Monday, June 04, 2012

7.2 - you am i

se7en is a collection of seven random stories, narrations or conversations as you may like to call them (or whatever suits you or the entire world). They are conversations between the known and the unknown, the real and the surreal, the living and the dead.

Each of them may or may not be followed or preceded by a song of their own. All opinions, expressed if any, are fictitious and are not really meant to harm anyone’s psychology. That is beyond the scope of the rubbish here..


There is no discounting. There is no return. No, i wouldn't want it that way.

They are everywhere i go. They are always in my head. They feel like a burden i can never rid myself of.

They are the we of me..



2. you am i


he stared at the leak in his ceiling. each falling drop counted his passing moments, hours, days and even years. he had acquired the ability of listening to sounds that were inaudible otherwise. the sound of each drop - from point of release in the ceiling to the friction of the falling drop with the air and then the impact of hitting on the ground - were familiar to him like the pain that crawled beneath his skin. he had been observing this phenomenon for the last 15 years in this cell. the little light that seeped in through the cracks in the heavily nailed wooden planks on the window was the only light he saw and received. that made his day and that marked the end of the same for him.

for him there was no more remorse, no more pain. the hurt inside had faded and pain was far from him. he had removed, detached and separated himself from all such weak emotions. they were nothing but random thoughts. he had tried killing himself over and over again but to no benefit. there was no escape from this predicament. he would curse himself and his luck endlessly, hammer the floor with his hands and punch the walls till his fists bled.

his body carried marks inflicted by him. what once was the proof of abuse now was the graffiti of his vanity.

it was his secret reminder. it was his guilty motivation. it was him.

his memory was frayed to the ends of insanity and temperament decayed to volatility. his highs were high and his lows were low - the pits of darkness. he remembered his lovers’ faces. they made up for the lack of a delusional orgasm. he waited and waited, but they never disappeared, and neither did they change; they were always the same just that the colors faded. he hadn't seen a face in years. he had only seen hands of the one who slid his feeding plate under the cage’s door. he felt like a trapped rat for years, and then like a hopeless fool.

he cried, he smiled, and he died..everyday.

he stared at the falling drops he had collected in his eating plate and tin cup. he stared so hard that his sight pierced through them. he waited and waited for them to talk to him. they never did and neither did he. he lived in his silence. he lived on and on till the day would come.

“never said i’d die, i’d wait forever”, he sang.

and then his hurt turned into hating. and it felt right that time..

he wasn't weak anymore. he was strong and thriving on spite and hatred. he planned and executed revenge in his head several times. he was so turned on by the idea that he would change it again and again to find a more thrilling and rewarding way. it was his sex. it was his love. it was his rape. it was anal - painful and merciless.

the day he had waited so eagerly for had come. never in the past had he been so excited. his ecstasy exploded uncontrollably into convulsions. he made sure to remind himself of how he felt always, how miserable and pathetic he was.

he had made a deal and cut his time short.

he was the devil’s double..

he looked at the leaking ceiling, held his hand out and caught the falling drop. he closed it in and tightly clenched his fist so much that blood the drained from his palms. he lifted his fist in the air and held it against the light. slowly, he opened his fist and let the light sieve through. it was his panorama.

“good day to be alive, sir. good day to be alive”, he said with mania plastered over his face.



human kind can not gain anything without first giving something in return. in order to obtain, something of equal value must be lost. that is alchemy's first law of equivalent exchange.

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