Tale of a dead heart

This is it, the final war
I am lifting my head off this altar tonight
I refuse to watch the horror of a cold ceiling
staring accusingly piercing me
through its ignorance of my EXISTENCE
I fought till I bled through my skin
and what did I get in return?
poison in my soul, poison in my conscience
Give me some water!
I cried with a parched throat
It did rain everywhere
whenever I cried
APART from where I lay
Ah! the agony stole my sleep
But I refused to give up
This wont break me I said
and cried out for more
and choked on my own blood
I took comfort in it
atleast it’s not poison anymore
TILL the red turned into blue
what have I become asking for more?
passerbys whispered softly in my ear
you can get up you know
dance in the rain with us
I spit back at them
woe unto you! trying to weaken my resolve
I shall not give up
an artist I am
I CAN paint this wall
I just need it’s permission
And just when my desperation turned into frustration
I ceased my siege on the wall
lifted my head up after a very long time
sniffing the fresh air, the poison left me
and I asked myself
why did I ever try prodding a response out
from such a cold heartless wall.

Smoking Kills

“Pass me a smoke. I promise it will be my last.”

“Fine. Doesnt make a difference anyways.”

“Easy, Vince. Out of courtesy? And, Pass me the lighter too.”

Vince passes the lighter.

“Do you like where you are?”

“Why, Vince, Why?”

“It’s an honest question. Cmon, Do you like where you are?”

“What do you think?”

“It was inevitable.”

“Ever felt like reliving the best moment in your life?”

“My best moment is about to come in a few hours.”

“Mine is right now.”

“Didnt you say your best moment was when you took your first smoke?”

“Of course, but I relive it every time the cellulose turns yellow. An hour glass ticking. The sand falling from the stick to my lungs each time I take a drag, signing the air in grey ink.”

“It stinks.”

“The best things in life are packaged in foul air. Everyone’s so happy jumping, they fail to notice the foulness. Trading spit on a tongue which rides on spit. New life packaged in blood,
screaming on top of its shrill lungs. Doesnt that stink, Vince?”

“You hate happy emotions, dont you? Hate forming connections?”

“I used to have a dream. A dream where I was looking for someone with whom I could connect. Tried so much. Ran so much. Waited so much. Until, the first time it touched my lips. I knew, at that very moment,
I couldnt leave her. She is my soulmate. And the best part, she connects to me when I want it to. She always stays close to me. She loves me back. That’s the connection I made, vince. So many lovers die
alone. I dont have to.”

“You are running away from something. I can feel it.”

“Are you crazy? I have what I want. What do I have to run from?”

“Your past.”

“My past is uneventful. Had a normal family. Normal friends.”

“Girlfriends?”

“Had a few. I couldnt connect with any of them. Why ask these? They are not even relevant.”

“You never experienced love?”

“I told you, vince. I love cigarettes. What’s the matter with you?”

“You never understand me.”

“What’s there to understand?”

“Nothing.”

“Pass me another.”

“You said that was your last.”

“This will be my last.”

“No.”

“Dont deny me my love.”

“Thats not love. Thats addiction.”

“I cannot live without cigarettes. I will die without them. I feel empty without them. I cannot carry on without them. I will fight for them. I will die for them. Isn’t that what is love about, Vince?”

“Love is also about letting go.”

“Bullshit! We all know it’s not. You are quoting romantic novels. They never let go until the end. They are always hoping till the end. Trying to get their love back till their very last breath. It’s never about letting go. Love becomes their addiction. I like mental peace and I chose wisely.”

“No one can convince you. Once you think you are right, you have to prove yourself at every moment.”

*Sigh* “Still dont understand me? She can convince me. About anything. So Let me re-unite with my love. Dont be the villain of the story.”

“Story??? Theres no story. Only a guy who is obsessed.”

“A guy who is obsessed with the girl, obsessed about saving the world, obsessed neverthless. All stories have a guy obsessed. Now, pass me.

“Fine.” *Pause”* “Lets make a deal. You tell me how you started. And I keep passing you.”

“No. Give me what is rightfully mine. I bought it. It’s my money. You have no right. Give it to me. Now!”

“Make the deal.”

“No.”

“Are you sure you can live even one moment without your ‘LOVE’.”

“Just pass me one.”

“Start speaking.”

“I was curious and tried it. Liked it. Fell in love.”

“Most interesting.”

“Who inspired you? Your family didnt smoke at all.”

“I answered you. I was curious. Thats all”

“Who?”

“Me”

“You? You are a wimp. You can never take this kind of a decision on your own. You always need someone to decide for you.”

“Are you provoking me?”

“Of course. You are not speaking. Need someone else to decide for you?”

“Why dont you decide, then?”

“Not so very smart. I decide you should speak.”

“Get out.”

“I can but can you?”

“Leave me alone. What do you want?”

“Understanding.”

“She put me into smoking.”

“What?”

“I love her. This is the only memory I have of her. Every time I smoke, she comes back to me smiling. Understanding how much I love her.”

*confused* “Who the hell are you talking about.”

“You wanted understanding. So do i. Why did she never understand me? What was it in me that she rejected?”

“Destroying lungs will most definitely make you understand.”

“I dont think I can understand but most assuredly, i can relive that moment.”

“which moment?”

“When she gave me my first puff.”

“I took it for her. I could never say no to her.”

“She was bad for you. Look what she did.”

“It’s not her fault, Vince. She doesnt even know my state. I dont even know where she is.”

“We can look for her.”

“I tried and then, stopped myself. She left me. In fact, we were never even together. She kept turning me down. With what right could I look for her.”

“With the right that you loved her.”

“But she never understood my love. She thought I was misguided.”

“Were you?”

“For christ’s sake, Vince. Look where I am. Look what got me here. I dont even blame her. I understand her.”

“If you did understand her, you would have also understood why she kept rejecting you in the first place.”

*Silence*

*A tear slides down MC’s cheek*

“You are right. Maybe I was misguided. Vince, but now it doesnt matter. I dont know where she is. I can hope, only hope that she is happy.”

“Here, take this stick.”

“Thanks, Vince.”

*MC takes his last drag and dies.*

Liberation

Every good person has a tragic story behind them. She told hers on her son’s death anniversary.
I was only a 6 year old kid when she told us this story. She was a good maid, too old for wiping the floor though. Her age was not a hindrance but, merely, an irritating tick for her. She never took a day off. She came right on time and left right on time.
But one fine day, she was extremely depressed. Fat, but silent, tear were constantly rolling down her cheeks. My mother tried giving her support which she refused with dignity. My mother asked her to take the day off which she denied with conviction. My mother kept at her until she gave up and started speaking.
She recounted her youthful days which were spent with her husband. It was an arranged marriage. He was a nice man, she said, “I still miss him”. They had a son few years later. “Poor boy”, she said, “It was no fault of his”. The father had gone out to celebrate his son’s birth with his friends. He returned home drunk. He was elated to see the kid and he picked him up. I can never forget the moment when he lost his balance and vir fell breaking his spine, she said, My husband never forgave himself for that night.
Kids his age were jumping and running in no time, but vir couldn’t even lift himself to sit. In fact, he could never sit on his own his entire life. Vir was quadriplegic. Diseases like these never come alone. Skin complications soon developed which worsened as he aged.
His father quit drinking but he could not bring himself to see vir. He tried pretending that everything was normal which took a huge toll on me, she said, my day was divided between vir and him. Her husband, lost in his own guilt, couldn’t recognize this and increased his demands for her. She, on the other hand, could not leave vir. “He wouldn’t even realize his bowels had lost control until he got the rotten smell”, she said, “I had to understand his body routine and prepare everything for him.” The husband noticed his wife was giving more time vir. This shattered his pretend world and his guilt consumed him. He saw his son for the first and the last time. Kissed him on his forehead, saying goodbye, he left and never returned. “I was all alone, she said, we had no money for medicine.” She started working as a housemaid. The money she earned was just enough for the medicine. She asked her mistress to give her some extra food for her son while she survived on left-over food in trash bins.
Vir grew up into a sensitive man. He realized my position, she said, he wanted to help. Unfortunately, all vir could do was talk. His mother cleaned him every day, tried to clear the stench from his rotten skin.
She taught him about the real world which he listened with extreme eagerness, having never stepped out of his bed. He was eager when he was young. But a change came over him later.
“He asked me to kill him”, she said, “Which I couldn’t”. He kept saying he was only a nuisance. He would have been forever confined to a bed. He kept repeating and I kept ignoring, until he played his trump card. He asked, “What would happen to me after you die?” I cried that night. After 34 years, I finally gave in. He heard me, kept calling me but I never went to him. The next morning I was determined, she said, I slipped a knife in his heart but it pierced mine. His head nodded and became as still as his limbs had been. I bent down and laid my head on his chest.
She was sobbing hysterically. My mother finally broke the silence and asked, why did you do it? She only said, he was suffering and buried her face in her hands.
I cannot forget that day. Life will be a mystery to me until I die.

The other side

I had grown weak, having not eaten since days. I also had my family to feed.
I was extremely hungry.  The winter had been long and tough. Thinking about my last meal, my mouth watered. The hair on my back tingled, when I saw this little girl hopping between the trees carrying that fruit basket.
I trailed her until I realized she was headed towards an isolated house in a clearing in the middle of the forest.
Hoping to find more food over there I quickened my pace and managed to reach the house before by taking a concealed path between the trees.
I sneaked into the house and saw and old woman who did not seem to notice me at all. Her senses having probably dimmed down so much. I tiptoed through the house, expecting to find better food.
I ended up rummaging the entire place; Finding nothing, I resorted to my last choice…..
While, bitterly, washing the blood off my hands, my stomach growled. I was still hungry. I glanced at the door, worried that the girl had witnessed me filling my stomach and would not share her fruits with me.
Seeing that she had not arrived yet, I got confident in the fact that I still had time to prepare.
I wrapped myself with the old woman’s skin, waited patiently for the little girl, sitting in a rocking chair.
Entering the house, she stared at me with doubt in her lips. Not wanting to reveal myself, I looked away to the window and there I saw my sworn enemy approaching.
Sensing the time slipping away, I pounced at her. In mid-air, I heard a thunder and I crashed onto the floor.
In my ultimate numbness, the last thing I saw was the little red hood riding into the woods.

Mutations in Paradox

They say they make war to bring peace
They say they need land and in turn destroy it
They say they need water and they pollute it
They say conserve resources and they over-exploit it
I say ” See the paradox of takers”

Elders say respect elders yet most disrespect theirs
They say be selfless yet each one back stabs
They offend and expect not to get offended
They get offended when the same offense is caused
Hear what I have to
say “See the paradox of society”

Youth is ready to fight at any moment yet they propagate peace
They bitch, ditch yet pledge to uphold the honor of family & nation
They take for weakling if apology if offered yet they say they follow Gandhi
See what I see”See the paradox of future”

Schools want moral children yet they encourage pets
They say teachers are integral in life yet they employ them on money basis
They say they encourage free will yet snatch it simultaneously in the name of discipline
They say they offer best chances to a student yet change streams forcefully
Feel what I feel”Feel the paradox of education”

They say they are fair yet frame child or man without delving into the matter
They say they are honest yet accept bribes
They demand logicalness yet do not give a logic for it
This is the paradox in general

I say no different than them yet I preach
Mock at what I mock”Mock at the paradox in me”

Faces of the sky

She was looking at the locks of clouds in the sky
I was looking at the rainy clouds in her face
It thundered and rain shed
Each drop that fell was like a hailstorm to me
She covered her face hiding the already seen
I stood rooted drenched

The monsoon cleared and a rainbow appeared
making the sky look even more cute
Her glazed ayes gazed dreamily at the horizon
A bright golden ray of sun brought her into spot light

Such divinity, I felt ashamed and hid in a tree

With a heavy heart, I spied on her that day
I could make out a male figure coming from the horizon
Even she made out when he was near
After monsoon, much sooner did spring arrive and she flowered again

But monsoon still lingered someplace close to me
I clenched mt fist, the rain left the clouds
Each drop that fell was like a hailstorm to me
I stood rooted drenched

The Battle within

I was walking along the path, dusty, winding into the forest. I wanted to escape. Someone had been following me. Following me since the forest got scary. I drew out my sword and the metal gleamed just like the full moon in a clear night sky. The blade was hungry like a recently matured tiger ready to hunt its first meal. I slashed through the creepers to make way. They were hindering me. Not that I was scared but… …. OK, I will accept it, I WAS scared. I started running. My shoes thumping against the dirty path. I entered a clearing in the forest. It looked like a DOJO with white walls and the trees resembled pillars. The door opened and a shapeless being entered. They said that true beauty lies in symmetry. I guess they hadn’t seen this being. It was black and dark Grey. A dark projection shot out of the part resembling an arm. It turned into a katana. Now, it beckoned me. I was scared but i answered the call. I raised my broadsword high and gave a salute to the sky through the transparent roof of DOJO. A silent lightning erupted and met the tip of my blade charging it. It grew even more hungry.
I was ready.
I charged.
I brought the sword perpendicular to my chest and ran towards it ready to thrust my sword in which whichever part I made contact with.
It raised its hand. I stopped an inch before his body. My blade started vibrating.
It clenched its fist.
My sword shattered. I watched the splinters in mid-air ready to crash to the ground. Only the sapphire hilt remained in my hand. I had forged it when I was young and now it bid its master goodbye.
I closed my eyes. A tear slid down my face.
It touched the hilt.

It sizzled and steam was generated.

The being was patiently watching all this with a lopsided grin. It knew i was beaten.

The hilt left my hand.
I fell on the wooden floor. I need a weapon.
I was desperate.
The creature was now gliding towards me.
t raised his hands again.
I was choking. It was strangulating me from a distance.
I felt something around my neck, even if it wasn’t visible. I tried pushing it away.
Couldn’t.”I have to. No. I can’t die. Not yet. Not just yet.”
I pressed the invisible hands harder.”I HAVE TO!!”
Bones snapped.
The being withdrew his hands and writhed in pain.
I looked at my hands.
No change.
But they felt like steel.
Now, I was ready. I beckoned it.
Its black sword was at level with its chest and it came running towards me.
I stepped aside to the right, turned towards it and gave a satisfying kick to its ribs.
More bones snapped.
I spun and came back behind it. I gave it time to recover.
It hand his hand and i had mine.
It sent another force-field towards me.
I concentrated and stopped it with my my hands. It worked. I kicked it away.
Many pillars were torn off their roots.
We were back in the Jungle.
back in my territory.
Now, it charged towards me. I landed a roundhouse kick straight on its face and it crashed to the ground.
It was broken.
It will never rise again.
I moved out of the forest.
I was conscious again.
Back in the hospital.
The Battle Within had been won.

“Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.”

From the Inside

And then there was peace.

I am stressed, I am scared, and I am paranoid…because death is everywhere. It waits for me, it calls to me from around street corners and windows, and it is always there.

I am an instrument of peace forever doomed to propagate violence. I am a mantle for fears, hopes, aspirations. I am a responsibility with no control. I am a soldier.

I was young then. Naive. Petty things like radio, media ruled my head. I harbored a fierce desire to serve my nation, my society, people who care. I still do, but now, I wish to serve only me. I always associated glory with a oldier. As I said, I was young then. There is no glory in spilling the blood of a fellow being (be it any other nationality, faction, cult, etc.). I used to envision myself at the summit, waving a flag for all to see. I have lived this vision. With regret. And there is no penance. How can there be? Just to conquer some terrain, numerous lights were extinguished by my own hands. I wear gloves to hide the blood of generations. I wish I could drape a garment around my head to darken the nightmares. I see their faces. Some determined to fight death itself, giving their final effort to drive us-me-out. Some cowering, begging for mercy, which is ruthlessly denied. Some with ghostly expressions captured by their suicide. I see all of them. But it doesnt end here. There are more to eliminate. There always be more to eliminate.

I remember my first kill. My handgun rested on his temple. I looked away and fired. Blood sprayed on my hands. I took up gloves since then.  I was eager to be initiated, brimming with excitement. And then, I saw his face and experienced true fear. True fear of GOD. The deed had to be done and so, it was. Everyone came and rested their hands on my shoulder, congratulating victory. Victory tore me from inside.

I ambushed an enemy force. Most surrendered. I had orders to eliminate without exception. They started falling one by one. Everyone died without traces. Except one. I took aim. He raised his arm and stopped me. He took out a round pendant from his pouch and handed it to me. He murmured: “It’s all a cycle, son.” And died. He was shot by my squadmate. I looked at the pendant. There was a circle engraved on it.

I felt there will be peace after I complete my missions. My missions were never completed. There was always some eminent threat needing to be disposed. Instead of peace, I watered chaos within myself. It can never go away. There was still no glory. For Me.

My family is very proud of me. Proud of my deeds. I have contempt for anyone who is proud of me (my deeds). I wanted support from them, so that I could find my peace. All I ever recieved was encouragement. They shunned me. I grew solitary catalysing chaos. There was glory. For Them. Not For Me.

My wife waits for me to surprise her with a random visit. She has been facing disappointment since a few years. We both know that I will have to die on the Battlefield. She waits nevertheless. She hopes nevertheless. At these times, all I remember is chaos. All I feel is chaos. There was no peace. Only Chaotic.

I stormed the office, machine guns hanging on my shoulder. I found my seniors within no time. Shot them at point blank range. They all had expressions of relief on their faces. Now, I understood. I was wrong. Soldiers came running upon hearing the gun shots. The chaos can go away. I stopped the soldiers with my hand and took out the pendant. I gave it to him and murmered: “It’s all a cycle, son.”

And then there was Peace.

To the memory of the Man, first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen

The Me.

Mind is the matrix of all matter.

I don’t remember how I went inside.

Are you there? Hello? Anyone home? Did I hear something? No… If it’s important, it will make itself heard.

It was dark. I remember a time when it was all beautiful and lovely just like the first morning of spring. I poked around and was rewarded with a cob-web stuck to my hand. Looks like it has been deserted for a long time. Where has everyone gone? Did I lose touch with everyone after I left for the money-quest? Or is there something else to it which I am not able to guess. I remember “Zycina.” She had such a lovely face. I could gaze in her eyes for eternity. Where has she gone? Didn’t she even think of informing me before leaving? This is what our relationship was worth? I should have known those promises were too good to be true. I sat down and another cob-web stuck to my ass. I didn’t care. Everyone I knew has kicked it. Now, a lousy cob-web doesn’t matter. I haven’t cried since I left. I was surprised when I tasted salt. I shook my head at my foolishness. How could I let those people hurt me? Am I so weak? No!! I am not weak!! So what they left me? It doesn’t change anything… I am sorry that I even came here. Sorry to whom?? That’s right, no-one. I am not accountable to them. I  shouldn’t have come here. I left the place.

I saw a child playing outside. He was a cute kid. I used to be a cute kid too. He will cease being one as well. Am I sure he will lose himself? Yes! No! No! No!! Is this where we have reached? Is this how the world is today? Am I a part of it? Hell no! How can I be? I am not so evil. I am still the cute kid. Oh wait… I just said I used to be one too. What’s going on?? Can somebody help? Ah no! They all went. (*panicking*) What am I to do?? God, save my soul. And that’s how I went in there.

(Note from author) – This is what ensues within each of us. We close our eyes at the last moment. The following is what will make the world a better place.

Are you there? Hello? Anyone home? Did I hear something? No… If it’s important, it will make itself heard.

It was dark. I remember a time when it was all beautiful and lovely just like the first morning of spring. I poked around and was rewarded with a cob-web stuck to my hand. Looks like it has been deserted for a long time. Where has everyone gone? Did I lose touch with everyone after I left for the money-quest? I think it’s time I accept that I left everyone. How could I do this to “Zycina.” How could I do this to the face which gave me real peace.  I reduced the worth of our relationship next to nothing. I sat down and another cob-web stuck to my ass. I didn’t care. Everyone I knew should kick it. Now, a lousy cob-web doesn’t matter. I haven’t cried since I left everyone. I wasn’t surprised when I tasted salt. I shook my head at my foolishness. How could I hurt them? Am I so selfish? Yes, unfortunately I left everything in the search for false respect. I ignored the place where it was given to me. Everything has changed. Can I bring it back? I know now that it doesn’t matter. I will try to bring them back or die trying. I am accountable to them. Suddenly, I realized where I am. I am inside me.  I can bring back the cute kid. I wept. I didn’t feel weak. Those tears gave me strength. And I wept.

I never left the place.

Conscious thought is the tidying up at the end.

Zycinia

In restless dreams I walked alone'Neath the halo of a street lampBy the flash of a neon lightThat split the nightAnd touched the sound of silence

I always used to wonder…

I am just another kid from the friendly neighborhood. I carry dreams just like any other kid. I dream to own a red Ferrari, a huge mansion, and have a model-material wife. But my reality is no different. Everyone keeps reminding me and pulls me back to my roots. They say that they too were once like me but didn’t get anything out of it. I never understood this. You see I was a kid. I never understood that my dreams were simply fragments of imagination. I loved to close my eyes and imagine myself driving the red Ferrari out from my garage; my wife kissing me goodbye.  Whenever an adult catches me day-dreaming I receive a long lecture about reality and a really long explanation proving that I am an idiot. At this time, I shut my mind and soar in a world of my own. When they realize I am lost again, they give me a beating. I never understood this. I was happy. Isn’t that what everyone’s trying to achieve? Well, I have it now and I am being called an idiot for that. Everyone said that you got to survive in this harsh world. The only ones who look harsh to me are them, the world seems pretty sweet to me. I have no clue what is wrong with them. Are they simply using me as an outlet for their frustration, or are they mad? They don’t leave me alone even when I am suffering from an attack. Somehow, they are not able to take the fact that I am ill. I suffer with mild epilepsy. So I have mild fits. But I am still happy because if God took away something, he also gifted me with something. I am very imaginative and creative. Every night, I ride dragons, cast spells in my own world called “Zycinia”. But I am also forced to think that is this really a gift? They mistreat me just because of this talent and that I am not rooted in reality. That’s not true. I like red Ferraris. And so I set out on a quest for a red Ferrari…

Ending #1

I was growing up. My maturity level was also increasing. I am pretty mature now. And hence, now, I can earn enough money to satisfy my hunger needs. Clothes, we will see later. I try not to think about the days when I had no money. You see, I was immature. I left home without any supplies or money. And then one day I was sitting in a public spot. As usual, I got lost in my own world. I have no clue why but I started imagining loud. A lady sitting next to me heard me. She complimented me and offered me a job. I got a job to tell her kids new stories every day. The kids were very smart too. They taught me the art of holding a marker and making a neat mark with it. I learned reading and writing. I read all kinds of books from fantasy to biographies. I was so engrossed in reading that the lady fired me. I think it was only an excuse to hide the real truth and save my dignity. The kids were growing up. I got to know one day that Hollywood hires creative people. I went there and became a writer. Nobody liked my work. They all said it was too immature. Now I know. You see, I started with fiction. I switched over to my gift-fantasy. There was uproar. I felt my work was so pathetic that they wanted to kill me. I am glad I was wrong. They liked my work. I was interviewed, but I got so strained that I fainted. When I woke up, they were next to my bed smiling. I heard them speaking that they always knew I could do this. I had it in me. I felt very angry. I got up and received a barrage of questions. The only one I heard was, “How does it feel to be a multi-millionaire?” I was stunned. I have my own red Ferrari, a huge mansion too. Now on to the quest for a model-material wife… “Here kitty … kitty… kitty…”

I wonder had I not gathered the courage to go on the quest…..

Ending #2

I found a friend on the way. A little kid. He was just like me – creative. I liked having him as my companion. He liked being with me. You see, I am a responsible adult now. But definitely not like them. So we both were trying to find a suitable place where we could sell our talents at maximum price. We found one such place. They required regular stories for a magazine. I read all kinds of books from their library – fantasy to biographies. I quickly became the chief writer. Then I got a call from Hollywood. I took the kid along. There we earned lots of money and I became a multi-millionaire. Now I could buy a red Ferrari and a huge mansion too. But good things don’t last. I got a very severe fit. My mind must be playing tricks with me. I thought I was lying on a bed with wood between my teeth. Stupid me! But one thing worried me. It all seemed real enough. I could differentiate between reality and imagination before. But not anymore. Both the situations look pretty real to me. Actually, the red Ferrari world looks more like my imagination. And then I learnt the horrible truth. I was in a mental asylum. Those fits weren’t epilepsy. They were electric shocks. I was comatose. I am recovering now. Those people were asylum psycho-experts. All those things about the red Ferrari was my imagination. Now, I understood. The tears that I wept then were real. The doctors saw the tears as a mark of my progress. They were happy that I was crying. I recovered fully and realized that I no longer have an imagination. I wasn’t allowed to leave the asylum as I was considered mad and unfit to join the society. I believe that I achieved my dream and lost my passion. Thus, the hold of my imagination got weak and I returned to the real world. I was happy there. Isn’t that what everyone tries to achieve? I was happy there. I heard them calling out to me. “Here kitty…kitty…kitty…”

I wonder had I not gathered the courage to go on the quest….

No-one knows the end until they reach it.