A story like any other.

This is a little tale about two shells, shells that felt empty but in reality they weren't, lost but hopeful, quiet on the exterior but a storm raged within, dark but they carried a light perhaps they prefered the shadows. This is a tale about two demons, caged within these shells, they weren't thrown in there, just prisoners of their own accord, two souls that wandered, not lost, they just didn't know what they were looking for, they'd been on this journey far too long, they forgot all about it;

Now I many not be able to tell you more about both of them, even if I did, I'd probably be lying, for one can only know their inner demon best. This is a tale about hope, something that had been buried too deep within, one can almost call this a tale of rediscovering said lost hope.
Was it fate? Fortune? Goodwill? Or just a chance meeting? a plain accident waiting to happen? I wouldn't know, I shall let you decide.

It was a day like any other, sun came out, all things happening as they should, monotonous and melancholic with a sweet side of balance, the gears shifted by and by. Just another day, just another predictable thing waiting to happen he sighed heavily as he slid out of bed slowly, remembers he had to be somewhere right now that wasn't his bed. Something about the outside world made him wanna turn his back on it, be cryptic. He hated this place, it had grown too old for him, but also it was home, the place where he could be himself, but also somewhere he could hide away. Why hide ? he was that odd block of tetris that stuck out too high, everything around wanted to cram him away into nothingness, make him disappear.

"We're out again" he told himself in his mind, like a small victory badge given to a boy scout when he first started a fire, little did he know he was going to start one later that day. Interesting subjects everywhere, a crowd of people he could blend in with, he hid behind a contraption, clicking away at anything and everything catching his eye, what he failed to put in words, he just captured with a little mirror and a shutter.

A Moment came, he saw something through that viewfinder, someone. Just another intriguing stranger he said to himself, something went off like a magnificent firework in the sky, like an alluring flare of sun just before the darkness sets in, it went off quietly, unseen, unheard, only felt by this ignorant fool.

There was a click, followed by a few more. The moment passed, back again wandering, back to hiding. It was in between all that confusion caused by denial and withdrawal, a little voice in his head urged him to do something he wouldn't even in the wildest of his dreams, then again he hardly dreamt, now we know the odds of this very moment having played out in exactly the way it did, were beyond impossible.

He stepped out into the light, there was still darkness, but he stepped out into another's light, he made conversation, with a stranger, nothing too special, just two creatures, being the social equivalent of the humans around them. Something burned away his shackles, no ashes, no smoke.
A tiny spark of Hope flickered inside, in the darkest little ally, there was light at the end  of  this vast, endless chain of asphalt and dust.

The odds of something this unfathomably exquisite falling together, at that exact moment in time, were unheard of, stuff of fairytales? or  Nightmares?

Something broke the world that night, the clockwork jammed up, gears fell apart, the sky went backwards. Emotions were alien to him, After all, he had burned away all parts of him that could feel a long time ago. But how did he feel again ? What changed? How did something bound and locked away behind the heaviest of gates, with the meanest of sentries get out again?

A sharp breeze blew by, caressed the back of his neck gently, not so much so it touched him, just enough to whisk up the hair like of a spooked animal. There was fear. Questions about what lied ahead, he'd mostly run away from something like this in the past, every fiber of his being shouting to do the same, but a tiny voice In his head pushed him in the other direction. A tiny little warrior, his shield gripped tight, and a sword by his hip, he coursed through into a new journey.

Joy and Misery

There is an unknown Happiness hidden in suffering, we condemn sorrow, isnt something we even vaguely care to acknowledge, even when it makes us value the few moments of joy and pleasure we experience from time to time.

Self inflicted as it may be, its cast away into downtown Denial ally, trying hard not to bat an eye at it even when its pounding at your ribcage like a feral beast, pinned down, fogging your vision.
Or is it just so overwhelming that people just go numb under it, like when you just find it hard to move as a pair of headlights just swerve right into you, you know it could kill you, hurt you even your mind chooses a easier way out and blanks out instead of jumping every single muscle in your body to throw you out from under the bus.

In that moment of blankly staring death right in the eye there is almost dull, fading but pleasant Feeling serenading you. Mind body and soul.

If somehow by a stroke of luck you make it through with just a few scratches, every time you look back, no matter how hard you try, that faint thread of a happy moment skips out from this memory, the more you look, the more it disappears.

There really is some twisted form of joy in misery. We get off on it, We savour it better than the most incredible moments in life, but just don't know what it really is; Can't remember, Cant forget yet you always long for more of the same.

Realism on Humanity

We deviced a concept of Spirituality, the positive and negative, heaven and hell, sins and  good deed, something to keep us going through the hustle and bustle of our daily lives.
But when I come to think of it, We tend to live in Denial of the blacks and grays of life, often crediting ourselves for the good, all the glitter and glory.
But never account for our sins, very few among us are at a certain point of self awareness and do own up to our misdeeds.
While arguable, the concept of karma is, at least in my opinion very real. The consequences of all our actions are always making their way to get us back, one way or another. It may happen today, tomorrow or much later in time, but it always gets you in the face.
While it's something we all know, in the back of our minds, we just try to push it deep down, so far that it seems to not exist. Some just run away, ignore it, pretend that they never did that said thing, live on like it shouldn't affect them, but inside they're always scared, hoping and prayinga for it not to bite them in the back.
Like caging up a demon in your basement,
Playing pretend pet, hoping it'd be your ally when the time comes for you to let it off of its shackles.

We like to live in the light, we claim all our riches and luxuries to be a result of hard work and dedication, which isn't the case always, we just tend to ignore the darkness, the poor and forgotten, the ones who Tread in the dirt and filth, we deem them unworthy of acknowledgement, equivalent of that critter crawling on the ground, we'd rather squish it off watch it squirm and breath it's last, rather than letting it be.

While heaven and hell may or may not be as they say it is in all the books, I know one thing for sure, we have let them both manifest right here on our plane.
All the wealthy, the privileged, the Fortunate and proud live in their self made heavens, and right beneath lie the land of those that are forgotten. We don't really exist in harmony. But we just tell ourselves that "There is balance in the world".

At times, someone from below rises, subject's the ones above to all that they were put through, fights to reverse the paradigm, but once they're up there, it's just forgetting the ones below, the cycle goes on. Maybe one day earth shall wipe the slate and hope for a better altercation of Life and civilization to manifest.
Until then, let's eat and be eaten.

Identity crisis.

It is me, myself, and I. Drifting through the passage of life.
There is light everywhere around, but to me there is none, Blinded by emptiness, as I run awry looking for a bleak Ray of hope. Or maybe I'm just not looking in the right direction.

I can be Light, I can be laughter, I can be a symphony to your ear, I can be Madness, I can be Joy, or as melancholy as the monsoon showers.
I can be Rage, I can be envy, I can be sorrow or a lustful tease, tearing at your heart.
I am everything and nothing all at once.

What am I really?
An object of another's possession?
A mere entertainer and bringer of smiles?
A trophy of another's victory?
A sigil of another's blight?
Or am I a being of my own, an individual that could stand out?
Or
Maybe I'm just nobody, as I blend and fade away in this crowd.

Realism

This post is going to be a bit too critical for some people and perhaps too less for others, fair warning before you proceed any further, it might come off as a hypocritical and cynical post countering most of initial posts, again its just an opinion I would like to express, much as I'd like it to be a voice note, I can't pay for sound cloud pro yet ( lel, donations from anonymous benefactors are always welcome). Feel free to stop and close the window at anytime. Cheers.


I Believe we have been brought up with an unrealistic idea, an idea of absolution, the distinction between good and evil, purity and corruption. Fairy tales, bedtime stories, folk lore, and all else that would be told, read out to, read or watched by Children, they all preach of an absolute good and evil;
The light and the dark are lain out plain and simple, if there's a witch in the tale, evil, the fairy is always good, with a notable few exceptions of course. The sad reality of it is every little kid becomes the poor "Damsel in distress" or a "Prince Charming" ,the "Knight in a shining Armour" ,the "Princess in a Castle" so on and so forth, changing the labels to fit their certain situations.
They believe the world revolves around themselves, center of the universe, unfortunately their tale is just one among many, another sob story in a civilization full of  these, "Special little snowflakes" consider themselves too unique while all they do is heard along with the rest of the crowd, neither footprint nor their shadows noticed. Okay enough bashing up them individuals with a hero complex ( including me lel, writ as thought I were a sentient being with all access to unending knowledge. Ignorant little snowflake )


NOW to the Real World. Let the games begin, there is no such thing as pure evil or good, rather no such thing as good; there is but only the lesser among two evils, just like all these games me and my generation have been blessed with, Brutal, harsh but realism served right.

( Game Title references  For the future audience, hopefully this document stays till both it and these titles become what we call "Retro"- The witcher trilogy ( 2009- 2015), Life is strange (2016), Until Dawn (2016), One last chance by kongregate games, indie 32 bit title which will make you cry in just a few seconds, DusesEx series, Dragon age inquisition, Fallout 3, etc)

These are probably the tales we should've been fed after we start picking up on profanity. There is no true hero, even the most saintly and pure beings (or so they say/ are portrayed as/ profess to be) have skeletons in their closets, even the most cut throat killing machine, has a code they live by, which is a reflection of the faint yet significant light and warmth they perhaps felt.
There's the Ying and the yang, but which aspect outweighs the other? That's just potluck.

As a Child of say 2-3 years of age, I had this big fat book that literally read " bedtime stories "

The cover of the exact same book from then, surprisingly mums managed to save this one :')

They'd read to me every night, every tale I was mostly familar with but I would make them read them to me anyway, the story that caught my attention the most was "The three little pigs" the first time they ever read it to me, I sat quiet and just nodded along, almost too quiet, had my parents real worried, then in the very end I had an almost worried and disheartened expression on my face, My parents just ask why that was so and I shrilly reply " But what about the wolf?"with watery eyes almost, "The wolf never got to eat, he was just so hungry, Maybe if the pigs shared some food with him, they could be friends and he would protect them." and that my lads is how they changed the ending for me, with the pigs and the wolf all getting what they want in the end. 

They still poke at me with this and remind me that I'm the kid who was more worried about the bad guy in a fairytale. Hence the obesssion with wolves I guess, and now I share my bed with a huge fluffy husky. 

(so much for ending a negative post on a positive note!? sigh!)

Solitude. P-1

It is the early hours of a dying day. The light slowly dimming out. Nature telling its beings that one must rest now. While the said higher beings do just the opposite. Congress in groups, under shady, distorted lights, to indulge in intoxication, numbing out their minds, letting their bodies do all the talking. While these creatures throw reasoning out of the box, resort to their instinctual nature. Hoping to wake up to a false sense of security in the company of another.

A few lurk around quietly, slipping through the mainstream crowd, head into certain brighter parts of the city. Surrounded by the faint aroma of coffee beans and wood.

One particular creature. It seems to have slipped out of this practice for a while now. Makes its way into the said sanctuary. Not quite sure what one does here. Goes upto the counter. Grabs a drink, half heated as some valuable paper slips out for the exchange. Bound by obligation to do so, for it Desires both a subtle flavor to wet its palette, and hide away from reality for a few moments, it treasures those moments.

An escape from the realm of mankind. Into a Pandora, also a product of the same reality it dwells in, the irony.

Observant. Quiet. Talks to itself in its mind. Makes mental notes about the aesthetics and architecture. Just keeping its mind busy while it seems to be doing nothing to its surroundings.

The Batista speaks the creatures name as he sets it down on the counter.
Grabs said commodity that it overpaid for, slowly makes its way up the stairs.

Finds a well lit spot. Sets down belongings. Makes itself comfortable.
Looks around.
Scans its surroundings for something, itself not being sure what it looks for, then pulls out a scripture from a contraption it carries. The creature dwells in a society that revolves around validation. Pulls out another handheld contraption, a social media sphere, captures the moment and shares it. Craves to be validated. While it also seeks alone time.

Funny this creature.

As the night unfurls, the beings start to come to life, in front of our subject. A figment of ones  imagination, manifesting in another's mind, Just fascinating how these creatures crave to dwell so much in another's or a fantasy of their own, the thought of existing in reality is nauseating to their species. Real life is too hard. UNREAL....

The irony.

Today a tale of a being, neither man nor an immortal. An Endless, the keeper of dreams, the one who has a bunch of songs and literary verses dedicated to him. The sandman, Morpheus they call him and yet another infamous being, the one we blame for all our sins, the manifestation of true evil ( or so they say) The first rebel, god's favorite son, The condemned Angel, Samael or should we say Lucifer Morning star. 

This Creature Draws lines of similarity with the devil himself, so it believes that anything unconventional is rejected by the society, out of the mainstream and you don't belong, you cant fit in, you don't even get a vote of choice, your fate has been decided, do not deviate from your path or so you shall be thrown away into the 9 circles of Hell. 

The strength to step outside the fixed certainties of the word, was unique to a few and our reader believed that such courage deserved respect, not punishment.