They throw him against the wall. Punch him, pummel him. Until his world is tinted, coated in a haze of colours. Until his eyes darken, and his shaking limbs fade to the bliss of unconsciousness.

Weak they label him. A coward. A freak.

There is a darkness they’re still blind to.

The screams of pain that he is now deaf to. There are bruises and slashes that he has learnt to ignore. There are broken noses, there is a damaged face, a damaged body that he’s learnt to cure.

But still, they’re right, he thinks, as he wipes a hand over the face wet with his own tears. He was a coward who bowed in the face of his own destruction. A weakling who couldn’t even protect the fragile tendrils of his heart.

The Snakes Fly.


In hindsight, all phenomenal moments in our life start with something insignificant. Something, that looking back on we don’t immediately recognise as the cause of the disruption. It’s fleeting; a passing word, a shallow smile, a small delay and somehow they end up setting in motion changes that shape someone as a person, the changes that become the focal of one’s latter life.

Her story begins with a piece of ribbon.
‘They had been warned,’ she thought, her frail body failing at the last moment. She tumbled to the ground, the mud cloaking her torn dress, and her bruises aching with their freshness. She holds back a choke, and rubbing a pale, cold hand over her drenched hair stumbles to her feet. Behind her the forest is quiet. It is stifling and ominous. It raises the hair on her back, and makes her heart platter in a frenzy.
A twig snaps somewhere. The rain had stopped to a light drizzle, so she hears it clearly. She gathers her skirts and rushes forward; heaving and battered but still desperate enough to continue.
She stumbles to an end. From the bleary vision she makes out the well, and it is a moment of insanity, perhaps the desperation had clouded her judgment and she cuts her hand on the stub of a rock.
The blood pools in her palm and she looks behind. It is a look that seems admonishing for a moment, a look that wanted the predetor to realise the significance of her latter action, and then despite the heaviness of her heart and the hesitation of her mind, she squeezes her blood into the well. It vanishes in front of her gaze. She closes her eyes, and with a quivering lip she shouts the words, “I will,” her voice cracks. There is a fuzz in her brain, she can suddenly not fathom anything. There is another crack behind, closer. She squeezes her palm and screams with all her might, “I will die when the snakes fly!”
There is a crackle of lightning, as if the heavens themselves have cemented the oath. As if her pact has been written in cold blood. A spark illuminates the dark crevices of the night, and there are two orbs that fill her hysterical vision.
The last thing she remembers is a blade sinking in her stomach, the warmth pooling her insides, and a wetness that blurs her eyes, but most importantly a red hot flash of pain that takes her with it.

They say that all fictional stories begin with something grand, or at least they lead to something phenomenal. This story however begins with muddy boots, drenched dresses, and words spoken too loud in moments of hysteresis.

To be continued…

A/N: It’ll be a 8 part story.

The Caress of Life.

In the beauty of this motherland, a being is never truly alone.

The walls are collapsing, the doors slamming, the windows dissolving and all there is left to see are the despondent crevices of your own mind ready to suck you deep into their darkness.

The world appears in the shades of grey; it’s hollow, cold, unwelcoming.

You stand there shunned by the world, the people vanishing, leaving behind closing trails and you feel that you’re left all alone.

But, O darling, close your eyes, and for a moment FEEL. Sense the teasing brush of the air against your skin, the breeze caressing your face, ruffling your strands. Hear the sweet song of birds, of animals; hear the melody of life and open your eyes, finally, to look at the sun whose warmth melts away the grey in a rainbow of radiance. And be aware that with the purity of this motherland and the dance of cosmos surrounding you, you’ll never truly be alone.