Untitled story Chapter 1

"Hey! Hey! Easy, easy, that’s heavy." said the ground work supervisor. "Secure the straps, avoid it's sharp edges." the crane manager said to the crew inside the container that was trying to move a large sword. The sword, which was 6 ft long with one-and-half-hand handle (aka the bastard sword), was longer than a single hand sword, but shorter than a Japanese double hand Katana. It was not just it's length that was unheard of, but also the width of its blade. It was almost 3ft in width. “Why the hell should we transport this piece of junk? Who would use a sword, in the age of guns and missiles? Even 5 men could not move it!” thought one of the working crew.

It was just twenty past eight on a busy morning, with the peak hour traffic come to a standstill, due to a big container truck that was parked at one end of one of the busiest streets of the city. A great many people were trying to move something from the transport truck into the compound of an antique store.  People were craning their necks trying to get a glimpse of the sword that had been the subject of such speculation and debate. Rumor had it, that a well-known private collector had bought the sword for an exorbitant sum.

The antique store was housed in the middle of a high compound which was always guarded by private security personnel. The store was never actually open for business, with the large gates always closed and guarded.

Heavy leather straps were fastened at both ends of the of the sword. The media was rife with speculation about this sword - its appearance, its constitution and its historical significance. A speculation that did not end with just its past, but extended to its present and future.

The men began strapping the sword to crane, it looked rather plain and simple with no embedding.

"Was not the sword supposed to be studded with gems? I don’t see anything at all!"

“Maybe they have been lost after all this time.”

Some rumors said it was made of some out of world material or an undiscovered material. Some workers thought this must be the reason for the weight. The weight of the sword made it impossible to unload from the back of the truck. They had to open the top of the truck allowing the cranes to lift it off.

The man overseeing the progress shouted to his subordinates, “Triple check the strap’s integrity and locks. If this thing falls on you, you will be crushed to a pulp.”

One of the other subordinates had had the misfortune of testing the sword’s sharpness. He paused momentarily, unconsciously stroking the gash as he thought, “If it falls on any of us, it would  probably split us before we even feel the cut.”

The crowd watching the sword’s transportation consisted of men and women of all age groups, ethnicity, and class. It had commoners, working class people with their scruffy but clean outfits, also the lower working class with  their dirty, old and battered clothes. It consisted, even of the high class people with their fancy shiny brand new clothes and their servants  in uniforms holding their umbrellas , newspapers or  baggage of their purchases of their so called endless shopping. The crowd also consisted of those intermediate people who pretended to belong to high society but fell short in one or few aspect which betrayed their true class status.

The crowd not only consisted the bystanders, but also groups of journalists and media personnel who were all busy either with  their writing pads, pens, cameras or microphones. The arrival of the sword was ambiguous to the spectators as nobody but the collector himself knew of its precise whereabouts.

The sword was still on its stand at quarters of each end. The stand looked rather old and battered that it would giveaway anytime. But the manner the sword was fixed on the stand gave an impression that it was the sword which was made for the stand and not the other way around. The sword was sitting naked on the stand yet it fit so well that the sharp edge never once came in contact with the stand surface. The stand could hold any sword, but the sword could not be placed on any other stand.

Just a little far from earshot of that truck was a large shopping mall. Inside the mall was a very energetic young female intern reporter who had been forcefully dumped the assignment of creating a popularity drive for a product, while her heart was into reporting the authentic version of the story of the much-publicized sword and it's arrival. Even though she didn’t like her assignment or the product there was little in her behavior that betrayed her total dedication to this assignment or the product. She was followed around by her plump cameraman.

All the walls of the truck's container had been opened which enabled all the bystanders to see what was going on inside. Just when the ground crew about to fix remaining straps on to the stand, there was a huge disturbing noise. There was a bunch of cars and a truck similar to one with the sword headed towards the ulterior antique shop with a huge honking through the one-way street, which headed away from the place. Shouts and gunshots echoed the street. This scattered the crowd surrounding the sword truck and created a panic all around. The people got down from the cars with their weapons held high while their faces were hidden by Guy Fawkes masks.

The peculiar people from the cars had all worn a black dress with a band on their right arm, consisting of a red symbol similar to the Nazi swasthika inside a black circle. They  ordered ground workers to move the sword into the other truck threatening them. The crane manager shouted to the operator to put the sword into the compound and not comply to aggressors' orders. The crane operator tried to lift the sword without its stand, as the stand was still unstrapped. The crane started lifting the sword in air while the private security personnel rushed out of the compound to neutralize the threat.

At the same moment in the mall, the young reporter heard the distress. All the reporter sense in her body told  her she had to be there. She shouted to her camera man, "Hey Chubby, follow me! Let's get to higher ground, we need a better view. Its going to be big! Hurry!". Her camera man loyally followed her breathing heavily, as both hurried off toward the best vantage point to record the incident.

As the sword raised just meters above the stand, the strap at the non-handle end split right into two and the sword came down like a pendulum, right through the stand. The stand neatly split in two and then disintegrated to dust .The sword swung further and split the driver section of the truck, before freeing itself from the remaining strap at the handle end. The sword almost made 360 flip at the same time descending down rapidly. Just as sword swung further, almost once again bringing the sharp edge as the major contact edge, the sword stopped in it's tracks. It was caught in its handle by a pair of hands.

Everyone staring at the scene thought that the person would be sent flying just like many others who came in contact with the swinging sword. But that person simply caught it and neither him, nor the sword moved a single inch and the sword stopped dead in his hands. The ground men and the aggressor who stood near to the scene, saw the person holding the sword.

It was a kid barely 5.4’’ still in his school uniform . His innocent face had frozen in an expression of genuine shock . The swing of the sword had created a gust which carried the dust of what was left  of it's stand. Both the aggressors and security personnel shouted at the kid to give them the sword. The crowd around the kid felt the tension and started to scatter away, where as the media tried their best to get a clear look or photograph of the kid.

Both the camps of aggressors and security personnel began to panic as the kid still stood frozen and started to attack the kid, rather than their counterparts. As soon as the gust moved past the sword the dust started to circle the kid and not move past him creating a small whirlwind around him. All the gun shots were useless as the twister stopped everything in its paths. As soon as the twister settled down the kid looked very different, yet the same. His posture or his expression was unchanged, but his attire was replaced by a long black robe with a brown strap from his left shoulder till his right hip across front and back of his torso. The strap had a small stand similar but much smaller than the old battered one, all through its length. The robe also had a big hood which was hanging behind his neck.

The aggressors and security personnel started firing again, once the twister stopped. The kid instinctively turned his head away and raised and swung the sword form right to left at the same instant. This created a big shock wave which stopped, not just the fired bullets but also scattered the whole landscape. This instantly killed both the security and the aggressors and just knocked all the ground crew cold. There was chaos all around.

Near the mall, the young reporter and her cameraman started to capture the scene. But all they could capture was the tumult all around, people running away from the truck  and media people still stuck in their position next to the compound gate. The two parked trucks blocked their clear view of the kid, who held the sword, which was longer than his height. But the sight which caught the firebrand reporter's attention was not of the kid's, but of a man, who stood with his back towards her. The aspect that he was not trying to get away from the scene, but stood casually dressed in a dark pullover with a hood on and a dark blue jeans with his hands in the pullover’s front pockets, made her nerves tingle. Her instincts told her this man was not a normal sight, but rather a front page news material. She ordered her cameraman to not just focus on the sword scene but to include the man with the hood in the picture, which he did only reluctantly.

The guy in the hood slightly raised his head and surveyed the whole area in a single swoop. He then suddenly raised his hand towards the street cameras and sparks flew from them. His hand slowly followed all the cameras and mobile cameras capturing the kid and slowly all of them exploded into small sparks. Once all the individual cameras were burnt the man pointed his hand towards the area of media personnel, when the whole area exploded to flames, reducing it into nothing but bloodied, injured and dead media personnel. Now the reporter knew she had to get a shot of the face of the man in hood. She told her cameraman to rush towards the scene.

While the intern and her camera man were hurrying out of the mall the kid with the sword suddenly became aware of his surrounding and raised the sword in his left hand and fixed it onto the strap on his back in a motion which looked practiced. And he wore his hood and started running away from the mall on the one-way street. At the same instant, the man in dark hood casually put his hand back in his pocket and started walking in the direction the kid had ran with the sword on his back.

When the young reporter came with her cameraman all she could see was devastation left behind by stampede and explosion. There was no sign of the kid with the sword or the man in the hood.

---------------End of Chapter 1 -------------------------

Hi, this is my first experiment in writing in this genre as well as first time in writing this kind of a long narrative style. Please do leave your comments. Please tell me if you want me to continue this story or not.

Even if this is not your usual type of story please do continue reading just help my experiments.

For people who like this you could further boost me by answering these questions

1.  Who do u think / want to be the protagonist of this story?
2.  Was the antagonist of the story present in this part of story? If yes who do u think it is. 
3.   Last question. Please suggest some names for the characters because like any engineer, I'm bad at naming and I don’t want to end up naming characters a ,b ,c..

Thank you..

Untitled story Chapter 2 (not proofread)

CHAPTER 2.A - Master of Puppets

[Focus: Man in hood]

Previously:-

          The truck carrying the antique sword was attacked as it was being transported into the antique store compound. Among the chaos, the crane lost hold of the sword causing a huge uproar and resulting in death and destruction. The sword was miraculously stopped by an unsuspecting child. When the security and the attackers tried to take possession of it by force, they were annihilated by a single swing of the sword. Meanwhile media personnel and some of the onlookers tried to capture the child’s appearance; later which were all destroyed by an onlooker in a hoodie, who also caused an explosion slaughtering all the media personnel. Soon after, he starts walking in the direction in which the child ran away in a frenzy.

Continued:-

He was walking with a slight spring in each step as though celebrating his triumph. He was swinging slightly, shaking his head and humming 'Live and Let Die' which was muffled due to the scarf he had used, to cover his face.

He abruptly quickened his pace, as if he was late for an appointment.

“Are you okay, my sweet rat? Did you get hurt?” enquired a gentle motherly voice.

“No, mom” said the hooded man with an embarrassed expression.

“If he were to get hurt by something like that, then he’d shame our family name honey, you wouldn’t do that wouldn’t do that would you, Kush?” said a masculine, low-pitched voice.

“He he he! Kush & rat, more like Krash. I would have done a better job with my eyes closed!” said a young bratty voice.

“Dad if you cant call me by my pseudonym, then call me by the name u gave me." said the man in an exasperated tone. "And shut up, you leaky nose!” he snapped at his little brother.

"Moooom! He’s calling me names again!" complained the kid.

“Sweet rat, haven't I told you not to call your brother that? Haven’t I?”scolded the gentle voice.

“He started calling me names, not me.” the man complained in a voice barely audible. 

“Okay both of you, stop that, this instant!” snapped the mother as she saw the kid open his mouth to argue.

She then turned towards the man and asked in a concerned voice, "Did you HAVE to kill all those people, ratty?"
The man, his brother and father muttered at once, "It was essential!"

"Hmph! Okay, fine! Is that anyway to talk to a lady?" scoffed the mother.

"Sorry, mom!" apologized the other three together.

The man then spoke in a dark tone, "I had to, otherwise those pesky reporters would have jeopardized my plan!"
His words were followed by a short silence before his father spoke, "Son, you better hurry! That kid's in trouble! He needs your help!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~End of 2.A~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 2.B. - Time & Rain Washes Away Pain & Stain

[Focus: Young intern reporter]

Previously: The young reporter heard a disturbance from the mall where she was working. She rushed to the topmost floor along with her cameraman to get a better view of the disturbance. She then noticed the child wielding the sword as if it were a toy and the strange man in a hoodie who created a melancholy, Intrigued by the man's behavior of severe violence, she ran towards the scene with an intent to follow that man.

Continued:-

    The young reporter started running towards the elevator. She was a survivor, her instincts told her that in hurry escalator and stairs are always a better choice than elevator. She took the escalator down and she did not wait for the escalator to carry her she even descended those steps. As she was climbing down she stumbled and almost fell due the stilettos. But that didn’t slow her for long because the footwear lost its place on her foot and it was hanging from her shoulder. Down the escalator she ran towards exit barefooted.

     She was dressed in a pink suit, with a white shirt and pink buttonless small coat and a pink below the knee skirt, her medium length black hair was neatly set in a ponytail. She wore rectangular spectacles which hid her beautiful brown eye. If she were to be dressed casually without those spectacles she would look barely seventeen.

      As she came out from the exit, all she could see was a lot of smoke and could feel only chaos.

      She started sprinting towards the scene. Her breathing was steady and she did not show fatigue or any signs of slowing down. She was happy that she had been keeping up with her morning sprints which she started when she was in the school athletic team.

     It did not take her long to get to the truck, which, just minutes ago housed the large sword. But, she could barely make out anything due to the heavy smoke. She stopped hoping that the smoke would clear out. As soon as she gathered her thoughts, she noticed that her feet were wet and sticky. That is when she noticed the puddle of crimson she had stepped on. She jumped back, scared out of her wits when she realized what it was. By now the smoke had started to clear and now she could see the carnage. There was not even a single person who was still in one piece around her.

    There a foul smell of burnt flesh and blood in the air. The smell, blood on her soles, footwear on her shoulder all together made her stagger. She collapsed on the road.  She could neither nether blink nor breath. She sat there stupefied as though she has seen a ghost.

    It was almost 10 minutes after that, when her cameraman caught up with her. His plump body drenched with sweat and he was panting.

“You…. Never told me it was a race to the finish luv” said the still panting cameraman half expecting her to rebuff him for his false accent. But that had to wait as he saw the way she was.

   He was so used to her always in control, witty, energetic self, coupled with her nothing is impossible attitude that he could not bring himself to accept it was her. She sat in the middle of the road her knee to her chest cuddled; she was shivering violently as if it was a frigid mid-winter night. Only when he saw his surrounding that he could understand her being the way she was now. Even his self-proclaimed bad neighborhood experience left him as he could taste sour in his mouth.

   “Hey Akira, dear you gotta get up. Come on take my hand it’s an active crime scene now cops will be crawling like ants towards sugar lumps. The crowd has started to gather again. Please take my hand I can’t lift u off with this camera in my hand” said the warm humane cameraman.

   It was minutes before she actually took his hand and tried to stand again. But she was still shivering uncontrollably. And many more minutes slipped out before she could recompose herself.

   “I’m okay now , get the camera rolling let us do a first report on all this before the cops come and seal off the whole block” said Akira.

“This is Akira with cameraman prufulla ” with that she completed their first report.

   Not long after that the sirens barred the street. First only a handful of cops arrived they were the first responders. They usually comprise all patrol cars or the on duty cops at the nearest station. They usually just do all that is required to preserve the scene to the respective specialized cops and forensic staff. So the first thing they did was seal off the block. And they canvased the neighborhood for any witnesses and take their accounts or detain them for further enquiry. They were followed by some plain clothed and higher ranked officials who started the investigation and enquiry. It was nearly 20 minutes after the arrival of first responders did ambulances blazed in, and then came the bomb squad which checked the aggressor’s car and truck for booby traps and secondary explosives. To their relief there were none.

   Akira and prafulla stayed there for another hour or two before deciding to leave to their office. By then they could even see one or two of their colleagues around the scene. And even the heavens themselves had started to weep.

~~~~End of time and rain washes away pain and stain~~

Chapter 2.c:- Ignorance- a bliss or blindness of soul

 Focus: Kid with the sword.

                The kid started running; he was running faster than he thought he ever could. He only stopped when suddenly breathless and his stomach felt like an immovable stone rather than the lump of muscle. He felt as though he had just woken up from a very realistic nightmare; the nightmare of being a passenger and not the driver in one’s own body. He tried real hard to shake it off pinch and wake up, it is not real it cant be how could I kill so many people , why did I kill those people ,what is happening to me? So many questions bombarded the back of his head but no response. He cannot go to his school he knows this how does he know, how does he know that the wave after wave of question kept crashing but no response. But only one question he could actually was he back, he was the driver again; he was back to his old self all but with the exception of a sword hanging on his back. It looked like a mummy wrapped in cloth from its own hilt.

                That’s when it started the rain. It poured down heavy from the first drops hit the ground. It looked like it would never stop. Neither can he go to school now nor go back home, so he knew the one place which kept him safe and happy and that is where he headed. As he walked somewhere behind him just barely within the eyeshot a dark shadow loomed, moving slowly but at very uniform pace.

As soon as the kid arrived at his destination he threw his bag on a heap of straw. His destination had a roof but no walls; it was not far from civilization but it still hidden from the civilized; it was under a bridge on the bank of one of the only clear water rivers still flowing. Even when he threw his bag he couldn’t get rid of the sword. All he could was barely shake it, but yet he felt no burden on his shoulders and his back from which it hung. He started his favorite pass time throwing the stones in to water making hops. He maximum no of hoops he could ever do was 4 no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t make the stone take 1 more hops; but today he could barely make 2 hops. He kept throwing until he could make 4 again. Now satisfied his strength was back he finally made one attempt to remove the sword from his back; this time he was successful. It was now again in his hands majestic and gallant, he couldn’t help but admire it; a sense swept all through him a feeling when one observes his muscles after many hard workouts. The cloth on form sword’s hilt rested on the ground like a curled up snake.

Now the kid made that hard decision if no sword then no problem no troubles so he pulled the sword back held in both hands and swung it towards the river and when he reached his expected direction he let it go. The sword lunged in to air and charged through as bull charging towards his target. As soon as the kid let go of the sword the cloth from the hilt sprang to life flew in the air 

not in the direction he threw the sword but towards the kid  .

~~~~End of Ignorance a bliss or blindness of soul~~~~~

I'm over you

Now every-time i think of you are just part of memory
All those smiles are now just layer of photography
The music that your voice was ,now just a mimicry
Now none of them saddens me, that which made me cry.

     Because now its only me
     Because all that's left is me
     Because now all you see is faults in me
     Because now you say there was never a we.

Now all we can boast, is just history
All that people will hear , is one side of story
The sparks have now died, leaving leaves & flowers to dry
Now none of them matter, nothing more left to try

    Although it wasn't just you
    Although  for long I blamed you
    Although most hurt was you
    Forgive me, and lets say I'm over you.

Inspired by listening to take my picture by filter

My first try at poetry. titled "Beast inside me"

It inhabits my soul

Where it moves and prowls

Awaiting its stroll

In my body like king on roll

It lies in still

To feed on my ill will

So it could hold me still

And direct my will

It howls and growls

In drains and in fowls

It rips and shreds

Everything like breads

It leads the end

Leaving nothing to stand

 I keep it in chains

Made of spectral wines

Just to feel the bliss

Of minutes before chaos.

The first story i had ever written .. sadly couldn't title it till date

Beep beep!...Beep beep!... Beep!...

The sound of the alarm in my phone woke me up. I opened my eye unsure whether to get up or doze off again. Just next to my bed I see the bed lamp post where I keep my phone suddenly today I felt it to be emptier than usual. Still lying on the bed I reached for the phone to switch off the damn alarm which has been buzzing for quite a while. Not sure why but I m not able to sleep again. I usually love sleep, if I decide to I could sleep through the mosquito filled nights or people filled mornings of Railways Station. Or I could sleep while standing in the Jam packed Locals of our Mumbai. But not today “Why is that I wonder!?”I sat up on my bed trying to remember what is it, that has been going on in my life. It is always that one second of time you get before the head splitting Hangover comes to remind you of last night’s mistakes, and I thought “why does that date bother me?”. I saw date 11/07/2016 from the phone I have in my hand.

          My head started to feel as though I had head-butted the wall all night. Just when I thought yester night’s on the rocks whiskey was a bad idea the sensation in my mouth gave me that bad smelling n bad feeling tarry bitter taste of those cigarette residue which usually would have negated by the mint came. It reminded me further of the bad choices I had made yester night. “Hey wait hadn’t I quit smoking long ago then why did I smoke Last night??”, then it came to me at last, the reason why I can’t sleep today, or why I had those un countable no of glasses of whiskey the latter night, and why did I smoke again after so many months, and why 11/07/2016 looks so intimidating, it was that day the last day I could call her my girl, it was her wedding day.

          Even that splitting headache couldn’t do it, that which just her memories brought. My eye started to fog and I closed my eye and let my head role back and sat there with my hands behind supporting my falling off head and I took a sip from the fountain of memories. “Nisha nisha.. ..” the words rang through my head even in a teared up state those words brought a faint smile in my lips. Nisha she was an ex colleague of mine. Before this I used to work at a small firm called FutureTeck corp, I was a hot shot programmer there newly out of Engineering College where I was well known for my potential than my credential. It was maybe around 6 -7 months of me being a employee that I met Nisha, the girl who changed my life, the girl who gave me a direction in life, and now the girl who has tore away my heart. Nisha was a newly recruited non technical correspondent. To all technical employees the term “non-technical” was a letdown it just reminded the stupid nonsense talks about statistics and deadlines and more utter non sense talks about dedications and loyalties. But she was different. Every time I think of her my head displays that picture of hers Her soft silky long hairs which she always let it free just like how she was in spirit, and her beautiful clear eye which she always hid behind her glasses, and her lips which usually looked like Donald ducks which would very easily part to show her beautiful smile which is more often than the ticks of time. She always wore those elegant yet simple Salwar Kamez. She was different because everyone in that firm wore the latest trends, (oh yes I used to work at one of those firms which had no restriction on dressing).

I got up from my bed trying to remember if I had to go to work today or not then I remembered it was Saturday and I didn’t need to work. (my new job was 5 day week but the old one was 6 days).I tried to get to the attached rest room when my hands hit the towel stand which had 2 towels hanging one of which was her gift. She always hated my selection in towels and she loved shopping so she had made me wait half of day (in mall. which I hate to visit, I am an online shopping kind of guy) to gift that. I pulled the towel and laid it around my neck and turned to see my room, which looked too tidy to my taste. My eye fell on those drapes on the windows which she had selected, and then I remembered the towel stand was also her idea .I usually kept my room messy proud to be called “Bachelor’s room” and she was always against it.

As soon as I washed my face my hands felt the small stubble beard which I hate( I’m either a clean shaved guy or long rock star beard kind of guy. Since 2^nd option is ruled out thanks to my employers. My look usually was clean shaven). But I had stubble because Nisha, she always used to say she liked guys with beard and she never liked clean shaven. (Again in contrast to most girls who usually like clean shaven boy next door kind of guys). Then I decided not today and had a clean wet shave. Even after the clean shave with my favourite Mach 5 turbo I didn’t feel the smooth because my hands were expecting the smoothness of her skin.

I got into shower; I always liked the sensation of boiling hot water on my skin. Even in shower my mind drifted off towards those moments which I spent getting drenched in rain. Against all the arguments from my friends I hated getting drenched it always used to mess up my hair, and made my clothes cling to my body like blood sucking leaches. But that day from my memory was different; it was the only rainy day I liked because co incidentally it was also the first time we kissed. Nisha always used to love rain and she had pulled me under heavy rain and kissed me. I opened my eyes try to fight off those flooding memories and quickly finished my shower (opposed to my usual long showers). I got to my cupboard and yanked it open that is when I saw a picture frame of Nisha which usually occupied the space on my bed lamp post. I liked to look at her picture before sleeping and after waking up. Just below it my eye fell on the large brightly coloured envelope with too many glitters and mirrors. It was tightly hugged by a yellow thread which when opened supported the whole card. I opened it again just to see the two pictures at both end one being a guy (I felt like punching apparently for no reason), and on the other end was the girl whom I’m loosing today Nisha.I felt an involuntary urge to throw that card which I very easily succumbed to. The card landed at a corner of the room still spreading the glitter powder it contained. The card was exactly like my idea which I had told Nisha, even in the end while leaving me she stole my idea.

          I got dressed up in my usual biking attire the black leather jacket over a t-shirt of my pet band Iron Maiden, above my favourite thick denim jeans. Today my custom made Jacket felt not so comfortable may be because I remembered that she hated leather and any animal products, she loved all the animals and used to say she trusted all animals over any human “Animals are always loyal” she used to quote. And then I went to my first love my Royal Enfield Thunderbird 350cc.But today even she felt heavy and not so comfortable. I rode off as usual with no direction, but still Nisha on my mind. I rode all day throughout to reach that place by night it our favourite hill station and also her hometown. She lived in a Manson at the peak. I suddenly stopped my bike at the side of the road a place very familiar place it was the place where I used to wait for Nisha when she would sneak out with me it was a very good location it right next to the hill and the beginning of the ghat curve so naturally anyone coming down will miss but yet a well lit place so that if looking for will properly show he face of person standing there. I leaned against the parked bike and stood there when a highly decorated car came down the ghat and at the back end of the car was a face I very well recognised. It so happened as though the time suddenly slowed down, and both our gazes met suddenly her cheery face saddened and a tear broke through the thick make up. We both kept on staring at each other when car looked as though it was stopping..........

Oh by the way I’m all those people who have a broken heart, I’m all who have lost their love, I’m you....

The ending is left to you with a message saying you can always change your story and ending is yours to be written, not fate or situations.  

First ever piece of my own writing titled "The void"

That night I was on my way back home at some time before the obsidian, when I just passed a rather

large gathering for such an hour. Not until I got almost next to them did I realized they were all lamenting and

then it hit me that someone was  no more. “let that person find peace” I said under my breath . And  it was then

that my head started a train of thoughts “Y is it that every time v hear the word death there is that stark in our heart

regard less of whether I know the person or not , it brings a tear in my eye . Y do I feel that its me whose lost that some one,

y cant I just read the death of my favorite character as just another set of lines.”

Is death really that bad? But elders say they are crossing over, going to a better place , finding eternal peace,

becoming a star and watching over us from above, becoming part of god; but still mourning from the inside.

Y should v feel low all those things they said are good, still I cant convince my inner self to not feel bad. Y should

Death scare me. No it shouldn't. I love riding at 120kmph, wandering in unpopulated highways with all valuables on me,

Jumping in water not knowing how to swim, trying bungee jumping… I crave for the thrill all these give but still y does

Just news of someone’s demise immobilize me .

Then I just remembered these lines from megadeth song “A Tout le monde”

If my heart was still alive

I know it would surely break

And my memories left with you

There's nothing more to say

Moving on is a simple thing

What it leaves behind is hard

You know the sleeping feel no more pain

And the living all are scarred

So as you read this know my friends

I'd love to stay with you all

Please smile, smile when you think about me

My body's gone that's all

Its not death that scares its what the people leave behind. Its then I realized I’m not afraid of death but it’s the feeling of being

Forgotten. As the Japanese say you don’t die when poisoned stabbed or shot , nor by a deadly disease; you die when u are

Remembered no more or ignored. Being dead is not peace but being lonely; so its not death but staying alone is scary.

It is this void I feel in my heart……