A Writer's Ink

Suyash Sisodia | 10-Dec-2016

Microtales

"See you next year, soldier," she told her best friend.
She did saw him, in a box covered with tricolour.
He was good at keeping promises.
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Marijuana, cocaine and heroin, he tried everything.
Only the red oozing liquid from his wrist set him free.
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Broken camera and discharged mobile.
For the first time in his life, he was alive.
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Confined to the walls of her home, the 17-year-old rape victim slit her wrist.
"Ah, free at last."
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Her life was dichromatic
Beautiful yet incomplete.
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"Wish me already!", she shouted, looking at the vacant seat.
But dead best friends don't reply, do they?

A writers tale

Image courtesy- https://goo.gl/6a7MKp and http://dark-raptor.deviantart.com/

Tales

We are at War, not with the enemies at the Gate who are ready to devour our Nation, no they can be stopped. Not from the traitors, no, they can be caught, We are at War with ourselves, our mind. This battle is pitched in the fields of our conscience. This war was brewing since the day we took a breath, on the verge of destruction and peace of mind, we stand. All that is needed is a push, a push to the either side, To the threshold of Peace and Happiness or Gates of Chaos, sadness and fear.

This Battle won't be fought against enemies made of flesh and bones and blood and swords. They won't carry a banner of proclamation, they will be manipulative, treacherous and cunning, their sly whispers will echo in each corner of our minds and our heart, they will be powerful, they will be overwhelming, they will torture you and will break you from within, and no mere sword can kill them, no mortal shield can block them. It's our decisions, our choices and our attitude that determines the aftermath of this Battle.

A War is brewing,  and only you got what it takes to win it.

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There is something about this autumn, something strange and something unique. The cold, dry gust of winds have a touch of melancholy in it and each time it blows; it takes away with it the dried up leaves hanging fragile from the tree. With each leaf that falls, I feel one step closer to the edge of complete solitude. The dead cluster of branches protruding out from the hollow stem reminds me of the woods back at home; Deep and dark woods with deadly silence stretching across its length. No sound was ever heard, and no voice was ever made, just me, the woods and the freezing winter.

The winters have set in once again, filling my eyes with memories. I want to run away somewhere very far from here but I cannot, I feel numbness in my toes and itching in my palms, the cold has set in them and is now reaching towards the heart.

I am grasping for breath and struggling to survive, just like the tender leaves hanging from branches up high, whose roots have become weak and the stem is dying. The green has turned brown, and life has turned around, I paved a way out, but the snow turned it around. The cold has set in; the darkness follows it around, and I sense myself being sucked in it slowly and painfully, bit by bit, a little more each day. These winters take you to a place where truth turns into a lie, where beauty seems to be ugly, and treachery is a new pride. Where the soul has been frozen, and conscience has been lost, the cold my friend takes away the reasons to smile. Where optimism is an illusion and happiness is a lie.

The Winters will freeze your heart and take you away to a dystopian land, and my friend the winters have just set in, and it is only the beginning.

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People change and yet they deny the fact. You're born naked, draped in the dark, thick blood and sweat. And then you grow, you spit your first word. You take your first step; you fall yet you hold that wall beside or wrap your fingers around your father's and get up. You walk, you giggle, you cry, you scream. You grow. Your body grows, but that is not it. Your mind grows too, your thoughts and views start developing. You who never wanted to leave your mother's arm now walk around, you learn, you try, you fail, and you try again. You never stop, you keep on growing, you keep changing, dear. You didn't know how you speak and now you stand there, the best debater of your school making yourself proud. And then, you grow and become a handsome hunk, more manly than anyone else and hold her hands and promise never to change. And you lie, isn't it? You've been changing all this while, and you'll do so next too. You will change, and you won't know it until one day you sit down on the floor and take a visit to the memory lane. You will know you changed when you see yourself, a little boy with no knowledge of his surroundings. You will be surprised how much you have changed over the years; you no longer are that small little boy but a man of responsibilities.

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Dear Myself,

Why is it that you cry to sleep daily? It's because you are a time bomb of melancholy waiting to explode. Why do you get hurt and broken? You are stronger than a fort then still why is it that some days a gust of wind blows and you shatter to pieces? It's because you let it break you. Why can't you stay strong forever? It's because forever is overrated; nothing lasts forever in the end. Why do you love someone who doesn't value it? It's because you feel a pseudo-happiness in it, like in some corner of your heart, it will heal you, but it never does, trust me. Why do you aggravate your life daily? Is it because you have adopted darkness as your way of living? 

I know you are broken, the torments you faced already have made you numb. The backstabs, and betrayals have sucked away every ounce of compassion you used to have. I know your mind is fuddled with all you faced, your dreams ablaze & your soul scarred for life but trust me when I say that it is going to be alright, in the end, all of it. All those years of pain and suffering will pay off; it will be a paradise then, not full of riches and luxury but a simple heaven full of peace, love and companionship. Your longing to be healed will be finally over that day, for all the pain will vanish, and the scars will fade away. That day the dark clouds of sorrow will disperse, and a sun of happiness will come up. You will be reborn, a survivor and then there will be nothing to stop you from reaching your final destination. You will be a phoenix rising from ashes, a mystical and majestic being with wings of fire, ready to claim the world and it's going to be beautiful. 

Everything will fall into place soon, just don't give up on yourself, because in the end, you got to be your hero.

Regards, 
Your optimistic self.

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About the Author
Suyash Sisodia
I see the world as a canvas ready to be painted by my brush. Writing is all I do, Words are all I know. It is my passion, it is my life. I have learnt from my life, never trust people, trust words instead, they will never betray you.