Literature's Next Frontier


Flamingo

POETRY:

Happy New Year

by Tyler Garrison Quill-red

Happy New Year 2010

 

I’m everybody and so I’m nobody

I’m the unentitled with entitlement issues

The unworthy overly and undeservedly tastefully decorated and least deserving

The ever discontent consumer

Consuming my fill of all that is fine till it induces nausea and is no longer fine, temporary

I’m the pursuit of the unretainable

What human can retain is all a human ought to live for

In our brief presence of life in time there are things we can do to improve our soul

We are not a product of it, instead we impose and instill upon it

Our soul, the one thing that will survive all else that is us

Love will nourish your soul and is retainable

It will enrich your soul, priming it for another life

Your soul will nourish hate, if you let it, at the expense of an eroded, traumatized, brittle soul

This new year,  pursue the retainable

I’m everybody and I’m nobody

I have chosen the path of the fall line

The path of impromptu paving

Through all life styles

As the path unfolds I become me

A product of all

I’m all and you

I’m nobody

 


Posted on: December 13 2011

3 Comments

3.0 / 5

FICTION:

Learning Experience

by Leona Carver Quill-red

 

Mr and Mrs Harris took their family out for a picnic on a warm May day, when the breeze was cool and the sun hot. The children were eager to shake out their winter stiffness and enjoy the young green grass. They romped about on the hillside and ran in and out of the nearby trees.

 

Mrs Harris lay out the blanket and sprawled, basking in the sun. “This was a great idea,” she told her husband.

 

“I thought so.” He carried the picnic basket, the chairs and toys, and everything else a picnic could need. He sat by his wife for a moment and, while their children weren't looking, caressed her affectionately.

 

When the children returned to the blanket, breathless and excited, their father indicated that they could put out all the food for lunch. There were succulent fruits, soft bread, pungent meats and cheeses, crisp vegetables and sweet drinks. They lay it out with a nibble here and there. Then, as a family, they sat together, lowered their heads and prayed.

 

Mr Harris was just finishing grace when the youngest and smallest child, Mila, screamed.

 

It took a moment to discover the cause. When they did, the entire family jumped up and away from the picnic food. A long trail of insects had appeared and was industriously disassembling and carrying off their meal.

 

“Don't worry,” said Mr Harris. “I brought insecticide.” He dug it out of the bundle of other supplies and held it over the marching insects. Then he paused. “You know, I think this could be a good learning experience.”

 

“Oh, darling,” Mrs Harris sighed with exasperation. Everything was a learning experience when it came to her husband. “Is this really the time?”

 

“It's always time to learn,” he assured her. “Cover the food and I'll show the kids where these complex and fascinating creatures come from.” He waved at Mila. “I think it would be good for them not to be afraid.”

 

Mrs Harris knew better than to argue. She began closing up the food while Mr Harris, armed with a shovel and the insecticide, led their children away.

 

They followed the line of insects back to the source; a robust tower at the base of a tree. The tiny black and white creatures carried armfuls of fruit, cheese and meat down into the central hole at the top of the tower.

 

“This is a human colony,” Mr Harris explained wisely. “There can be thousands of workers in there and many queens.” He thrust his shovel deeply into the soft earth and pulled up a chunk of sod. Hundreds of scrambling humans writhed in the sudden gaping hole and fell off of the shovel as Mr Harris threw the dirt away. He dug a few more times and scraped the loose dirt away to reveal many perfectly square chambers full of workers, eggs, food stores and files.

 

“Wow,” breathed some of the children.

 

“Amazing, isn't it?” said Mr Harris. “I used to have a human colony. It was a different species, though. Mine were blue-collar, more industrial and trade workers. These look like office workers. Look at the cubicles and all that paper work.” He used a stick to prod a file room. Loose papers went everywhere.

 

“What's that?” asked one boy child, pointing to a cubicle with long, messy tables and unwanted sweets.

 

“The coffee room. Coffee is what the humans eat and drink to keep them working. The queens make it from the food that they bring. Let's see if we can find one.” He dug through another several inches of cubicle. Finally, he found a large chamber. In it, a gigantic human in a nice suit sat behind a desk. It waved its tiny arms, but was too big to move quickly. Mr Harris got his stick under her and brought her up for the children to all get a good look. “The queen, or CEO, will requisition new workers, the coffee, and everything else the cubicle colony needs. The workers obey her without question.”

 

One of his children, a boy with some issues concerning authority, as Mr Harris was constantly informed by the school system, asked, “What happens to them if they don't obey?”

 

Mr Harris looked very seriously at his son. “They're eaten.” The boy went quiet, his expression disconcerted. Mr Harris smiled at the rest of his children and said, “We can learn a lot from the humans. They work very hard for the sake of their colony. For this reason, humans are one of the most prolific and successful species on earth.”

 

A girl child shook her head. “Not as successful as ants.”

 

“Of course not,” Mr Harris replied jovially.

 

Little Mila, apparently experiencing a change in opinion, pushed through her many siblings and tapped her father's thorax. “Daddy,” she said. “Can I have some?”

 

Mr Harris' feelers waved happily. “Of course, sweetie. I still have my human farm. How about when we get home, we'll order some yuppie humans for you? They're the best looking.” He looked down at the cubicle colony they had found. “Of course, if we're going to finish our picnic, I'll have to get rid of these ones.” He brought up his can of insecticide and sprayed the exposed colony.

 

The hundred Harris children watched the humans die, then went back to their lunch, now free of pests.

 

End


Posted on: November 03 2011

5 Comments

3.0 / 5

FICTION:

Remembering

by Moonfairy Quill-red

Who is that I see?  She looks at me as if she knows me

but I don't recognize her.

She is round-faced with crows feet around

her eyes.  Her dark hair is beginning

to gray here and there.  She has laugh lines and

jowls and her smile is sad but kind.

How does she know me?

Maybe she has seen me with my friends at the

playground, or passed my house and heard me singing

to my dolls.  Perhaps she has even seen me at the grocery store

with my mother.

Wait! She is calling my name.  How does she know it?

I didn't tell her.  I've never seen her before just now.

She wants me to come with her.  No.  I can't.

I'm too busy now.  I still have many years to play with

my dolls.  I still have to share secrets with my friends

and have pillow fights and stay up past my bedtime.

I have to make cookies with my Mom and snuggle under

the covers with my teddy bear when there is a bad storm.

Listen. She is telling me I can't do that anymore.  I have to

give all that up now.  I have to grow up and be responsible

for others.  I can't be silly and carefree.  I have to have dinner

parties instead of slumber parties.  I have to be brave during storms.

She says I don't have a Mom anymore, except in my heart.

I don't like this.  I'm afraid.

But she says I can't be afraid anymore, either.  Maybe she's

not so bad.  Maybe I should go to her.  She seems kind enough.

I don't think she'll hurt me.  I know that, if I go, I can never come

back but I take a step toward her anyway.  It will be allright. 

I can do this.  I'll be brave and I'll be a big girl.

I'm beginning to see something in her eyes that I recognize and I find

it sort of comforting.

With a deep sigh, I wipe away a tear....

and turn away from the mirror.


Posted on: October 26 2011

7 Comments

3.0 / 5

FICTION:

Forever and Never

by Joshua Design Quill-yellow

Doctor: Josh, I'm sorry but if you leave the hospital you will most likely die from the stress.

Josh: I can't stay in here dying like this!  Let me go!  I'm leaving and u…

(Josh vomits in the trashcan.)

(The boy speaks in a weak voice.)

Josh: I have to see her.  I have to go to school one last time. Please let me go.  I'll tell people I snuck out.  Just turn away and we never had this conversation.

Doctor: Why would you want to…

Josh: I'm going to die anyway.  You said yourself I might not make it through the week.
Please let me go. Before my parents get back.

(Long pause)

Doctor: You're in no shape to drive. I'll take you. Can you walk?

(Eyes closed. Completely overcome with exhaustion.)

Josh: Thank you.

(The doctor drives josh to his school and drops him off at the back door.  Josh finds his girlfriend of 5 years in her senior P.E. class.  They sit down alone in the hall.  She is worried and crying.)

Girl: Why are you always so stubborn?

Josh: I'm sorry just please stop crying.  

Girl: How can I stop crying!? You've been in the hospital for months with some freakish disease and now you're going to die!

(Trying to be lighthearted)

Josh: We're all going to die. I just have the privilege of knowing when.

(Josh lays his head on the girl's shoulder while she strokes his head.)

Josh: You know how I said I would love you forever?

(Girl calms down)

Girl: Save your words, baby. You don't have to be sweet right now. I remember ever sweet thing you've ever told me.

(Josh laughs a weak, small laugh.)

Josh: Really baby? Everything? I love you. With all my heart. Promise you won't forget me.

(The girl smiles. A small tear roles off her cheek onto the boy's lips.)

Girl: How could I forget my future husband?

(Pause)

Girl: You're heartbeat is so weak Josh. Are you ok?

(Josh sinks his head lower until he is resting in her lap. He smiles.)

Josh:  You're such a silly girl.

(The girl lifts up josh's head and kisses him. He barely has the energy to kiss back.)

Josh: I love you.

Girl: As I love you.

(Josh falls asleep in the girl's lap. She closes her eyes and sings to him while stroking her fingers through his blond wild, hair.)

Girl:  Hey Josh? I have a question.

(Pause)

Girl: Josh? Wake up baby I need to tell you something.

Girl: Josh!

(The girl shakes Josh and cries in a panic. She feels his heartbeat. She screams in lamentation and the doctor runs through the door.)

Girl: Please help him!

(Pause)

Doctor: He should've died on the car ride up here. This boy really did love you.


Posted on: October 17 2011

2 Comments

3.0 / 5

POETRY:

Best time to kill me.

by vishal Quill-red

The lung is bursting,
And the smoke is out there,
And also this is giving a pain,
I hope which I can always bear.

The wind blowing is taking it,
Away from my lung,
To give me the best feeling of
"A mind without fear".

Kill me if you can,
This is the best time you can have.
Not in the future,
Coz i'll never be so unplanned.

The wind passed away,
is having the toxin of time worth dying for.
Don't know in future,
If my thoughts would be so clear.

The silent wind shouting,
Which used to be cool clear calm,
Give me one another chance.
Well I'll see in future, if i can take your wish as grant.


Posted on: October 02 2011

4 Comments

3.0 / 5

POETRY:

L.O.V.E

by 7845300224 Quill-red

I felt the cold wind on my back,

As i sat there looking at the sky.

How could my colorful world turn black?

And the love in my heart just die?

Love was suppose to be like Spring,

Now why does it feel like winter?

You claimed I was your everything!

I accepted you with your every flaw.

We were suppose to be like the stars,

And shine together side by side.

Why do I feel like I'm behind bars?

I need somewhere to run and hide!

Tears? I never knew them until today,

No reason did I have to cry.

You promised You would keep them away

So love where is my smile?

The warmness in my heart turned cold;

Excuse me, I'm new to this feeling 

It's like I just suddenly grew old,

Why did this happen without warning?

Love you trained me to be selfless,

Was it hard to return the favour?

I guess this was the ultimate test, 

And I must accept my failure.

Everything to me, is new

May I please go back in time?

LOVE! How could you not stay true?

I want everything you said would be mine!

The night is almost over;

Love would you be in my dreams?

Would you be back tomorrow?

Or are things just as they seem?

I cant believe you, this is not right!

But love I hope to see you again.

Until then Goodnight and

Love, you'd always be my friend .


Posted on: November 27 2012

2 Comments

2.0 / 5

POETRY:

Words

by Charlotte Storm Quill-blue

They've become nothing,

Meaningless.

Those squiggly, curved, straight lines

That are the way we can tell without our voices.

Some people,

Some children,

Are fed with love and truth.

But I am fed with words and lies.

Life, Love, Live

Some of the 4-lettered words that are

Lost value,

A sinking ship,

That once sailed fearlessly, worthily,

Flag whipping high.

But words are to me an empty present,

A blank sheet,

A confederate dollar,

A truthful lie,

A ghost and a broken heart.

Worth less than the ink written with

And the paper written on.

Speak the truth,

If you care for me not at all

Write me a note,

With 3 simple words

"I love you."

 


Posted on: August 11 2012

7 Comments

2.0 / 5

FICTION:

Death Chart 19: Gold Dove Trip

by StormCatch02 Quill-yellow

The blast of light and amazing screech came from something nobody expected. A pheonix made purely of raging fire that curled when the creature flapped its wings wooshed above their machine in a second.

But it wasn’t alone, a stone eagle that seemed heavier than an elephant soared through the wind in the same direction as the pheonix.

Last, a flock of little golden doves cooed as they danced in the air. But they didn’t follow the others, they seemed to be hovering right over Jesse, Melissa, and Malcome. It was amazing, how they shone magnificently. It was almost like they didn’t even know!

“Wow,” Muttered Malcome. “that is SO cool.”

Melissa laughed. “That is!”

Their necks were strained from bending up and marveling at the birds. Jesse asked, “Do you think they’re waiting for something?”

It was werid, but Jesse had a point. When the biggest one come down, touch it, Melissa suddenly thought out of the blue.

Another message, Melissa thought, this time actually thinking for herself. She couldn’t stop herself, it just seemed like the correct thing to do. So do it.

When the largest dove swooped down, almost commanded to Melissa’s thought, Melissa sprang up and merely touched one of its feathers. A burst of yellow light and Melissa was upon its back.

She opened her previously closed eyes to see the dove had grown what felt like times twenty!! Jesse and Malcome gasped as Melissa laughed. “Touch one!” She yelled at them between grabbing her stomach and hugging the dove.

Malcome did it without hesitation and was soon mimicing Melissa in joy. Jesse followed suit. As they all looked back, the vending machine swirled uncontrollably through the sky in every direction leving a smoke stack in its trail. Soon it was headed straight for the three of them!

“GO!” They all shouted in unison, and the doves took off. Like a rollwercoaster, same speed and thrill, the whole flock was majestically swinging to and fro. It was amazing!

As scary as it could have been, being up high and being chased by a vending machine, it couldn’t have been more exciting! The doves’ wings made a woosh sound every flap. It was one big sound they all made at once.

Looking around, Melissa was surprised all the doves grew. She also saw that they all left a stream of sparkles behind them. The doves acted almost completely normal, with what seemed like a slight little grin on their faces, happy to see the three of them happy.

As Melissa was playing detective and looking around, Jesse gestured her to look forward by pointing with very believable persistence. Melissa looked over and saw something shocking.

“What. . . IS that!?” She exclaimed.

A golden dome glittered like the doves, but less glamorous, more like a shield would shine, but isn’t really meant to. But the dome looked like it was four stories tall and the diameter (length from one side to the other) was about two miles.

Around it in what looked like an organized line of cottages and scattered people walking around. It was a buzz of a little community.

They flew for a few more minutes until the doves landed them right in the middle of the first line of cottages. People swarmed them.

The doves cooed and left toward the golden dome, but before they could see what happened to the birds, a soothing voice asked, “Excuse me, but what are you doing here?”

Dang, if they had a dime for each time they heard that.


Posted on: July 04 2012

0 Comments

2.0 / 5

POETRY:

Haunted House

by Charlotte Storm Quill-blue

That heart-shaped core inside me

Is nothing short of haunted house

With smashed windows and broken dreams

A door swinging crazily, crookedly in the midst of a storm

On its rusted hinges

If the outside has not frightened thee,

Some have dared to enter

And fall only through the weak floor boards

Or pale at the shadows

The ghosts

Who haunt, wisp, and glide the lonely rooms

Hunting, haunted, for something

That they'll never find,

Innocence, in their haunted minds

In my haunted house.

 

This doesn't feel too great of a poem and if any of you have a great idea or are in the perfect mood to perfect this poem or expand on it, you are certainly welcome to re-write it yourself and post it, and I hope you'll show it to me!


Posted on: July 01 2012

3 Comments

2.0 / 5

POETRY:

Thanksgiving

by Frederick Bridger Quill-yellow

In a stark room they crawl to each other,

Collapse in early morning from passions

That are ready to begin anew, Dress

Each other in demanding imagination,

He in desire’s sway, she

In lipstick and high heels; in spent

Flesh a suggestion of a dance in cool

Dawn.  They collide in sweet agonizing

Tempos, violate damp air

Like hot Latin music. They

Forget nothing about it:  a champagne

Chalice, the sound of leather hot

Across spent and satisfied skin,

Sweet chained pressure across

Breasts fresh and available,

Imploring sobs, wails whose voices

They did not recognize

 

Sometimes they may be stalling: coffee,

Dinner, Amsterdam; he measures

Her but will never know her.  She

Has earned the right to know things

About him.  They collide in a film

That makes crazy lives seem sedate.


Posted on: November 29 2011

2 Comments

2.0 / 5

POETRY:

A 'One More Chance' Text

by Joshua Design Quill-yellow

I wish I could have just one more memory:  To dance with you to my radio in the middle of a backroad with the trees stretching across trying to meet each other;  under the moon and the stars and the dim light of my headlights.  May our hearts beat as one.  And may our song be love.  Forever and ever babe.  Just one last memory together...


Posted on: October 17 2011

4 Comments

2.0 / 5

FICTION:

Masters 14: The Other Girl

by StormCatch02 Quill-yellow

She was right. The sounds HAD stopped. But that’s what scared me.

Now I knew that this thing outside knew that we knew it was there so it stopped. So it wasn’t expecting us to be there. So since it stopped because it knew we were there, but wasn’t expecting us to be there, he probably had this giant chainsaw and wanted to rip us apart!

Or she! Or it! Or all three! Or just two, but that still has a variety different outcomes and I wasn’t in any mood to try and firgure them out.

At that minute I wished I was upstairs when I remembered Jaliet was still there. That colled me off a bit. ONLY one bit!

A long silence grew, telling me we all knew the two things that were going to happen:

A.) We were going to run upstairs and hide or they were going to run and hide.

B.) Somebody would have too much idiot-level-brave brain cells to open the back door and find the other one there.

For some reason I honestly will never find out, Jaliet decided she was going to go with choice ‘B’ and open the door.

Goosebumps trapped me in my skin and spot as she slowly crept with caution towards the door. I was still shocked as she dared to turn the doorknop creating, if possible, even more terror throughout everybody. Inside and outside the door.

I saw her knuckles turn white as she swung open the door to see the bitter darkness tha was outback in the middle of the night. But of course, things aren’t just what you see when there’s a noise outside of a dojo where teenagers, a man, and an old man train to fight with water and rocks.

Never. Ever.

Now that everybody knew a fight was about to occur, the phantom reavealed himself. Well. . .HER self.

Out from the bushes twirled a teenage girl, Jaliet’s age, in all black except for a few accessories. Her black denim jeans were tucked into her calf-high bright red socks. Her dark shirt was the same. At the wrists it was tucked in to wierd red fabric wrapped tightly around her wrists. Her waist had anothers tightly wrapped piece of fabric impeding view of the separation of her pants and shirt. Her brown hair was set in a ponytail using a red scrunchie.

She was one of the red ninja guys, I thought. Except. . .she was a girl!

She snapped her head up, scaring Jaliet, and let us see her beautiful face. Her hazel eyes weren’t like a single pair I’ve seen. Almost orange. Her face was smooth, sharp, and stunning.

Her voice wrapped it all up like a bow. “I thought I was the only hirl who could fight with the Earth.”

For some reason I spoke up, without quivering. “You’re darn right! She. . .she’s awesome!”

And I didn’t need Jaliet to spell out her next move. She stabbed me with her dagger eyes, telling me never to say something like that again.

When Jaliet faced the other girl, the other girl smirked. I kinda got mad that she was so arrogant. I stood up, sending her into a little surprise.

She tried to hide it with her confident voice, but we began to see through it. “You’re insolent. But I’m out numbered.” she looked straight into me, and I began to sink in. “I’m still going to win.”

I clenched my fist and whipped my hair around for a second to get out of the funk. “You shut it.”

I swear, looking back at that, I really should’ve taken that back and not let myself get back-fisted into the gut. By Jaliet.

I chocked a bit and held my stomach. But Jaliet was finished with me, but still wanted to steam off a little. So, as we all knew, she eyed the other girl and slapped her with all her cat-fight power. That send the other girl into a frenzy.

I recovered slowly as the other girl levitated a rocked and threw it at Jaliet with a full surprise to her. Jaliet took the shot in her shoulder and held it, holding back tears.

Seeing Jaliet mad made me want to smack this girl, so I decide to. While she was busy laughing at Jaliet, I took the stone from the ground at threw it at her knee.

She seemed a little confused, and mad, so I took off while she was looking down. I took off outside, speffically to the calender. Out of rage she followed me into the black light.

I knew I couldn’t make it to the calender before the took a swing at me with another rock, so I froze in my place. She ran past me for a second, then she realized I had stopped. But all too late. I already had a ten-pound stone infront of my in the air. And she saw it.

I took a step forward, and she fumbled a bit backwards. Forward, backwards, forward, backwards. She got the hint soon. Her wide eyes told me so.

Suddenly, she got an idea. I could tell because her eyes changed, and were pointed down evilly. She lifted her hands and acted like she was gripping a rock.

I thought she had a big rock behind me, so I looked quickly only to see nothing. She laughed and snatched the rock from me.

“What!?” I yelled. She just tricked me! Is that what they learn from the red guy?

So she ran, and I mean FAST RAN, to the calender. I tried to make roots randomly appear in front of her feet, maybe tripping her, but she always saw them coming.

I thought she would get away when out of nowhere, a vine of water engulfed her ankle, and down she went. Right into the hard ground.


Posted on: July 04 2012

2 Comments

1.0 / 5

POETRY:

Nevermind the Lingo

by William Wakefield Quill-blue

Take a minute to reflect
on the events of the last year
it was all too clear
right out the game
you were about
to celebrate it

But your joy
was false it knew
no bounds they realized it
and they've called
it something new

Hey better get along or
else you'll find yourself
down the roller coaster
Hurting the dreams
that Larry had
about their eggs

But your joyless Falls
Can never have you
you're clinging to a
yKlingons cross
Turn it over wash it out
Smile in the dark

Never mind the lingo
Reminds you of nothing



Posted on: December 20 2014

0 Comments

Not yet rated / 5

NON-FICTION:

Humans and Sadists

by huh? Quill-red

Humans and Sadists

 

A sadist needs to be around people who have flaws he can condemn. He wants to see what is wrong with people. He may get away with it for most of a lifetime because many people can’t identify sadism and because there are willing victims. A sadist can see himself as a helper, even a crusader. If he can diagnose people’s weaknesses well, or if he can theorize well in speech or writing he will “get people to see what he is talking about” and he may be respected for his insights. He may be fine saying that beneath the shameful corruptions he sees people are beautiful.

It’s true that people have flaws… but many of the “fallen” still channel the energy of their spirit regularly.

The sadist is uncomfortable around pure output: there is no ugliness he can point to… spontaneous play not only gives him nothing of the person to criticize, it gives him nothing of them to analyze and categorize. They aren’t saying “who they are” or “what they believe”. They’re not saying “this is what I’m good at, these are my strengths, these are my weaknesses, here is my dark side, this is what I like, this is what I dislike, here is my background, I’m this type of guy.” This is not ok: if someone won’t define themselves, and if what they are doing is too free then the sadist has a problem.

It’s ok if a person doesn’t reveal their sore spot: a sadist can still reinforce that person’s programming with lifeless “pleasant conversation”. But if the target is actively creating and won’t adjust to meet the sadist on his level then the sadist is afraid.

A sadist can give a marvelous description of a flaw. He can say how damaging the flaw is and how much better life would be without it… but this is only a hypothesis… in truth he is afraid of a person who is actually happy: a person living in the state beyond the fight against pain. The sadist’s coursework never goes past the death of weakness. It never spells out a purpose one can have except the fight against evil. If he dared to try imagining a life beyond the fight he’d come up with very little. He might throw the blame to the world and remind himself that one who becomes pure is still living a restricted life in a corrupt society but the fact is he can’t imagine living a good life without perpetual angst  –  and when he sees it being done he is uneasy. He wants that person to come down, feel some shame, get himself arrested perhaps, analyze or criticize or define himself somehow… anything but never stop moving. THOU SHALL SAY “THIS IS HOW I DO” BEFORE AND AFTER ALL THINE DOINGS.

And if a sadist meets a person who is without the fear he lives by he won’t feel joy; he will feel terror more intense than what he would feel if he were trapped on a sinking ship.

 

Healing happens sometimes when I win a battle, but really it happens when I am engrossed enough in what I am doing that I forget to be a sadist to myself: I stop reminding myself of my problems, my worries, my pictures of what I will do… and I exist and am conscious without remembering my past or fantasizing my future or wishing I was better than I am now. Likewise with friendship: let’s stop trying to diagnose each other’s hangups and start discovering what we lost when we all got hung up.

Health is very close. Making it default in the face of fear and programming is probably not easy. Maybe it requires nothing more than being free enough to forget often… but I doubt it. When I break through, the reality of the collective world is altered only somewhat. Doors open in my personal life but the world stage is still there. I can’t exist as if things that are real don’t affect me. A taboo cannot be a prescription for health. A taboo is a lie. Lying to another may or may not be evil: it depends on the circumstance and the motive. Lying to oneself is like drinking poison. Human action is too complex to ever grasp entirely, even when you fundamentally trust your methods of introspection and your memories… but decide to lie to yourself on a whim and you’re on the brink of infinite suffering. One second you’re fine… then: “Oh my God, I remember some of the first ones, but after that I might not have kept strict record. I was trying to feel better. Did I change something and forget that I changed it? Did I “fix” something and tell myself not to remember the fix… or the way it was before?!”

You can get to hell from any point in the universe in 3 seconds flat by lying to yourself.

 

I WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY. TO BE HAPPY YOU MUST WALK A PATH OF YOUR OWN. IF YOUR VISION OF YOUR FUTURE MUST BE “NORMAL” BEFORE IT MUST BE INSPIRING, OR IF YOU ARE GIVING SOMEONE ELSE ANY AMOUNT OF AUTHORITY OVER YOUR PATH YOU ARE THROWING AWAY YOUR SOUL.

YOU CAN CHOOSE BETWEEN RIGHT AND WRONG. YOU CANNOT CHOOSE WRONG BUT DECIDE YOU’LL RETAIN THE MIND, BODY AND SPIRIT OF A MAN WHO IS DEFINED BY HIS WILL.

A BOY DECIDED ONCE TO GIVE IN TO HIS FEAR OF THE FOOLISH JUDGEMENT OF OTHERS. HE MADE A WRONG CHOICE KNOWING IT WAS WRONG. HE TOLD A LIE TO HIMSELF THAT NO ONE ELSE COULD HAVE BELIEVED TO MAKE HIS ACTION APPEAR TO BE DIFFERENT THAN IT ACTUALLY WAS. NOT A SOUL COULDN’T SEE WHAT WAS REALLY THERE, AND HE DIDN’T ACTUALLY FOOL HIMSELF.

HE WISHED THROUGH THE WHOLE THING THAT HE COULD FACE THE DECISION UNMOLESTED BY FEAR. HE WISHED HE COULD FACE THE CHOICE WHERE THE OTHER BOYS COULDN’T SEE. HE WISHED POINTLESSLY FOR PLEASANTRIES OF CIRCUMSTANCE THAT WEREN’T THERE AND FAILED THE CHALLENGE KNOWING CONSCIOUSLY THE CONSEQUENCES OF HIS ACTION.

The boy was me in 3rd grade. I can change nothing. I regret nothing. I am what I am. I am the man who made the wrong choice. I know the fear  –  and I know the lack of self-esteem, maybe the lack of awakeness, that let it become so monstrous.

The fear was very powerful. What I did when I obeyed it was bizarre in its strategic worthlessness. I lied to myself and anyone viewing… but no one watching would have been duped… if any of the scary boys were even paying attention. I knew the nature and significance of the choice and the consequences of each action. If I did right in spite of the fear I would suffer a very brief escalation between my choice and my action, then the fear would die off and be replaced by confidence and elation.

The boy who gave in gave away a piece of himself and institutionalized the fear.

Why did I do it?

  1. I’m a coward
  2. Sometime, before the choice, I was taught that it is better to be weak than to be strong. Why? Out of respect for the weak? Who will they look up to?
  3. Despite all my awareness, some inner weakness allowed me to try to get away with giving in yet not suffering the consequences

Maybe I was weak in a way where I wagered that the consequences of my lie couldn’t be as real as my body. Like I didn’t know that life is not a game. Like “no way“ the event was totally real in its invisible significance. Moments are your playtoys, not your master.

How would I have got like this?

Because my parents never disciplined me?

No. Because I was only ever disciplined by my parents and school teachers: never by nature.

I was not a teacher’s pet: I was in trouble all the time at school and I was typically disobedient at home too.

But when I was “breaking rules” I wasn’t acting evil… usually. Usually I was just doing what I wanted to do despite an adult’s orders to do otherwise. One reason is that I wanted to. Another reason, which is something I still believe, and which I believe already in my earliest memories, is that when a person of authority tells you what to do they typically do not have a good reason for their order. Sometimes they do… it’s not as rare as a four leaf clover… but the standard is that they don’t. They may have a sensible line, such as, “you have to come in now because recess is over and all the other children are coming in and class will resume and the teacher can’t waste the whole class’s time reteaching something you missed.” Logical… well explained… but it’s merely a detail within a framework where adults are telling you what to do…

So question that framework: “why do I have to go to school?”

“The education is valuable to you, and since you do not know what all you need to learn you are unequipped to order your own education. Also, the teacher is there to answer questions. Also you have to: by law.”

Excepting that last thing, that is a rational explanation that actually gives me a reason to attend school. And then… no successful persuasion that a course I am forced to take is beneficial to me will leave me ok with the force thing. Force is real. Force keeps people in prisons; it keeps children in schools and in their homes regardless of their will. (Until the same government that prevented them from leaving home on their own will forces them to leave with or without their consent.)

So I’m in a life where authority figures are usually telling me what to do. Sometimes they are telling me what is best for me… but that’s uncommon… and when you learn to dissect an order upon hearing it you see that behind a sensible sounding reason there is just another unjustified order… and where there’s an order you can almost assume without checking that there is, behind that order, the threat that you will be physically forced if you try to refuse. And since you cannot actually force someone to do anything much beyond have their body in a certain place… since you have to use intimidation to make someone do almost anything… those who disobey are punished.

Punishment comes in various forms. The method to break a rebel which is institutionalized in our society is confine and deprive. Some Native American Tribes practiced torture and mutilation of their enemies and sometimes extended this practice to whites: not just to grown soldiers captured in the heat of battle, but also to innocent white children they captured from settlements. Torture was not always a prelude to death. Sometimes it went on, and on, and on, for years. Whites were rightly appalled. But in the opinions recorded, in the records left by the last generations of these people as they were, you find the same loathing, the same moral contempt, the scorn and near disbelief at the savage, inhuman practice that whites had of taking those deemed wrong by society and putting them in a cage for long periods of time with nothing to do.

And I was trying to tell how maybe my life had created a boy who couldn’t quite buy the unbending ruthlessness of inevitable consequence. Of course the guilt is mine regardless. So 99% of the time someone is telling me to do something there is a threat of physical coercion to back up the order. Which means that if you rebel they’ll threaten you with consequences (things they will do to you if you don’t obey, not cause-and-effect) and if you hold out beyond all threats some parents still practice the old ways but in my life punishment meant losing “privileges” (which were anything I did that I enjoyed) or sitting in “time-out” (which meant I sat in a certain chair facing the wall and didn’t say or do anything). Like a retarded dog that can’t stop trying to chomp the cookie, I’d asked, “Can I get up now?” compulsively even though my parents assured me it only got me more time. Then one time-out I decided to use my brain – I sat silent… and those fuckers left me sitting there for half a day. They were bustling around doing this and that in the same room as me nearly the whole time. I call it. I moisten my lips, “Can I get up now?” And mom was like “Oh. Whoa. Yes you may get up now; Jesus Christ it’s been hours.”

Nature is different. “Nature to be commanded must be obeyed.” Authority also “must be obeyed” but there is no bright side, there is no reward to obeying authority. Sometimes your orders are good and sometimes they are tolerable and sometimes they are torture. And authority insists you obey regardless.

A 22⁰ night in the wilderness with improper gear and an exhausted body is dangerous, and you can take whatever action you can come up with to increase your warmth and survive the night. Whatever you can think of: nature will never reach out and give your wrist a menacing little slap and say “nope… not that way… you believe that that action will help you save yourself… and it is ok that you believe that…but you may not try it.” “Why?” “Because I say so and I’m the boss.” Nature is the boss, but nature doesn’t grant you favor or malice. It’s a necessity for a man to test himself in all sorts of ways, and dealing with the world as it is, which means dealing with people as they are, is not off my list. But I like nature better: the only fear that is valid there is the fear of injurious damage to your body. It’s rational, it isn’t mental illness and it doesn’t come to mind until there is a reason for it too.

Like… if the pack of coyotes you heard far away seems to be coming closer.

Like… a sharp pain on your ankle and you see a certain snake slithering away and you realize you will be more paralyzed than functional within 1½ minutes.

Or what if that snake bit and just after you became sure that that pack of coyotes is interested in you? That would be really bad! You’d almost think there was a conspiracy going on among the animals. But not the way you’d know there was a conspiracy when you crossed an authority figure in society. Then you’d know that nomatter what you were not up against any one man or any group of men but against millions who – despite endless infighting – are resolute in their vow to hold power, and to punish those who dare stand up to their authority: they are less perturbed if their reasons for the specific orders they give are challenged, or if their fairness in uniform enforcement is doubted – but challenge their right to control you and you will be hurt, caged, deprived of money and property which you didn’t steal and which they are taking for themselves without even pretending there is an injured party, aka a victim of your wrongdoing.

And it would still be wrong, but so much less evil, if, whenever you are given an order, you could ask “why” and receive an answer. But that is not something you can expect: try to train all the righteousness out of your voice: you can’t: the question itself is too righteous. You are asking the question assuming that the control-freaks are focused on their agenda: creating Framework A for the school children and modifying Framework B for the business owner. The specific plans are how they waste their hours and the hours of their victims whom they legislate to death. But the motive is control, and more control, and the truth is that most controllers do not have good reasons for the orders they give. The main reason is that they like the power. The more they diminish you the more power they seem to have, so giving a reason doesn’t feel right. They are sadists who want to be as high above you as they can be. And so… “You don’t need to know the reason; what you need to do is what I tell you to do.”

I’m not perfectly in control of my emotions… but I am light-years away from “admitting” that all my anger, my hate, and the growing self-identification that I am at war… I am not going to “admit” that I’m really just mentally ill and dealing with some issues.

There is evil that can be done to you, even if you live without fear of the foolish judgments of others, and I don’t mean by a lone rouge criminal but by the judicial system and the police and the mental health system (a branch of the prison system) and by any worthless snoop who reports your nonviolent activities to the proper authorities.

You do not have to do anything violent to be declared insane. Ben “found himself” and then found himself locked up for it… not because he was violent or accused of violence but because he refused to properly answer questions from police, then judges, then psychiatric evaluators: “What is your name?” “What year do you think this is?” “What year were you born?” He goofed off, he acted himself into the role of “insane”, and the focused concern of the evaluators was flat out bizarre to him because he’d chosen to live without the poison and he transcended so well that he couldn’t quite remember how the sadists functioned. It was awfully silly to him that seemingly fit and properly formed men would wake up at 5am, shave, dress, caffeinate, and, after practicing such discipline, would find their way to a barren room where they sat sober, grave, and attentive to his every word, when he was never a threat to them and didn’t even ever appear to be.

Ben was mistaken… and this is why I don’t just drop my identity as a warrior against evil and be happy to the point where I incessantly forget knowledge of the world I’ve lived in. Ben abandoned the fear of other’s foolish judgment totally, and he didn’t want to corrupt his new holiness with what seemed like old evil, but he forgot that the fear of shame and the fear of physical harm are not the same thing, and he IS a threat to a political structure that is based on authority and the psychic structure beneath it that is based on fear. He felt free; he was truly happy for four days there. And now some guy with a piece of paper is telling him that he will be up for reevaluation in 6 months and that that time must be spent in bla bla State mental institution.

Very sad; very real.

I’ve often heard the question “Is it moral to use violence in self-defense?”

Less often have I heard the parallel question “Is it moral to lie in self-defense?”

My answer: the good people in this world need to know that it is only the evil within themselves that they must refute. It is not then that you are supposed to “be yourself” in front of the nearest Nazi.

It’s no hypothetical question. You are going to need to lie in many of the same situations in which you needed to lie before. You never had to lie to yourself; but when you lied to others wasn’t real self-protection sometimes involved?

In order to justify lying, do you need to know – when dealing with a certain person in a certain situation – that there is a risk of physical damage to your body and not just an emotional push towards shame? No. It’s always better to understand the situation, but no. The person who “only” wants to cripple you psychically is evil as shit for it and your new mission as a healthy being is to deal with such people in the way that is best for you.

You are not supposed to listen to sadists’ attempts and you are not supposed to ‘hide nothing’ from them. A person doing so is either still drawn towards the abusive energy connections of Sadists or he is trying to prove to himself that God loves him now and He will save him even when he throws himself at the mercy of danger he is finally equipped to avoid. This is not a good idea. God didn’t give you a brain so that you could not use it.

Now clear your mind of Sadist stuff… mostly. You need to let go… as much as possible.

Or ignore this sourpuss: run down the street with your shirt off declaring world peace, knowing without a doubt that every person who hears you is your guardian and feels what you feel.

They are sharing your joy: in the deep uncorrupted regions of their souls they truly are… but on the surface the sadists are calling the cops. When you heal your mind you open up parts of existence that were not yours to enter before, but you don’t completely transcend evil society in this life.

So, how to handle sadists? Now that you are not adding confusion and complexity to an already complex world, sadists are simply an element of nature. When you’re not in default membership in the net of fear sadists are people of harmful intention and it’s not a big metaphysical confusion anymore.

You will want to relate to people around you as if they are not evil parasites, and this is not impossible sometimes. But you should keep your protection, out of love for yourself, every time. Never throw it away for a whisper of a chance of love and understanding. Someone who looks inches away from a breakthrough IS inches away from it. So were you… for how many years? I do not feel inspiring warning away like this but ‘a feeling of loss’ is nothing compared to a jail sentence or a taste of involuntary mental-health treatment.

 

So… my mother was very protective of me in my childhood. I probably never experienced a survival challenge. The only “you shoulds” I ever heard came from authority figures, and I had diagnosed them and condemned them, and I knew the only reason “I should” do something that I was disinclined to do was to avoid their punishment. Then I was 9 and I was influenced very strongly by the invisible pressure to conform, and Fear patrolled the line between appeasement and selfhood.

The choice I failed was the first significant moral choice I ever made. Moral choices are right or wrong by human nature and are comprehensible and solid in a way that choices one makes when dealing with authority figures never are. Again, it was all my choice and it’s all my fault, but I don’t understand why I wasn’t up to doing right, and it’s possible that a little life experience with the fact of my mortality would have helped: not “breath in your fears Bruce” nightmare-busting war-games or anything so marvelous…  but maybe a day of my life spent alone in the woods with nobody knowing where I was, so, if some sound frightened me, I’d realize that if it was a threat I would have to face it by myself.

 

And what is it that sadists do not want you to do? Face things yourself. Because if you can face things yourself you don’t need other people for survival you want them for pleasure. Humans want to be wanted but not needed; sadists want to be needed but not wanted.

When humans rule you get freedom. Why? Because you can handle it.

When sadists rule you get mandates. Why? Because you need them. You’re not worthy.

 

Today in America

You need to send your children to certain schools to learn certain things. You’re incompetent to decide what they need to learn or how to teach them. P.S. Your kids are likewise incompetent to choose the direction of their education until they are 18.

You need certain treatment/medicine for your illnesses. Only what we allow: you might hurt your dumb self otherwise. We are competent to do the research and make the judgments; you are not. P.S. You need health insurance. You may not want to pay for it but if you got badly sick or injured you would lose more money on medical bills. You’re not competent to wager on the odds as you see them.

You may not do drugs for pleasure. You may do certain drugs (with special permission) if and only if you need them for alleviation of a malaise.

You must build your dwelling according to our building codes. If we let you just build what you wanted shit might not work or the house might fall down.

 

The individual is being protected from reality. Of course he might hurt his dumb self without the safety nets, but what horrifies me is the emaciated, scarless, disconnected products of the mentality that worships safety over wisdom. One who has obeyed instructions – instructions which he did not discover or choose – instead of learning by success and error is not a human but merely a masochist. A human is conditioned to live on earth; a masochist can only operate within the sadist’s framework.

Humans don’t tell other humans how to live. I’m at odds with the morals of the voting public for, above all else, the sentencing or fining of people who have, by any proper evaluation, committed no crime. A “crime” requires an injured party.

Who is the injured party when you educate your children how you see fit? Your children might be.

Who is the injured party when you choose an unpermitted medical treatment? You might be.

Who is the injured party when you get high? You or others might be.

Who is the injured party when you build your own house? You, your family, and/or any guests might be.

Who is the injured party when Ben sings Yankee Doodle when asked what year he was born? The people he may do harm to in the future? So, no one yet, but there’s a victim hypothetically possibly? Sadists do not fear physical harm to their bodies; they fear independent humans who refuse the fear-shame energy connection. It took 9/11 to get America to swallow “preventative war” against Iraq but all it takes to declare preventative war against Ben is the fear that he won’t stop goofing off, and won’t feel stupid or sinful doing what is only harmless play.

Ben could have done better for himself without coming down from cloud 9. He ought to have put on his ‘normal fellow’ mask instead of his clown mask. It’s only a mask.

My friend John also fell head-over-heals-in-love with what he was doing and fought the monster head-on when he should have camouflaged today and lived free tomorrow.

John bought 40 acres of land in a very rural area. He camped out, living out of a big tent with a shanty carport next to it. His plan was to live out of this setup while working on the real structure. But the state or county code inspectors somehow got wind that some antisocial renegade was living on his own property and doing things without asking first.

 

In the first half of America’s history, a building-code inspector showing up at the site of the construction of a rural, private dwelling would be unheard of. And the greeting he received would not be from a meek, obedient victim; it wouldn’t even be from a man who had any interest in compromise. Semblance of such virtue is still found in the more “backwards” counties of this nation. Back in the day, a bureaucrat who showed up on private property would be greeted the moment he was seen and asked his business. If there was a party who had to work his way past some fear at this point it was the better dressed one.

Imagine if the inspector told the homesteader that a new law had been passed and that all new residences in the state had to meet a certain checklist of criteria and that residences under construction are to be exempted unless it is the observation of the visiting inspector that “progress on the dwelling had not at the time of initial inspection progressed to an extent or in a way that modification to conform to new standards would place undue hardship on the prospective residents”. And the inspector tells the man that it is his estimation that the work done so far is such that modification would not be much of a burden at all…

The builder will have seen that this man has bathed recently and that he has a thin gold chain dangling from his front pocket where a gold pocket watch presumably resides… and he will realize that this man is on a government salary.

There are many possible futures here, but I like the one where the inspector gets shot without a further word.

 

The property boundary is not a perimeter within which an owner can do absolutely anything: if he acts within and his action harms someone else then there is an injured party. But who is the injured party if a rule is broken but no human is injured?! Look at the heading on the case of a building code violation: The State of California vs. Guy Who Builds His Own Way. It’s a sham. Sadist control-freaks want Guy’s money and don’t want him to succeed unless he’s indebted to their directive control.

 

John, who is on his own 40 acres of land which he bought 2 weeks ago, is working on excavating and grading to prepare the land for the foundation of a small house. He bought the land fair and square with the majority of his savings plus that much again in borrowed money. The loan is through an associate, not a bank; the interest is steep, but the monthly payments are low. He had $2000 savings left when the land became his.

Excavating with a shovel and a hoe would have worked if the soil stayed soft, but when it became rocky 6” down he realized it wasn’t going to happen here with hand tools… he’d have to rent a miniature bulldozer, skid-steer loader… whatever was right… he’d never done these things before… he’d ask questions at the hardware store. He’d probably get a funny look there: “I’m going to dig for a foundation for my new house. What tool should I use?”… ya… probably he’d say “a shed next to my house”

Then he realizes that the tiny heavy equipment he’d be looking at renting would not handle what was probably damn near solid rock another 6” down.

The next day at 1:00pm John is driving a minidozer moving dirt around in a different location. The plans he had for the 1st spot are out, and the new plans for a new spot which he drew out last night are in. He staked out the spot, and then he was off to town to rent a machine he knew nothing about except that it’s used for grading. The spot he picked is somewhat of a flat, low spot; it’s not like it’s a crevice he’s going to build in, but as he uses his toy he sees that in a heavy rain there will be a lot of water coming down that slope, and it will largely end up here and if it rains hard and the ground gets saturated this spot could be a puddle. He decides that he’s doing a task and he will worry about the next one next. Then he forces himself to stop, turn off the machine, sit still and think through a solution to the drainage problem so as to be sure he doesn’t need to modify the shape or location of the foundation. He is sure right away. But he focuses, relaxes, mentally reviews the solution… and is still sure. He starts the minidozer and resumes…

Now it is obvious that John is severely mentally ill. The California State Building Code Inspectors are going to pay John a visit and stop this madness. There is more than a little something wrong with a man who just “goes out and builds a house” – as if the building professions are trying to keep him down. He has no experience in construction of any kind. His “house” is going to have no electricity. What’s he going to use for lighting at night?

“He says ‘a cliplight’ which is this thing you use to read a book. You clip it on and the neck swivels so you can point the light at the page. He said ‘that was for starters’”

“Except that he has no house yet.”

“Right. And I wanted to talk to him some more and he said he didn’t want to talk to me, got kind of emotional, walked off and sat by himself; and then he walked back. Karen was there taking photos. He comes up to me and says, “Could I talk to you in private for a minute?” And I look at Karen and she just shrugs and I say “ok” and we walk off a few paces and I say “Stop. What do you want to talk to me about?” And I hadn’t actually looked at his eyes until right then and he looked… just… off.”

“Ready to wring your neck?”

“At least. He never really looks at me. He says, “I’ll give you $700 if you let this go”

“Whoa”

“I said, ‘you just committed a felony, and whether or not I want to report you I have to because I get to lose my job if I don’t.’”

“Yep.”

“So I call up the sheriff and I tell him what happened and he shows up and arrests him.”

“How’d you end up there in the first place?”

“CHP chopper called it in. He didn’t know if it was a problem or not but he thought maybe the guy was prospecting on someone else’s property. So we cruise up there and we finally find dude and I scream at him until he hears me, and he looks up like “oh… people” and I make a motion for him to turn off the machine. And I ask him, “Are you the owner of this property?” He says, “Yes.” I ask, “Do you have a building permit?” He takes about 3 seconds… “No.” “Do you have a perc and mantle?” “No.” “Do you have anything?” He says “I have a title.”

“ha ha ha ha”

“I say ‘ok, there’s a problem here’. And as I’m going over it with him I look at the landscape where he was digging and basically all the water that comes down this whole hillside ends up right there, so rain and snowmelt would have done him in there anyway.”

John got a one year prison sentence. His land went to his creditor, who sold it. He lost all his possessions to weather and looters. As he slept, the hardware store prepared paperwork for a $20,000 suit against him for their lost machine. He had no meaningful conversation with anyone for a year. He was raped only once and he contracted HIV. He never had sex again, except once with a whore when he was near blackout drunk.

Anyone who thinks John deserves it because he ignored the rules and tried to bribe a government agent deserves death.

Notice how John and Ben committed the same crime? They fell in love with what they were doing. That is what healing is… and the injured party is every miserable sadist who needed company.

 

“Blame the other” thinking gets us to: “John and Ben were victims of sadists. Sadists are bad and we should hate them.” Nobody alive has never been abused, and nobody who’s been abused fails to seethe over their grievances… but what separates the men from the boys (and the humans from the sadists) is how fast and how honestly one gets off analyzing others’ injustices and onto diagnosing self’s vulnerability… and then onto modifying self to be less vulnerable… and then off war-thought and back to living the good life, only with better protective-mechanisms in place for the next round. It’s all just evolution.

John and Ben were also victims of themselves. Naivety was a major weakness for both of them: spiritually/socially they were virgins: the cloud 9 exaltation they possess when they’re introduced herein is in contrast to lives they lived like shadows. Then they broke through momentarily, and they acted like they were invincible, when in fact they were merely healthy. In a terribly significant way they were still sadists themselves. Ben needed other people to see that he wasn’t afraid of them; he was showing off how he couldn’t be made to bow. He needed attention. John knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that offering that man $700 was a poor tactic if he wanted to keep his land and his freedom. What made him try the bribe? $700 was ALL he had. He was passionate about his project like he’d never been about anything, and he felt that by offering everything he would display that passion to the other man who would sympathize. The desire for recognition is very close to the desire for brotherhood… and John wanted to be seen as he was just as badly as he wanted to build his house. John and Ben needed love and respect. They sought it from those least likely to give it because they didn’t truly love and respect themselves. They drew their antagonists into their private realities. They were playing the sadists’ game the whole time; they were addicted to the conflict. They knew no other existence. They refused to wear their masks precisely when they would have gained by wearing them.

People become sadists when they dwell in victimhood. People become humans when they see themselves. Humans blame themselves. “Don’t get mad; get even.” Getting even doesn’t mean doing harm equivalent to the harm that was done to you. It means getting back what was taken from you: serenity, confidence, joy, wealth, power.

“Power” to a sadist means “power over other people.”

To a human it means “power over oneself; and the power to keep others from having power over oneself”

 

I’ve been a sadist in this life. I’m not an outside observer. I lived it to know it. I’ve been a human too. I talk more here about what sadists do than about what humans do, and that hints that I’m still too involved, but I lived it to know it to write it down, so of course I had to be close to it. People don’t need an explanation of how to be human. Humans find it. Also, this is an essay intended for distribution, so narcs could read it. Besides my friends who share my adventures, other people don’t need to know what I do.

 

By Wesley Leonard   ©2014

 


Posted on: December 19 2014

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POETRY:

A Ride

by Anthony Perkins Quill-red

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Posted on: December 17 2014

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POETRY:

Reunited

by Anthony Perkins Quill-red

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Posted on: December 17 2014

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POETRY:

Friend

by Anthony Perkins Quill-red

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Posted on: December 17 2014

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POETRY:

Hallway

by Anthony Perkins Quill-red

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Posted on: December 17 2014

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NON-FICTION:

Burning Lady

by Anthony Perkins Quill-red

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Posted on: December 17 2014

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POETRY:

The Shovel

by Anthony Perkins Quill-red

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Posted on: December 16 2014

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POETRY:

Was I Born....

by Anthony Perkins Quill-red

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Posted on: December 16 2014

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FICTION:

The Night a Mountain Fell.

by judylady2000 Quill-red

 


It’s a warm summer night near the Madison River. The canyon you’re in was a bright green, the indigenous trees swaying softly in the slight breeze. The Madison River was a bright blue, with the occasional Rainbow Trout jumping out and catching a fly in its mouth. You’re currently sleeping in an undersized tent in Rock Creek Campground with thirty or so other campers. It was August 17, 1959. It was nearing September faster than some had anticipated, and being that Montana tended to be a hot spot for vacationers, they didn’t want to be here when the snow started to fall, because when the snow starts to fall, it doesn’t seem to stop until April or May. So, all of the vacationers wanted to get in one more camping trip, fishing trip, or hunting trip before it got too cold or started to snow. (Well, everyone except the locals. They were use to the snow.)

After enjoying a warm meal of trout you caught a few hours earlier, you decided it was time to turn in for the night. Around you, you hear the other campers laughing and conversing. You silently wish that you had brought a friend along. Although you enjoy being out in nature by yourself, it was nice to have a friend with you sometimes. After a few seconds of hearing everyone, you decided that it really was time to go to bed. You go to your campsite and crawl in, falling asleep almost instantly.

Around 11:37 P.M. sudden loud noises wake you up from your deep sleep. Groggily, you look around, trying to gain your bearings. It takes you a second to remember that you’re in a tent camping. In your defense, though, it was hard to figure out where you were due to the darkness… oh, and the constant movement of the ground, which in turn made your tent more mobile than it was supposed to be. Suddenly, it hits you. You’re in an earthquake! Having never been in one, you attempt to stand and get out but the tent (and ground) is thrashing so wildly you can’t.

You don’t know this yet, but the earthquake will trigger a landslide. You don’t know this yet, but the landslide will dam the Madison river. You don’t know this yet, but the landslide kills twenty-eight people. You don’t know this yet, but you’ll be one of the twenty-eight.

Suddenly, the ground stops shaking. Slowly, you stand up, stumbling a bit because your legs feel like jelly. After you think you’re safe, you hear a growl-like sound coming from… well, everywhere. Thunder? You instantly think, but shake your head. You had checked the weather before you left, and it had said that it was only supposed to be warm, not getting over eighty degrees. Abruptly, the ground starts to rumble again and you instantly think: the quake isn’t over?!

Thinking fast, you jump out of the tent before the ground traps you in it again. Looking around, you see that some of the beautiful forestry had been uprooted. It was messy! The river looked like it could possibly heave out a tsunami. Being that it was nearly pitch black out, you couldn’t have noticed the enormous scarps around the campground. You look around, thinking that being under a tree would be the safest. (Remember, you’ve never been in an earthquake, so you don’t really know what to do.) You run towards one, a Ponderosa pine, (the state tree, you randomly remember) but see something out of the corner of your eye. Without thinking, you turn towards it and freeze. All you see is a wall of black before it enfulges you, killing you almost instantly. The dark enters your nose, ears, and any other openings in your body before it snaps your neck from the weight of it. A second before the sickening crack of your neck, you find out that the dark isn’t just dark. It was earth.

The earthquake itself was up to a magnitude of 7.5 on the Richter Scale. After the earthquake hit, there were aftershocks up to a magnitude of 6.5. The landslide you’re currently buried under was the most devastating result of the earthquake. The landslide was also half of a mountain. Due to the landslide, it dammed the river and made what is now known today as Quake Lake. Quake lake is one hundred and ninety feet deep and six miles long. The earthquake hit at 11:37 P.M.; you died at 11:39 P.M.

This is dedicated to all who died or had loved ones die due to the devastating earthquake that hit on August 17, 1959 at 11:37 P.M. near the Madison River in Montana.


Resources

No specific author. UUSS. N/A. N/A. University of Utah Seismograph Stations. 11 November 2014. <http://www.seis.utah.edu/lqthreat/nehrp_htm/1959hebg/c1959he1.sthml>


No specific author. Wikipedia. 11 September 2014. N/A. Wikipedia 11 November 2014. <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quake_Lake>

 

 

 

 

***We had to write a worst-case scenario for English class. It didn't have to be based on something true, but since I'm from that part of Montana, I decided it'd be a good pick for myself. Please read and tell me your thoughts and ideas on what could make this better. I'm far from aperfect writer. Thank you all for your feedback!

 


Posted on: December 07 2014

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FICTION:

Dead Man's Land Chapter 1

by Danielle Jackson Quill-red

 

      "C'mon, Em! You gotta swing faster than that!" Eric mocked as I swung the machete towards the wooden target's head. I huffed. "Don't see you doing any of this!" I yelled, pushing the strand of honey gold hair out of my eyes as I pulled the blade out of the wooden circle. He laughed. "I don't need the practice." He says, crossing his arms." All right, let's take a break." He says as I put my weapon back into its sheath that was attached to my belt. I walk up the steps and onto the porch. I sat down in the old lawn chair and stared out into the sun. It was so calm and peaceful. "Times like this make you forget?" Eric asks. I shake my head. "I can never forget." I say softly, my light green eyes now looking at my shoes.

      Eric put a hand on my shoulder. "You wanna talk about it?" he asks. I brush away his hand and stand. "No. Can I be excused to my room?" I ask. He nods. "You may." He replies as I head into the house and climb the stairway to my room. I go into my room and shut the door. I take out a photograph out of the drawer. "Hey, mom. Hey, dad." I say to the picture. I looked at the calendar. "Two more weeks until the fifteenth anniversary of The Fall." I say. The Fall is what everyone is calling the night when the dead rose, and when my parents were tore apart by those monsters. Eric found me soon after, huddled under an abandoned truck. He took me in, taught me how to defend myself, and became sort of a father figure to me.

       I sigh and fold the picture up before placing it into my shirt pocket. I jog down the stairs and saw Eric in the kitchen, preparing supper. "What caused The Fall?" I ask, approaching the table. He sighs. "Emily, every year you ask me this and I give you the same answer. I don't know." He says, his dark blue eyes looking at me with what looked like pity. I slam my palms down on the wood. "Shouldn't someone on this forsaken world know?! I mean, it almost took out all of humanity!" I yell. Eric shushed me. "Look, I get it. You want answers, I do too. Truth is, we may never know. "He says, running a hand through his black hair that had started to turn grey. "But-"I began. "Until then, the only thing we can do is survive. Alright?" he asks. I nod in defeat. "Good. Now, how about you do me a favor?" He says as he gets a pen and a piece of paper. "You're always having me do favors." I say, laughing. He chuckles.

      "Because you're good at them!" he says as we both share a laugh. He began to write down a list. "I need you to go down to Carol's market and get some groceries." He says as I groan. "Oh, stop complaining! You used to love going there!" he smiles as he hands me the page. I laugh. "Only because she used to give me extra candy and let me ride the mechanical horse!" I say. "Then it'll be just like old times." He says as I head for the door. I smile as I open the door and head down the street.

      We live in a little settlement called Wellspring. There are a lot of empty houses, some stores, and even a school that I attend. Luckily, it's summer. So, I don't have to worry about homework or projects. You could forget about what happened but there's that one thing that always makes you remember. The gate. It's a huge, tall fence that looks like it could reach the clouds. They have guards at the top patrolling at all times. As if the barb wire wasn't enough. I looked out into the deserted land..

     "Emily!" a voice called out. I turned my head to the sound and smiled widely. "Lizzie!" I say happily as we hug each other. Lizzie and her parents arrived here just as Eric brought me back here. We instantly bonded. "What's your mom going to think about you running off?" I joke as she playfully punched me in the shoulder. "They don't care. They're just going over to Mike's repair shop. Dad's gun broke again." She says, putting her red hair up into a messy ponytail. "You wanna walk with me to Carol's? Eric told me to pick up some things for him." I say. She shrugs. "Why not? I got nothing better to do anyway." She says, following me.

      We reached the store and pulled the screen door open. We entered and I pulled out the shopping list. "Why, if it isn't Emily Brooks!" an old woman says. I laugh. "Hey, Carol." I say. She saw the paper and shook her head. "Is Eric making you his errand girl?" she says as Lizzie giggles. I roll my eyes. "No, Carol. He's just busy with everything, you know?" I say as I pick up a basket and start gathering what I need. "I guess so. "She says as I finish getting supplies and walk up to the cash register. She rings me up and I see the old horse near the window. Carol noticed my stare and laughed. "You used to love that thing when you were young! "she says, laughing. I laugh along with her. "Yeah, and you spoiled me." I say. She shrugs as she hands me my bag. I pull out my wallet and pay for the things.

     "You girls have a good day now, you hear?" she says. We laugh. "Yes, ma'am." Lizzie says as we exit and start heading back to my house, bags in one of my hands. I look back out behind the fence. "You ever wanted to see what's all out there?" I ask. "In Dead Man's Land?! No way!" she exclaims. "Why, do you?" She asks, her hazel eyes studying me. I remain quiet. "You do, don't you! Emily, do you know what's out there!" she says, grabbing my shoulders and slightly shaking me. "Yeah, bandits and the Fallen." I say calmly. I then chuckled. Lizzie looked at me, confused. "Wait, why are you laughing?" she asks.

     "We call them the Fallen when they're doing the exact opposite." I state. Lizzie pondered on my words. She then gave a slight laugh. "Yeah, ironic, isn't it." She says. "Won't be too long until we're eighteen." Lizzie says softly. I nod. "So, what are you and Eric going to do on the anniversary of The Fall?" Lizzie asked carefully. I sigh as I take the photo out. "Light a candle for mom and dad, moment of silence, all of that kind of stuff." I say sadly. She wrapped an arm around my shoulder. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up." She apologizes. I look at her. "It's fine. I'm used to it." I say. "Can I see?" she asks, pointing at the picture. "Sure. Just be careful with it, alright?" I ask. She nods. "Of course!" she says as I hand it over.

     "Wow, you have a little of both of your parents." Lizzie says as she examines the old photo. "Yeah, my mom's hair and dad's eyes." I say as she hands it back to me. I carefully fold it and place it safely into my pocket. Suddenly, the loudspeaker came to life. "Attention, curfew will begin in one hour. All residents must be in their houses. Citizens who aren't will be dealt with appropriately. "Mayor Williams voice said. Lizzie sighed. "Seventeen years and I still can't get used to this." She says. I shake my head. "I'm not sure if I want to." I say as we approach my door. "Well, I better head home before my parents start hunting me." She says as she begins to jog away. I chuckle as I entered the house, shut the door, and locked the doorknob.

 


Posted on: November 30 2014

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Not yet rated / 5

FICTION:

143.

by Kim Quill-red

Before I post the story, I would like to tell you all that it has its roots in India. The setting of this short story is the Purandar Fort in Maharashtra, India. I had written this short tory for a competition. So yeah, hope you don't hate this first attempt of mine! Thanks for reading! PROLOGUE: I had always loved Ritika from afar. The way her brown hair cascaded below her shoulders in perfect curls, her dark brown doe-like eyes always taking in the world with winged liner on them, her secret infinity tattoo on the nape of her neck and her million-dollar smile, oh, it could light up my world! She was ethereal, in every sense. And as her best friend, I could do nothing but hear her recount how she had enjoyed one of her many dates. It was a surprise how she didn't feel the hate emanating from me towards the featured man in her anecdotes. She always said that she was still waiting for her Mr. Right though. She believed that by dating so many men, she was sending across vibes to her one to come and get her already. Ah, how I wish I could wring this faceless Mr. Right's neck. All in all, I was Apollo and she the Daphne I couldn't have. Today, waiting for her to come on our 5th date feels like a dream. I wouldn't have dreamed of having the pleasure of her company, all for myself until two months ago. But, that day at Purandar changed everything... --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER-1 I remember how excited Ritika was on her birthday. She had her hair down as usual, to hide her infinity tattoo and had worn a simple saree, but she looked like a million bucks in it. Her usually beautiful smile was somehow even more so. 'Damn, snap out of it. You are never going to have her.' I admonished myself and tried to concentrate on the Sinhagad piece that was to be handed over to our boss, Ms. Verma today itself. She wasn't exactly like Miranda in the Devil Wears Prada, but I liked to be punctual. And she was usually fond of me and even favoured me. But being the Mr. Goody Shoes that I was, I never took advantage of it. I worked as a travel writer in an average travel magazine covering the tourist destinations in the lengths and breadths of India. Ritika, Anjali, Ajay, Pratik and I were the only ones in the Maharashtra field and we spent most of our time highlighting the glory of the forts of Maharashtra. We were often sent in teams of two or sometimes three to a fort in Maharashtra every other week to cover the importance and beauty of these heritage sites. Well, it wasn't actually that bad, considering we were paid a substantial amount for our work. The only problem was that I seemed to never, ever get a chance to go out with Ritika. I didn't believe in bad luck before, but when I was almost always the third wheel between Anjali and Pratik, the lovebirds, I had no choice but to do so. Other times when I wasn't with the lovebirds, it was with the brooding, enigmatic Ajay. He wasn't exactly arrogant or snobby, as you expected someone as rich as him to be,, but he was always so quiet. I sometimes had a bad feeling about him, especially when he didn't come to office for a whole week each month. When I once asked Ms. Verma about what was the deal with him, she simply told me that he had poorly health and was advised by a doctor to take a week off each month. He even presented a doctor's certificate, she told me. Well, whatever. And as grudgingly as I do, I have to admit that he was a bit good-looking. Or maybe I say "a bit" because Ritika was crazy behind him. She was gaga over his Adonis-like looks and I knew that she wanted to go out with him on a one of our "fort dates", as she called them, for the longest time. "Hi Rahul! Guess what? Just guess!" she asked me with child-like glee as she came over to my desk that day. "Let me see, a special birthday girl is going out with someone special after work?" I said with a smile. I planned to take her out for one of our rare Cafe Coffee Day sojourns. I was pretty pumped about that, for I lived to see the happiness she'd get from this surprise. "Oh my god, how did you know?" she squealed. "I- what?" I said. "Don't tell anyone, but Ajay is actually taking me out to Gloria Jeans after work. And it doesn't end there,guess some more!", she said, now truly on the edge of bursting with happiness. 'That rascal. Of course he his taking her out today. Of course he is classier and takes her to Gloria Jeans.' I thought. But as usual, I kept these thoughts to myself and tried to look happy for her. "Oh, I don't know! You tell." "Ajay and I are going to cover Purandar fort tomorrow. Oh gosh, it is finally happening! Yes!!!" She looked so happy, I just wished I was the one giving her that much joy. The rest of the day was blur as I was continuously listening to Ritika's happy chatter while giving Ajay a death stare. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER-2 I had to spend that evening with Ritika who dragged me to help her out with her shopping for date today and tomorrow. Friend-zoned guy problems.During the time she was trying a dress in a boutique, I decided to go ahead with the plan I had concocted. I dialed Ms. Verma's number and asked her whther I could accompany Ritika and Ajay to Purandar tomorrow.I think she had a budding suspicion that I was head-over-heels for Ritika and guess what?! I was going to go with them. But, no, not so that I could sabotage their "date", but because I wanted to simply protect Ritika from Ajay. Call it my growing grudge for Ajay, but my bad feeling about him increased manifold. Ms. Verma told me that she would tell it to Ritika and Ajay herself about the change in plan. I went home after dropping Ritika home and I knew that soon I'd get a call from Ritika. I just wondered what her reaction would be. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ritika was actually furious. I expected her to be a bit pleased, but no, she was like a volcano in all its glory. She first blew up on me, then realized that it wasn't my fault, then began cursing Ms. Verma, who she believed hated her. This went on for an hour, and though I shouldn't have, I was growing smugger by the minute. It was when she told me about her Gloria Jeans date with Ajay that I snapped out of it. She told me about how more perfect it couldn't get and how Ajay was in a completely new avatar that evening. There was my heart breaking a bit again. When the call ended, I packed my bag for tomorrow and slept, not knowing that my world would change tomorrow. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER-3 When I went to work the next day, there was definitely a change in the impassive Ajay I knew. Wow, maybe Ritika had an effect on him too, which means I got yet another hurdle to cross to prove my love to Ritika. He actually looked irritated that I would be accompanying them too. Ritika was pacified by now, and didn't seem to mind me. We left our office and were on the road in the car provided by the office at around 9:00 am. Ritika and Ajay took the back seat and I rode shotgun. I tried to concentrate on my research of Purandar fort, but I couldn't. All my attention was on Ajay's changing behaviour. He was comepletely lapsing into someone else. He became the kind of guy who I associated to be a playboy. But I held my silence, because after all, Ritika was happy. We reached Purandar at around 1:00 pm and began our work at 2:00 pm. It was decided that I would cover the Purandareshwar temple in the machi (lower ground) of Purandar and both of them would cover the ballekilla (upper area) of the fort. I was loathe to leave Ritika alone with Ajay, who seemed to have changed completely and become someone I was somehow remotely familiar with. Then, I thought better of it and decided to tell them to meet me at the Delhi Darwaja at 4:30 pm. Just before we parted ways, I told Ritika to turn on the Phone Tracker application in her iPhone. She did not question me in her hurry to begin her date with Ajay and did it. I turned on mine too and instantly saw the location of Ritika's phone and felt somewhat alleviated. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I was actually lost in the charm of the temple of Purandareshwar and in the tales the local told me about. I wrote about it with passion and forgot about Ritika and Ajay for a while. It was when I finished my work that I decided to check upon Ritika. Lo and behold! Her phone was only some 300 meters away from me. That was weird. By now, she should have been on the ballekilla. I decided to look for her. I looked for her phone and found it. When I saw the picture on the lock screen, it was that of.. Oh my god, it was him! I knew I had seen him before. It was Atul Shastri, the one who was jailed for the torture and murder of 3 women. And there was one other detail too.. Yes, that when he was questioned about why he did these murders, he said they were in the name of Lord Shiva. I racked my brains to find out why he was acquitted. Yes, he was released on grounds of having Dissociative Identity Disorder and was supposed to be in a mental asylum. And all of the bodies of these murdered women were found near Shiva temples. Fear gripped me and I began running towards the ancient Kedareshwar temple on the ballekilla. I couldn't lose Ritika, that was an option I even refused to consider. When I reached the Kedareshwar temple, all around me was silence. Then I heard it. Her scream pierced the surroundings and it was full of pain. I saw Ritika with her hands tied and a cloth tied over her mouth to muffle her screams. I ran over to her and saw no one else around. "Oh no, Ritika, you are bleeding from your head!" I said as I saw the blood. I untied her mouth and she was simply shivering in 39 degrees. Just as I was moving on to untying her hands, I felt pain and black spots danced in front of my eyes. When I turned around, I saw Atul with his bloodshot eyes and a gun in his hands. "Atul, calm down. This is isn't you, keep the gun down." I said frantically. "No no no, I have to do it. You don't understand, He punished me when I didn't obey his orders twice. He took away my sister and mother. He said that I can bring them both back by killing her. He told me she is Andhaka. I have to kill her." he said in a maniacal voice. Just as he took a staggering step forward, I kicked him and swept him off his feet. He was lying flat onn the ground. I grabbed his gun and made him stand up. "Atul, don't try to move. If you do that, I have no choice but to shoot you." I said, while pointing the gun at him and dialing 100. At the precise moment when I pressed call, he threw a knife with swift accuracy at Ritika. I fired the gun and saw him collapse. I rushed to Ritika and found the knife embedded in her side. Blood was oozing out of her. "Ritika, listen to me. You shall not give up on me. No, you won't. The police will be here soon and we will be home soon." I said frantically. "Rahul, I don't know about that. But I believe that if I ever had a chance to say this to you, this is the perfect moment. However, cliched this is, I don't care, but.. 143." she said with a ghost of a smile. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. She remembered. She remembered that of all the silly little things we talked about.I muttered a quiet "I love you" back to her and somehow knew that my happily ever after had begun. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 2 MONTHS LATER: Ritika's Point Of View (POV): I got down from the car and spotted Rahul across the road. We went through a lot, we did. If a stranger heard our story, he'd probably laugh at stereotypical events. However, I believe that the same concept of best friends falling in love is always unique. Some have the confessions out of each other the easy way, while like others like us have it the harder way. I think I was actually clear about how I felt about him when I saw him fire the shot at Atul. He would've killed for me, literally. And it was then I felt that maybe, my love wasn't unrequited. Those three little numerals have become like our little secret, and every time we say them to each other, it is like for the first time all over again.


Posted on: November 09 2014

0 Comments

Not yet rated / 5

FICTION:

143.

by Kim Quill-red

Before I post the story, I would like to tell you all that it has its roots in India. The setting of this short story is the Purandar Fort in Maharashtra, India. I had written this short tory for a competition. So yeah, hope you don't hate this first attempt of mine! Thanks for reading! PROLOGUE: I had always loved Ritika from afar. The way her brown hair cascaded below her shoulders in perfect curls, her dark brown doe-like eyes always taking in the world with winged liner on them, her secret infinity tattoo on the nape of her neck and her million-dollar smile, oh, it could light up my world! She was ethereal, in every sense. And as her best friend, I could do nothing but hear her recount how she had enjoyed one of her many dates. It was a surprise how she didn't feel the hate emanating from me towards the featured man in her anecdotes. She always said that she was still waiting for her Mr. Right though. She believed that by dating so many men, she was sending across vibes to her one to come and get her already. Ah, how I wish I could wring this faceless Mr. Right's neck. All in all, I was Apollo and she the Daphne I couldn't have. Today, waiting for her to come on our 5th date feels like a dream. I wouldn't have dreamed of having the pleasure of her company, all for myself until two months ago. But, that day at Purandar changed everything... --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER-1 I remember how excited Ritika was on her birthday. She had her hair down as usual, to hide her infinity tattoo and had worn a simple saree, but she looked like a million bucks in it. Her usually beautiful smile was somehow even more so. 'Damn, snap out of it. You are never going to have her.' I admonished myself and tried to concentrate on the Sinhagad piece that was to be handed over to our boss, Ms. Verma today itself. She wasn't exactly like Miranda in the Devil Wears Prada, but I liked to be punctual. And she was usually fond of me and even favoured me. But being the Mr. Goody Shoes that I was, I never took advantage of it. I worked as a travel writer in an average travel magazine covering the tourist destinations in the lengths and breadths of India. Ritika, Anjali, Ajay, Pratik and I were the only ones in the Maharashtra field and we spent most of our time highlighting the glory of the forts of Maharashtra. We were often sent in teams of two or sometimes three to a fort in Maharashtra every other week to cover the importance and beauty of these heritage sites. Well, it wasn't actually that bad, considering we were paid a substantial amount for our work. The only problem was that I seemed to never, ever get a chance to go out with Ritika. I didn't believe in bad luck before, but when I was almost always the third wheel between Anjali and Pratik, the lovebirds, I had no choice but to do so. Other times when I wasn't with the lovebirds, it was with the brooding, enigmatic Ajay. He wasn't exactly arrogant or snobby, as you expected someone as rich as him to be,, but he was always so quiet. I sometimes had a bad feeling about him, especially when he didn't come to office for a whole week each month. When I once asked Ms. Verma about what was the deal with him, she simply told me that he had poorly health and was advised by a doctor to take a week off each month. He even presented a doctor's certificate, she told me. Well, whatever. And as grudgingly as I do, I have to admit that he was a bit good-looking. Or maybe I say "a bit" because Ritika was crazy behind him. She was gaga over his Adonis-like looks and I knew that she wanted to go out with him on a one of our "fort dates", as she called them, for the longest time. "Hi Rahul! Guess what? Just guess!" she asked me with child-like glee as she came over to my desk that day. "Let me see, a special birthday girl is going out with someone special after work?" I said with a smile. I planned to take her out for one of our rare Cafe Coffee Day sojourns. I was pretty pumped about that, for I lived to see the happiness she'd get from this surprise. "Oh my god, how did you know?" she squealed. "I- what?" I said. "Don't tell anyone, but Ajay is actually taking me out to Gloria Jeans after work. And it doesn't end there,guess some more!", she said, now truly on the edge of bursting with happiness. 'That rascal. Of course he his taking her out today. Of course he is classier and takes her to Gloria Jeans.' I thought. But as usual, I kept these thoughts to myself and tried to look happy for her. "Oh, I don't know! You tell." "Ajay and I are going to cover Purandar fort tomorrow. Oh gosh, it is finally happening! Yes!!!" She looked so happy, I just wished I was the one giving her that much joy. The rest of the day was blur as I was continuously listening to Ritika's happy chatter while giving Ajay a death stare. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER-2 I had to spend that evening with Ritika who dragged me to help her out with her shopping for date today and tomorrow. Friend-zoned guy problems.During the time she was trying a dress in a boutique, I decided to go ahead with the plan I had concocted. I dialed Ms. Verma's number and asked her whther I could accompany Ritika and Ajay to Purandar tomorrow.I think she had a budding suspicion that I was head-over-heels for Ritika and guess what?! I was going to go with them. But, no, not so that I could sabotage their "date", but because I wanted to simply protect Ritika from Ajay. Call it my growing grudge for Ajay, but my bad feeling about him increased manifold. Ms. Verma told me that she would tell it to Ritika and Ajay herself about the change in plan. I went home after dropping Ritika home and I knew that soon I'd get a call from Ritika. I just wondered what her reaction would be. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ritika was actually furious. I expected her to be a bit pleased, but no, she was like a volcano in all its glory. She first blew up on me, then realized that it wasn't my fault, then began cursing Ms. Verma, who she believed hated her. This went on for an hour, and though I shouldn't have, I was growing smugger by the minute. It was when she told me about her Gloria Jeans date with Ajay that I snapped out of it. She told me about how more perfect it couldn't get and how Ajay was in a completely new avatar that evening. There was my heart breaking a bit again. When the call ended, I packed my bag for tomorrow and slept, not knowing that my world would change tomorrow. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER-3 When I went to work the next day, there was definitely a change in the impassive Ajay I knew. Wow, maybe Ritika had an effect on him too, which means I got yet another hurdle to cross to prove my love to Ritika. He actually looked irritated that I would be accompanying them too. Ritika was pacified by now, and didn't seem to mind me. We left our office and were on the road in the car provided by the office at around 9:00 am. Ritika and Ajay took the back seat and I rode shotgun. I tried to concentrate on my research of Purandar fort, but I couldn't. All my attention was on Ajay's changing behaviour. He was comepletely lapsing into someone else. He became the kind of guy who I associated to be a playboy. But I held my silence, because after all, Ritika was happy. We reached Purandar at around 1:00 pm and began our work at 2:00 pm. It was decided that I would cover the Purandareshwar temple in the machi (lower ground) of Purandar and both of them would cover the ballekilla (upper area) of the fort. I was loathe to leave Ritika alone with Ajay, who seemed to have changed completely and become someone I was somehow remotely familiar with. Then, I thought better of it and decided to tell them to meet me at the Delhi Darwaja at 4:30 pm. Just before we parted ways, I told Ritika to turn on the Phone Tracker application in her iPhone. She did not question me in her hurry to begin her date with Ajay and did it. I turned on mine too and instantly saw the location of Ritika's phone and felt somewhat alleviated. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I was actually lost in the charm of the temple of Purandareshwar and in the tales the local told me about. I wrote about it with passion and forgot about Ritika and Ajay for a while. It was when I finished my work that I decided to check upon Ritika. Lo and behold! Her phone was only some 300 meters away from me. That was weird. By now, she should have been on the ballekilla. I decided to look for her. I looked for her phone and found it. When I saw the picture on the lock screen, it was that of.. Oh my god, it was him! I knew I had seen him before. It was Atul Shastri, the one who was jailed for the torture and murder of 3 women. And there was one other detail too.. Yes, that when he was questioned about why he did these murders, he said they were in the name of Lord Shiva. I racked my brains to find out why he was acquitted. Yes, he was released on grounds of having Dissociative Identity Disorder and was supposed to be in a mental asylum. And all of the bodies of these murdered women were found near Shiva temples. Fear gripped me and I began running towards the ancient Kedareshwar temple on the ballekilla. I couldn't lose Ritika, that was an option I even refused to consider. When I reached the Kedareshwar temple, all around me was silence. Then I heard it. Her scream pierced the surroundings and it was full of pain. I saw Ritika with her hands tied and a cloth tied over her mouth to muffle her screams. I ran over to her and saw no one else around. "Oh no, Ritika, you are bleeding from your head!" I said as I saw the blood. I untied her mouth and she was simply shivering in 39 degrees. Just as I was moving on to untying her hands, I felt pain and black spots danced in front of my eyes. When I turned around, I saw Atul with his bloodshot eyes and a gun in his hands. "Atul, calm down. This is isn't you, keep the gun down." I said frantically. "No no no, I have to do it. You don't understand, He punished me when I didn't obey his orders twice. He took away my sister and mother. He said that I can bring them both back by killing her. He told me she is Andhaka. I have to kill her." he said in a maniacal voice. Just as he took a staggering step forward, I kicked him and swept him off his feet. He was lying flat onn the ground. I grabbed his gun and made him stand up. "Atul, don't try to move. If you do that, I have no choice but to shoot you." I said, while pointing the gun at him and dialing 100. At the precise moment when I pressed call, he threw a knife with swift accuracy at Ritika. I fired the gun and saw him collapse. I rushed to Ritika and found the knife embedded in her side. Blood was oozing out of her. "Ritika, listen to me. You shall not give up on me. No, you won't. The police will be here soon and we will be home soon." I said frantically. "Rahul, I don't know about that. But I believe that if I ever had a chance to say this to you, this is the perfect moment. However, cliched this is, I don't care, but.. 143." she said with a ghost of a smile. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. She remembered. She remembered that of all the silly little things we talked about.I muttered a quiet "I love you" back to her and somehow knew that my happily ever after had begun. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 2 MONTHS LATER: Ritika's Point Of View (POV): I got down from the car and spotted Rahul across the road. We went through a lot, we did. If a stranger heard our story, he'd probably laugh at stereotypical events. However, I believe that the same concept of best friends falling in love is always unique. Some have the confessions out of each other the easy way, while like others like us have it the harder way. I think I was actually clear about how I felt about him when I saw him fire the shot at Atul. He would've killed for me, literally. And it was then I felt that maybe, my love wasn't unrequited. Those three little numerals have become like our little secret, and every time we say them to each other, it is like for the first time all over again.


Posted on: November 09 2014

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