Countenance 

It wasn’t an oddly comfortable sight, but it still showed hope. No carcass, just bone. Bone and not bones. Where was the body, Why the head alone.Wasn’t that strange. But who cared? No one.

They rushed towards it. Both of them, a bone meant some living thing crawled on this land. That means this land bear life. I know it’s strange, but a death showed signs of life, which oddly enough gave them hope.

As they looked around the bone they realised that something was wrong, deeply wrong. But before they could react one of them stabbed the other one. You see hunger is a powerful tool with which if used wisely any species can be tamed or hunted. So we decided why not observe our own species, and in each and every scenerio we threw at these ‘subjects’ we found out, that in nine out of ten of these fictional hunger situations that we created one person ate the another. Pure cannibalism.

You must be wondering what happened in the tenth situation, well in the tenth situation the subjects killed each other simultaneously, more like a suicide pact. What’s it that made them react differently than the other 9 pairs? Strangely it was their genetic traits, you see they were what we would call related. Which means that unknown to us, they knew each other beforehand, as being members of some tight knit group.

So it seems that the individualism and the state family separation policy which we practice, is still has holes, as in Economically Deprived Units (EPUs), residing on the outskirts of our civilisation the ‘family’ concept still lingers.

So what’s the solution you ask?  Well if the food source is terminated, the EPUs will become lawless, and we would have a shorter problem to deal with. After all as you may have noticed from their clothes, these subjects were taken from the EPUs only. The name of the mission will of course be Donner. After all, you get no prizes for guessing why we chose that. 


Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt.

Espy

It’s a sight that he ignored,  ignored as he, like his wealth, took it for granted too. But now as he struggled, and met his forgotten friends; called fear and hunger, he remembered the comfort and warmth that he felt bathing in it. 

In the bitter coldness of that first dark night, when he shivered violently, he immediately understood the helplessness of the situation he was under. He wanted to cry, let out a howl of anguish developing within him. But he stopped, fearing it might attract some animals, who too like him, would be hungry. 

“Better be alive than waiting for the death to arrive”, he whispered, the words bearing a nervous smile. 

His eyelids got heavier, he feared that soon; because of the fatigue, he might pass out. Suddenly his exposed back felt a warmth which he desperately needed. As he turned he was welcomed by the sight, that as mentioned before, he ignored and took for granted, the sight of dawn. Those lights of hope, and not to mention their warmth, embraced him. 

At that moment he could hear someone calling out his name. He knew that the rescue team was nearby, but before calling out to them,  he strangely for a minute or two gazed at the sight, which earlier in his life was a nugatory phenomenon, the sight of that earlier, hope-filling dawn. 


Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt

Stock-still

Is it not a shame to do this. Would it not be wise to consider moving? You’re after all in your thirties, and yet, you sit here complaining about how you live with your parent. And so far do nothing to change it.

Homer took a deep puff. It made him relaxed, although he knew Marvin was telling the truth, all he wanted was someone who could just listen to him, without being wise at the same time.

It was not his nature to make excuses; recently it’s the only thing that he was doing, and becoming good at. He tried not to think about his sudden erratic change in behaviour, but you can’t ignore the changes that happens right in front of your eyes.

Slowly his eyes got heavier, and with it his state of awareness became more and more compromised. He soon saw a dream in which standing on the one side of a hill, he could see a fire erupting on the other. He wanted to run, but was transfixed, and the fire suddenly like a river flowed towards him. “How long will it be, before I could escape the inevitable”, he thought? He could spend his entire salary, but still won’t be living in comfort; as he is now.

“That’s what he had reduced his parent to, slaves”, he thought. He wanted to open his eyes all the way knowing that this was a dream. He could hear Marvin calling him out in the real world. But how he wished the fire would be real, how soothing it looked. “The fire of agony are more torturous”, he thought.

Suddenly his eyes opened and he saw Marvin shaking him violently. “I thought I lost you man. For a minute you weren’t breathing”.

“If only the flames were true”, said Homer, lighting another cigarette.


Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt

Perturb

The route seemed long. The lonely figure struggles to move forward. But not only the distance, his breathe also, is falling short of his expectations. As the trail he left behind was getting covered by snow, a thought flashed through his mind.

Will he like the trail, be forgotten. What’s his deed that he can crown as an achievement? Alas, like his breathe, the recollection attempts too struggled.

As his soul descended in despair and melancholy , he noticed a building. Just like him, it too seemed out of place. After all their was no signs of any civilisation nearby. “Who would be stupid enough to build such a palace at such a place?”

But the thought of comfort, not to mention the appeal of warmth, sitting near a fireplace was hard to resist. But there was something ominous about the structure that even he couldn’t ignore.

“Like a moth to a flame”, he heard someone whispering in his ear. Inundated with unnerving sensations, he halted his eager steps and decided to abandon the hope which rose with the sight of the earlier soothing, now nightmarish, structure.

As he struggled to retrace his steps, an axe came down separating his neck from the torso. A tall lean figure started pulling the corpse towards the building all the while murmuring,

“Tomorrow we shall start again.
Till the day we see not a coward, but a man
For we live just to fight.
But if you die,
You share a meal with us tonight.”


Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt.

Inspired of course by Richard, Coer de Lyon

Fortuity

It’s not everyday that one stumbles upon something that changes his/her life. Still as luck would have it (or being unlucky, in this case);I stumbled upon something that was better if avoided.

As a way of avoiding the street in which I used to beat up those black kids and passed comments on those Asian kids just because of their colour, not to mention getting cheap thrills by snorting, I took the off-road. 

Little did I know the trail through the woods in which I played as a kid, talked trash about how proud I was to be a white supremacist, would play with me later on. For their laid a body of a woman, a woman of colour nonetheless. 

And the rest as they say is history. An Aryan besides a corpse of a black woman. What more could the media ask for. I was judged guilty even before the trial. 

You must be wondering, why I’m telling you this. Correct? Well I had a chance to read while I was in this institution they call jail or prison whatever you prefer. And I was no longer a frog in the well. 

So before I take one last drip through the same needle which in my youth help me to get high, I want to tell you something Father, I didn’t do it. But I’m not afraid because I know I have done crimes before. Even if there is a God I know I will be going to hell. 

Who knew the rocks, the trail, the grass in which I played as a kid, would hide something which will be responsible to close the curtains of my life’s play. 

Irony or just plain old Karma. 


Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt.

Perfunctory 

“What secrets can a place like this hold, I wonder?”

“Don’t you mean, I wonder, What secrets can a place like this hold?”

“Stop being an ass; every time for Christ’s sake.”

“I do wonder what’s it like to truly stop existing?”

“Do you want me to do the good deed. Just say it. Your wish will be my command?”

“You know you can’t kill me?”

“And why’s that Good Sir?”

“Well let’s face it, Ghosts can’t kill ghosts. Now can they?”

“You know it’s lonely when the ghosts start talking about killing themselves. I wonder where all the humans are. Alive ones, I mean.”

“I don’t know. But one thing is for sure, it sure sucks to be a ghost in Greenland.”


Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt

Liquidate

It was an unusual sound that Damien heard. A sound that something was hit, yet the sound was suppressed in a manner that an unusual curiosity raised within Damien. 

Damien was afraid to go out alone during the night. His parent had told him not to venture out at night. “Creatures that can haunt your dreams for eternity roam when the darkness comes”, Damien remembered his Dad words. 

But still Damien wanted to see what the noise was all about. He picked up his fur coat and decided to face his fears. A snowstorm was brewing outside. Damien decided not to light his torch as the moonlight  was still visible. He also didn’t want to gather any unnecessary attention by using the artificial light source. 

As he looked around to find the source of the now silent sound, he soon found himself standing atop of a puddle. Damien was surprised as usually the only source of water for him would either be the rainwater, or gathering the fallen snow, and later boiling it using oil made from domesticated animal fat. 

He had heard tales from his mother that before the war there was an underground resource of water and there were also rivers and seas. Damien had never seen those as all of these fascinating sources had dried up. 

“Does this count as underground water”, thought Damien?

As another hail fall into the puddle ahead of the snowstorm Damien eyes were fixated on the water that made the soft plop sound. Lost as if being bewitched by the water itself, Damien failed to notice that the moon was now slowly being engulfed by snow. 

In that darkness another sound emerged, a scream followed by a thud. 


Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt

Obstinate

The labyrinth made him fearful, not because he thought he would be lost. But because he thought he would be; not remembered or missed. As a man and as a child the only thing he ever wanted was people to remember him. Yes he knew that attention seeking habits silently cried desperation. But he needed it, he was fuelled by it. He always wanted people to remember him; but now he realised that he was actually all alone. His friends were with him not because they cared, but they were with him because friendship for them meant someone paying the bill.

He was happy to do it. He always felt he was needed. But now in this eerie silence of this labyrinth he realised that this kind of needing was not what he was looking for. He really needed someone to call out his name, someone to yell his name out loud. At least this way he will understand that someone was looking for him. But this silence was screaming of his loneliness and he just wanted its scream to stop.

Now as the realisation of his own worthlessness dawn upon him, he no longer wanted to live. Yet somehow he didn’t want to die in this labyrinth. It was his wish to get out of this place. He bended his knees, look upward to the ceiling and imagine the heavens looking down on him. “Dear Lord”, he murmured, “I don’t want to die here”. He realised that he was crying. This was a new type of desperation that he was experiencing.

Somehow with some luck he finally managed to get himself out of that labyrinth. As he took a deep breath he realised that some of his ‘supposedly friends’ were roaming outside. He looked up at the heavens, smiled and after asking for forgiveness yelled, “Who’s ready to party?”


Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt.

Afeared

The trail leaving a mark on sand, ignite a curious mind to probe the reason, for which it was made. After all the footprints do seem to go on forever. 

And yet he couldn’t find the source, as for all he knew,  was that the trail never ended. He was tired and on the back of his mind was thinking of giving up on this stupid quest, yet something within was forcing him to continue it. 

All the extra effort certainty didn’t help as he could never find the source. “This seem endless”, he cried. He was tired and thirsty. But suddenly he forgot where he was and how he came here. He saw a figure emerging from a distance. 

“Excuse me, could you tell me where we are?”, he said to what appeared to be a man with an air of melancholy surrounding him. 

The melancholic guy smiled and asked him if he ever wondered why his own footprints are not on the sand. As he turned back, he realised that this mysterious guy, that he just met, was right. 

“Well you always stalked your victims before killing them, right John? Well this hell was made especially for you. Enjoy to continue our services till eternity.”

Even though dead, it was after a long time that John felt scared. 


Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt

Divagate

The inanition was too much to bear. Miles away from civilisation, his mental health too was deteriorating. Hallucinations triggered fear and sometimes hope within him. Suddenly the achromatic gloom that surrounded him was also mirrored in the surrounding environment. 

“Has the world lost its colour”, he wondered? His heavy-eyed face indisputably reflected his desire to rest, but his restless mind continuously coerced his will to trudge up the terrain. 

But then he tumbled and all the effort now laid waste. As he faced the heavens, he witnessed the sky turning red. Surrounded by life in the wilderness, he eagerly awaited, for death. 

One more soul preparing to leave the womb of mother Earth.


Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt .