All the days I go through posts, but then I realize people don’t read more than a few lines, thanks to the construction of posts by social media.

Buffet of thoughts.

How much more brutality would I be able to see?

I ask myself often.

All the days that I have seen a friend cheat on her best friend.

All the days that I have seen a strong mother getting beaten up.

All the days that I have seen a daughter cry for what she didnt mean to do.

All the days that I have seen a father getting drunk until he can’t afford anymore.

All the days that I have seen a teacher being expelled for supporting her students.

All the days that I have seen people not being able to be themselves because they are being made fun of.

All the days that I have seen, I have seen too much.

And I can no more bear to see anymore of it, because all this while I had been the victim of it.


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                                                                   Episode – 1

Listening to the tick of the old clock soothed his mind, as he sat in the crampy,
dusty office.
The smell of the old carpet that had been laid down on the floor across the room still lingered like an unfamiliar stench of an unchanged diaper, and he knew he’d never get accustomed to it.
Gracing the peeling walls were the awards – his five minutes of the limelight, it wasn’t too many, but he was content with the work he’d done throughout his life.
The Scarlet Killer, perhaps the most gruesome murderer the town had seen til date, was his prized possession. He’d been an ambulance chaser back then, called upon by the Commissioner to help out with the case. The relationship with the commissioner went back to the old days when his father used to throw those sausage-fest parties that he could never really get around to. There was a lot he didn’t like about his father, but he respected him nonetheless, like a good, faithful son.
As he recalled the countless days he’d spent on the case, he couldn’t help but remember the M.O that the Scarlet Killer was so expertly used to recreating every single victim he’d mark with – He’d gut the victims and make the intestines spill, wrapping the body with the intestines, all the while maintaining the consciousness of the victim. He would’ve ended up on the same menu if it wasn’t for her.

He glanced upon the radio, which had grown quiet.
He’d found it when he was a kid, lying in the basement of an abandoned building near the railway station.It was the one secret belonging that could be labelled as the success behind getting to the crime scene before any contamination could occur, because
The radio was no ordinary one –
It would quite literally provide him news from the future, reading out new articles that would be the headlines in the newspapers that would be published within a week’s time, as per his experience with it. The time range varied, often it would have the news from the next day, or even one week from the same date, but it helped nonetheless. He flicked the unfinished cigarette into the vase, filled with the flowers from clients he’d helped out. He’d been receiving carnation and lily flowers through the entire month, and he’d grown tired of them.

There was a knock on the door. His secretary, Mater Dei, peeped in and warned him about the arrival of a new client. She looked disapprovingly at the mess on his table, and took out the flower vase into the adjacent room. He adjusted his coat, quite literally shoved all the bottles into the lower cabinet of the table, and opened up the window blinds a wee bit so that the light wouldn’t hurt his eyes as badly as it would usually do.

The client was an old man, graying and frail, whose eyes betrayed his mind, darting across the room and peering at objects.

The old man set his cane down near the table, and began to say,

” I heard you could help me with my problem. It’s regarding my wife – she’s gone missing, and I need your help finding her. “


” Hey baby, I miss you :)”

Her face was bright
Probably not by the light of the screen
but probably by the flutter of emotions
and the naive lack of notion
behind this little message.

“How was your day?”

She read out the sentence in a little whisper
her lips making out every word carefully,
she looked like a little bird
squatting in that little comfy nest of hers.

” I’ll be back home soon.”

She couldn’t wait!
Dressed down for the day,
she chose to wear a little touch-up
and poured herself a cup.

And as she downed the last cup hours later,
He slowly emerged.
From the splotched mascara,
He came forward.
And from that broken shell of hers,
He was released.

And for a moment, he remembered her perfect little smile,
and he came back to reality, albeit for a moment only.

And soon, she took over again.
Haunted, he sought solace
in the little nest of theirs.




Otoha – Ichibyo no Refrain.


A loud thud, and there he lies,
The knight in the worn down armor.
He’s not shining,
doesn’t have a young, bright smile-
Just a tired soul, going the mile.

The sky is lit up,
Meteors pouring down upon the field.
He has given up but all hope.
It rains down cats and dogs,
it rains.

He is but alone, surrounded.
Down to the last arrow,
Back against the wall,
Hiding in his burrow,
He’s just tired of it all.
But the fight is far from over.
They wait for him back home,
and that gives him the last boost,
And he springs into action!

He swings his sword,
Bloodthirsty and beserk,
He has become all but
an animal now.

The final bell has rung,
And the battle has been won!
But the allies have yet to discover
the little soldier
who is yet to come marching home.





The Red Capes are coming!


Twenty One Pilots – Heathens.

A moment’s pause.

I shall take a moment of your time, out of the finite that you have,
to work those aging cells.
Think, think, think – you must!
Eternity’s end is upon us.

They say prevention is better than cure.
To cure the  disease, we drink the medicine.
But if we were to nip itt right in the bud, then we prevent the disease altogether.
What if the disease was meant to be?

What if we were fighting against the wheels of fate by doing otherwise?
Answers, I do not have.
Only questions. More and more.
But then again, they say
Prevention is better than cure.

And so, we believe in “they”.

Destroy the seed before it is born.

Kill the mind before it grows.



( Heard my Sensei listening to this on repeat. I like it.)


It’s the same thing, over and over again.
The same routine, the same path, the same coffee, the same latte expresso.
Punch in, punch out, punch the hell out of myself.
It makes me sick in the stomach, it does.
My mind is going numb, it’s not going places it used to
Fantasy lands have become barren.

But this is it.
The last, final straw.

The desperate move, the reply to the check.

They’re not cutting down my tree.
I won’t let them raze the Tree House.

And so, to the enemies outside and within, I have only one thing to say-

I’m back.


( Every day is exactly the same.)