Who are you, and what have you done to my parents?

Gone are the years when your dad and mum were the loving, jovial parents you knew them to be. When they willingly allowed you to do what you wanted without a word of dissent, laughed and immediately forgave and forgot when you screwed up and took you out for chocolate ice-cream by means of consolation.

Now they seem to channel the spirit of the Fuhrer himself, yelling at you for no good reason, questioning you as though you're some kind of runaway prisoner when you go out, and restricting you from anything and everything.

Yeah, you're probably right: your parents have been replaced by evil alien clones of themselves. And millions of kids are probably going through the same thing right now. In fact, there might as well be a full-scale invasion of the normal people (that's us) on Earth by the Dark Forces (the parents, or rather, their villainous replacements).

The good news is, you still have a chance of getting your real parents back. You see, putting aside all the alien replacement jokes, the real reason your parents act like the twins of Voldemort is because of a very simple thing- you're a teen. And your parents realise that this is the time you start acting out, and because they expect you to do so, they begin all the scolding and restricting early. For example, an innocent outing with a guy friend will have your dad assume the position of a stern headmaster, and a return home just a minute after your curfew will have your mum cut off all your TV privileges for a month.

Despite all this, you know your parents love you, and do all this because they have your best interests at heart. So, in order to restore peace to the household, you must use the healing and diplomatic power of compromise. Start by explaining how you feel to them, because, (hard to believe, yeah?), they have gone through the same thing. Be patient and emphasise your point clearly, there's no reason to get all worked up over nothing. For example, if you want to come home late from an outing, list all the valid reasons for doing so, wth a promise to be safe, not wander and to always have your phone with you. After all, parents are suckers for the whole maturity act. 

Rein in your protests when they say no and listen to their side of the argument. Your parents may turn out be right in the end. You don't want to be on the other side of the "I told you so!" lecture, do you?

So keep calm and fight your way out with a straight face. Get your normal parents back while you still can! :-)

Travel to Tirupathi

Travel to Tirupathi

An unpleasant surprise sprung up at me, late in the evening of the 5th of this month, when my mum told me that we were leaving for a day's trip to visit Sri Venkatachalapathy's temple in Tirupathi. The surprise was particularly unpleasant for me, because the last time we went there (I was about eleven years old) we’d had a bad experience. In fact, whenever the word 'Tirupathi' was said in the vicinity, I had blurred visions of shaved heads screaming and pushing us in their eagerness to get close to the Lord.

Nothing, however, could be said in protest when my parents made their minds up to go. The following morning saw us getting up at the crack of dawn, sleepily and reluctantly bathing and conducting various morning duties, then travelling by car to our destination, which was located on the border of Andhra Pradesh.

Upon reaching, we had a tasty breakfast, courtesy of the Bhimasena restaurant and decided to continue our drive uphill. However, my mum, who seemed to have a penchant for giving me nasty shocks that day, wanted to travel by foot up the Tirupathi pedestrian path, which she had never tried before. This suggestion, nay, command, was unanimously seconded by my traitor of a brother, my dad and my dad's friend, while I silently seethed in the background.

Ironically, I turned out to be the one who enjoyed the climb the most. The Tirupathi pedestrian path consists of around 3500 steps, through the hill. It is widely believed that if one mounts these stairs with the Lord’s name on their lips, all their wishes are fulfilled by Him. The weather was favorable for us as we walked up the stairs- not too hot, and not too chilly. Thousands of devotees were our companions, ranging from men in sweat-soaked cotton shirts, dhotis and the occasional pair of jeans to women in pastel colored saris, carrying baskets and children. Many people brought turmeric powder soaked in water and kumkum, which they dabbed on the front of every stair they climbed. Stalls hawking refreshments like cool drinks, chips, bhelpuri, coffee, etc. lined the border of the path, often the only things separating us and the mounds of grass and rock on the other side.

The journey was long, but mercifully not too tiring. Our driver was waiting for us at the top and took us to a restaurant where we had some questionable food for lunch. Then, as it was getting late, we hurried to the area outside the temple where hundreds and hundreds of people had already lined up.

The queues to the shrine of the Tirupathi are the worst places to wait in. The people are so excited to be so close to prostrating before Sri Venkatachalapathy that they jostle, push, prod, poke and do anything that is humanly possible to make others in the queue feel as uncomfortable and at times, as scared as can be.

That is precisely what happened to us. I, in particular, had to endure three whole hours of short women nudging me painfully in the back, men giving hoarse yells of “Govinda, Goooooovindaa!” (At one point, my dad joined in as well) and an annoying kid who made it his business to wail and sob every five seconds.

Thankfully, three hours went by pretty quickly, and after much shoving and pushing, we found ourselves in front of the Lord’s shrine. I have visited Tirupathi only once before, and have no memory of ever glimpsing the idol of Sri Venkatachalapathy, so this was my very first sight of him. And what a sight.

He was smooth obsidian black, dressed in new silk robes and ornaments that shone and glittered beautifully in the soft light of the lamps, a mysterious figure at the far of the shrine. For a moment there, he looked almost...alive. Caught in the moment, I quickly bowed my head, and said my prayers, resolving firmly that I would be a better person to make Him proud of me, before being swept away by the priests.

We did our pradarshan around the temple (which is said to be more than thousands of years old. Although a few modern mechanisms have been added, the basic foundation consists of smooth cool stone and weathered figures carved on the walls), collected our prasadam, the famous Tirupathy ladoos, and began our journey downhill towards Chennai. As we clambered into our car, I thought about my day at Tirupathy. Sure, I’d had a long day and tiring day. After an arduous climb of around 3500 stairs, having food that would probably not pass the test for consumer approval and being tossed around in a crowd of extremely agitated devotees like heedless insects, I was understandably exhausted and more than willing to return home. But, as my grandmother said, it was all for Him above, who protected and watched over us lovingly. And after what I’d seen in the shrine, I sure agreed with her.

Imagine scores of these bobbling up and down, a sea of turmeric-painted eggs.
It can scar you for life.

The Quirks of Stubbing a Toe

 One of the most amusing things of being a human is to observe the strange reactions of our fellow-beings, to the most ordinary things. Take, for example, the brushing of a tree-bough against a low window-sill at night. Only a handful of people will recognize the sound for what it actually is. Others may leap up and scream, thinking that it is a ghost, covered in a bloody, white sheet who has passed by their house. Some, especially the more paranoid beings who have something to hide, will have their bread-knives and saucepans and what-not, ready in their hands to beat the brains out of their biggest fear in life - a burglar.

                                                  Err...'scuse me, I seemed to have lost me way...

However, I find that a very ordinary situation, the kind that happens at home all the time and yet draws the most bizarre, albeit hilarious reactions from people, is the stubbing of one's big toe. Now, I know what you’re thinking ‘Oh yeah, that happens all the time, but I’ve never noticed anyone pulling off a weird reaction - it’s mostly just screaming out an obscene oath and biting one's lips.’ But last week, I, in a manner that would please my Science teacher enormously, decided to conduct a research on the type of response people gave to the stubbing of the big toe. And here it is.

It began on a Saturday, a quiet evening, an evening when usually, after sleeping and not doing homework, I’d flop on the sofa and watch reruns of Rules of Engagement. However, on this evening, I opened a notebook, and nibbling the end of my pencil, kept vigil at the table near the door. My first subject, and the one I relished watching the most, was my annoying nincompoop of a brother. He was watching TV, a very intense (and incredibly boring) episode of Kick Buttowski, and was walking backwards, all his attention on the pixelated screen. Suddenly, as he turned, he slammed his big toe into the door. He stopped, stared at the offended toe for a second. Then, without warning, he screamed so loudly that I jumped, and he ran (or hopped) to the kitchen to my mum, with tears streaming down his face, which, incidentally, had taken the color of a rotten tomato, all pulpy and gooey with mucus and tears. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, I recorded this first piece of my findings in my notebook.



This is pretty much what my brother's face looked like. Ew.



The second subject was, surprisingly, my mum, because she’s usually watchful of her surroundings, not like me. In my case, I see a table, chair and an armchair in front of me, and I still manage to bump into all three on my way.  Going back to my research, this happened on a Friday morning. I’d kept watch for over a week now, and nothing had happened as yet. I was nodding over my notebook, when my mum’s sharp voice suddenly jolted me back to reality. ‘What on earth are you doing?’ she asked, eyeing the blank page suspiciously. Hastily, I covered the page with my hand and said in a fake, jaunty voice that made me cringe. ‘Nothing, Mum! Just…uh…some Economics homework.’ She narrowed her eyes and turned away. Sighing, I decided to give it up for the day, and just as I was closing the book, an abrupt hissing noise startled me. At first, assuming it was the pressure cooker from next door, I resumed putting my things back together, but as it sounded again, I realized it was Mum. Suddenly delighted, I turned to the door, and there she was, clutching her toe in one hand and hissing most venomously at the offending door. Biting down a chuckle, I ran to my room and proceeded to record my observation with glee. Then, as Mum swore loudly, I ran to the first-aid kit. It was either some soothing lotion, or my life.

                                                            



My mum and me. Notice our manner of spending 'quality time'.



But it was my dad who won an Oscar for the best performance. This time, it began with a huge family row between my dad and me. We were arguing about my lazy manner regarding the cleanliness of my room. I yelled that it was a teenager’s birthright to keep the room as messy as possible, and he just wasn’t buying it. Still shouting, he moved and jammed his toe into the poor door, which had received more than its share of hits these past two weeks. An ominous silence descended, and we all held our breath. My dad stood still, his eyes closed. Then, as though in great consternation, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed very deeply for a minute. Looking up, he gave me a most scornful glare, before turning on his heel and stalking to the main bedroom. It was very beautifully done, a lovely, subtle performance. I almost felt like giving him a resounding round of applause.



And the Oscar goes to...



Thus, based on my research and findings, I quickly wrote down my conclusions, that firstly, human beings had a tendency to stub their toes, and stub them badly when they were either too absorbed in something else, or were too filled with emotion to see where they were going, and secondly, they had the most peculiar reactions in such circumstances. Smirking at the results, I was satisfied, and convinced that, with these conclusions, I was surely a lot wiser and would definitely look carefully before moving anywhere. Very pleased with my cleverness, I walked out of the room, my head high and my back straight with pride. That is, until I rammed my toe into the door which almost groaned in exasperation now. OUCH!

I think He was trying to tell me something.

-Just a lil' something I'd written for Friendship Day, way back. Ah, but who doesn't need a little get-me-back-on-track every now and then? Love, Kai :)

Dear Friend,

I remember how we met. It was at the practice for Sports Day, and a mutual girl friend and I were arguing about the hotness of Cristiano Ronaldo. You stepped in to say that it didn’t matter how hot he was, according to you, he was simply the worst footballer ever (strange how everything you say contradicts me, huh?). That got us arguing, and in a bizarre way, the grounds for our friendship had been established.

A week later, you saw me in my worst state. My hair was unwashed, my clothes rumpled and there was a distinct stench of loneliness around me. Unlike my other friends, you didn’t rush over and demand an explanation. You didn’t put an arm around my shoulders and console me. No, all you did was to simply give me a big, cozy bear hug which made me feel better straightaway. You also helped me get over my depression by offering me a shoulder to cry on, and treating me to the largest chocolate sundae I’d ever seen. What more could define a good friend, than someone who’d bought me ice-cream as the cure for helping me out of my rut? You practically read my mind there.

After that, we had a wonderful friendship. We hung out practically everyday, competing for high-score positions in video games, royally making fools of each other during April Fools’ Day, fighting over the capability of various football players, arguing over the silliest of things and generally having a humungous load of fun with each other.

Of course, in between, you were there for me when I got incredibly nervous for a speech contest, a 1500 m race and while putting forward a new proposition for the school to the vice-principal. You wiped the sweat off my brow, clapped me (albeit painfully) on my shoulder and whispered encouraging words. Self-confidence was gradually added in my dictionary, thanks to you, because you almost always teased me out of my apprehension and worry.

And one day, I got to repay everything you had done for me. That was the first time I’d seen you without your easy smile. You’d just been dumped by your vamp of a girlfriend, your parents had given you a hard time for something you hadn’t done on purpose and your position on the football team had gone down from star player to benchwarmer.

I did the same thing you first did for me: I gave you a comforting hug. I listened to you, I helped to you see things clearly and I felt so happy for you when you returned to life’s train which always moved on. I helped you remember all the lessons you thought me, the most important of which was that every blistering day has a chance of being cool and cloudy with a hint of refreshing rain.

I guess that with Friendship Day just around the corner, I just want to thank you for being such an awesome pal. Thank you for reminding me that life’s always worth living, that ice-cream and a hug from your best friend can always make you find every problem’s solution, and last, but most definitely not the least, thank you for letting me know that if I ever have kidney failure, there’s always someone around to personally find someone else to donate one for me.

Yours forever,

Me.

Shore Love

Shore Love

What is it about the beach that makes life seem so simple, yet so breathtakingly beautiful all at once? Perhaps it’s the very first step you take there, the moment you sink your feet into the soft granules of sand that makes you feel peaceful immediately, its warm, earthy texture assuring you that you are well-grounded, you are home. Or maybe it’s the aquamarine vastness of the sea and sky, both so far apart, and yet so similar in their other worldliness, that suddenly seems to make all your problems disappear into thin air.

When you take a whiff of the strong, crisp salty air, you find yourself slowly letting your breath out, easing all the sore kinks in your body. It’s Nature’s best form of aromatherapy, immediately relaxing and rejuvenating you. It works best with your eyes shut. When you open your eyes, make sure you register the entire vista of the beach.

For beaches have parallel lines of color on each side, a rich, heart-warming gold on one side, the hue of Mum’s freshly baked cake, and, a deep, mysterious turquoise on the other, full of intriguing, unexplained secrets, the waves swirling invitingly.

Look down, and the sand is spotted with an infinite number of things- pink-and-white speckled shells, slimy green seaweed cruising in with each passing wave, the occasional starfish lazing in the snowy foam, its arms nonchalantly waving in the air, driftwood, crabs, you name it. The sand is just as mystifying as the sea on the other side, its layers providing shelter for those who wish to keep to themselves, away from the glare of the sun.

The wet, sticky sand receives the waves rushing in. It’s perfect for building sand sculptures, castles, pits, dams, you name it. To let go of all your principles of hygiene, to dig in with your fingers and feel the gooey moistness collect in your hands is to let go completely of any stress, anything that causes you to hold back. And then, of course, is the sea itself.

All you have to do is to wade in the water, and the waves do the rest, beckoning you, pulling you in to taste the sharp tang of the salty water. When you duck your head in the water, and open your eyes, you literally experience a whole, new (although somewhat blurry) world.

You are immersed in ever-changing shades of blue; you enjoy solitude of a different kind. All round you, everything is silent, and yet life exists here. Brightly colored fish gently wave their fins, as though welcoming you into their world. Here and there, in the ocean bed, if you can just manage to spot them, are the spiky black sea-urchins, happily nestled in the sand. Rocks, when lifted, disclose aquatic plants, so different from the ones on land, fleshy and weird, all dressed in exotic apparel. The sea world fascinates you with its ‘live and let live’ policy, of minding its own business in the midst of busy surroundings world, something that you wish would be followed back where you live, too.

Pop your head out of the water, lest you die with too much to see and too little to breathe. Right now, you can do anything you like, float lazily with the waves, with an I-don’t-care smirk on your face, or you could swim back and indulge in some delicious Popsicles, kick butt at beach football and have Frisbee fun with your dog. The beach is your hideaway, your zone, where you bring out the vibrant person in you. Lean back, and enjoy.

The Goth Chick

The Goth Chick

Dark of hair, pale of skin

Chin cupped in fishnet-gloved palm

The Goth girl sits on the stairs,

An object of brooding calm.

Pierced eyebrow raised in boredom

Black lips drawn to reveal a mocking sneer

She taps a combat boot-clad foot

Deaf to many a jeer.

Who is she, beneath the shadowy façade?

Behind the obstinate, indifferent wall?

Is she any different on the inside?

Will she divulge her secrets at all?

Bite Me

Bite me…

I watch the world with knowing eyes,

Undisguised and hardened, bereft of sentiment.

I see them all through a looking-glass.

I feel nothing for them, be it compassion, hatred or attachment.

They glance at me from time to time.

Begging me to understand, hoping that I react.

I have nothing to say to them, I don’t wish to look at them.

I don’t want to have to put on an act.

I stopped caring a long time back.

For I realized, the more I loved,

The more I showed warmth,

The more they wounded, hurt and shoved

Till my heart froze in a block of ice.

It will never melt now.

I hope that someday, they will stop trying to chain me

Because, here and now, I vow that they will not make me bow.

Get up, Get Goin'

 Get Up, Get Goin’

When life seems to zoom down the failure lane

When the going gets tough

When you’re deep in the depths of despair

Stand up, and say “ENOUGH!”

Catch hold of the reins

And give a good, strong yank

You make your own GPS

You fill in the empty tank.

Because you’re the one who decides the destination

You need to heal from previous hurts and gashes

You’re the star, the celebrity of your life

You’re the phoenix rising from the ashes.

You can go the distance

Pick yourself up after every fall

Push, be determined, and never doubt yourself

Reach the finish line, and stand triumphant and tall.

Confidence never killed anybody

Believe in yourself, because the winner takes it all

Use blood, sweat and tears to show that

To win, you have the heart, soul, grit and gall.

Grudge-less is Better (or) Forgiveness may not be divine, but it sure feels good!

Like I said, I'd taken a  hiatus from writing. I STILL have a bit of a writer's block, but I'm working through (rather slowly and labourously, but still).

I learnt a lot about myself during this time though. Not through the vacationing, discover-yourself way, but in a more bringing-down-to-earth-with-a-shocking-impact manner. However, elaborating this would be totally embarrassing.

Having a grudge against someone, and thinking revengeful thoughts about them, like the tie-them-up-and-throw-them-in-a-lake-full-of-crocodiles kind, is fun and a good way to vent your feelings. Not for long.

If you're the forgive and forget type of person, you're cool, but if ( and this is how stalkers are made) you brood over it, that's not such a good idea. Because the grudge starts eating you up on the inside, always reminding you of that person, in anything that you do, from watching a movie to reading a book.
 
And if you let this obsession grow, it can take a complete turn for destination dangerous, and you may come to a point where you'll be forced to accept that you need psychological treatment or you'll never be left in peace.

So, chill. It's not worth living in hatred. Be confident and kind enough to LET GO. And, trust me here, you'll find that it feels good to forgive and make up. Life's so much better when observed from a positive and carefree angle.

Take care,
Kai

Well, this is a lil' chilled out me. I mean, my exams are just going get over (and i'll be free! *evil laugh*), so I'm a little relaxed, even though, as Mum says,I shouldn't be, seeing that it's Science and all. But whatever.
The thing is, I've something called the writer's block, which is REALLY annoying, especially when you consider yourself as THE awesomest writer on the planet (not that I'm THAT arrogant. Right.), so I'm just going to conduct something called The Fickle Probe. I'm gonna ask random questions, and I fully expect y'all to waste your time answering them.

So, for now, toodles! Questioning  starts on Monday.
Danki (that's thanks in Amish. Yes, I know. I'm kooky.),
Kai

Halcyon Days

I don’t want to rush.

I don’t want to push someone away in the pursuit of my goal.

I won’t scamper, scurry or hurry.

I want time to be as slow and thick as blueberry slush.

I want to linger by the flowers and fantasize about my love.

I want to warble a song in the manner of them birds.

I want to lie by a pond and look at the clear, beautiful ripples.

I want to dance and sway like flowing music replaces plain, cold words.

I need to slow down.

To smell the warmth and love of Mum’s freshly baked bread

I want to rush about, through the dew-filled grass and over the emerald hills.

In nothing but my pajamas, all cheerfully made up in white and red.

Sometimes, life isn’t about a race.

Let alone a rat-race for that matter.

Who wants to be perpetually breathless and drowning in sweat?

Between the jumpy and the chilled, isn’t the most content the latter?

Life’s a journey, where you do what you love most.

You need a holiday every once in a while.

Circle the world, go crazy and colorful or simply take a stroll.

Because, believe it or not, life can be a bed of roses if you just stop for a sniff and smile.

Amity in a Strange Package

                                           Amity in a strange package

They weren’t a couple. Oh, no.

He was the captain of the Soccer Club, lithe, athletic and quick. She belonged to the Drama and Literature Club, with a penchant for writing and speaking extensively.

They belonged in parallel universes- he was usually the type that came late to school, had a knack for irritating teachers and at the same time making the other kids laugh. To come to school to study was most definitely not his objective- he liked to think that his world revolved around soccer, burgers, girls, guitar and himself. She was smart- she took studies seriously, was strong in her words and behavior, organized a bunch of activities in school, and although her world didn’t seem to revolve around herself, a lot of people were dependent on her.

He was the Loki of the school, she the Amazon Warrior Queen.

And yet, when they two did meet, they acted as a foil to each other’s natures. He would sober down, and display a surprisingly intellectual nature. Indeed, he had shocked her considerably the first time they’d started talking, with his astounding knowledge of subjects ranging from Shakespeare, History and literature to the workings of the modern machine. She, in turn, seemed to let go of whatever current stress that troubled her, like a deflating balloon, and laughed and romped about easily and naturally. She amazed him with her devious nature while playing pranks, and then getting them out of trouble, in fact it was she who had suggested the idea of a senior year prank.

She helped him get serious with life, he helped her enjoy it.

Yet, only a handful knew that they were friends. To the rest of the world, it seemed like two so very different people, polar opposites of each other, could not even get along with each other, unless they were going out. And even then, it would be a completely platonic relationship, for he was handsome, with shaggy brown hair falling lazily into his eyes, and she was classically beautiful- light boned, slim and smooth, with waves of jet black hair.

It was the little things they did, that kept the glue of their friendship fresh and strong. They went out for a McDonald’s Chocolate-Dip Vanilla cone every weekend and sat in his car, listening to the top-ten FM songs. Or they’d to the beach on a moonlit evening, lie in the sand and look at the twinkling spread of celestial bodies while commenting (or insulting, which was more often the case) on the reel-life stars. Sometimes, she’d pair up with a girlfriend, and he with a bro, and they’d play a little one-one basketball, in which, most humiliatingly, she’d beat him. Their favorite pastime, however, was listening to him play the guitar as she wrote lyrics for his songs, while they argued about everything.

Like Mariede Svign said, true friendship is never serene. They never had a peaceful time together- their evenings would be terminated in her screaming in response to his “funny” jokes and hitting him with whatever was there in her hand, or in some fight or the other. But they always made up, every time.

This seems like a love story, doesn’t it? But it’s not. They’d both deny it, and here’s an anecdote to prove ‘em so.

He was upset. The ray of laughter had gone from his eyes and his lazy smirk was wiped away. He could sit and list his problems for hours. His girlfriend had cheated on him again, his mom and dad fought like coyotes over a mate and his soccer had suffered so badly because of this that Coach had made him warm the bench through three games and threatened to completely withdraw him from the club.

He didn’t notice her, too busy wallowing in his pool of problems till she smacked him so hard around the head that he yelped. ‘Get up.’ Contempt laced every syllable in her tone. He didn’t care and turned away from, not bothering to fight as she dragged him to her car, and started driving.

He didn’t resist, till she pulled up at the field. ‘Oh, come on,’ he asked her, annoyed. ‘You cannot be serious.’ In response, she walked to the goalpost, and kicked the soccer ball to his head. ‘Ow!’ he groaned. But he still didn’t feel the adrenaline rush he experienced near a soccer ball.

‘Come ON, coward!’ she screamed from the other end. ‘Man up! Are you so gutless as to be whining like a little doll-less girl when she dumped you?’ ‘She cheated on me, you freak!’ he yelled back. Memories of the past few weeks crowded on him. Watching in disbelief as his girlfriend kissed his best friend in the school compound, hiding in his room, struggling against the hot, hateful tears as his dad came close to hitting his mom…they swirled around and around in his head, till he couldn’t bear it anymore, no more.

He kicked the ball. She blocked it effortlessly. ‘Useless lump of crap!!’ Coach’s comments heightened his anger, making him kick the ball so hard that it swished into the goal, before she had time to register its movement. This went on till his old fervor in the field returned. He tackled her without difficulty, seamlessly connected with the ball and gave long, graceful kicks. By the time he was done, he was sweating profusely, but he grinned. Hugging her, despite her squeals of disgust, he said ‘You’re a gem of a friend, y’know that?’ ‘Aren’t I always?’ she smirked, obviously learnt from him. They smiled at each other and walked out for a McDonald’s ice-cream cone. ‘By the way,’ she said. ‘My friend, the one in the Chess Club, likes you. A lot.’

‘Really? The cute redhead?’ They’d reached the outlet, and were now slurping the chocolate in the cool evening air. He laughed. ‘I’d like to take her out sometime.’

And that, my friends, is what I call true friendship.

                                                                 

                                                                   

Desiderate

Desiderate

Dirt clung to his fingernails as he made his way over the moist soil. He was dying, he knew, not of a terrible disease, not of some body-breaking wound, but of one, simple, satiable thing- thirst. He had not had a drink for almost a week.

Of, course, he reflected wryly, that was because he had been kept under silver lock and key, guarded by foul enchantments by his ungrateful master just because he happened to fall in love on the job. That degraded, loathsome brute. Finally he’d managed to break free and kill the hated dictator, only to find himself in a no-man’s land. After desperate days of dragging his rapidly deteriorating, he’d managed to find a town. Yet, even now, he couldn’t find relief. The houses had been deserted, every one of the blasted population had gone for a feast at the mayor’s mansion.

‘Damn you,’ he rasped, then chuckled to himself, a laugh that came out more like a hacking cough. But of course, who could be more damned than he, who had performed such evils that the coldest serial-killer could not hope to surpass him?

There was a rustle in the bushes. Terrified, he climbed up a tree, awaiting the worst. Oh, but it was only a girl, a most beautiful lass of about sixteen, carrying a bucket full of water from the nearby well.

He licked his chapped, dry lips and panted like an overly eager dog. He was so thirsty, so very thirsty! The fire built up in his throat, so close to temptation. He could hear the water slopping over the rim of the bucket, could see it splashing onto the grass in cool silver drops.

He hesitated. The girl was so much like her, his love, his fleur-de-lis, his heart. The same golden hair, stroking  her lower back with shining ringlets, eyes the same shade of lavender-blue  her exquisite, limpid orbs had been. Then his heart hardened. She had died, hadn’t she? His master had seen to that. He didn’t want redemption anymore.

And with that final thought, he leapt at the girl and put an end to her screams by biting into her warm, fleshy milk-white neck and drinking in the one thing that could douse the flames in his throat- rich, red blood.