Monthly Archives: March 2013


Third Person: She

She saw them push him into the pipe: many times smaller than his size. They huffed and puffed, swore and cursed, twisted and turned him like a corkscrew, edging him inch by inch into the narrow, tunneled out prison. It seemed a tedious task, this relentless shoving, yet they persevered. With an unbridled determination, they continued their efforts, in squeezing him inside a space that was anything but spacious.

What drove them to commit such madness? to inflict such agony? She did not know.

Perhaps, they derived pleasure from tormenting him. Perhaps, they appeased some carnal impulse of brutality. Perhaps, they just wanted to gain the satisfaction of pushing someone to their limits. Perhaps they just wanted to suffocate all vigor, all vitality, all life out of his veins.


Second Person: They

Numbness stole through their bodies, sneaking from the poisonous crevices of their hearts into their bloodstream. They did not feel his pain. They did not have the compassion to feel his pain. They had been blindfolded into doing the wrong by the sense of their right. And, so they pushed and pushed and pushed – a mantra that knew no end.

What drove them to commit such madness? to inflict such agony? They thought they knew.

A thousand excuses, they thought of. All balderdash.


First Person:  He

He felt his bones crunch, his innards clench, as the constricting rubber of the pipe closed around him. He felt the grim material stretch across his limbs, sticking, adhering to his skin. He felt their clammy hands clawing into his shoulders with every heave, with every push. He felt his skin grow cold, his sweat vaporize. He felt his life slowly dwindle to a mere flame, stripped of all its fiery glory. He felt the wick of his life coming to a premature end.

What drove them to commit such madness? to inflict such agony?

He knew the answer.

They could not see him happy.

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A sieve is what he wished for – a porous membrane that would help him sift through the chaos swirling in his head.

How do you confront all heads of Hydra together? How do you choose which one to hack? How can you know for sure  that two more heads would not sprout up in the place of the one you hacked off?

He wondered how a slight inkling of trouble could have evolved into a myriad of problems: problems that had determined to consume him so utterly, so absolutely as to not even leave an iota of his will unscathed. He understood now: the hollow quotes, the vague statuses he had shared on Facebook – they did not mean anything. They did not help him unravel his problems. They did not help him find solutions. All they ever invoked was a false sense of security; that somehow, the statuses, the quotes would help him exorcise his troubles.

He understood now: how intricately his thought processes were woven with his actions. How he had to chalk deeds on his slate, to clear his mind. How taking even the smallest of steps was more important than just twiddling thumbs and doing nothing.

It takes but a little stone dislodged, to set off an avalanche. And if you find yourself in the midst of one, you do not allow it to overwhelm you.

Instead you do something: you grab a boulder and hang on.

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