When Darkness Blinks

It Must Have Been Thus

Clownscape — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 16:31:48 +0000

She rinsed her mouth with his blood. The salty taste made up for all the bitterness she had kept hidden beneath her tongue all these years. She described his blood as the slumber in a cloudy afternoon. The siesta of a pavement dweller unknown to the conspiring rain.

One day, he had disappeared inside his own body. And blood had replaced his skin. She was the search squad. She walked into his blood. Searching him. She followed a corpuscle with a torchlight. Swam deeper into the red. And still, he was nowhere to be found.

After she had lived those three months thrice, he sprung out of her.

Distance: An Introduction

Clownscape — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 01:50:29 +0000

He found her in one of his own dreams, dreaming about him finding her, in that solitary, circular dream of hers.

Bias: An Introduction

Clownscape — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 15:18:12 +0000

A repetition of dreams. Uncircled thoughts. Unselected. Roamed about on her stage. The drama followed her instincts. A bunch of drowsy audiences. Invited by their fears of unrestrained light. An infection to their eye. Their only eye. Left. The other been washed away in their points of view. Bias.

The play continued, long after their only eye went to rest. The part they didn’t see was compensated for, in their dreams. Dreams that were repetition of each other. And therefore, alike.

Her acting was instincts. Missing. Next morning, from their interpretations. And interpretations said her play had a plot and a logical conclusion.

They never knew that the play went on forever. An infection that spread over to their lives.

Instinct had become their only eye.

The Implausible Stones

Clownscape — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 01:30:27 +0000

Each of his stones was impossibility. None of them had the property of visibility. They reflected no colors. Absorbing all. But you always knew that they were there. Some, because you could touch them. Some exuded the strange fragrance of a stone. While others created the dense, infinite silence that stones have always created – to make you listen.

She brought him a stone, one day, from the land of the free. It was sculptured on nothingness. Had various interpretations. Its only property was mood.

And then, she was gone.

After he had been sitting beside the pebble of moods for a long while, a realization slowly dawned upon him. The pebble of moods is the synthesis of every other stone in his room. A space where other stones are recreated. Because we cannot feel without our minds. Because sensations are also a form of interpretation.

Because impossibility is just another mood.

I Am

Clownscape — Wed, 28 May 2008 02:40:18 +0000

The eye is an abyss. Many who fell in it drowned forever. Many times when the eye blinked the world was drenched in darkness for a few fragments of a second. A black earth. It was an eye that held the world in it. Bees, people and civilizations all resided in it.

One day, tears interfered in the life of the eye. And the world residing inside started turning hazy. The people started fading. Civilizations disappeared. The world, like gypsies, moved elsewhere. Void took over. And like we all know now, in every void resides a flock of memories and a legend. And the legend told – the eye is an abyss. Many who fell in it drowned forever.

When the eye went to sleep that night, the mind awakened.

Writer’s Block: An Introduction

Clownscape — Fri, 23 May 2008 06:16:33 +0000

“A wonderful way to start would be a dream”

“How ’bout the feeling of being trapped?”

“In a dream?”

“Maybe”

“Sounds more like a writer’s block”

“That’s it, then. We’ll start with a dream in which the protagonist is trapped in a block meant for writers”

“And then, what happens?”

“The tale ends.”

A Clown’s Introduction to Alchemy

Clownscape — Tue, 13 May 2008 01:15:19 +0000

The dream stretched out of his forehead and wandered through the labyrinthine corridors of a day in his life. He became a reverie in there.

When he woke up, the next day, he was no more.

The Plague

Clownscape — Wed, 07 May 2008 01:45:30 +0000

She had purple eyes. There were certain colors that she couldn’t see and the world was a less congested place for her. She also had the powers of turning an object invisible for her eyes and thereby, eliminating the object. She had eliminated, for instance, pumpkins, crows, three whole men and a caterpillar.

One day, she met a sage who told her – “Growing up is adapting to the things we’d like to eliminate.”

She felt bad and decided she wouldn’t be eliminating things from then on. But suppressing your greatest powers is equivalent to holding within yourself a darkly cursed premonition. Soon she was on the verge of insanity.

At last, one day she murmured – “My powers don’t suit me. I could neither use them nor put them to rest. I’ll never be a simple girl. This world doesn’t suit me.”

After the world was eliminated, she started adjusting to the ensuing grey darkness.

Voyage: An Introduction

Clownscape — Mon, 05 May 2008 01:25:28 +0000

He had made a small hut beside the sea. On days of the tide, the sea would stretch to the place his home was. He had made two doors on the opposite sides of the wall – one from which the sea came in; the other, it went out. On these days he had plenty of sea creatures passing through his home. Some of these he really loved to watch whilst he sat on his bed – like the gray crabs, jellyfishes, fishermen and a few ships from the distant land. He had learnt quite a few languages from the foreigners on the different ships; found a few friends in the sailors who would pass in through his hut every now and then with their ships.

One day it started to rain and it didn’t stop. After a few days or perhaps, months, he found a huge ship coming in through his door.

“Which land are you coming from?” he asked them in different languages.

“Land?” they replied, surprised, “There’s no land. The rain’s taken it all. We live in different ships. Each a country.”

So, the world started coming in through one of his door and going out of the other.

After he died, people claimed he was the greatest voyager of all times.

Victory, Reclaimed

Clownscape — Fri, 02 May 2008 16:55:19 +0000

Whether they spoke the truth no one could tell. Blindness covered their tongues. They were neither be found on this side of the red. Some claimed they had left. Others claimed they were still hiding in their basements. Still others claimed they had seen those melt like ice.

Their disappearance, the only certainty, revolved about their head. Drew crisscross lines on their feet. That’s where their skin started to crack. The crack took turns – up their stomach, in through their chests and reached their forehead. All at once, you could see the glowing lava called blood, under their skins. The infinite tears of the body. The final vacuum. The deconstruction of their last hopes.

Identities were nor to be found on this side of their skins.