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Diary of a werewolf: The Hunt

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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Darkness

He opened his eyes to the light that shone directly above his face. He tried to move his head but he realized he was in bonds. The light above his face made it almost impossible for him to see anything around him; the darkness in the rest of the room made it completely so. All he did see were shapes, in the darkness; trying to figure out what the things were, where he was and how did he come there. His head hurt. He struggled to unbind himself but the bonds were too tight. He struggled to free himself after every few minutes and failed. How pleasing a vision it was to see him suffer like that. He stood there in the shadow like the rest of the things in the storage room except for that stretcher that held his prey under the influence of the only light that glowed right above his face.

“Why are you doing this?”, he yelled at the top of his voice. “Please! I beg you; please let me go!”, he almost cried.

He waited for a reply trying to look at the person who had abducted him from that lonely parking lot by turning his head towards him as much as the bonds allowed him to, which wasn’t enough. He could only see the shape of a head in the darkness of the storage room but that could be anything. It could be anything at all; maybe even one of those unclear shapes that we see, made up by my our minds, by our fear of darkness. He was scared. Drops of sweat trickled from his face to his ears. He could not figure out what was going on with him or even why he was there. His mind could not completely reason what had happened to him in the last 8 hours, but that was merely an approximation. He knew it was 9 pm when he got out of his office to go back home to his wife and son and he knew he was struck by something from behind when he was unlocking his car and the only other thing he knew was that he was unconscious; and that he woke up in a dark place bound to this stretcher and it had been long since he got back his consciousness completely. He had lost track of time and of anything else that could have been going on out there. He could not even tell if it was day or night. For him, it was a long dreadful night.

“Somebody please help me!!”, he shrieked at the highest intensity that his lungs and the remaining energy in him allowed him to.

“They can’t hear you. No one can.”, a voice came out from the shadows.

He tried to turn his face but the bonds wouldn’t allow him to, so he turned his sweaty face back to the bulb again that had started to hurt his eyes long back.

“Who are you?”

He gave no reply and stood there looking at him.

“Why are you doing this to me?”, he asked restless after a few seconds.

He got no reply this time either.

“Let me go!!”, he struggled with all his might trying to free himself of the bonds. One tends to never give up.

“It is useless!”, he finally spoke. “It is well tested. You cannot get away.” His voice was heavy and calm. A little too calm. So calm that it gave him a strange fear.

He lay there with his eyes closed. Hearing the footsteps of his abductor moving in circles around him and then away from him, which made him restless and he shouted, “Hey, hey, don’t you go away. Don’t you leave me here again. Please! I beg you! Please!”, tears of desperation finally came out!

“Oh no my friend! I’m not leaving. I’m here with you for as long as it takes. I’m not leaving until I’m completely through with you.”, his smile was almost visible in the darkness. His eyes reflected the light from the bulb. He came back to the stretcher with some kind of a container in his hand and kept it down and held the head of his victim between his palms. He looked up trying to see who it was but the light bulb behind the person’s head made it impossible for him to do so.

“It’ll be over soon. Don’t worry my friend. Just relax.”, he said with a smile on his face. He was clearly enjoying this.

He started with his work. He picked up the container.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He closed his eyes and waited for what was going to happen. A very familiar smell came to him with the sound of spilling of a liquid. Petrol, he realized at once.

“Hey! Hey! What the hell are you doing?! NO! Stop it! Stop it! Help! Help!”, he shouted and shouted and was stopped by a palm being placed on his mouth.

“You’ll wake up the neighbors!”, he smirked, “I’m just kidding. I told you no one can hear you! Now calm down; it’ll be over before you know it.”

Helpless, he lay down there; unable to move, unable to do anything to free himself, to save his life, to get away from this psychotic person. He closed his eyes and waited for whatever was going to happen; going over his whole life back again, remembering his family; his wife, his three year old son.

“Are you remembering you family?”

He opened his eyes and spoke feebly, “My wife and my son.”

“Oh! A family man. I had a family once, I remember. But then they sent me away; my father, my mother and my elder brother. My elder brother, I remember, he always picked on me.”, he stopped speaking for a while and continued his preparations.

“Sent you away? Where?”, he tried to speak.

“Keep your questions for the end of the class”, he said with a grin on his face.

“I keep having this vision you know,” he continued, pausing his work and looking into the darkness of the room, “of things burning, my room, my house, my toys; my parents.”, he stopped again and spoke after a pause without the calmness that was there in his voice the entire time. “But it did them good. They probably deserved it, for treating me the way they did; and for sending me away. They never did accept me in the first place.”

“Was it an accident?”, his eyes found their way back from the darkness to his face.

He searched for something in his pocket and took out a match box and lit a stick saying, “Oh no! Not remotely! I burnt them down!”, with a sense of pride in his voice.

His eyes widened and he lay there speechless.

He raised his hand to throw the burning matchstick in but stopped; and then blew out the stick.

“Oh! I completely forgot. You asked me where had they sent me, didn’t you?”, he paused and said, “I guess the class is over. You should get your answer.”, he smiled.

He took out another stick out from the match box and lit it, “To the asylum.” He laughed as he threw the burning matchstick in, relieving the entire room of darkness.

 
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Posted by on November 28, 2014 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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Without You!

I held you in your worst,
At your best, you left;
Tears of joy at your arrival,
At your leave, I wept;
Your coldness broke me down,
Yet towards you, I crept;
How unbearable seemed reality,
For your dreams, I slept.

I slept with you in my heart,
I slept with your memories;
I slept with you in my dreams,
I slept, my love, in your memories.

The truth breaks the heart,
The remorse seems soothing,
Apathy, the only cure,
The heart, unwilling
To move out of this darkness,
Into the sun of hope;
Hope of love, hope of life,
Hope to have another hope.

Hope of yet another hope,
Hope of you returning back,
Hope of you accepting me,
Hope of us coming back.

This resilient heart of mine, never submits,
That love for me, your beauty, never admits.

 
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Posted by on May 23, 2014 in poetry

 

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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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Inexpressiveness

They praise me, for
The creations I create.
They praise me, for
The lines that I make;
And for the way I write,
And bring to life,
My thoughts; and their feelings,
And the nature’s callings.

I talk not of happiness.
I talk not of the good times.
I pay not heed to the schemes,
Nor to the rhymes in the lines.
All I do is, express
The feelings within me;
And the sadness
In me, that you do not see.

The failures of words, you do not see;
My failure of expression, you do not see.

I write and use, all that I know.
I write my heart out, to let you know,
How beautiful it is to me,
The nature, that my eyes see.
I fail to explain the beauty;
The beauty that I see.

For how; how do I talk,
Of the dead buds on the sidewalk?
And how do I choose the perfect word,
To describe that green’s perfect shade?
And how do I talk of the fragrance,
That holds death and love in the balance!

How do you describe it when you see,
A couple in love for forever, their serenity!
Does ‘love’ do justice to what they bear?
One may find the perfect word; but where?

Perhaps my knowledge limits me.
Perhaps it is me merely being a man.
Perhaps there are no words for thee,
Oh nature, perhaps I try in vain.
But I shall strive to put you in words.
And I shall put in words, what I feel within.

And may I fail; and fail yet again.
And there I may end, where you begin.

And thus shall I fail, oh nature, in my ventures,
And yet, I shall be praised, for my failures.

 
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Posted by on February 17, 2014 in poetry

 

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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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Futility

The scarcity of the leaves on the branches of the trees, the setting of the sun, the falling of the beauty of nature in the form of the yellow leaves. How beautifully it resembles everything else that the mother nature has created, with just one single thing common to all of them, the end. The message is so subtly displayed every year, every day or maybe even in every passing moment, if we only look closer. Nothing lasts forever. Everything comes to an end. The day ends with a sunset, the year ends with the people celebrating it, even these small leaves that had once been so lively green change their colour to a dull orange and fall off, leaving behind them, the emptiness of their presence to be filled up by someone else.

“How futile?!”, he said, “Isn’t it love?”, without turning around.

Her face filled up at the sound of love. She loved him calling her that.
He turned a bit to take a look at her glamorous smile that lit her face like the bright sun in the clear sky.

“The beauty?” she asked.

“The life.”

“But that’s not what you’re upset about, are you?”

She always got to him better than anyone else. Specially to his other side. That side made her like him even more. She always preferred mysterious guys over the ones which had a shallow self. She thought she could relate to them. She wasn’t in love with him, but she was surely in love with his mysterious side. She had come across to him so much like the other girls he had met before. She loved tattoos, liked mysteries, did not like reading, talked about boys, liked going out and loved to look beautiful. The only two things that had come across as unusual to him about her were her smile, that was livelier than life itself, and the tattoos on her leg. One of which was a fish and the other was a word in some other language, which he had not asked the meaning of.

“Will I be forgotten?” he asked.

“You are upset because you think you will not be remembered?” she asked back.

“Yes.”

“Well that sounds a little selfish.”

“You can’t blame someone for thinking about himself.”

She didn’t answer. He stared at the life of the day ending with the setting of the sun. The sight made him restless. The thought grew deeper into him and got the better of him. He could not but think about how hard he had worked to be loved by the people, to be known by the world, to become a name; how he had given his life to it and how it will be taken away all at once by death.

“You got over him too, didn’t you? You’ve forgotten about him too, the person whom you once loved more than your own life.”

The mild smile from her face was taken away by the memories of her past.

“No”, she said without looking at his face. Her face reflected of the depth she had within her. He had never seen this side of her before. “I still do. I had fallen in love with him once and I might not be able to forget him ever. The memories, they stay with you, locked up in one corner of your heart, which stays with you, forever. I have this love for him which I will always bear, even when I die. I shall be buried with this love within my chest.”

The sun had finally set, leaving the dusk behind.

“You see, even the sun leaves his light behind, reminding us of its presence, marking its existence.” she came back to him, “and you are loved; you are known, by the ones whose lives you have touched; and they will bear this love for you in their heart forever. They will die with this love for you and take it to their grave with them.”

He could not believe the depth of the words coming from her. He was surprised.

“Will you remember me too?” he asked.

She smiled at his stupid question which answered his question for her.

She turned around to go.

The feeling of the futility of life did not completely go away from his heart but what made him comfortable was the fact that he will always be loved and remembered by the people who mean something to him.

He picked up the leaf and kept it in his pocket and walked back with her.

 
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Posted by on December 27, 2013 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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