On the northern end of the river, at the edge of the forest, there was an abandoned shack. It was broken from within, with termite set in its rotting wood and algae creeping up at its edges. No one had lived there in the last 50 years, and now, nobody even knew that it existed. But one strange old man was locked inside that desolate house, and his eyes had been plucked out, leaving him blind to his surroundings, and his mind had been perverted with such a torrent of black speech that he could not think clearly even for a single second. He had given up on any thought of hope, and just like his vision, his mind had gone completely dark as well. He was just waiting for the tormentor to come back and finish the deed.
        Outside, in the wet field, a carcass was thrown near the stump of the dead tree, and amidst wilting flowers and fading grass, a small pack of wolves were feasting upon the meat of the hunted deer. But, the moment their nose caught the strange scent, their tails went flying underneath their legs, and all of them scattered from the scene and fled into the depths of the forest.
        A dark, cloaked figure was approaching the shack, and his pale face was hidden by the shadows in which he walked. Like a wolf, he scanned the surroundings and recognising the putrid stench, he sensed the presence of other predators and hastened to proceed to his business quickly.
        The shack door opened with a creak, and the ominous sounds of his footsteps were heard by the blinded old man. His voice rose with a whimper in his throat but died within as if it were a moth that flutters its wings the final time before its death. The cloaked figure sensed his fear and said: ‘So… Are you ready to tell me now where your son and his wife live? Where does their daughter live? Do you have the answer for me?’
        A bolt of shiver ran down the spine of the old man and his chest trembled uncontrollably as he sensed the cloaked figure coming close to him. Their address revolved in his thoughts, but he kept his lips tight shut and refused to reveal his son’s location to the abhorrent creature who had blinded him. He locked his tongue in between his mouth and maintained his silence.
        The cloaked figure pulled out a steel dagger from the depth of its pocket, and it was almost as big as his arms. He touched the cold tip of the steel and caressed the skin of the old man with it before saying: ‘This fast that you have kept for your speech… Now is the last time to break it, my dear friend. Tell me. Do you have their address?’
        A streak of tear issued from the damaged eye of that old man and slid across the cheek. But red hot anger coursed within the veins of the cloaked figure, and a furious wave of wrath erupted from his heart as the old man maintained his mum. Ultimately, the cloaked figure roared: ‘Very well then !’
        He raised the dagger and stabbed the old man right in the middle of his chest as deep-guttural grunts erupted from the old man. The dark being shanked him multiple times, and the old man took those blows right in his heart and kept calling for strength as he was being murdered.
        The bloody steel tip of the dagger finally shattered the rib cage and tore through the heart of the old man, who died and stopped grunting. But the cloaked being had just begun his sport, and he continued to stab and stomp the corpse as loud slams and slaps reverberated around the abandoned shack.
        Outside, black crows had gathered near the carcass, and they dipped their beaks in the entrails of the dead being and feasted on its flesh until their beaks were smeared with its red. But, when the bloody murder fest finished within the shack, they unfolded their dark wings and took flight, and their black form disappeared in the gloom of the thick mist, and they were lost forever.

Chapter 2

The Professor

Rivenshire was situated a long way from the famous Thames River but not too far away from the brooding slopes of Blackwood Hills. It was a small settlement full of common folks busy with their everyday lives. Hunting, fishing, and a casual trade with the nearby villages brought a little bit of wealth to the inhabitants, but otherwise, everything was quaint, quiet, and peaceful. Until that morning.
A thick blanket of grey fog unrolled on the streets of Rivenshire and shrouded it with its black mist. People were afraid to step out of their homes. Early in the day, amidst the mists and fog, the voice of the local newsboy echoed in the empty streets:
‘Beware! Beware! The murderer still lurks in the shadows. The bloodthirsty killer is loose, and creeps along the corners. Beware! Beware! Citizens of Rivenshire! Another double murder has occurred within the walls of our very own town! Beware—the bloodthirsty murderer is lurking!’

        The lone voice of that young boy echoed around the empty streets even as the grim thoughts of violent deaths arose in the minds of all the inhabitants.
        In the past two weeks, seventeen bodies had been recovered from various houses, and many were still missing. Like chickens locked in cages before they are slaughtered, the citizens of Rivenshire were confined within their homes, and none of them dared to step out in the streets - even at the early hours of the morning. The town chief office and the police force were the only active entities in that entire place who administered the movement of other essential services as the threat of the dangerous killer troubled all the minds of that town.

        Professor Jonas Jackson had been locked inside his house for the last two weeks. Inwardly, he knew that he was not a coward, but he also knew that his very old colleague’s dead body had been found floating in the river. Its ghastly white face still loomed in front of his eyes every time he tried to sleep, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake off the ominous sense of peril settling in his heart. Never had he experienced a terror like this in all his life. Never had he lost so many familiars within such a short period. His thoughts were still composed, but he knew that if he remained locked in his house for one more day, then his mind would explode, and he would crack from within. He was in urgent need of some purpose.
        Luckily, for him, in the afternoon, when a bare tinge of orange had smeared the greyness of the mist, his house bell rang loudly, and its vibrations reverberated around the silence of his empty house. Professor Jonas put up his best appearance and answered the door. It was detective Paetar dressed in his brown coat, which always signified business. The professor invited the detective inside and offered him a pipe and tobacco. The detective accepted gratefully and filled the bowl deeply with the foreign tobacco. Then, after lighting it up with his matchstick, he said:
        ‘How are you holding up?’
        A puff of sweet smoke enveloped the two gentlemen as both of them exhaled their cigarette out and relished the rush of its nicotine.
        Professor Jonas said, ‘I’m two days away from insanity. Honestly, if I don’t step out of this damned hole for another day, then I’ll just drop dead here. I say, better die out there than forfeit my soul in this abhorrent crack.’
        The detective exhaled his fumes, and they leaked both from his nostrils and his mouth as the smoke coalesced with his friend’s tobacco cloud and enveloped both of them in its rich smell. Then he said:
        ‘You don’t know what it is like out there, Professor. Bloody bloated corpses…veins popping, and gas and puss. It's a living hell, I tell you. Living hell… You know, yesterday, we found an old man by the shack… ugh…it's so disgusting…when we recovered it, its innards had been gorged out… ’ He belched loudly as the images rushed across his mind.
        ‘Holy God… You don’t suppose…’
        ‘No No. It wasn’t the killer…Work of wolves. But I don’t doubt for one second that the sick bastard must have left it there purposefully…’
        ‘Holy…Holy God! Forgive us and bless us and free us from this demon O God. We know we have sinned, O Lord. Forgive us -’
        ‘Jackson,’ the detective interrupted him loudly, ‘The Priest… he’s dropped dead too.’
        The wooden pipe slipped from Jonas’s hand and fell with a clatter on the ground, strewing his tobacco everywhere as he stared in dumb shock at his friend. Then in a hoarse voice, he spoke: ‘ Father Anton ?’ His face went fully white, and cold beads of sweat manifested on his forehead. ‘He’s been killed?’
        The detective sighed and put his pipe on the table as he said, ‘No. Not murdered. Actually, we don’t know the whole story. It's quite fucked up.’
        He picked up the pipe once again, took three very deep drags and continued: ‘The Priest, his wife, and his daughter are all dead. We don’t know what killed the wife, but the daughter was murdered, and the priest… well he hung himself.’
        Jonas managed to whisper: ‘Hung himself ?’
        The detective continued: ‘Yeah. Nothing is known. We suspect that the child and the woman were killed about a week ago or two. The whole thing stank worse than morgue…but we’re pretty sure that the priest committed suicide quite recently…his daughter…so young.’
        The two men shuddered at the violent train of images that crept up in their thoughts. But the detective hadn’t come to the professor for a friendly visit. There was a very serious matter that he wished to discuss with him. So, as the other retrieved his pipe and refilled it with tobacco, the detective pulled out a black hardbound journal from the depths of his pocket and placed it loudly on the wooden table. Then he said:
        ‘I am under the impression that you are fluent in the ancient language called Yarai. Am I correct?’
        The Professor inhaled the smoke in his lungs and nodded.
        ‘Well,’ the detective continued, ‘ this has been taken from Father Anton’s house. I believe it is a long suicide note…an essay, or something that he has left for us. No one back at the force knows jack shit about Yarai, but I told them that I’d get it deciphered…. Can you take a look at it?’
        Professor Jackson pulled out his spectacles from the shelf behind him, and from under the table, he retrieved a small glass lamp that was filled with kerosine oil. He found the matchstick, and after lighting his tobacco, he lit the lamp as well and set it on the table as the light filled the room with its orange glow.
        Then he opened the black notebook and glanced through the pages, drinking in every letter that the familiar hand of the priest had scrawled upon the pages. Finally, he said:
        ‘I am sure that this was written by Father Anton himself, but I am not really as fluent in reading Yarai as I am in listening and speaking it. I’m still working on the script. Anyway, I can tell you that this is definitely not a note…more like a journal narrative that….I think… recounts the murder and leads up to the suicide.’

He shuddered as those violent images ran in his thoughts. Then he said: ‘Well. Paetar, I can’t decipher the text for you right now…it will take me at least ten to twelve hours to finish it properly. Then I’ll let you know. Besides, the memory of that beautiful man is still running in my mind, and I cannot go through these narratives of horror as his venerable face swims in front of my eyes. I’ve known him long enough to spend at least one dark evening in mourning. So do give me this night for my sorrow, and I promise that by tomorrow evening, I’ll have the narrative ready for you.’
        Detective Paetar smiled and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder to reassure him and said: ‘Take all the time you need, my friend. These are very dark times indeed, but in our horror, we must not forget to honour those who deserve it. Whatever end Father Anton came to, throughout his life, he had served all of us with utmost devotion and respect, and I think it is right of you to mourn him. I will come back tomorrow. Then we can crack the case, I hope.’
        ‘I am positive that we will.’
        The two men came to an agreement and finished their tobacco in silence. Then the Detective left, and the Professor locked up his house, sealing all windows tightly and ensuring that not even one lock was left unturned.
        Then he went to sleep and resigned himself to the mournful dreams that plagued him. But after a while, the sweet draught of sleep consumed his mind, and all visions vanished from within as the complete darkness of deep sleep settled in his soul, and he slept peacefully.
        Yet, unfortunately, out there, somewhere in the town, one soul was not so lucky and, in the middle of the night, it encountered the dark murderer right in his house. He tried to scream for help even as he was being murdered, but the cold limbs of the killer choked his throat and crushed his windpipe, and before he could cope with the horror of his situation, his soul fled the body, and the corpse was violently mutilated by the dangerous being.

Chapter 3
The Triplets

The next morning was grim and cold, for another wave of fog enveloped the town of Rivenshire in its thick shroud. The citizens were at unease, and many attempted to fight off the anguish of their hearts, but the anxiety mounted in their thoughts and perverted the peace of their sleep.
Fathers were protective of their children, mothers were worried sick for their safety, and husbands and wives were constantly checking their doors, unable to fend off the ominous sense of foreboding that lurked outside their walls. In the history of that Rivenshire, it was the darkest period.

        Professor Jonas Jackson had gathered a good deal of sleep that night, but his morning began in the most blood-curdling fashion. A terrible wail erupted the glum of the morning silence, and the high pitched screams of a woman pierced through the walls of all the houses and called their attention.
        ‘Help me! Please help me! My daughters… all my daughters! Please. Someone! Please help me.’
        The professor threw open the gates of his bedroom window and looked outside. Many others were also witnessing the spectacle in a similar manner.
        There, at the centre of the street, a woman was lying on the road, her shaggy hair unkempt and untied and her white gown muddied and blotched with blood. Black mascara was running down her face, streaming with her dark tears, and all that time, she continued to wail and sob like a banshee urging them to come out and help her, screaming for her daughters.
        ‘Please! Please… He has murdered them. My daughters! He has killed them all. My baby girls. My Regina! My Elena! Where have you gone? Please come back to me, my baby girls!’
        The anguish of human suffering tormented the professor in his thoughts, and a wave of anxiety erupted from his heart, but some force still kept him rooted to his position. Likewise, all other spectators were also frozen in their houses, and no matter how terrible they felt at the lady's plight, they could not force themselves to go out and assist her. A cowardly fear gripped their hearts and prevented them from jumping to action.
        As the woman continued to shriek and sob, the town sergeant appeared at the scene, and he had two police officers with him. The party of three approached the woman even as she began to tear her hair and roll on the ground. Professor Jonas watched her with a bubble of pity swelling in his heart, but he could not force himself to go down in the street and comfort her.
        Fortunately, one of the police officers was sensible enough to crouch down and sooth the shrieking lady with her handkerchief. She wiped her face off and pulled her, and assisted her until she was seated at the street bench by the wall. Then she comforted her by hugging her, and the woman sobbed in her shoulders and cried her heart out. Finally, after about half an hour, she was sober enough to recount the details of the incident. By this time, the Lieutenant and Detective Paetar had also come to the scene. Upon seeing his friend arrive, Professor Jackson also found a flame of courage burning in his heart, and he too carried himself to the seat where the woman was stationed. Ultimately, between sobs, the woman revealed:
        ‘Last night, when I had tucked Alyssia, Elena, and Regina to bed, I was feeling very cold and miserable. You all already know how the fiend had murdered Roger last week, and I cannot…I cannot recount that horrible tale.
        ‘Yesterday, I was feeling very lonely and forlorn, and the cold crept up in my bones like it was going to bite me from within. So I carried myself to the fireplace and set the lumps of coal on fire so as to warm myself. I was just fiddling with the wood when I heard the sound of footsteps heading closer towards our house. I didn’t know…I should have known…I am so stupid…’
        The police officer gripped her hand and said: ‘No, you are not. Keep going, Erica. You are strong, and your narrative will help us catch that barbaric monster. Keep going…’
        The lady gulped and gazed at the ground as she continued: ‘I heard the footsteps first… but they were immediately followed by a loud grunt and before I knew it, he started slamming the door with his brutal axe. Right in front of my eyes, he hacked down the door, and so frozen was I that I couldn't even move a muscle. A scream went off in my head, but none came to my mouth, and I just stood there - petrified, as that demon bashed the front door down. Nobody came to help…Nobody interfered….
        ‘The demonic man came in and threw the axe at the wall and gripped me hard by the neck. I know his pale face in my heart now… It is the white face of death. Murder I read in his eyes, and I knew that I was a goner…that he had got me, and I found my strength failing as he strangled me and choked my windpipe to near death. But before the final end could take over, my mind resisted strongly, and I pictured the sleeping face of my three daughters in front of my eyes, and a maddening surge of strength erupted in my veins. I had known it not, but I was still carrying the iron poker in my hands, and it was red hot from the fire of the coal. Thinking about my daughters, I attacked the monster with that rod and burned his face with the red hot end.
        ‘He screamed loudly - a sound none have yet heard - and then he kicked me hard in my stomach. Pain lurched within me, and I fell, swooping down to the ground, unable to breathe as I struggled to get up. But when my senses returned to me, I ran like a witch to secure my daughter…but…but…’
        She wailed like a banshee once more, and it took the officers another half hour to comfort her. Finally, she concluded the narrative:
        ‘The monster had smashed their bedroom window and taken all three of them. He had jumped with them from the height of the second storey! My babies. My Alyssia…she’s just eight years old. They are all eight years old! Please officer! Lieutenant! Save them, please. Please, he’ll murder them and gorge their hearts. Please, sir !’
        The police officers took her back to the pharmacy station, where they had set up an emergency healing camp. Meanwhile, The Lieutenant conversed with the detective and spoke to him rapidly. Ultimately, the detective Paetar approached Professor Jackson and asked: ‘Sir? Any updates? Where are you with the work?’
        The Professor’s face had gone white upon listening to the horrific account of the kidnapping incident, and as this new urgency arose from the situation, the weight of his task settled on his shoulder, and he replied: ‘Just give me 10 hours. I’ll translate the entire text and copy it in my notebook so that others may also go through it. Just give me 10.’
        The detective looked back and sighed as he said: ‘The quicker you finish this, the better our position will be. So far, this is our only lead. Please be quick, Jonas. I implore you.’
        The professor nodded and rushed back into his house, where he pulled out the black notebook and deposited it on his study table. Then he procured fresh parchments, and after dipping his pen in the pot of his ink, he opened the book and started translating every word. By sunset, he had finished his task.

Chapter 4

The Narrative of Father Anton.

The following narrative has been translated from Yarai to English by Professor Jonas Jackson. It was originally written by Father Anton himself.

As I seat myself down to write my thoughts out on these sheets of paper, I realise that the past few days have been quite dark and gruesome for me. In sooth, a horrendous tragedy has struck my life and even as I scribble these letters on the pages, the dead face of my wife stares at me. In the past, I was haunted indeed by the unmoving eyes and by the putrid stench of her corpse, but even as I write, I find my mind settling into a state of equilibrium that makes me well poised in my thoughts. Thus, I can write freely that I am in no state of shock or delirium. All my senses are sharp, and my mind is running at a speed that is natural to it. Everything seems to be working just fine.
        When her murder had taken place, I had spiralled into a state of abysmal despair. I knew not the knowledge of my senses, nor did I have a reign over my thoughts. A tormenting current ran up and down my spine like it were a viper, and I retched continuously for hours. I do not recall the black moments of those hours very well, but I clearly remember the feeling of having to swallow something unpleasant, as if I was being forced to consume a rotten, repulsive, and poisonous fruit. There was no fruit. It was just my guilt that kept torturing me, and for uncounted moments I lived like a lunatic, not knowing what to do or whither to go.
        Ultimately, the black fog of despair cleared from my soul, and a little light shone once again in my thoughts, and I knew that I had to write the events down. That was the only thing that made sense to me, and thus, I have set down to complete my task. May God aid me in finishing this quest.

        It is not the first time that I have endeavoured to capture my thoughts in scripts and sheets. Even before, in my life, I had maintained a journal, and in that journal, I had recorded everything that had passed into my consciousness. My dreams were written down, my fancies were jotted there, and my daily routine was also inscribed upon the sheets. For a long time, had I maintained that text. But, a little while ago, when the anguish of my soul had reached its peak, a crazy fit of delirium tormented my thoughts, and I ended up burning each and every single paper of that document. I still do not know whether that was the right thing to do, but my insides shudder violently whenever I think about that notebook and the content that I wrote in that notebook. Perhaps it was the will of God that forced me to burn that abhorrent thing away from existence. Regardless, since that evidence of my consciousness has vanished away from this world, I am compelled to write this narrative down so that those who go through it may learn what I had to learn through experience and so that the mistakes which I have atrociously committed may be remedied by the words that I write here on these sheets. It is confirmed in my thoughts that this task of mine is the final task for me in this world of pain and after this, I’ll depart from my body, either to ascend to the thrones of heaven or to go down into the pits of hell, where undeserving souls like me usually go. Thus, I’ll begin narrating the events in an order that best suits them, and I hope that the reader may gather enough wisdom from the sheets so as to remedy the errors that my soul has committed.

        Throughout my youth, I had been known for my good looks and graceful behaviour. I had borne utmost respect for my elders, and in a gentle manner I had courted everyone who had come to me, be it elderly ladies or little children. I had always treated everyone with respect. Thus, throughout my life, I had been respected as well. No matter where I had been, people had always been kind to me, and their friendly faces still swim in my consciousness as I write about them.
        This virtue of mine has always granted me admission in those societies of people who are regarded highly for their esteem and who have helped humanity by their highly intellectual and compassionate endeavours. Various authors approached me for my thoughts on theology, and I was fortunate enough to address many gatherings of pupils to instruct them on the art of loving God and finding Him in the darkest moment of our lives. Many of my friends and admirers still send me letters and cards to appreciate the work that I performed for them, and here I must confess that in these deeds, I have always been devoted and pious. Thus, I have built a name for myself in many societies, and even in this town of Rivenshire, I am well known and respected by all the individuals.
        But the narrative that I am about to reveal here right now might uproot all their ideas about me. It may launch such a petulant blotch on my character that I am forced to ask them to consider my life in its totality and not just base their judgement on this one little segment that I have kept hidden from everyone. This little truth, I bare for the first and last time in front of all, a truth which I have carried with me ever since I came to this town of Rivenshire. It is the truth of the Necromancer.

        When I was still a professor in the College of Yara, I had received a letter from my grandfather, who had called me to the town of Rivenshire so that I may step in his shoes and continue to teach the pupils about our school of thought. I was well instructed in all the discourses, and my manners pleased my grandfather, who saw in me a small version of himself. Thus he passed on the ownership of the town chapel to me and gave me the keys to all the rooms and chambers. Here, it might shock my acquaintances to know that when I came to the town, I was already married to a beautiful woman who went by the name of Helena, and she was my first wife. She was the love of my life and always took care of me in a way that only a wife can. Thus, I moved into the town of Rivenshire with her, and little did anyone know about her or me.
        It was only after I had moved that I received the final letter from my grandfather, who never contacted me again and disappeared from my life as if he had been turned into a phantom. The letter said:
        ‘Dear Anton. It is with sublime pride and sheer happiness that I am sending this letter to you at this address. For the past few years, the worry of the chapel’s inheritance had driven me half insane, but I have finally been freed from that burden thanks to your generous acceptance of the offer. I would like to congratulate you on your occupancy.
        ‘Now that the ceremonies have been dealt with, I would like to confide in you, a secret which I hope you will never ever expose to anyone - not even to your wife or children. It is a secret that you, as my blood, must take with yourself to the grave and let me warn you right now that all those who have attempted to reveal it to the others have always met with a gruesome and violent end for their actions. Thus, open up your heart and swallow the knowledge that I reveal to you and never bare it to anyone else.
        ‘When you start exploring the chapel, you will find a wooden door in the eastern part of the building that opens to a spiral stairway. This path leads to the chapel's basement, and there you will find many doors. One of these doors is made of iron, and it is bolted and locked with an iron padlock. You’ll find the keys under the statue of our Lord’s feet.
        ‘When you have gathered enough maturity in your soul, then you must unlock this door of the basement and go through the dark aisle that opens up from it. It is a passage - dark and long, and it keeps going on and on until it opens up to a small cave that has a dark green pond within it. It is here that you will encounter the one whom we call the Necromancer. It is at this place that your destiny will be revealed to you.
        ‘The Necromancer is a wicked being, knowledge of whom has always stayed with our family. My father had passed it to me, and his grandfather had passed it to him. Likewise, I pass this knowledge to you, and I hope that you will embellish the wisdom and understanding that we have gathered and carry the legacy forward.
        ‘This Necromancer - a demonic being from hell - must remain locked in iron chains and shackles. All his limbs must always be fettered, and it is your duty to ensure the imprisonment of this terrible creature. You must descend down to this cave on a regular basis, and you must check upon the abhorrent creature lest the passing of time weakens the strength of those chains that bind him, and this monster of the underworld is released out there in the world.
        ‘You must never let that happen, my dear boy. Always call God to defend your soul and always perform your duty like a Father. This is a secret and a curse that all of us bear, and we must be the ones to defend the others from this wicked creature of the underworld. Never let anyone find out about your secret. Never let anyone discover this cave. This truth of the soul dies with us, and all of us have sworn to defend it to death. So honour your possession, my dear lad and best of luck for all your adventures.’

        The strange narrative of my grandfather perturbed my thoughts indeed, but a piercing curiosity also erupted from my heart that compelled me to discover everything that I could about this Necromancer. Thus, that very night, when my lovely Helena had gone to bed, I crept out from under the sheets, and after lighting the lantern, I waded down to the basement and travelled through the souterrain until I had found the cave with the pond.
        It was vivid green indeed, and on the other end, hidden in a cavity by the wall, I spotted the mien of the monster that has so infamously murdered the souls of so many helpless victims. I will not lie here: I was attracted by the sombre sense of darkness that emerged from it, and I felt like my mind was being called towards an enchanting lull of serenity. Here I committed the foremost error in my long chain of errors, and if I could rewind time and change the course of events that happened, then this is the only one that I will remove from my consciousness so that the blood of many may be saved from their horrible demise. It is true that the Necromancer was locked in his iron chains and his limbs were in shackles, but I felt a curious sense of compassion for him and thought about developing a bond with him so that I may understand the plight of his existence. I must say that a thought worse than this has never appeared in my soul, and as long as I live, this memory of mine will always torment me, reminding me of the ghastly evil that I committed that day - I struck a friendship with that creature.

        He was cloaked and locked in chains, and his head was hooded such that I could not see what lurked beneath the shadows. But as I drew closer, I looked at his face, and I still do not know whether I was frightened or enchanted upon witnessing that demonic countenance.
        His face was white and pale like a corpse, and his cheekbones were so sunken that his features looked skeletal. His orb-like eyes gleamed as they saw me, and I saw my own eyes reflected therein. A shiver ran down the length of my spine, but a curiosity grew in me as well, and I yearned to know him. Thus, I approached him and conversed with him, and I must admit that he was highly voluble in his speech and articulated his feelings with such refined precision that I was impressed by the starling power of his verbal expression.
        At length, he spoke to me about his past and revealed the nature of my grandfather to me, and before I knew it, I was caught in its spell and felt closer to him the more I listened to him. A calming sense of peace engulfed me as I drank in his verbal narrative, and somewhere within, I felt a bit attracted to him, as if he carried in him a side of life that I could never experience. To me, he felt like the embodiment of that freedom that had been locked without any reason. His thoughts were grand, and they were filled with romantic fancy. But there was dangerous terror in them as well, and it was this terror only that fascinated me. It kept me enchanted. I could repeat those thoughts here for the words always spin in my soul but I do not wish to reproduce the black speech of that abhorrent creature anywhere in life. Thus, I must abstain from writing it.
        Nonetheless, I spent the entire night listening to him, and the next night as well, I snuck into his cave and listened to his discourses as his dreamy visions clouded my mind with a strong sense of serenity, and I found myself floating in a haze of tranquillity. It was as if my soul had been incomplete without him, and as I spent more time with him, I learned things about myself that I had hidden deep in my psyche. He unleashed all those things for me and released those desires of mine that had been locked away in the caverns of my mind. I was finally learning to become free in my thoughts.
        But I grew terribly afraid of articulating these thoughts back in my society. While I continued to nurture my bond with this fiend of the underworld on one end, on the other end, in the town of Rivenshire, my reputation increased because of my acts of generosity, and I grew afraid of airing my dark passions to everyone. Thus, I hid my thoughts from others and never let them know that side of my mind which was filling up with the darkness that this fiendish monster was pouring. A schism grew in me, and it split me apart in two, where I hid the darker version from the world and kept those dark thoughts secured in my mind. In contrast, the other version of mine, I aired in a pompous fashion, articulating all my words with aristocratic quality and letting others know about the generosity of my being.
        The people of the town did not know about my encounter with the Necromancer. They did not know about those thoughts which I articulated with the fiend. Had they known, they would have stripped me of my title and flayed me alive, for I conversed with the monster about hatred, and I talked to him about anger and murder. He spoke to me about thoughts of stealing and rape. He taught me the truth behind rage and fury. As I spent more and more time with him, my mind opened up to that version of the soul that is dark and which belongs to the dominion of the devil. I must write: I was enchanted by the devil - there was a romantic fancy in it that attracted me towards it and as I tasted a little bit of darkness, I grew more and more hungry; until one day I had no choice but to satiate my hunger not with my thoughts but with my action.

        It chanced that as I crept down one night to converse with The Necromancer, Helena, who had always bothered me about my late-night prancings, ended up following me. So mad was I with my lust to converse with the fiend that I paid no need to the sound of her steps as they followed me, and in my frenzy, I continued to move through the passage leading her straight to the cave and to the home of that being. But the moment she discovered the place and spotted the being, a horrible scream erupted from her throat, and she sprinted back to the cave; and so startled was I from that incident that I thought not about the consequence and chased her down and pushed her as hard as I could.
        She fell down and cracked her temple on the jagged piece of stone that jutted from the ground and I knew at that moment that I had murdered my beloved wife. Yet not a morsel of guilt did I feel for that crime, for I knew that it was wrong of her to inspect my nightly wanderings, especially when I had warned her not to do so.
        So, I carried her corpse back with me and deposited it to the Necromancer, who congratulated me for my efforts and respected me for my actions. In a hoarse voice, he said to me:
        ‘Today, Anton, you have embraced a side of yourself that has always existed within you. Don’t restrain it again. I say unleash it and enjoy your freedom as much as you can. This is your world, and you are its Lord.’
        I did feel like a Lord that night, and as I sat next to the Necromancer, I watched him conjure his magic of the underworld in front of my eyes. He enchanted the corpse of my dead wife such that it lifted up in the air and moved like it was animated. The thaumaturgy of her animation bewildered my wits indeed, but I knew that her soul had departed from her body, and it was only the magic of the Necromancer that moved her limbs. Yet, even as I saw the chicanery, the murdered body of my dead wife disintegrated into a cloud of dust that spiralled towards the Necromancer, and I watched him consume the dead remains of my recently deceased wife.
        The moment he devoured her body, he acquired a little more colour in his own body, and I saw the lines of ages disappearing from his face. It was as if the murder had rejuvenated his tiring body. He felt appeased and satisfied, and his satisfaction brought satisfaction to me. I sensed that he was hungry for more, and his hunger created a hunger in me as well. Thus I ached for more.

        Helena was unknown to everyone else. She had remained within the house, and no one had acquainted themselves with her. Thus no one noticed her absence. This allowed me a chance to enter a second marriage. This time, I married Alexandra, and it was her big blue eyes that pierced my heart with the arrow of love such that I ended up bringing her to my house.
        She was a beautiful and brilliant soul, one who loved to spend time with animals, nurtured the plants, and took care of them. I was in love with her - for a short while - but after some days, my passion wilted, like a dying rose flower, and I knew that she had become a big nuisance to me.
        So, one Sunday afternoon, as she went out to gather pots for her plants, I captured her three pet dogs and beat them to near death. They barked and whined but the sound of their pain couldn’t dampen my spirits - in fact, it might have inflamed it. Later I took them to the cave, and there, I drowned two of them in the pond while I offered the third one to The Necromancer alive. Once again, he performed his evil artifice and once again, the dead bodies of all the dead dogs turned to dust and were consumed by the demonic being. Once again, I saw him grow healthy and then I knew that my own hunger was satisfied. I derived a sinless pleasure from appeasing that monster, and here I must admit that in those moments, I was drunk with the bliss of that ruse which the discourse of that Necromancer had created in my head. I was in love with him and could not find enough strength to counter his wile machinations.
        Eventually, as the dread of losing her favourite pets mounted in the soul of my wife, she overdosed herself to death with drugs that the pharmacist had procured for her. Before I knew it, I had offered her dead body to the Necromancer as well and faked her burial for the public world. Much consolation and blessings I received indeed.

        The Necromancer had grown quite strong by now, and the chains that held him caged did not look so promising. My mind was swirling in the darkness that he had created for me, but deep down, somewhere in my memory, I still remembered the words my grandfather had told me: ‘You must always keep him imprisoned.’ Thus, I never entertained those thoughts which prompted me to release him and always kept him locked in the souterrain. Likewise, the dark side of my life which I had begun to feast upon so gloriously was also locked within that basement and never did I reveal my true self to anyone.
        I continued to put up a facade for the others, and my acts of generosity continued to grow in their counts. I was still being contacted by esteemed individuals and none could discern that side of my consciousness which was plagued by this evil darkness, and which had succumbed to such levels of hell from which salvation is not possible. Everything remained hidden for a long time.
        Yet, as months turned into years, it became difficult for me to play this double-sided role. From within, I was becoming more and more impatient - ready to lash out in anger at those who made mistakes and always thinking of murder as the absolute solution to most of the problems. But outside, I had to maintain my appearance, for I knew that society would butcher me like a pig if it knew the thoughts boiling in my soul. This schism tore me apart from within. I knew not who I was anymore, and I yearned to release my true self in front of everyone.
        Ultimately, a chance presented itself in front of me where I acquired a choice to choose either side of my soul. Unfortunately, I chose the darker path, and it is that path which has led me to the most terrible fate that any human has gone through.

        There is a friend of mine, known by the name of Dr Charles Webster. He is quite famous around this town and as a connoisseur of literature, he has also travelled into many other countries and knows as many as 33 languages. A marvel he is, a genius of very high calibre with a sharp intellect. Naturally, when he came to our town, he ended up interacting with me, and during our conversations, we ended up debating the topic which is the most heated of them all: The reality of God.
        Now, throughout my life, I have always exercised my patience choosing to value wisdom and understanding over ignorance and foolishness and thus I have always respected the opinion of others, no matter how harsh they may seem to be. But lately, the equanimity of my soul had deserted me, and thus, when I got into an argument with the doctor, the first thought that rose in my mind was to slaughter him right then and there.
        A major altercation erupted between the two of us, and no matter how hard I tried to present my view, he would always shake his head and refuse to accept my claims. In the end, I was triggered, and a murderous desire gripped my soul, so much so that I envisioned burning his living flesh. Yet, I exercised restraint on my thoughts and waited until he departed.

        By this time, I was already married to my third wife, Katrina, with whom I had conceived a daughter many years ago; and I loved her soul more than anything in the world. But, the anguish of my inner conflict burned my thoughts, and I knew that she could help me carry out my plan without any failure. So, I asked her to invite the good doctor back for dinner with the pretence that I wanted to apologise for my behaviour. I knew that the invitation from my end wouldn't furnish anything but the charming manners of my wife would win his heart immediately, and he wouldn’t be able to refuse. Thus, I included her in my plans and set her in motion.
        Then, I went to the basement and entered the cave once again where I deplored my heart out to the Necromancer. He listened patiently and his dark orb-like eyes gleamed like the starry cosmos. After understanding my desire, he conjured a small glass flask for me, in which he spat his saliva and asked me to poison the drink of my enemy with it. I pocketed that phial of poison and awaited the person of my foe with a malignant intent set upon my heart.

        When the evening came, I knew not which glass he would take, so I poured the entire potion in the flask, knowing that my wife was not a drinker and concluding that I would not take even a single sip of the drink when it was served.
        Finally, after waiting, the moment arrived, and my wife presented the table with many meals that she had prepared for us. Amidst roast mutton and pork strips, I set down the flask of wine for him and poured the poisoned potion in his golden goblet, smiling as I did it. He downed it in one go and demanded more. Pleased, I kept on serving him until I saw the blood-red lush of wine smear his cheeks, and as his head bobbled with the intoxication of that drink, I called forth our original argument once again and cursed him right at his face.
        The argument started once again, and so heated did the debate become that he ended up leaving the table and departed. But I knew that his departure wouldn’t just be from my house but from the very world. So I continued to chase him as he left the house, and I shouted loudly at him, cursing him for his obnoxious views and deriving pleasure from my unleashed freedom.
        Yet so stark was my horror when I returned that I doubled back and screamed loudly in the dining room as I saw that my wife had poured herself a drink and had finished it completely. She smiled at me and said: “It was a crazy evening - wasn’t it, honey?”
        Even as she finished her sentence, the goblet of wine slipped from her fingers and clanged on the floor. Her eyes turned bloodshot red, and her throat went blue as white foam oozed out from her nostrils and mouth, and she vomited on the floor. Then she fell on all fours and tried to cough her insides out as the poison reacted with her bloodstream and started killing her in front of my own eyes.
        My daughter too emerged from her room and ran to the dying body of my wife. She screamed, “Mamma! What’s happening to Mumma! Dadda! Do something.”
        I didn't know what to do. A chaotic vortex tormented my thoughts, and my entire body started shivering. I ran down to the basement and ran till my sides seared until I reached the cave. There, I pleaded with the Necromancer to save my wife.
        He laughed gleefully and said, ‘Another one down? Well. Mr Anton. It looks like you are going to score a hat-trick.’
        ‘Please! Please save her. I love her from the bottom of my heart. She means the world to me. Save her, please.’ I continued to implore him.
        Ultimately he said, ‘You cannot lie to me, Anton. I know that she means nothing to you. Regardless, I cannot save her from down here, and now there isn’t time to bring her here either. If you want to see her alive, you must unleash me. Remove the binds that keep me chained, and I’ll see to her salvation. Open my bonds, Anton.’
        In my feverish state of frenzy, I thought not about the consequences of my actions and fumbled for my keys which were always kept in the depths of my pockets. There, I unlocked the terrible fiend with my own hands, and the moment he was freed from the chains, I knew that I had committed the most atrocious sin that any living being can commit on this planet.
        For the moment he was freed, he roared like a demon, and an exhilarating laugh erupted from his chest that shook the roof of the cave and reverberated around ominously. He pushed me such that I fell into the pond, and once I had emerged, he was nowhere to be seen.
        A chilling wave of horror froze my heart, and my soul shivered in terror as my thoughts spiralled in a black vortex. I ran like a madman towards my house. There, as I reached the hall, a blood-curdling scream erupted from my daughter’s throat and my veins shrivelled inside my body the moment I heard her voice scream in black horror. I lunged forward and opened the door, but it was too late.
        The Necromancer had grabbed her little form with his palm, and his cold fingers were closing on her small neck with a vice-like grip. Her face turned blue right in front of my eyes, and voiceless, I screamed and ran to stop him. But before I could get to him, he hurled the body of my daughter towards the wall where it crashed with the painting and fell on the floor - lifeless.
        Since then, so grave has been the anguish of my soul that not even God, even if he forgives me a thousand times, can remedy the pain that I must endure on account of the deaths that I have designed for my blood relatives and myself. As the terror of my past torments my soul, it is only this act of writing that calms my disposition and creates a sense of clarity in me. But now, this narrative is about to reach its end for, beyond this point, nothing much has to be told.

        After murdering my daughter, the Necromancer departed from the chapel and ever since then the entire town has been plagued by the murders that he has been committing. My own soul has continued to suffer because of everything that he has done but courage I don’t have to go out into the public and reveal the truth to everyone. I know that the Necromancer brings the bodies of his victim back to his cave and it is in the cave only that he has established his base. Thus, if ever, anyone has to catch that heathen, then the cave should be the first and the foremost place to look for him. It is where he will be found.
        Furthermore, I would like to reveal that through the discourses that I held with the Necromancer, I have found out that he is afraid of fire and of all the materials that grow in this world, it is only fire that can torture him and torment him to the pain of death. Thus, if there are any beings out there who ever endeavor to finish him, fire should do the deed.
        Yet, this must be told as well that fire is but a temporary solution. This dark creature of the underworld is a natural growth that is bound to return again, and no matter how hard we try to burn it, it will come back once again. Thus, the only thing that we can do from our end is to keep it caged and never entertain him, for if we commit that error, then the wicked being will enchant our thoughts with delusionary passions until we end up succumbing to that level of life that is reserved for beings in hell.
        Now, finally, my narrative comes to an end, and I hope that those who go through it may learn a lesson or two from it. I have narrated everything that recounts my terrible experience with the monster, and now having finished my burdensome task, I end my duties and move on to end my life. May God Protect You. May He Bless your Soul. Amen.

Chapter 5

The Cave

The Monday morning was grim, as grim as the previous two mornings, but by noon, a little wave of wind emerged from the north, and the clouds began to disperse. It felt, to the citizens of Rivenshire, that the dull smugness of the weather was about to depart after all.
        Professor Jackson spent the entire day at The Police Office, where the sergeants trained the officers to prepare them for the attack that they were about to unleash at the cave. The narrative of Father Anton had been read by almost everyone and they knew that fire was their only weapon against that abhorrent freak.
        So, they were all busy in the preparations of fiery bottle based incendiary instruments. Petrol bombs, kerosine jars, and gasoline explosives had also been prepared. Some were equipped with hot iron rods while others were instructed to carry a bucket of burning coal with them so as to hurl them at the demonic slayer.
        By nightfall, most of them were prepared, and as the lieutenant initiated the mission, a strong current of confidence ran in their hearts, and they countered the fear of their soul by chanting the name of the Warrior God.
        Ultimately, Detective Paetar came to the professor and said, ‘Sir Jonas. Thank you very much for your efforts. If the grace of God is upon us, we might succeed.’
        Professor Jonas smiled and said, ‘You will succeed for sure,’ and he proceeded to join him.
        ‘Wait - what are you doing? You are not thinking of coming, are you?’
        The professor gave him a stern look and said: ‘Paetar, there are 25 people around us, armed with firebombs. Do you really think he’s got a chance? Furthermore, I don't want to miss the destruction of that abhorrent creature who so demolished Father Anton’s sanity…May his soul be forgiven..I am coming, and there’s nothing debatable about it.’
        The Detective resigned and looked at the Lieutenant, who nodded and instructed them to join the ranks quickly.

        Unbeknownst to all, the Necromancer had dug up a passage in the cave that opened out there in the forest. It was from this place that he had lurked out in the streets and murdered so many humans. A terror of his slaughtering spirit had disturbed the very environment of that place in the forest, and the entrance of his cave was marked by dying leaves and wilted flowers. After capturing the triplets late at night, he had sneaked back to his home by that route, and he intended to murder the children at midnight the following day as was his ritual. A spell of sleep, he put on their thoughts and gazed on them hungrily as he envisioned their deaths.
        Then, after depositing them in his old place of confinement, he chose a comfortable place in the mud by the pond and rested himself by going to sleep.

        The army of town-Police crept towards the town chapel in the evening, and the captain led the troop. He was equipped with a single-shot pistol and ammunition while all the others carried their flame grenades and were armed with blades and swords. The lieutenant managed the rear, and even the coal carriers rushed towards the entrance.
        The scouts surveyed the scene and rushed back quickly to give them the go-ahead, and everybody prepared themselves for the final phase of the mission. Slowly, one by one, they crept to the basement, from where they marched in a file through the passage and finally came out into the tunnel; there, the scouts were already awaiting them.

        The captain crept slowly towards the raised mound and spotted the Necromancer. Then he gave the signal, and two of his best officers sneaked towards the confinement zone and carried the sleeping children on their backs. Then they started to go back to their zone, but the iron chains shifted the moment those kids were moved and immediately, the Necromancer awakened, shaking furiously as he witnessed so many beings around his place.
        ‘ATTACK THE FIEND !’ the captain roared.
        ‘DEATH !’ The group yelled.

        The monster jumped and lunged, but the captain shot his head with the pistol, sending him crashing down to the ground. The others threw their petrol bombs at the fiend, which blasted open upon him and devoured him in a ball of flame. Likewise, the coal pelters hurled small coal missiles at the burning body of the monster and incinerated him.
        But so monstrous was the spirit of that devil that he arose once more, his flesh burning and smoking, and he plucked out a massive stone from the mud. Then he bashed an officer’s skull with it, blasting the head into bloody bits and pieces and threw the rock towards the group. The stone smashed Detective Paetar in his chest, and he went crashing down to the ground and died on the spot.

Yet, the officers continued to pelt firebombs at him until the fire burned his entire body, and he screamed in painful terror as his burning flesh seared him from within and tormented his very soul with its flame. They launched their attacks relentlessly until the entire cave glowed as if a sun had been created within and the monster howled from the centre of the ball of fire in which he was burning.
Never had a scream like that erupted in the whole world nor will any other ever appear like it. It petrified the very soul of the lieutenant, and most of them fled from the scene upon hearing that sound. Yet, those who stayed witnessed the holy incarceration of the demonic fiend, one that had murdered more than half of their friends, and professor Jonas Jackson stood with the spectators.
He gazed on the burning pyre of the demonic monster, and even as he witnessed the ashes of the demon’ corpse, he knew that this was not the end and another Necromancer will once again come to life, and he too will weave havoc that is much worse than this current peril. Yet, as he gazed at the fire, it burned his ominous thoughts, and he enjoyed the destruction of that demon with gratitude and satisfaction.

The End

SANGUINE DEADSKULLS

Ivory Flower Dust

Names – the enigmatic conjunction of sounds – always seem to add depth and gravity to meaning. How wonderfully unique each thing becomes when endowed with a carefully chosen name – from the chrysanthemum to jasmine to the humongous rafflesia with their parasitic attachments – names always bring colors to meaning.
        Then, how terrible of me to ponder so much about names & yet not find the time or make the effort to learn them! Let me explain.

        One day, as I was happily strolling past my mother's well-maintained garden, my eyes fell upon the confluence of a most incredible bunch of flowers. They weren’t like anything I’d seen – sure there was a petal of jasmine here, a frill or a tuft there, but it was not something I could easily name. Their presence bewildered me.
        Mesmerized, I approached them & leaned closer for the smell when a strange medley of underground whispering entered my ears. It tingled me. What in the world was going on?
        I looked at the bunch again & let my thoughts stop.
        The voices began to take shape, found their form & talked to me – speaking alike to my head & the heart:
        “Help us, O Dear one, free us from this intoxicating bondage with the soil. The world is yet to be seen.”

All the hair on my arms stood up & I shivered with excitement. At that moment a soft breeze from the east picked up its pace & passed through me touching my skin – almost communicating.
        I sensed an intuitive force building up its momentum in me. Yes, this was the right thing to do –
        I held the soft neck of the bunch, gripping the slender stem tightly in my palm & plucked them out with full force. They groaned & screeched & with a marvelous force, the ground underneath rent open & split asunder, and a gloriously white skeleton – almost ivorish like the moon – erupted from beneath.

        The stem I'd held was rooted at the tip of the skull near the crown, and now that it was out, all the flowers of the bunch were dancing in the wind.
        He looked at me eerily with the eyeball-less sockets, grinning from ear to ear & extended his hands as if for a shake.
        I stood rooted to my spot, paralyzed, but he sensed my anxiety & pulled me in for a hug. He held me tightly & whispered in my ears:
        “Thanks for the release, my mortal buddy, thanks for this closure.”
        Right after saying this he disintegrated into dust glowing like a dying star, and a fresh gust of wind picked him up & scattered him in the universe.

Sometimes, when it is dark & the sky is clear from the clouds I look up & see the same eerie grin grinning at me from the constellation. It is then that I marvel at my foolishness of having met, yet not even enquiring its name.

∼

Shadow Work

The day is sinking and the morbid sky has turned blood red. Night is about to come.
I look at the shape of my rising shadow and drown myself in it. How gracefully it invites me to its realm. How gently do I die in its black form

I glide into a world unbeknownst to me. I might have come here before for I do see the buildings and the cities which often outline my nightmares. I marvel at the fungal growth and sprouted mushrooms carpeting the floor of the world. I collapse and crumble into dust merging with the soil and the growing organisms.
Maybe, they are decaying...

A fellow comes to pull me out and gathers me up like a pot of clay. My face keeps disintegrating - the dust keeps withering and falling. The wind comes and carries it away. I know that I am crumbling.
I look at the fellow and marvel at his dark shape. He is a shadow being with no distinct features but his outline resembles mine. Knowing the response, I inquire, “Who are you?”
“I am you,” he says and grows silent.

The ocean of silence expands between us. Above us the moonlight is crimson like wine. The stars are exploding. Traveling meteors scorch the caverns of the sky leaving a trail of light.
        “Why'd I come here?”
        The shadow says, “We're not different, you and I - we are part of the same thing. This world has always been yours - only you've been away.”

        I am turning into dust once again. I am collapsing. I know that I don't have much time.
        I say, “Will I see you again?”
        “I'll be here with you till the end, and even beyond. Don't forget me, dear one.”

I vanish.

I return.

I open my eyes and the night has come. The twinkling stars glimmer like hope in the night sky. I let a peaceful smile appear on my face. It comes like death - without invitation & hindrance. It declares its dominion over me.

I fall back to sleep. Then the nightmare comes, and I meet my friend again.

INCOMPLETE

When I was dying, I felt like something was amiss, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what it was. Death was slow, painful, and quiet, but hidden within that silence was an innocent peace. I felt like I was passing from one world into another, transforming from one thing into another. It felt more like a metamorphosis. And yet—something was missing. What was it? I think I get it now... yes, my work was pending. I had not completed my tasks.
There was no point in resisting death. My legs had already frozen—rendered lifeless by the paralysis that was creeping up my body. I simply placed my palms on my stomach and closed my eyes. Reverently, I welcomed the darkness. It had begun to engulf me. Yet, there was a tiny flame—a flicker of life that kept telling me something still had to be done, but I couldn't figure out what it was.
I died. Completely, fully, and totally. It was so whole, it made me marvel how anything could be so pure, so complete. Maybe life too is like death—maybe even she is complete—but we don't live life fully, so we can never know completeness. Something is always missing. But not in death. Death is total. It is absolute. So it was for me—except for that one minor flaw. A little bit of life still remained lodged in my body, hiding somewhere between the organs, or maybe amidst the vacuum of the bones. I didn't know where she hid, but she did it perfectly, and death could not find her. So, I was dead indeed—but there was life in me as well. Something was missing.

My milkman discovered me the next day. I have absolutely no idea why he decided to peek into the room that day, but he did. I often wondered—he could have performed his job like many of us do—just do what you're told, put in the least effort, and return home with your salary. But this milkman had some strange curiosities. He decided to peek, and he found me—my body, lying peacefully on the bed. Otherwise, I would have rotted for weeks before my stench would have forced someone to find me.

Regardless, the milkman found me. After rapping his knuckles on the window for about half an hour, he decided to break into my home. He trashed the door and hurried to look at me, and a strange expression appeared on his face. It seemed like he was compassionate and irritated at the same time. I suppose he had every right, given that his daily routine had been significantly altered by the fact that he was the first one to discover a dead body.

The moments after that are a bit blurry for me, but I hope you can forgive me for this lapse of memory—as you know, I was dead. I know that no excuses can justify the faults and flaws that we mortals inhabit in our conscious psyche, but I suppose I can get a little leeway given that I was rendered inert.
When clarity returned to me, I realized that a few village folks were carrying my body to the graveyard by the river. I had no relatives, nor had I any money in my house, so it made sense for them to carry me without a coffin. What's the point of investing anything in the dead? It's only going to eat dirt.
They buried me. Not too deep, not too shallow—somewhere perfectly in the middle. The vibe of the underground was dark and cool. I could hear the roots of the nearby plants whispering and slithering around me. The nearby bodies had also begun to break free from the bondage of their mortal remains, and they were co-mingling with the dirt, fusing in the most erotic fashion. One could not tell what was dirt and what was body—it seemed that the dirt was the body.

Everything would have been quiet, and even I could have participated in this darkly beautiful communion—but I could not. Something was missing, and now the force of that desire was burning me from within. The music of the slithering roots and the moaning of the mingling bodies began to burn and sear me. I also wished to play with the dead, but I was prevented—prevented by my own incomplete desire. An agony arose in me, transforming into anger, and I decided to scream very loudly.

It was then that something miraculous happened. The earth all around me shuddered, and the ground above me cracked open. The paralysis which had so far stryck my whole being melted like ice, and I found movement returning to me. I crawled my way up, thrust my hands outside, and pulled myself out of my peaceful habitat.
The moon looked big and beautiful in the starry skies, and a cool wind brought the touch of freshness to my bones. Yes, a lot of time had passed between my moment of dying and now, and all I had left of my body were bones. Here I was—just an innocent grimy skeleton standing in the moonlight—and something had to be done.

I decided to walk and sit under a tree, for the roots were familiar to me and they had told me a deep story about bondage and connection while I was buried near it underground. I sat and thought what to do, but I felt too anxious. Nothing was clear. In that moment, due to some divine grace or random coincidence, I decided that it would be a good idea to meditate. So I abandoned the notion of doing anything and just sat down silently, letting everything pass through me.
        It was beautiful! Initially, there was a minor disturbance in me, for my thoughts and desires ached to take all my attention, but I decided to let them fade. They dissolved in silence. Then the beauty of the moonlight grew more prominent and I could smell the fragrance of the flowers passing inside my nose and out. Everything happened, and there was nothing that had to be done about it. It was so still and peaceful.
        I don't know what happened. Suddenly, my skull cracked open and I heard the sound of slithering vines once again. But I was feeling very calm and light, so I let the phenomena happen. I gave up all control.

        After a while, a thought came to me—perhaps carried by the wind—and a vision appeared alongside the thought. In the vision I glimpsed myself—my skeleton—sitting peacefully under the tree in the posture of meditation, and a gorgeous bunch of flowers had emanated from my skull. There were roses and sunflowers—nothing too fancy—but they were dancing under the moonlight and smelled wonderful.
        The vision faded, but I realized that the flowers were real. I could feel their lightness, their grace, and their delicacy in my body. I felt like even I were a flower—fragrant and filled with blossomed life. An indescribable joy flowed in me and carried me to a sea of bliss. I became giddy.
        It was then that I heard the sound of footsteps crunching dead leaves. I grew still and scared. The sound of a cough told me that it was a man, and he was nearby. He was approaching me.
        He appeared in front of me and from his disheveled face, I knew that he was in severe grief. His eyes were dark and baggy, his clothes were torn and raggy, and his beard was large. Two thick streams of tears were oozing from his eyes. Slowly, he came close to me and, putting his hands forward, he plucked out all the flowers which had blossomed from my skull and wound them up in a bouquet.
        "Thank you," he said to me, after wiping away the tears and putting up a weak smile.
        Then he turned his back to me and walked in slow steps toward one of the graves. There he placed the bouquet near the headstone, hugged it, and started crying very loudly.

I don't know why, but the sight of that large poor man huddled so close to the grave under the moonlight brought a deep wave of peace in me. My body—that is to say, my skeleton—began to overpower me once again, and I realized that my mouth was turning into a very wide grin.
Then a lightness came within me, and I felt a deep satisfaction—deeper than anything that life had so far offered me. Now, I knew that my work was complete. Now I could die properly. So, I did.

The End

TOXIC CORPORATE FILES

Be Grounded

Sometimes, when I’m inattentive, I start floating up towards the sky. I must tell you — it is very inconvenient.
        I’m neither scientific nor a good observer, but I've noticed that this magical floating tends to happen every time I feel happy or light. My body feels giddy and my feet leave the ground. I start going upwards, towards the starry night. Maybe one day, I’ll move across the Universe.
        If you are wondering about my predicament, then I must inform you that it is very troublesome and dangerous to just start floating. You’re just sitting in the park, reading your favorite novel and wheee….
        Suddenly you start rising. It is very bothersome. I’m always irritated by it.

The good thing is that it doesn’t happen a lot. I’m not sure about the reason but I have a working theory.
        You see, my feet leave the ground every time I feel giddy or happy, but since I’m living in Gurugram that doesn’t happen very much.
        My heart is often heavy from the memory of going through the toxic desi experience — encountering rude, abusive, illiterate, and uncivilized people on the road who’re always honking, cursing, shouting, beating, and fighting 24/7.
        The venomous curse words flow from my manager’s mouth and go into my veins poisoning my nervous systems. Thus, I’m mostly depressed, and remain rooted to the ground. There is no dream, fantasy, hope, or longing in me. Thus, I’m safe. I’m paid properly. I’m employed. Thus I don’t fly very often, and I thank the Gods for the same.
        Still, sometimes, when I’m not paying attention it happens, and I don’t know what to do about it…

MY LUCKY DAY

It was not my intention to fall asleep, but I suppose we cannot control everything, least of all - sleep.

She is a hard to get beguiling mistress. Often when we want her the most, she doesn't come, and when we don't want her, when we would like to spend our time on something more worthwhile, she sneaks into the room from behind, creeping up on her soft soles, and enchants the mind. She calms the nerves, lulls the heart, and puts everything to rest. Who knows what blissful chemicals bloom in our brain when we go to sleep? It is all a mystery to me.

Regardless, I was not happy to realize that I had dozed off. My empty coffee mug was kept on the table above the important company sheets like a paperweight, and next to it lay my laptop - screen turned to black and dead. I pressed the power button but nothing happened - the battery must have run out.

At that moment my phone began ringing loudly, moving with each vibration, inching towards the edge of the table as if attempting to jump off and end the commotion once and for all. I grabbed it before it could fall and instinctively picked up the call. It was my boss cum manager and he began barking at me on the phone. I was ready with my usual responses.

'Good Morning Sir - No sir, it's still not complete - no sir...Yes sir, I'll do it from the office...Sure,sure. It will be done before midnight.'

The call dropped dead and something inside me died as well. It was early Sunday morning, 6:47am to be precise, and I had ensured yet another day at the office. It was not that I minded it much because there was nothing to look forward to in my Sunday life.

My girlfriend had left me about 6 months ago when I had to go everyday to the office for an important project that got scrapped off and cancelled at the last moment. I don't like to mull upon the conversation much but still sometimes at night, when I'm unable to sleep and keep tossing right and left on the bed, her words come back to me and start piercing my heart.

“You don't give a damn about me at all, Manan - you don't respect my time. Everytime I make plans to meet you, to spend time with you or go on a date or something, you leave off in between, always going to the office, always wagging your tail like a dog in front of your boss. Why can't you have a little bit of boundary?”

I'd winced at her insults but let it slide. She never understood, but I had tried to explain, as best as I could:
“I don't do it on purpose, Isha! It's just that we are a startup and things take a lot of time and effort in the beginning. After all, we are bringing something good to the society aren't we, and building something good demands sacrifice. I play my part everyday, can't you also help me a little bit?”

She had not responded to me immediately but had simply stormed away from my home. Unfortunately I couldn't even chase her down for I had to go to the office in order to sit in the Teams meeting with international clients. Later upon reaching the office, I'd discovered that the meeting was cancelled because the clients had opted for some other service, and in the end, everything turned out to be meaningless. Isha broke up with me the same night on text.

Ever since then, there was not much to look forward to during the weekends. Technically, we had our Saturdays and Sundays off, but I had to go on Saturdays as well to make some reports and attend important meetings with some of our clients. I did not like it much but comforted myself by reminding myself that something good came in the world due to my effort - that if the whole world was a machine, then I was also an important cog whose proper functioning ensured things could get done. Not everybody could boast that.

I started packing my laptop into the company bag and thrust the charger along with the stapled sheets. I looked around the room, in hope of carrying something useful, but everything was just a heap of mess. The clothes were lying on the bed, the floor was coated with layers of dust, the wall plaster was chipping off, and there were a few cobwebs on each corner of the roof. I'd intended to decorate the place with my favorite posters and lights about a year ago, when I arrived here in Gurugram, but never found the time.

I slung the bag on my shoulder, then rushed to the bathroom to pour some mouthwash and bathe myself with deodorant. I was not smelling too much and looked quite decent even though I had not showered in the past 2 days, but it was Sunday and not many people would come to the office, and the digital filter on the meeting app would take care of the spots under my eyes. So everything was taken care of.

As I booked the cab on my phone, my eyes fell upon the garbage bin which was overflowing with peeled vegetable skin, tea leaves, chicken bones, wrappers, and many other disgusting things. The stench was unbearable and many cockroaches were crawling all over the kitchen, moving on the plates and bits of bread on the slabs. I thought about sweeping and cleansing everything, but the cab arrived in just about a minute, and I made a mental note to do it later. I had made about 100 such mental notes in the past few months.

There are some perks of going to the office on Sunday. One of the best is that you don't encounter much traffic. Of course, the roads in Gurugram are overpacked with elephant sized SUVs all honking and rushing like horny bulls maddened by cocaine, but on Sunday, the chaos was a bit less. You could always cover a 10 minute journey in at least 25 minutes which was twice less than what you would get had you traveled on a weekday.

When I reached the office building, I found it swarming with loads of laborers with dirty white cloth wrapped up around their heads, and they were carrying large wooden planks on their shoulders. A comparatively well dressed man in a creased white shirt and pants was barking orders at them and guiding them here and there. I approached him and inquired, 'What's going on?'

He looked at me quizzically as if determining how stupid I truly was then responded, 'Who are you?'

'I work here in the building.'

'Well we have a contract to finish some pending work, so there will be a lot of construction going on today.'

The news irritated me a lot, but I decided not to argue with him. Construction was very common in Gurugram - it happened everyday to everyone, and finding silence in this city was more difficult than finding God. One of the few reasons why I liked coming to the office on the weekend was that it gave me a respite from the constant noise of hammering, drilling, screeching, and grinding, but today was not my lucky day.

I checked into the office, punched my entry time, and took my seat. The laborers had kept some construction material on my floor as well - planks, buckets, ropes, drilling machines, and cardboard boxes, and I deduced that soon they will start working here as well. I rushed to finish my work before they could come to disturb me and let myself be absorbed by the sheets and the files.

A few hours passed and the morning sun climbed up in the sky, going above the glass window and escaping my sight. Then a cloud must have come before it and a shadow fell upon the ground near the office, and I looked at the cool darkness. Suddenly, I started feeling sad and lonely.

Out of habit, I opened my phone and began scrolling mindlessly through the apps when my eyes fell upon the notification screen and glanced at the date. Then I realized why I was feeling sad. It was my birthday.

I started swiping through the messages in the notification panel, but all of them were advertisements from the many apps on the phone. Some asked me to order their burger or taco or roll or biryani. Some asked me to order groceries, home essentials, decor, etc. Some prompted me to buy jewelry, while others were focused on selling insurance and credit cards. I had a few messages from my bank who offered me pre approved loans up to 50 lakhs. There were a few notifications from the internet as well as news articles that talked about local drunkards murdering an engineer in broad daylight, or how AI could replace jobs in the future. I cleared them all away and looked for any calls or messages, but there were none.

I opened my whatsapp and surely there were a few unread messages, but all of them were from my manager or groups from the office.

I was completely alone in the office at that moment, and even the laborers working downstairs had gone away for lunch. I did not feel good and wished to cry, but did not know how to do that either. For some reason, I scrolled on my whatsapp once again and looked at the last message sent by Isha. It read, 'I'm sorry, but it's for the best. Bye.'

There was no profile photo which meant that she had blocked me. I clicked back and scrolled once again to browse other messages. My mom and dad had indeed sent me something about a week ago, but I still hadn't responded, so I suppose they were giving me some space….or they had forgotten that I existed. To be honest - I could not blame them, for sometimes even I forgot that I existed.

Precisely at that moment, my phone rang and the screen showed an unknown number. I got excited and picked up the call.

An automated voice spoke in a flat tone, 'You have not paid your electricity bill. Hence the service will be cut off until payments are cleared. Please visit the office.'

The call dropped dead automatically.

I was totally numb at that moment. I suppose I wanted to feel more sad or angry, but my mind felt clogged. I think there were no emotions left in me. So, I did the only thing which made sense to me, which had kept me going for the past few months - I conjured up a task for myself. An empty mind is the devil's workshop, or so they say.

I opened my laptop and looked through the checklist, but miraculously, all the office work was over. The report was the last thing to do and I'd already sent the mail to the boss. Now, there were no other tasks.

I felt the waves of panic emanate from my heart and tremble in my veins. I knew not what to do and started looking around wildly. Then my eyes fell upon the construction material kept by the labour and suddenly an insight flashed in my mind. It calmed me and filled me with peace. Now, I had only one task left, and what better way to spend one's own birthday than this? It was almost poetic.

The laborers enjoyed a hearty meal at the canteen because the shopkeeper was generous and served them extra chicken pieces in their biryani. They were in good spirits when they returned to the office to pick up the construction material. But the moment they arrived on the floor, their smile fled immediately and they knew that their day was ruined.
Inside the office, above the table, there was a body dangling from the rope tied to the AC vent, and it was completely still as if it were the very embodiment of peace. It was because all tasks were finished and now there was no work to be done anymore.

SECTOR 43

I was working as a content creator for a mental wellness company from Berlin, but it was a remote job, and I lived in Pantnagar, Uttarakhand. I found it ironic to work on topics like work stress, toxic management, emotional abuse, work politics, and burnout when I did not experience any of it. My job was as pleasant as the weather, which was cool, full of winds, and fresh. I had everything you'd ask for—a good fat salary, calm and composed manager, freedom to work at my hours, and the benefit of staying at home with my parents. What could go wrong?

My boss died from a heart attack. An attractive young founder of 27 who'd put her heart and soul into the company, she cared about the mental health of the whole world, but forgot to give attention to her own. Some rumours spread on our Teams group that she'd not slept for 3 days straight (on account of the on-going funding drive) and suffered a cardiac arrest, but the details weren't disclosed to everyone. All we know is that the work would shut down right from next week.

To be honest, I wasn't devastated about losing my job. The thought of an alien distant boss whom I'd never interacted with saddened me a bit, but I didn't lose any sleep over it. I felt sorry for her family indeed and wished that it hadn't happened, but what's the point of wishing when things have already occurred? One cannot unwish reality. I slept soundly.

My father shook me up the next day early in the morning. His moustache quivered when he spoke and he said, "Your Ma tells me that you lost your job. Is it true?"

I was too drowsy to respond but still I managed to say, "I didn't lose it. The founder died. What can I do?"

"Get out of the bed and start preparing! You must find some other job!" I tried to ignore him and pretended to be too drowsy, but my heart was pounding.

He didn't fall for the bait and somberly said, "I'd borrowed a lot of money from your uncle, son—for your expensive education, which by the way, failed spectacularly. Now, I've to return something back every month or else there will be trouble. Your aunt, she... well, she cooks a lot of sweetmeats indeed, but her words are nowhere like that. If I don't pay back, there will be trouble. I was counting on your input as well..."

I was devastated right then and there because I had after all blown away

my college education by switching my subjects in between. From engineering, I'd shifted to the arts, and my father never forgot to remind me how terrible a decision it was. I didn't mind his jabs, but I felt that I was in his debt indeed, for I'd wasted the money. So I'd have to look for jobs.

The problem in finding creative jobs in India is that they don't come by easily, and when they do, you're paid less than a dihari majdoor. Plus, many jobs advertised as "creative" are mostly marketing jobs about managing social media, and demand a completely different set of skills. So it's very difficult to find a job that fits really well with you. My previous job at the startup was a golden egg in the basket, but it took months to get it. I supposed I'd lost that privilege.

So, when I received an email from LinkedIn, I went through the process hastily, and by the end of that week, I'd found another job. It was in Gurugram.

"Where will he live? Poor boy? Why are you sending him so soon?" My mother was arguing with my father over breakfast while serving us hot aalo paranthas.

I tried to focus on my meal, observing the melting butter, but couldn't keep the words out.

My father responded, "A job's like a duty—when it calls, one must go. Stop spoiling him and—I'll take one more parantha."

My mother served him another, then sat on the chair and looked at me anxiously, "Will you be able to manage?"

I said, "Yes Ma. There won't be any trouble. I've already found an app through which I can search for houses and contact the owners directly. I'll get one quickly and move. You too can come later to visit when I've settled."

She looked at me with a funny expression and I felt like saying something, but my Papa burped loudly and said, "I think I can eat another... Can you make one?"

She rolled her eyes at him then went into the kitchen.

By evening, I'd found a decent house in Gurugram Sector 43 and talked to the owner as well. He seemed eager to rent it out to me and was completely okay if I moved within the next two days. The only thing that he'd bothered me with was my surname, though he informed me that the house was fully furnished and a bit stacked as the previous tenant had left her items. He asked me not to move things around a lot.

So, I set off for Gurugram on the weekend and my father agreed to drop me by car. I packed up my luggage in two big suitcases, dumped it all in the boot, and drove all the way from Pantnagar to Gurugram while my father sat next to me, giving me tips and wisdom based on his early days in the job. I didn't respond much because mentally I was thinking—He has a government job, which he doesn't even do very well, nor has he ever had to worry about getting fired. What advice would be useful for me?
It took me four and a half hours to reach from Pantnagar to Delhi, but Delhi to Gurugram took two and a half hours on its own. It was very frustrating because Pantnagar was 280 km away from Delhi, so the hours made sense, but Gurugram was just 30 km away, and yet it took so much time. The reason was that the traffic in Delhi didn't move but crawled. There must have been more than 1,000 cars lined up on the road, and they moved inch by inch. The route on Google Maps was marked with thick blood red, and both me and my father lost our temper in the car due to the traffic.

Finally, we arrived in Sector 43, Gurugram, but the night had come. It took us some time to find the house because the number plate had fallen, and strangely the entire building was covered by a dark shadow of the tree standing next to it. It was the only unlit building in the street, which made sense because it was empty. My father helped me unload my stuff from the boot and we put it all in the hall. Then we inspected the house and checked out the rooms.
"This is quite a good find, son—it is big and spacious. You shouldn't have any trouble."

"I guess I won't... but I should start unpacking everything. My job starts tomorrow."

"Oh yeah, of course—get moving. Meanwhile, I'll go and visit your uncle in Delhi. I promised I'll stay over at his place. So you get cracking, and I'll see you soon. Best of luck."

He thumped my back, got up, then left quickly, driving the Tata away quite rashly in the Gurugram streets.

I was about to set up my room when the light went out suddenly and the swirling fan came to a stop. I was bathed in utter darkness as if someone had wrapped a blanket over my head. I pulled out my phone, but realized with a panic that it had only 3% battery left. I put it to airplane mode for now, then tried to inspect my surroundings by the meagre light. It was then I realized that the main hall did not have even a single window. It felt suffocating immediately.
There was one sandwich left in my tiffin which my mother had packed for me. I hunted for it in the bag and, after eating, I decided to lie on the bed and wait for the light to come. It was not a good start to my new job…

I don't know when I'd fallen asleep, but I woke up suddenly in alarm because I felt like somebody was watching me. My heart hammered in my chest and my body was wet with perspiration. I peered into the darkness and remained still, but nothing happened, and I decided that it must have been some weird dream.
        Then, I felt extremely thirsty and went to the kitchen and flipped on the switch. Luckily the light had returned, and I shook the drawers to find a glass. When I opened the bottom-most drawer, I jumped in alarm because a massive cockroach was sitting there being ugly and all. I'd never seen a cockroach that big in my entire life, and I shut the drawer quickly, deciding that I'd kill it the next day. I drank the water and, after putting my phone on charge, went to the bed again. Then I got up again, set the alarm for 6, and finally went to sleep.
        My eyes opened suddenly on their own and froze, staring at the fan. Once again, my heart was thumping and my body felt cold. Then there came a very loud thud from near me and a glass cracked somewhere. I jumped up and realized that the bedroom had a window after all. But it was cracked and smeared with blood, and a strange black mass lay on the floor.
        I went to it slowly and saw that it was a pigeon. Its neck had snapped and the head hung at a strange angle, and blood was leaking on the floor. A bile of vomit threatened to erupt from my stomach, and I turned away quickly, rushing to drink a glass of water again. This time when I entered the kitchen, I saw that there were a few tiny cockroaches crawling all over the kitchen slab, and for the first time, I wondered whether the water was fine or not. It was morning, but I already felt tired.

There was no clock in the house, nor was there any light in the hall, which made it very depressing. I went to the phone but when I saw the time, every other thought evaporated from my mind, because it was already 8:13. How the hell did the alarm not wake me up?

I rushed to my bag, pulled out my ironed shirts and pants, and got dressed in minutes. I put on some roll-on and deodorant, then booked an auto from Uber. It arrived in 2 minutes, but the entire journey to the office took more than 45 minutes, because once again the roads were choked with SUVs, and they were all honking at each other as if cursing and abusing the drivers. That, and the terrible heatwave, made my head swirl and I wanted to throw up the moment I arrived at my office. It was my first day at the job.

I'd seen many posts and reels about toxic Indian managers, but I'd personally never experienced one. After meeting my manager though, I realized that he was singularly the most impatient, insulting, mean, arrogant, and abusive asshole who had no management skills of his own but behaved like he was Elon Musk’s personal assistant. However, just like the others, I had to remain quiet and endure his assaults throughout the day.

So, when I returned home at around 8 in the evening, I was feeling very sick. My head was throbbing with a stabbing migraine and hot bile burnt my stomach. My vision was groggy, and I felt nauseated. Right after making the payment to the auto driver, I ended up vomiting in the bushes and almost threw my guts out in the process. I felt very weak. The mind was spinning.
Somehow I managed to unlock the door, but a stench like that of rotten eggs flew in my face, and I threw up right outside the main gate. I began feeling extremely woozy and thought that I was going to die. The face of my mother floated in front of my eyes.

It gave me strength and I remembered that hydration was important after vomiting, so I entered the kitchen. When I turned on the light, I saw that the slab was covered with many cockroaches, and many were running on the floor. I spotted a few strange insects with a long curvy body like that of a snake but with many legs. It went into the sink before I could kill it.
I drank four glasses of water and managed to throw myself on the bed. Everything was spinning and turning as if I were drunk. My migraine attacked me once again, and I cried out loud in pain, cursing myself loudly.

"Fuck this stupid undeveloped shithole. Why did I ever come here?"

Right at that moment, as if in response, the lights went out, and I was bathed in complete darkness. I cried loudly in frustration, then passed out.

I was very groggy and felt feverish. My brain was on fire, and I think I was seeing visions. I wasn't sure what was happening. I tried to look for my phone, but couldn't move my body at all. I tried again, then realized with horror that I couldn't move my body at all. Was this sleep paralysis?

In that moment, my soul screamed at me to wake up and run, but no matter how hard I tried, nothing happened. My heartbeat started going up and my senses sharpened. I heard everything in precise detail. The dripping of the tap water, the strange tapping on the window, the labored breath—and suddenly I heard a soft eerie rustle. My ears picked it up and, in horror, I realized that it was a voice. Someone was whispering.

I wanted to shout out and cry, but my body was not in my control anymore. I lay there petrified and the voice began to come close to me, whispering like rustling leaves. It was the voice of some woman and she was speaking very rapidly but softly. The voice kept coming closer and all the hair on my arms stood up. It came right next to me and poured its whispers. I understood it. It was in English.
"It happened to me too, it happened to me, it happens to many others. My work, my job, my boss, my family—all gone wrong, all bad. It happened to me, it happens to all. This place, this place... it's not right... this place... my work, my job... it happened to me, it happens to you, it happens to all."

The horrifying slithering whispers flooded into my thoughts and my soul dissolved in horror at what was happening to me, but I still could not move. Then the migraine returned once again and a flame seemed to erupt and cover my brain. I passed out.

I woke up in darkness and felt extremely thirsty. My head was aching and I had trouble recollecting what was going on, but before I could proceed, I froze in fear because I was not alone.

There was someone in front of me, and the outline was clear from the dim lights that came from the body. I gazed with wide eyes at the figure and suddenly realized the truth.

It was actually a bone-white corpse hanging from the fan. She had long black hair and wore smart corporate suits and pants.

My heart leapt into my mouth as I lay frozen in silent horror, staring at the body. Slowly, it began to turn towards me, and my eyes fell on the dead face of the woman. The throat had turned dark blue and the skin on her face was covered with green veins. There seemed to be a deep anguish in her expression, and I lay petrified staring at the horrible thing until—its eyes flew open and it smiled at me.

I screamed loudly and jumped.

        Suddenly, I woke up on the bed and once again my heart was beating like a drum against my chest. I gazed around in panic at the darkness, then looked in front of me at the fan. There was no corpse or rope. It had all been a dream.
        Still, I could not shake off the feeling that somebody was watching me, and I felt extremely uneasy in that room. I looked at the window, then at the curtains, and it seemed to move. I wanted to run away from my room.
        I grabbed my phone and tried to switch it on, but once again it had run out of charge. At that moment, I felt desperate and, without thinking properly, I rushed out of the room.
        Something skirted around the corners the moment I entered the hall, but my eyes caught the sight of a tail, and I realized that it was a rat. I went to the kitchen to drink some water, but when I flipped on the switch, I jumped back because a swarm of cockroaches was crawling everywhere. The entire sink was filled with a horde of cockroaches, and there were other dead insects on the slab as well. I recoiled in horror and ran out of the house.
        The air was cool and fresh, reminding me a bit of Pantnagar, and that calmed me immediately. I took a few deep breaths, let the silence of the night sink in, then hummed some of my favorite tunes. Even this made me feel better. Then I turned and looked at the house.
        Once again, it was the only building in the street completely shrouded in darkness. It seemed that a strange shadow shrouded it.

I spent the night outside and found a park where I sat on the bench and got lost in my thoughts. The next day, I didn't go to the office and quit my job by sending an email. I went to the house in the morning, repacked all of my stuff, then shifted to a friend's place in Delhi.
        But I kept returning to Gurugram for another week—not to look for jobs, but to find out the history of that apartment. After talking to some neighbours and going through social media, I discovered—
        A young woman had lived there before me, and she'd worked for a major company I cannot name. Her LinkedIn profile was filled with eulogies from many other employees, and people talked about work-life balance by tagging her in the posts. But nothing could change the truth that she'd killed herself.
        I left Gurugram and found another remote job in the next two months. All has worked fine since then.

The End

FIRED

My job sucks.

Dev thought angrily as he awoke with a splitting headache. The metropolitan smart city roared around him, honking, screeching, drilling, hammering, and shouting. He tumbled towards the bathroom and plunged his face into the cool water in the bucket. But he didn’t feel fresh. In fact he wondered whether it would be good to throw up. He looked at his face in the mirror -

A depressed tired ghost of man looked back at him. There were dark spots on his face, heavy bags under his eyes. His cheeks were hollowed - his skin droopy and sagging. Worst of all, two bald patches extended from his forehead, and he was just 27!

He brushed his teeth quickly, spitting out the blood from the damaged gums, and weakly walked towards the fridge. He chewed off a piece from the semi-frozen sandwich from last night, then gulped the rest. Then he pulled out the box of medicines from the drawer and popped them one by one - some for his BP, some for sugar, some for the sunlight, and the rest...he wasn't even sure. His brain felt like a burnt scrambled egg. There he stood alone in his dimlit 1Rk flat with bad ventilation, crawling cockroaches and unfaithful power supply.

Before he could take some time out to feel sorry for himself, his phone rang, and mechanically he picked up the call:

‘Good Morning, sir. No sir... I’m on my way - actually, the traffic – Yes, sir, I’m coming. I’ll be there in 15 minutes. Okay, sir.’

He ran to put on his white shirt, gray sweater, black coat, and cream pants, then booked an auto from the app after picking up his briefcase.

The startup he worked at was just a few kilometers away, but in Gurgaon's traffic, it would take him about forty to fifty minutes minimum.

The auto driver was huddled in a dirty brown shawl, his head wrapped tightly with a muffler, and his eyes were glued to the phone screen, which was playing a Sunny Deol reel.

‘4542’ Dev barked the OTP at the driver, and got in, locking the door shut. The driver started the auto - its aged engine rattled loudly, and they were off towards the destination.

Traffic in Gurgaon was torturous. The streets were choked by elephant sized SUVs standing one after the other in a line that stretched from one end of the traffic light, towards the other. Brightly dressed Swiggy and Zomato delivery drivers were zig-zagging through the lines, crossing the lights, helmetless and swerving dangerously at the corners. The auto came to a stop and joined the line of all other cars. They waited impatiently.
The traffic light far ahead turned green, but the line did not move. The cars, autos, and the blocked bikes started to pipe up their irritating symphony of high pitched horns but to no avail.

A fiery urge to smash the windows of the nearby honking car flared up in Dev but he simply clenched his teeth. It was common in Gurgaon for traffic to stay stuck even when the lights turned green because the cross-roads were jam packed, and it was impossible for any lane to move forward. Dev felt his BP shoot up - his heart began to hammer loudly in his chest, and he felt out of breath. He closed his eyes and reminded himself - ‘You can’t do anything about it.’ He repeated the mantra and waited.

The auto reached his startup after about 45 minutes.

The office was situated amidst neatly packed square buildings empaneled with plain glass. Many company logos and brand names stood clustered at the top, and at night they blazed brilliantly in different lights. Dev kept his head low, and walked straight through the lobby into the lift. He smelled the sharp deos and perfume of his co-workers, but didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Eventually, the lift came to a stop at his floor, and he opened the door to his startup. A sharp white knife bent to form the first letter C was pasted on the door and underneath it shone in black bold letters - Corpsify.

The moment he stepped in, B. Reddy, his manager, walked up to him quickly and after alarmingly pointing at his stupid wrist watch, he cried, ‘It’s past 10, DK! What the hell are you doing?’

Dev met his gaze but didn’t say anything. Deep down, he wanted to bash that man’s face on the table, but his guru had taught him to separate emotions from professional work - so he endured as Reddy continued taunting him.

Once he had unloaded himself B. Reddy resumed his usual irritated demeanor and said quickly, ‘Upload the maps on the server, and meet me at my cabin post lunch. I've got a very important assignment for you today.’

Dev groaned, ‘But sir, –

Reddy glared violently and shouted, 'Just get it done!'

Dev shut up and Reddy reiterated, ‘Post -lunch…'

Then he walked away barking orders at others.

The co-workers looked at Dev - the two from the front desk grinned and smirked at him, while the others offered him empathising looks. Dev sighed, walked up to his table, and started unpacking his stuff.

He opened the briefcase with a satisfying click and started putting the items on the table - his dark black and silver revolver, the silencer, the bullets, a couple of short black blades, two fist sized grenades, one small packet of C4 explosive, and a tiny handheld device with a large pullable satellite antenna fixed to it. He switched it up, then connected a cord throwing the display on the large screen monitor. But before he could tap into the right frequency, a notification popped up on the screen and he got distracted by a message on Teams.

His colleague - Srishti Agarwaal, had sent him a text. He clicked the icon and read, ‘Another assignment?’

He typed in, ‘It’s the 15th day in the row! I haven’t slept.’

‘Who has, in this company?’

'No…I worked even on the weekends!’

‘Yeah, that’s all of us now. Word is that the founder Sethi is going around a lot, setting up deals and meetings, and we’ve got to catch up with him or we’re out. So, gotta put in the hours.’

‘But actually, I’m unable to focus these days. I’m not too sure about my aim…’

‘Damn! You do need a break - you look like you'll fall into pieces. Have you had breakfast?’

Before he could respond, a voice shouted from the row behind him, ‘DK!’

He turned around - it was Stevie Abraham from marketing grinning at him brilliantly. He said, ‘DK! brother! I need your help.’

‘Listen - I’m not in marketing, bro -

'Its a startup, my brother - you get so much opportunity to learn here. What you've got's a multidimensional role. Other people will kill for it, I mean literally. Please make the posts for me…just this time...It will take just 10 minutes, I promise. I wouldn't have asked you but Samarth got shot yesterday and the posts must go online. So, please, help me out - I'll owe you.'

Dev's right temple vein was throbbing violently, but he nodded his head and said, 'Alright, what do I have to do?’

A light shone in Steve's eyes and he said, ‘The team has made new creatives for the socials - posts and reels and all the jazz. Just make the posts from all the accounts - I’ll share the assets.

Dev waited at his desk. Then the mail icon popped up and he clicked on the message. He opened the cloud drive folder and browsed the files. He observed that the brand font & logo were altered and looked more polished than before. One of the copies read:

CORPSIFY.

Escalating Conflicts?

Don't Settle

Just Corpsify

There was an updated logo, and link in icons for the mobile app. Another asset read:

‘ASSASSINATE IN 8

Too eager to kill your enemies?

Can’t wait for planned murders?

Now, book favorite assassins from top professionals!

Our agents get the job done in 8 MINUTES

Get your Pro Access today.

Another read:

‘About us

Corpsify, founded by Kavi Raj Sethi, in 2015, is a transnational criminal organization with the aim of providing premium and secured service to all valuable members.

A race, caste, class, gender, religion, nation, and belief neutral organization, our top contract killers eliminate targets of any identity without practicing discrimination. Currently operating in the D2C as well as B2B domain environment to provide large scale plug and play solutions for long term corporate partners.

When deals end badly, don’t worry - Just Corpsify!’

Dev published the posts, forwarded the newsletters, and liked all the creatives from multiple social accounts. But as he was updating the excel sheets, he suddenly felt light headed and a wave of nausea engulfed him. He choked and tears sprung from his eyes. Then everything turned black and he collapsed on the desk.

His chest felt constricted but his whole body was numb and pressing him tightly. He wanted to vomit but he couldn't breathe properly and felt paralyzed. He passed out, but dreamt that a thick ugly ghost was sitting heavily on his shoulder sinking his claws in the flesh. A sense of impending doom began to overpower him.

Suddenly, he was slapped back into existence by Stevie who shouted, ‘Hey, get your shit together. Reddy, sir's calling you.

Dev looked at him groggily battling the flashing - searing light at the right side of his brain.

Stevie said, 'You look sick, brother. You should eat something.’

A bile shot up and Dev felt like puking all over Stevie. But he swallowed and dragged himself to the manager's office. The nearby light and sound pierced through his senses, and lit his brain on fire. With each step his agonizing joints screamed in protest, his stomach rumbled, and heart pumped desperately to keep him alive. But he ignored the feelings, and knocked on the manager’s cabin.

‘Come in,’ Reddy's gruff voice barked from within.

Dev walked in and sat on the chair. B.Reddy was busy scrolling on his phone, and a meeting tab was open on the laptop screen. Another meeting was live at the big office monitor, and someone was speaking on B.Reddy’s second phone that was kept at the table in front of him.

B.Reddy looked up suddenly and said, ‘So, you’ve to be there by 14:45, the meeting will start by 15:00, and the target is expected -

‘Sir - I think I'm sick.’

‘ - to arrive,’ the manager continued, obviously oblivious to the employee's voice, ‘by 15:05 itself. You’ll have a window of about 7 minutes to take the shot. We’ll provide the sniper and the scope along with the drop and pick up assistance, but in case there’s any collateral damage, you’ll have to bear the price. So, all set?’

Dev once again voiced weakly, ‘Sir…I’m not feeling well today. I won't be able to –’

Reddy waved his hand impatiently and said, ‘Entrepreneurs don’t fall sick, son. Show me the spirit - You are working in a startup. Things are different here. We’ve got to push ourselves, work throughout the weekends, put in the hours, otherwise we’ll never scale up, never make it big.

‘Look at all the other criminal organizations in the world - Look at the criminals from the USA, Italy, Russia, China, and the others. They've got the mob bosses, the mafias, the gangs and what have you? And where are we compared to them? Our business and economies can never thrive until we’re willing to sacrifice a little. Only by hard work and dedication can we be at the top of the game. So, get the job done, son. Afterall, hasn’t this always been your passion? Didn’t you want to kill for a living?’

Dev’s right eye was throbbing and anger flared up in him. He clenched his fist, and found it difficult to think clearly. In this dirty - muddy state, he managed to utter, ‘No sir – I just want to feel good… be happy. Yes…that's what I want - happiness.’

‘Happiness?’ the manager shouted angrily as if the blasphemous word seared his brain like acid, ‘Happiness is nothing but having a big fat account ready to spend on whatever you wish to buy. Just get your freaking job done, DK, and be happy. Besides, you'll get the bonus for this one, for sure.’

All Dev wanted was to submerge his brain in cool water and lie down in darkness, but he thought about the salary credited to him each month, and ended up nodding his head and said, 'So what's the assignment?'

B.Reddy leaned forward and said, 'So, the founder K.B Sethi has hooked up a meeting with Shivam Gangarvapu - the founder of competitor app JustKill. Now, this Gangarvapu fellow is really discreet and avoids the limelight, but today he's meeting the boss here in Gurgaon in sector 43.

'You’ll be lodged in a building opposite to that, sniper nocked and ready for the shootout, and when the opponent comes–’

He made the gesture by pulling the trigger with his finger and blowing the smoke off. ‘No founder - no competition.

‘You’ll get a window of about 7 minutes, so be on the edge. Off you go now - the car’s parked in the basement. You’ll find the sniper there.’

Dev nodded then walked away slowly keeping his head down. He went down the stairs, avoiding the lift, got into the car, had a look at the familiar sniper, then pulled out his phone, and started watching some reels. As the car inched slowly through the city traffic, he kept watching.

His finger scrolled and a DJ came on the screen inside a pub - scrolled and a pretty girl came on with smoky eyes dancing to viral song, - scroll - a tiny baby was crawling on the edge of the roof - scroll - a dog biting a man - scroll - a damaged Porsche with blurred splattered blood and popped hood - scroll - a group of people slapping each other in metro - scroll - a Salman Khan meme - scroll - a dog - scroll - blue light - scroll - a spark - scroll, scroll, scroll, scroll, and scroll. He closed the phone, put it in his pockets, stared at the traffic through the window, pulled it out again and resumed the doom scrolling. His rotten brain turned to mush and the disoriented thoughts flashed and paused like the scrolling images on the phone.

After a while the car came to a stop. Hungover from the reels, he stepped out, carried the sniper, and entered the abandoned building. The construction lift was still working, and he recognized his colleague from the curved knife like C on the jacket. The woman in blue escorted him to the top. Quickly he set up the rifle, adjusted the scope and laid down on his belly.

He saw that they had given him only two bullets to finish the job, but he was, afterall the professional DK, and if the job demanded the death of one man, then DK needed only one.

Shaking his head, he peeped through the magnifying glass and looked across at the other building inside the restaurant, where the founder of his company - Kavi Raj Sethi was seated at a lavishly large table surrounded by a couple of waiter boys who were serving him mutton and wine. He was dressed in the politician's white kurta and a deep sea blue Nehru Jacket, though the iconic golden frames on his square spectacles distinguished him from the rest.

Dev checked his watch. It was 14:59 - any moment now. He held his breath and kept his eyes glued to the scope, his finger on the trigger. Suddenly his phone buzzed, and he picked it up quickly.

B. Reddy barked, ‘Change of plan - meeting’s delayed by half hour. They’re stuck in traffic. He’ll arrive at around 15:30. Be ready.’

Dev cut the call, then opened the reel app and started scrolling again. He looked at the first post - A young and happy DJ at his set with a thousand people dancing in the pub, and cheering in happiness. He replayed the reel, eyes filled with yearning as dreams of working on music and DJaying floated briefly in front of his eyes.

Then he scrolled and a girl came on with catwoman cosplay dancing - scroll - an advertisement of advanced scope for precision shooting - scroll - a meowing cat - scroll - a deep fake actress turning into a peacock - scroll - Akshay Kumar meme, scroll-scroll-scroll.

As he was doom scrolling, suddenly, the right side of his brain lit up once again, and he dropped the phone, eyes filled with tears. His kidneys burned, then his thighs cramped up, and he rolled on his back on the floor, as tears sprung automatically. He managed to get on his knees, but a hot bile surged up, and he retched violently, spraying the disgusting and bloody spit all around him.

Precisely at that moment, the phone rang again, and instinctively he picked up the call.

Reddy barked - ‘He’s there, take the shot!’

Dev leapt up to the sniper in his sick, sleep deprived, brain rotten, state, looked through the scope, saw the enemy co-founder in blue, and pulled the trigger. He witnessed the spurt of blood on white, packed the sniper quickly in the bag, descended from the lift, and entered the car rapidly as if all happened in the space of a single breath. He struggled from passing out throughout the journey and the moment the car stopped, he got out, and climbed up the stairs to settle back on his desk and take a deep breath.

But as soon as he stepped into his floor, B. Reddy stormed up to him with a flared nose and red eyes and almost rammed him like a bull.

Reddy grabbed Dev by the throat, lifted him up in the air, and shouted as spit flew from his mouth, ‘You bloody idiot - you shot our own founder?!’

A confused vision flashed in front of Dev's eyes as suddenly he remembered the spurting splash of blood on Sethi's chest. His head started spinning wildly and the burning bile rose up again.

Reddy's grip tightened around his throat, and Dev choked but immediately realized from the cold sensation of the bolt barrel on his fingers, that he was still carrying the sniper with one bullet left.

Reddy's insanely glaring eyes revealed that his only thought was of murder but Dev's professional arms moved automatically, and the fingers found the familiar holding of the trigger, and aiming the weapon at the boss, he fired.

It just took 15 days for the whole thing to collapse, and Corpsify died like just another small-time startup from the cluster of the thousands which rise and fade daily. The founder's assassination followed by the manager's murder was considered quite common in the space of the quick-assassination business, and only the netizens bothered to follow the story for a week or two until a few comedians got jailed for joking and the story died completely.

A few months after the incident one Monday evening Dev stood behind a DJ console, lost in the music. His body was chiseled, head hairy, heart groovy, and there was a calm and a satisfying smile on his face. His fingers, that once pulled the trigger, moved with same precision on the mixer - the bass dropped, the crowd cheered, and in that moment Dev felt divine.

〜

Smart Beginnings

Chaya was happy to arrive at Gurgaon. Even though the newly rented flat looked unpromising from the cab, she carried hope in her heart. This place could change everything for her. This place could complete what she’d been missing.
The past couple of months had been quite grim for her and her mother. Ajay, her husband, had worked himself to death. Or that’s what her mother used to say. But she knew that he had been worked to death by his superiors—by his office. She had even filed a complaint and claimed for insurance. Naturally, her plea was refuted. The note read:

The medical reports make it perfectly clear that the client had expired due to heatstroke, and not by “overexertion caused by the toxic mismanagement” of the accused corporation. It’s to be noted that the claim cannot proceed forward in these circumstances; however, recognizing the grievances of the bereaved, we’d like to offer a 5% discount on our premium membership.

Chaya had cried herself out until she felt hollow, but in the end there was no going back. What she’d lost had gone forever. Now the only sane thing left to do was move forward.
        Her mother had been the warm light she’d craved during this phase of darkness. She held her, hugged her, cried with her, and consoled her. She nudged her to seek help, to not give up, and to continue the fight. She prompted her to find something new.
        “They are not there with you, all your life, beta, you’ve got to work on your own. You are truly capable.”
        Chaya looked at her mother’s watery eyes and knew she was talking about their husbands. Even she had lost her man a long time ago to diabetes. Even she knew the pain of losing them.
        Gurgaon was a fresh beginning for both of them—a dawn to end their night.

The movers unloaded the luggage in about 15 minutes. As they were about to leave, Chaya’s mother looked at them with a smile and said:
        “Hey, where you all going? Won’t you have tea? I’ll make some for all. Then you can go.”
        They refused politely, “No, ma’am, we should get going.”
         “Come on—just a small cup.”
         “Okay—alright, ma’am.”

The old lady brightened up and in a sweet voice, she said to her daughter, “Chaya, bring out the pan & the teacups—they are in the basket & the milk is in the thermos flask. Where’s the kitchen?”
        She made her way to the kitchen and began fiddling around the stove when suddenly she exclaimed, “Where’s the pipeline?”
        Chaya ran up to the kitchen, looked, and said, “There’s no pipeline here, Ma. People use cylinders—that’s what the broker told me.”
        “Cylinders?” the old one looked dumbfounded. “They still use cylinders? I thought you said Gurgaon was a smart city?”
        “Ha-ha. Don’t worry, Ma. We’ll order something today. I’ll talk to Mr Aman—he’ll know where to get the cylinder from.”
        “It’s not so easy, Chaya. You’ll first have to register with the gas department, give them your rent agreement, open your account, etc., etc.”
        Chaya held her mom’s shoulder and said, “I’ll handle it, Ma…like I did the other things.”
        “Of course, you will! Now go and tell those poor boys that we can’t serve them with tea. So embarrassing. Our first day here and we’ve to send guests back.”
        Chaya shook her head and returned to the truck where all the young men were standing.
        “Sorry, but there’s no cylinder in the house.”
        One of the boys inquired, “Do you need a cylinder, madam?”
        “Yes, can you get one?”
        “Yes, ma’am. You’ll get it in black.”
        “Black—what do you mean?”
        The man looked confused. “Black, ma’am, as in you won’t have to register. We’ll sell it to you directly.”
        “Oh. Well, okay, how much would it cost?”
        “It will take about ₹1,300.”
        “What! That’s ridiculous. Charge a little less!”
        “That’s the standard rate, madam.”
        Chaya bit her lip. “Well, alright—by when can you get it?”
        “I’ll let my boss know. He will send someone with it. It should be here by evening.”
        “Okay, then. Do let him know, and give me his number. I’ll talk to him in case he forgets.”
        They exchanged the numbers and then the men left.

It took Chaya and her mother the whole morning and a little bit of noon to set their place up. The house owner had done a poor job of cleaning the place, and the two of them had to do everything all over again. They dusted & swept the floors, cleaned the almirahs, and set up the kitchen and one of the rooms. But by now, they were quite hungry.
        Chaya retrieved her phone and started scrolling through the screen. Her mother sat down on the mattress and said, “If only there were bread, we could make sandwiches.”
        “Don’t worry, Ma. I’ll order some food at home. DineApple’s available here.”
        “DineApple?”
        “Yes. It’s an app on your phone that lets you order food from wherever you want. Then they deliver it to your home.”
        Her mother’s eyes beamed up in astonishment as she said, “Wow, that’s pretty royal service. I doubt whether even kings get this treatment?”
        Chaya laughed and asked, “What would you like to eat?”
        “Ummm, do they have Dosas?”
        Chaya found some restaurants, selected the dishes, applied the discount coupons, and ordered the meal by paying from the UPI on her phone. The phone made a swish notification to confirm the order and the app showed that their food would arrive in about 20 minutes.
        She threw the phone on the bed, stretched, and said, “The food will be here. We’ll take a little nap, then get back to work.”
        Her mother beamed again, “It’s so wonderful, isn’t it?”
        Chaya nodded with excitement and said, “Ya. You get a lot of things here, they’ve got so many companies and so many facilities. They even deliver groceries to your doors in like 10 minutes!”
        Chaya expected her mother to beam again, but this time the old lady’s face fell.
        She said, “Why bother with ordering? We can get it ourselves.”
        “But, Ma! It will come to our doorsteps! In just 5 to—”
        “Your father loved to go out for a walk, and he’d get the groceries when he returned. Later, when Ajay started doing the same, he stopped stepping out, and you know what happened—he ended up with diabetes.”
        “Okay—okay, Ma. We’ll sort it out.”
        Her mother sighed and said, “I’m sorry, beta. It’s just been difficult…to adjust to so many changes, at such an age. This is the time for things to settle down, but for me—everything’s getting uprooted…”
        The old woman suddenly broke down and started crying softly. Chaya ran to her and hugged her tightly, not saying anything or consoling. In that moment, just being there for her and spending time with her was enough.
        Her mother cried for a while, then recovered and wiped away her tears. She kissed her daughter and said, “You’re such a gem, Chaya. May God bless you.”
        “Ma,” Chaya said, wiping her own tear away, “sometimes you are too much.”
        Soon the two women forgot their sorrows and started chatting once again. As they waited for the food to arrive, her mother inquired, “So, tomorrow is your first day?”
        A flicker of excitement awakened in her as she said, “Yes…First job.”
        “What exactly does the company do?”
        “It’s called Psychofi. They are building AI—erm, human-like computers to help people with mental health. They are creating mind coaches and emotion bots, and I’ve been accepted as a profile intern.”
        The old lady looked confused and said, “Well, as long as they are paying you well.”
        Chaya said, “They are! Much better than the others, but I’ll have to be at the office from 8:30 till 6:00, and work on Saturdays too!”
        Her mother protested, “But that’s too much! When will you be at home?”
        “That’s how it is for everyone, Ma. 9–5 is a thing of old. It’s 9–7 or 9–9 now. That’s the trend!”
        “Well—it’s stupidity—”
        “But, Ma, we don’t have any other source of money.”
        “Yes, beta…I suppose we’ll figure something out.”

By then, the food arrived and the packaging was so good that it was still hot and fresh. The two women enjoyed the meal and were about to go for a nap, when there was a massive explosion and the power went out.
        Chaya’s mother looked at her in fear and asked, “What was that?”
        Chaya said, “Could be that the transformer exploded. It sounds the same. Wait, I’ll go and ask the society guard.”
        Chaya went out and returned after a couple of minutes.
        “Yup, the transformer exploded. They’re saying that it may take up to 6 hours to fix it.”
        “What—How unfortunate. First the cylinder and now this—What kind of ominous city is this?”
        “Ma! It’s just the transformer. It happens sometimes. Besides, it’s so hot. I bet almost everyone is running at least two ACs. That’s why it couldn’t take the load.”
        The old one shook her head and got back to work.

By evening, the power had not returned. There was no backup in the house, and the rooms had grown quite hot given that there was no ventilation. Chaya was a little irritated and angry at the heat, darkness, and mosquitoes that had begun to creep out from the corners. Her mother had also begun to lose her temper. She shouted in exasperation:
“Where the hell is the light? It’s never gone for such a long time back at our place. Why the hell do they call this place smart when they can’t even provide basic things?”
Chaya also felt angry but she pursed her lips. The rising heat was boiling her head.

As they were cursing their fate, a series of loud knocks banged on the main door. Then a voice came through:
        “Ma’am! We’ve got your cylinder. Please tell us where to put them?”
        Chaya opened the door and looked at the helpers. They were just young boys about the age of 14.
        Chaya asked, “Do you even know how to fit it?”
        One of the boys smirked and said, “Ma’am! Just show us the space.”
        The other boy was absorbed in his phone, looking at reels.
        Chaya led them outside the house near the kitchen window where the cylinder was kept inside a separate cage. The boys fiddled with the pipeline, turned the handle, and checked for leakage. A minor hissing sound seemed to be coming from the cylinder.
        The boy noticed it too and said, “That’s common. It will take a couple of minutes for the pipes to adjust. You go and check whether the stove is working.”
        Chaya went inside and lit the gas. The flame came on. She came out and revealed:
        “Yup, it’s working!”
        “Cool! You can now make the payment. Send it directly to the Boss’s phone number.”
        Chaya made the payment and returned back home.
        “Ma! The cylinder is here!”
        “Thank God! At least something worked. Come, I’ll cook you something, and then we can go and get some candles from the market, in case the light doesn’t return.”
        Chaya said, “No…Ma. I don’t feel like eating. It’s just too hot, and I’m sick of the darkness. I just wish it wasn’t like this so that I could prepare for my first day at work.”
        Chaya’s mother looked at her kindly and said, “Okay, you go and prepare, beta, I’ll take care of the dinner. Don’t you worry.”
        Chaya felt a little bad at having to let her old mother cook food for her, but she really needed to prepare herself mentally. She had never gone for a job before. At that moment, she started missing Ajay dearly.
        She ended up ordering some candles from Winkit and prepared some notes as if she were going to give a presentation. She readied her dress, set up her bags, and mentally played scenarios in her head to prep herself up. By late evening, she was ready and so was the dinner.
        The two women enjoyed the meal together, but the light had still not returned. The night outside had grown dark, and even the first candle was over.
        Chaya’s mother said, “Curse this light and this city. One shouldn’t spend the first night in darkness.”
        Chaya didn’t say anything. She was trying hard to suppress the anger she felt from having to endure the heat. Sensing her discomfort, her mother retrieved a few newspapers from the almirah and started fanning her daughter’s face.
        As the evaporating sweat cooled her, a wave of warm love engulfed her and tears streamed on her face. She looked at the sight of her loving mother taking care of her as if she were a little child, and in that moment, she felt blessed. No matter what happened to her, no matter whom she lost, as long as her mother was with her, Chaya felt happy. The thought comforted her, and she drifted off to sleep.

The alarm went off sharply at 6:30. Chaya’s eyes flew open and she sat up on the bed. The fan above was whirling, meaning that the light had returned at some time in the night. She looked beside and saw her mother seated on the mattress in padmasana posture. She was meditating.
        Chaya smiled and got out of her bed. Hearing the movements, her mother came out of her meditation as well and asked:
        “How’d you sleep, beta?”
        “Like a baby! I’m going to make tea. Do you want some?”
        “Yeah, I was just going to make it for myself. Just make mine with jaggery.”
        Chaya rolled her eyes and said, “I know it, Ma!”

She went to the kitchen and tried to light up the stove, but the flame wouldn’t come on.
        “That’s odd…It’s not working.”
        Her mother’s voice came from behind, “Did you turn it off from the main switch?”
        “No—”
        She tried again but nothing happened. Her mother opened the front gate, stepped out, and her voice rang across:
        “I’ll check the cylinder.”
        “Ma, I’ll do it, don’t you worry.”
        Her mother’s voice suddenly came from the window next to the kitchen. She was standing near the cylinder and said: “Chaya! I think there’s been a leakage. It smells like gas here.”
        At that moment, a man came walking from behind, and before either of them could spot him, he pulled out a cigarette and lit up the matchstick. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash followed by a spark, and the cylinder exploded with a massive blast followed by a humongous boom.

Chaya’s eyes flew open and she coughed out dust, stone, and blood. Many dark faces had her surrounded and she realized that she was lying on the ground amidst brick and rubble. She stood up suddenly, shook her head, and shouted:
        “Ma! Where’s Ma!”
        She started running wildly and screaming: “Maaa!”
        There, outside her house was a thick mass of soot and rubble, but it was glossed over with fresh blood, bones, and torn limbs.
        Chaya screamed loudly and fainted.

She awakened to find herself lying inside her house, in her bed, and many strangers were inside the house looking at her gravely. A wave of panic started building inside her and she started moving wildly, not knowing what was happening. Suddenly, her phone notification popped, and in her anxiety, Chaya flicked the screen open and read the content. She had got a notification from Microsoft Outlook. It was a mail from her office.

Dear Chaya,
Hope this mail finds you well.
We’re writing to inform you that your presence is mandatory on the first day of your work. In case of absence, we’re afraid we’ll have to revoke the offer.

The uncontrollable wave of panic transformed into a furious rage as the prospect of becoming jobless and houseless struck her like a truck over the maddening chaos that was brewing within her due to her mother’s death.
She wrote back a response furiously,

A fucking cylinder burst in our house. My mother got burnt and screamed herself to death. I cannot come today!

The reply from the company was swift and brief.

Ma’am, we didn’t employ your mother at our company, but you. Whatever happens at home is your problem, not the company’s. If you fail to report for the first day, we’ll assume you are not interested in the position anymore and give the spot to someone else. That’s the company policy. Wish you the very best.

Chaya spent her first day in Gurgaon like everyone else—sitting in the office. The cremations would have to be delayed for the weekend.

Good Developmental Practices

Mr. Swaminarayan Trimurty would say that he was a simple and ordinary man with just an extraordinary appetite for knowledge. But this was not true.
        He was rather a very peculiar fellow of a massive fortune with considerable assets distributed all across the countries, and his company - CyberM ™ was one of the largest corporations in India. He was the proud owner of about a million Indian and multinational employees and formed one of the core pillars of the IT sector in the country. Sometimes, before sleeping, Mr. Trimurty often amused himself by fancying that had it not been for him, his company, and his exceptionally disciplined workforce, the entire Indian economy would collapse and shatter itself on its back.
        Presently, Mr. Trimurty was seated in his cosy office. The 3 wide monitors on his large glass-top table showed all the employees currently working in his company. He used the mouse to click a few buttons and the screens switched to show what the employees were doing on their laptop screens. Mr. Trimurty had premium AI surveillance systems installed in his company which would record an employee’s activity on his personal devices. Anytime an employee opened an application on his computer that was not related to office work, the AI would report it immediately, and Mr. Trimurty would get the notification. Then, obviously, he would fire them, since employees were getting to perform company work and not their personal tasks.
        As he was browsing some personal and sensitive files of some of his women employees, there came a knock on the door. It was Ajay on the other side - a well-respected, obedient, and kind employee that Mr. Trimurty had hired about 7 years ago. What Mr. Swami liked the most about Ajay was that he barely asked for appraisal, worked extra hours in the night, and was also ready to sacrifice his weekend for jobs. This is the kind of spirit he appreciated. This is what would transform the nation into a trillion-dollar economy, and then they could beat China, Japan, and Germany. But thinking about high GDP, gave Mr. Trimurty a minor erection, so to distract himself he gestured for Ajay to step into the office.

‘Mr. Ajay,’ he said with a professional tone, ‘yeah, please grab a seat. May I know what this is about?’
        Mr. Ajay was trembling a little and it seemed that he faced some difficulty getting the words out of his mouth. Slowly, he sat on the office chair, and with barely a glance at his boss, he uttered:
        ‘Sir, my wife recently gave birth to our daughter - Arshia. She is two months old now.’
        Ajay paused hoping to receive a remark from his boss, but Mr. Trimurty was silent and his face was impassive. So he continued:
        ‘Sir…it’s getting difficult for my wife to manage everything on her own. Thus, both of us were wondering whether I could get a short leave for a week or two just to settle things down.’
        A flash of irritation sparked in Mr. Trimurty’s eyes. He said in an impersonal tone -
        ‘I suppose your wife has taken maternity leave as well?’
        ‘Yes sir…she has.’
        Mr. Trimurty shook his head and retorted, ‘So, first, you two go on a personal project to raise a child. Then your wife leaves the workforce only to look after the baby, and now you also want a leave?
        Do you think that we are running a charity here? Isn’t it enough that your wife is already freeloading the money earned by hardworking employees? The company is not raising your child, so why should we pay for the project?
        ‘You can’t get a leave, there is a lot of work pending from your end. In fact, make sure it’s on my table by 7am tomorrow morning. Work through the night, if you have to, but get it done.’
        At that precise moment, Ajay’s phone rang loudly and he fumbled in his pocket to silence it. Mr Trimurty’s eyes flashed once more with anger as he contemplated terminating Ajay on account of his disrespect.
        Mr Ajay stammered, ‘I’m sorry sir… I forgot –’
        ‘Don’t you know the company policy? Always keep your phone silent when meeting your superior. You gotta show some respect –’
        But the phone rang once again, and this time Ajay picked up the call. Mr Trimuty’s head was practically smoking.
        Ajay spoke on the phone, ‘Sunita? Calm down! What happened? WHAT!? WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?’
        The mobile phone fell from Ajay’s hand and he sat dumbfounded on the chair. His eyes were wide and his face was in utter shock.
        ‘Mr. Ajay?’ Mr. Trimurty inquired, ‘What happened?’
        Ajay’s glassy eyes still seemed to be staring at the vacuum.
        Mr. Trimurty banged his hand on the table to snap the employee out of his reverie.
        ‘What the hell happened?’
        Ajay slowly turned his head towards his boss and said in a raspy voice, ‘Arshia…my daughter…she’s dead. The hospital bed gave an electric shock…’
        Mr. Trimurty sensed where the conversation was heading, so he put on his best professional demeanour and said flatly, ‘Mr. Ajay, this may be a difficult moment for you, but need I to remind you that your report is pending and due by 7 am tomorrow morning. I hope you’ll manage things accordingly.’
        Ajay stared in horror at his boss, but Mr. Trimurty continued, ‘Listen, son, these things - love, marriage, and child are all a distraction. Your little daughter who died - it’s good that she’s dead at such an early age. These items are not assets but liabilities. You are simply going to burn more and more money, and what do you get out of it? Nothing but a waste of time.
        ‘A man of true intelligence knows that service to mankind, growth and development of the nation, and creation of value is the one and only purpose of life. Anyone who comes in its way should be cast aside. In fact, now that you are free from distraction, you can work with more focus. Your wife is on maternity leave, isn’t she? Let her handle it, though I doubt that the logic of maternity leave would continue now that your daughter is dead.’
        ‘FUCK YOU, YOU CRAZY FUCKED UP ASSHOLE, I HOPE YOU ARE MURDERED TO DEATH YOU SAD FUCK’
        With that, Mr Ajay picked up the large monitor on the table and smashed it on the floor. Then he fumed out of the office.
        Mr. Trimurty adjusted his spectacles calmly, looked at the chaos caused by his disgruntled employee, and called the head of his HR - AI Areeba.
        ‘Areeba, one of the employees - Mr Ajay has failed to meet company standards. Don’t process his salary for the month. Also, please do impose a fine on him of 5 lakh rupees for disturbing the company environment, and don’t process any files for his termination. We’ll take it up to the court.’
        ‘Okay sir, acknowledged.’
        Mr. Trimurty dropped the call, opened the mini-fridge under his desk, retrieved a box of juice, leaned back on his chair and calmly sipped the flavoured sugar solution. He started thinking about the country’s GDP and this time there was a proper erection.

The rest of the day was quite ordinary for Mr. Trimurty. He attended meetings, reviewed employees, processed bank-related transfers, tweeted a few tweets, and rolled out a new company policy. Accordingly, Cyber™ would now be a 6.5-day workweek company. Employees would be free at 11 am on Sunday, and the usual 8 am to 9 pm would be followed for the rest of the days. By the time the moment arrived for him to leave, he was quite happy and in high spirits from finishing his work. In the end, he got into his Carnival Limousine, and the driver rode him through Gurgaon towards his 100 crore flat in XYZ. It was 10:15, by the time he reached his house because traveling 6-8km in Gurgaon traffic can take about 60-75 minutes due to jam packed traffic. The private lift descended to the basement and he entered it.

The smooth lift came to a stop with an electronic hum and the doors slid open. Mr. Trimurty stepped inside his flat.

His wife - Khusbo was in her bride’s dress - deep red and gilded with glimmering silver. Silver jewelry was shining on her face and neck, and her eyes were kohled softly.

But she was hanging from a thick rope that hung above the dining table on a fan. Her skin had turned blue, eyes popped, and tongue out. She had died a long time ago.
        A flash of irritation sparked across Mr. Trimurty’s eyes. At that precise moment, he received a notification on his phone. He swiped the screen open and saw the message from his AI Care: ‘Meeting with CEO of CamCorps™ at 10:20 pm. Mr Takadas Adhikari is already live.’
        Mr. Trimurty rushed to the dining table, took out his laptop, adjusted his tie, and combed his hair. He turned the webcam on, put on a smile, and greeted Mr Takadas with much vibrancy in his eyes. At that moment, one would say that Mr. Trimurty did indeed know the excitement. Mr. Trimurty sat at the dining table and continued the talks with Mr Takadas and his wife hung above him dangling from the rope on the fan.
        After the meeting ended, Mr. Trimurty closed the laptop with a sigh then leaned back on the chair and looked up at his hung wife. He was disappointed.
        ‘Who was now going to take care of the kids and manage the house. The only reason the Indian workforce can function so smoothly is that they employ all the women in unpaid jobs to manage the house and parent the child so that the men can reach the office on time, do their parts, and come back to a well-functioning house that continued to provide food, safety, shelter, and love, without giving anything back to the caretakers in return. It was a very clever arrangement indeed and that too executed at a cost-free venture. What a brilliant system!
        ‘But now, Khusbhoo has ruined it. How selfish of her! She never cared for the growth or development of the nation.’
        With that Mr. Trimurty placed a call to the police, informed them about the incident, took off his clothes, and went to bed for a good night’s sleep.

Suit & Shiny Boots

It was an empty road. Mostly.
        A couple of young boys were walking at the edge with torn school bags slung on their shoulders and dragging the old slippers on their feet along the road.
        Suddenly, there was a deep sonic sound and a glorious white Porsche 911 Boxster cruised through the street like a bolt of lightning. The luxurious sports car ran over the two little kids, killing them on the spot. Their blood splattered everywhere - spilling and spreading on the vehicle's pure white body.

        The Porsche continued to cruise and entered the main road early in the morning. However, right at the corner where the highway merged with the city road, there was a police car standing on regular patrol duty. The young officer in the vehicle observed the bloody Porsche and instructed his subordinate to follow it. They turned on the siren and chased the Porsche.
        The 911 came to a stop. The door opened, and a rich-fat man in a suit and shiny boots stepped outside. But there was some dust on his shoes. When the police saw who it was, they immediately ran to the man, fell on their knees, and started licking the dust off his boots. The man looked down at them, admiring the view from his position of power, and took out his wallet.
        When the two policemen stood up, licking their lips, the man stuffed their pockets with bundles of cash and said in a soft voice:
        "All the filth on this car... I hope I won't get into trouble."
        The young officer said, "Arey, sir! Don't embarrass us!"
        Then he unbuttoned his uniform and wiped the blood off the windshield using his official shirt. The Porsche 911 was now squeaky clean. The policemen left, and the fat, rich man glanced at his car casually, but a frown appeared on his face. At the edge of the windshield, a tiny spot was still marked with red from the blood of the poor little kids whom he had manslaughtered by driving his luxury car over them.
        He remarked, "What a filthy thing."
        Then he got back into the car and cruised down another road at top speed, and the sonic harmony of the Porsche engine vibrated melodiously in the environment. It was just another day in India.

The Democratic Republic Of...

Once upon a time, there was a prime minister who cared about his people and the government. I know it is impossible to conceive of such a situation, even in a story, but let’s just stretch our imagination and accept that this type of prime minister existed.
        One day, he had a fabulous idea, and asked his sub-ministers to throw a press conference and invite as many people as possible.
        A large hall was constructed, contractors employed, and crores of bribes were exchanged. Thus, the venue was fixed.
        The event was ready, and the hall was brimming with lakhs of people from different cities, states, and religions, all gathered in one place. There were so many people that one would think that a cricket match was about to unfold.
        Finally, the prime minister stepped onto the podium, put on a smile, and spoke into the mic.
        'Friends and brothers! I welcome you all and thank you for participating in this event. I'd like to share something beautiful with you.

'Democracy is a government made for the people and by the people. If it stops helping people and managing their lives, then it cannot be a democracy. But it is natural for a country with a large population to encounter novel problems on a daily basis, and the government might lag behind in meeting people's needs.

'In such a scenario, the only possible way for democracy to work is when people criticize it. Not just democracy, but any form of governance and management thrives upon constructive criticism, feedback, and suggestions — No matter how powerful the engine, it always benefits from oiling!

'So, my friends, brothers, and countrymen! Please open up and let me know all the things that are wrong with our country. Please tell me where does our government fail?'

Initially, there was silence, but then a man shouted from the back and began crying about crumbling bridges and roads full of potholes. Then, it was like how a pebble triggers an avalanche. One after the other, many citizens started complaining about almost every aspect of the government like transport, pollution, education, employment, taxation, etc. They even ventured into zones like corruption, nepotism, violence, crimes, and so on.
        After listening to about 10 hours of complaining, the prime minister smiled once again, then said, 'Thank you all for your contributions. I myself will look into each matter personally, and I promise that by the end of this year, no criticism will remain. I request all the critics to stay back for a constructive meeting. Rest can go.'

        Then the critics remained in the hall, and the rest of the public went back to their lives to worry about money, tax, cricket, and to enjoy the boons of 21st century modern society like 8-minute food delivery, or 8-minute grocery delivery, or 8-minute goods delivery, or 8-minute husband or wife delivery. The country was really progressing.
        Meanwhile, the critics were waiting inside the hall. The prime minister was standing at the podium and carefully reading a page filled with suggestions. Then he nodded to one of his sub-ministers who took out the phone and placed a call. The people were offered water and sweets like many are distributed during independence day.
        One old man said, 'How much longer do we have to wait?'
        A sub minister replied kindly, 'Not long dada, the caretakers are just about to arrive.'

Just 2 minutes after this, 30 goons with black masks covering their faces entered the hall carrying baseball bats, hockey sticks, swords, and knives. The critics panicked, but there was nowhere to go, and the goons started thrashing, beating, slashing, and killing the people who had raised a voice.
        The river of blood began to flow in the hall, and many were bruised and battered like broken benches and windows in government buildings. Then the prime minister looked at them, smiled, and said, 'Any more suggestions?'
        One young man with blood leaking from his left eye managed to shout hoarsely, 'This is...wrong!'
        The smile vanished from the prime minister's face. A goon stepped forward and slashed the man's throat. The smile came back again.
        'Any more?' the prime minister asked gently?
        The silence was almost divine.

Next year, the same event happened, and this time, people had no criticism at all. Then the prime minister smiled and said, 'Friends, and brothers! There are no critics or criticism left in our country, which means only one thing – there is nothing left to improve, and we are the most democratic of them all.'
The speech was met with a ring of clapping hands, which after a while turned into the shouting of holy slogans. The prime minister smiled.

HOPE UNBORN

The Fallen Hero

Chapter 1: The Dinner

In the dungeons, torch flames licked the metal edges even as the shadows danced on the stone walls. Two very pale figures with spiky white hair entered the hall through the gates and in their arms they carried a very badly beaten and battered figure, whose lopsided head was bloody from the bruises he’d received. They dragged the poor fellow across the other end and his legs slithered on the floor as they moved forward.

There, they put him up in shackles and the cold steel of the locks bit his wrist and the needles tore through his flesh. He did not have the energy to even scream anymore. As he struggled to grasp the reality of his situation, some visions flashed across his eyes: His first kiss with Iris, the discovery of the Fire Blade, the flight of the hawk, and the words from the Prophecy. The words of the oracle still rang in his head:

'Born in the blessed hour of twilight, The Seed of Faldor shall grow on to become the very pillar of Justice and Wisdom. Verily, for too long have all of us been trapped in the iron reign of The Dark Lord, too long have we suffered. But not anymore. This little boy here, shall grow on to become the greatest warrior of the realm. He will liberate us from this dark dominion. Verily, he shall be the beacon of light that shines forth as the spirit of our Freedom. All hail The Starhero!'

The voices of the crowd too echoed in his head, but this sound was overpowered by another sound: that of the approaching footsteps. The Starhero lifted his head up, only to receive a terrible blow on his face. Sparks blasted in front of his eyes as he spit his chipped tooth and regained senses. In front of him stood the Dark Lord.

He was a very slim, young man, who had purple lips and very sleek strands of long hair that were combed backward. He was dressed in his usual black robes and had his gloves on as well. Lord Zaarin, he was known in his early years, but nowadays everyone just addressed him as Lord Z (pronounced Zee). He looked once again at the bloody face of the Starhero and let out another heavy punch that smashed his skull and chipped another tooth.

'So,' he said, 'The famous Starhero. That name doesn't suit you at all you know, considering how you really look like a piece of shit right now. Tell you what: How about I read the stars for you? Do some prophecy.'

The Starhero managed to spit out his blood and tooth on the boots of the Lord. Z smiled and landed another set of blows on his face, and then continued:

'Your planets and suns seem to have all been mixed up. I think that some kind of glorious deed was promised from your end, but oh wait, what do I see right now? That's it. Some dark moon is eclipsing your future. It seems like the road of your destiny has come to a dead end!'

As he said this he released his terrible power from the pits of his belly, and his eyes shone with a brilliant hue of red. At the same time, the locked and caged hero froze in his chains and from the base of his spine, a flame erupted that started burning his flesh and gorged his body. He wailed and screamed and cried but the flames fed on his flesh and in a matter of minutes, the dungeon was filled up with the sick stench of burning meat.

Ten minutes later, the completely charred body of the chosen warrior lay dead in the dungeon and upon seeing it, Lord Z said to the two pale minions: 'Well. Why don't you inform the chef that he need not worry about today's menu. We all shall be having roast meat.'

Chapter 2: The Return

The entire village was kindled with many lamps that hovered up in the air like bubbles and looked golden in the twilight. The King himself had come down to visit the Thane's court and all the ministers had given special care to the decoration of the entire town. Exquisite rich clothes and robes were gifted to many commoners and various artisans were called from other parts of the city to perform for the special occasion.
The ladies had dressed themselves up in silken dress and adorned their limbs with pretty jewelry, and the men sported strange turbans for the night event, according to the customs of the realm. On the long tables, very rich platters of tasty dishes were served regularly by the noble servers and all over the place, there was music and a cheery vibe of celebration.

Iris came down from her house and she was dressed in a beautiful black sundress that reached her knees and went very well with her fair complexion. She also sported two big and beautiful ear rings and her eyes were dabbed with kohl that gave her face a sharp look. There was a shining glow on her face and her smile was so joyful that Faldor, had to comment:

'All your emotions are completely bared on your face, my dear. Talk about being blunt. Was it not supposed to be a secret that you two have been in love with each other for the past 3 years? The way you are dressed for tonight, and the way you smile, they will reveal everything to everyone.'

'Oh Faldor,' she said happily, fanning her face as she spoke, 'I just couldn't wait anymore. One entire year have I spent without him. Too many times have my eyes darted to the town gates, expecting him to return. But all such was in vain. Tonight, I won't have to endure that anymore, for tonight I know that he will surely return. I don't want to hide my love anymore Faldor. I'm too happy today.'

'I can see that,' he said, 'I'm also very happy today. You know it's been hard for me too. I mean, I know that I myself had asked him to go out on the quest in the first place, but this period seemed more difficult than I had assumed. I'm just very glad that all of it is going to end. Tonight my Airaz, The Starhero ! shall finally return back home. Let us celebrate and drink to his health!'

The hour of marked return was approaching. The scouts had already been sent to witness the blessed arrival of the auspicious heroes. The King had already seated himself on the royal chair and his appointed ministers all stood behind him at the Pavillion. Below it, at the central courtyard, the feast table was richly decorated and golden goblets shone in the warm light of the lamps. Musicians were harmonizing on their lutes and flutes. All of them were eagerly awaiting the return.

Suddenly, one of the keen eyed ministers spoke: 'Look there in the sky! There's a vessel that approaches. What is it?'

All eyes were averted to the flying figure. Although all of them were in cheerful mood, when they cast their gaze at the approaching vessel, they couldn't help but lose a little bit of their spirit. Against the orb like radiance of the full moon this winged messenger looked quite ominous. As the figure came closer to them all, some of the women actually lost their calm and rushed away from the courtyards and some men shouted: 'It's Vala ! The Black Eagle of Z. It's really him. Flee. Flee for your life.'

There was a clamour and hurried feet rushed across the courtyards as people collided with one another; plates and goblets fell down with ringing sounds and some people crashed on the stone floor and hurt their knees and elbows while others just rushed blindly carelessly stamping on the fallen people and trodding on their faces.

The King was already off his seat and his sword was out and his ministers had taken up the pedestal as they tried to control the panicking crowd. Faldor and Iris too were caught up around them and with them Faldor's wife was present along with some other members of the royal family who were all around the long table.

But Vala did not descend down as they thought it would. It simply dropped something from the sky that they couldn't see. And in the dark this thing plummeted down with extreme speed and crashed terribly on the surface of the long table.

Faldor had a look at it and a shout escaped from his throat as he drank in the sight of the completely charred body that still sported the blue locket of his son. Iris too approached him and as soon as she saw the locket a wail erupted from her heart and she actually fell down to the ground and swooned out completely. There was no mistaking it, it was the completely burned body of The Starhero Airaz.

Chapter 3: The Message

The voice of the minister rang in the courtroom of the King:

'When Z's minions were slaughtering the farmers on the skirts of the town, it was Airaz and his fellowship that had rushed for their defense. Ever did their blades ring loudly with the tones of steel crashing on steel! Ever did they attack the foes challenging them, and pushing them again and again until the enemy would throw up their blades and would run cowering behind their pale Lord!

'But which fellowship shall come to our aid now? Whose blade shall ring loudly as it matches the onslaught of the enemy's blow? A cruel game has fate played with us. The very adventure that was supposed to be the hour of our awakening has turned out to be the black dusk of death. A glorious beacon of light was Airaz to us all but now that light has been snuffed out. Once again we plunge into the depths of darkness. Once again The Lord shall roam freely in his reign. People will be butchered, women will be murdered, children will be thrown from hills and killed. The glory of the realm that was slowly returning has once again been squandered. Tonight we lose our precious gem. Tonight is the death of our Starhero.'

Silence absorbed these words of the ministers and no one attempted to break its spell by adding more words about the fallen warriors. A deadly mist of fear had wrapped itself around the thoughts of the civilians and none knew what to think of the future. Only one hope had they borne in their heart, and now, this hope too had been murdered. Thus all of them turned up with blank thoughts and their forlorn sight gazed at the emptiness of the void that represented their future.

In the end, The court Scholar Vizor, snapped out of his grief and addressed everyone sensibly: It is true that The Chosen One is no more. His spirit has left its abode and among celestial warriors it resides now. But we are still here, and being present in the world of mortals, we must face those things that challenge us. We cannot give up just because our foremost gem is stolen from us. We must continue to fight.

'The Enemy is cruel. The Enemy is brutal. But the Enemy is also foolish. For if it were not so, then he would have never sent the blue locket back with the body. Aye, my fellow ministers, The blue locket is no ordinary locket. Retrieved from the depths of The Aecaspian Sea, it is the very gem of Goddess Ivi. Crafted and created on the auspicious hour at the mingling of dawn and morning, the celestial orb contains in it the very essence of Her powers. It is no ordinary stone, but is verily like the Morning Star, that appears forth as the queen of other stars and shines more brilliantly than any other celestial rock, save the moon. To this blue orb shall we turn our attention now, for it is this blue locket alone that can show us some way.'

There was a gentle murmur in the court, like that of rustling wind, and in some moments all other ministers had nodded their heads in agreement. So, some of them went down to the crypts to retrieve the stones and in their thoughts they did conceive a small spark of light, in the form of the stone, that gave them hope.

But when they did reach their destination and glanced at the body, to retrieve their desired objects, they were all shocked beyond their wits. For, where the locket had been placed, was now a note that said: The blood of the fallen shall be avenged by the kin of the blood alone. Either the Foe shall fall or the avengers shall be vanquished completely in their attempts. This marks the End.'

Chapter 4: The Light Warriors

Lord Z was absorbed deeply in meditation. Outside - the sound of trumpets rang along with the ringing sound of swords hitting on shields. In the morning, only two warriors had appeared stupidly in front of his Fort and one of them was just a silly girl while the other was an old man. He had thought nothing of them. But now, by evening, miraculously, by the grace of some celestial power, they had succeeded in spawning an army of Light Warriors that had descended from the heavens and these Cosmic Fighters were slaughtering his strongest commanders like they were slicing butter with their blades.

All noon long had he been absorbed in his meditation but he could not figure out what would have gone wrong? The Chosen Hero was dead. The Fellowship had been brutally butchered. His vampire wolves had torn their neck apart. Not even one single Warrior remained who could have conjured such a Divine Power. How did the foolish old man and girl conjure that army of Light Warriors? How? How?

By using the psychic powers of meditation he entered the mind of his Chief Commander and asked him for a report. The Commander said:

'Lord. It's not good. Half our minions have been vanquished completely. At times, the clouds gather around to shoot, from their depths, a blast of lightning that drops on us like a cosmic bomb and kills many of us. At other times, these Light Warriors launch a hail of Light Arrows at us that burn us and slaughter us even before we can whip out our axes. All of us are already cornered. If this continues, I'm afraid that they will soon breach in O Lord. Do come to support us O Lord. Do help us.

Z snapped back to his own mind and went deeper into his meditation. He contemplated his past and visualized all things that he had learned about his enemies. As visions of many objects were rushing past his mind, suddenly, one of them stood out and he glanced at it with pure satisfaction: It was the Blue Orb of Goddess Ivi; and now he knew the source from which all that power had appeared.

He dissolved his meditation completely and immediately deconjured his body to travel to the battlefield.

Iris was controlling The Light Warriors with the power of her mind. It was like having a couple of thousand avatars running readily at her service. She thought about the attack and these Light Spirits did whatever she conjured. But the prime source of all that power was Faldor.

The white bearded old man held the Divine Orb of Goddess in his palms and as long as he channelized his grief to it, it continued to create the Spirits of The Light Beings. The Light Warriors continued to appear from it, as if it were a womb giving birth to countless effervescent spirits. These glorious Beings of The Goddess appeared as spiritual warriors without any mortal body of flesh and many of them carried weapons like the axe, halberd, and bows.

They would release a torrent of light beams towards the foes and the blue fire would mingle with the yellow flames of their enemies to create a brilliant spark of vivid green that illuminated the entire field and the bodies that decorated it. It was a glorious vision and light beams danced all over the place. It seemed like the two unlikely warriors would finally win.

But even as The Light Warriors were moving forward, suddenly a gust of wind appeared from the gates of The Fort and from it came a black tornado spiralling outwards with ferocious power and carrying in it a current that obliterated everything.

Stones were lifted up due to that force and bodies were sucked in that vortex and as this dark storm of rippling current grew bigger and bigger, Iris saw that at its source was The Dark Lord Z and the entire tornado emerged from the palm of his left hand.

He released that storm in the air and it went spiralling towards the centre of the field, gorging each and everything that came in its way. Bodies were gobbled down by it and the minions of The Lord were also gobbled by it, but unfortunately, The Light Warriors were also sucked into that vortex and they struggled really hard against its pull but could not escape it.

The Dark Lord Z then conjured a bolt of lightning in his right palm and it grew bigger and bigger until it acquired the size of an iron pole. Then he leaped 10 feet up in the air and launched this electric missile at the field.

It went with a dazzling spark and exploded there on the ground and from that blast arose a fire so brilliant and green that all those who had looked at it were immediately obliterated. Luckily, intuition had forewarned Faldor and Iris to avert their eyes and they still stood their ground.

But things were not going well for them, because all The Light Warriors had been killed totally and only a handful remained around them to guard them; and as they looked towards the Fort, they saw that The Dark Lord was approaching.

Chapter 5: The Goddess

Iris looked at Faldor even as his old form struggled to channelize all his emotions into the Blue Orb of The Goddess. The form of the Light Beings was already growing faint on account of the loss that they just encountered and the hour was growing darker by the minute. Finally Faldor gazed back at her and there was pain in his eyes as he spoke:

'Well I guess this is it. We tried hard to correct that which is wrong. We were courageous enough to head on and meet the challenge but it looks like the circumstances have got the best of us. We could not defeat the foe Iris. We have lost.

'Go on now child. Return back to the town. Save yourself. I will hold this cursed demon at bay. Go on. Run along. Live your life.'

Iris said, 'My life had ended when his body fell from the sky, Faldor. There's no life that's waiting for me back there. All that I had was taken away from me by him. So if this is the end, then let this be it. Even if we win, there shall be no glory for me. Even if we conquer this demon, there will be no victory for me. My heart is already dead. So no, I won't run back. I won't turn away!'

And after uttering that speech, a fresh wave of courage engulfed her completely such that she was gifted by a spark of a brilliant light that shone in her thoughts. An idea appeared there and immediately she executed it.

She picked up a random rock and gestured to the Light Beings who understood her intention and followed her as she ran towards the enemy. Faldor looked at all of that, confused beyond his wits, because he knew that The Light Beings would never follow anyone who did not have The Blue Orb. So he thought hard and suddenly he realized: 'She must have received the blessings of The Goddess !'

So he hid The Blue Orb in his palm and retreated from the main scene of conflict and hid himself even as the remaining Army of The Light Warriors marched towards Lord Z, with Iris at the lead.

Z looked at the approaching procession. 'So,' he thought, 'The foolish old man has given the Blue Orb to the silly girl? How typical. Well I'll kill them nonetheless.'

He finally pulled out his great Longsword from behind his back and faced his enemies even as they circled him and killed off the remaining minions. But some supreme strange power had been gifted to the girl and as she tore open her throat in rage, a glorious blue light engulfed her and from that sphere, she shot forth two lightning bolts of Divine Powers towards Z.

Z would have been murdered right then and there, who knew not the supreme power of those darts, but even as death was approaching him with lightning speed, his faithful eagle Vala materialized out of thin air and became the shield that took the blow of that missile. The moment that bolt smote the beast, it exploded into a puff of electric blast and its charred dead body fell down on the ground. Howling with rage, Z launched into a gruesome attack, swinging his Longsword from which flames flew out and murdered his foes. In the fury he did succeed in landing a fatal blow to the girl, thinking that he had won.

But from behind him, Faldor unleashed the true power of The Blue Orb and from it a cosmic bolt of lightning was released that went flying towards Z and hit him squarely in the chest. The Dark Lord had about a second to realize what had happened before his entire vitals were blasted from the force of that attack and his entire body exploded leaving behind nothing but ashes.

Faldor released the Blue Orbs from his palm and rushed towards Iris who lay like a broken log on the ground. He approached her and looked at her badly beaten face before uttering:

'I knew not that this was the design of your plan. Why did you have to do such a stupid thing?'

'I already told you Faldor. This life of mine... it's nothing to me without my Airaz. At least now, when I meet him in the Hall of Spirits I shall proudly face him letting him know that I finished the quest that he himself started. Do not weep, old man, for this is the hour of rejoicing. We really have achieved the goal of the Starhero. We are finally all liberated !'

After saying that, her hands fell on the ground and her spirit fled from her body and she was no more. Faldor held her body and wept terribly and knew not how much time passed. But in the end, he regained his senses and finally succeeded in dragging himself back to the town, bearing in his heart, the grief of a lifetime, but also a message of victory.

The End

Jasper and Juniper

Chapter 1

It was a bright golden afternoon and the city hall was decorated with a very vivid wreath of flowers. The common folk were all swarming around the place, some carrying golden drinks in their goblets while others were simply humming and talking in gentle voices and sweet tones. It was clearly a beautiful day for everyone and the music of the lute and drums that came from the hall complimented the same.
        Cadence and Jasper were getting married that evening and though Cadence’s family member had perished in a tragic accident a few years ago, Jasper had sought all her distant relatives and old friends out and ensured that they made it to the wedding. Each one of them had responded to the sweet invitations and thus, they were all here, dressed in beautiful gowns and smart coats.
        Traditionally, on the day of union, the bride was not supposed to be with the groom before the actual ceremony, but Jasper and Cadence were unlike any traditional couple and everyone knew that the love they had for each other was pure and divine. Thus, when Cadence came to Jasper’s room two hours before the ceremony, Jasper was not really surprised.

        ‘What is it hon?’ he asked her in sweet tones, and added smilingly, ‘don’t you know that it is unlucky for -
        ‘I know. I know.’ Her manners were extremely erratic and there was a strange urgency in her voice that threw even Jasper off.
        ‘What is it? What’s bothering you?’
        ‘I had this dream last night that something terrible had happened during the ceremony. And all morning long, I have been getting these very strange feelings in my guts that something terrible is about to happen. Please Jasper! Let us postpone the wedding. I don’t feel good at all. Something doesn’t feel alright.’
        Jasper relaxed and looked deeply in her blue eyes. They were as beautiful and bright as the day that he had seen her for the first time and he couldn’t help but admire her beauty once again.
        But as he gazed deeper, he also witnessed worry and anxiety in those eyes. With a very understanding attitude, he said: ‘Honey. If you don’t want to get married today, then that is all right by me. But think about your friends — They have made such a long journey just to share our happiness. Don’t you think it would be unfair to them if we called off the wedding two hours before the ceremony?
        ‘So let us just go ahead with the plan and be finished with it. After all, I do want to be married to you as soon as possible. Would you deny me that?’
        She bit her lip and her anxiety was still marked very clearly on her face, but he stroked her cheeks and gave her a warm kiss and in some time he had succeeded in convincing her for the marriage indeed.

***

The minister stood calmly at the pedestal and in the evening light, his well trimmed black beard complimented his ceremonial robes and he looked quite handsome at the altar. When the groom came and stood next to him though, his beauty overshone the beauty of the minister and all eyes admired the groom who looked confident and happy and who now stood patiently waiting for the bride.
        Cadence however was still anxious. She couldn’t suppress the nervous feeling which now crept up to her chest, and even as she walked down the aisle her whole body was slightly trembling. Her eyes darted left and right and her ears started to ring with a shrill high-pitched sound that kept her mind on the edge and made her oversensitive to everything.
        She didn’t even register as she got up on the dias and stood next to Jasper. The minister started the ceremony and all the guests looked at the couple with warm feelings; but she was still alert and anxious. Her blue eyes darted from the windows to the men on the first row and her breath started moving rapidly. The minister continued to speak in calculated syllables but she didn’t register one single word; and then suddenly, the high pitched ringing in her ears ascended to such a crescendo that she actually wailed and put up both her hands on her ears.

        At exactly the same moment, the wooden doors of the city hall crashed open and a stream of white blonde men wearing black jackets began pouring in. They were carrying pistols and shotguns and sub machine guns; and even as the guests swore ‘What the Fuck!’, they aimed their guns at the roof and fired rounds upon rounds.
        The bullets tore through the chandelier and the twinkling mass of heavy glass fell with a violent crash on the floor and exploded into a trillion pieces. Champagne glasses were shattered and the bullets pierced the windows and smashed the panes. The terrible sound of clicking guns continued for a while and ammunition smell filled the entire hall. Bullet shells clanked against the stone floors and the lanterns were all shot down until only the little night light seeped in through the windows. The entire hall was plunged into darkness.
        There was utter silence. People looked at the mad blonde men in terror and were too afraid to make even a tiny little sound. The pause felt like a million years and in that moment nobody could think of anything.
        Then the tension broke as the sound of heavy boots came from the entrance of the City Hall.

        A young man with broad shoulders and heavy build made his entrance into the wedding hall. His hair was long; it was rough, shabby, and was thrown casually behind his face and fell on the shoulder. His beard was equally rough and it had grown long as if he were the chief of some underground resistance army. His face was heavily scarred and one long jarring line had left an ugly scar from the left edge of his lip, nose, and right eye. The eye itself had been killed and in its place, there was a now stone eye that gleamed with blue light and shone in the darkness of the wedding hall.
        He moved towards the altar and before him all the blonde men moved quickly and pointed the guns at the guests. They made way for him and as he walked towards the couple his boots fell on the shattered glass and the crunchy sound echoed around the hall. Everyone held their breath.

        The man reached the altar and a look of murder appeared on his face as he finally came to stop and glared at the groom and the bride. Cadence’s face was already wet with tears and her knees were shivering uncontrollably. Jasper’s nerves were also on the edge and as he sensed a vile animosity oozing from the strange man, he moved to protect Cadence. But immediately, the man pulled out a black desert eagle from his pockets and pointed it straight at Jasper’s skull. He stopped dead.
        There was tension for a moment or two, then the man looked at the couple once again and said: ‘So. You dare to get yourself a lover after stealing mine? Aren’t you a little bloody fucked up motherfucker to get yourself a wife - you asshole bastard.’
        The minister winced upon hearing the words and said to the man in hesitating tones ‘Please there’s no need for violence young man. We can reason it out.’
        The scarred man looked at him and laughed a little.
        Then he shot him in the arms.

        The minister fell on his back and started screaming so terribly that one in the crowd actually broke free to help him but he too was hit on the head by one blonde man who got him with the butt of his shotgun. The minister screamed in pain and writhed his legs even as he cursed in rage: ‘You crazy motherfucker. You shot me in the arms. You crazy cock -’
        The man shot him once again in the stomach and the minister launched into yet another wail of painful agony as he screamed at the top of his lungs: ‘GOD DAMN IT HURTS. GOD HELP ME. IT FUCKING HURTS.’
        ‘Derrick!’ The man screamed at one of the blondes. ‘Shut him up please and carry him away. Don’t dispose of him though. We need to keep the execution count to just one.’
        One of the black jacketed blondes came up quickly and he hit the minister on the head with the butt of his SMG until the poor fellow passed out in pain. Then he was carried off and as his body was taken, it left a trail of blood behind it.

        ‘Now, where was I,’ the maniacal man continued, as he stared back at the couple ‘oh yes — Love and Murder.’ And a gleam of deadly glance came on his eyes as if he would murder them right then and there.
        Jasper pleaded, ‘Please. What do you want? Why are you here?’
        The man stared at him in wonder and spoke loudly, ‘You motherfucking asshole! You really don’t know why I am here? You fucking -’ And the rage took him over as he started smashing Jasper’s face with the butt of his gun, ‘You shit faced asswipe. You don’t even remember do you? Do you murder all of them so regularly that you don’t even bother to recollect what you have done? Fuck you, you motherfucker!’ And he continued to hit Jasper on his face, smashing his nose and teeth.

        Cadence threw herself at the man and managed to knock him off the fit of rage that had taken hold of him. There on the ground, her fiance lay, and his face had been turned into a pulp of bloody mess and blood bubbled out from his mouth. Repressing her bile she said to the man:
        ‘What is it that you want? What did he do? Please. Please leave us. Please don’t do this. Please, I am begging you.’
        The man looked at her face strongly and she was startled to see that there were now tears in his eyes and a pained look came up on his face. He said:
        ‘What did he do? Juniper...My lovely June. She was the love of my life. We too were getting married. Everything was moving smoothly as if I was in a dream. Then this asshole,’ and he planted another kick at Jasper’s stomach, ‘came and stole her from me. He killed her! He butchered her down! She was shot by him! Oh I’ve been waiting for this day for an year now. O God! O God - Thank you for your grace! O God let me kill this cock sucker right now.’
        ‘Nooo!’ Cadence screamed, ‘Please! I am sorry. I really-really am. I am very sorry. But please. Don’t do this. Please. Killing him won’t bring her back. Please-’
        ‘Actually. Killing him would bring her back. I won’t bother you with the details.’
        ‘Please DON’T DO THIS. I am pregnant. I am carrying his child. Don’t. Have mercy on me,’ she kneeled down and grabbed his legs, ‘Please I’m begging you please spare him! I’m pregnant.’
        ‘Well. You shoulda thought about it before you got yourself knocked up.’ Then he kicked her away and pulled out a small pocket-like mirror from his jacket. He pulled Jasper from the hair and forced his face to appear in the mirror, and said, ‘Look in this you piece of shit. Look into the soul of the man who murdered my love. Look at it for the last time, for I’m going to take it to bring hers back.’

        Even as Jasper stared at his reflection, the man pointed his black desert eagle at the skull and pulled the trigger. The loud bang erupted from the barrel and Jasper’s face got smashed with the bullet even as Cadence let out a barbaric wail and fainted from the trauma. Then, the man heaved a very big sigh of relief and said to all the blonde men: ‘The first part is done. Now, we gotta move to the second part of the plan. Let’s go.’
        They left the hall and even when all of them had gone, not even a single guest could find the courage to say anything for the next 10 minutes and the dead body of the groom lay up there on the altar and no light came in the wedding hall.

Chapter 2

At a little distance, south east of the town, there was a rehabilitation centre in which the buildings were designed in the shape of a closed lotus flower. It was a very beautiful place that had a lot of small gardens and ponds. There were swans swimming in the waters and even peacocks would come out and roam in the garden. It was a serene and peaceful place and all those who went there knew that the person who was in charge of maintaining it was called the Lady Angelica Cateye, and many called her The Healer or The Miracle Queen.
        Presently, she was in her enormous bathroom, bathing in her bath tub that was filled with exquisite oils and other foamy liquids and soaps. Her mind was full of thoughts and she was deeply immersed in them. Her female attendants were also present around her, ready to serve her with whatever she desired from them and her male attendants were currently playing music on the harp. It was a very meditative room and almost everyone in it was lost in the tranquility of those moments. But there came an interruption.
        A short brown haired attendant entered the room softly and tapped the shoulder of a female attendant and said something to her in her ears. She listened attentively then nodded and sent him back. After that, she moved closer to Lady Angelica and cleared her throat gently to let her know that she was about to give a message. She said:
        ‘Lady Angelica… My Lady… Jasper Finnigan has lost his body. Mr. Locrian was successful in his endeavour. They managed to get him at his own wedding. He is back with all other men. They are all waiting in the outer hall.’
        Lady Angelica didn’t open her eyes and the soft words of her attendant poured in her mind like a pebble enters a lake. She allowed them to sink in and continued to relish the bliss of music that was coming from the harp. For some moments there was no sound other than the gentle breathing of her attendants and the music, but then she opened her eyes and in the bright orange light of the bathroom, they shone with a green light and looked mysterious. Then she said:
        ‘Did he manage to trap Jasper’s soul in the mirror?’
        The attendant moved forward and replied: ‘Yes my lady. He did.’
        Lady Angelica smiled and nodded. Then she snapped her fingers and immediately, the other female attendants moved gracefully and quickly and brought her towel and silk robes for her. The male attendants continued to play the melodies on the harp even as the lady went away from the bathroom to dress herself up for the meeting and in that time Locrian Goldilocks waited for her in the hall and in his coat pocket there was nothing save the mirror in which he had trapped Jasper’s soul and his black desert eagle.

***

In about half an hour, when The Lady descended down the steps to meet Locrian, he saw that she had dressed herself up in an Indian Saree that complimented her green eyes and with her necklace and ear rings, she looked breathtakingly stunning. Her hair was wound up and tied in an charming way and dark eye kohl outlined her eyes in an alluring fashion. She carried herself gracefully and when she finally came down and sat on the sofa, Locrian had to take some time to adjust his thoughts before he launched into speech:
        ‘My Lady Angelica… The deed has been done. Jasper is no more. Or, well. He’s here. In my pockets.’
        She looked at him deeply and didn’t say anything for a while, making him go uncomfortable once again. But after pondering about his life, she finally said:
        ‘How does it make you feel? To finish him whom you have hated for more than one year? Can you sense any change around you? Or are you still the same old Locrian, lost and trapped in your thoughts? Hmm?’
        Locrian took some time to reply to her but eventually, he managed to utter: ‘My Lady… I don’t know… I feel the same. I feel terrible and lost and distant from this world. I feel as if I am out of breath all the time, and no matter how much I breathe, I always feel like I am suffocating. Sometimes I feel like I am sinking in the depths and there will be no recovery. I… I don’t feel any change at all, my lady. I still hate him as much.’
        She looked at him compassionately and said: ‘Isn’t everything unfolding in exactly the way that I had revealed to you? Hadn’t I warned you about the path that you had chosen for yourself, saying that it would bring you no good? Now take some time to reflect on everything that you have been doing for the past year and tell me: Do you still want to continue with your quest? Do you still want to retrieve your lost beloved by exchanging his soul for hers? Do give it a thought.’
        Locrian heard her words and just looked down. He was in pain and the memories of the past years started to rush in him like a river rushes to meet the sea.

        Juniper’s beautiful face flashed past him and her songs came in his mind and tore him apart. He recollected all the nights where he had spent time with her on the roof. The moon dawned in his consciousness and the stars began to wheel overhead as he remembered how it felt to be in love.
        But along with these beautiful memories, the terrible ones also came. He remembered the black glasses of his boss. His drone-like voice that gave him the command. He also remembered his bolt action sniper rifle and his black desert eagle. He remembered the mission briefcases and the memory of bullets shattering the skulls of his victim also came rushing back to his mind. He winced and struggled but continued to recollect everything that had happened to him.
        Finally, the event came back to his mind where his quest of vengeance began. He saw the boss of his rival family gang and all his henchmen. He saw his own house door battered down and broken and in his memories as he ran up the stairs he saw Jasper with his shotgun and right in front of his eyes, he aimed the barrel at Juniper and shot her once in her heart.
        Tears and agony overwhelmed Locrian as he recollected everything but he didn’t stop the train of his thoughts and continued that journey. In only a minute or two he managed to recollect everything that had happened in the year that followed the murder of his lover. After succumbing to heroin, he had finally come to the Lotus Centre, where he had met Lady Angelica and she had revealed the mystic art of soul exchange to him. He had learned so many things from her and even in his memories as he recollected the motion of his mission, a deep gratitude awoke in his heart for her and he finally made up his mind.

        He opened his eyes and said: ‘I do. I want her back. I still hate him as much as I did before. Killing him did not change even one single thing. But I cannot live without her anymore. I cannot imagine even a single day without her. As long as she is not here I won’t feel full. I’ll always be hollow without her. Please bring her back. O Lady please free me from my pains. Take his soul and bring her back.’
        He took out the pocket mirror and gave it to Lady Angelica who continued to look at him deeply and said nothing. Finally, she took the mirror in her hands and said: ‘Well if you have made up your mind about it, the deed will be done for the right fee ofcourse. Then, it will take a week for the process to fully mature. In the meantime, you may find suitable lodging and prepare yourself for the reunion. My best wishes will always be with you.’
        Tears welled up in him as he spoke out: ‘Thank you O Lady! You are kind and Divine! Thank you for everything.’
        She nodded then got up and left the hall and her form faded from his mind even as he closed his eyes once again and recalled the face of Juniper and yearned to meet her from the very bottom of his heart.

Chapter 3 Juniper

When Jasper had shot her, the only thing she had experienced was pain. A searing pang had cut her up from within and her thoughts were tormented by nothing else but blinding pain. There was very intense suffering. But it passed away very quickly like the memory of a half remembered dream.
        Then there was peace and a mysterious lull that engulfed her. Her breath slowed down and began to vanish. Her ears stopped listening to any sound and her eyes closed themselves on their own. There was nothing but pure empty void. It was darker than anything that she had experienced and it started to overpower her.
        She felt like she was drowning but there was no resistance from her end. It felt as if somebody was comforting her, holding her, as if she was being embraced by a very benign Being. So she let go of all struggles and thoughts and gave into the peaceful feeling that was calling her. She let go of all the fighting and went deeper and deeper into the darkness. It felt like she was sinking in an unending ocean of dark water and she was at peace, so much peace that she completely forgot who she was, where she was, or what was happening. She died and forgot herself completely.
        It was like a dream where aeons passed in the nothingness of void. It was deep and dark. It was sombre. It lasted for eternity. But then she was violently disturbed.

        A moment came, filled with a blinding spark and her entire soul was filled with an indescribable torment. She awakened and screamed and her entire soul burnt from the flames of that fire of awakening. The dream vanished and the ocean of death turned into a living flame of life.
        Her entire soul screamed and she was in torment and the pain was like one that she had never ever experienced before. She screamed and screamed and screamed but not even a single sound came through, and then there appeared a fiery vortex that whirlpooled right above her and started to suck her in.
        She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay in her ocean of death. She was at peace and she was united with the ocean. But the vortex wouldn’t let go of her. It called out to her, took her name and sucked her. It pulled her and she resisted and the fight tore her apart. She struggled hard and her very soul split in that resistance. But in the end, the Ocean let her leave, and she flew right into the fiery whirlpool, filled with the searing pain and cursed torment that she had inherited when her body had been shot down by the shotgun.
        Ultimately, her entire soul got sucked into the whirlpool and, when she had completely left the ocean, then on the other end, Juniper’s eyes flew open and she came back to life.

***

She remembered that upon waking up there were some people around her. There was a lady dressed up in black robes and there was a man too who was holding her hand and looking at her with bright expectation. She felt like she knew that man but she had trouble in recollecting everything and eventually she just faded back to sleep.
        When she awoke again, she found that the lady had disappeared but the man was still present and his face was wet with tears. He spoke to her and she saw his lips move but she couldn’t hear anything and the only sound that echoed in her mind was that of oceanic waves hitting the shores. A continuous sound of rushing stream reverberated in her thoughts and she couldn’t listen to anything else apart from that.
        She was not hungry. She was not warm. She was not tired or sleepy or anxious. She was just there like a plant and in her thoughts she carried nothing but the sound of that rushing river.

        Many moments came and went but she did not know which of them were real and which was a dream. The man, who was present around her when she had woken up, had now carried her and taken her to his own home. He took care of her, bathed her, fed her, and changed her dresses, but she couldn’t really remember who he was or why he was doing all this. Once or twice she heard the name Locrian in her head and her heart gave a very tiny flutter like that of a dying butterfly but that memory too faded away and she forgot everything about him once again.
        Each day he used to take her out and he would make her sit under the sun and prepare excellent dishes for her, but she couldn’t enjoy any of that. She always felt like sleeping and to her it seemed that the dream world kept calling her back.

        Eventually, it came to pass that the warm feeling of the sun touching her skin made her uncomfortable and she started speaking out against it. She couldn’t form words but in high pitched vowels she would scream to let the man know that she hated everything about it. She preferred to be in the dark and she enjoyed sleeping.
        By and by, as time passed, she started to hate everything about life from the bottom of her heart. She hated the food that always smelled fresh and delicious. Its warm feelings felt alien to her and she preferred to drink only cold water. Then, a time came, when she couldn’t even put food in her body and every time she did, she would end up retching terribly and she would throw every single morsel out of her mouth.
        The man still took care of her and wiped her face and tried to give her everything that he thought she would enjoy, but no matter what he did, she could just never be happy. She felt like she didn’t belong to this world and the world of the dreams kept calling her. She yearned to go back. She yearned to go back to the place from where she had come.

        She did not know how much time had passed. She couldn’t even distinguish the difference between day and night anymore. She would remain in her bunker all the time and most of it was spent in sleeping and dreaming. When she was up she started to scream in her high pitched wails and whenever the man tried to help her, she threw her arms at him and slapped him left and right for disturbing her sleep; and even though initially she could not feel any emotion other than peace and calm, eventually as her life continued on and on she started to feel hatred and anger towards the man who kept appearing in front of her everyday.
        She did not know who he was. She did not want him to be there. There was a memory of the ocean in her thoughts where there was no man or food or sunlight. There was only the ocean and in her memories, she was sinking in it. She yearned to go back to that place and she knew that the only thing that prevented her from doing so was the man in front of her.
        One day, when she opened up her eyes, she saw that the man was looking at her with terrible sadness and his face was contorted. Tears streamed through his eyes and it looked like he was wailing. But she didn’t give him any response and continued to look at him impassively. Eventually, the man got angry and stormed off and came back with a black desert eagle.

        He tore open his throat and started to scream at her and spoke words that she couldn’t understand. She just looked at him without blinking and watched him as he worked up a very animated rage. Then, a moment came, when a wave of firm resolve rippled in the man’s consciousness and he took a seat in front of her and put the barrel of his gun at the base of his jaw and pulled the trigger.
        The bullet shot off his face and his skull blasted open and pieces of his brain flew out and splattered the floor. His dead body fell off from the chair and even the chair fell onto the floor where a pool of blood had come from his skull. But Juniper was still looking at that in an impassive manner. She glanced at the dead body one final time and then rolled on her bed and closed her eyes and once again she started to dream about drowning in the ocean and going back to the permanent sleep.
        But, the sleep that she desired so much never came to her and years upon years passed while she waited for it and faces of strange women and men appeared in front of her but she couldn’t register anything and in such manner she spent her entire life in that vegetative state where she could not feel many emotions, apart from anger and hatred that she bore for the man who had disturbed her from her permanent sleep and who had himself decided to go to the peaceful ocean of death.

The End