Searching

Shortly after refusing his friendship, Raheema noticed that this occupant of the bed next to hers, besides the sad empty look in his eyes, the nose ring, the vinyl red head scarf, and the intermittent hoarse short coughing attempts, had a swollen jaw and was incompletely opening his mouth while talking.

Although she dislikes intruding, she could not but ask,
“Yes, in addition to bleeding internally, I had my jaw broken”
With no response from her other than an inquiring, motionless look, he continued,
“They took out my spleen, and fixed my broken jaw, I was beaten by a police officer, last week; I was caught searching”
“Police, I thought searching had become legitimate, since last year.”
“Not, when you are caught in the act though, as if there is anything other than the act”
“I am sorry.”
“Well, such is life; I did not intend to search. I went out on an early afternoon to run some errands, and when I was done, I decided to go to the park and contemplate; my future that is.
A tall heavy set man, passed couple of times in front of me, and then started looking deeply into my face. He had some kind of a deep look, a faint halo around his eyes, a confident walk and an anchored pause.
When he noticed that I saw him, and briefly watched him, he smiled. I naturally smiled back. Although it was a half mouth courteous non inviting smile, he gestured to me subtly; he had a capsule; a Truth capsule. He rolled that capsule between his right hand long fingers, gently and persuasively.
I conceded, and smiled; a full lip smile this time.
The tall stocky man then approached me, and while covering his hand with the shadow of his body, offered it to me.”
“He gave you the capsule! just like that, right in midday?”
“Early afternoon, actually”
“And?”
“And it happened; I stretched my arm and opened my hand to take it. And you can imagine the rest; we were caught in the act.
He was not beaten; Police claimed that I was guilty because I was the one who stretched out my hand; I was the one in search, the other person was not searching; he actually was getting rid of the knowledge.
I think that the other person, being big, scared them off, so they gave him excuses.
My face and body piercing did not help either; I think it actually intimidated them.”
“And then, what happened?”
“That is all I remember, until I woke up yesterday evening, when they brought your highness here. You were sleeping”

He struggled turning around a half turn, slipped his hand under the pillow which his head was on, pulled out something and swallowed it, then lit a cigarette, pulled in a deep drag, and exhaled white thick smoke right into where her face was.

A deep grunt followed a smile.

She smiled back, full lipped.

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After

She opened her eyes to an apple green lit room. There was no headache, no nausea, no pain, and to her dismay; no euphoria.

She recalled the last trail of thought she had in the brown corridor;

Now, he does not want me to be someone else’s; he said I am his.
Additionally, he laughs wholeheartedly entertaining the idea that he does not enjoy loving himself, except while thinking of me!
Lucky me.
Keep on waiting my dear, there will be no more “me”
I will be happy.”

The new thing is that she is not happy!

Could this be after effects?

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Sahara

It’s a desert.

I want these hills removed.

I want my front to look like sand dunes.

They said they’ll make nice scars below where my breasts are, after they remove them.

I requested those scars be tattooed; with dark brown. Also create similar scars above and below; longer scars that run gently downwards, in different hues of brown.

I want to look like Mauritania.

Dunes… Emptiness.

I want to look how I feel, want to express my in.

I feel belonging to this empty surgery corridor,

It is even painted brown.

 

end of chapter I

 

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Questionnaire

Please answer the following ten questions by punching out the mark next to the appropriate answer

1. AGE: * Below 6 *6-60 *Above 60.

2. Genetic Code: *X *Y.

3. Mobile Eye: *Less than 50 Mega pixels * 50 or more Mega pixels.

4. Procreational activities in the past 10 months: *Y *N.

5. Mode of Antidepressants: *SRSI * Non SRSI.

6. Do you like yourself now: *N *Y.

7. Organ to be modified: ————- (Please specify)

8. Calendar followed: * Solar * Lunar

9. Are you a member of the Green Planet Society: *Y *N.

10. Preferred method of payment: * Credit * Community service.

Please spit [HERE] for your DNA signature.

 

Raheema, with no hesitation, spat on the dotted box.

 

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Rejection

She sat down on the therapy chair, a high, triangular, buttock torture wooden chair. It is claimed that this is how the best is brought out of a client.

”I did not imagine I am still this sensitive to rejection. I did not think I am this vulnerable, this undamaged, this un-jaded. I am back to doubting every word I spell.

Getting to know someone online, eliminates almost all the usual senses; you do not see, hear, smell, touch or taste them. Only the brain works. The brain may get accepted, but if one of the senses later betrays this acceptance, you will be scratched, again, right in the Jugular.
You will feel just as bad as being empirically rejected, or even worse, as the brain is dismissed in toto by the disapproval of a single senseless sense; of the way you look, sound, or smell, let alone feel.
When you chat over the web, you allow the entity at the other end to make a person out of you the way they wish. They make that image according to the senses they are used to use. In other words, you only fill the brain part by your thoughts and allow them to draw the outside image. You give that unknown entity on the other end, the full unrestricted freedom to draw your image using their senses which you have absolutely zero control over. That image is vulnerable and may very easily be torn to pieces.

When your brain gets discarded because you don’t fit the outside image they had sculpted you in, you as a person will be diminished to nothing, dust. You basically had given them total liberty and absolute control. That is a lot of giving.

The story of my lemon tree.
I was watering a plant, taking care of it, and building a bond with it. It died.
A slim stem grew in the pot instead, possibly out of a forgotten seed. The new stem grew up towards the ceiling, and then started to give scent.
It started giving, only after I had paid attention to it, after it grew and persisted, after we had built a bond.
Then the scent came; a lemon tree.

I had loved it and cherished it even before it gave away its scent and gave away its identity. It had convinced me to love it, bit by bit, before telling me what it really was, before allowing me to draw a mental image of it. It allowed me to fall in love before I “know” or even “expect”. It did not allow me to box it. I was tricked into loving that anonymous stem.

I do not know if that lemon tree is now dead, or is still spreading its peace. We had parted after a kiss, and an unspoken goodbye, whispered by the edges of the eyelids

Now another stem is growing in another pot on the shelf of my balcony.
The same story of death, and of a new stem.
The new stem is not giving away anything yet.
I am not in love with it yet.
I am more careful this time.
Still, am very volatile.”

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A Cloud on a Cliff

You have left me dreaming of seeing you, in a year.

 

Passion is seizing me, holding my pieces together, until I be with you.

 

I want to be one cloud with you, slide by, rain, and disappear with you.

 

I am still waiting.

 

It has been years,

 

Each day is a year,

 

I continue to wait, right here, on the edge of this cliff.

 

My heart is aching. I am melting.

 

I shall continue to wait and melt.

 

I am withering away.

 

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