Spirituality Is A Bike Ride Away

"So, where do we go from here?" she asked as she lit two joints and passed one to him.

They were sitting on the edge of the mountain. Their feet hanging over, soles staring into the wide chasm beneath them.

He took a drag on the joint, held his breath, and said, "Anywhere you want to go."

"Will you let me drive?" She gave him that look which he could never say no to. Then she batted her eyelashes. It was the straw that broke the camel's back.

He took the keys from his pocket and dangled them in front of her face. Her fist snatched the keys in a flash.

She got up and dusted the bottom of her jeans. He sat there and watched her walk to the motorcycle. There was something ethereal about her ass, he almost felt spiritual looking at her walk. She got on the bike, keyed the ignition and kicked the engine to life. He still sat there, hypnotized by her.

She put on her helmet, pinched the joint between her thumb and forefinger and stuck it between her ear and the helmet.

"Well?" she asked, "do you need an invitation? Get on the bike, bitch!"

He grinned, got up and stumbled for the bike.

-------------------------------------

Just.Felt.Like.Writing.

The Breaking News

A journalist died in the stampede. His brethren had killed him. Stomped and climbed over him till his bones broke and his lungs collapsed and his blood leaked into the pavement. There was a story to be covered. And the dead didn't need any by-lines.

The space ships were finally here.

The white-skinned beings climbed down from the ships. Actually, they floated down in their bubbles of pure energy. Some said they looked like angels. Maybe they were angels. But the journalists would have none of that angelic bullshit. One brave reporter on the city beat, made her way through the throng, swatting away heads with her microphone, her cameraman trailing her through the crowd.

The military men stationed there for the security of the visitors made to grab the feisty journo, but somehow she slithered through their grasp like an oiled eel. She was close, oh so close to breaking the story. One of the visitors moved his head and pointed a tendril like appendage towards the advancing journo. The others took notice. The color of their white energy clouds changed to a glowing red.

The journo didn't care, the story would win her a Pulitzer at least. She jumped the barrier that separated the pathway of the visitors from the crowd that had gathered to watch them. She flicked her microphone on.

"How does it feel to be on our planet?" she yelled at the smallest of the visitors, thrusting the microphone in its face like a baton.

The creature looked at her for one long second as the security officers behind the journo rushed to grab her and take her away.

Then it spoke. "Manner-less freaks." And slapped the journo a with a red hot tendril of smoke, leaving an instant scar on her face.

When the security men dragged her away, she was drooling slightly from her mouth.

NaNoWriMo Update

Well, I almost fucked up :)

I know there is still time left for NaNoWriMo to end but sometimes you know what you know. I've been waiting for this month for almost the whole year and I fucked up. I know I am not going to crack the word count because there are things that require me to move around every weekend any that is the time I've assigned for writing, then there is other time after office and before office when I SHOULD be writing, but I am not, because I write all day in office. Almost all day. There is lot of words that go through my fingers all day. And, well, a plumber can't plumb at home after plumbing all day at work. 

All fucking stupid excuses. 

That said, there is still time left, so I am going for the broke.

Gonna write whatever the fuck I can, at whatever the pace and try to finish the story by 30 November.

The word count is 21,534 right now. I am kinda scared to do the math about how many words I need to do daily to still crack the 50k mark.

I think I chose the wrong story to pursue. Should've stayed in cities and guns mode. I went swords and forests way. But the story is moving, step by step, inch by inch. There is lot of interconnecting to be done.

I need to work harder in 2012 and keep the distractions in check.

Let's see how many words I can get to by November 30.

Check!

A Quick Writing Tip

Alright, I said on twitter that I will post a writing tip here. It's been helping me write for my nanowrimo project. Even though i've been working like a lazeball and chasing a mammoth target by now, but I'm sure this will help you a lot if you can do this right. 

The trick, is to answer a question.

Answer.A.Question.

How?

Well, remember the time in exams when there were ten minutes left before the examiner would come and take away the answer sheet and you went in full mindfuck creative mode, making shit up right left and center! Yes that. 

Write down ten questions about your plot. About your characters. About the problems that the characters are facing. And then provide solutions for those problems.

For example: 

Question: How does my hero escape the evil sluts of planet Zarkonia?

Answer: He escapes the evil sluts by fucking the fuck out of them all with his massive...ego!

Question: How does he fuck the fuck out of the evil sluts?

Answer: A 2000 word essay explaining the brutal fucking delivered by our hero on the planet Zarkonia and the fucking leading to his eventual escape!!

So, there!

Right, I got to go sleep! It's almost 3AM!! YIKES!!

Happy writing!

Transitions

This is about change. There will always be changes. Nothing remains in a state of constant stillness. Even in things that seem still, changes are going on on a molecular level.

Everything is falling apart. Even you.

And a change is life, through a transition period is always a rocky period. Things fall apart. Things refuse to work. And at times, you've to jerry rig a leaky boat with the stump of your enemy's arm that you tore off from his dead body using nothing but your teeth. Bless your dentist in such a moment and bless your parents who taught you to brush your teeth every night before sleeping. The point here is that nothing has a point when you are drowning in a shark tank with blood leaking from your nose.

That shit just sucks.

Sharks, man!

The Futility of Existence

There is a problem with life. A big problem, it's prone to failure. Anyone can die. Anytime. You might not even know but there might be a biological time bomb inside you, waiting for the right time to go off.

The things we take for granted will cease to exist once we cease to exist. What we leave behind might not be enough. All life is like a poem, even when it ends, it's always unfinished. There could always be one more verse, one more rhyme, another cryptic puzzle wrapped in words.

But there is never enough time. The clock ticks for all of us. No one is safe.

So I ask, why the hate? Why aren't we more afraid of the end? Someone could walk in right behind you as you read this post and slit your throat, ear to ear, with an ivory handled straight razor and there is not a single thing you'd be able to do about it. You'd not even be able to finish reading this post.

So, whatever you do, be afraid. Cuz the clock ticks for all of us.

____________

Brands.

Brands are for cattle, said someone poor who was not able to afford brands. Being social animals, humans are geared toward competitive spirit. There are some so called "deviants" who like to think of themselves different from common people and society without realising that they are already in a social group of their own. You can't live in peace without being categorized. That's part one of the issue.

Now, within this social group, there are different classes. There is you who is reading this blogspot right now and there is your domestic help who cleans your house every morning. Does it still hurt? Both of you use different sort of brands. She might be brandishing a micromax QWERTY, and you might have an iphone4, but at the end of the day, you're both part of same herd mentality to appear better than your compatriots.

And it's all just appearance. I'm just a boy standing outside your house, drinking red bull. It just makes you "feel" good, it doesn't actually "make" you good. You could be the asshole who picks up his phone while driving on a major road and fucks up the road Zen for everyone else. Don't be that asshole. You are ugly and dying. Be your own brand, don't rely on a corporate gimmick to make you who you are.

Being your own brand takes work, hard tough work. The kind that no one likes because it is easy to buy an iPhone but difficult to create another machine that will equal the finesse offered by the gadget. IPhone is just an example, you can substitute the brand of your own liking. 

Behavior Modification.

I've never studied psychology in school or college, but it has always interested me as a science for behavior modification of people. There are subtle things we can do to alter our own behavior or that of the people around us. Many times in life we come across idiots in workplace, family, on the roads, in class rooms, in the virtual world. Such people are assholes, and as long as I am not the president and supreme ruler of the world, assholes will continue to exist.

There isn't much you, in your powerless and pithy existence, can do to eradicate the assholes from your life or virtual world. But you can make modification in your own behavior to change how the assholes perceive you from target to a threat.

The key is lying.

If they have made an image of you as a docile and peaceful person who is mayor of some shitty coffee house in his/her shitty town, then you need to work on that and change it. Here are some suggestions which you can use, albeit with your own discretion. Any harm resulting from doing these things is not my problem. I don't even know you, why are you reading this? Where are my pants? Damn.

Anyway.

Talk about hunting dinosaurs on your twitter account.
Instead of checking into CCD, write that you've checked into local slaughter house to get some exercise by murdering cute rabbits.
Strike fear in hearts of your haters by regularly posting your images in various poses of insane accomplishment. You can Photoshop your face on Putin's images of feeding tigers, hunting whales, murdering civilians with ninjas powers etc.
I will kill and eat your children.
You can also try to post images which show you climbing mount Everest or your local garbage dump. Live dangerously.
Phew, my thumbs are tired of typing.
More later, meanwhile, hack your behavior!! 

Pig in my pocket

Pigs are filthy creatures. I read somewhere that a pig's orgasm lasts 30 minutes. Which is pretty insane. So what do I do with this pig in my pocket.

This little piggy keeps me connected. It allows random strangers who own pigs of their own to disturb me at any fucking time of day or night. I'm addicted to the piggy, so are you. We all are. Soon the pigs will take over, they will drill in our heads and eat our thoughts, shitting out manufactured emotions. Everything we say or do will be decided by the pigs. Actual human contact will soon be a taboo and a sin punishable by social boycott.

Just some thought. I'm typing this on my pig. I can't turn it off, it will be angry.

So while nanowrimo is on...

It would be counter productive if I updated the blog when I could be writing to take my November project forward, but these blog posts will be short and I'll post them only from my phone.

This coming month I'll be talking a lot about me, about the things that bother me, about the things I don't give a fuck about and why I don't and if I should. I used to have a rant blog earlier which google shut down cuz it got too ranty, yeah it happens. After that incident I just didn't feel like reviving that space again. So, yeah, this November is going to be rant special on a story a day.

There might be multiple posts in a day depending on my mood, so don't complain. I'd prefer if instead of complaining about my activities, you did something about them like jumping off a cliff or shoving a moving drill in your ear. I can confirm that it will help you get rid of the pain of reading my stupid blog posts.

With hate and malice and all sort of evil things.
Pallav

9. Hearts and Heads

The dark man walked all day. His feel developed blisters and every step became harder for him. He needed to reach the heart and he needed to do it fast. He thought about the gray places, the pathways between this world and the Other. He would not do it. He was too weak. The fatigue of years took over him and his knees buckled under him. He fell to the ground and turned to his side. The sinking sun's rays were bright and he closed his eyes against the glare. 

A small girl in a blue frock watched him fall. The child had painted her face with white powder and she held a pumpkin in her hand. 

Recognition of the day washed over the dark man. This was hallow's eve. The day of demons, when the barriers between this world and that were weakest. Maybe, just maybe he could risk it...

----

Nife was blind. The nails stuck out of his destroyed and bleeding eyes like rotting branches from hard ground. He still didn't scream. He didn't sigh or curse. He just languished in the pain. He tasted it and felt it crawl all over him like spider legs. An involuntary groan escaped his lips. The Nailwidow moved her wrist and the nails dug in deeper, reaching for Nife's brain, to end his agony. 

Then the air near Nife's makeshift grave exploded. A dark man fell out the rip in the air. His clothes were on fire. His eyes were wild and as he digested the scene in front of him. 

"Evil witch!" he yelled and raised his hand at the Nailwidow. The Nailwidow felt fear like she had never felt it before in her life. Her body was lifted off the ground as if in an invisible grip and her magic over Nife broke. She saw the boy roll over from the grave and grab at something in his sleeve. The invisible force around her increased the pressure and her ribs cracked, puncturing her lungs. Then she felt another hand on her neck. Fingers feeling and prodding as if unsure. Nife handcrawled over her neck and his other hand came up with a black knife. The nailed poked out of his eyes and a mad grin was locked on his face. He ran the knife through the Nailwidow's throat and kept cutting till he chopped through her neck and her head rolled off her neck. He fell to the ground, panting with pain and exertion. The gold coins in his pocked picked that moment to roll out and fall to the ground in a heap, skittering here and there.

The dark man looked at the coins with amusement. 

"I know the stink on these coins. You took gold to stop me?" he asked.

Nife said nothing. He could not say anything. He was dead.

The dark man looked at the carnage in the gray place and opened another rip in the air to reach the heart that belonged to him.

------------

A blue-green light filled the small shop and the dark man stepped out of the gray place. It was his luck that he stepped into the remains of a dog. The shop stunk of death and rotting meat. He looked around and found the jar under the table. He picked it up and put it on the table. After so many years. They were together again. 

He opened the jar, put his hand in and took out the heart. It pulsed slightly in his hand. Finally at peace on finding its true owner.

The dark man sat down on the ground in the dog and man carcasses, and started to eat the heart.

-----------------------------FINISH-----------------

Thank you for reading!!

LET'S DO NANOWRIMO NOW!!!

8. Breaking Bones of The Martyr

The Nailwidow had Nife in her thrall. They were in a graveyard where grey clouds dotted the sky. Nife was laid down on a grave and Nailwidow sat on the next grave, watching the boy.

She smelt competition dripping from his bones. The boy was in pain, but not a word or a sigh escaped his mouth. She twisted and bucked his body in her hands, in her domain, the world of nails. 

Nails dug into Nife's body, bleeding him towards a slow and horrible death. There were small pins stuck in his legs and large nails in his hands. But he glared at the Nailwidow with hate in his eyes and a sneer on his face. The pain was killing Nife but it was also making him angry. His hands were pinned to the ground by the nails that the old woman had thrown at him from her bag. He moved one bleeding palm to and fro to move the nail it was stuck with. The thick nail gave way and Nife freed one hand from the ground. He brought his hand to hit face and grabbed the nail with his teeth. With an agonizing pull, he yanked the nail out of his hand. 

The Nailwidow watched him do all this with amusement. He lunged at her with the nail in his hand, but she was just out of his reach. She flinched for a bare second, by the force of his action, but regained her composure.

"Calm down boy. The more you move, the sooner you will die. Don't make it so hard for yourself."

Nife said nothing. 

"I don't like the way you look at me," she said, "I am almost as old as your mother, if you ever knew her, show some respect."

Nife spat at her and the globule of spit landed at her feet. 

"Today's kids..." she sighed.

Her fingers moved, and two large nails rose from her bag as if lifted by invisible strings. And they floated right above Nife's eyes.

The Nailwidow fixed Nife with her stare.

"Beg." she said, as she lowered the nails on Nife's eyes.

Nife said nothing. And the nails kept getting closer.

---

Meanwhile, the darkman, who was now sated on Nife's kill moved out of the alley and into the morning sun. He looked at the watch that was looped around his wrist and saw that it pointed him in the same direction he was heading to. He put the watch in his pocket and started to walk. There was lot of distance to be covered and the heart was calling out to him now.

---

In the small shop, the shop owner's body was starting to rot. A dog smelt the stink of meat and made its way into the shop from an open window. It started to eat the decaying body of the shopkeeper. The glow from the jar scared the dog a little bit, but it's hunger was more scary. It continued to eat. The heart pulsed a little harder now that it could feel the dark man coming for it. 

-----------------------

Part 9 Tomorrow!!

7. The Darkman Cometh

Once the dark man had fed from the watch man's body he stumbled out of the building. Although he was a bit unsteady on his feet, he knew he had to travel. He looked at the watch he had take from the dead man's pocket. Now it glowed a deep red. Pulsing with every beat of a heart that was far far away, waiting for its owner. For him.

The dark man found a horse tied around a post in the city. He climbed on the horse and pointed it in direction shown by the watch. As he spurred the horse and slumped in the saddle, the horse started its slow trot in the direction of the heart in a jar. The dark man's closing eyes saw the watch in his hand pulse brightest once and then darkness took him. 

----

Back in the city, Nife was showing his knives to the girl. Tears were streaming down her face and smearing her face with mascara, just the way Nife liked them. He used each knife to demonstrate it's function and the girl's body bore bloodied remains of Nife's handiwork. 

"Please, no." the girl begged Nife to stop as he showed her his favorite knife, the black bladed one that he kept hidden in a skin sheath on his left arm. He turned the girl around and slammed her face first in the wall of the alley. With one hand, he grabbed her hair and pulled her head back to reveal her neck that gleamed with sweat in the little light that escaped from the bar into the alley. Nife put the black knife to the girl's throat...

"Stop." A voice full of authority and malice stopped Nife in his tracks. He slit the girl's throat anyway and turned around to face the source of the voice. 

The old woman from the bar was standing in the doorway, framed by the light from the bar, her silhouette radiating menace and danger. 

But Nife was not afraid, the old woman just represented another challenge for him. Another form that he could destroy and erase from existence. He spun a new knife in his hand and threw it at the woman's head. His aim was true but the knife stopped an inch from the woman's face. It hovered in the air above her head and she calmly plucked it from the air.

"Is this the best you can do, boy?" her old voice mocked Nife. He saw a flash of steel and he barely dodged his own knife that the woman had thrown at him. She was fast and she was right next to Nife in an instant that it took him to draw a breath. 

"You're in my domain now." She grinned at him and stabbed him with a nail that hung from her neck by a thread. 

If Nife had a tongue in his mouth, he would have screamed, but he just gurgled and made an empty sound in his throat as the world spun away from him and the last thing he saw was the old woman's teeth growing larger in his field of vision.

---

The dark man opened his eyes and he saw that the horse had brought him to a city. There was still some time to sun rise and the lights of a bar barely illuminated a dark alley. He half climbed down, half fell from the horse and crawled towards the dark alley. There was a girl's body lying there, with her jugular vein cut and the blood still warm from her body. The dark man thanked whatever gods that were looking after him and he fed again. 

----------------------------

Two more parts! :) Cheers!

Please share if you enjoyed reading!

6. The Power Of Gold

Nife thumbed the edge of his black knife till the small cut in his thumb started to bleed. He put the thumb in his mouth and sucked on it. He fiddled with the other knives in his pockets, cutting and nicking his hands several times. But the pain went unnoticed. He wanted to kill again. He had taken the shadowy man's gold and the coins were heavy in his pocket. He wanted to get rid of them. 

The lights of the tavern attracted him like a candle attracts a moth. He walked in and took a seat by the bar. The bar was silent and dark. There were slivers of light here and there, hinting motion. Nife's eyes adjusted to the darkness and he made out figures sitting on tables. There was an old woman sitting in a far corner. As far as Nife could tell, she had no business being here, but there she was. He ignored her and threw a few coins on the bar. The jingle of gold stirred few shadows from the semi-darkness in the bar. The barkeep appeared behind the bar and the coins vanished under an expert swish of his hand. 

"And what shall sir have tonight?" 

Nife pointed at the barrel on the other side of the bar. The barkeeper grunted and disappeared back into the darkness. 

Sitting on the table in the bar, Nife felt the peculiar sensation of being observed. He turned around on the stool and saw a pretty girl staring back at him. She was close and he could smell her perfume, heavy and cloying like something alive. Her hand touched his leg and slowly snaked up his trousers. He caught her wrist before she reached the bag of gold. She smiled at him and bit the tip of her tongue between her teeth. 

"Would sir like to go somewhere private?" she whispered in his ear. 

Nife was once again amazed at the change gold made to a person's chances. Earlier he had to drag women out in private places, and now she was taking him there. He smiled back at the girl and she giggled a shrill laugh.

The old woman in the other corner of the bar saw the exchange happening. She held the nail that hung around her neck and pulled at the string. She smelled competition and she did not like it even a single bit. 

As Nife and the girl made their way out of the bar, to a back alley, the Nailwidow got up from her chair and followed them. 

-----

Three more, and then we plunge into nanowrimo :)

5. The Abandoned City

The city was empty of all living things. Tumbleweed rolled through the streets and shutters of the shops flapped in wind like hands waving goodbye. The structures of the city were getting eaten slowly by rot and there was moss growing on some of the structures. The salty sea winds made everything stink of the sea and the silence was disturbed only by occasional slapping of doors or windows by the wind.



The horseman entered the city from the one of the broken roads in the north. His horse neighed and bucked with every step and the horseman tried hard to control the horse. He got to flat part of the road and got down from the horse.



"Now now, where are you hiding big man..." he said to no one at all.



The watch in his pocket pulsed once and he took it out. There was a small light blinking at 11 on his watch. He took a step in that direction and the light blinked harder. He tied his horse to a building's door and started walking in the direction where his watch was pointing him.



He came up to another broken down structure and kicked the door in. The smell inside the building assaulted him like something physical and he was forced to take a step back. He blinked tears out of his eyes and shielded his nose against the stench.



"Always the shitty jobs for me." he grumbled.



There were other doors inside the building and he went through them, descending into the gloom of the building, guided only by his watch's light that grew stronger with every step. There was an equal green glow coming from somewhere further in the darkness and he headed towards it.



The source of the glow was a big box that was placed on an altar. There was a small circular indention in the box which looked the perfect size of his watch.



"Oh well, here goes nothing."



He looped off the chain of the watch from his left arm and placed the watch in the recess.



Nothing happened for a while.



The man tapped his foot, waiting for something to happen.



Then the watch slowly started to turn clockwise. It turned a full revolution and stopped. The lid of the big box shifted slightly and more green light spilled out.  A hand, scarred and old, with broken nails and chewed off fingers, curled out of the green-lit coffin.



"The heart beats."



The voice that came from the coffin was as ancient as the first of the voices, aged by it's time alone in 
the box with nothing but the sound of breathing for company. It was the voice of someone who had almost forgotten how to speak.



The man with the watch wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. The hair on his neck stood up with the static electricity in the air.



The hand on the edge of the box strained itself and as the face rose up from the box, the watch man fainted. The last sliver of his consciousness didn't want him to ever wake up again.



The figure in the box fell out with a wet slap on the floor and broke the neck of the prone watch man on the floor. It stuck its fingers inside the bloodied neck and began to feed. It needed energy, for the way to get back his heart was going to take some time.

---------------

Part 6, when inspiration strikes. Which will be soon. What is Nife up to, i wonder...

4. Beacon

The Nailwidow prepared for the journey. She collected her herbs and charms in a small bag and put it inside a big bag that she slung over her  shoulder. Her staff, made from an ancient tree's branch leaned against a wall of her cave. When she picked the staff, light danced in the runes carved on the wood and it hummed with energy. It stank of death.

Nife was packing more knives in his belt and on his person. There was a knife for carving and a knife for slashing and there was a knife for picking pieces of soul of the people he had killed. His teacher had always told him to carry as many knives as he needed and none that he would not. The last knife that he slipped in a sheath made inside the skin of his own right, had no name. It was a black piece of iron that demanded only one thing. Blood.

The dark man who had hired Nife's services for retrieval of the jar sat in his room under a busy street and threw dice on the floor. He counted all the number and the number of times he had thrown. He calculated everything to align with the stars and predicted futures that could have been. He counted 977 futures in which he would have the possession of the heart in that jar.

The old man's body in the small shop slowly rotted and flies started to lay eggs in his empty eyes. No one walked through the door of the small shop.

The heart in the jar now pulsed with a red glow like a homing beacon.

Calling out to its owner.

After a century of silence.

3. Nife

Nife was slitting the throat of hooker in an alley behind the Mad Monkey Bar when he got a job offer.

"Heard you're a heart specialist." a voice asked from the darkness farther up the alley.

Nife wiped his knife on the hooker's shoulder and nodded.

"We need to recover a heart in a jar."

Nife raised his clean hand and rubbed his index finger on his thumb.

The owner of the voice tossed him a small bag that stank of gold.

"It's in a shop. You better hurry."

And that's how Nife accepted a job that would leave him dead.
...............

2. The Nailwidow

The woman was old as ancient trees. Her fingers were gnarly and her hair hung like shreads of a shroud from her head. A rusty nail hung from a black thread around her neck and she held the nail in her hand as she threw herbs in a fire.

Her cave was small and the darkness was only chased by the small fire that burned in the hearth. There was no warmth in the fire, it only intensified the chill in the air.

"The heart beats."

A crooked smile spread on the nailwidow's face and her hollowed eyes sucked in the light of the fire.

"The heart beats."

Her laughter filled the dark cave.

In the small shop of curiosities in an unnamed city, the heart continued to beat, unaware that the game for its possession had just begun.

1. The Jar

"Antiques and Curiosities"

The words were written on the shop's front in faded ink and a script that was almost dead. Few people visited the shop these days, except some lost tourist who wanted to take away a slice of old world with him.

Inside the shop the old man who owned the shop was lying on the floor and having a heart attack.

He clutched his chest and breathed deep breaths, knowing that any breath could be his last. With a superhuman effort that betrayed his dying state, he pulled up to his counter and pressed a lever under the table. The wood on the floor under the counter slid back, and a jar emerged. It was filled with cloudy yellow liquid and something floated inside the jar.

The old man tried to push the jar to the ground when another spasm from his heart sent him flopping away from the jar. His spine arched like a bow and he thrashed on the floor like a fish out of water and in the frying pan. Smoke started to bubble from his ears and his eyes popped back in their sockets like flaccid balloons. His tongue darted from his mouth like a black snake and his hands clutched at his throat till he couldn't breathe any more.

His body relaxed and the smell of shit filled the air.

Inside the jar, a floating heart started to beat.
.......................
More tomorrow, this is part one.

The Scream

Janis walked on the road to her home. The setting Sun cast new shadows on the warehouse walls as she walked by. She slowed her pace for a few moments to admire the scenery. It was then that she heard the scream

It was an animal sound of anguish and pain. Janis stopped for a beat as the echoes of the scream died away in her mind. It came from somewhere behind her, from one of the warehouses. Maybe someone was in trouble.


But I've got enough troubles of my own.

She looked ahead at the setting sun and kept on walking. She saw the corner of her house by the next turn. There was a girl standing there. Her clothes were torn and blood was pooling at her feet.
Janis walked faster towards the girl but she didn't get nearer. Janis kept walking but her house was at the same distance as it had been a step ago. She broke into a jog, but she was running in the same spot.

The girl with blood at her feet looked straight at Janis, a thought exploded in her head.


Should've helped me.

Then it was Janis' turn to scream.

Do You Like Fear?

When you are walking down a dark road on a lonely night, do you think you are truly alone?

Soon...

A Call From My Sister

It was 8.30 in the morning and I was barely awake when the phone rang. My sister’s number was on the screen.

“Morning.” I croaked into the phone.

“Bhai, I just got a one hour lecture from papa.” She said.
 
“What happened now?”

“He was angry that you don’t wear good clothes.”

Jesus Christ.

“This time when you visited, you were wearing a dirty shirt and jeans with the type of shoes that he hates.”

“I wear such clothes to piss him off.” This is not what I said.
 
“I changed three buses to get home. There was dust and dirt in those buses, the clothes I wore from home were clean, but they got dirty in the journey.” I made the excuse.

“Yeah, but he won’t hear none of it.”

“Alright, I’ll wear good clothes from now on.”

“And he was also complaining about the four previous visits home when you wore shitty clothes.”

“Take me shopping when we meet next. You know I can’t shop clothes for myself. I end up picking all blue or grey t-shirts.”

“Yeah, we must go shopping when we meet next.”

“And tell dad that he is going to sponsor all the shopping. I am not paying a rupee for my clothes from my pay.”

“I’ll tell him,” she said.

We said bye and cut the call. I got up from my bed and looked for clothes to wear to office. First, I ironed a t-shirt, then I picked a shirt that had been hanging behind a door for quite some time and pressed that.

Then I thought about buying a tie. And black shoes.

Coconuts

The coconuts contained memories.

They were only shells now but these shells held magic that would make grown men weep like newborn babies. Lovers torn apart by life and circumstances visited the shrine of coconuts, touched the empty shells, shared the memories of thousands who had touched the shells before them, and they cried.

Everyone cried.

Such is the magic of the wicked poison called love.  

Sins Leak Through

The old man tried his best to lock his memories behind the door. Most of the days, he failed. Then there were days when the memories were tired and lethargic, so they stayed put. On rainy days, his memories jumped up and bit his elbows like hungry puppies.

He leaned hard on the door of his mind to keep the memories in, but he was an old man and he didn't weigh that much.

On his birthday, he cried alone and wished for death. The forever sleep.

He had not slept properly since the day he had killed his family, his dogs and everyone in the neighborhood. Now, their corpses heaved and pushed from the ground and no matter how much he cried or tried, his sins leaked through.

In This Fog

The fog descended on the city like something alive and writhing. In less than a minute, it entered the houses and all the other buildings no matter how tight you had closed the windows and doors. The fog found a way in through the walls.

Then people started to disappear. In the blinding white, people just went away like bad dreams on a Sunday morning. No one knows where they went. But they never came back. Only a few of us remain. Blinded by the fog. Someday I'm not sure if others are there. I think I hear them. Yes, I do. I can't be the only one left alive? Right? You're here too. With me. In this fog.

They Lie To Us

Mom says humans are just a figment of our imagination. There is nothing called human and these structures we live in grew out of the ground.
Dad says animals never existed on Blue One (because 85% of the planet is water, duh) . The pictures we sometimes see are just products of over active imagination of our ancestors.
But my sister and I know that our parents lie to us. Humans and animals did exist. Once upon a time. We've seen the dreams. The same dreams, where everything burns from the fire that rises from the ground. Humans did exist, now they don't. We just float in these structures left by them. Looking for more proof that humans existed.

We found a charred human heart today.

The Dentist

While people talk to me, I religiously notice the imperfections in their teeth. 

I should've been a dentist.

And I guess I am. 

In a way. 

The imperfect teeth I've collected whisper this to me.

--------

fin.

The Growth

The keyboard balanced perfectly on his beer belly. He also had a can of diet soda and a small pack of French fries placed there. His was a big tummy.

He smoothed back his greasy hair with a practiced sweep of left palm and set his fingers on the home keys of his keyboard. A discarded packet of chips moved by itself on the floor, probably a rat, but that didn't disturb our hero's concentration.

He scrunched up his face into a most hideous expression that he fancied as his war face, but which made him look like a constipated baboon.

"It's time to rock n roll!!" he yelled at the computer which whirred it's fan in a pathetic response.

And with that a humble coder began another nightlong marathon of gaming, coding and growing himself to death.

The Stench

The family was huddled together in the back of the small truck. Father, mother and three children with large eyes that stared way beyond you. Into you.

Sometimes people stared back at them. Most of the people could never look back at them. The stench of poverty made them shiver deep inside.

......

Fin.

Magic Dave

The less said about Magic Dave the better. There was nothing magical about Dave, but the word had stuck to him after an unfortunate incident with a tiger, an oil tanker and a dinosaur skeleton. Dave was a big part of the incident. No one talked about it in Dave's company.
It was the proverbial elephant in the room. Magic Dave's life reached a turnaround when he met a real life magician at a fair. He became the magician's apprentice. As they traveled from town to town, performing magic and earning pennies, Dave felt he had a smidgen of talent and he went in search of a princess because that was the kind of thing that magicians were supposed to do. Or maybe it was princes. Dave was not known for clear thinking.
When he reached the tower that held the princess captive. He tried to fight the dragon with the magic that he learned at the fair.
The dragon roasted Magic Dave to cinders.
This is what happens when you're stupid.
..........
Fin. If you liked reading it, please use the buttons below to retweet or share on facebook. Thanks! Another story tomorrow.

Distraction

The chopper hovered like a dragonfly outside the 44th floor apartment window of Marcus Towers. It's gun turrets were pointed like ugly barbs at the window. The pilot sighted the men inside the apartment on his infrared sensor but he couldn't get a clear shot. They were hiding behind the large granite kitchen table.

"Do you think we'll get out of this alive?" one man asked the other over the defeaning sound of the chopper.

"I think we'll die here, like the dogs that we are."

"At least dogs have better lives." the first man spat on the carpeted floor.

"There is a way out," the second man said.

"What?"

"We can take that cat hostage."

Right on cue, an orange colored tabby walked by the two men, ignoring them, the chopper and the tension filled in the room.

The first men picked up the cat by the scruff of its neck.

"They will never let us kill a cat. Everyone loves cats."

The second man gave him a thumb up.

The cat meowed it's displeasure.

In the chopper the pilot patted the scratches left on his face by his cat. He hated the fucking animal.
.........

Fin.

Smoke Screen

The audience gasped as the dancers circuited each other on the stage. Their elaborate costumes trailed their path, always close but never touching. The lights followed their paths around the stage like aroused lovers.

Then the girl was suddenly whisked up in the air by invisible strings. The boy danced around the stage, alone and confused. A lilting tune from a sad violin filled the atmosphere. Smoke from above descended in a thick cloud over the stage.

A hand thudded at the boy's feet. It's fingernails were painted a deep red. A leg and arm followed. And, finally a head fell on the stage with the splat of a rotten vegetable.

As the audience scattered in a fit of screams and hysteria, the boy slowly whispered to himself, "This was not in the script..."
.................
Finish.

More tomorrow.

The shape of things to come...

Hey all, as most of you know, I bought a new phone. Sony Ericsson Xperia mini pro. It has a keyboard and I just downloaded the blogger app on it.

Expect more of me here.

More stories. Yes. October is going to be a big month. I'm planning something supermassive. I tried it in short format earlier but this time, I'm taking it all the way.

What is it, you ask, well October is not far away...

The Biggest Knife :: Short Story

She always had a fascination with knives. There were all kinds of knives in her school bag. There were thin bladed scalpels, curved bladed carving knives, a knife with a hooked  blade, one with a serrated edge and a big hunter knife that was carefully sewn into the should strap of the bag. She didn't let anyone touch her bag, but it was an open secret in the class that the knife girl was insane and everyone sat away from her in the lectures.

She was 12. There was no reason for her come to school but still she did. There were things that hunted anything human in her world. So, she had to be prepared.

There was no guarantee when she left for school if she would reach her class in one piece. While the other kids had guns and laser blasters for their protection but her parents were poor. They barely afforded knives. She bought these by selling drugs to the children in her class. Uppers and downers. Skeezers and wooshers. They wanted it, she had it.

A classmate once asked her why she didn't carry a gun like other kids. She said that guns run out of charge, knives don't run out of sharp.

Once  on her way back from school, she once killed a small bear with her hunting knife. She was high on the drugs she had cooked herself in morning. The bear didn't stand a chance. She dragged the carcass home and made bear soup for her family at dinner.

Still, she went to school everyday. She learned. She sat in the library and read the few books they had. She developed her creativity. 

She knew that knowledge was the biggest knife in her bag.

---

Yeah, let's try this short story thing again.

It's Easy to Be An Asshole Online

It's very easy to be an asshole in the virtual world. I know. I've been that asshole many times. I've "fought" with people, I've argued with complete intention of embarrassing and showing down the other person, I've picked unnecessary squabbles with people, I've irritated and instigated, I've poked fun at people who were in trouble or in pain. I've done all that. And I am OK with that. The people on the other end also seem ok with that because they never retaliated hard enough. Which is a shitty reason.

Let me give you an example of asshole behavior. Suppose, I see you walking towards me in a mall and instead of stepping aside and letting you pass, I push you back. You can now either turn back or try to walk by me again. But I will push you again. I will push you till you turn back. If you want to pass, then you have to push me back. Or, you can punch me in the face till I give up and let you pass. 

Practicing peace in the face of violence will only get you beaten. Either hit back, or go home.

Come back to the online world now. 

What we face/practice in the online world is a kind of emotional violence. This is the ugly side of online interaction. The jokes we make on others are on the expense of their pain. Which is the point of every joke, but the lines are blurred in the online world. Now, why would causing hurt/discomfort to others make you feel good? Because it emphasizes the alpha dog instinct in you. It makes you feel powerful. Gives you a fake and fleeting sense of confidence that you're some how more clever and better than the other person.

Let's take another example. The Grammar nazis. If someone's grammar error bothers you so much that you will compose a tweet and then append the hashtag and go through the trouble of posting it, why the fuck don't you DM that person to tell them the correct grammar usage? Hell, write an essay about grammar usage and email it to them if it bothers you so much. But why embarrass another person in public? Because it's easy? Because it's fun? Because you can pass it as a fucking joke? "Haha, I was just kidding man, take it easy. No offence intended!" No, it's because you're sitting comfortably in front of your computer or with your phone in your hand and the person on the other end won't smash your face in with a brick. That's fucking why.

Because, oh, it's so easy to be an asshole online, while being nice to people will make your shit stop in your gut and probably kill you.

You want to make a joke, make a joke. It's fun the first time, the second or the third time, but when you're after people's lives like a monkey fed on cocaine with a mobile phone in its hand, then there will be feedback. There will be retaliation. You will find someone waiting for you around a corner with a brick in his hand and hate in his heart. What you find funny will definitely not be funny to other people, specially when they are at the receiving end of the joke, for about a 100th time.

To sum up, try not being an asshole for a change. 

--------------

This post has a contradiction. Maybe two. Can you spot them?

;)

Writhing In The Bullshit Called Future - Essay

Life was simple when I was a kid. There were limited number of friends, those I knew in school or in my street. Maybe some kids I knew because they were children of friends of my parents. It was simple. There were landline phones, if you didn't want to talk to anyone you could just ask your folks or siblings to tell them that you were not home. We wrote letters. On paper, with pen. I had a collection of ink pens. Some pen friends too. Ink pens were an adventure. When I was in 5th grade, getting an ink pen was a feeling that I had finally arrived.

Then, in about year 2000, I found the internet. I made my first blog in 2003. What was I doing online in these 3 years, well, there was yahoo chat, some MIRC, and emails, and god knows what else, yahoo groups? Memory is hazy. It was then I got to know that, yeah, there are other people in the world who think like me, listen to same music, read same authors, have similar irritants, and are interested in talking to me about all the stuff that I couldn't talk to anyone about. 

Those were the good times. Because the internet in its infancy was simpler, uglier, and slightly more manageable. This was partially because the only way to access the net was from a cybercafe at 60 rupees an hour. The speeds were slow and you had to wait for everything. It was a lesson in patience too. Good times, as I said.

Now, I have internet in my phone and its virtually free.

I used to dream of this shit. To have the fucking internet in my pocket. But now that it's here, the dream comes with its own set of nightmares. Suddenly, we are overloaded with information. Being connected means that there is a constant onslaught of information that may or may not add to the quality of our life. We have to pick and choose the information that we like from the quagmire of useless bullshit that is thrown our way. 

The alternative is to disconnect from the net completely, but then you will definitely miss out on the stuff you want to see. It's a strange situation. We're facing an internet overload or information overload. There is no escape because we're all deep in it till our noses. And most of us don't even realize it because it is US, who are adding to the bullshit. We're writhing in it.

And that's all there is. 

Interrogation of A Sunkey Monkey!

Lookie! 

I found the owner/editor of the Indian humor website sinking in the deep pits of twitter and before I rescued him from imminent doom and death by crocodiles, i decided to interrogate him about his involvement with a humor website. He answered these questions which are now displayed here for your viewing pleasure. If you didn't realize by now what Sunkey is, well, it is a satire website run by elves, unicorns and few determined individuals who live on maggi meals and listen to Coldplay on repeat. Go to Sunkey and read the stuff they are writing. Send them some hate mail so that they feel loved. They didn't pay me anything for this interview, but they have offered beer and pizza when I reach their underground cave with a Molotov cocktail. Here are the questions!

Q1. Satire is a dicey area. How do you decide which news to dismantle and which to leave? 

 Generally we choose news which influences most of our target audience which is Indian people who reads and understands satire.Than we work on it and if it meets our requirement we post it.
 
Q2. How tough is to maintain a website in online sphere where attention of audience is a valuable commodity? What are the difficulties you've faced that will discourage newcomers in the market and effectively curb any competition.

Maintaining a website or blog comes down to one important factor that is Content. If you are writing original content while keeping in mind what your audience wants, then things go easy. We didn't face any difficulties because we worked by planning things then testing, and if they go well then by executing it. Making decent money and keeping blog safe are major issues we are facing these days.
 
Q3. Hate mail is the effective sign that you've finally arrived. Have you received any yet? Or have any social workers landed up at your offices with effigies and torches?

Nothing yet. Still waiting for MNS to write about us in Saamna. 
 
Q4. Real world gets weirder day by day. Most of the news reads like fiction, I read about this woman who died after injecting hot beef in her face. Do you think lines are blurring between comedy and reality?

I don't think so. News like these comes once in a while. Though I know there are weird people and weird things going around but they still are very limited.  
 
Q5. What is your aim by writing satire pieces? Making money, passing time or bringing a change in society?
 
Its making money by making people laugh as well as making them realise what's really going on around 
 
Q6. What is your favourite satire piece from your website?

My  favourite article from Sunkey these days is this one http://sunkey.co.in/2011/09/parliament-adds-third-house-lok-sabha-rajya-sabha-and-tihar-jail/
 
Q7. Well, since this is an interview thing. Where is the website going to be in 5 years from now?

One decently ranked Indian Humour Blog with good number of audience. Its hard to predict long term when it comes to online business because of changes happening now and then.

----FIN--

Got website? Doing something amazing? Need to reach out to more people? Hit me up at my email address given on the blog and I'll interrogate you on coming Saturday!

How Your Brain Plays Tricks On You -- Essay

Your brain can be your best friend and your worst enemy. And in both cases, the benefit is yours, if you know when the brain in playing which role. This is difficult to understand, but we'll try. You and me. Because as much as I am trying to explain, I am also trying to understand the mechanization of the our brain.

There is a lizard brain and there is a monkey brain. It is the same organ, but it differs its roles in accordance to the situation. For example, right now, as I am writing this, my brain told me to open another tab and see which movies are playing in the theaters tonight so that I can go and catch a show tonight. But I am still writing. Here, the two roles of my brain have crossed each other and I have taken the painful (if you call writing this painful, maybe difficult) path over the path of instant gratification.

Instant gratification and delayed gratification are interesting concepts that we have to understand. If, say, you eat an ice cream right now and you stop feeling the "need" to eat an ice cream, then that's instant gratification. But if you keep telling yourself that you'll eat ice cream only on a Sunday, that's delayed gratification. The more you delay it, the more fun it is. But at times, you need instant gratification too. The catch is knowing when to get what.

The best way to save yourself from the string pulling by your brain is to take a third person perspective on yourself. If you're studying and you feel like watching TV. Observe yourself "feeling" that desire to watch TV. 

Give it a 5 minute break. 

Study for five more minutes. Which is just like staying in bed for five more minutes, the desire to wake up vanishes in those 5 minutes. The same way goes with most of the desires of the brain. Another example, I want to buy a phone, but I know that the one I have right now is working perfectly for me and there is no actual need to buy a new phone, but i still WANT it. So, i put the phone on a 30 day time frame. If I still want it after 30 days I will buy it. There might be new phones in that 30 day period and the phone's price might fall. I might find some better use for my money and I might even run out of money by the end of the 30 day period.

You have to judge what's important and how you're going to spend your time/money/attention doing and getting what's important. Yup. That's about it.

Edit : for the funnies, check this meme about brain --> HERE
Thanks to @peanutbut for suggesting the link :)

Wrap up

A day late. But fuck it. I wrote for 31 days straight. I needed some time out from writing. But here I am again. So hah!

Anyway, about the August Arc, as I called it in my head. And maybe in your head too. While you kept getting the story every day before 0000 hrs, without fail. There was a lot going on my side. Always remember one thing, what goes on behind the scenes is always much more interesting than what you see on the screen. So, what really happened while writing this story was that I wrote some first 8-10 chapters in one go. After that, i had some traveling to do and I fell behind on the writing part, cuz hey, no laptop, no writing! Or no typing it and sending it to the blog at least. I still managed to post through drafts kept in my phone, but that fucked up the formatting and I take the formatting very seriously, that's half the fun of the story. 

So, traveling put me behind schedule. Then the people in office gave me some really tight deadlines and I had to fight them off. Then, there were other things, some dragons, sharks, hordes of female fans camping outside my house. You know, adventurous life of bloggers. Stuff. There were power cuts and races to see whether I'll be able to post before the battery of laptop runs out or before I drown in my own sweat. Dangerous and exciting! It's like the life of James Bond. In reverse.

Anyway, the story is like a living wild animal. It's like riding a tiger. If you don't give it direction, it will go in whatever direction you point it every 24 hours, but if you don't point it in a direction, it will probably eat you. It's painful, really. I'd not suggest anyone to take up writing seriously. You can write 1500 words of what you think is awesome prose and anyone with a basic knowledge of  language can point out a spelling mistake. It's like a nail in the foot. Painful and unnecessary. 

Zed's story is done for now. I'll write about him again. For sure. I don't know when. About the end, well, no story ever really ends. Because if it ends, then what's the fun of reading the story? 

Next, a secret plan. I am working on it with some people. Hopefully, I'll share it here. Fingers crossed. 

On the blog, I'll post semi-regularly. October will be a month of regular short stories. In November, I have to take part in NaNoWriMo. I did that last year, finished it. This year, I'll try to do better. 

Yeah, so that's about it. If there are any questions, hate mail, anything else, find out how to contact me. Email, twitter, the chatbox in sidebar. Connect.

And as always, thanks for reading. I do this for you, dear reader, no one else.

Till next time, then.

Ta. I have to handle this horde of babes.

Pallav

Chapter 31 -- Not Gonna Lose Again

The bald man was big. He seemed to fill the cavern, first with his size and then with this personality. And his voice, his voice boomed and echoed from the corners of the cave and it made Zed's heart thump in his ribcage with fear and reverence. Still, he was not going to do what the man said till he got answers to his questions.

"You want your sword?" Zed yelled.

The bald man just smiled and nodded at Zed.

"Then come and take it."

One of the suits frowned in anger at Zed's words to their boss. "You filthy insect!"

He disappeared from his position on the side of his brothers and appeared right behind Zed. The sword twisted Zed's arm behind him and saved his head from getting stabbed by the knife in the suit's hand.

"Shit," Zed screamed in pain as the tendons in his arms stretched and bones popped. He turned to face his attacker when the second suit appeared behind him and punched him in the neck. By the time the third suit appeared on Zed's side of the river, Zed was on the ground and trying to save himself from the kicks and punches thrown by the three suits.

"Enough." The big man said from the other side of river.

From his foetal position on the groud, Zed saw the man walk towards the river. The water parted where his sandaled foot touched the surface. The illusion made it seem like the man was walking on water. He stepped on dry land and walked to where Zed was getting beaten by the suits. He towered over Zed and then picked him up like a mother dog would pick her errant puppy. He sat Zed on a rock and dusted him down. He put his hands on Zed's shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

"Now, boy," he said, "listen carefully because I will say this only once."

Zed stared angrily at him.

"You cannot stop this competition from taking place again. You will not even exist when it happens next time. You started from a river and you ended back up at the river and you managed to stay alive till then. That's enough. This is over. And as far as I remember, you were picked from the middle of a race. You must continue that."

The prospect of finishing that race made Zed forget all the pain. His thoughts focused. There was a chance of race. A real race. Better than this. Still, he had questions of his own.

"Why me?" he asked.

The man smiled. It was the smile of an executioner whose prisoner has asked a very stupid question.

"We were testing you for the next big thing."

"What about this?" Zed raised his left hand with the chip embedded in his flesh.

"Ah, Marilyn. I'll have to send her home." He plucked the chip from Zed's hand like pulling a coin out of thin air.

"Tell her I said thanks, even if she was a bitch 90% of the times."

"You can tell her this yourself when you see her next."

And before Zed could ask any more questions, the big man punched him in the face and darkness enveloped Zed like a lover's embrace.

When he woke up, a girl was slapping his face and screaming his name.

Zed opened his eyes and saw Wolf's car speed away from him.

"Fuck this shit," he slammed his foot on the accelerator, "not gonna lose again."

-----------------

Finish

-----------------

More questions than answers. Which is good. We've got enough fodder for next time. This, as they say, is just the beginning.

Tomorrow, the wrap up post.

Thanks for reading :)

Chapter 30 -- Dreamspace

In his dream, Zed was driving again. His bleeding hands held the steering wheel and the road in front of him stretched to infinity. Still, he drove on. The car sped on till the speedometer sped in circles. He saw Krazkaf racing on his tank ahead of him and overtook him. Krazkaf waved at him and Zed passed him. Half of his face was hanging from his neck and his bones were showing through his skin, where teethmarks were visible in the flesh.

Next, he saw the little girl called the Questioner. She was sitting in a bath tub by the side of the road. She gave Zed a finger and got a grin as a reply. He saw Baxron next who was riding lopsided on his beast. His body twisted at strange angles and both of his legs were pointing in the wrong direction.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Zed asked.

"Fell from the cliff after cutting that web."

"Good going, loser!"

Zed saw the road ahead and slammed the brakes. Olag was standing in the middle of the road. Zed was out of the car in a flash and he stalked towards the little man who didn't even seem interesting in moving from the path of a sure shot beating.

He reached Olag and kicked him in the face. Zed's boot connected with Olag's face and teeth sprayed out of his mouth. Then he took some time in kicking the him in all the places which were supposed to hurt but Olag didn't even cry out once.

When Zed had exhausted himself, Olag got up and spat some more teeth from his mouth.

"You will never win the race." he said and wiped back sweaty hair with his hand.

"Why did you stab me? You asshole."

Olag shrugged, "I'm in the race to win and I'll stab anyone to win it."

"I thought we were friends."

"Then let this be a lesson for you. Friends will stab you the first chance they get."

Zed looked at Olag's bleeding face.

"This is some kind of dreamspace, isn't it? I am still there in the cave, bleeding to death, or getting poisoned by your black knife."

Olag smiled at him. "One of the two. But the end result will be the same."

"Well," Zed said, "I've got a lesson for you too, Olag. Never stop me in a race."

"I've stopped you already. Your thoughts will be stuck in this dream, while you will die in the labyrinth."

"If this is a dream, then how sure are you of reality?"

A confused expression flitted through Olag's face. Zed focused and thought about his sword which appeared in his hand instantly. Olag's confused expression changed to fear.

"No!"

The words were barely out of his lips when his head hit the road. Zed flicked the blood of his sword.

He needed a shock to get out of his dream. Without thinking for another second, he chopped off his left hand. As blood spritzed out like a water from a broken hose, his eyes opened in darkness. The copper taste of blood was in his mouth and his left hand hung uselessly from his arm. Olag's body was lying on the floor near him, with his eyes rolled back in his skull and his lips formed in shape of a silent 'no".

Zed spat back at him and walked into the darkness. Guided by the sword's blue light, he came up to an underground cave where a river flowed silently. There were three men standing on the other side. All of them wore identical black suits and their white hair were tied back in ponytails.

"Congrats Mr. Zed, on finding the river." one of them said.

"If you'd be so kind to come this side." the second said.

"So we can finish this race and send you back." the third added.

"Can you take them?" Zed asked the sword.

"Them? No issues. But I'd be more worried about their boss."

A figure towered behind the three suits. A bald man with ashen skin, who stood in the darkness, shadows hiding his face.

"Bring me my sword, boy," his voice boomed in the underground cave.

---

Heh :) Now who the hell is this?!

Chapter 29 -- Darkness Within

Zed felt the walls rush past him as he fell. He tumbled up and down. His hands clawed the surfaces for any purchase, but the sword stuck to his hand limited his movement. He grabbed the sword with both hands and jammed it into a wall as it rushed past him. The shock of the sudden stop almost dislocated his shoulders, but the sword held and Zed's fall stopped.

"Fuck, who the fuck pushed me from up there?!"

He waited for his breath to come back to normal and hung there in empty darkness.

"Put your foot down Zed," the sword said.

He stretched one foot as far as it would go, it touched solid ground. He put his other foot down and pulled the sword out of the wall.

"It's so dark."

In the silence of the pit, his sword started to hum with a blue light. He raised the sword above his head and the walls around him were illuminated in the same blue eerie glow as above in the labyrinth. He pointed the sword to his feet and saw a bloody smear on the floor. It looked like something wet, heavy and very dead was dragged from here.

"Krazkaf," he said to himself, "seems he didn't make it in one piece."

He started to walk in the direction of the blood stains. A noise behind him startled him and his foot slipped in the blood. He put one hand on the wall to balance himself and the small barbs in the wall dug into his hand.

"Yeaaowch!" he pulled his hand back and looked at it in the blue light from the sword. Little droplets of blood were dripping from his hand and falling on the floor.

"Blood in the labyrinth...shit."

He started to walk forward, taking care to stay away from the walls and place his foot carefully. Somewhere along the way, the smear of the blood faded and Zed realized that he was lost. He tried to back trace the way he had come from, but it was a dead end.

"Lord Zed," a voice called him from the darkness.

Zed recognized the voice.

"Olag? Is that you?"

"Follow my voice, hurry up, before those things catch you."

"What things?!" Zed said, as he walked towards Olag's voice.

"The things that live in the labyrinth. They ate Krazkaf."

"Ate?"

Zed walked faster towards Olag's voice. He saw the little man cowering in a hollow in the wall.

"Lord Zed," Olag said, "I am sorry."

"What are you saying man?"

And Olag buried a small knife with a black blade in Zed's foot.

Zed looked at the knife. Then he looked at Olag. Then he was looking at the darkness of the ceiling as Olag's face appeared in his fading eyesight and the little man spat at Zed.

"Fuckery," Zed burbled, "this is all fuckery."

And the world faded away from Zed.

----

Two more days! :)

Chapter 28 – The Labyrinth

The black hole of the labyrinth gaped in front of Zed and Krazkaf. The wounds on his hands had sealed themselves and now the blood was not flowing from the stumps.

"I really thought you were going to bleed to death back there," Zed said.

"You care? You meant to kill me, didn't you?" Krazkaf replied.

"I just wanted you to go away. But the sword and this place are doing things to me. I am just a driver. Never handled a sword before in my life."

Krazkaf smirked, "This is what the race is about Zed boy. It changes people."

"Yeah, and the sooner I see the end of this, the better. Let's see what this labyrinth is all about."

Krazkaf was the first to step inside the hole and Zed followed him. The walls inside the structure burned with a bluish flame that gave everything an eerie glow. There was no roof above them, but only darkness. They walked in a circular path that narrowed till Krazkaf's wide shoulders brushed the walls. They had to turn side ways to proceed. Zed saw that Krazkaf's hands were healing rapidly and the stumps had the beginning of fingernails on them. He didn't want to cut his hands again, but if need be, he was averse to doing it. The sword in his hand vibrated with a hum at Zed's thoughts.

Krazkaf took another step and then he disappeared. Zed waved his hand in the air in front of him, but there was nothing. Then someone pushed him and he fell into the darkness. 

Chapter 27 -- A Handy Affair

Zed took the sword and stepped out of his car. He gave the sword an experimental swing and it felt
easy and light. The sword balanced itself in his hand like it had belonged there. "I don't really feel very keen to do this Krazkaf." "Then you can give up and die easily," his opponent growled. "Not at all keen on that." Krazkaf came at Zed with his burning sword swinging in a wide
arc. Zed blocked. The sword in his hands rang as the weapons clashed. Such was the force of the strike that Zed's footing slipped and he slid back a few feet. "Hold your ground, boy," the sword said in his head, "I can only help you till a point, you have to do some work too." "Yeah? Then let's give the burning boy a taste of steel." Zed struck at Krazkaf with an offhanded strike and the burning sword easily blocked the strike. Zed stepped inside the block and before Krazkaf could realize what was happening Zed had kicked the big man's legs from under him. Krazkaf's face burned with surprise as he fell to the ground and Zed rained a flurry of wild swings on him. At first Krazkaf blocked them as well as he could, but there was no heart in his blocks. With a mighty strike, Zed smacked the sword out of Krazkaf's hand. He stood on top of the fallen man, breathing hard, he asked, "Death or dishonor?" "Death." Krazkaf spat at him. "So be it, old boy." Zed raised his sword and brought it down hard on Krazkaf's left
hand. The demon screamed in pain, but Zed was not done. He chopped off the right hand too.
Krazkaf writhed in pain and anger as blood made a pool around his feet. Zed picked him by the scruff of his neck and led him towards the labyrinth.

Chapter 26 -- Asking The Right Question

"Cool kid," the sword said in Zed's head.

"The kid is a pain in the ass. Want to ask her a question?"

"Sure. I have questions. Ask her where is the finish line to this damned race."

Zed grinned.

He lowered the window on his side and leaned out of the car.

"Hey, kid, where is the finish line?"

The Questioner smiled back at Zed. The smile was way too wide for a kid and the teeth were way too big for a girl her age.

"In the labyrinth, where you will lose blood, the door to the other side, is buried in the mud."

Zed narrowed his eyes. "I was hoping for clear directions."

"You have a navigator."

"Point."

"Now get out of your car," the kid said, "I have to eat you."

"I don't think you can eat me," he grabbed the sword, "this will get stuck in your throat."

The Questioner opened her mouth wide. It was like a cavernous hole and in the darkness things squiggled and wiggled over themselves. The smell from the mouth drove Zed back into the car.

"Woah! See a dentist, will you?"

"Throw me," the sword said, and Zed was more than happy to oblige.  He threw the sword at The Questioner like a spear. The sword turned itself midway and spun in a lazy circle. The Questioner opened her mouth and swallowed the sword whole. Then she burped. Her face contorted in pain and a thin line of blood tore out of her frock. The sword burst through the girl's stomach. Then it swung up in the air and sliced the girl's head clean off her neck. Zed caught the sword before it fell in the mud. The Questioner's dead body fell from the hood of the car and water rushed in from all sides into the car. Zed had bare moments to shut the windows and floor the accelerator.  

"Marilyn!" Zed screamed, "we need to find a labyrinth."

"What a coincidence! There is one just around the corner. Turn right."

Zed drove out of the river bank and turned the wheel right.

"And," Marilyn's voice seethed with sarcasm, "your  friend has reached here before us."

Krazkaf stood before a hole in the wall. He was on fire. He held a sword in his hand. The sword burned with a bright blue flame. He saw Zed and raised his sword.

"You carry the doom sword," Krazkaf growled,"fight me and claim your destiny."

"What the fuck..." Zed swore.

----------

If you want the right answer, you have to ask the right question.

Chapter 25 – From The Frying Pan

The car lurched as another of the threads came free from its hold on the mountain. There were only three threads holding the weight of Zed's car and Baxron sliced faster through the third thread.

Inside the car, Zed hand rippled like it was trapped in a haze of heat waves riding from a road in a desert. He took a breath and grabbed the handle of the sword.

A :) appeared on the LED panel in the side of the sword and a new voice cleared its throat in Zed's head.

“Owwww,” he screamed, “turn down the fucking volume.”

“Sorry,” Quicksilver's voice said without a trace of remorse.

“What the fuck is this? Is my head a free boarding house for voices?

“You're out of your league Zed and you need help. So take what you're getting and count your blessings.”

“Yeah, yeah, talk later, first get me out of this. That asshole is chopping the threads that are holding us and if we drop its goodbye to everything.”

“Start the car. Let's scoot before he has a chance to drop us.”

Zed put the sword back in the passenger seat and then he wrapped the seatbelt around it. He clicked in his own seatbelt too. Something he had not done for quite some time. He keyed the ignition and put the car in gear. His hand was red from holding the sword. It looked like a tattoo on his palm

Baxron looked at Zed, his face red with the effort of slicing the last thread. He waved a bye-bye to Zed and got a middle finger in return. The last thread snapped under the weight of the car and Zed fell from his view.

First Zed felt weightlessness and he loosened his jaw to wait for the bump. Many racers had bit off their own tongues or jarred their teeth after a bump. He was a pro.

The car, still stuck to the web, hit the side of the mountain and stayed there. Zed slowly moved the car forward so that it swung like a pendulum from the side of the mountain. At the height of the arc, he switched to reverse gear and the car moved back the way it had came. The web went taut, stretching to the point of breaking. Zed knew he didn't have much time, at the top of the backward arc, he switch gears and the car sped forward like an arrow from a bow. There was a pool of water at the bottom of the mountain and the car splashed into the pool, going under the surface. But no water entered the car. It just spread apart, leaving a cube of void the size of the car.

“Oh fucking no,” Zed said.

The girl in a frock with a teddy in her hand was sitting on the hood of his car. “Ask me a question or I'll eat you.” She opened her mouth wide and every sharp teeth illustrated her point.

Chapter 24 – Like Spider to the Flies

Baxron stood by the side of the cliff and watched Zed's car sail through the open air. He patted the neck of his mount, the creature gnashed its teeth at Zed's scent.

"We've got him. He'll be dead before he hits the ground." Baxron got off the creature and climbed down the mountain side.

"Wake up. Wake up. Wake up." the voice was in Zed's head and it was hurting with every movement. He tried to open his eyes and only one eye opened. He panicked for a second, then touched his eye. It was crusted over with dry blood. His head hurt like he had slammed it into the steering wheel.

"Fuck me for listening to a woman for directions." he swore. Once he managed to pry his eye open, he saw that the ground was very far away from where he was. He looked out of the window and saw the car hanging in a web stretched taut between the walls of the mountain. The web swung slowly as Zed moved.

"Marilyn? A little help."

"Ask that fellow over there, maybe he can help."

Zed looked at the fellow. It was Baxron, nimbly climbing down from the mountain.

"Master Zed. I built a nice little web for you."

"Kinda ruined the purpose of killing me, didn't it?"

"I only seek to delay the inevitable." Baxron smirked at Zed.

"Thanks for the spear. It was a blast using it." Zed smirked back.

"Mock me when you find a way to get out of this jam you've gotten yourself into," Baxron said, "by the way, how much do you trust that chip in your hand?"

"I trust this chip more than I trust you Bax. Say your part and leave me to my misery."

"Die before Krazkaf gets you. You are carrying the sword he hates. This race is over for you and your planet."

"Is that all?" Zed asked.

Baxron shrugged. Then he took out a knife from his belt and started slicing the web's end that were stuck to his side of the mountain.

"Fuck you, Bax!" Zed swore as Baxron sliced through another thread.

"Zed, we'll crash if we don't have enough speed while going down." Marilyn's voice was clear as daylight in Zed's head.

"Yeah, I know. I am working on it."

A beep attracted his attention. The sword, Quicksilver was beeping. The LED panel flashed, "PICK ME".

Zed extended his hand towards the sword. A thread of static electricity passed from his hand to the handle of the sword. On the edge of the mountain, Baxron saw Zed about to pick the sword.

"Fuck." He started to slice the threads faster.