The sky shone vibrating across the meadows, molten solid, from the fermenting, the rotting of the plants, the silent shrieks of the land fills the air, ever suppressed by the nauseating, choking, overflowing presence of light. The rays, like mercenaries of their home, in a mad suicide attempt to pile their bodies so high so thick, so intense, as incense, that no cry, tears or sobs may escape their invisible tyranny over the land. Suffocating, peeling their very beings off their core so as to be able to take it home, yet leaves it both, on the ground, like a used towel in a brothel, their truth but a scalped, skinned soft shell lying on the ground which itself is but burnt skin, ever drying, fading, like a dementia patient, experiencing the gradual decomposition of their own mind and conscience. And the core, lifeless, less significant, and alive than a stone, by itself nothing, only an integral part of something, but alone, abandoned, only potential, unrealized, never fading, always nothing, a whole world cries. A world of cries, never to be heard, so as not to be, the sun, always, ever forward it rains.

From my cave I watch, as life strangles life, into death, it embracing life into the lifeless as life itself never would, how strange it is, life’s love of itself, it’s continuation and propagation, this is cruelty in its essence, not just towards others, but towards oneself. The sun sets, now, all those in pain, may find respite, calmness in the dark, all the dead, may calmly feed the sickly pleasures of the scavengers of the night, but finally, lifelessly, painlessly, a state life never allowed them, a luxury, life does not permit.

Consumed by thought in the entrance of my cave, I noticed not, a living curse approaching, beautiful to the eye, on others, I scream in the silent calmness of the night a beastly curse, of terror, of myself, of the moon. Insipid rays, illuminated for a moment, my body, myself, leave me alone. In terror I jump back and start running through the caverns of my cave, like a wild beast, the moonlight invading ever further into the caverns, I bleed, I hurt, I am beaten by the chandeliers of stone hanging from the ceiling, yet whose light I can tolerate on myself, I run on and on, only to be finally somewhere the rays won’t ever catch me. I, in my confidence, like I did not just act like a beast of the woods, not that I would say I am not that, yet I would prefer, hmmm of the caves perhaps, in my faked confidence which I fake to myself to keep finally from the wretched fact that it touched me, the violence of the sky, take my steps slow and upright as never before. But fall on the ground and start vomiting, the light, it touched me, there is no me, I do not exist, It, with its touch poisoned me, cursed me to exist. No, I will disappear again, it won’t take long, I’m sure.

The urge to vomit, the disgust of being, not the reality of the outside, but me being a part of it, the outside bothers not until it tries, ties pervasively, perversely. Digs into the flesh and soul, with the confidence of a god, so nature does to nature only itself, itself.

Out of frustration, I start walking slowly yet submerged in thought. It will only take a minute, I will fade away again, everything, only is as not alright, as it used to be before. In a stormy sea of calmness, without a moments notice I fall, I could not see a thing in the darkness of the caverns, which only seems to darken. I might die I thought in that second, right before I submerged in something other than my thoughts, suffocation. Could I simply drown in this place? Evermore comforting than any place in my mind, the silence, only intensified by the distant sounds of the underwater tunnels. The water seems brighter now, almost like a ghost, irradiated by a silver light, I open my eyes to the horrific realization that the moonlight somehow seems to reach into the cave. I look up to the ceiling, the chandeliers of stone, now, instead of water droplets dripping from them, something ethereal seems to be flowing from, through them, as blood from the wounds. A silverine liquid, shining moonlight, and shone it did, all over the cave, infecting each and every part, each and every single thing was its domain now. I submerge and scream underwater come up for oxygen, unbothered, like nature is to us, like our galaxy to our sun, and our sun to us, indifferent, incapable of its consideration even. I most certainly, insufferably, am. A cloud gathers in the cave, a silver cloud turning into a vicious smile of a round face. The face of the moon that is, smiling, like a bear with its prey, even as alive, a certainty of possession, this is what a prey animal sees right about the time of its death. I wanted to drown, not drown in myself, in water and not in a demon of the cosmos. So great as to be completely empty, I am, most certainly, trapped. Resignation, to float to bask in it as a game, its lights, simply because you must now. To drown in a sea of nothingness, in a strange cave, in a strange way, consumed purely from the inside. Despite all else, now, happily laughing at it all, it will never keep me locked away in this prison, of myself. Soon enough, all will have mattered not for me. Clearly, my role will be that of a terrorist of the mind, the cynical, actor. It seems all the rivers, are simply here to be dark in their reflection, always at night, so that maybe, one accursed day, someone drowns therein for no one to see. The moon like lava, flows cold into the cave, in its frosty light of madness, there is no place for calmness. Desolation, the defining feeling of being so conscious, of being so alive, all to the highest degree, not as a choice, but as a must. As an outside being forcing you into this state, all appears even though on the inside, it is not an act, a non-act, of being, being outside, the outside as you, as you experience it. Fragmented, I fall to a corner, horrified by my innards, and horrified, of my awareness of it, with almost loving, dying eyes, a stare at the moon inside the cloud, in its disgusting nakedness all around me, flowing ever onwards, inwards, now permeating me, as the real me, as the me outside of me. Horror of being spare me, calmness and death comfort me. Not even the thought of nothingness gives me peace now, even these old, conquered concepts, slayed enemies, identity, form and thought all collapse in on themselves, everything of me illuminated by awareness to the point of making them invisible, revealed as nothing to be illuminated. I flow, with what, I care not, my body never resting, my mind never ceasing, to scream in pain out of an unlocatable, all-encompassing pain and discomfort. They screech so distantly from the other side of a tunnel filled with heavy gases, alive, before though formation, all of it lived directly without narrative, without cure, so distantly, hauntingly claustrophobic, this pain, a prison inside of which my castle stands. Or a hole rather, a cave perhaps, how ironic, a microcosm of mimicry, or rather the truth, the essence of life can never be escaped. Drowning, how ridiculous, by now I have drowned a million deaths, yet here I am, ever feeling, ever fleeting, ever in pain, forever may be. Now half dead, floating dazed, in the sewers of this cave and my mind, drifting ever away, into a nothing as a most radical being, formed but formless, mouldable yet always the same, a drift in my own winds, in my own clouds, now the pain is gone, I open my eyes, and see, all around, I am bleeding out, the ceiling a starry night beyond comprehension, in which the moon floats dark, in its place. As my blood, spreads around, always calmly, in the darkest nights, yet now, on the face of the water, a reflection of the sky, in its dark and light all the same, around me, a flower of blood, the stars shine red, and radiate the rot. The beauty of rotting, the only true growth, the world a reflection, a giver of shades. The shade of this existence, nothing, but a shade it is as well. To act out your death, as an actor to yourself, a banalization of death, as well as life, yet inevitable, like all else. I notice I start sinking, in my blood, a carnivorous, blood thirsty flower of beauty, through my blood, and in its reflection, the labyrinthian maze of mirrors, the self, itself is but a grotesque, radiating its light in incomprehensible ways that seem impossible to even conceptualize, my previous dread left perhaps, only in fear of its master’s arrival. This, being, as a state seems to take pain only to see if it can carve a new one into you, deeper, with a better knife, meat is but, all, that signifies its disappearance, corrosion or corruption. In the garden of nature, which it created in its vast madness, reside the most peculiar of cemeteries, some of which almost seem to create death, only so that it may suffocate another one. Infinite graveyards, expanding, always by their very nature, from their old stones, new ones are created, from their own dead new life, forever to be hunted in a new existence, on the eternal hunting grounds, the gardens of nature, peel themselves to the core, so as to satisfy, and entertain their mad ruler.

The smoke and haze hang

heavily

in the sky,

opaque enough

to hide

the tears

forming in my eyes.

Your mouth moved,

words

spilling

carelessly,

pouring

from

your

lips

as you

shattered

my world

so casually.

Ears burning

with the pain

of aching goodbye,

I could only watch

as you turned

in the misty morning,

and all I saw

was your

back

as you

walked

away.

So

it is

fine

that the smoke and haze hang

heavily

today,

like the lingering debris

from the collapse

and razing

of a once happy home.

It seems

as if the air

sometimes

knows

when comfort is needed,

even if the blanket

is made of

pollution

and broken dreams.

She swims in the depths of star-filled darkness.

Deep in the comforts of her calmness.

Floating through skies of limitless cosmos,

her consciousness found solace.

She watches the stars sparkle as they ripple below the waves.

Refracting in unison,

her movements are displayed.

Not a dream but a memory.

Her home is heavenly.

In the corporate world, where vast fortunes are made, stories of deceit and charade can unfurl. How they evade their taxes, employ slush funds, with cunning and guile, and skimp on payments to workers, leaving them fixed in a bind.

The wealthy few, with pockets so deep, one would expect another to know when you are occupying more resources than you need. As they bask in luxury, poor workers' pockets run dry all too quickly. That they would choose to deny others while they lie, cheat, and steal, makes me wonder if it's all about maintaining their social status and power while the majority of others weep?

Can't the narrative be rewritten? Can we break free from this mold? It would be great if we were no longer confined by their dishonesty, unfair attitude and corruption, and better yet if the corporate world embrace justice, love and integrity - those better values that don't masquerade in deceit but in sincerity operate and serve.

Neha had always been told to stay until the last moment of every exam, to scrutinize every line until it bled in her vision. She had been taught to triple-check, then quadruple-check, then check again. She had been taught to squeeze her mind like a lemon, to drench the paper with the last powers of its acidic truth-serum logic. Above all, she had been taught to waste not even one second on false confidence. Although, with her former strategies, confidence was inevitable.

Not so now.

The ink is swimming on the page in front of her, and she has a terrible wrenching knot in her stomach. She lifts her head.

The proctor is far below her, rifling through papers in front of him as if he has lost an exam.

Suddenly Neha has an idea. Keeping her eyes on the proctor, she turns slightly in her chair, takes her exam, and drops down on all fours.

Heart racing, she looks around.

Fortunately, she is in the back, high up and nearly invisible, if it weren’t for the proctor and his dark eyes already having identified her. No matter.

On all fours, she creeps along the row. There is no way the proctor can see her: the man whom she has never seen before, the man who looks stunningly like her.

She reaches the end of her row. She takes a breath. The door is just to her left and up two steps.

The lectern is far below her, but the sounds of paper shuffling have suddenly stopped.

She freezes. It's too late: she can’t risk it, not now.

Suddenly, a buzzer goes off and she hears someone clear his throat.

“Time is up. Turn in your papers.”

His accent is like hers.

She abhors him; abhors him for succeeding in this world that she is clearly failing in, abhors him for his smug superiority, abhors him even for his very presence.

Chairs scrape against tile, bodies rise, and sighs emanate from various places around the big room, an orchestra of surrender.

Neha scrunches further toward the front of her row, where the wood paneling is hiding her from view.

He can’t have seen.

Yet still, there is a pause.

“Are there any tests still out there?”

His voice has an edge to it now.

Neha clutches at her backpack, a last-ditch attempt to make things right. She could just get up now, say she dropped her pencil and ‘sorry here’s my test’.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she stays absolutely still.

She can almost feel the proctor’s frown.

“And there were no other students in here?”

Neha hears the sound of fabric rustling, students looking around as if to find who the culprit is, glad that for the moment it is not them.

Neha takes another breath. She could still get up. She could.

But her heart is pounding and her hands are rooted to the carpeted floor.

She can’t. She just can’t.

----Novel Excerpt---

I check my watch. 9:36. He was supposed to be here a half hour ago. Shit. He's probably being tailed.

I should probably explain. I won't though. It's much too complicated, and I wouldn't even know where to start. I'm not one of those sappy "here's my life story" types. If there's anything life's taught me, I'm aware you couldn't give a shit about me.

He's our client. I don't know his name, and I have no desire to find out. We've been switching areas to avoid suspicion because I can't deal with cops on my ass. He must be good too. He never drops any hints. So I'm sitting in a shithole Denny's way earlier than I'd want to be. Like who meets at 9? But he always pays up.

He's not clean. Almost everyone is a mess. Twitching eyes, constantly licking their lips. Those are the signs the true addicts have given up on hiding. He calls too often to be a cop. If he did would've been brought to the Sugar Distributer Penitentiary.

King Kandy is known for his generosity. Except to normies. If he knew I was selling off my special acid trip licorice I would be dead. I know, so cliche. Yeah.

My name is Raymond Licorice. Never did forgive Ma for that one. Of course. The bad guy, getting poor innocent souls hooked on sugar.

Come on. I live in a cave. I'm not exactly rolling in dough here.

The client sits down. As always, clad in long brown trench coat, double rows of black buttons gleam like diamonds. A mask obscures his face, a hood covers his hair. Good grief, he looks like a third-grader's idea of a secret agent. He comes with a briefcase. Grey, cheap. Good. We both know it must be untraceable. He's just some rich asshole hooked on the taffy. Oh well.

"One pack RedVines, 15 grams of the black swirls" He says.

Of course I am more than supplied. A whole pack of RedVines? For a normie that could knock him out for a week. I wonder if he suspects where I get the merchandise. I wonder if he knows that I am the Lord of Licorice himself. I doubt he even knows about Candyland.

"1800" I price

He looks equally nonchalant

"1400"

He drives a hard bargain. It costs me about 10 bucks but whatever he'll fall for.

Surprised? What else would I be dealing in? Gumdrops? King Kandy changed our currency after the Gumdrop Revolution III. Whoever he can fuck over he will. Especially his dear uncle Raymond and his Gran.

"1600 take it or leave it" I reply

He nods and passes over the briefcase.

I open it. Gotta check. I watch his expression. Then I notice. He's moving halfway through him. It's like his lower body is fighting with his top half. Addicts do strange things, but this shouldn't be possible for anyone but... Gloppy.

Fuck. I'm getting busted.

And by Gloppy? He wouldn't be able to find his Chocolate Swamp and he's attached to it. (Or maybe it's him?)(Honestly, I don't care enough to ask)

"Alright fine Gloppy. You caught me." I mutter, hoping to gain the brown blobs' mercy.

"What's gloppy?" asks Gloppy, in a strangely high nervous voice that doesn't resemble Gloppy's deep, mascotish, dumb chortle.

"Take off the coat!" I yell

Slowly he takes it off. What the fuck is happening? It's two kids , no older than 10, sitting on top of eachother. He- or should I say they, shrugs guiltily.

Fuck this. And that, dear reader, is why I no longer go to Dennys.

(Hey thanks for reading. This is my first attempt at doing an actual short story. It may get continued, it may not. )

The door was opened,

no one knows by whom,

when or even why,

but so it remains,

allowing access

to the spiritual.

Had we forgotten,

distracted ourselves,

we may have survived.

Alas, we're all flawed,

easily mastered

by depravity.

Brutal, "I love you,"

hours of neglect

and all the grooming

have had a hand

in my decision

to become humane.

In the quiet hours of dawn,

When the world is a soft whisper,

I find solace in the hue of the sky,

A canvas painted with the first light,

Gentle, soothing, infinite.

It's the color of the ocean's depths,

Where secrets and dreams intertwine,

A dance of waves under the sun's gaze,

A melody of tranquility,

Endless, embracing, eternal.

In the eyes of a newborn,

There's a glimpse of this shade,

A reflection of innocence and wonder,

A spark of the beginning,

Pure, hopeful, serene.

It's in the twilight,

When the day meets the night,

A moment of calm,

A bridge between two worlds,

Quiet, reflective, peaceful.

This color, it whispers of freedom,

Of a boundless sky and an open sea,

A journey without end,

A path of possibilities,

Tranquil, vast, liberating.

It's the color of my solace,

Of my dreams, of my quiet moments,

A shade that feels like a deep breath,

A color that holds the essence of peace,

Calm, cool, collected.