Fight or Flight ?

I stand at the precipice contemplating everything. This is what it all boils down to. These last few minutes! 
The cold wind brushes gently against my tear stained face. I shiver!  There is no going back, not now, not from here. I close my eyes and jump..
When I open my eyes I expect to see light. Isn’t that what people usually see? 
I however, see a train. I am at a railway station. The wind is dry, cold and it bites. I huddle but goosebumps erupt all over my skin.
“You’ve come unprepared”, says a voice that sounds both familiar and strange.
I look up. An elderly woman looks down at me. She is unwinding her shawl as she speaks, “This is why you never come unprepared and never without an invitation.”
“Do I know you?” I ask.  She smiles. A wry smile. 
She hands me her shawl and I greedily wrap it around myself.  “Better?” “Yes” I say thankfully, “didn’t catch your name though”.  “Well I don’t blame you. I haven’t said it.” I wait for her to introduce herself but she simply continues to look at me. 

The Forbidden Fruit

God skimmed through his inbox for the fourth time since morning. He had received no new prayer emails. His prayer box was full of reminders from various religious institutions and tons of forwards. The last one has sent him into a maddening frenzy. It had said:

“It’s time you performed a miracle, you know, it’s becoming hard to glorify your past work and expect people to believe it. They want to see a miracle now.”

God ignored the message and the reminders kept coming.

Another religious head had sent a rather shady message with the subject line “confessions of a hypocrite”

God didn’t open the mail. He couldn’t deal with the stress of it all. He drummed his fingers against his desk and began to brood.

What’s with this generation? Don’t they have needs? Is it time for me to send a swarm of locusts upon them?

He shifted uneasily in his chair and looked around hoping he hadn’t thought it out loud. He couldn’t let such destructive thoughts get the better of him. “Bad day?” Said a voice,…

Journey to the center of the mind

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” asked the elderly gentleman as he surveyed me from behind a pile of books. I looked up and into his dull grey eyes. William James had died at the age of 68. He looked much older though and very tired. I had called upon him at an unearthly or rather deathly hour for some assistance and after a bit of resistance and plenty of hesitation, he had agreed to help.

“I have to do this. It's the only way”, I said.
He shut the book before him with a thud that sent dust into the air. He coughed slowly and strenuously while I waited for him to say something.
“It’s not the only way. But it is a way! The toughest, if I may add.”

He drew out a piece of paper from his coat, scribbled across it and handed it to me. “People have journeyed to continents afar"
“Also to the moon and Mars”, I added.
“So I’ve heard,” he said with a look of disbelief, “but very few embark upon a journey to the center of their mind.”

“You did”, I said.
"“I tried!”

I unfurled…

Futuristic letter to the agony Aunt

Dear Agony robot 
I am the parent of a 28 year old girl who has chosen to stay on Earth. She is highly qualified, intellectually sound and unnecessarily witty. She is beautiful too. Well not as beautiful as her mother but that really isn’t her fault. I ruined her appearance with my contribution of facial features. My daughter is a working woman. She is doing well for herself but my only grouse is that she refuses to leave Earth. Every time I bring up the topic, she quotes Tolkien and says “As long as there’s some good on Earth, it is worth fighting for.”
I am aware that it’s a modified version of the original quote. I am also aware of the perilous consequences of letting little girls read books. Her head is filled with dangerous ideas like saving Earth and fighting for justice. She is young. She still believes that good prevails over evil. Maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged her to read Harry Potter and maybe I should have hooked her on to George R. R. Martin instead. My bad.
My son, on the…

Fish for thought

“There are plenty of fish in the sea” said God rather vaguely as we sat on the upper deck of a medium sized fishing boat. I scanned the horizon. It was nearly half past five. The sun had turned golden yellow with a dash of red.  “He is easily embarrassed” said God pointing at the sun.  Hearing his name called out, the Sun quickly hid behind a cloud. “He is rather sensitive and doesn’t like being talked about” said I. 
We watched the Sun take a dive into the sea, clearly self conscious that he was the subject of conversation. The orange hues of his evening robe continued to flap over the horizon. Soon even the last bit of orange garment was out of sight. The sky turned dull grey and eventually faded into jet black. 
“We were talking about fish” said I hoping to steer the topic into seas I was interested in. God, readily played into my hands. “Oh yes, plenty! I wouldn’t be worried if I were you”.  “It’s a myth” I said slowly,  “What is?” “This plenty of fish business!”  “Is it now?” “Why? Yes! The …

So many lice

I have come down with a case of lice. They are all over my head. Unfortunately they aren’t gnawing at my scalp like they usually do, they are inside my head this time, nibbling on my brain. They are everywhere especially around the amygdala.  I’ve tried all methods to get rid of them. Apparently you can’t drink Mediker. Also that doubled toothed/edged lice combat sphere of some sort can’t comb cerebral creases. That’s only for the hair. Ugh 
I’ve tried banging my head against the wall but that just slows them down a bit. It doesn’t exterminate them. 
I’ve tried drowning my thoughts in intoxicating substances. They pass out briefly! That gives me temporary relief. But once the lice are up and about, they attack me with renewed vigour. Some lice don’t even get drunk. They just get buzzed and then they become honest. That makes things worst. Clearly, alcohol is not a solution here. 
I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t sit still for five minutes. They are taking digs at me. Even the white lic…

Prison Break

It’s dark in here. The walls are damp and there’s a strange smell that emanates from everywhere. It makes me nauseous. On moonlit nights, sliver streams break through the darkness. When this happens, I look around my dungeon and see a half eaten plate of food in a corner and tiny tumbler that’s almost always empty. There should be water in there. But there isn’t. My mouth is dry and my insides squirm. I am tired, thirsty, exhausted and defeated. 
I throw open the windows to let in some fresh air. The air that comes in just stagnates somehow. When I look out of the window, I see life outside. I crave it so desperately. I don’t like being locked in here. I don’t like the loneliness. I don’t like the neglect. 
The place where I am holed up is not a great height from the ground. I can jump out and free myself from here but I’m so accustomed to the darkness. Too much light frightens me. I have grown comfortable eating the crumbs you throw at me. I savour them. 
You pass by everyday. Sometimes…