Dreaming of the bloom, with the present unattended.

In the summers I hope for it to be autumn soon. The leaf that has turned brown way after it could turn red. Redness is the heat I associate with summer. A fire that could only be quenched by the monsoons and the autumn. In autumn I crave for winters. White pearl like snow instead of the messy trail of leaves. My feet crunch with too much noise as I walk towards my school, reminding me that death too makes sound. The chill of the winters would give me a break in pursuing my studies, that go on and on, to never end. During winters, I miss the spring. The lack of colour on a white sheet of paper, inviting me to fill it up with something - anything, that isn’t empty. The ones who live in the mountains know that they are the ones that are plain. Ornamentation, and carnation, still, could only be achieved by the spring. Spring reminds me that summer is around the corner. But the thought is erased as the leftover winds from December give my skin the respite. With flowers whose name I couldn’t name, with colours I could only try to reproduce, I take a deep breathe and hold on to the smells, knowing that I would never bloom that exact way ever again. And then the heat rises. The sun during noons, close, and right above. The summer brings in its single truth. The harsh. The needed. The only one thing that I seem to forget about throughout the rest of the year, waiting, season upon season. Could I be more like the green leaves? They flourish even after the flowers have given way to fruits. They bask in the sun, not caring about the outcome. The rains come in swiftly, as if wiping down upon their surface, treating them for a job well done, a life well-lived. Then, they slowly turn red, orange, brown, before breaking away. I find them beneath my feet as I crunch them with my steps on my way to school, hoping for it to be winter soon.

Faux Star signs.

Sorry. But they're fake.

For the stereotypical Sagittarius in me, I would have wanted to cheat, remaining honest, be blatantly rude, think, philosophize, travel; but I do have a little bit of every other sign. I've observed, that things are so, for everyone else. I've never been a strong believer of star signs, but I've never denied the fact that I find them fun. Still, star signs seems false to me today.

The moon can cause such a huge difference in our lives. The tides depend on it. The sea, wind, all depend on it, and so does life on Earth in certain ways. Why not, then, can constellations affect the lives of us humans? Our jobs, choices, behavior? That's what people might want to remind themselves if they'd like to believe in the practice of associating and classifying fellow humans with respect to their star signs.

It's always fun, waking up in the morning, running up to the daily newspaper and looking for the astrology section, reading out loud what possible could be all that the day has in store for us. I've done it many times, for myself, my friends, family. Most of my closest friends belong to either Aries, Cancer, or Sagittarius, with a few Gemini. I've stopped reading them now. I should share what brought about this change. This one day when I was going through the Sagittarius horoscope, I found a very ghastly editing error. There was a, "Dear Capricorn! You've been brave.", placed right before my horoscope started off.

What-A-Joke.

I stopped reading the horoscopes even for fun, after that. What a waste of time.
Since that day, after a lot of thinking, I came to a conclusion that perhaps these star signs only apply in certain ways, if real. Maybe you do need a good astrologer. The planets, their alignment, I mean, there's just no science in certain words. Astrology was never the same as astronomy.

Star signs perhaps are responsible only for a certain traits of different people. I believed this too. Cancer, caring, emotional. Pisces, the one's that always end up with a sappy story. Aries, the life of any party. The Gemini, some two-faced intellectual being, who fails to apply his own advice to others in his own life. All this seems so true. Most agree. But I do believe that a few of the Cancer-friends I have, are as philosophical as me. Gemini, as down to Earth as a Taurus, or as haughty, as a Leo. Anything is possible, really, and all of the possible combinations of star signs and adjectives to describe them must surely exist.

I love to travel, but I do too want a home. I'll be honest, but I'd lie to save your ass. I'm a little emotional too. Hey, and do believe everyone's life is sappy. Be a dark tale, or a happy one, it's sappy never-the-less. I'm compatible with the people who share similar likes, and thoughts, or dissimilar ones, anything. Everyone is unique, for sure, and each on of us has traits that are our own. Star signs seem nothing but a naive source of recreation that we've just trapped ourselves in.

I much rather eat some popcorn and chill. Also, if I do ever happen to come across a person who tells me that they're Sagittarius as they introduce themselves, hoping to get along with me purely based on the lines of 'philosophy' or 'traveling', I'd look at them, straight in the eye, and give a tiny nod. Alright then, fellow naive human, time to burst your bubble!

I wanted to edge closer...

... But too close to the fire, and I'd burn myself.

I saw a fire tonight and I wanted to edge closer. I was denied the meek pleasure. I feel sad. I wanted it.
To lift me up, stretch me, all until my bones cracked and released.

Lethargy has tied me down to something cold. I try to break free, but it takes a lot of effort. The month of February bought with itself, a chillness as cold as a slab of ice against ones palm. Cold, but numbing, so you don't really feel any pain.

Things happened. And they didn't happen out of the blue. I was very much prepared. I knew what ifs, understood the why's, and was prepared. It was easy; going through them.

I had reached a point though, where I couldn't really understand the reasons of what was around me. I question things. And this month, I've questioned things back to back. It was very tiring. I had questions that had no easy answers.

So a few hours back, when I saw the Holika away from a mile, I wished to edge closer to it. I needed the fire. It burned a beautiful bright.

I would've liked to feel the warmness spread across me, all throughout my body.
Till my muscles squeezed up, eyes watered; cleansed. Till the heat would make a sprint, on over my skin, and my skin, with goosebumps then, submitting in pure ecstasy.

I needed it.

I wrote the above as I was dragged away from the fire. Dragged by my own weariness. My weakness. I was ill, well. Had to visit the doctor.

I crossed my fingers as I left the place, hoping for the fire to remain alive until I returned. Thankfully, it did. And I could witness it as it burnt off into gold, black, its charred self.

I've been wanting to do so many things, but I'm failing when it comes to prioritizing. There's something very important missing from the picture. Is it that I seek a voice that would enjoy hearing me out? I need a push. I look into the mirror. And that woman's all that I need.

Hear me out? She's listening.
Just gotta lift myself up.

I heaved a heavy sigh as I left the fire. It was dying, but I felt strong again.
Such little things. They do matter a lot.

We could be heroes, just for one day.

And that day would be enough!

Warning: This post is not going to make much sense.

So. If you're reading this, which I doubt, because no one probably reads this shit up, well, but except you, since you ARE reading this, you better stop reading this, because it's not going to make much sense.

Scream!

A little lemon fell of the kitchen counter onto the ground, rolling, before softly stopping near my dogs paw. 

LO!

And behold. Lets just follow this never ending river. She isn't crazy. I like watching a piece of chocolate melt. It gets tastier by the second. Come on Eileen!

Fellows and Romans and people of good folklore, tell me a secret, won't you?

Apple pies must be delicious. Would you like one? "And let there be light," God said. Psalm 12:34, whatever *insert name* Repeat after me: "Shall not ever grieve over the lost puppy".

My diary is far away, this shit've would gone there, I believe. Typing is fun though.

STOP.

Breath.

And this idiot of a person just had to dive into the well of empty traffic and electricity bills.

Cows are to be disliked for the go MOOO which is mostly irritating. Don't even try to be nice. Hypocrites. 

*****

A little while later

*****

NOPE

 Still 

a     twat. Hypocrisy!

Not really insane but on cloud nine. Let's take a moment and be glad that we are smart enough to comprehend what goes around in this town. You just lied. "I didn't, I kept quiet."

"That's gonna cost ya, sweety."

"If you think I'm being stupid, well I'm still me", cried the little red riding hood before turning into a wolf and eating up her own grandma. Yeah, things are getting stranger by the second.

Give yourself a break, mate! You sure do need one. Lollipops were always bad for your teeth.

My tongue is in love with my left elbow. Such a sad love story. Commas will guide you home.

There was once a crooked man, with a crooked little organ, in a crooked little video, and he was soon forgotten. 

Man, I wish she was a cat. But I would never do such a thing to her, she's such a great girl. I think she must really like me, hens would love laying easter eggs. I'm such a weird potato. 

A little ash, smokey, and a minty taste later, she allowed herself to cough. Well shit. Where's that lighter? A pastry would've helped but the owl was hooting too loudly. Was he looking for his mate? Poor sod.

Bubble baths were sad, because people didn't respect him anymore. "That's the way the market works", shrugs bubble bath, "It's always what they really want. Priorities."

I'll be damned if you figured me out. Don't bother. I'm just like you. I can see you. Just as you see me. A layer, within a layer, within another one, that's the one on the top. We're the same. Still reading?

Well, great. Thanks.


Heroes - David Bowie.

Oh hello, Steampunk!

Welcome to the world of Steampunk!

Imagine an alternate universe where romance and technology reign. A world of automations, ornate clockworks and time travel, where scientists and dreamers, intrepid orphans and schoolgirls, solve dastardly crimes, escape from monstrous predicaments and hover over volcanos in steam-powered airships.

These were the words written behind a carelessly dropped book in a bookstore I went to recently. I took a look at these words, and thus was introduced, unawarely, to the world of steampunk.

Steampunk is a sub genre of science fiction. It basically revolves around machines, or steam powered machines, life like machines, clockworks, making the impossible - possible, via simple yet amazing mechanical jobs, by gifted engineers. The 14 stories I read in this anthology (a compilation of stories) were pretty interesting. All of them were pretty weird, morbid. But every story left some sort of an impact on me. Science fiction was always my favourite genre. Anything becomes possible.

I'm always smitten by any book that I read. But as I retrospect, this book wasn't all that amazing. I did have problems understanding a few stories from this book for they were based in an entirely different culture all together. But never the less, I was introduced to the world of steampunk, and it's actually pretty interesting! Of course there are so many more steampunk based stories out there.

There are plenty of movies based on steampunk too! I had watched quite a few without even realising it. The Golden Compass, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Stardust, Around the world in 80 days, The Prestige, A Series of Unfortunate Events, Hugo, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (still have to watch this one), are all that include elements of steampunk.

This genre is indeed very interesting! The internet is filled with steampunk art. Some of them are way too beautiful. Here are a few of them.

So there you have it. The steampunk that I know of through my little tinkering with the internet. But I'm sure this genre has a lot more to offer. With time, perhaps, I shall discover more.

Sources: 
www.deviantart.com
www.google.com

Who do you choose to be?

I believe, that the world can be divided into three broad classes of people. 
The leaders, the followers, and the spectators.

Every person has a choice. 
"You're the pilot of your own plane."
The artist, the critique, or the spectator.
Who do you choose to be?

• The leader, the artist. Do you speak of your views openly, without a care in the world? Not afraid of criticism?
• The follower, the critique. Are you the one, who criticises others for their views, not really offering your own original ideas?
• Or yes, the spectator. Do you keep shut, and simply observe the chaos around you, not offering any view on any matter, but simply gulping in the situation, not judging, but observing everything?

The world needs more of the first kind. These 'rebels', that would guide our generation forth. I personally despise the second kind, but then again, they have their own reasons for behaving the way they do, which shouldn't be judged. The third kind, are fine. Nothing great, nothing bad. They just - are.

Everyone is a bit of the three, I suppose. I personally think I am a cross between the first and the third. I beg to differ, for what I believe is right, yes, but at the same time, am alright with anything that others have to say. Everyone has a reason. Everyone is right, in their own way. My perspective, though.

The first kind have a knack of asking questions, and answering them on their own. The second kind, don't ask, just simply answer. The third kind don't do either. They just agree, to whatever that ever was.

The point here, lies in a single question.
Are you working over what you believe in? Or are you simply following others, like a sheep, lost in a herd? Will you listen to them? Or be confident enough to pursue your own beliefs?

Every great legend that the world has known, has had his or her own original personality. They were surely the first kind. A leader. The artist. People followed them. People judged them. There were a few spectators, who observed them. These artists had their complete attention.

Adolf Hitler, John Lennon, Audrey Hepburn, Abraham Lincoln, Mahatma Gandhi, these were the people who listened and answered only to their own soul. They were never the ones to judge. These were the people, who drove others in the direction that best suited their own selves.

On a lighter note, even if we consider characters like, well, Superman, Courage, The Powerpuff girls; these belong to the first kind too. 

Lets concentrate on The Powerpuff girls. The mayor, more often than not, represented the second 'afraid to take their own decision' kind of people. The one who judged, between the right and wrong, but never had his own original views. Considering Mojo Jojo, he too had his own persona. Everybody (outside the TV show!) adored him, I'm sure. He belonged to 'first' kind as well.

We should strive to be the 'first' kind of people. The artists. The creator. The leader. The aim shouldn't be to garner followers though, it should be to strengthen ones own personal ideas, views. People should respect each other for what they are, and do what it takes, to do what they most love to do. Originality, creativity, yes, that's what the next generation humans should keep in mind as they continue to evolve.

The society has a funny way of binding us in the invisible ties of social norms. People are scared to break away, scared of taking risks, scared of taking a stand. The one's who do, well, are the 'first' kind of people. As I have coined before, these are the rebels. 

We live as though, we shall never die. Compromising, all the time. Don't settle for the second best. Your time is now. Do everything you can, for everything that you have ever wanted, for the change you wish to see. Be the first kind. The leader, the creator, the artist. Ask what you need to, allow your soul to answer, and follow what you believe in, always.

.

This would be one of those attempts of mine wherein I try and put forth my creativity for I am trying to come up with something new and explaining which, hopefully wouldn't be much of a problem as I try to well keep writing and come up with something more solid as a subject to write about which on the first place was never related to this creative decision of mine and thus I shall speak about time, which as a topic itself, talks so much about itself for time will always be, and never be as well, creating it within itself as a multi layered dimensional setting creating more and more universes along, around, within, or no where near our own tiny world, thus breaking the popular belief of it actually being the fourth dimension of this world where we humans reside and keep moving forward in time so what I think of now are the possibilities by which one person could not ever stop and keep moving forth, or backwards, just like how I keep writing, word after word, creating new things out of what once were mere thoughts, which too were nothing but a culmination of all the influences that surrounded me from the advent of whatever was that made me today, parents, their parents, the seed of evolution, the non living things that existed before life existed, and everything that made those things, which takes me back to the moment where I as a being came first into existence, not as a physical form, but perhaps a thought itself, a thought that was certainly thought of since the beginning of every thought that ever was, and thus perhaps I was, just after time came into existence, hence I prove that I too am nothing but an entire universe with my own views and thoughts moving further like the roots of a tree, deeper into the soil wherever it shall reach and be reaffirmed of it's survival, better if prolonged, but still, me being a universe shall not exactly be same as the multi dimensional situation that I had earlier mentioned, perhaps just like a layer within, around, along, or no where near another layer would be, similarly a universe would be surrounded, or not surrounded, by many others, or by none at all, every universe having it's own layers of dimensions and time extending in all directions possible, the infinite possibilities around everything that ever was, and everything, like nothing being inside, or outside everything or nothing else, as a point in a line that extends away in one continuos progression, and that dimensionless point, being a single infinite dot, lost within the infinity of that line.
                                                                                    .
                                                     
(Looper and Pink Floyd did this to me.)

Write, and erase.

I begin to write, when I don't know what to write.

I
I write
I write to
I write to think
I write to think and
I write to think and question
I write to think and question what
I write to think and question what I
I write to think and question what I could
I write to think and question what I could write
I write to think and question what I could write.
And this leaves me confused, and I erase.
And this leaves me confused, and I
And this leaves me confused, and
And this leaves me confused,
And this leaves me confused
And this leaves me
And this leaves
And this
And

And then I erase the written, erasing my confusion.

Crash and burn, then rise like a phoenix.

Sometimes, I feel, that the cycles of the daily rituals get a bit too repetitive. Take a phoenix for example. The poor mythical creature lives to die, then rises up from the ashes... Only to die again.

Shut your eyes right now. Think. What would happen if you were to live for only 10 seconds more. When one say's that the whole life flashes before you, as you're about to die, it's just an idea. For one truly doesn't remain, to remember enough the thoughts of his last second. We live as if we would live forever, simply forgetting that one day, at one particular moment, everything that ever was, or would be, is going to vanish into a mysterious abyss. A place we probably would never know anything about.

So why do we enjoy this daily roller coaster life? Action. That's what we need. An action on the spur, or perhaps stretched for a long time. But action is needed. Something for the community. Something for evolution. Stop and stare, to realize where you are. Once you have, gear up, and start moving. You're going to make a difference in this world, no matter by what magnitude.

The phoenix shall die one day. But it grows, heals, helps, while it lives. Death is just another start for the creature.

Silence.

I usually don't get angered easily, but today, I did. I raised my voice while speaking to my mother today. Lashing out my wrath, the wrath trapped in me due to my hatred towards all the rough things that life had to offer. It wasn't much. The suffering. But it did amount to some. 

I had decided that I would speak no more. How else am I suppose to describe anything perfectly? Silence is the only way by which I can describe something best. Not jeopardizing its infinite beauty.

My mother lay confused. I wasn't speaking at all. A smile is what I gave, not only to her, but every other person I met today. Uncanny, but it did work. Strangely, I realized today, the language of smile, silence, is all that is needed. The two make us realize that life's perfect.

Isn't it? Despite all the troubles, pain? Laughter, love? Tension, confusion? Life is perfect. But it can be described best only when one doesn't try to describe it at all. It's painful, this realization. Knowing that you'd never reach the end. Knowing that this imperfection, and accepting it, are the only modes by which one can make true sense out of things.

Realizing this would make you smile. You will smile, not for you have finally found an answer in this maze. But for you accept it, and can finally see the beauty in incomplete things.

We try to speak as we try to enforce our ideas on others, we speak, we order, we wish, but never listen. Silence gives you the power of listening. Listen more, learn more, speak less.

I spoke with my mother towards the night. Speaking my heart out, letting her know, of what I thought. That I was sorry. I presume I still wasn't able to reach out. No sweat. After doing what I should have, I simply smiled, and retreated back towards silence.

I smiled.

The five classical elements.

Each of the five classical elements, that is; Fire, Water, Earth, Air, and Spirit, when thought of separately, with complete concentration, has the capability of giving a person infinite peace.

Now, classifying everything into these five is one way of doing so, a school of thought. Scientifically speaking, I do not trust this sort of characterization of materials. But, fact remains, as it's just been my observation, that when one walks under the rain, cherishing every single drop of rain that falls upon his skin, or when watches a candle, the flame, or when he walks on the sand, by the sea, observing how his steps leave foot prints, breath in the smell of petrol, or of course, meditate, it pulls you into this weird sort of trance. A place where your mind begins to empty itself of the various ramblings it otherwise thinks of continuously; Even if it mostly occurs for a tiny moment at a stretch.

These elements are powerful indeed, it's a pity they seem to lose their beauty when mixed. Maybe that's the secret lesson hidden here. To judge everything with what tiny things it's been made of, and not just the complete picture; For the tiniest of things often hide the real story, as well as beauty behind a thing.. Or even a person.

The single girl child... On marriages.

Before I begin, I'd like to point out, that the following post is strictly constricted to the old fashioned, rural based thinking. It might not exist in most households with modern thinking, but in a few houses, including mine (and also the house, that is my brain), such thoughts do float around.

I was born in a family of high values. Where a belief, that the gender of a child born, wouldn't affect her future - stood firm. Where she, unlike a few unfortunate women in our society, wouldn't be deprived of anything. A place where she would be surrounded by views that are far from being sexist. At least, that's what I thought.

I am a single girl child. My parents love me, I'm aware. I was never pampered though, my parents have made sure to teach me the best of manners a girl could learn. They've taught me virtues, that are usually taught only to the men of the family. I was happy. I was a girl, yet, strong enough to take the decisions of my family, like a man. An independent, bold, yet sensitive woman - that's what my parents desired me to be. But no, they never forced their desires upon me. They've given me complete freedom. The freedom to lie, cheat, be happy, make mistakes, learn, everything. All this, made my life perfect. I never misused this freedom that they gave me. I tried my best to be on my heels, do the best I can do, in whatever situation I was in, as long as it was something that I believed in. They always guided me, warned me, yet supported me, all along. This is how my life was perfect. By giving me everything, my parents, gave me, a life. A perfect life. No, I was never treated like a princess. But that is exactly what has made me. Understanding, open minded. I've grown to thank my parents, for whatever they have done for me. I am lucky, I often thought. Like I said before, I was happy.

It is only recently that a more mature thought has crossed my mind. Perhaps you do grow up with time. That's what our parents tell us, don't they? I never doubted them. But it's true. The process of learning, growing, is actually distinguishable. You will easily realize when you've grown up. Growing up is always painful.

Being a single girl child, doesn't give me the opportunity to continue my family's legacy. The feminists would revolt at such a thought. But it's true. My parents do not complain, and its a problem, purely created by me. I asked my dad a few days ago, if he ever wished to have a male child. The answer was expected - it didn't matter. It probably doesn't matter to them the way it matters to me. After I marry someone, my father shall be a grand dad, probably, someday. But his grand kid will not have his name. He shall have my husband's surname. The hubby's legacy. Immature thinking? Probably. If you aren't a girl child, that is. But for the other single girl child's, they'll understand what I'm trying to say. 

The problem is not too difficult to counter though. Like what my parents have taught me, I do believe that there is a solution to every problem. Just like this one. How about this  - I marry a guy, have about 2 kids, divorce him? So that I can give my children my own surname? The one that is a part of my bloodline? Or should I probably marry someone with the same surname as mine, a distant cousin of mine, perhaps. Or I could marry someone, who is at par with my parents thoughts. The modern thinking. Where the man is strong enough to allow our first child to carry my birth surname. 

So immature, this talk. But it does matter.

I do not find the institution of marriage stupid. On the contrary, it brings stability to the human kind. Adjusting, compromising, they are the ways of civilisation, something which we ourselves have evolved to get accustomed to. But the fact that men feel that they need to be the bread earner of the family, and never the woman, is absolutely hilarious. Even when women earn, it is better for them, to earn less than their own spouses. It's very rare to find a man who is not moved my outwardly or materialistic capabilities. But man has always been the stronger one. I myself will not argue upon this fact. It's just one of those things in nature that is unfortunate. But perhaps, it is needed, to maintain order. 

TIME FOR SOME STEREOTYPE BUSTING! 
Women won't mind to lower their heads before the men. But we need our own respect. Being at home, looking after the children, is not a life we would wish for in an ideal world. In an ideal world, along with looking after the household, we women would love to embrace the adventure that this world has to offer. Being at home, earning less than you, is not an easy thing. It is unfortunate how some men think that women are rubbish, for they have no say in the talks of matters regarding the world. That they can't work, that they aren't the superior kind. (Of course not all men are like this, and to those men, we women would like to extend some love.) But it takes a lot to sit back, and pretend that you are not all that you could be. To sacrifice your dreams. To be a woman, is not easy, contrary to what most men think.

My father has spent days, nights, speaking about the story of our family. The bed time stories always enthralled me. Of how our life was, back in the old days, in the beautiful state of Himachal Pradesh. The villages, the palaces, the beautiful gardens, the kites, the princes, the princesses, the gold shoe's, the banquets… I wish to speak of these with my child. (Pardon the over - I want a child - syndrome. This is temporary. Probably. I'm rather thinking of adoption. Any who. Adopted or not, a child is a child. Gosh. When did I become so… Motherly?)

Back to what I was saying. It's unfortunate women are treated this way. I never realized anything strange about female foeticide , I never could understand why one's own mother, would agree to kill the child she held. Ruthless. But now I do. And the reason, even though, full of ego, pride, and completely old fashioned, is a true one. People might hide it, but it does reside in their minds. For a few, they have thought of it, a countless amount of times, for the others, the idea is still trapped deep within their brain, waiting to be hatched. But trust me, it exists. Way's to continue your legacy.

All in the name of evolution. The basic fundamental need, and the way of nature. (I'll elaborate, in perhaps, another post.)

If I had been a guy, I would have certainly held much more freedom. My life would have been different, in terms of all the daring acts that I've always wanted to do. Its true, I've attempted a few, but such things are never encouraged by my relatives. A girl doesn't drive a bike! She should atleast  know how to cook! The basic need, and the sentence, every lady is made to listen to, at least once in her lifetime. But there is so much more then just cooking!

Am I proud to be a girl? Heck yes. Is it okay to be a single girl child? Of course!!

But all in all, a girls life isn't that easy. It's not easy for a single girl child at all.

AND after this AMAZINGLY confusing rant, I'd just like to make one thing clear. I in no way, have any complain with anything that ever was, or that will ever be. Amen.

Until next time!!

An odd sort of compassion.

I've always seen her on that road, right under that particular oak tree. Huddled against the huge trunk, wearing the same light blue sari. Helpless - yet, patient. The old woman, who was perhaps in her seventies, sought for refuge around that place. It was her home, her world.

I never spoke to her. I never knew her name. Whenever I passed the street though, I never failed to look out for her. The four eyes met often, but the two lips remained sealed. Nor did she utter a word, and neither did I. What was I to say to her anyway?

A small silver bowl always lay before her dry bare feet. If not a lucky day, the bowl often remained empty. It was strange. She never looked like a beggar. She seemed too proud to be one. Still, a few people dropped a change or two as they passed by. She always remained quiet. Thankless. Patient.

It was a normal summer morning that day. A trip to the market required me to cross that street again. My hands shoved deep into the pockets of my jacket, I strolled down the lanes. The next few moments were going to be unexpected.

The lady was still seated there. Today, with her eyes closed. I stopped on my heals as I observed her closely. Her wrinkled hands were curled up into tiny helpless fists. Her slimmer form, seemed more weak then ever. Oh, how could have her children left her this way? Did she even have a family? I had thought of these things often, but today, I was just too curious. I pitied her.

I pulled out a few coins from my pocket and bent down low, wanting to drop them in the bowl as silently as possible. I didn't want to wake her up. But just as I leaned forward, she opened her eyes and hissed under her breath. I widened my eyes and froze. She smiled towards me and shook her head, pushing my hand away. "It's yours." she whispered, as she ushered me to continue on my path. Her eyes did recognize me. Perhaps she had noticed me before as well.

I remained silent, gave her a small nod, and hopped back onto the road. With a faster pace, I hurried down towards the market. The lady was so strange. She seemed too strong - too strong if compared to any other woman of the same age. The moment we shared was indeed weird. I suddenly didn't pity her anymore. She seemed like she needed none. I took a longer route back home as I returned from the market that day.

The next time I crossed the street again, I remembered to smile at her. She looked towards me with her usual blank gaze. Embarrassed, I looked away. The presence of an odd sort of compassion we held for each other was unmistakable, but I decided to stop thinking about it. Perhaps, that is what she really wanted. Silence, respect, and just a bit of compassion.

A dream.

Darkness. All around me. The forest was quiet, apart from the low moan of the crickets singing nearby. The frequent owl hoots reminded me that there were other living creatures that dwelled in the forest. What I was doing here though, I had absolutely no idea. There was a distant thundering, warning me of the lurking storm. Me, I couldn't see a thing. Well almost… My surroundings were drenched in pitch black darkness. All the trees that stood around me, rose from the grounds to the infinite skies above, shrouding the grounds with an unmistakable thick foliage. Did they shield the moon from the lands, or was it a new moon? I couldn't guess. I slumped on the slightly damp ground and shut my eyes tight. Alone. Lost. The thought of survival hadn't kicked in as yet. I traced a finger across my arm. I couldn't feel a thing. 

I woke up with a sharp intake of breath. A storm was at its peak outside my window. Another sudden thunder. I shot my eyes wide open as the sound reverberated around my room. Wrapping my blanket around me, I crawled over to the window beside my bed, pulling the curtain away as I greeted the violent clattering of the rain drops across the glass. I wiped the glass with my sleeve, peering out as I tried to take in the surroundings. I peeked below, towards the foot of the building, the road, the shore, and the massive ocean that lay beyond it. The sea was violent, the waves crashing on the rocky shore, its waters struggling to hold back. The buildings that lay along the crescent of the road, the shore, were grey, moaning quietly as they stood firmly against the storm. The city lights twinkled under the rain. Not a single car drove past on the road that lay painfully still between the building and the shore. The infamous Marine drive, lay helpless, and exposed to the nature's exasperation. I looked up towards the sky. A mass of silver and white emerged behind the grey clouds now and again, which were shortly followed by a roaring thunder. The noise was deafening, cracking across the impatient heavens. 

A soft thud on my bed pulled back my attention to the room. I dragged the curtains back to their initial position and turned back. Kitty, the stray kitten, lay huddled against my feet, curled up in a small trembling ball. I leaned forward and picked him up, holding him close against my chest as I pulled the blanket over us and laid back on the bed. Another blaring thunder. Kitty twitched his tail and clinged closer to me. "Hush now," I whispered, "Let's just hope the lightening's not near us, yes?" I stroked the kitten across his tiny neck. It must have been around 2AM, a Monday morning. "A blaring welcome to the new week," I sighed, "Well hopefully, for you and me, they'll cancel the school tomorrow. I could bake you some cookies, perhaps sleep some more.." Kitty replied with a soft comforting purr, I wondered if he understood what I had meant. 

I shut my eyes close and heaved another sigh. I was too tired. Too tired to remain awake, too tired to fall back into that lonely dream. I wanted to escape. To somewhere peaceful, to somewhere in between. Minutes passed by. I kept brushing my fingertips across Kitty's soft fur. His rhythmic purring, my slow breathing, the roaring of the thundering - now distant, they were all luring me into a cold, unusual stance. I hummed under my breath, wanting all the more to escape into the coldness… The calmness. The peace. My surroundings seemed sad. My heart seemed to be in a state of deep distress, as if the invisible wires of flaming iron had wound themselves around the organ. A strange kind of numbness that began with my toes, rose up towards my shins, my legs, my abdomen, chest, arms, my head… Blankness.

I stopped moving. Suddenly. Too suddenly. I couldn't feel Kitty anymore. Nor could I feel the blanket. I opened my eyes and pulled my hand closer to my face, observing my skin under the soft grey light. Ivory. Pale. Silver. I narrowed my eyes before rubbing my palms against my eyes. A relaxed, yet painful throbbing resonated inside my head. I hauled myself up against the wall, before bending my torso and stepping down on the floor. I walked around aimlessly, the woollen carpet doing almost nothing to soothe my bare feet. My room should have been drowned in darkness, but no. I could see everything clearly. Too clearly. I shifted my gaze upon the clock. The hour hand stood before the minute needle - both pointing towards the number three. Too early for sunlight to sneak in my room. But the rain, had it stopped? I couldn't hear the thundering anymore, just the low wail of the dying winds. I turned back to reach across the bed and pull back the curtains, but my hand froze still before it could touch the cloth. I curled up my fingers slightly as I observed my hand, my knees suddenly felt weak. My skin was a pure silver. Translucent. I widened my eyes in horror and shifted my eyes towards the bed. Under the mass of blanket that lay huddled upon it, her head peeked out. Holding the kitten, between her long thin arms, her eyes were shut. Her pale lips slightly parted, my body remained immobile under the veil.

Dead.

Swaying back and forth.

She stared at the blank page that lay on her desk for a while, then shifted her muddy hues towards her right hand that held the pen. Gently tracing her thumb on the fancy pen cap that was fixed on its end, she moved her arm forward, and pressed the tip of the pen on the blank page, observing the first colour of the black ink on the sheet.

She bit her lip and traced her pen to create a small disfigured curve, attempting to jot down the the first letter of her name. 'S' ... She managed to write. She heaved a sigh and scooped up the sheet between her left fingers and held it high above to view it under the faint sunlight that shone into her room through a window behind her. Narrowing her eyes at the small letter, she tilted her head and hummed under her breath. "Who are you love?" she muttered as she plonked the sheet back on the desk.

Holding the pen tightly between her fingers, she traced a 'u' next to the previous letter. Pursing her lips, and writing in her irregular calligraph she completed the word, and stared at it for a long moment. She held up the paper again in the sunlight and shifted her weight towards the back, her head against the chair.

She moved the piece of sheet against the sunlight and observed it at different angles, her posture calm and composed. Her slow, yet deep breaths could tell nothing about the various emotions that were swelling up inside her. Her face was expressionless, but her toes were pressing deep into the floor below her. The fingers of her right hand were clenched around the pen that she held.

"Who are you..." she whispered again, her voice showing signs of both exhaustion, as well as a flamed curiosity that could never die.

She brought the sheet a few centimetre's before her eyes raised up her chin in an attempt to sniff in the scent of the sheet. Her eyes shut in unison with the intake of her breath. The sheet smelled of burnt charcoal, with a gentle outline of the smell of wet mud. She released her breath, and collapsed her hand on the desk, pushing her chair away from the table.

She turned her back, rotating on the wheels of the chair, and peered outside her window. Twirling the pen between her fingers, she placed it between her teeth and chewed on for a while, before flipping the pen away from her hand with a quick twist of her wrist, and snuggling onto the warm cloth of the chair that she sat on. "No one can answer that, but me..." she trailed off, as she shut her eyes close and slowly drifted off to slumber.