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Love Truly

A beautiful face with a golden complexion that literally shone in the sun. Hair that could defeat the darkness of the darkest of nights. A body that could be envied by the goddesses. She was perfect. “What do you buy someone who is that perfect?” he asked this middle aged man who stood on the other side of the counter. With a sleek figure, he stood almost in the perfect centre while his eyes ran a marathon across the showcases in the most expensive jewellery shop in the city; a place where one could find the rarest of stones, for the people who were closest to one. He was a decently earning man. Yet he had had to make his wishes wait because the wishes of the people you love always come before your own. “We’re about to close sir!” interrupted the person who had been waiting on him to choose that perfect gift for his perfect wife. “Can I have a few more moments?”, he requested with an expression that was hard to overlook or turn down. “Sure”, he had bought himself a few more moments, but the question remained, “What do you buy someone who is that….. ” there it was. A beautiful necklace that would be highly complimented by his wife’s neck, because nothing, according to him, could possibly compete with his wife’s beauty in his eyes or nearly represent the amount of love that he held in his heart for her. He was delighted, overwhelmed by this beautiful finding of his, that would make his dear Cassy, so happy. He could not keep himself from wanting to call her up and tell her that he’s got something special for her and that she should be ready for it. It had to be special. After all, it was their anniversary. How could he forget. He never did. She might at times because of all the work she had to look after at home and at her office but he, how could he. They had been in love for 2 years before finally getting married and it had been 2 more and oh! How happy he was with her. How he loved her. He just couldn’t think of a life without her.

He completed his transaction and rushed outside; jumped into his car, took out his phone and gave her a call. It rang till it got disconnected automatically. Working at an office isn’t an easy job after all. Why didn’t he think of it earlier! He could give her a surprise. Oh! How happy she would be and how she would blush. The red on her face would shine like the perfect apple from the garden of Eden. The engine roared and he drove off to see his beloved wife and the tyres screeched right before his house in excitement. He jumped off the car and ran to the door and suddenly stopped. All the excitement fading away including the smile from his face. How thoughts play with your emotions. He shrugged off all the negativity that had come upon him and gathered his smile back on his face again, took out a key from his trouser pocket and entered into the house yelling out her name, “Cassy! Cassy! Look what your baby’s got for you!” He heard a noise from his bedroom and shouted out again, “Baby?! Are you in the bedroom?” He heard the bedroom door shut as he was climbing the staircase that led to the section of the house where their bedroom stood with two other rooms out of which one was turned into a small office in which she would spend her time completing the works that she could not complete at the office. He stood right outside the bedroom door, his face white and furious and sad; holding the door knob he asked softly as if hoping to be wrong or wanting to avoid something, “Baby? Are you in there?”. He heard the nervous voice of his voice, “Baby I’m changing, Just 2 minutes.” His head bowed down he waited, as he heard noises coming out of the bedroom until finally the door opened and he saw her. How beautiful she was, how he loved her. She looked tired and out of breath. He took out the necklace out of his coat pocket and gave it to her. She opened it and hugged her out of joy. He held her in his arms, his whole world at once. That was when he saw a man’s watch on his bedside table and he closed his eyes as a tear rolled down his cheek. He wiped it off and asked her to get ready for the dinner. She went off with the necklace in her hand as he stared out the bedroom window that overlooked their backyard where he could see a silhouette of a man sneaking out. He stood there with his hands inside his trouser pockets and a heavy heart inside his chest. He just stood there without an expression, without a word or an action, staring out the window. He could not forget happy he was with her. How much he loved her. He just couldn’t think of a life without her.

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Posted by on August 30, 2015 in short story

 

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Diary of a werewolf II

It was so powerful, that beast, when it overcame me. I remember the strength that I felt running through my veins, the gushing of the blood through my body; and with it, anger, fury; power and barbarity that knew no limits.

I did not have a choice. I had to let it go. I had to let it take over me. There’s only so much time for which you can subdue the monster inside of you. There’s only so much time for which you can bear the pain. You think it will become a part of you, the pain; that your body will ultimately accept it; that you will get used to it and it will not hurt anymore. You expect it to at the least become bearable; a pain that you can live with. But the monster does not let that happen. It does not give up trying to take over your body, your mind, you’re entity. It just does not let you be your own self. You cannot imagine the pain of experiencing the growling of the beast within you, a sound that is heard over the loudest of noises, the shrillest of your own screams when you shout your lungs out, screaming, begging it to stop. But it never gives up. How can it?!

You live your entire life learning to subdue your emotions, your desires, you needs; your wants. This monster, knows no limits. The amount of power that it takes to keep it from coming out and taking over me; the amount of power that it takes me to bear the pain and not give up; is inexplicable. They say that if you try, nothing is impossible. I don’t think they have ever gone through this pain; and so I failed; I let go!

I remember every single thought that came in it’s mind. I know every part of the only emotion that it felt; hunger. I don’t think it is possible to explain the hunger of this barbaric beast. It does not understand fear or good or bad. It longs for the flesh and that is what it craves for, every single moment. The visions of it’s hunt; they do not leave me alone. The fear in the eyes of that woman when she saw it flash out of the darkness and consume her in a moment. Those eyes will never stop haunting me. How soothing was the smell and taste of her blood and how beautiful the very emotion of that moment when the beast had done it’s deed. The feeling seemed to compensate for all the pain that I had bore in subduing it and the suffering that I went through during the transformation. How every single part of my body arched and how every single bone in my body made me scream as they changed their shape within me. How I screamed louder than the beast then. How powerful I felt; how unconquerable; how beastly.

One can surely imagine the guilt of having taken a life and the misery of living with it for the rest of his life.
One cannot imagine the guilt of having taken a life and enjoyed it; felt good about it and the misery of living with it for the rest of his life; especially when he knows, it wasn’t the last. It was just the beginning.

 
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Posted by on February 21, 2015 in short story

 

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The Fight

He strolled down the lonely road filled with emptiness and darkness except for the occasional suns on the sidewalk by the street lights above. Life hadn’t turned out exactly the way he had imagined it would. The love for numbers had slowly faded away, they drove him crazy in his office now; the woman who waited for him back home did not seem very attractive anymore; the children merely seemed a duty; stood for the love that they had once shared. How monotonous was life, how unattractive; empty. He found himself in need of something different; something that would relieve him of this monotony, and offer him something interesting for a change.

When he got clear of his thoughts, he found himself in a bar. The wooden colored counter on the right stretched to the very end. The broken jukebox occupied some space and the dart board stood so gallantly occupying the wall. On the other side of the bar were lain a few tables which provided for groups that were crude, both in nature and in looks. He made his way to one of the stools at the counter and felt insecure turning around and finding himself being pointed out by a group and being called a drunkard and laughed at.

“That’d be me mate.” He turned his face to see a middle aged man with a glass in his hand and a bottle in his front. He looked at him and said again, “Perhaps they are referring to me.”

“And you say nothing?” he asked in a tone which proved him to be not one of the calm ones in the world.

He smiled and turned to the bartender instead of replying to his question, “A pint for my friend here.”

He did not look like a man of a bad reputation. He was dressed decently enough to sit among the finest of the city and his voice had a tone of command that would overpower anyone; and yet he sat there drinking, all by himself.

“I would be a liar if I say they’re wrong you know.”, he said finally breaking the silence between them.

“So you drink a lot?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He looked at his face with a surprise in his eyes. No one had ever asked him that before. They had called him a drunkard, advised him not to drink, even maybe avoided him at times. But no one had ever asked him this before. His red eyes came back to their own shape and he turned his face back to his glass.

“Why did you start?”, he asked again, “When did you start?”

“Almost a year. I lost my wife and my two sons to a car accident…”

“And so you drink in their grief?”

“I drink mate,” he replied with his hand on his shoulder, “because that is my thrill.”

“Your thrill?”, he asked not completely understanding his point, half thinking to himself to be the whiskey talking and not the man himself.

“You see mate. Everyone of us has a thrill, a passion that they so profoundly love that it drives them crazy. You will do anything for it. You see the man seated in a brown jacket behind you”, he said pointing at someone, “he is an editor. His thrill, on the other hand, is to observe people. To deduce the lives of strangers. The diary on his table that you see, is his life long work, filled with assumptions of every stranger he has ever met.”, he paused and then asked, “Don’t you have a thrill too mate?”

He thought a little and then replied, “I don’t think I do.”

He smiled at him said, “Everyone does mate. Some of us just don’t know what is yet. Have you never loved something that you would do anything for it? Have you never loved someone that profoundly?”

“I have. But…”, he stopped realizing that he was only talking to a stranger and then started again, “So that’s your thrill you say? Losing your senses and being called the drunkard by others?” he asked rather sarcastically and enjoyed it, covering his smile by taking a sip of the whiskey in his hand.

“You get me wrong mate. It is not the unconsciousness that I long for. It is certainly not the reason why I drink.”

“You drink in grief, don’t you? Of your wife? Of your son?”

“I have their memories, yes. Pictures of the beautiful times in my mind that do not give me even the momentary reliefs. But you get used to it over the time. You see mate, it is not a healer; the time. It is rather a harsh reality that you have to face and time gives you that exposure. It makes you face your fears, your wounds, things that had hurt you so much once that you thought you would never be able to go through them again. It gets you used to that pain, to that harsh reality.”

“So you do not miss them now?”

“I do. It makes you numb, the time that you spend with all that pain within you. It makes you indifferent to the world around you; make it seem like nothing else matters to you. It kills you. It makes you accept the pain. But I couldn’t allow myself to betray the ones I loved the most. What kind of a father would I be if I let myself out of the pain of their absence?! What kind of a husband would I be mate?!” He stared him right in the eyes which bore the pain of parting from the ones he loved so dearly. “You see mate, this keeps me alive. The thrill of being in the darkness of their memories. The liquor tries to take away the consciousness and with it, the memories. I, on the other hand, strive. I strive so hard and cling  to them; to my sons, to my wife, to my consciousness, and to the pain, as a token of my love to them. I fight the intoxication mate. I do not give in. The world spins with all its might and people talk things that I do not understand anymore and my eyes betray me as well. The body fails to struggle with my spirit. It becomes heavy, and shaky. The spirit never fails me though; my heart, never fails them; my beloveds. Love, you see, isn’t about showing it off. It’s about the battle that you fight for them, for the people you love. It’s about the fight.”

And he rose up from his stool and turned around with a glass in his hand that he held higher than his head. “Mates” he shouted, “To the fight!”

“To the fight Mr. Mayor”, came a reply from the people in a loud support. He turned around after placing a bill in the counter, smiled at him and said “It was nice talking to you mate.” And then he turned and started to the door while he sat there going through the words of the man in his mind when he was disturbed by a beautiful face. “Are you alone here?”

He thought to himself of the wonderful opportunity that brought a smile to his face. His eyes fell on the ring on his own finger and then came to his mind the thought of his love that waited for him back home. He stared at his wedding ring.

“Hey mate.” came a voice to which he turned to realize it was the man that sat beside him earlier, “It’s always about the fight.” he winked and turned away.

 
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Posted by on April 9, 2014 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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Third

The suitcase in the back seat spoke for itself. The emptiness in the air was filled with the echoes of the memories of their time together. She stared outside through the transparency, at the beautiful lake that reflected the sun and appeared like diamonds. The two swans that floated among the diamonds reminded her of herself and him. The thought brought a smile on her face that overcame the excitement and fear of what she had started to do. He, on the other hand, was too mesmerised by the beauty that sat beside him to appreciate the beauty of nature like she did.

Her face has always haunted him, even in his dreams. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as the sun came in through the glass and made one part of her face golden and turned brown the strands of hair which were darker than the darkest of the nights. Even today, he was not sure of the day when he had started loving her.

His smile remained constant on his face, his eyes, constant on her. She always reminded him of the olden days, the day she had met him, the day she had talked to him for the very first time; the day they turned into good friends. Her face was the reminder of all the things she meant to him, his everything.

The car cruised the two away from the place, the cruel world, that they believed, will never understand love. She wanted to be happy and he had never the courage, or authority over himself to say no to her. They were madly in love. Ready to take any risk, do anything, take any step necessary for it. The lake had passed and she had returned to him. They smiled at each other and turned their eyes towards the road ahead, expecting something.

He went back to the thoughts that always occupied him, the thoughts that had always made him so mysterious; and her, so curious; and she had always asked him, but he never talked about it. They were running away, he was madly in love with her; she was in love too. She was with him, sitting right beside him, so close; it could have been perfect. It could have been so perfect.

He stopped the car. A man stood there, leaning back at a black sedan, restless, looking for something, waiting for something; someone. She got out of the car and he saw a bright smile light her face and at that moment, she glowed, like star does in a moonless dark sky. She hugged him.

It could have been so perfect; if only she loved him back the same.

How cruel it was of her, even with that child like innocent face and intention. How unknowingly cruel it was of her to ask him to help her with this. But she had never known his love for her, he had never expressed. He wasn’t very good at saying the right things at the right moments. He had always been afraid of losing that small place that he occupied in her heart as her best friend. She would miss him, for sure; but not like he would.

He got out and took out her suitcase from the back and stood with it in front of them with a smile on his face that contained the storm in his heart, that kept him from falling apart. But he was happy for her. The only reason why he was there, because she was happy.

She walked towards him for the final goodbye with tears in her eyes. He stood there waiting to hold her in his arms, regretting his every passing breath that brought nearer the time when she would finally leave. She came into his arms and he felt complete, for that one moment; and wished, that the moment may last for eternity, wished that he didn’t have to let her go.

“Don’t go”, he whispered his heart into her ears.
Her eyes widened. She seemed to understand the storm within him. In that one moment and two words, she understood him like she had never known him before. Such a stranger she had been, so naive about his feelings. Those silly talks, that never had a meaning before, the absence of his attention, his thoughtful mind, his beating heart, she understood every moment, every word that he had ever said to her. She felt something grow within her, a feeling that she didn’t completely understand. Her eyes burst into tears when she realized this. How different was his love for her. She regretted something, but what? The friendship? Their relationship? Her running away? She could not figure out.

She couldn’t gather the courage to let her arms unwind and face him. Everything between them had changed in this one moment. This one moment had challenged everything that they had had for 13 years now. She understood what he felt for her. She realized, what she felt for him. The feeling that had not come to her before this particular moment was now overwhelming her, drowning her; forcing her to do something that she now wanted to do, but could not. Maybe it was too late.

She gathered her courage, drew her back to herself and looked at his teary eyes. He repeated his words and then stopped. He realized what he had done. How difficult he had made this for her; how contradictory to the promises he made to himself. He closed his eyes and bent his head down. He knew her tears spoke of her love for him now. He knew she knew now, that he loves her. He knew she knew now, that she loves him.

The darkness seemed so comforting. The fear of her not being there when he opened his eyes occupied him. But the darkness resembled the uncertainty. He wasn’t rejected right now, he knew she was going away but there was this uncertainty of her staying back for him, holding his hand and giving him a kiss and going far far away with him; and that uncertainty gave him the happiness for which he could close his eyes to the world and stand there, forever. How comforting the darkness indeed was. Only the sound of the racing heartbeat throbbed in his head and gave him consolation, told him that he shall find her smiling at him with tears in her eyes as he opened his. He built up the courage and followed it.

How cruel is the heart too; how cruel, these fits of the romantic mind and heart, how cruel, hope.

He leaned back at his car and stared at the empty road ahead of him. The road that resembled the rest of his life. The road with traces of leaves that were dead now; the leaves that resembled his hopes.

 
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Posted by on January 20, 2014 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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Look

Natasha you think you’re hurt,
Natasha look at me!
Natasha look in my eyes.
Natasha what do you see?

You’ll see my smile,
You’ll see my tears,
You’ll see what my heart bears.
You’ll see my heart,
You’ll see my soul,
You’ll see in me, your entire world.
You’ll see my days,
You’ll see my nights,
You’ll see yourself, as my guiding light.
You’ll see my weakness,
You’ll see my might,
You’ll see in me, my every fight.
You’ll see the moon,
You’ll see the sun,
You’ll see you and me, together as one.

You’ll see the world Natasha, that you’ve always wished for.
You’ll see yourself Natasha, the one that I had fallen for.

 
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Posted by on December 5, 2013 in poetry, Uncategorized

 

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Diary of a Werewolf III

She stroked my hair. I felt at peace. The part of me that longed for violence, that fed on the fear of the people, was asleep. I could not feel it anymore. As I lay my head on her lap, she kissed my forehead and gave me a different feeling, so different from the ones that I was used to. A feeling that I had not felt for so long that it seemed new. I felt wanted, needed, loved; accepted.

I closed my eyes and saw again the hour that I had just spent with her. How the wolf had roared with passion and pulled her closer and held her with all it’s might and how she had submerged it right back into me with one kiss. How she calmed it down. It was like magic, or maybe, it was love. She had accepted both my sides. Even the one that did not deserve her. She looked more beautiful without the strings that covered her body. She looked purer. Like a baby, she had pulled me closer to her and given me everything she had; all her peace, all her warmth, her affection, her love; herself. She had surrendered herself to the monster within me. How tempting it was to the beast, the closeness of the naked flesh, the sound of the beating heart within her chest, the smell of the blood and how tempting it was to me; how I had longed for her, for her love. How eager, how powerfully rampant the monster grew and how abruptly it went back in as she touched my cheek and looked into my eyes, so deep, that it became falsely clear to me that I was cursed with the monster no more. She had hypnotized me, and the wolf. Is she the cure? My counterpart in the universe? My savior?

I opened my eyes and stared up at that face, that looked down on me, making me want to live again, to be happy, to be good, to be, not a monster, to be hers. A tear had rolled down to my ear and she had wept it. I think she understood. I think she read my thoughts when I thought of the thing that I really was, a monster, to which she had pulled my head into her bosom and said, “You’re mine.”

 
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Posted by on November 19, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Grim

I woke up on a bed of soft grass and stared at the clear sky above. I tried to recall why I was there or how did I get there, but my memory didn’t serve me, so i gave up. Everything before the sleep was a blank. I stood up and looked around. There was something different about everything, even me. I felt lighter, more free, void of any pain or tension or any feeling at all, except that my head hurt a little. Everything else seemed to have a glow, even the tree that stood beside me, the houses. The sun, it was softer than before. I wasn’t sure what time it was so I shoved my hand inside my pocket to take out my cell phone but all my hands could get hold of, was air. “I must’ve lost it” I thought, so I looked for the keys to my car instead. Surprisingly, they weren’t in my pocket either. It was then that I realized that I had nothing on me, my keys, my wallet, my cell phone, not even my watch.

I went around the tree thinking and grumbling about walking all the way back home, although, I couldn’t seem to have an exact knowledge as to where I was. The surrounding seemed familiar though. I took a deep breath and exhaled for the walk and started to walk in the direction which seemed to have a more familiar look. A few blocks later I realized that the streets were awfully quiet even when there were people around, unfamiliar faces in a familiar neighbourhood. There was this girl with a scar on her face in a beautiful white dress who smiled at me as I passed her, this child who had burnt marks on his body took two rounds of me in his white pyjamas, the man who sat on the park bench in a white shirt and trousers, with his head resting on his fist also had a scar on his wrist; this seemed weird. But I went on.

A few blocks later, I saw a crashed car that had hit a tree and was in a bad shape. I walked towards it, slowly, examining it as I walked. The front portion was crumpled like a piece of paper and steam rose from the engine. There was blood on the door but there was nobody around, nobody in the car either. I leaned in. It was bloody inside. The steering, the seat, everything had blood on it but it was dry. It had not happened recently I figured. I carefully pulled my head out and turned around to see a group of people in white walking together. But they were unlike the ones that I had seen before, they talked. Their voices were unclear. I moved closer but they did not seem to get any clearer. It was all so vague, so, distant, only a name was distinguishable, which occurred repeatedly in their conversations and was strangely familiar. I followed them.

They stopped in front of a house and then moved in. I wanted to call out to them and ask them what was going on, and so I did, but they did not hear me. I shouted again, not one of them looked back. I frowned and decided to go in.

It was crowded, people gathered around, all in white, chatting among themselves, the voices still being the same unclear and distant as they did earlier and the same name being the only clear part,occurring again and again in their conversations. I moved forward avoiding them, making my way and there it was. I stopped, not to stare at it, but because I couldn’t move anymore. It lay there, on the ground, flocked at by people, covered in white, being cried upon, ME: and there he stood over my body, in black, with a smile on his face, looking at me, to take my soul away.

 
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Posted by on November 9, 2013 in short story

 

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