouquet safely tucked under my arm.

Sweet Vengeance

I look into her pleading eyes and feel no sympathy. She is whimpering now, like a little puppy in pain.

I slip my knife deeper into the back of my belt, out of her view.

I didn’t think the day would come when she’d be begging me for mercy.

My laughter rings through my bedroom. The same bedroom where she told me that she hated me.

Over and over. Till it made me sick.

She tries to run, but her torn ankle gives way.

I think of everything, don’t I?
I laugh at her misery.

She’s on the floor now, in tears.
I spit on her.
“You’re pathetic!”
I bend my head sideways and consider her fear of me, for a moment.
Ironic, I think.

She catches a glimpse of the shining silver in my belt and covers her mouth in shock, or is it disgust?
I was never good enough.

Damn.
She spoilt the surprise I had for her.

My patience is running out. I don’t think I can listen to her feeble begging anymore.
I take a quick step forward and raise the knife above her body.
She opens her mouth wide in horror but the screams don’t come out.
Good, finally she's stopped whining.

Goodbye, bitch
My blade plunges deep into her chest and sprays my face with fresh blood.
I lick my lips and taste the thick red liquid on them.

The blood from her veins. The same blood that runs through my body.

I look into the ghostly eyes of my mother.
Immeasurable hate takes over my body and I shudder.

I jerk the knife out of her chest cavity and taste the warm blood again.
I stab her limp body over and over.
I hate you, mother. I hate you so much.

Suddenly, the door opens and she comes in.

“Wasting your time again, you wretched boy? Why don’t you just run away, instead of living off me? I hate you boy. I hate your guts," she spits out in repulsion.

I close my eyes and shut out all the sound around me.
I hate you too, mom.

A lone tear slides down my cheek.

Something Fishy

I always wondered why anyone would want to keep fish as pets. You pay a fortune to get them, dish out some more for a good habitat; you feed them and care for them. And for what? To watch them stare into space and crap in your water. You can’t even pet them and they don’t even seem to acknowledge you. Worst of all, their lives are so fragile that you need to keep checking on their every move. As an avid lover of animals such as dogs, horses and the big cats, fish figured last on my pet wish list. Even the creepy-crawlies beat the water beings on account of being more exciting.

When one of my friend’s who has about a million of ‘those-pets-which-I-couldn’t-care-less-about’ decided that the ideal gift to give me was fish, I decided to just take them home so I wouldn’t hurt his feelings. I figured, dump a few of those colorful balls in the water, get the maid to clean it once in a blue moon and I’m done.

Well what can I say; it was love at first sight. Ringo Star, Mr.Noname, Pico co, and Joy –the big guppies and Eeny, Meeny, Myni and Moe –the little ones became an integral part of my life. Yup! I’m the kind of person who can name just about anything! I have stuffed animals with names which range form tiny mas to cashew, snails called Tic, Tac and Toe, a diary called Miles, a hockey stick called Coll, and so on and so forth. And sometimes, when I can’t come across anything to name, I just make things or people up. (Yeah, I do the “meet-my-imaginary-friend-Joe” scene a lot)

So, anyway, before I stray any further from the story, I brought home the eight fish (of which four were so minuscule, that I had to strain to see them) and put them in a big glass bowl and placed them on the side table beside the wall in my room. They looked so calm and peaceful in the tranquil waters; it was like they totally and blindly trusted me. It was a splendid feeling. Well, anyway, I was wrong. Anxious Mr.Noname, overcome with apprehension, had leaped out of the bowl (To find greater shores no doubt) and landed on the mat. The next morning I found him lying there with his tiny eyes screaming the tragic tale of his end. I said a little prayer and disposed of him in the only rightful and honorable manner to dispose of a deceased fish. I flushed him down the toilet, of course. May his soul rest in peace.

That night, I reduced the level of water and tucked them in. Well, at least it seemed like I tucked them in when they all crept under the piece of coral. The next morning when I went over to give them some breakfast, Ringo Star and Pico co were nowhere in sight. I looked everywhere and I finally found something on the floor about six feet away which faintly resembled a fish’s tail. Firstly, I couldn’t be sure. Secondly, the fish couldn’t have leaped so far and thirdly, there were no cats or any such critters in the house and my pampered German Shepheard wouldn’t even as much as raise a whisker if she doesn’t smell gourmet.

Over the next few days I watched over the bowl like a mother hen. Even mom was not above doubt. Every time someone got to about five feet of the table, I took my eyes off whatever I was doing, and furtively observed their every move until they left the room. I spent the nights consoling the five fish, and assuring them that their blood brothers have moved on and that they shouldn’t be afraid for them. Secretly, I imagined the tiny guppies- sliced and on a spoon about to be swallowed with some rice and curry.

If someone had told me a month before that I would love the fish so much, I would have definitely scoffed at them. I looked forward to seeing them everyday, esp., Joy – the last of the bigger fish. Whenever I peeped into their little world, Joy seemed genuinely happy and looked up at me with a fish-grin and swished his tail real hard. (Or so I imagined)

So, one day when I saw only the four tiny guppies staring up at with their perpetually perplexed expression, I knew something was wrong.

I looked everywhere! Between the pebbles, under the coral, below the bowl, on the dresser, in the cupboards (though I don’t know why) and where not. Joy was nowhere.

When I tell people that it felt like a part of me had died that morning, they laugh it off. But, I kid you not; I had really grown fond of that old critter. There was not even one damn clue in sight. The maid thinks a lizard or something ate the fish, my old grandmother thinks it’s the dog (Yeah Right!) and the weird man down the street calls it black magic. (Yup! I have a big mouth all right.)

I tried solving the mystery but gave up soon after. Now I just watch Eeny, Meeny, Myni and Moe like a hawk as they grow up in safe waters wondering why there’s a mesh on their bowl. (I didn’t want to take chances.)

I swore to them that the bigger fish were in a beautiful fish-heaven type of place and if they take care of themselves and look out for each other, I’ll put them there too. I could swear that they looked excited. Someday, when I think they can handle it, ill tell them the truth. They’ve taken it all so well, the little darlings. I’m sure they’ll grow up to be fine fish and make me proud.

Someday, I strive to find out how my fish disappeared and solve the mystery. Until then, I’ve got bigger fish to fry. (No pun intended)

Pure Evil

Ever since I was a little kid, I always wondered what made adults so morbid, lifeless and extremely boring. Now I knew. It was lectures like these when they were in the sixth grade.

It was only 2:06 pm and there were fifty-three minutes and twenty seven seconds more of Ms.G’s history class I had to sit through.

“YAAAAWN”

Before I could stifle it or blame someone else, Ms.G glowered at me. “WERE YOU YAWNING IN MY CLASS AGAIN YOUNG MASTER JONATHAN?”

What did she think I was doing?

Ballet?

“WERE YOU? ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW!”she demanded in such a shrill voice that I almost thought I saw Linda Pearson’s glasses crack at the edges. I had half a mind to plead guilty and stand proud, but all I did was gawk at her with my best ‘were-you-talking-to-me?’ expression. (No point being heroic and having to explain to the principal)

She scowled at me and ordered me to stand in the corner by the blackboard. It was only so that I would ‘concentrate better’, she added with a chuckle. I grumbled at her dry wit and shuffled out of my seat. This lady was pure evil.

I had tried telling mom one day about what I knew about Ms G (short for an unpronounceable Gera- something) She was exactly the kind who would plot away in her creepy basement on moonlit nights and offer sacrifices and summon spirits to take over the world or something. HONEST! Mom wasn’t convinced, of course. I figured that she had also probably been brainwashed or worse in her school, just like a million other unsuspecting people out there. It was all part of a big conspiracy and all the teachers and even the principal was in on it. I silently vowed to free them all one day.

Well, as soon as I found out how.

Ms. G was a tiny lady, so wrinkled up that you had to strain your eyes to see hers. She thought that she had an incredibly good sense of humor and tried to crack a joke at every possible juncture. She had these ridiculously big flowery prints on every dress she wore (which amounts to about six -one for every school day of the week and one for Sunday mass) She had a monotonous but shrill voice and she carried mysterious color coded files wherever she went (labeled ‘history’, to confuse those who were going to be lab rats for a cruel experiment, I presumed)

And yeah, she was also as old as hell.

I’m not saying that all old people are awful though. There are the kinds who are content with talking to their plants, knitting sweaters and buying socks for random people on the street. Some of them even give candy to kids. I like them. But there are others who will never return a wandered football and keep stuffing you with stale homemade cookies to suck up to your mom when you visit them. Ms. G definitely falls into that category. There’s even a rumor around school that the two high school kids who disappeared last fall had been eating her cookies that afternoon. Oh! She was pure evil, no doubt about that.

As I stood in my self appointed corner with a view of the entire class, I could see how her droning voice affected everyone. My best friends, Toby and Chester’s eyes were hollow like she was sucking the life out of them through some mysterious power in her voice. Barney’s tongue was hanging out the side of his mouth and Tim’s eyes were lolling. Amanda was sweating profusely and Linda’s glasses were actually cracked!

I resolved to get to the bottom of this mystery. She was doing something to my classmates, which made them so eerie. Perhaps she was casting some sort of spell on them or worse; maybe she was doing what she did to Mr. Leonard (her brain damaged neighbor) Hmm…

I was jerked out of my reverie by a loud knock on the door. Mr. Stevens, the eight grade English teacher (also one of them) had a parcel for Ms. G.The rest of the class sat in pin drop silence, just staring at the blackboard or the walls or something, while the two teachers talked in hushed tones. Nobody noticed what was a clearly hastily wrapped package.

Well, nobody except me that is.

She had strategically placed it in such a way over the desk that the open end was facing away from the class. She had in her nervousness, totally overlooked the fact that I was standing there studying her every move. Inconspicuously, I moved to my left and strained my eyes for a better look, preparing for the worst. I half expected a nuclear weapon or Mr. Leonard’s rotten hand or something but I caught the glint of metal against the newspaper wrapping.

Holy guacamole It couldn’t be! But it was!

I was most definitely looking at the barrel of a revolver. Just the kinds that that cops carry, except that this one seemed smaller and sleeker. There was no time to think.This was my chance!

“EEYYAAAAAARRRGGGGHHHH”

With a war cry that seemed to break the spell my classmates were under, I lunged forward and grabbed the gun, shook off the packing, pointed it at Ms. G and backed up to the wall so no one could pull a fast one on me.

“Tell them the truth you monster” I yelled. “Tell them what you did with Bob and Trish last fall, an-an-and” I stuttered, struggling to contain myself “and what you did to poor Mr. Leonard”.

It was getting hard to breathe, “Confess or I swear I’ll shoot”.

Just to prove that I had meant what I said, I pointed the gun at the ceiling, shut my eyes tight, and pulled the trigger. I heard a click, then nothing.

The girls gasped, Sue was in tears, and Ms. G was giving me the evil grin. I should’ve figured it wasn’t loaded. They had thought of everything!

She walked towards me menacingly, coaxing me to give her the weapon in the sweetest ‘lil old lady’ tone that she could manage. I was just too stunned to move but when I thought of how I was the only hope of the millions of people they had got to out there, I decided to run for the door.

Suddenly, something very weird happened. Toby and Chester placed themselves across the doorway and blocked it, laughing in a sinister way like ravenous hyenas. Their eyes were blazing and they looked possessed. Well, that’s the last thing I remember because when I came to my senses I was lying on the floor with my wrists bound behind me and everyone was staring down at me.

Ms. G pressed a rusty switch next to the blackboard to unveil a flight of stairs behind it. (And I had always thought that the switch was a remainder of the stone ages when they had no air conditioning and had to content themselves with ceiling fans!)

As I was escorted down the stairs by Ms. G, Toby and Chester, I could hear a faint sobbing. We were in an old moldy cellar and at the end of it, two figures were lying huddled close to each other. My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I saw that it was mom and dad! They were chained to the ground with such huge shackles that they couldn’t even stand. I saw the fear and bewilderment in my parents’ eyes and realized that they were a total mess.

“Be my guest and make yourself at home because you wont be getting out for a long, long time” Ms. G hissed and followed the two boys back up the staircase. The tears came at last, and through my sobs I heard her wicked laughter ringing through the cellar as she shut the door on us.

“MUWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA”

“Master Jonathan, till now I was under the impression that only cattle could sleep while they are standing. Lets just say you’ve shown the class your roots.”

Ms. G seemed satisfied with her pitiable joke and grinned at me, through the ringing of the three o’ clock bell. I sulked and grabbed my books to head home.

Oh! That lady was pure evil.

Paroxysm of Pain

A pang of icy guilt prods the skin unforgivingly.

Guilt…saturated with denial.

Crawling, scratching, feeding on what’s left of the heart.

Pandemonium – an ocean of mixed feelings,
the confused mind wanders aimlessly through this mortuary,
seeking answers, which no mortal mouth can spell….
so hell bent on self destruction…
Self worth – an eagle shot through his heart,
spinning towards the earth at a blinding speed.
Hurt, which runs deep& precedes bitter tears.
The burning soul… so gruesome indeed….
The flame of the flickering candle,
casts shadows of doom on the wall.
The inexperienced mind fights paradoxes & hallucinations,
dreading the surety of the fall.
An invisible scalpel tears open the heart,

As the scepter lay broken in half on the floor.
The scarlet blood gushes out unstopped,
as vulpine eyes stare blankly out the door.
The night is long, as frightful memories embark,
& a soul more bent, gropes in the dark.
The demeanor cracks, the wound still stings,
the weeping heart craves for what tomorrow brings…

Deductions

I didn't see it until I stepped on it.

Ewwww…

It felt squishy and was so sticky that it felt like my foot was frozen into the ground.

I took an awkward step backward but couldn’t decide how to get my foot out without getting it on my pants.

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww…

I called out to my husband, an analyst for the national intelligence department. Due to the expectations at work, he often thinks that he knows a lot more than he actually does.

He jogged up to me casually and looked at my wide legged position with raised eyebrows.

“What’s up?”

“Dog pooooooooo!,” I squealed miserably.

“Hmmm…” he took a long moment of silence to consider that prospect and then finally challenged, “How can you be sure it is?”

I was getting aggravated with him. Here I was with my foot in unspeakable filth and instead of giving me a helping hand or at the least, a kind word; he was letting the analyst in him take over. He looked at my foot and the shit like it was part of a global conspiracy.

That day I actually saw how my husband works.

He first squinted his vision, bending forward.

“Hmmm… it sure looks like poo”

I rolled my eyes begging him to hurry up.

He got down on one knee and bent close enough to the half-frozen crap to smell it.
”Hmmm… clever… it smells like dog poo too.”

I opened my mouth to say something but he silenced me by lifting his hand.
He looked at my foot suspiciously, in between hums and haws.

He shoved a finger into the faeces and declared, “It feels like poo, too”

As I looked on in sheer resentment, I noticed a glint of madness in his eyes. He looked like he was on the verge of a breakthrough.

That’s when I knew he was going to do something so drastically stupid that it was going to change my opinion of him forever.

He took his finger out and put it in his mouth and sucked on it.

His expression turned from childish joy to utter displeasure.

He looked very disappointed and my heart almost went out to him, until he said,

“Ohhh, it’s dog poo… Thank gawd I didn’t step on it!”

The perfect gift

It’s 11.45pm on the fourteenth of July. In 15 minutes it's going to be her birthday.

I can hear her hoarse steady breathing inside. I shut the door behind me slowly as I leave, careful not to wake her up.
It’s chilly outside.
I should have worn a sweater.

It’s starting to drizzle lightly and the lone streetlight outside our house buzzes.
It throws the shadow of the looming building on the other side of the road across our lawn.

The building is an old thirteen-storied abandoned apartment being torn down. The workers have left their tools scattered among the debris in front of my house.

I curse under my breath and step over them and onto the road.

11.48 pm

I think of how beautiful she looks when she is sleeping.
The dim moonlight dances on her eyelids and her soft pink lips curl into the slightest smile.

Oh, how I love her.
I always have and I always will.


11.50 pm

I haven’t bought her anything.

But then, she'd never be satisfied with what I would’ve chosen for her.

For the last forty years that we’ve been married, she's told me how worthless I am, every time she sees me. She hates me and neglects me and tells me that I make her unhappy.
Every year I give her something special on her birthday, but she can never see it's worth.

I just want to make her happy but I don’t know how. I wish I could get her something that she would really love. Something that would make her so happy that she might actually love me back.

11.52 pm

The rain stings my bare arms like little needles. They dance with delight on my tired shoulders.
I’m soaked but it doesn’t bother me much.
A little water never hurt anyone.

I stroll up and down the deserted street, with my life savings jingling in my pocket. My footsteps make a splash against the rainwater on the tar.
I stop under the light and gaze into my reflection in a puddle next to the sidewalk.

I see an aged, balding man with eyes drained of all life.
Not the man who once wooed the most beautiful woman in town and promised to keep her happy untill he breathed his last.

The water ripples slightly and so does my expression.

When the water settles, I see the same weary face again.

11.58 pm

I stand at the edge of the parapet on the 13th floor. I have a perfect view of my bedroom through the open window of my house on the opposite side of the street. She is still sound asleep.

Will you ever know how much I love you, baby?

12.00 am

My heart feels like it's leaping out of my chest.

It is time.

I close my eyes and jump.

Happy birthday, darling.

I hope this year, you get the perfect gift.

The flaws in perfection

I see you.

You’re standing there in the middle of the room, throwing out high fives and dishing out compliments.

Every eye in the room is on you and you’re well aware of that and revel in the attention.

You sit with your posse at the table they reserved for you and you throw your head back and laugh. All the guys want to be with you and all the girls want to be you. You’re cool, you’re smart and so, so beautiful.

They say that you’re perfect.

I see you but you don’t see me.

I want to be with you too but you don’t know that. I’m in all your classes and make myself appear wherever you are just to wave at you. I’m the guy who parks next to you every day. The guy who’s locker is conveniently next to yours. The guy who picks up your books every single day as they stumble out of your locker filled with photographs of a million happy faces. The guy who follows you home every day and waits patiently on a wobbly branch three stories high, just to get a look at you.

I offer you my seat in class everyday. You always decline politely as you wave and walk away. You just leave me with the memory of you’re dazzling smile.

I love you but you don’t see me.

I see you. You are not perfect.

I see you struggle so hard with your makeup on cold mornings. I see your need for that nicotine rush. I see the fear in your eyes when you look in the mirror. I see you pinching your starved stomach with disgust. I see the hatred inside you. The way you envy those models on TV or you’re friends who have such great lives. I see how your expression curls up. I see you in that fetal position every night, crying yourself to sleep.

You are not beautiful.

They love you because you’re they think you are perfect. I love you for your imperfections.

I see you.

The way you smile like everything’s perfect and you’re so happy.

Don’t smile like that. You don’t need to please them. You don’t need to be perfect.

You can’t hide behind your mask forever.

Remember, I’m watching.

Coming Clean

He watches the flickering lights of the television with feigned interest. His lips are pursed and his jaw is shut tight.

My vision is blurry and I watch him from behind the magazine I grip so firmly, to stop my fingers from trembling.

I feel like I’m falling apart.

He came into my life with his soft brown eyes, curly hair, strong tanned arms and tender caress. A deadly combination for any seventeen year old to ignore. His laughter was fresh and infectious and the very thought of his mischievous grin made me smile.

Just out of a painful relationship, I craved for his broad shoulders and six foot two inch frame to envelope me in unconditional affection. His smile made me fall in love with him and his face lit up so many lonely nights.

It’s ironic, but here I am two years later in the same room with him, and I’ve never felt so alone. We were once strangers who became friends and then, lovers. Now we are strangers again. And all that remains of the past is the fading tattoo of my name on his back, and the photograph of us on his desk.

My body begs silently for his tender touch, once again. I look at him across the room wishing he could hear what I wasn’t saying. The hatred that enveloped me a few minutes ago has been replaced by a deep regret. Regret that bursts through every vein of my body, like raging flood against the closed doors of my soul.

I am being given the worst of punishments – The silent treatment. I don’t know what to say and my defenses crumble.

I want to reach out to him but my body has frozen. Somewhere deep down, I wish he would make the first move.

But he doesn’t.

Suddenly he looks years older than he is. His face is twisted in a painful expression, like the face of a boy who grew up too fast. I knew he was hurting just like me, but he was putting up a brave fight and trying to act like it didn’t really matter to him anymore.

As I watched him in disbelief, a tiny tear trickled down his cheek and he wiped it off in one quick motion, hoping that I hadn’t noticed.

It melted me with emotion so intense that I felt like I was falling to pieces. The thought of his tormented expression and single tear, still haunts me on chilly nights and stops my heart cold.

My knees were trembling but I walked over to him and sat on the stool in front of him. His eyes searched mine for an answer. I knew he was expecting the lame excuses I had carefully rehearsed in my mind and he nodded slowly, as if to say “Go on…”

I had been a debater for school all my life. I opened my mouth to tell him how it wasn’t true. To tell him how unfair life was and how much pressure I had at college and how the world is filled with morons. But that night as I looked into the eyes of the only person I have ever put before myself, all I could manage was a choked “I love you.”

His eyes brimmed with tears and he swallowed hard. Just three little words didn’t seem like enough and didn’t feel right. I summoned all my courage and meeting his gaze again, I added “…and I’m sorry.” It was the first time that I had said that in months, and he knew it.

That’s when the dam burst open and I melted into his body. I wanted to tell him how much I cared and how I would never hurt him again, but he didn’t give me a chance. He held me close and we cried like little kids in each others arms, for all the times that we’ve had to cry alone.

After what seemed like an eternity, he kissed me and smiled. The same smile which made me fall head over heels in love with him, years ago.

That’s when I fell in love with him all over again.

The All Consuming Fear

I open my eyes slowly, almost too afraid to look.

The pen I’ve held on to for so long drops to the floor, with a low thud. On my other hand is a hint of gold. I lower my hands quickly as it brings back too many horrific memories.

I see her behind the glass.

Her long pale legs ache for a warm touch and her raven locks lie limp on her shivering shoulders. She is naked but she feels no shame. I know that she is bleeding but I see no wounds. Her blood red lips quiver with every beat of her heart.

I know that she’s more angry than hurt.

I’m ashamed to look into her eyes because I know that I have let her down.

I promised her a lot of things, wealth, fame and everlasting love. The wealth and fame were easy to bring to her. But, love?

I started to speak.

“I’m…I’m….s-s-sorry, Tsvetana. I…I tried r-r-really hard to make this work.”

I raise my eyes and dare to look into hers. I can feel the uncomfortable lump building up in my throat and the tears pushing at the back of my eyes.

Her eyes are bloodshot red with not a single hint of mercy in them.

She hasn’t moved from her chair since I closed my eyes to shut her out when I first saw her there, days ago. It feels like I have spent half of my life in this room. The hours slip by slower when you clam your eyes shut, in fear.

I stayed in that darkness till I finally gave up all hope of escaping her all-knowing gaze. You see, an atheist has no prayer so we are a doomed lot, anyway.


There’s a sudden flash and the lights go out.

Outside, I can hear the low rumble of thunder like the hungry belly of a sour old man. I squint through the glass separating us to see whether she has moved. She is still sitting there and mocking me with her eyes, but I’m not looking at her anymore.

I’ve found a new reason to be terrified.

I see the glint of silver on the table next to her. I look again, to make sure, because on nights like this, the moon usually enjoys playing these heartless mind games with me.

My worst fear has come true.

She picks up the knife slowly with her left hand and looks at it.

She lets a crystal clear tear fall onto it and slide off.

I turn my face in horror. There’s a storm brewing outside and it's pitch black. The rain slides down the window pane, like tear drops on a scarred face.

The silence whispers,
What have you done to me?

A piercing scream echoes through the house and it seems like everything around has frozen for that one moment. I close my eyes and try hard to think clearly, for one last time. I try to rationalize the anger, justify the resentment, deny the guilt and pain and in the end I know that it doesn't matter. Your heart will never be the same, once the fear has crept in.

I open my eyes and look through the glass.

Tsvetana is dying, but she’s laughing.

Her laughter rings through the room. She gets up from the chair slowly and walks towards the darkness beyond. She looks at me one last time as I sit on my chair on the other side of the mirror.
I hang my head in shame and hide my bleeding wrists.

I close my eyes for one last time.