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shitijsharma24

A story is only as good as the storyteller.

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humanity

PRISONERS AND MONSTERS

This is a story about two brothers who are captured and imprisoned by the secret police. Even though this is a fictional story, similar things have been known to happen. There may come a time when mother’s tell their kids- not that go to sleep or a monster will come lurking around but go to sleep because the monster may be the man who lives across the street.

He looked as if he had seen a ghost. His eyes were wide open and even though his gaze was upon me, his thoughts seemed far away.”They are here”, he finally managed. I raised my eyes only to find his conveying the fear I felt. The fear we all felt.

It is not the dead I fear for they have served their term in this hell on Earth and now rest in peace. It is the living I fear for they can be far more inhuman. I am a prisoner here along with my brother. We do not know the reason for our imprisonment. My name is Ali and I am fifteen. My brother’s name is Hamid and he is seventeen. We share this cell along with thirty other prisoners.

I clearly remember the day we were brought here. We were roaming the market, searching for the items which mother had sent us to buy. The items weren’t many as we could not afford much. A couple of men smoking cigarettes stared at us as we passed by. Then one of them caught my brother by the collar and punched him in the face. My brother tried to fight back but there were too many of them. We were beaten in front of everyone. The men said they belonged to the secret police. They handcuffed us and brought us here.

No single person from our cell has been sent home alive. Our families usually receive our bodies in body bags and that is if they are lucky enough to receive a body. I am not sure our parents have been informed where we are.

We are tortured in the hope that we may agree to have committed treason, but most people here are innocent. The nights are the worst when the screams of tortured prisoners echo through the prison cells.

My brother looks at me as if he has seen a ghost. His eyes are wide open.”They are here”, he manages. His eyes meet mine reflecting the pain and fear in mine as I stumble through the door of the prison cell. He catches me before I fall to the ground. He knows they have electrocuted me from the rotten smell which rises from my burnt skin. I would like to tell him that it’s not so bad, except for the fact that they have cut off my tongue.

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Humanity in a bottle

All of humanity was on a boat, floating in a bottle. The little boy was curious so he picked up the bottle with a miniature ship inside which was kept on the table. He saw something move inside. The bottle slipped through his fingers and crashed to the floor. And that is how humanity became extinct.

HUMANITY,THE FUTURE…

Have you ever considered what is going to happen? Probably not, apart from fleeting moments of doubtful clarity. Allow me to enlighten to you. Our world or rather that of the future generations is bound to be doomed. We’re run out of, well we’re running out of everything we possibly could run out of…..land, forests, clean air, usable water, fuel,food. The only hope for the future generations of the human race now would be unparalleled advances in technology, something on the scale of the discovery of fire or maybe, probably even more crucial to the survival of the human race. The most hopeful thing that I personally have come across are Elon Musk’s efforts to establish a colony on another planet in the future.

Imagine that we find another planet to live on. Imagine we established colonies in more than one planet and that space travel and exploration boomed.

Ask yourself..then what?

We deplete the resources of one planet after another, growing in numbers, consuming everything in our paths like the self-serving parasites that we are or do we……

Do we what?

Is there an alternative?

Even if there is it’s not quite apparent to me. And who am I?

Does it matter in the grand scheme of the universe?

Ideas may be cheap monetarily but the ideas that we impart to others have a lot more value than simply our physical self because these ideas have the potential to grow exponentially while we grow old and then die and then remain dead, forgotten by the world.

The only alternative to the above scenario would be to change, and not a slow social change as people become aware of the truth which I personally don’t think they will fully comprehend as an entire body of individuals centuries hence, maybe not even even then.

The only solution would be to change, to change what it means to be human. To psychologically alter ourselves as individuals that do what needs to be done for the best possible end result. A society than of not artists but of a cold calculative people who are not held back by the social limitations  of our present society. Who do what needs to be done.Who do what’s best for everyone.

And even if such a society someday comes to exist, I doubt that much of us would have been saved. For in order to become something that would surpass being human, something that transcends needless emotions and operates on cold hard truths we would have to stop being human. When that happens I doubt whether it will be correct to refer to them as we because it would stand to reason that being nothing like us, they would no longer be what we consider to be human. Either our story would have to come to an end as all stories do. Maybe we don’t deserve to be saved. Maybe it’s just not possible.

But then again my mind works on the assumptions that it knows what it’s talking about. But the truth is that none of us truthfully know. I don’t think that we are capable of taking into consideration all the variables out there. We work on assumptions. It’s not possible to take into account all the variables when you don’t even know what these variables are or whether they even exist. Is there a God or some other supreme power? Is everything predestined? Do I or does anyone else know the answer?

Maybe there is no answer. Maybe it is just what it is. Random things at random times. The universe is in a state of complete anarchy and chaos. Maybe this chaos is leading towards a  purpose. To what purpose I do not know if there is one. In the end, the search for answers always leads to further questions and these questions we often find out to be unanswerable.The future is unanswerable. My only conclusion is that the future cannot be predicted.

But you already knew that. So have you learnt anything or are you even more confused. The answers to these unanswerable questions gnawing at your mind and yet as much as you try, you can never really reach that state. The state where it all suddenly makes sense, the state of enlightenment.

I think, we all do. I just put what I think into words believing that the ideas that my brain concocts are more valuable to society as a whole than to an individual who thinks but then discards his thoughts as being useless in the daily chatter that is the voice in his head. But he never forgets that this voice is his own. That he functions in pure chaos. But then again….he is just an individual, his universe is what he perceives it to be. Because inside our minds there are no limitations…..it is only on the inside that we are free but only if we learn to remove the mental blocks that prevent us from harnessing the true power of our minds, the blocks that prevent us from surpassing what it means to be human to something that you could only ever understand if you choose to become it.

– Shitij

 

DELIRIUM PART III

continued from DELIRIUM PART II…..

The sound of glass being shattered brought him back to his senses. One of the mudmen had apparently tried to shatter the glass with his elbow and succeeded. His hands went up to cover his naked eardrums from the screams of the mudmen. He stood paralysed with fear as the mudman with the bleeding elbow climbed in through the window; this was not supposed to happen, he was safe in the cottage or at least that’s the way it used to be. Trickles of blood flowed down his earlobes onto his neck and snaked their way to his collarbone.

More mudmen made their way into the little cottage through the broken window. They left behind a trail of blood as they stepped on broken shards of glass but kept on walking unperturbed. They looked surprised as if pain was a new sensation. He was unable to discern who among them was responsible for that terrible sound, it seemed as if they were shrieking in unison.

He clawed at his ears, his fingernails drew blood but he could not ignore the terrible sound. Blood was pounding in his ears and he felt as if all the blood in his body was rushing to his head. He shook his head violently and as he did so, his eyes fell upon the pen resting on top of a pile of pages.

He was just to about to grab it when the first of the stumbling mudmen reached him and as he did so he reached for the pile of pages to steady himself but instead knocked it over and fell right on top of him. Pinned beneath the mudman he gasped frantically because of the stench which attacked his senses and made his eyes water.

He was overwhelmed and quickly surrounded by more mudmen and even more of them seemed to be entering through the window.

To be continued……

THERE ARE WAY MORE THAN FIFTY SHADES OF ANY COLOUR

I’m not all dark and I’m not all light

I’m everything in between

I’m not a single shade of color

Painted with a single stroke of a brush

I’m a thousand different shades painted

with numerous strokes of experiences

I’m not all good and I’m not all bad

but I have my moments

and some of those cannot be characterized as either

I’m a complex individual

but my complexity is simple to understand

but only when u look close enough

so look closely

but do not think for a moment

that you learned my definition

in the words I spoke

or the actions I took

for you cannot define something

you know nothing about

DELIRIUM: PART I I

Continued from DELIRIUM PART I

“Holy water cannot help you now Thousand armies couldn’t keep me out I don’t want your money I don’t want your crown See I’ve come to burn your kingdom down”-(Seven Devils)Florence + the machine

He reminded himself that he was safe inside the cottage, picked up his pen and continued writing. The next day he woke up to find that there were two of them and four the day after that. And thus the mudmen seemed to multiply every day. They never strayed far from his cottage. At first they just stood there facing the little man who was visible through the window as he went about filling new sheets of paper in his indecipherable handwriting.  After a few days of silent staring, if you can stare without eyes that is, they began to shriek uncontrollably.

It was an inhuman sound that would have woken up the dead if even a trace of them had remained in this new world .The gloom created by the mudmen’s unrelenting shrieks spread like an infection that seemed to blanket the entire world within its grasp. The brightness of the sun seemed to dull as days passed by. Plants began to wither until they were nothing more than dust. It appeared as if this poisonous wave of sorrow consumed everything in its path and left behind a necropolis in its wake.

The little man silently watched all this, bewildered at how everything he had worked so hard for came undone in front of his very eyes. He wept silently and cursed the mudmen and he cursed the day he had picked up that pen. In the old world he had been a reporter of very high stature, but his little stature had made him the butt of many jokes. He went places where no one would and saw things that no one in their right mind would possibly want to see. The rest of the world was content to read about it in the papers or watch it on television. Everyone commented on the drastic condition of the human race and everyone agreed that we were beyond saving. So when he was given the chance to undo everything that god had done and to create a new world from scratch, if that was what he wanted, he jumped at the opportunity. How can humanity hope to survive when one of their own decides that they are an unfit race, unfit to walk this earth?

His first order of business was to create a hell where he could banish anyone who stepped out of line. He emptied the prisons as they were overcrowded and took up a lot of space. At first he was content to banish the scum of the world but he soon realized that they were a never ending breed. There was something inherently self destructive about his race. He tried to create a world of harmony but humans struck the chord of discord. The beautiful order he had created was overwhelmed by chaos. He could not bear to watch as the beautiful world that god had envisioned for us and he had tried so hard to preserve went up in flames and all one could see in the distance was a mushroom cloud.

When the wars finally came to an end, only a spectre was left of the planet which had so bountifully nurtured life. The wheels of time had spun backward and humanity was once again shackled by their own ignorance, bound to the dark ages. And now, even he after all that he had done, these monsters had appeared and no matter what he tried he could not banish them. Maybe he wasn’t the savior of this world after all but the destroyer. He wasn’t the person who had created a masterpiece, he was the person who had set fire to it in sheer jealousy. He thought he could play God, but he now realised that it was the devil who had been playing him all along.

INVENTING MANKIND

DO YOU EVER FEEL JOY AT WHAT MAN HAS CREATED OR ONLY SORROW FOR THE PRICE THAT HAS BEEN PAID ?

 

 

 

 

 

Sources -The image is taken from google while the words on it are mine

DELIRIUM (SO FAR)

                                   PART I

“There is nothing frightening about an eternal dreamless sleep. Surely it is better than eternal torment in hell and eternal boredom in heaven.” – Isaac Asimov

It all began the day he picked up that accursed pen. It was late in the afternoon, gusts of wind so powerful they tore the trees along with their roots from the ground blew past his little cottage, but he was safe. He wielded the power to create, to change the form of matter as he desired.

And so he began writing. He filled page after page until he was surrounded by skyscrapers of these very pages. If someone were to peek through the window he would have difficulty spotting the dwarf sized man among the pages which noted down his creations. But of course who could peek through that window, was so physically endowed that he could walk into the eye of the storm, for the cottage was at the very centre of the storm which seemed to be wiping out humanity and all other forms of life from the face of the earth.

When the storm finally subsided there was nothing left but a little man and his cottage filled with sheets of paper. On these sheets were words and symbols decipherable only to the man who had scribbled them. And then the sun no longer shone and there was only darkness. It was then that the words and the symbols on these pages began to glow in every colour imaginable. The little man continued to write by the glow which they provided. Then little by little these words and symbols began to float off the paper and into the sky. Then the sun shone again, brighter than ever. Fish once again swam in oceans, the water clearer than ever. Trees grew taller than ever and sprouted fruit, sweeter and juicier than any that had existed before. New forms of life began to walk the earth.

The little man began complaining about everything, the cramped cottage did not help his temper. In a fit of rage he burnt an entire stack of papers. He threw the ashes out the window .Then the monsoons arrived .The rain mixed with the ashes and the dirt. When the monsoons ended, the sun once again shone with a harsh bright light. The little man peered out of his window and was blinded by the sun’s extreme brightness. It took some time before his eyesight returned. When he peered out the window again, he saw that the mixture of the mud and ashes had hardened like cement. He had been musing on this for some time when he noticed that cracks began to appear in the hardened mixture. Something dark and gross began to emerge from it. Slowly it began to take shape, the shape of a man. The body resembled that of a man but the face was, to put it simply, dried mud. There were no eyes, nose or mouth. Yet from somewhere within the creature emanated an eerie moan. The little man cowered behind his sheets of paper. Even the sight of this grotesque creature made him want to belch.

 

                             

                                            PART II

“Holy water cannot help you now Thousand armies couldn’t keep me out I don’t want your money I don’t want your crown See I’ve come to burn your kingdom down”-(Seven Devils)Florence + the machine

He reminded himself that he was safe inside the cottage, picked up his pen and continued writing. The next day he woke up to find that there were two of them and four the day after that. And thus the mudmen seemed to multiply every day. They never strayed far from his cottage. At first they just stood there facing the little man who was visible through the window as he went about filling new sheets of paper in his indecipherable handwriting.  After a few days of silent staring, if you can stare without eyes that is, they began to shriek uncontrollably.

It was an inhuman sound that would have woken up the dead if even a trace of them had remained in this new world .The gloom created by the mudmen’s unrelenting shrieks spread like an infection that seemed to blanket the entire world within its grasp. The brightness of the sun seemed to dull as days passed by. Plants began to wither until they were nothing more than dust. It appeared as if this poisonous wave of sorrow consumed everything in its path and left behind a necropolis in its wake.

The little man silently watched all this, bewildered at how everything he had worked so hard for came undone in front of his very eyes. He wept silently and cursed the mudmen and he cursed the day he had picked up that pen. In the old world he had been a reporter of very high stature, but his little stature had made him the butt of many jokes. He went places where no one would and saw things that no one in their right mind would possibly want to see. The rest of the world was content to read about it in the papers or watch it on television. Everyone commented on the drastic condition of the human race and everyone agreed that we were beyond saving. So when he was given the chance to undo everything that god had done and to create a new world from scratch, if that was what he wanted, he jumped at the opportunity. How can humanity hope to survive when one of their own decides that they are an unfit race, unfit to walk this earth?

His first order of business was to create a hell where he could banish anyone who stepped out of line. He emptied the prisons as they were overcrowded and took up a lot of space. At first he was content to banish the scum of the world but he soon realized that they were a never ending breed. There was something inherently self destructive about his race. He tried to create a world of harmony but humans struck the chord of discord. The beautiful order he had created was overwhelmed by chaos. He could not bear to watch as the beautiful world that god had envisioned for us and he had tried so hard to preserve went up in flames and all one could see in the distance was a mushroom cloud.

When the wars finally came to an end, only a spectre was left of the planet which had so bountifully nurtured life. The wheels of time had spun backward and humanity was once again shackled by their own ignorance, bound to the dark ages. And now, even he after all that he had done, these monsters had appeared and no matter what he tried he could not banish them. Maybe he wasn’t the savior of this world after all but the destroyer. He wasn’t the person who had created a masterpiece, he was the person who had set fire to it in sheer jealousy. He thought he could play God, but he now realized that it was the devil who had been playing him all along.

 

                                     PART III

The sound of glass being shattered brought him back to his senses. One of the mudmen had apparently tried to shatter the glass with his elbow and succeeded. His hands went up to cover his naked eardrums from the screams of the mudmen. He stood paralysed with fear as the mudman with the bleeding elbow climbed in through the window; this was not supposed to happen, he was safe in the cottage or at least that’s the way it used to be. Trickles of blood flowed down his earlobes onto his neck and snaked their way to his collarbone.

More mudmen made their way into the little cottage through the broken window. They left behind a trail of blood as they stepped on broken shards of glass but kept on walking unperturbed. They looked surprised as if pain was a new sensation. He was unable to discern who among them was responsible for that terrible sound, it seemed as if they were shrieking in unison.

He clawed at his ears, his fingernails drew blood but he could not ignore the terrible sound. Blood was pounding in his ears and he felt as if all the blood in his body was rushing to his head. He shook his head violently and as he did so, his eyes fell upon the pen resting on top of a pile of pages.

He was just to about to grab it when the first of the stumbling mudmen reached him and as he did so he reached for the pile of pages to steady himself but instead knocked it over and fell right on top of him. Pinned beneath the mudman he gasped frantically because of the stench which attacked his senses and made his eyes water.

He was overwhelmed and quickly surrounded by more mudmen and even more of them seemed to be entering through the window.

To be continued………only on shitijsharma24.wordpress.com

MY FAVORITE QUOTES – I

“Prisons are the temples where devils learn to prey. Every time we turn the key we twist the knife of fate, because every time we cage a man we close him in with hate.”

Gregory David Roberts, Shantaram

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