firstname.lastname@example.orgBy Joel John
December 19, 2018
The purposeful beings of entirety holed into the walls of lower self-esteems are, sometimes, the ones that brave the world. Taking into their wilful, intellectual arms of might that hath seen more deaths in visions than in real life, experienced more atrocities unspeakable, born anew many a times within, they fly, fly beyond the flyable colours we mere mortals seek, perhaps, yearn for, sometimes.
Their bodies grew with their mind, strong, mentally, and chemically. The physical bulk of attractiveness never bode by them, unwanted, needless. A competitiveness, among their species, of testosterone, and looks didn’t matter. Never mattered. The third eye spoke for them, to them. The visions were wide as well. Too wide, some higher order intellectual would say. Laughter became silence, oogling eyes concentrated on the surrounding, sensing, feeling the breathing around. There was but a cold aura of polluted minds everywhere.
It took some time for them to adjust to the outside world. The ‘normal’ world – broken and crumbling every bit of the second that goes by, tick tick tick, crumble crumble crumble.
“Gods, why hath thee done this to me? Hath thee no favour for thy son, lying among the crumbling pile of dirt and the dirtier,” he asked, but to his dismay got silence for an answer. There was but more silence now, something he had accustomed to. He was one of ‘them’. Unlooked, misjudged, left out, thought to be a being from a world (in a world) crumbling into piles, perhaps a dark one, but was it true? Was he from such world? It was the opposite, in fact, the exact opposite. They faired to realise it too late the ruins they had made, they were living in, the others.
He must not have noticed the time go by, meditating to the rhythm of the dying world, that the skin on his nose had secreted enough oil to fry the fishes whom his enemies sleep with.
Wiping it away with a clean, damp cloth, perhaps a handkerchief, he got up with his essentials – a book, a laptop, a bottle of ‘clean drinking’ water, and a backpack filled with more essentials for his survival to beat the hunt for the destructiveness that will hold this world to its last breath. A necessary mission he dared to take up himself, or must he? Perhaps there are more of his kin than he thought. Perhaps he should invite them into his silent, bright, dark world.
Then, just as he got up, from around the corner of the room he saw a living body, much like him in some ways, a lot different than him in other ways, another being of simple solitude loathing the world around him, or was it a her? The path was dark for the confirmation. The darkness needed to be lit. He grabbed his essentials and stepped forward towards the first of the team and this was the new beginning. A quintessential start to something bigger. A must for all. For all, whomst’d’ve a care for what’s around him. It was time to bring to creation, an organisation for him and his kin. An organisation for intellectuals. A place where they would begin their journey towards the end of the end of the end for a new beginning.
Picture courtesy : Google