It is different things for different people. And it’s so vague that you really know what or how someone else experiences it. With time, it may alter. It matures. It evolves. It can become cynical. But never cyclical. It does not repeat itself. For each person, it has a unique signature, a rocky fingerprint, an alluring scent. It can be an avalanche. For each person, it’s one avalanche throughout their life. Snow rolling down from the tip of an upset mountain, sometimes it will snag and fizzle out. Other times, it will snowball into something bigger and powerful, more magnificent than the clump of frozen water that it came from. With the first, it was excitement. With the second, comfort. The third was falling into the snowball. Immersing yourself fully in it. Enjoying the ride. The fourth. A cleanse from the black snow that had swirled inside. That was drowning, suffocating, poisoning. And then there’s hope. Maybe there’s more. Maybe there’s one that isn’t an impediment. As it rolls down the hill while the sun glows on the horizon, warming the mountain with its groggy tendrils of light, the snowball helps you become stronger, firmer, wiser. Happier.

Read More

The air conditioner hummed a cool soft glow. He felt light, having completed his morning releases. The soothing voice of Andy droned on through his phone. His eyes were supposed to be closed, but he had them open, a ‘nice, soft focus’ as his instructor put it. He couldn’t smell anything, he’d been in this room for far too long. The taste of last night’s mangoes was still on his tongue, and upon their memory, the feeling of heaviness in his stomach from all that pasta. His hands were brushing each other, lightly interlocked, not wholly, only partially. He felt an itch in his arm. He ignored it, and focused on Andy’s voice. The itch grew stronger. He winced, closed his eyes, held them tighter. More insistent. With a sigh, he gave up, and another sigh of relief as the scratching cooled it.

Read More

What had happened in that forest? To this day, he didn’t know. He was being driven crazy. He was seeing things where things shouldn’t exist, shadows where there were no structures. He was being driven crazy and he didn’t know what to do.

Read More

Dust swirling in the distance and nearby. This storied street was a national treasure, should have been one, but it had no upkeep, no maintenance. Years of neglect by those who demanded money for the state - to what end? A had left it dry, barren, derelict, and unkempt. Much like the rest of the country. It’s resources dry, the compassion of its people dry, their minds barren of any intellectual thought, it’s buildings and historical monuments derelict, and the people’s appearances unkempt. It was a symbol of what had happened elsewhere in this country. The market was held up by thin sticks of wood, dirty cloths serving as walls of the stalls. Plastic tables covered with cloths as the counters and displays that held the wares. Men in beards and long flowing robes stalked the stalls.

Read More

Hūr looked up at the sky as it darkened. These were not the grey clouds of rain. These felt purple. Maybe his sight was tinged with the light from the stone. But he felt certain they were purple. His eyes glinted in the light changing color as they sometimes did. These were the purple clouds that served as omens to a time that was coming. Swirling around. Slithering. He closed his eyes, recrossed his legs back into the x he had formed when he had first sat down to meditate and thought. He thought back to the dreams he had had. Those unbidden thoughts that came to his mind when he had first seen her. And known. She was meant to be with him. And he with her. He thought of a normal life. Not being dragged into this. Maybe they could go back to one after all this ended. No, they could not. Maybe they could pretend. A house. A couple of kids running around, playing tag.

Read More

Since I mention all the other stuff, I thought it only fair to mention this as well. Two days ago, or I suppose when you’ll be reading this, it will have been thirty three days, on the 11th of June, my father praised me. Big deal? I think so. I crave his approval. I crave his attention. He praised me for something work related. Something insignificant, something small. But it was praise. It was genuine. And it came from him. Now is this a big deal? Absolutely. I don’t remember the last time I received praise from my father for anything. I remember the last time he did something that made me feel like I did two days ago. He held my hand in a car in December of 2019 after I shared my feelings with him. How did I react? To be fair, I reacted the same way when he does something that upsets me terribly: I didn’t show it. My face was impassive, even as the upswell of emotions within me was threatening to drown me in happiness. Should I have told him how happy his minor praise made me?

Read More

They were all around her. She had lost them. For now. It seemed like she was falling deeper and deeper into Alice’s rabbit hole of madness. This had already seemed ludicrous to her. Now it was just beyond belief. And for whatever godforsaken reason, she still believed. But she supposed that was what faith was. To believe in something without any conclusive proof or evidence. She had lost them. But they would be circling the walls. They would be around the city. She knew she shouldn’t fear shadows. But these ones weren’t attached to anything, and they had felt malicious. She did not want to have anything to do with them. But when they had lunged at her shadow, she felt a scream cuddling in her throat. She knew she would be next. She ran. She looked at the ground.

Read More

Thunder rose and raged. The wind was loud and howling. The fire was searing. The air smelt burnt. The darkness was overwhelming, lit only by the orange glow of the simmering flames. The ground was mud and dirt. Bloodied by fire. All life but for two forms, those could barely be counted, all life gone. The world was in chaos. Nature was claiming her arrears. For too long, she had given, they had taken. Now they were in debit and it was time for her to take her dues.

Read More

He was one of the last survivors of the Old Royals. And to hear him tell it, those times, when his family had ruled over the lands, those were splendid times. The old ‘uns nodded knowingly. They had been splendid times. The young ones listened with disbelief and against their better wishes, hope. Those times sounded so much better than these, that they almost sounded like a fantasy. To him though, they were a dream. A dream that was slowly trickling from his cupped hands. Hands that he was doing his best to fortify so that not even one drop of the dream would escape. So he could retain it all in memory.

Read More

He sat in the car and wept. What had he done? Who had he become? There was a time, and not too long ago, he had felt like he was chosen. For some higher purpose. To bring people into the light, or at the very least, to save them. And so, he had joined this organization. Helped it build to the strength it was at today. He had convinced himself that even though they were mutilating the poor desperate souls that came to them, even though they handed limp, dead infants to women to hold in their arms, to evoke sympathy, or drugged their children so that they would achieve the same effect, even though they irrevocably changed the lives of some, not for better, that he was making it so they wouldn’t do worse. But what was worse than having one's hands cut off, being left to beg on the streets.

Read More

Ever wonder what an amazing piece of machinery the human body is? It’s a contradiction. I’m a mediocre runner. I like long distance running. My VO2 max 45 according to my really expensive fitness watch. My fitness age is 20, which according to it is the top 45% of my age and gender. The first stat is universal. I’m sure the second comes from the watch and it’s users according to a metric designed by Garmin. So while I’m a little better than half the garmin users, you should also keep in mind that people who buy this watch are probably really invested in fitness to pay this much for quality. I run about 48 miles a week. 8 miles five days a week, 4 miles on my two recovery days.

Read More

You know, I’ve been simmering on this since yesterday. Not in the mood for it. But I need to. For a few reasons. One, I need some more time to think about my purple series. One A, I still need to write. So, I’ll write those maybe tomorrow, maybe whenever I can think up the next steps of any one of my characters. Two, instead of stewing, and feeling angry, why not just get it out. The best way would be to talk to you about it. But as you’ll see in this one, that doesn’t ever work out well. Like the time I told you I craved your approval. You know, the time seven months ago. You held my hand for three seconds. That was it. That was all the action you took. Which brings me to my point.

Read More

He had always thought he was chosen. Always thought he was the favored one. But none of it mattered. For he was his sister’s keeper, and she was his life. They weren’t that far apart in age. They had both been born a few minutes apart. Twins. That word came out strangely in his thoughts. Even today. Twins were strange, unusual in this country. Some saw them as an omen of good luck. Some saw them as bad. Some claimed they were unnatural. None of it mattered. Not when he had her. To guard and protect with his life. They were only a few minutes apart. He was the elder of the two. But in personalities, they were worlds apart. He was cautious and careful. He was remembered. She was wild and free, her bubbling joy infectious. But she completed him. He loved her like only a brother could. She was his life.

Read More

He walked out the small home with tears in his eyes. He knew why. He knew exactly why he was fascinated by the child. His nostrils were starting to clog up with that most acrid of fumes. As if someone were sprinkling mountains of black pepper into them. The calm before the storm. The sniffling before the waterworks. He knew exactly why he was fascinated by the child. He’d always known. He hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself. But something had happened. And now he did. And that Pandora’s box was now wide open. It hurt. Like fuck. He had been that little boy. Not exactly. But the parts where it counted, yes. He had had a mother. He had had a father. He had had a sibling he had absolutely adored and wanted to protect and care for all his life. And then-

Read More

The boy felt a presence. But he couldn’t place where it was coming from. It only made sense, he was probably disoriented. After all his losses, father at an early age, mother becoming a whore to support her family, and now… well, now his hands. There were no two ways about it. This was what it had required. And like all those who had come before him, and had come in desperation, this was what was needed from him. He had offered them up, when he had been told. They had been shaking a little, but when he noticed, he bit his lip, and they stopped. They had put him under, and then they had cut them. This was what they did. They helped those who had no one else. And this boy needed the money terribly. What a soul. Willing to part with his hands to feed his home. But the bigger test was yet to come. Would he manage to remain steadfast? Some blamed themselves, and sunk into the pits of despair with the aid of drugs, which his organization provided all too willingly. It helped them become more docile. Mindless robots, poster boards of tragedy, made it easier for others to give. Others blamed the world, lashed out, became angry. They turned away from families, they made these people their new family. Which also served the organization well. A persistent beggar tapping on your window, almost angrily, you would give them money to get rid of them. There were very few other paths. Which one would this child choose. Where would his loyalties lie? Would his resolve be as strong when the shock wore off, and he realized the truth of his now new irrevocable life? Azazil did not know why he was so fascinated by this child, just that he was. The child murmured in his sleep, all his secrets laid bare, his mother, his father, his siblings.

Read More

He finished his salutations, folded the rug, and got up. There was a boy, about his age when he had come here. He was still, his hands seemed rigid, cleaned into fists. They unclenched and he looked at the boy, who had seen him looking. The palm of the hand was white. He had grime in his nails. His clothes were ragged. But he held his head up. He placed his rug in the table and walked over to the window. His partner, if such a term could be used for such a disgusting human, his partner was sizing the boy up. He wouldn’t find anything. This child was clean. Like most of the others. Driven to this place by desperation. He was still looking out the window. A hustle and bustle outside. It was noon time. The markets were open. People were doing grocery shopping, buying clothes and chooriyan.

Read More

It’s strange how the epicenters of power can be concentrated in just a few places, and how those places can be the most unsuspecting of them all.

The three friends were just sitting in silence. Above, clouds hung low and heavy. It would rain soon. The road to the village was a few hundred yards away. They sat cross legged. One had his eyes closed. The other two sat silent. The one with the closed eyes began to shiver. First it was his hand. It was as if he were deliberately doing it. Then he opened his eyes. They were blank. His hand was as if a tremor were going through it, followed by his wrist, then his forearm, all the way to his shoulder. His eyes were filled with a deep sorrow. Slowly, the arm ceased to shiver, then the forearm, then the wrist. The hand continued. He brought it to his face, and looked at it. The other two were watching him intently.

Read More

The usual suspects were all present or were coming in. They didn’t look like it. Heck, you wouldn’t suspect them. But it could have been any of them. Looks can be deceiving though, as we will find out.

It was light and airy and breezy. The sun was cool, a little mellow in the sky above. The trees were sordid and standing tall. The animals were a little mellow, two ducks sleeping by the track, heads buried in their fluffy backs. Peacocks strutting around drowsily. Ducks in their enclosure, not creating as much of a commotion as they usually did. The yellow ducklings were chattering but their throats were strong enough to produce any substantially loud sounds.

Read More

“Squawk, squawk, squawk, squawk.”

High pitched. Indignant. Loud.

It flapped its wings and ran around in circles. It’s feet were light and spry. There were three toes on one and two on another. The ground was littered with yellow sprinkles of feed. It ran in circles. Squawking loudly.

The others began to squawk from their cages. Cramped as they were, all had turned their heads, sometimes in impossibly contorted positions, their bodies stable and motionless, unable to move, both because of the tight space, and because they were too fat now to move on such small appendages for legs. But their eyes were on the running chicken.

Read More