The Drug called Music.

       The train bounced and jerked intermittently. The windows were dirty. The chairs dusty. The inner body showed signs of antiquity. Even the door shewed its state of dilapidation; sliding open and close as the train swayed right and left. The advertisements lining the top section near the ceiling were laced with sinewy lines of cobweb. And the passengers packed in this cramped space were no better. All appeared frazzled and fraught with a perennial fatigue save this wailing baby. Outside, the trees seemed to burgeon in contrast, with two plain coloured birds zooming in on an unseen prey. Though when one peruses, one would only notice an immobile mass of green basking in the dull glare of the sun.

       I tapped the "Play" button.

The roar of a dragon rattled the train so hard that my ipod flew out of my hands.

       I glanced around and was befuddled. Clearly no one had noticed the gargantuan beast flapping its wings as it glided over the puny train with its claws outstretched because their faces were still wrought up with this look of self-induced agony. With a mere shrug, i picked up my ipod.

Hesitantly i tapped "Play";somehow i felt myself tensing up, as in in anticipation of something...or someone.

       But this time there was no roar. No sound. Nothing. An eerie silence encompassed me. Where was everyone? As i strained my ears i could almost hear a soft pulsating sound from a distant source. This tingling sensation seemed to tell me that i was still in the fully packed train yet there was no one around me. Not a single soul. And then i was falling. Before i could scream everything stilled again. There was nobody surrounding me; and just as quickly as it stopped, i started falling for the second time. Yet this time it was different. It felt like i was being pulled towards something instead of falling in a never-ending vertical tunnel. And the pulling force grew stronger as i accelerated towards..what? Whe-
       -...an almost visible gush of air shoved me to one side of the tunnel; then i was in the train again. Sharp elbows nudged against me and when i glanced down i saw a woman endeavouring to stand from her prostrate position. The train had veered a little too sharply and she had lost her balance; which was not much of a surprise judging from her extra high heels. Indifferent, my gaze now transfixed on the blurry screen of my ipod, i saw that it had reached the end of the track.

       Smiling to myself, i chose the next song and embraced myself for whatever it was that was coming.

Unweaving a Rainbow.

Religion had always been a contentious topic amongst men, still is. Some extremists have been known to deprecate such beliefs in an egregious manner, while others secretly formed societies that excoriate such faiths lest they be caught and tried and most repeal the actions of such men.

Adler was no such entity. He has witnessed enough sunrises and sunsets to understand the raw beauty of nature. He has often been enthralled by colourful rainbows or felt the the gushing force of waterfalls; the sheer magnificence of nature present yet ever elusive, it was like holding water with his bare hands.

Thus when he was called upon to defend his childhood friend in court, for he had been hauled up; his public speech of blasphemy; he had been shocked. Will he pull himself and Luke out of this seemingly intractable quandary or will they both perish in this uphill battle, for the law was simple; blasphemy equates capital punishment.

       "In being present, are you implying that you are of the same mind as your blasphemous friend here?" the judge had asked.
       "Your honor, in saying so, are you suggesting that i am as publicly didactic as him when it comes to objurgating the presence of God?" stammered Adler.
       "Yes," answered the judge, at the same time as Adler ended his question, though he looked slightly appalled.
        With a mischievous grin on his face this time, "Then no, your Honor." The judge stared at Adler for a split second and continued on, a little more ardently.
       "Adler pray tell me, are you an atheist yourself?" inquired the judge with a slightly derisive snort, for he knew he has cornered Adler; the attention of the court segued towards Adler now instead of the wrongdoer, Luke.

        The silence which followed lasted a moment before Adler nodded and mouthed his answer.
    
       "Your honor, i live a troubled life. My ma is sick, and my da recently passed. I have a little brother and an even younger sister. I work two shifts a day earning a meager sum barely enough to feed the hunger of my siblings. And my ma; after my work, i have to travel a slight journey into the mountain to collect herbs and flowers that would strengthen my ma's health and in so doing, cure her of her disease. So for me, i need something more, more than the comfort of God, to grant me the will to live on and help my family get its substantive needs to survive, especially during this winter season. I have never in my life denounce the presence of a higher entity but do you not see, that i need something more, way more than that to help maintain me and my family's existence in this vast world?"

       A soft gasp of awe flowed across the members of the floor. Now all looked back at the judge for what he has to say. With no intent of slowing down his frenetic pace, the judge's strident voice carried on.

       "This is no political meeting. So spare us your demagoguery, if you may. Answer me then since you seem so sure of yourself. Do you frequent churches to fi-" Before the judge could finish someone shouted from the back.
       "Oh give the boy a break you fool. He barely has enough time to work and aid his frail mother, not to mention feed his siblings and now you are reprimanding him for not attending church services! Have you no heart and empathy?!" A plaudit followed until the guards quietened the now galvanized crowd in the court.
       A look of irrevocable intransigence formed on the judge's face as he frantically dictated, " The next imbecile who opens his mouth uninvited shall face ten whips along with these two boys." The whole court was engulfed in silence.

      "Now tell me what of your friend? What do you have to say about his blasphemous way? Does he have a sick mother and siblings to feed too? Does he work 10 shifts a day?" his questions now enveloped in anger.
      "As a matter of fact, your Honor, his situation is worse than mine but before that. Can i, with all due respect, ask, if whether the accuser has any veritable proof to show what my friend here has done?" Adler's tone seemed unchanged despite all that has transcended.
      "Oh you do not have to worry, i have here many witnesses who have exclaimed that they heard what he said-"
      "Words only? your Honor. No burning of churches, no beating of faithful followers, no-"
      "YES words only but words are enough to show evidence that he denies the existence of God-"
      "Then your Honor i have here a palatable explanation to Luke's recalcitrant mannerism toward God and authority, if i may." Adler looked up towards the judge with an ingratiating smile. Without waiting for an answer, Adler continued.
      "Unlike me, Luke's father died in war a long time back. And his ma had ran away with another man, leaving him in an orphanage home. We would have thought that he would be well taken care of. On the contrary, he was bullied, by the other children there for he was the youngest. Thus there has never been a day passed where he had stopped questioning God why his father was taken away from him at such an early tender age and why his mother had deserted him just when he needed her the most. Overtime your Honor, these feelings blossomed into a deeply etched hatred, albeit misconstrued. And that is the case that we are all looking at here. Furthermore my friend has never been good with words, a fact supported by the lack of proper guidance since young. He tends to favour emotional talk rather than rationally constructed conversations. Therefore i believe what Luke had on his mind were questions - formed from hurt and disappointment for God has 'taken' away from him what every child should have at such an age; and he failed to understand that sometimes, God works indiscriminately and that his da's death was no punishment nor unfortunate event - which came out wrongly in the ears of the beholders you have your Honor. So the truth of the matter remains which is that he believes in God but fails to understand why this happened to him"

        The court burst into applause.

"Float like a Bee, Sting like a Butterfly."

They did not see their impending doom.

The vast array of vibrant colors that lay on the back of her wings seemed to amalgamate into a blinding dizzying ball of light that changes in direction every time the wind picked up. The graceful green of the leaves partitioned with thickened red lines, right next to the deepest blue of the ocean dotted with refreshing spots of orange, all kept in bound with a black curvaceous boundary, yet nothing really beats the majestic white that spanned the lower half of the wings right down to the tails, that ended with a tinge of black. Despite the magnificent beauty, there was an edge of nervousness or rather a hint of trepidation to it as the powerful wings undulated up and down in a vicariously slow manner.

And there was a good reason to it.

Right behind was a voracious buzzing that appeared to deceptively come from the constant lightning-speed flapping of translucent wings, wings that were attached to a rounded hull that was thickly striped with yellow and black. Yellow and black that went all the way around and around but now the dual colored strips coalesced into a dark, fluid motion that zinged left and right, always a step behind the orb of light.

Neither saw their impending doom.

For not very far ahead, was a structure, so pellucid that only the faintest drops of the morning dew that clung dangerously to it betrayed its presence. And right at the center, crouched a figure so huge, so silently that it seemed like a farcical contradiction. On each side of its body stretched four stringy, hairy legs and at each end was a claw that allowed it its deadly grip on nearly every surface imaginable. Just a moment before, it had been busy feeding off a near-unrecognizable carcass that lay nearby, displaying a paucity of life and exuding only the aftermath of death. But now all eight round eyes that were located near the top of its head are casually yet ravenously focused on the oncoming sphere of light and following tightly behind another buzzing shadow that somehow seemed to blend into the background. But nothing escapes its eyes. Nothing.

what happens next?

anyway i wanna share with you a picture.
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it had been raining very heavily. it was out in the open, there was lightning all over and its leg was broken.

do you feel guilt flowing through you? if so, a fortiori, me too, with a multiplied magnitude. i happened to pass by there and i had done nothing. at first, i had thought that the phrase, let nature do its job, would suffice in justifying my conscience. yet there hasn't been a second that passed where i have not regretted for what i had not done.

please do me a favor and pray for this unfortunate soul. this brave tiny unfortunate soul that braced the dangerous world alone, in life and perhaps, though hopefully not, in death.

i am saddened.

The man who couldn't kill himself.

The rose collapsed inwardly, the once vibrant red that flowed from its meticulously shaped petals fading rapidly, replaced with a colour darker than black, a colour clearly representating death, quickly, as the black darkness spread right down to the stem where his fine fingers curled.

The tree trembled and shook, before shuddering to a sudden serenity as the leaves which were green and crenulate just a moment ago now fell to the ground, a tainted breeze gently billowing over the leaves that seemed to hung to the branches for their dear lives or what remained of them. Brown, crumpled and dry. They all fell to the ground. Along with strips of bark that came off, some brushing of his arm, his fingers.

Everything he touched died. Everything. As he raised both his arms in dismay. Everything died. Bringing them, spreading his fingers over his face, his sharp strong nose breathed in the stank of the death as they drew nearer. Everything ceased to live. Preparing himself for the pain he would feel. Everything he touched faced death. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they made contact. His hands. His head. Death.

And he let go a rictus of grimace, which trickled into agonizing screams. No. NO. NOOOO.

Nothing happened.

Lukas son of Mikhael (1)

A man could not have faced five armed men unscathed.

Perhaps one can draw tales like this, stretched and drawn to such preposterous lengths from ecstatically embellished folklore legends. But the fact remains, one does not face five men and survive to father his heirs for the next Coming, much less live to talk of his own deadly encounter, twisted and conjugated amongst the roots of absurdity.

Yet, Lukas was no such man. Yes, he was a swordsman and a fine one, even amongst the older, experienced generation of his village. But even he had never place his life on such a thin line. Then again, he always had the Fair Lady's luck. Fiend! The villagers would tell stories where he would roll the die with Death himself! And live! However, tonight seemed to push his luck to the point of spillage.

He had noticed the five men much earlier in the evening, trailing him like bees to honey, like silent crouching hyenas to a lone male goat, one side hungry for fresh flesh, one side hungry for green grass. Yet, it never occurred to him he would've landed himself in this situation. Without him realizing, as he had been so intent on studying his followers, the five of them had skillfully maneuvered his movements to this long awaited moment.

Trapped, at the dead end of the road, Lukas had only one last choice to make. To let the die roll.

And so he turned around slowly...

2nd Day & STORY TIME :D

       One does not fail to notice the man standing amidst the irregular-sized paintings, which were arranged in such a chaotic manner that there seem to be a subtle order to them. From the dull, golden gilding of the frames that clasp the works of various ancient artists in their places to the layers of dust that ludicrously bring a new feature on the now dried colours, one could indistinctly tell that the masterpieces, hung so stiffly against the faded castle-white wall, were age-worn. So old that it makes the man look out of place, as well as, naturally, out of time.

       Yet, one does not fail to observe the man who stood as still as an oak tree, transfixed upon the paintings that blatantly blast an array of colours into the still, quiet atmosphere. At a glance, his gaze seemed to be fastened to one particular illustration, though upon a second one, the angle of his face obscures the exact painting he appears to be admiring and in a Mona Lisa way, one could only wonder where his eyes followed.

       But there was one painting that stood out.

       It was as though the motionless figures in it materialized within the confinement of its spell-bounding shade of colours. The whiteness of the fresh, still-falling snow, the way the red screams 'BLOOD',  the rusty silver of the armours that seemed to conceal the hard-trained muscles lying taut and ready on two deadly warriors that were locked in an embrace of death and that brilliant orange in the background which uncovers the time of the day, dusk and along with it, the coming of night.

       And if one delved deeper, like how the man might have been elusively doing, one could almost hear the clang of metal against metal, see the sparks that were elicited and feel the strength behind the blows of the swords with the whooshing sound of the wind that followed closely. How parry after parry, strike after strike, neither presented an opening for the other to exploit. How effortless and elegant their movements were that it was as though a dance was taking place, only that here, if either faltered, it would have meant a swift death.

       That is when time stops and everything halts in their tracks except for the occasional draft of wind which precipitates into the rustles of the leaves. Only then would one notice the grimness that showed on both faces, one, a handsome, stoic face which held features fit for a prince, the fire in his bright blue eyes shining as fiercely as the flame-shaped emblem on his breastplate that was full of dents and scratches, the stance he carried, his long sword up high and the crimson red cape that rippled behind him; and the other, whose face was partially shadowed by the dark veil he wore, his jet-black hair tied neatly behind, his dark silver-coloured armour which silently creaked with every of his movement and the gait he held that showed nothing but malice and anger...

       A shoulder-shake jerked me out of my daze.

       " Sir, I saw that you've been standing here staring at Sir Luke Pfifer's work of art, like what that man in the painting is doing, for the past half an hour," with a giggle, she continued, " You must have been in awe. I don't blame you, this one does have its charms. It's my favourite." A toothy smile lighted up on her face with that last word. A smile that revealed dimples I realized countless men must have fallen for.

       And as I went on staring blankly, still in confusion, sieving reality from imagination, she leaned in close till I could catch the waft of her seductive perfume, which till today I have not been able to identify, and whispered to my right ear, " Let me show you something you'd never take your eyes off." With that, she slided away from me. All I could do was follow and smile because I could have sworn I saw dimples too, on that princely warrior that I, deep in my heart, hoped would win the battle.

p/s how i wish i could live in the knight era. i feel like i don't fit in this current world. anyway nothing much seem to change. however, i think i might be experiencing slightly heightened sensations. let's hope for more? :D