Don't read this post if you can't stand sad things.
There was once a Hunchback. He was a real beast-ugly, deformed, crooked,bent. Picture Quasimodo from the Hunchback of Notre Dame. No, not the Disney version.
He lived in the ice, this Hunchback. He killed what creatures he could find. He ate them. He did not bother with a fire.
He survived.
Several years passed this way.
One day, as he was making his way back to the hole he called home, he spotted a strange light in the distance. That was odd. He hobbled towards the light.
As he neared, the light became exponentially brighter. Shielding his eyes, he hobbled on.
When he finally found the source, he could barely see. Pawing at his streaming eyes, he cried out in anguish. He shut his eyes, and then slowly opened them again.
He stared. His skin began to burn.
He saw a strange being lying on the ice. It was taller than the Hunchback. It had slender limbs, dark, black long hair and pale almost translucent skin.
The Hunchback stared harder, transfixed.
It was a woman. But the Hunchback didn't know that.
He just stared, struck dumb.
Picture the scene then, if you will: The strange woman lying, apparently asleep on the snow; and the Hunchback. She-a creature from Heaven-ethereal, angelic. He-a creature from the farthest depths of Hell-a face that even a mother would have difficulty loving.
The Hunchback howled. How he howled! The fish in the sea heard him, and they dove deeper. The creatures of the ice heard him, and they lay still.
A cry of pure, inhuman pain tore through the Tundra.
He howled because he had nothing. He howled at the inequity in creation- that bestowed on him the form of the lowliest wretch that crawls in the mud, and on her the form of a God. He howled because the purity of her loveliness seared at his skin like a burning flame-scorching, throwing into sharp relief the shadows that marred him.
.....
She's so beautiful.
She's so beautiful.
She's so bloody beautiful.
Drunk, bereft of all reason, a beggar clutched at his chest and howled at the moon.
He clutched as if to tear out his heart and give it to her.
...
Take it.
Take everything I have: all that i am, all that I will be, the worlds i control. All i ask is that you give me a chance to be with you.
...
Who the F&^k is he? He knows nothing. Nothing of who you are, of what you deserve.
And yet, I know that you may never be mine.
...
I don't need to know how much.
But-
I don't need to know how much. I don't care. Take the money, just make sure she's happy. Anything she wants, anything she needs- she should have.
But-
Don't Argue.
Yes, sir.
And understand this, she should not know that it's me. Never. Let her think that she did it, or the Gods did it, or that he did it- I don't care. But she should not know it's me- understand?
Yes, sir.
....
And I knew, that he knew, that he could never have her.
...
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Savin' Me
There's a room.
The room is like a cell in a prison. There are bars, and grey light, lots of it, shining dully through. Everything is grey.
...
He stood in one corner of the room; with his back to me.
I called his name.
There was no answer.
I called his name again, louder this time, but still hardly louder than a whisper.
He did not turn.
Babe, look at me.
Suddenly, he turned; he hurtled across the room and hurled himself against the bars. There was a terrifying crash.
The lady did not draw back.
Prison gates won't open up for me
On these hands and knees I'm crawlin'
I reach for you
I'm terrified of these four walls
These iron bars can't hold my soul in
All I need is you
I did not draw back. I did not draw back because I knew that to do so would break his spirit. I could see his soul. His knuckles whitened.
He had been inside for over a month now; thirty days. Week on week of trials; of being dragged to court had corroded even him. I died inside every time I came here.
You'll never make it past forty. son. They'll assassinate you before that.
A joke.
I'll let myself be assassinated then . I'll make a dramatic resurrection.
His own sense of humour.
Only, when I make a resurrection, there will be no angels singing. There won't be too much forgiving either.
Aw, not your style, eh?
Nope.
Bad press, son.
I'll reword that: There will be angels singing, and a lot of forgiving. Only, some people won't be able to hear too well by then.
...
Heaven's gates won't open up for me
With these broken wings I'm fallin'
And all I see is you
These city walls ain't got no love for me
I'm on the ledge of the eighteenth storey
And all I scream for you
Come please I'm callin'
In the early years, I used to be curious about his beliefs.
Do you believe in Heaven?
Yeah, i do.
Do you believe that you'll get there?
I don't really care too much, to be perfectly honest.
That's crazy. How can you not care?
Where are you going?
Well, I want to go to heaven...
Then I'll get there.
Doesn't it bother you that some people don't like you? I mean, I know for a fact that she doesn't. she hates your guts, actually.
Thanks, babe.
She'd pretty much plunge a knife into you, given half the chance...
Uh huh, Charming.
I mean..
I got it.
Yeah, so, doesn't it bother you at all? Not one bit?
Do you love me.
Of course, but she-
That's enough for me.
...
Show me what it's like
To be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
And I'll show you what I can be
Say it for me
Say it to me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth saving me
She knew that he had done it for her: that he had acted against his will. And she knew that she was the only one with the power to make him do that.
She treasured the gift;
but knew that it was not one to be used often or lightly, lest it break against him.
The room is like a cell in a prison. There are bars, and grey light, lots of it, shining dully through. Everything is grey.
...
He stood in one corner of the room; with his back to me.
I called his name.
There was no answer.
I called his name again, louder this time, but still hardly louder than a whisper.
He did not turn.
Babe, look at me.
Suddenly, he turned; he hurtled across the room and hurled himself against the bars. There was a terrifying crash.
The lady did not draw back.
Prison gates won't open up for me
On these hands and knees I'm crawlin'
I reach for you
I'm terrified of these four walls
These iron bars can't hold my soul in
All I need is you
I did not draw back. I did not draw back because I knew that to do so would break his spirit. I could see his soul. His knuckles whitened.
He had been inside for over a month now; thirty days. Week on week of trials; of being dragged to court had corroded even him. I died inside every time I came here.
You'll never make it past forty. son. They'll assassinate you before that.
A joke.
I'll let myself be assassinated then . I'll make a dramatic resurrection.
His own sense of humour.
Only, when I make a resurrection, there will be no angels singing. There won't be too much forgiving either.
Aw, not your style, eh?
Nope.
Bad press, son.
I'll reword that: There will be angels singing, and a lot of forgiving. Only, some people won't be able to hear too well by then.
...
Heaven's gates won't open up for me
With these broken wings I'm fallin'
And all I see is you
These city walls ain't got no love for me
I'm on the ledge of the eighteenth storey
And all I scream for you
Come please I'm callin'
In the early years, I used to be curious about his beliefs.
Do you believe in Heaven?
Yeah, i do.
Do you believe that you'll get there?
I don't really care too much, to be perfectly honest.
That's crazy. How can you not care?
Where are you going?
Well, I want to go to heaven...
Then I'll get there.
Doesn't it bother you that some people don't like you? I mean, I know for a fact that she doesn't. she hates your guts, actually.
Thanks, babe.
She'd pretty much plunge a knife into you, given half the chance...
Uh huh, Charming.
I mean..
I got it.
Yeah, so, doesn't it bother you at all? Not one bit?
Do you love me.
Of course, but she-
That's enough for me.
...
Show me what it's like
To be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
And I'll show you what I can be
Say it for me
Say it to me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth saving me
She knew that he had done it for her: that he had acted against his will. And she knew that she was the only one with the power to make him do that.
She treasured the gift;
but knew that it was not one to be used often or lightly, lest it break against him.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
The Dragon's Heart.
With blood shot eyes I watch you sleeping
The warmth I feel beside me is slowly fading.
I place a hand on your face.
And I wonder,
Would you hear me, if I call your name
Would you hold me, if you knew my shame.
You would?
Hold me then, and know my pain.
I am different inside. I am like no one I have ever met. Ever heard people say, the brighter the picture, the darker the negative?
It was written for me.
You know how bright my picture is;but do you know how dark my negative is?
You cannot begin to imagine.
Here's a story.
There was once a dragon. He was good, mighty and strong. There was none like him in all the land. He flew over the villages by day, protecting the villagers, helping those in need, maintaining law, preaching the good news, being the hero.And by night..?
No one saw him.
The dragon flew into the forest, and the villagers saw him not from sunset to sunrise.
Now, there was one little girl who fell in love with the dragon. Everyday she would wait for him to rise, and every sunset she would watch sadly as he flew away.
He flies away far too early, she thought.
This happened for a year.
And then, one day, she decided to follow the dragon.
....
As the sun began to set, the girl followed the dragon. How she managed to keep pace with a flying beast is not told.
Love gives you wings, they say.
She followed him deep into the forest, past the bog, the cold, and past all manner of forest creatures
She followed him, until finally, she came upon a big cave.
She went in.
.....
The girl spent five nights in the cave. And then she ran from that place, never to return. What she saw there she refused to tell anyone.
.....
When i finally tracked down Isabella, she was quite old. I heard her story, as I have put it down here. And then I asked her the question I am sure she must have been asked several times before,
What did you see?
I can't tell you that.
Why not?
Why is it important for you to know.
Silence.
I told her.
I've been married for a year now.My husband is a wonderful man. In fact,I would go as far as saying, he is the epitome of a perfect man. But after a year of being married to him; I am convinced that there is something he is not telling me. He speaks openly enough. And yet, at times, it feels like he's speaking in code. I tracked down every woman he's ever been with:they all told me the same thing.
He keeps secrets.
Finally, unable to take my pleading, he told me (what he sincerely believes) is the reason he will not, cannot, share.
The brighter the picture, the darker the negative.
...
That's it?
That's it. That's all he said. And that's all he would say.
And what makes you think my answer will help you understand what your husband told you?
Call it a woman's intuition, Isabella.
There was silence after that.
...
There are things in this world dear, that people hardly speak of- but are aware of all the time. Among these is something I call Aura. It is the image of a man-that which enters a room before he does, and that which fills the room when he unleashes his spirit. Have you ever seen an artist grow to fill every pore of the space he performs in? The dragon had the strongest aura I had ever seen. Far greater than any man- but then again, he was no man to begin with.
Our auras make us likest Gods.
Now, what these auras do is this- they ensnare people. They spin out, through whispered conversations and overblown exaggerations, until they ensnare everyone. And the person they ensnare most of all-
Is the one to whom they belong.
They ensnare the person so much that that person starts to fear, with a terrible and uncontrollable fear,the smallest of things that will tarnish his aura, and expose that which is human beneath.
Everyone hates to find that their idol has clay feet. But my child, think on this, every idol has clay feet.
You husband has nothing terrible to hide from you.
He is afraid of what you would say should you see beyond his aura.
That's bullshi*. My husband cannot be afraid of sharing things with his own wife.
Perhaps dear child, he has shared before, and the little girl ran away when she saw the dragon's heart.
Two things I will tell you-
The first is this;
Even the Gods bleed, but they prefer to bleed in private. Or in the company of those that will not run when they see the blood
The second is this:
Your husband wakes up sweating in the night, often.
....
I said nothing then,
It was true.
The warmth I feel beside me is slowly fading.
I place a hand on your face.
And I wonder,
Would you hear me, if I call your name
Would you hold me, if you knew my shame.
You would?
Hold me then, and know my pain.
I am different inside. I am like no one I have ever met. Ever heard people say, the brighter the picture, the darker the negative?
It was written for me.
You know how bright my picture is;but do you know how dark my negative is?
You cannot begin to imagine.
Here's a story.
There was once a dragon. He was good, mighty and strong. There was none like him in all the land. He flew over the villages by day, protecting the villagers, helping those in need, maintaining law, preaching the good news, being the hero.And by night..?
No one saw him.
The dragon flew into the forest, and the villagers saw him not from sunset to sunrise.
Now, there was one little girl who fell in love with the dragon. Everyday she would wait for him to rise, and every sunset she would watch sadly as he flew away.
He flies away far too early, she thought.
This happened for a year.
And then, one day, she decided to follow the dragon.
....
As the sun began to set, the girl followed the dragon. How she managed to keep pace with a flying beast is not told.
Love gives you wings, they say.
She followed him deep into the forest, past the bog, the cold, and past all manner of forest creatures
She followed him, until finally, she came upon a big cave.
She went in.
.....
The girl spent five nights in the cave. And then she ran from that place, never to return. What she saw there she refused to tell anyone.
.....
When i finally tracked down Isabella, she was quite old. I heard her story, as I have put it down here. And then I asked her the question I am sure she must have been asked several times before,
What did you see?
I can't tell you that.
Why not?
Why is it important for you to know.
Silence.
I told her.
I've been married for a year now.My husband is a wonderful man. In fact,I would go as far as saying, he is the epitome of a perfect man. But after a year of being married to him; I am convinced that there is something he is not telling me. He speaks openly enough. And yet, at times, it feels like he's speaking in code. I tracked down every woman he's ever been with:they all told me the same thing.
He keeps secrets.
Finally, unable to take my pleading, he told me (what he sincerely believes) is the reason he will not, cannot, share.
The brighter the picture, the darker the negative.
...
That's it?
That's it. That's all he said. And that's all he would say.
And what makes you think my answer will help you understand what your husband told you?
Call it a woman's intuition, Isabella.
There was silence after that.
...
There are things in this world dear, that people hardly speak of- but are aware of all the time. Among these is something I call Aura. It is the image of a man-that which enters a room before he does, and that which fills the room when he unleashes his spirit. Have you ever seen an artist grow to fill every pore of the space he performs in? The dragon had the strongest aura I had ever seen. Far greater than any man- but then again, he was no man to begin with.
Our auras make us likest Gods.
Now, what these auras do is this- they ensnare people. They spin out, through whispered conversations and overblown exaggerations, until they ensnare everyone. And the person they ensnare most of all-
Is the one to whom they belong.
They ensnare the person so much that that person starts to fear, with a terrible and uncontrollable fear,the smallest of things that will tarnish his aura, and expose that which is human beneath.
Everyone hates to find that their idol has clay feet. But my child, think on this, every idol has clay feet.
You husband has nothing terrible to hide from you.
He is afraid of what you would say should you see beyond his aura.
That's bullshi*. My husband cannot be afraid of sharing things with his own wife.
Perhaps dear child, he has shared before, and the little girl ran away when she saw the dragon's heart.
Two things I will tell you-
The first is this;
Even the Gods bleed, but they prefer to bleed in private. Or in the company of those that will not run when they see the blood
The second is this:
Your husband wakes up sweating in the night, often.
....
I said nothing then,
It was true.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
The Human Spirit.
Why was the boy so different. What made him so special.
.....
I had been asking myself this for a while now.
He looked normal.
In fact, if he sat in a crowd of people, and he was trying hard not to be noticed (which he usually was), you would not notice him.
He was sitting by himself when I first saw him. Which in itself was odd, I thought. I somehow expected to find him surrounded by a crowd of cronies, sycophantically applauding his every move.
And again, he looked quite...normal. He was staring at the performance on stage with a rather faraway expression on his face.
I gave him a closer look.
No, there was definitely no "air of greatness" that was radiating off him; no "superhuman levels of intelligence".
In fact the only thing that I could pick up was..well...a sense of...solitude-of wanting to be left alone.
Strange,very strange.
Mike called for me then, so i went; and the strange boy slipped to the back of my mind.
......
A few days later I chanced on him again. Again...he was alone. And again there was that same air about him.
I remember wondering if he had any friends at all.
I did not speak to him.
This happened thrice.
....
Don't you ever talk to anyone, I asked him, finally.
He seemed surprised.
Nope, he said. I'm anti-social.
Yeah right. Dude, you're the President of the college. You campaigned, you won. You have a thousand friends on Facebook (Oh alright, I admit it-I was curious). You have a million fans all over the place. You can't be anti-social.
He turned to face me then.
You see me talking to anyone over the past few days you've been watching me, miss?
Hey! (I was stung). I wasn't watching you!
He grinned.
Ok, if you say so.
I decided that this would be a good time for me to leave.
I left.
.....
Alright, I believe you-you are anti-social.
I hadn't seen him talk to anyone the next day either.
Yes, I am. He didn't seem quite so happy today though.
Care to talk 'bout it, I asked.
No. Curt.
Rude bum.
Alright, fine-suit yourself.
I turned away.
His face clouded.
Look, I'm sorry, I just have a lot on my mind right about now.
Care to talk about it, I asked again.
He looked at me, strangely.
Let's get a coffee, he said finally.
....
We went to Hot Breads.
He didn't choose CCD.
Don't like crowds, he muttered when I looked at him quizzically.
This from a boy who routinely addresses two thousand odd people.
Stranger and Stranger.
He walked straight in, without a sidewards glance at anyone else. The waiter recognized him. He came here often apparently.
He ordered an espresso. I ordered a chocolate muffin.
...
By now I was starting to get comfortable. I smiled.
He, by contrast, looked like he was sitting across the Grim Reaper.
Um...so, i said.
Ah, he said.
Look, I'm not really used to doing this. I don't usually take people out. I don't drink coffee with people. You'll have to excuse me if this whole thing turns out to be a disaster.
He blurted this out at top speed.
So definitely not a player then.
He genuinely looked distressed.
Hey, relax. I won't eat you. And I can talk for both of us;don't you worry. I will not blame you if this turns out to be a disaster.
I smiled again, just to enforce the point.
He looked marginally relieved.
Relax, I said.
What shall we start with?
I have a list of conversation topics, he mumbled.
I laughed so hard, i nearly spilt his coffee.
We spoke for three hours.
.....
Here are the thoughts I wrote down in my diary that night.
"....he is arrogant. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind about that. He is incredibly arrogant. And still....he is quite humble as well. There seems to be a curious mix here. He is at once, both unemotional and quite passionate. He speaks quite plainly of death, and destruction. He was also incredibly fascinated with a baby that was in the next table.
He is at once, both a gentleman and a rogue. He opened and held every door I walked through. He also spoke so shamefacedly about how he was once almost defeated in a debate by a woman (no less), that I almost throttled him.
He is an accomplished liar. And incredibly honest. He can lie so easily, and so convincingly that you find yourself wanting to believe him.
He is plain. He is complicated. He is kind, he is brutal.
What is beautiful, and here I finally realized why people are drawn to him, is his...intensity.
There is no other word for it.
As I write this, I imagine him to be a rock-steady, solid yet plain and unremarkable.
But beneath that rock- there a fierce and riveting beauty. A force that he seems in control of, most of the time
It manifests itself when he makes speeches, when he acts, when he argues, when he makes music, when he looks at you
...and grins"
When I look at him now, stretched out on the sofa, asleep- I am both incredibly proud, and incredibly amazed.
The human spirit has not died.
It is just harder to find, these days.
.....
I had been asking myself this for a while now.
He looked normal.
In fact, if he sat in a crowd of people, and he was trying hard not to be noticed (which he usually was), you would not notice him.
He was sitting by himself when I first saw him. Which in itself was odd, I thought. I somehow expected to find him surrounded by a crowd of cronies, sycophantically applauding his every move.
And again, he looked quite...normal. He was staring at the performance on stage with a rather faraway expression on his face.
I gave him a closer look.
No, there was definitely no "air of greatness" that was radiating off him; no "superhuman levels of intelligence".
In fact the only thing that I could pick up was..well...a sense of...solitude-of wanting to be left alone.
Strange,very strange.
Mike called for me then, so i went; and the strange boy slipped to the back of my mind.
......
A few days later I chanced on him again. Again...he was alone. And again there was that same air about him.
I remember wondering if he had any friends at all.
I did not speak to him.
This happened thrice.
....
Don't you ever talk to anyone, I asked him, finally.
He seemed surprised.
Nope, he said. I'm anti-social.
Yeah right. Dude, you're the President of the college. You campaigned, you won. You have a thousand friends on Facebook (Oh alright, I admit it-I was curious). You have a million fans all over the place. You can't be anti-social.
He turned to face me then.
You see me talking to anyone over the past few days you've been watching me, miss?
Hey! (I was stung). I wasn't watching you!
He grinned.
Ok, if you say so.
I decided that this would be a good time for me to leave.
I left.
.....
Alright, I believe you-you are anti-social.
I hadn't seen him talk to anyone the next day either.
Yes, I am. He didn't seem quite so happy today though.
Care to talk 'bout it, I asked.
No. Curt.
Rude bum.
Alright, fine-suit yourself.
I turned away.
His face clouded.
Look, I'm sorry, I just have a lot on my mind right about now.
Care to talk about it, I asked again.
He looked at me, strangely.
Let's get a coffee, he said finally.
....
We went to Hot Breads.
He didn't choose CCD.
Don't like crowds, he muttered when I looked at him quizzically.
This from a boy who routinely addresses two thousand odd people.
Stranger and Stranger.
He walked straight in, without a sidewards glance at anyone else. The waiter recognized him. He came here often apparently.
He ordered an espresso. I ordered a chocolate muffin.
...
By now I was starting to get comfortable. I smiled.
He, by contrast, looked like he was sitting across the Grim Reaper.
Um...so, i said.
Ah, he said.
Look, I'm not really used to doing this. I don't usually take people out. I don't drink coffee with people. You'll have to excuse me if this whole thing turns out to be a disaster.
He blurted this out at top speed.
So definitely not a player then.
He genuinely looked distressed.
Hey, relax. I won't eat you. And I can talk for both of us;don't you worry. I will not blame you if this turns out to be a disaster.
I smiled again, just to enforce the point.
He looked marginally relieved.
Relax, I said.
What shall we start with?
I have a list of conversation topics, he mumbled.
I laughed so hard, i nearly spilt his coffee.
We spoke for three hours.
.....
Here are the thoughts I wrote down in my diary that night.
"....he is arrogant. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind about that. He is incredibly arrogant. And still....he is quite humble as well. There seems to be a curious mix here. He is at once, both unemotional and quite passionate. He speaks quite plainly of death, and destruction. He was also incredibly fascinated with a baby that was in the next table.
He is at once, both a gentleman and a rogue. He opened and held every door I walked through. He also spoke so shamefacedly about how he was once almost defeated in a debate by a woman (no less), that I almost throttled him.
He is an accomplished liar. And incredibly honest. He can lie so easily, and so convincingly that you find yourself wanting to believe him.
He is plain. He is complicated. He is kind, he is brutal.
What is beautiful, and here I finally realized why people are drawn to him, is his...intensity.
There is no other word for it.
As I write this, I imagine him to be a rock-steady, solid yet plain and unremarkable.
But beneath that rock- there a fierce and riveting beauty. A force that he seems in control of, most of the time
It manifests itself when he makes speeches, when he acts, when he argues, when he makes music, when he looks at you
...and grins"
When I look at him now, stretched out on the sofa, asleep- I am both incredibly proud, and incredibly amazed.
The human spirit has not died.
It is just harder to find, these days.
Friday, August 5, 2011
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