CONTINUED


" are you okay ?"
the memories that kept revisiting me in my head, like a picture roll on fast forward, slowly faded away.
" yes, i'll be fine ..how much longer ?"
I tried looking around only to notice the skies had changed color, the evening slowly drifted away, changing her gown for darker attire.And from this semi-darkness i looked down upon a million lights down below, a view of the entire village , their lights twinkled and mimicked those of the stars above us , engulfed in an equally unknown darkness.
"not much.You see that clearing over there"
 he said pointing towards complete darkness...maybe i'm growing blind as well.
" yes." i lied
"There is a smaller hut behind the trees.Some people who have been very anxious to meet you are waiting there."
The temperature had dropped and i could feel the cold air crawling up my body.The boy must have noticed , although he seemed very unaffected by all this change around him.

" Do believe in honesty ?"
" That is rather an odd question for a stranger , don't you think ?"
"Considering the circumstances, and the pending weight of matters we feel heavy upon our shoulders...i believe i can count on an odd sense of intimacy , and trust that grows from your conscience as well as your pity.I see that in your eyes.I used to know eyes like that."

The boy looked straight at him , out of sudden surprise and wonder.He had suddenly seen something more in this old man.It was almost as if, for the first time, he sensed a hint of life in him that he failed to see before.
The old are not dead, the old are not dying.In many ways they are far more alive than the young, only because they have lived.

The boy stopped a few steps in front of the hut .It was rather run down dwelling, made of bamboo and thatch , that surprisingly managed to withstand time.He turned.

I was scared.And i saw the same fear in his eyes.

MY WINDOWS WERE MADE OF COLORED GLASS

                                     I wish to write this very moment into a hundred words.

I write to you in first person only because I have the humility to let the world know that I am a simple village girl. I live only to exist.

 My knowledge of everything around me can be wrapped in one tiny piece of cloth, tied in colored tread, to be handed out for sale. If you had my eyes, you would see differently because my windows are made of shades of colored glass. This glass is cracked, with little ants and trapped insects that have once seen a better life. They have no metal bars to stop me; instead I may climb up to the sill, leap and fly as I please …

But truth is, what stops me has nothing to do with the color, the cracks or even the window.

 The only vague memories I have of an almost home is that harsh voice of an aunt. I was only thirteen then, and at that age other girls in my village had given up all faith in books and learning, to live a simpler life that was planned for them.

I wake up to the sound of rain every morning, the lingering touch of sly water droplets tickling me as they please. I wake up to see my dog curled around my feet, his warmth being the only feeling of security I could remember.

I am a little more than seventeen now, in another year I will be  asked to leave all thoughts of paper and ink far behind me to live the simpler life that has so carefully been planned for the herd of sheep in this village. My home since my aunt’s death has been a shed behind an abandoned farmhouse. I had dreams I was not supposed to have, of one day turning this run down place into something bigger, of breathing life into hay, thatch and stone. Of growing and giving life.

But my voice grows stronger with this ink as I write down and immortalize a memory that stops little footsteps short of an illusion. No, in fact I must write this down to believe in it myself, to touch and feel a short place of my existence, when I lived like never before.

There are certain ways to begin a story; I’d like to begin with the feel of cold metal anklets against my feet. And the ringing of heavy glass bangles at my wrist .The shy whispers of jhumkas at my ear.

I’d like to begin with deep red pretense on my lips and an alluring touch at my waist.

                       

I believe in happy stories I seldom see lived, and I find a strange hope in beginnings. Drinking in the naïve young smiles and wet scented hair of the bride- at my sister’s wedding, I had the tempting feel of honey on my tongue, one that comes from learning to lick your lips and taste every last drop of happiness you can find at an age where you can see more sweetness in vague dreams than anything else.

But remember, a fifteen year old girl does not only talk about people, she does not know how to live, and she is still learning to learn. But she can’t help looking through shades of borrowed glass, ones that break as easily as the bangles that hug her tiny wrists.

My sister was perhaps the only living relation of mine to lead a good life, and strangely enough this good life chose her for being as accepting as she was all through her childhood. She once told me that the feel of thin red silk around your shoulders hold more security than any man’s arms. The moment you tie the knot, you are ready to welcome warmth wherever you find it. I’ve always known her to be different from me, acceptance comes as easily to her as reluctance does to me, and I have seen her grow up within a small scented prison cell she grew to love.

But what I have to say has not that much to do with such changes in her life, as it has to mine. The day of my sister’s wedding was deemed to welcome more ghosts than it was to mark a beginning and strangely the air weighed down with the heaviness of a dying past against the last kiss of a possible future. But tradition remains tradition, deriving all of its strength from stubborn defiance. The same stubborn defiance the entire village succumbs to in every way of life.

………………………………………………..

The music behind us blared in cohesion, sounding its approval of the traditional ceremony. I found it strange that this roll of drums and this loud trumpet should be called music, honestly... how can this sound tickle their ears for pleasure? No one listens to these drums for enjoyment; when no ceremony has to be observed, no one in this village ever listens to this music for the love of its sound.

And this music has no attachment to the poetry in my village .Haven’t we all heard before - If a man finishes a poem, he shall bathe in the blank wake of his passion and be kissed by white paper.

If my sister could sing, if she knew what real music was , if she could see through her scented cell, if her windows were not painted…then she’d scream loud and clear for her soul can see deeper. I’ have written because I can...Because I have seen the freedom she couldn’t..And because I have lived to see her only exist.

Poem

If my eyes were stars

They would write songs for your dreams

 Kisses for your lips and my touch on your skin

Send chills into your body and etch madness into your head

They’d write lightning into your castle

 Where people are joined in endless loops

With their fingers intertwined one within the other

So if we move closer the entire loop in your castle changes with us

 We stand still

Our fingers still intertwined

But we dance as people keep changing

I wish we could untangle ourselves

Enjoin our fingers

Cut the loop

And be free

 You had so much faith

To break that circle

And you’d thought we would be free

But instead I cut my fingers off from yours

And held on closely to my tangled mess

With bleeding hands

Who pulled me away from your castle?

Because,

Now I’m alone in this crowded loop

And  Why did you trust me?

 did you not realize,

 My eyes were never stars

 I was only singing lies to your dreams….

contd...

She ran up to him that night, eyes shining like water droplets on a crystal morning .He remembered the click on her heels on the cold wet pavement, the sound of anticipation that rocketed the beat of his heart. the sound of clear hope.And most importantly..that beautiful whisper of a voice.He 'd always loved her voice , it had the quality of attraction like the music of thought..but it spoke of some mystery that pulled him closer to her .And his wide eyes looked deeply into her, their minds connected and intertwined within one another.

And perhaps because of that, he also felt a heaviness in the air around them, a creature veiled in black waited with his claws fiddling with their future as he had fiddled with their past.

Her eyes looked straight into his, and he read everything he needed to know.And she spoke softly and sincerely as only she could speak.
."when you said that i should take a chance..."
she was breathless, struggling to get the words out even though they were chained to her throat.
" ....i did it for you.And you told me so much more than i could even begin to understand"

"why did call me now...whatever you need to say , dont hold back "
he couldnt beleive how strong his voice sounded at that moment, a strenght grew from trust and other things he was too scared to think about.A wavering sense of strenght he could not place within himself for too long.
He could feel parts of his mind crumbling with every breath,
She looked down , and mumbled softly, hoping her words would hurt less if they were lost in the air.

" i'm leaving for Moscow tomorrow, every things been arranged.I'm sure you understand."

She was scared , he always sensed it from the way she stopped moving, and that lost look in her eye...but he also realized that it wasn't Dylan she was trying to run away from.The air seemed heavy with all that was unsaid between, weighing down other matters conveniently avoided.

That was the moment he would remember for the longest time but not the one he'd hoped for.The moment of anticipation and decision..

" How can you this ? I know what has been happening between the government and your family.The men in power are known to me as well.And i have my doubts about Dylan as well.You realize evrything could fall apart any day all this is out.What will you then ? Running away from me is not going change anything significant.We are insignificant to the bigger plans that unfortunately were weaved around us.You know all this ...and i've seen you with him .You will never mean anything to each other .He doesn't really even know what your like!"

" How do you know what i'm like then? how do you know what people are like? you think you can just watch me , spent a whole year with me and understand who i am ?"

That shocked him for a second, for the first time he questioned the possibility of any real truth in their relationship.Could it be possible that he was falling in love with painted lips and pretense ?

 " Where is this coming from?. i dont know what you are like or can be .But what i do know is that i'm blissfully ignorant, and i love being that way. I'm not in a hurry to find out what every single speck of what this world is made of. But i love that moment of realization, when the truth undresses herself and you finally know the touch of real skin feels like.So i believe we should take a chance "

"and what if that touch was nothing more than the cold feel of retreat? I cant tell you everything.A part of me doesn't even understand all this...I dont know why i do the things i do or why i make the same mistakes over and over again.maybe i dont really even know what mistakes are.......all i know right now is ..i'm sorry"

and that was it .Truth is,She never told him anything .Of all the hours they spent talking about everything in their lives,She never told him what mattered the most, what could change everything between them.She never told him all that she was trying to hide from herself.

The last time he'd seen her was only a memory.A childhood fantasy was all she was meant be.

He had always wondered what real goodbyes would feel like.Losing her was something he knew he'd have face but somehow he never imagined the pain that would accompany his loss.He had never missed anyone his entire life,so he took time to recognize loss .I remember how for months later he'd felt like a man who always in want of something but could never find  or even understand it .His mind kept running away from the truth and all thoughts of her but that didn't change the feeling of loss he felt in every inch of his body.She was a part of his life..for however small the time she was the first to touch him in a away no one else ever had .
But he reasoned that when your young , everything superficial is amplified in your head and you feel things you could not otherwise.Right and wrong no longer matter to you, and you dont even understand the real idea behind all this.Most of the time, being naive we live on a moment,A smile or a memory you cant wipe away from a little canvas in your head. But she was part of a past and all he felt was inconsequential within the big picture.The plans that skyrocketed into action several years later were already in place at that time .Somehow.. though he knew, she was responsible for everything....at that point of time he simply didn't care.

Two weeks later he visited the office of Harvard and ran into the very officials he had been trying to avoid.They filled him in on the the university's role and that of his family in the plans that the government has been trying to hide beneath all the politics on a platter.They needed him back on the research team.Dylan  was exiled from the project , and in utmost secrecy , been asked to leave the country.

The very same project that has been debated for the past two decades had finally gone beyond sheets and blackboard theorums.The groups of experts were ready to build and put their scheme into action.Perhaps he was only a small part of this, used more so because of his political family background and power rather than any reall skill or creative intellect but after all that happened between Dylan and her...he was determined to do something more meaningful in his life.

He signed his name back into the project and was asked to join two months later.He never realized that sometimes the moments that matter pass you by in an invisible cloak.That evening at the study, he waited with his signature in dark ink on all the legal documents...he never felt any of the anticipation and excitement she had stirred in him...but what he didn't realize was that very moment he had just signed his way into a future he could never look back upon.He never realized that from then on , He was one man against the world.

...............................................................................................................
3 years later...
page 107 ,
May 17th
1879

Prison

I know something is wrong with me.Everything suddenly seems blurred.I cant think straight.I'm frustratred , i cant keep still ,everything around me moves constantly like molecules withing a boilng volcano.Is this a state mind or poison?My heartbeat is nervous and jittery, myfingers ice cold and i feel like crying my eyes out.I want to Scream out of my lungs but they dont have the air within them to echo the sound i feel inside me.

But what is this feeling ?...it seems like this strange sickness is crawling up my spine and slowly devouring my insides.My eyes are still watery and warm, everything is still a blur .And i've been this way for the past two days.

I cant cant quite place my last memory of her..or anyone for that matter.I didn't know what she was upto..

I'm going to lock myself up and stop talking to these walls.Once the world goes back to the way it was and and i can see straight, i'm going to find them and my book.I'm giving myself another three days in this room , cut off from the rest of the world...and then i'm free.

Notes..

Falling for a facade is very different from falling for a building. What we see on the outside is very deceiving in many ways, but life is often nothing more than a masquerade ball, we love our veils, and we look at the world through those little holes for our eyes, the paper mask lending us this false feeling of security.

 Most of the time , people are scared .and by scared I don’t mean disturbed or threatened but the kind of rational fear that stops you from jumping off  a cliff. The kind of fear that helps you differentiate between right and wrong and helps you understand value… but sometimes, this same fear creeps gently into other places in our head, your so-called creative genius perhaps? And you can’t even hear his footsteps when suddenly you realize that he has been holding a cold sharp knife against your throat every step of the way, and he is doing so now.

To be careful or cautious? To be brave but not reckless?

 What stops us from opening up completely, why do we put up walls and pretend like they don’t exist? Everyone knows the answers to these questions because we have been living with them for quite sometime. Maybe acceptance is the first step but most of us have conveniently deceived our way into it.

 What if all this was just a game of self-deception and there really is no real truth in anything? all that we see around us can be subjected to change anytime.maybe that’s why we are constantly in search of something steady and stable to hold on to to from this whirlwind that life has turned into.

Secrets contd...

the rules we make up to protect ourselves sometimes imprison you and take you away from the people you love the most.The rules cant change the inevitable end, all they do is distance it...the rules may give you more time..but life catches up eventually.






..............................................................................................................................................
(contd..)



Sometimes i wish there was this rule book that defines what is right and wrong....so that when you are left alone at cross roads -someone tells you why. Maybe if we had a looking glass into the future ,we could decide on whom to trust and what rules are worth breaking.

Dylan and Dorothy were the talk of the town for as long as i can remember and I felt as disturbed as the third man in every gathering and  every single romance novel i despised could possibly be . I hated myself for being this person but instead of brooding I tried to force myself to hate her, finding faults that did not exist , making sly excuses to retrieve back into my shell . Sometimes i'd find myself a nice distraction for dinner and take immense joy in how we disturbed her piece of mind.But while we were up to to our little tricks, Dylan somehow remained completely oblivious .I found it strange sometimes that he could possibly be so obsessed and so uninterested in her at the same time.She choose to conveniently ignore his behavior to our advantage.

Slowly a party of three turned to a company of two, and the pages of my rule book fluttered in fear.


Our first few conversations centered teasingly around nothing important and any reference to Dylan was avoided.I was nauseated with myself after every meeting but could stop thinking about her.At the time i didn't know what this could possibly mean? I could constantly hear hear the rule book in my head , striking off one after the other.But i couldn't avoid her, her perfume haunted me..her smile lightened my heart and all was forgotten.

And we talked as lovers do, we walked miles across with no purpose and we argued fiercely for the joy of passion and we knew this wouldn't last , even if the rule book was burned.

Everything seemed perfect for the longest time until march 22nd. The first occasion we attended together since august.Dorothy was nervous that night , she kept fiddling with his fingers all the while and last night's guilt painted fear into her eyes.The Eyes that once made me go weak on the knees with nothing more than a wandering gaze were fixed on her platter, that remained untouched.

I still couldn't hold myself back from observing the color of her cheek,the  plumpness of her lips and the red silk on her bare shoulders. I wonder how many men noticed her that night, or whether they multiplied in my head.Either way Dylan seemed in complete peace with himself, His handsome face brooding with mystery...as if he'd jumped out of a novel.

Throughout dinner Dylan continued brooding..perhaps he found the food distasteful.I was too obsessed with her at the time to even consider the possibly of him having found out the truth between us.Around two in the morning, the guests began to take leave .We were still at the table with drinks when suddenly Dylan got up with a start and left.I sat in surprise for sometime as Dorothy gazed after him.
Taking this as my cue, I jumped up and pulled her onto the dance floor...suddenly she smiled and the look of hidden terror vanished from her eyes .We swirled around as the handsome couple we were, and for once the honesty of our feeling got more attention that it deserved.What happened that night changed everything about the rest our lives for what seemed like an eternity.All little things like feeling and emotion were replaced by necessarily and life.

But at the time i had complete faith that despite the rulebook, we would be together.I was naive and i believed in things like love, trust and people.

That night i mistook Dylan political scheming for disinterest, Dorothy fear for the wrong reasons ....but most importantly  ,

 i forgot that not everyone has a rulebook.

Chapter 4- SECRETS...(contd..)

"strange how your dreams can play tricks on you

like they have been living your life

instead of you

because it is just so easy

to lose to them

as if, they never existed..... "

Receiving part of your memory is never enough, but i didn't feel like an object anymore.People say that your memories make you the person you are, every part of your life is nothing more than a memory...if you lose it..you might as well be dead.


I realize now why the past few days meant nothing to me .But this boy?,i'm sure i know him now.Seven years back his father and i worked on a project together .I remember the secrecy, the politics and , most importantly, that heavy feeling in your chest when you know you are doing something wrong.I still cant bridge the gap of what happened in these seven years..but i remember his family, his story... and his death.




" why did you stop? the climb isn't that bad...."
 This boy...he had those eyes i fear, the very same ones that strip you down to your most basic thoughts..a looking glass into your soul.I hate everything that threatens me, but his eyes feast on my fear.
"is that your house over the clearing", i said pointing towards a thatch hut with stone walls tucked away further ahead .
"yes, it isn't much but having a roof over your head makes you feel lucky in times like this"


"what do you mean? you live in a rich country in utter poverty!"
he shook his head, moving slowly up towards the hut.


"you seem to know nothing..I hope i'm not wrong"
" i doubt it. I dont know why i'm here"
" really...must you keep playing this pretend game ? "


He spat back all of a sudden, it took me by suprise..i havn't seen this kind of fire in his eyes..but it burned deep in his voice.Years of pent up anger and frustration wrapped and sealed carefully..a family heirloom he cant give up.


" i know that hes dead. but what i need to know is if you were the one that killed him"
" you are not taking me to your mother are you?'
" there are other important people who need to speak to you first"
" and i suppose you think i have no choice in the matter"
he laughed out loud
" have you seen yourself? you can barely stand up..i could kill you in seconds!"
it was my turn to laugh now
"then do it boy? what better time than here and now? "
he stared back with a peiercing gaze
"i cant.."the fire still burned in his eyes




" i have never killed before....i dont live or fight for blood. I made my choice a long time ago.A time when i could think and see straight no matter how little i knew .I value the choices i made as a child more than the ones i have as a man"


There was more to this boy than he shows..something special shines through...maybe its his passion.But his honesty scares me. The young are confusing..they think they have all the time in this world to change it but all they end up changing is themselves..recycling their minds over and over again until they are exhauted, wasting all this fire on dreams , dreams? like they know what they even mean....


I know i'm sour..and spiteful and i envy him.I'd kill to beleive in my dreams again.But i've seen otherwise now.


Leaving so much at the surface of your being you'd see more ,feel more, it gives you the strength to fight your battles without a shield.I have always kept my walls wrapped closely around me , sometimes so close that i can hardly see or breathe .Building a fortress around myself so that i may never have to see a bloodstain on my blade.But before long i realized that my sword was always hung tightly around my waist, if i may ever have to use it, i will.




I remember over thirty years ago , a boy not very much older than him.A boy with the very same brown eyes.I met his father for the first time in england , as a charming young man who had the world at his feet.I remember his mother too, only too well.She wasn't the kind of girl you wouldn't have noticed...and i noticed a little too much about her..the little golden curls in her hair ,blue eyes that teased you like a morning dance between light and water, the look of surprise very time she smiled, how she held on closely to his arm ,her head just reached a little above his shoulder and his fingers near her lips......i also noticed how her cheeks turned pink every time she smiled at me.sometimes i couldn't help wondering if it were otherwise...the rules we make up to protect ourselves sometimes imprison you and take you away from the people you love the most.The rules cant change the inevitable end, all they do is distance it...the rules may give you more time..but life catches up eventually.






I remember our names at place cards..Dylan, Dorothy and me, two young men and a lady.I knew my name didn't belong there.but i never fit in anywhere anyhow.And i had no shortage of women to feel lonely.
But Dorothy was different ...i loved her voice..it always seemed like she had so much to tell if only i could understand her...at dinner she'd play with her hair every time she was bored..and somehow these little things mattered to me.


Of course, she didn't know that she was the reason we were together, she didn't realize her part in what we were about to do, In two years all the thoughts that ran in our heads would change completely...we would grow decades older within minutes...but for those last few seconds at dinner we were three friends with a lot of secrets . One entwined within the other until you could untangle them no more.We were actors in our own play, pretending to fit in and hide with the rest of the world. Sometimes i try to confuse a memory into a figment of my imagination and close my eyes in the face of what i think might be true...sometimes to be happy  we need to blur that sharp line between fiction and reality.

NASA- tales at night

2:49 am
Design Studio

random notes float in and out all around you.
the music shivers with you at night
i cant feel my toes but i know the floor is ice cold yet the smell of fresh tea being made in a electric kettle is enough is charge you .
My laptop screen smiles back at me.
usd at night tells me stories to keep me warm
 bedtime tales you cant forget....
and they have been relived year after year
as if the darkness was an excuse to share secrets.


the broken tt table
our deep blue cardigan
they feel closer somehow
my lonely matress back home  has nothing but a memory to keep it warm
from my corner i can see the world at night
a space frame for a sky
 stars dangle from the ceiling

and right now i can hardly feel my fingers
still you know theres something special about this cold air
some invisible ghost that tells you your doing something big
an idea pushes you towards brilliance

random notes still float in and out ...
and the music shivers with you at night



architecture student
usd

Chapter 4- SECRETS...

CHAPTER 4

SECRETS.....

.

Somehow its easier to forget, if your the only one who knows ..once a secret is out ..the memory is shared..often without knowledge....and one becomes many.

Soon you have a circle of secrets..so where do you stop?

and how do you forget?

because now, even  if  you kill your memory,remember, someone else is keeping it alive..hiding it somewhere you cant see......
but you can hear it breathing all around you..

So even if I cant remember who i am.... I know someone else does..

 Deia

Spain

My notes make little sense.i need to sit down and take a moment to breathe , the air always helps me..it feels different here.In one breath i can take in the whole village and their life.

I've been living in this village for the past five days like vagabond,wandering from place to place hardly eating ,hardly sleeping.

i feel dead..inside and out.

i havn't seen my face for days..just the ones of  people on the street.I see women pulling their children closer ..men checking they pockets candidly, and the beggars ? I could write a page about the beggars in spain...they treat me the worst.Yet we waste pity on them.

You never really know where you are, until you leave that place to live another's life.

I'm in spain,the village of Deia, a small coastal settlement in the island of Majorca.I suppose people might call it 'pleasant' , with its orange and olive grooves on steep cliffs, overlooking the mediterranean..Not too long back, there was another englishman here, Robert Graves ,a writer and poet, who fell in love with this village and wrote many stories centered around it during the first world war . He wrote 'Hercules My Shipmate' sitting at this at this very spot..apparently,its not doing me any good.

He lived here till he died ,and his house in now a museum.

I 'm nothing like him and no one gives me a second glance out of interest. i've walked through every street ,seen how people here live, i've had their staple food..which in this case was a thick stew  or a cake of eggs and potatoes..

i could talk about their art and music, but misery blinds me and hunger covers my ears...the rumble of my own stomach is all the music i can take.

i cant live like this...i've seen spain as it should be....and i've had enough.

but why am i here?

the question i seem to wake upto every morning, the one that slaps me across the face and yet never leaves a handprint.

i feel like tearing the world apart ,my head is breaking down to pieces.

i need to find water.Its the only element i understand.

remember robert frost

"some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.."

water..this single element is all it takes to end all life.

the same liquid that quenches your thirst can drain you, squeeze out every last drop of life.

 some say drowning is best way to die.As if the means of death would really matter.

but its really quite simple you see ,we cant live in water, so what do we do?..we learn to swim,to make boats and ships and oxygen cylinders and pretend to have conquered water, because it satisfies this ego that we carry around with us....

what if you were pushed off the edge..

a tiny splash and your dipped into this freezing cold blur

 and you cant breathe..

how simple is the process of death?

everything is designed to be simple

and we try so hard to complicate it

we are fighters

 we cage animals,dig out earth, destroy forests and all this with a smug smile our faces.That ego that feeds on us..

I wonder who is laughing at us?

or even who we are trying to impress?

think about it, one big tidal wave and a million dead.

The money, the hours,the lives,the quarells are all washed away by  water

as if  you was cleaning the floor of all that mess

but this is not enough to prove anything

are we all just that blind..?

..we need to be powerful

so we create life....we replicate people.

test tube babies and clones..

and then, the next tidal wave...and eye for an eye makes the whole world blind

so really,

when are we going to stop punching ourselves on the face?..

...................................................................................

"padre?"

I turned around to see a young man..hardly 20 years or so

"what do you want?" i snapped

 ...after days of being spat at i was in no mood for courtesy

he was taken aback..he spoke back to me in english.

"I'm sorry sir, i thought you were my father from afar....you resemble him..he is also an englishman,"

the boy spoke quite fluently ,i was amazed.he seemed so distant ,yet too close.

"i'm not ,as you you can see now.leave me alone" my voice was gruff,sore from thrist.

"i dont think he is coming"

"i never asked, did i?"

the boy stared staright at me.He had a peircing gaze, beautiful brown eyes, somehow very familiar.He was pleasant on the eyes,this kid.I never noticed before...and I, notice everything.

" i think you should come with me."he said

" and why would i?"

" you hardly seem in a position to refuse my offer either way,what do you have to lose?"

i thought for a second,another day spent wandering aimlessly was of no use to me.

" fine, i hope you have bread whereever you live "

he grinned,charming , this boy.He is used to getting his way.

"my mother will be pleased"

"to know that her son has brought her a replacement?"

he shrugged,still smiling

" you enjoy sarcasm"

"no, i was being rude"

.........................................................................................................................................

'pueblo'

i think that means village in spain...

The villages here comprised of parchment coloured dwellings stacked close togather with little windows to peep through.i'd call it 'pleasant', very convincing too.We climbed higher , it was exhausting to this boy jumping over ahead of me...i hate the young.

I wonder how old i am? i seem to be perpetually tiered.

I realized now that within the past week i had unconsiously slept throughout daylight.Deia at night speaks a different tale..one that can hardly be called 'pleasant'.But the village hides these secrets in daylight, using her utter transparency as a veil to cover herself.

And then,thats when it happened.

I stopped climbing and stood still...my body wasn't responding ...because i remembered...In a flash like lightning,it all came flooding back..or atleast part of it....and for the first time i knew.

i knew why i was in spain..In this particular village...i knew this boy and his father...but importantly i knew what i had to do.

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Chapter 3- Water

“If words can whisper a thousand lies

And dreams destroyed turned to ash

If blood covered a carcassed earth

And no one one

 but i lived to tell the tale….

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…we need to be different to get along.…its ultimately all an act of balance….so that we don’t end up like players on a football field where this one big dream of a football gets kicked at, tossed and passed on 

and god is the golee.

When I was thirteen I knew this boy..this huge bulk of a bully you’d generally run away from, except that…he had magic fingers.he definetly wasn’t brilliant…but somehow whatever he put down on paper seemed big.like he had accidentally stumbled upon something extraordinary that would burst from the seams of his head and he was too blind  to see. 

I was jealous.

Years later I found out what his secret was-it turns out he was blind ,

for the first ten years of his life.so he doesn’t remember the world as we see it…he created his own world in his head….imagine this child playing architect in that scale…..he’d never seen anything before  …he built his entire world around him .

his trees, his rivers, his sand and cities could be …anything.because he’d never seen any of these before. So that’s what he did he created his own little world in his head…and lived in it.

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Chapter 3

WATER...

I dont like crying ..its ridiculous and makes absolutely no sense.why must water come out of your eyes when your being ripped apart on the inside...

why cant we just breathe fire instead?

I've come a long way since that day at the train station and i've learnt so much..maybe a littl more than what i'm supposed to know. Everyday i wake up with a new peice of the puzzle ,like a alzimers paitent on reverse...recovering slowly to a deadly past he'd rather not know.

I scribbed something yesterday ..on those little brown tissues from the restaurant..the ones that are stuffed in my left coat pocket.I usually dig in to find new pictures everyday..some i remember but a few others have strokes i hav'nt seen before and i cant understand these ..as if my fingers moved with another's mind.

i woke up today with so much in a shady motel downtown.The papers were in espaniol..i'm in spain...

and within the rest of the day i need to figure out how and why.

I dont like the people here ..the women are coarse and the men half dead.The owner eyed me suspiciously as i walked out , he must have known i wouldn't return.

the streets look half dead...i wonder where in spain exactly i am?i walked faster as i noticed clouds slowly draping the sky grey...The rain disturbs me..it always has…all this water falling from the sky.how cold its touch feels…. i can see the people eying me from the streets,peeping at me from the windows high up...i stand out easily.

But I can ignore the eyes...the wide young ones ,the sly grey ones...even the yellow ones of a street cat dont bother me....infact i like his gaze the best..non-judgemental but observant.i wish this beast could talk.yet the scribbles are bothering me..i can feel the crumbled sheets as i dig into my pocket..i need to figure then out first.