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As always, everyone in this story is eighteen years or older. This is a completely standalone story totally apart from my intricately related other ones.

A heads-up for those with short attention spans: this is long. Look elsewhere for a quick fix. I won't judge you for looking for something shorter and please don't judge me.

A heads-up for the squeamish types too: there are equal parts incest and anal here. Hope that's your cup of tea.


Words on Skin: A little sister can't say some things out loud

*~*~* Part I *~*~*

Lizzie watched as her best friend Jessica brushed past her brother again on her way through their kitchen. The house was packed full of people and there was plenty to eat and drink in every room but Jess still managed to find a reason to swing through the kitchen every fifteen minutes to flirt with her brother.

"Heya stud," Jessica smiled, "it really is nice to see you back around these parts again. I kinda missed you." She winked, nodded at Lizzie and wandered off again with a few gratuitous wiggles of her curvy hips.

Lizzie's brother leaned into her with the question she saw coming, "Okay, what's with Jess? Does she like me now or something?"

Lizzie smirked and waited until Jessica turned a corner out of earshot. "Let's just say she likes the kinds of things she could do with you."

"And what kinds of things might they be?"

"You're the dumbest smart guy I know but even you're not that dumb. Either take that frisky cheerleader friend of mine upstairs and find out for yourself or stay down here and hang out with your adorable kid sister. Sounds like a close one. Want me to get a coin for you to flip, Scooter?"

"Don't bother dog-girl, I'm going with plan A."

Lizzie watched her brother toddle after Jessica. As consolation, she took a long swig of her beer, swallowed, and howled softly to herself, "Bawoo."

Her brother Richard was a year older and actually was the dumbest smart guy she knew. Sometimes she swore he couldn't see the nose in front of his face. He was pure book smarts from head to toe. He'd steamrolled through high school - racking up the highest GPA in the school's history then nailed a perfect SAT. He'd even be finishing up his undergraduate ahead of schedule. Less than three years for a physics degree at one of the best programs in the country? Who the hell could compete with that?

Lizzie sighed. She was proud of her big brother but sometimes he made her feel small. All she could do was run. Ba-frickin'-woo.

The "dog-girl" and "bawoo" thing? That started when her middle school track coach came to visit their house after school eight years ago. Lizzie and her brother snuck to the top of the stairs to listen to the grown-ups talking down in the kitchen.

"You have a lovely home, Miss Robbins, and I appreciate your agreeing to see me. I know you're a busy woman so I won't take up too much of your time. I'm happy to tell you that you have a very gifted child."

"I'm quite proud of Richard, but I thought..."

"I'm not here to talk about your son. I'm here to talk about Elizabeth. I'm her track coach. I thought you should know that Liz is an excellent runner. In fact, she may just be the best I've ever seen."

"Really? I mean, I guess she has always been quick on her little feet. If I look away for a second she's gone."

Lizzie remembered beaming proudly at Richard upstairs. She took this as a big compliment.

"It's more than just that, Miss Robbins. Look, middle school kids? Even the fast ones? They're a mess when they run, all of them pushing and shoving to get up front, to lead right from the beginning. It's complete chaos. None of them have the maturity or the patience to pace themselves. To hang back and wait for the right time to make their move. Hell, most of them won't even figure that out in high school. But not Lizzie. She's... she's very special."

"How so?"

"You need to come to our track meets. To support her and see what I mean at the same time. Lizzie doesn't run. She... well... she chases." The coach's voice grew more excited, "She does it every race. It's a beautiful thing to watch. Less than halfway through, Lizzie falls in a few yards behind the lead girl. She tracks her. She... she drives her. Heck, she even baits her. Then at the very end, Lizzie simply runs her down. Honestly, I don't think I'd even call what Liz does 'cross-country.' She's not just running. She's hunting. Like a... like a little dingo."

Upstairs, Richard hugged her with one arm and teased her softly, "Sweet, Mom's going to buy you a flea collar, sis."

"Bawoo," Lizzie howled quietly into his shoulder and giggled.

It was her very first bawoo.

Of course, the coach's offhand nickname stuck with Lizzie and "Li'l Dingo" would eventually be stitched across the back of her track uniforms.

As the years went by, Lizzie ran and ran and her body changed. By high school, the quick little blonde pixie became a sleek and slender young woman. Lizzie looked like a gazelle but she still ran like a predator. Chasing. Hunting. Winning. In fact, she would win state finals in cross country each of her four years in high school, a feat unheard of before Lizzie.

People even came to track meets to watch her. And who could blame them? She was hotter than hell in her school's skimpy little track uniforms, long, sleekly muscled legs and bobbing little breasts. Her finishes were always spectacular too. After loping along patiently at the number two spot for three miles, she'd get this crazy little grin. Then her legs would stretch, they'd quicken, and Lizzie would start her race. Without fail, she'd chase that poor last girl down like something small and tasty.

Two months ago, when Lizzie broke through the yellow tape at her last high school race, she didn't have to howl for herself. Her coaches, her family, and classmates were doing it for her, for their favorite little dingo, "Bawoo! Bawoo!"

Lizzie snapped out of her reminiscing when Richard reappeared with Jessica. The curvy, raven-haired cheerleader winked at Lizzie as she led her brother upstairs. One of Jessica's hands was already playing at the bottom of her tight tank top, obviously itching to get it off. Jessica liked to show off her body and Lizzie didn't blame her. Speaking objectively, Jessica's breasts were spectacular and she had every right to be proud of them. Of course, half the guys in their high school class could draw them from memory. Perhaps Jess was a little too proud of her boobs.

Lizzie took the next couple of minutes to finish her beer then she set it down. She chewed her lip again, pondering, then decided to follow them. She was more than a little curious and she knew her brother well. Odds were that he'd be too distracted by Jessica's charms to shut his sticky bedroom door completely.

She crept up towards his bedroom and she was right. There was a quite peekable gap left. She sat herself tipsily down on the floor for a little bit of perving. Okay, a lot of perving.

From the look of things, Richard was having one of the best nights of his life. Jessica had always been that perfect cheerleadery mix of flexibility and eagerness that drove guys crazy.

At that moment, Jessica was topless and cupping her oversized, flawless breasts in her hands with her lips wrapped around half of Richard's cock. Lizzie gaped. Her brother's erection was impressive and while Jess was working her mouth down on it steadily, she was definitely struggling. Her full lips strained to fit around his shaft. When she finally swallowed his entire length, she groaned from her chest and bobbed slightly.

Lizzie had to admit, Jess knew how to please a guy. The curvy brunette never forgot to look up and keep eye-contact with her brother even as her hands slid down from her own tits and under her skirt to quickly drag a small white thong down and off.

Yep, Jess knew what she was doing. Lizzie watched as her gal pal ditched her skirt then scooted onto the bed on her back and spread her legs. Lizzie and her brother's eyes were both drawn to the same place. Jessica was shaved completely bare. Her tiny glistening sex was a perfectly smooth and pink invitation. Scooter paused only long enough to finish getting his pants off and quickly slid on top of her.

Lizzie watched her friend's mouth fall open as Richard eased himself into her. Jess shifted and pulled her legs up very high, limberly hooking them over Richard's shoulders. Yep, flexible and eager. Damn cheerleaders.

For the next half hour, Lizzie watched her brother make love to her best friend. She was appalled and excited at the same time. Jessica shivered through three separate and very satisfying-looking orgasms before Richard groaned his own release. Lizzie assumed they were done.

But they weren't done.

Jessica slipped herself off the bed and did something Lizzie didn't expect -- not from her eighteen year-old friend. Jess stood, turned, and bent herself forward at the waist with her upper body on the bed. She swished her little cheerleadery bubble butt temptingly.

"C'mere Scooter, I've got this other hole you missed."

Out in the hallway, Lizzie's eyes slowly widened. Partly because Jessica had just used Lizzie's nickname for her brother. And partly because Jessica offered what she did - Lizzie had no idea her friend did... well... that.

Mostly though, Lizzie was astonished because her big brother, her sweet and gentle Scooter who used to read her bedtime stories when they were little, didn't hesitate. He simply stood and moved behind Jessica and then gave her just what she asked for, pressing himself into her ass with no more than a nod. Jessica whimpered at the invasion but didn't move away. Worst of all, the bastard was good at it, judging from the very happy groans Jessica made over the next ten minutes.

It was wrong and dirty and nasty and... hot.

Peering through the crack into her brother's bedroom at the gleeful sodomy scene, Lizzie's surprised face slowly spread into the same determined expression she wore at the last 100 yards of every race she'd ever run.

Lizzie would chase. And she'd win. She always did.


She wandered back downstairs quietly for another beer.

*~*~* Part II -- One year later *~*~*

Twenty-years and two days old, Richard woke to the sounds of sea gulls crying and surf lapping at the beach. But it wasn't either of those things that drew him out of his sleep. It was a slender little finger that did it. That finger was tracing letters across his back. It wasn't all that odd, his kid sister Lizzie liked to wake him up this way - writing words on his skin.

They'd written messages like this for each other since they were children. It was their mother's idea. When they were young, their family went on long car rides to visit their grandparents. Little Richard and Elizabeth would get noisy in the back seat along the way -- two hours of nonstop tickling, poking, fighting, laughing and crying. Normal kid stuff, really. Unfortunately, their father was a bit high-strung and those long drives to see his in-laws only made him more tense.

Their mom did what good moms do. She buffered. She taught her children skinwriting to keep them occupied. "Give her your hand, Richie," his mother nodded at his sister from the front seat. "And close your eyes."

"Okay, now you think of a word, Liz. A small one. But don't say it out loud, honey. Ready? Now spell it on your brother's palm."

Liz nodded and traced each letter of her word with her tiny seven year-old finger. She had to write it twice before he could get it.

"Cat?" Richard finally guessed.

Liz giggled and their mother smiled. "Very good, you two. Lizzie, keep going until Richard guesses wrong. Let's see how many words you can get him to say."

Over the next two hours, their parents listened to the more peaceful sounds of elementary school vocabulary coming up from their backseat. "Dog." "House." "Truck." "Chicken, but you forgot the other 'c'."

Their mother's strange little improvised game was one of the many things that built a strong bond between Richard and Lizzie over the years. They had their tiffs and their struggles but they stuck by each other more than other siblings they knew. That bond grew even tighter when their family shrank a few years later. Their father died of a heart attack. No one was surprised -- he'd always been wound pretty tight. Their Mom missed him but she was leading an active, happy life again.

Richard focused on his sister's finger as it traced the three quick letters of her ritual puzzle before moving on to what she was going to make for breakfast.

The puzzle? He'd never solved it. Feeling what was for breakfast? That was easy.

"Pancakes," he muttered into the mattress.

"Good boy. And the other thing?" she scratched the thick brown hair at the back of his head.

"I still have no fucking idea what the hell 'imu' means."

"Ooh, poor little Scooter. Don't worry, you'll get it someday. You're the smartest dumb guy I know," she patted his back and left him alone to get dressed.

Stupid "imu" puzzle.

Eight years ago, he'd told her that she'd misspelled 'emu' and described the little ostrich-like bird. She'd laughed and shook her head, "Uh uh."

Seven years ago, he'd guessed that she'd cheated and skipped the apostrophe for "I'm U." Some sort of funny poetry thing. This of course made no sense. She'd laughed harder.

Lizzie's hardest laugh came three years ago when Richard, fresh from his first few weeks of high school physics had figured out that "I" was the letter for electrical current and the Greek letter "mu" was the symbol commonly used for a coefficient of friction. Thus, "I mu" meant "current friction" referring to how her finger was rubbing across his skin.

Lizzie had nearly wet herself laughing, "Dumbass, I wrote that for you when I was ten years-old. I barely understood what you just said now. How the hell could I have meant that then?"

She had a point.

Richard sighed into his pillow. He knew he was smarter than average and that he was pretty good at figuring things out. The fact that his little sister had stumped him for so long was a sore point.

Well, Lizzie was right about one thing -- pancakes sounded perfect for their first day at the beach.

By the time he splashed some water on his face and pulled on a bathing suit then made it to the kitchen, Lizzie had already finished cooking and was pouring coffee.

Amend that, pouring coffee in a bikini. Good god, his heart skipped several beats.

Lizzie's back was turned to him and the little black bikini's strings were knotted loosely at the middle of her back, her neck, and each hip.

Richard had long since made peace with the fact that his kid sister was far and away the prettiest girl he knew. Blonde with gigantic, soft, bambi-brown eyes, she was a gifted long distance runner and it showed. Basically, everyone agreed she looked like a gazelle. Her long, slender legs swept up into an equally sleek little ass. Her slim, tight upper body matched her lower half.

Lizzie Robbins was built for speed. And bikinis. She looked amazing in that suit.

He snapped out of his daze when she turned, golden ponytail swinging, and handed him a cup of coffee.

"How late did you get here last night?" she asked as she slid into her seat at the table. The motion made her round breasts sway slightly in her top and he only looked away with effort.

"Oh, a little after two. It took me that long to sober up from the birthday party they threw me at school. I'm going to need a lot of coffee today. Thanks." As proof, he took a long drag from his cup. His eyes flicked down her body again before he could stop them.

This time she caught him looking. "Like my new suit?" she needled him a bit, eyebrow cocked coyly.

"S'not bad," he shrugged. "It's just funny seeing you wearing it in the kitchen. My shy kid sister used to wear t-shirts over her suit right up until we got to the beach."

"That had more to do with Mom being around than being shy, dummy," she half-smiled, "No mom around to harass me now."

They ate breakfast and stepped out the back door and onto a patio overlooking a beach that they had all to themselves. Lizzie said her fiancée's parents rented the beach house for them for the last month of the summer, but he'd gotten dragged away to help with his Dad's company.

Lizzie... and her fiancée.

Wow, it even sounded weird. His little Lizzie, just one year into college, was getting married? And she'd never even brought the guy home to meet her family. She'd always been independent and headstrong but this was ridiculous. He only found out when she called him late one night from school with her engagement news that spring. He'd answered the phone and, before he'd even said hello, she just blurted it out.

"I'm getting married."

"Wah - huh?"

His sister giggled over the phone. "Married, Scooter. I'm getting married."

"Who? When? Why?" A bad answer to that last question popped into his head, "Oh god, you're pregnant aren't you?"

"Relax silly, I'm not preggo. His name is... okay, don't make fun... his name is Chip."

"Chip?!" he laughed, he couldn't help it. "This is some kind of sick joke..."

"You're really going to talk smack about names, Scooter? For real, his name is Chip. And he's a great guy. We're going to get married this summer. At the beach."

"Lizzie, I told you -- pot or tequila. Never both. You really can't mix them and keep a grip on reality."

"C'mon Scooter, I'm sober. Well, mostly sober. But more importantly, I am serious. I really am getting married. He just gave me a ring tonight and everything. Wait until you see it. It's fucking huge."

It finally sank in, she wasn't kidding. "Wow. Okay. So what did Mom say?"

"I haven't told her yet."

"You called me before Mom?"

"Of course silly, you're my brother. And brothers come first."

Brothers come first. That one tugged at his heartstrings because there was some history to it.

Richard had given little Lizzie her first kiss. It had been her idea and it was very innocent. She'd said she was worried about making a fool of herself with her first boyfriend.

"C'mon Scooter, please?" She'd pleaded with him. "I brushed my teeth and used some of Mom's mouthwash and everything. No cooties, I swear." But then she'd looked at him seriously and said something that had never even occurred to him back then, "Just don't do anything gross like put your tongue in my mouth, okay?"

He did like she asked, he kissed her. Their young lips merged hesitantly in a tender way for a long moment. Actually, it waskinda nice.

Lizzie had smiled hugely afterwards. "See, that wasn't so bad was it? Now you'll always be the first boy to kiss me. Cool huh?" She darted in and pecked his cheek in a more sisterly way. "Thanks, Scooter. You know, I think brothers should always come first."

But that would change soon. She'd be someone's wife. It was all happening too fast.

Richard pushed these thoughts away and focused on the now as he and his sister crossed the beach then swam out about forty yards into the surf where the waves just began to curl. They were both comfortable in the water and Lizzie was practically fearless when it came to picking her waves. The bigger the better.

They picked out their respective spots, alternatingly bobbing, waiting and surfing. Later, when Lizzie came back from her last wave, she swam over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Mind if I hang on you, bro? Can't touch bottom here like you," she pouted, "not tall enough. And I see you're catching the nicer rides from here." It was true. The largest waves were just beginning to curl where he could barely stand. Just a few yards further in, Lizzie had to duck under them because it was too late.


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Crazy 8
Visiting her grave was part of my routine. If I returned I would know exactly which wooden box to walk too, in which flower patch her body rests and exactly how far beneath the ground her degrading body sits in harmony with the earth. She was ready to die. She was ready to die six months before I forced her body awake every morning. Before I coerced her to eat her wet soggy food. Before I held her so close to my body and dripped my tears of optimism all over her back. She was ready to die long before I decided she should live.
On September 6, 2010 Mother Nature decided that Idaho was ready for winter. The clouds swirled into a monotonous tundra over my home. The hawks mocked us for not being prepared for winter. It’s easier for them – they fill their stomachs and fly south. It was their time to eat. They flew in circles over my chicken shed meditating on their prey. As I saw the commotion in the sky and the craving of flesh in their eyes I knew it was time to corral my chickens.
My chickens roamed around the ten-acre land as they pleased. Some would make their way into my home on occasions and eat the food off the counters and others would go near the barn and roll their bodies into the hay hiding themselves from the rest of the world. The ones with more exploring initiative would lay on their sides in the middle of the fields like they were born in the tropics – stomach turned toward the heat finding every way to become one with the sun. They didn’t succeed but when I would pick those ones off the ground their heat would soak into my body and I would understand their logic. After their day of roaming the world they would find their way back to the coop. The coop was painted with my neighbors and my love. The names of the chickens were written on the walls and amateur drawings covered all the nooks and crannies. It was comforting to me. I wonder if they thought it was too.
As the hawks picked their prey I was frantic. My mom and I frolicked the land, me in search for all my babies and her supporting hers. I was yelling trying to scare away the hawks but they knew I couldn’t fly. I could never reach them. The sound of my petrified voice didn’t pierce the hawks as much as it pierced myself. There was one chicken missing. Where was the last one? I saw her body frantically trapped on the other side of the fence. I guided her around the fence to the shed and I pushed the last chicken into the shed and slammed the door shut. As the door slammed I heard the cries of a bird. Did I miss one? Did a hawk steal it before I did? But the distant noise wasn’t so distant at all. As I turned my head toward the door the chicken I had just saved from the hawk I had shut in the door. She lay – just like she used to lay beneath the sun but this time it was not out of pleasure. I opened the door and my chicken rest, her neck strutting in multiple directions and her eyes looking at me in desperation.
I convinced my mom to let me buy chickens when I was eight. She said “if you pay for them and take care of them – you can get them.” So, I saved my money, did my research, and found it only reasonable to make a business to pay for my chickens. I would sell eggs and thus my chickens would be paid for. And this is what I did. But the relationship between my chickens and I over the years became less of a business venture and more of a companionship. When I heard the arguing in the house I found solace in the chickens outside. I talked to them like I was a chicken myself. I would tell them my secrets and my fears. They would sit in my lap and tilt their head whenever I said something noteworthy. After I paused they would come in with some of their thoughts. It’s too bad I didn’t understand their language.
My chicken laid in my arms. My mom took it upon herself to make a bed in the warmth of our home. I brought the barely breathing chicken to the bed that was so delicately made and placed her in it. My tears of optimism didn’t cover the chicken today – they covered her body creating a coat of pain and suffering. I’m sure this coat wasn’t ever taken off my chicken – but I pretended it didn’t exist. I’m good at pretending.
In the preceding days, every morning, pre-lunch, lunch, pre-dinner, dinner, pre-dessert, and post dessert I would feed my chicken food that I soaked in water so it was soft enough to go down her broken neck. I wasn’t an anatomy expert but somehow I figured that with a neck that looks like a 90-degree angle it might be easier to eat if the food is soft. My chicken laid there day after day – gaining energy by night. I convinced myself or perhaps I dreamed it – that she was getting better. I imagined her standing up. I craved her leading a happy life – the life that she deserved.
My mom used to say that if she got in an accident and was unable to move or do anything with her life that she would want to die. She wouldn’t want her children spending their lives caring for a cause that we cared so deeply for but that she left long ago. Our family likes knowing one another at our best and at our worst. But when our worst makes others suffer it becomes a problem that affects all those around us. When I ponder the chicken months today – I always wonder if my chicken was like my mother. Did she want me to let her die? Did she want to close her eyes and sleep to her death? Had I stripped her of her one wish just like I would strip my mother?
As her health improved and she began to seem more alert to the world we started having daily sessions. In the morning’s we stretched. I would pick her immobile body up and slowly move her legs away from her body. I would do the same for her feet. I trusted I was saving a child from its misery. I know now that death isn’t something to fear. I feared for my chicken – I’m sure she didn’t fear it. I would put her body to the ground like she was walking – reminding her of a past long forgotten. A past that today she only sees in her heaven. I didn’t put any of her weight on the ground – it was more of a presentation. When she gobbled, I thought she was telling me things. I would listen and try to pick up on her words. But somehow her gobbles never translated to English.
When people visited our home, they wondered why my mother let me keep a dying chicken in our bathroom. You couldn’t use that bathroom because it smelled of manure and death – so people were ushered to the one in my mother’s room. My mom and I thought it was normal. She was a part of the family. I considered her a part of me just like a person would consider their sibling a part of them. My mother felt the same way. Often when I slept in too late my mom would do my job for me. She would help her walk and feed her her wet food. I remember her words ringing in my head “if you take care of them, you can get them.” I knew she believed this but my mother would also check in on my chicken day and night when I couldn’t care for her myself. She is a mother after all. I learned my ways from her.
A month later my chicken could stand up. I never thought her progress would be so vast. Balancing was a difficult task for her. Her vision was off – or at least something was because when she stood up to eat her food – she would go to peck the liquid matter but she would miss and peck the ground instead. It would take her a few tries to get her beak into the bowl. I didn’t know how to teach her without moving her head in the right direction. Sometimes I would place my hands around the bowl covering the ground. My chicken knew when she pecked me – she never wanted to peck me so she would try to find the bowl. When the days were still warm I would bring her under the hot sun to some of her favorite places – to the sawdust where she used to roll or to the blanket of grass where she would heat her body. She loved the days when it was warm. She would place herself near a tree and sprawl on the ground.
Sometimes my mother would come play the guitar outside. Her lyrics penetrated the atmosphere. She wasn’t playing for anyone – or at least anyone I knew of. But I know my chicken would sit under the tree a few feet away from her and she would turn her head, in any way she knew how, to look at my mother. She would tilt her head, a sober sign of listening and she would keep it that way until my mother’s words receded. Then she would go back to sticking her beak into the ground in search of insects but whenever my mom started up again she would always repeat her actions. I think her voice was a gift into a world of pleasure that was absent from her life. My mother’s voice was a gift to more than one.
As time went on my chicken became stronger. She could walk. Her head and neck leaned to one side of her body making her unbalanced. When she could walk, she would only go in a circle. Her circles eventually got bigger and some days she would make it all the way across the yard by way of circles. When I think about spending life only able to move in circles it makes me shiver.
We could never reintroduce her to the other chickens because they would peck her to death. Chickens are cruel birds – or cruel to the human eye. If one has a disability they will peck it until it dies. I couldn’t let this happen – but maybe that’s the way of the chicken world – and maybe that’s what is best.
My chicken would go to the fence and stand at it looking at all the other ones on the other side of the fence. She looked in desperation as if she was so alone – as if she wanted to be pecked to death – as if she was ready to take death. I couldn’t bear to see her own kind kill her and I couldn’t leave her knowing exactly what was going to happen when I left.
By May 8, 2010 my chicken acted as if she had never got her neck crushed in a door. She laid eggs, she only tilted her head slightly and she befriended the less cruel chickens. She still slept in a different place than them, she would still eat wet food, and I would still watch her with a hawk’s eye.
Months later I walked into her bed and she lied there dead. I still wonder what caused it. Was it her age? Was it something from the event that occurred seven months earlier? Or was she just ready to die?
We buried her on the same day and my tears covered the dirt of where she lay. My tears soaked the area – I’m sure they reached her body that lied so far beneath the dirt. Her body lays in the dirt that I shed my tears on today. But, she doesn’t lay there. She is somewhere, in some beautiful place, dancing with the land just of how she always dreamed. A rock lay by her grave and on it are the words ‘Crazy 8.’ We called her Crazy 8. Her name is Crazy 8.

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2 couples
"I am clueless on why some people, on earth, chase perfection. Life is meant to be dusty on some occasions, but they are simply too ambitious and hurt, if not oneself, then others for sure.
My heart cries when I see that beautiful couple drifts apart even when I ensured those two souls blend into divine oneness, as they resemble us here."

"O my Lord, I agree. He reminds me of you too, and that lady couldn't be more beautiful, I wonder. She seems special." Radha wonders.

"Yes, certainly, my love. On contrary, I have never seen anyone as miserable as her in these thousands of years. I truly feel sorry for her."

"Krishna, undoubtedly if it's not a true love, then I don't know where it can be found except in his heart. I envy her sometimes of the love she could have with her forever."

"you know, dear, each human being, down there, has something s/he can express gratitude for having. But, it's their own decisions which results into the severe pain. Apparently hell, which is built by themselves unknowingly, welcome them with all grace...!!"

"my love, I request you to enlighten me why such a lovely couple, passionate about their true love as well, drifts apart miserably."

"Certainly. But despite being powerful, I struggle from where I can start to point out the flaws that lady has in her, impeccable, self."

He adds, "The reason wasn't that he demanded something from her, but what he often asked for was her presence around him, when everything used to freeze, whenever she giggled on his jokes and simultaneously tapping his shoulder by one of her hands..!

The reason wasn't that he asked for something, it was arguably reasonable though. On contrary, he wanted to save everything for their first 'night' where blending into oneness would be inevitable.

The reason wasn't that he imposed sort of his dreams on her and persuaded her to kill her owns, but all he ever urged was a daughter from her, just as gorgeous as her mom, and with a bit glimpse of his dad's nature.

He adds,"The reason wasn't that he had been busy when the bond was unknowingly growing at a pace on both fronts. In fact, he always waited for a glimpse of her in a crowded bus and kept a seat reserved for her, but she was the culprit as sitting besides him on a rainy weather wasn't a productive way, for her, to witness time being spent.

And, one more thing, he had never asked for any sort of commitment. It was her immense and commendable commitment towards her goals, which was slowly, but steadily, suffocating his dreams of having a beautiful family with her.

She interrupts him, "such a blunder..! How she can be that much involved, so she literally missed the most precious relationship, especially written for her.

"It's awful. Isn't it?", Krishna wonders.

"My love, despite being in deep love with him, how couldn't she read his eyes, filled with feelings and dreams for themselves, and at the same time couldn't hear what her heart was yelling to her. Was she fool?"

Krishna enlightens her," O dear, that's the magic of super consciousness where brain starts vibrating at higher frequency. One cannot simply feel anything. Well, this direct connection between brain and cosmos is profound enough to allure yogis, on earth, to chase it with immense madness. How could you expect that lady to feel his love and what her heart was screaming..!??!"

She curiously inquires, "Then, how about him, by picking up each peice of his courage, telling her what he feels about her?"

"Oh my god, on what Earth, do you expect him to handle himself, especially when he witnesses a moment where she defies the gravity for the very first time on her bed. He was stunned, shocked as well."

Radha jumps off enthusiastically, "She did it. Unbelievable..! On contrary, Yogi scrifices their entire life in Himalaya's mountains to experience these enlightening moments, and she did it at just an age of 18. Truly, unbelievable. Krishna, I told you earlier she is so special..!!"

"Undoubtedly, she is. But irony is that, there; yogi scrificed their many years, and here, she scrificed her true soulmate, accompanying her when she was at her worst, to enlighten herself one more time."

"That's a ridiculous act."

He continues, "I swear, my love, I have never encouraged anyone to abundon everything just to explore the divine truth. My message, in The Bhagvad Geeta, is misinterpreted. It's sad. Isn't it?"

"Yes. You are right, and I vividly remember you always want people on Earth to excel and experience each possible domain of human life. Put your thoughts into a vision, follow your dreams, make babies and pass a legecy to the upcoming generation. Such a wonderful message it is..!!", She says and a sense of proud, she feels, sparkles through her eyes.

"Afterwards, her quest for an eternal truth leads to New York, popularly known as the city of the world. It's been more than 5 years of the promise she made to him.
"I'll be back soon. I need some time alone."
These were the words he heard from her which came out all of sudden.
I, truly, salute his kindness for providing her, the dearest person to him, her own freedom without any emotional drama, just because she could chase her only dream."

"Does it end here?" she enquires. "wow!! It has been an amazing story and I feel sorry from bottom of my heart for that gentleman." Radha spills out these words as fast as she could.

"O boy, I wish it would have concluded there, and it would, surely, clear a way for complete new beginning for that boy- a poor soul." Krishna puts his hands on her shoulder and sheds tears for him.

"Oh No, my lord. In these centuries, we had endured innumerous ups and downs of, so called, Life together, but I didn't see you being emotional or observe a kind wetness in your eyes..!!
Undoubtedly, it's his true love, but, my goodness, is it this much profound that you just couldn't hold your tears...!" She allows him to rest his head gently over her breasts.

After few epic moments of silence, of whom that lady is a big fan, Krishna approaches an awful end of one of a kind story, which may potentially leave behind its mesmerising tales of togetherness and their unprecedented love for many more centuries..!

"It is axiomatic that she is a genius and her commitment to her priorities is simply insurmountable. But life is simply meaningless if one isn't fortunate enough to put her head on his chest after an exhaustive day or nobody is waiting for her at so called 'home'. Moreover, she doesn't realise that 'sarhad par ek banda hein, jo uske liye jaan bhi de sakta hein..!!'
Such a miserable life it is..!"

"But, how about the promise she had given to him many years ago? I am sure she will return to her. She isn't a liar." Radha still holds her faith in thay lady.

A word 'promise' suddenly provokes sudden flames of anger in Krishna, which can be felt in his words easily.

"She is a liar. Even he knew she will never come back as that 'addiction' is supremely powerful and simply invincible. Days turned into months, months turned into years, and he still waits for her with a little hope of her arrival. Somewhere between this, his love has evolved by many folds on his end."

"such a bitch..! Intentionally ruining a life with a fake promise is the greatest sin.
My lord, I urge you to uphold that bitch for her deeds. I curse her for a death, grilled in turmoil and far away from the immortal peace which she is chasing single mindedly. Krishna, promise me. You won't spare her for what she has done to him."

Krishna, looking deep into her eyes, reaffirms himself, "The karma is a bitch, and now that bitch will face my wrath."

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Beautiful and vibrant, cheerful and outgoing, confident, fun-loving and adventurous
She was unlike any of the words described above. Never appreciated her beauty and was never confident to call herself smart. Always shy, held up in her own cocoon. One can not say she wasn’t fun-loving, but her definition of fun was different. Going for a long walk on a silent road is fun, imagining yourself as the protagonist of the book is fun, alone is fun, sharing a memorable experience with just one person beside you is fun. One can not call her unadventurous, for she has created a beautiful alternate life for herself in her mind. But, she was consistently fearful to live the alternate life. Eternally scared that her silence was mis- interpreted, she was trying to live through this world that always judged quiet individuals. It was an escape for her to get lost in her own thoughts, creating a different life for herself.
The clock ticked 7. It was her daily evening routine to spend time in her friends’ room, for all of them were finding a home away from home in the university hostel. And she realised that another day in her boring life was about to pass away, until her phone ringed giving her a notification that she has received an e-mail. Unaware of the contents of the e-mail, she was curious to read it. Indeed, the mail carried good news, as she has been selected to study in Paris for 6 months. Within no time, she was flooded with appreciations from her friends, family, and acquaintances. Just a few moments ago, she thought that a boring day was ending in her life, while now it felt like she was one step away from changing her life.
Paris- the city of romance, fashion capital of the world. Call it by any name, but it is every person’s dream to visit the city once in lifetime. One decision and she could get a completely new experience. With a tinge of excitement and fear at the same time, she was again lost in her thoughts, a dilemma whether to continue in this boring life, or try to overcome all fears and get a new experience in life.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, we would like to announce the departure of our flight AF277, from Hyderabad to Paris. All the passengers are requested to get on-board immediately.’ The announcement made her happy yet scared her at the same time. Luggage packed, she was ready to experience a new phase of life, to explore Europe.
7 a.m., Central European Time. Her flight landed in Paris. It still felt like a dream. She couldn’t process her surroundings yet, for she couldn’t believe herself to be in Paris for real. Questions of the Migration Officer, luggage belts screeching, people running to get to their life, it was a complete chaos around her. Suddenly, she felt the pain of being alone in an unknown country. This thought must have scared her, yet it excited her at the same time. It felt like a right opportunity to create an identity for herself. Finding her way out of the airport, she went in search of her new home for the next 6 months.
‘Hello, Welcome Home’ She heard her new roommate’s ringing voice welcoming her. A 25-year-old, cheerful and confident Indian girl. One of the first persons she met in Paris. Indeed, she felt welcomed and less lonely. Her roommate seemed to have a contrasting personality, for she was an affable and gregarious girl. The new girl in Paris was yet again lost in her thoughts about this opportunity and imagining the next 6 months with her new roommate.
The next morning, she woke up vibrant and curious to explore this opportunity, to hunt for the hidden treasure in this new university. Bag packed, route map on her phone, she thought she was ready to leave. The city was felt alive even at 8 in the morning. People running to get to their work, she felt that they were like puppets in the hands of the society. And, she continued to follow her route map.
Thirty minutes passed, she was on the streets, lost in the beautiful city of romance. The route map on her phone was lost and the phone stopped working. Neither does she remember the way back home nor does she know the way to the university. Cherry on top, she couldn’t ask anyone for directions due to the language barrier. Hopeless of her situation, with a baffled look on her face, she started to have second thoughts about her decision to come abroad. She has already lost the confidence in herself and wanted to go back to her safe zone again. She felt abandoned on the streets of this busy city.
‘Bonjour Madame, tu as l’air désorienté.’ She saw a hand on her shoulder and a comforting look on the man’s face, yet she did not understand what he said.
‘I am sorry, I don’t know French.’ She sighed.
‘Oh, I am sorry. U look very confused madam; would you require some help?’ hearing the man she felt hopeful again.
Explaining her situation, she asked the man to help her find a way to the university. Luckily, with the help of a random man she found the way to her new class. Everything felt lively all over again.
Reporting to her new co-ordinator, she received her student card and this felt like her first achievement. Feeling obliged, she made way to her first class. All her life, she was living in the fear of being judged, living as any other person in the society. She was a shy little girl, who couldn’t converse easily. Being around people never felt comfortable as she couldn’t be herself. But for the first time, she wanted to show everyone who she really was. She wanted to know for herself who she really was. It is a matter of interest to know whether this opportunity has changed her for the better or for the worse.

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-read caption.

The way he treated her it was heavens to see them both siting and eating roasted corns together..
After all she was a special child.
Yes THE special child.
She was special in her own way. At the age of 2 doctors declared her state by explaining that even after maturity she would still have the brain of a 5 year old.
But still that didn't work the moment he saw her.
Actually he was just returning from college when he saw that his neighbours are changed. It wasn't the usual khuranas.. the door usually locked and muffled screams of Aunty shouting at her son for not doing his homework.
He got to know that they left and someone else had taken the house.
There was a cute old couple.. and then there was she.
When he first saw her it was a bit odd to see an 18 year old still keeping a doll with her wherever she went. She was a bit blonde and had those deep blue eyes. She only reached his chest. Yet she was always hopping and jumping. She was but somehow abstract in her moves. She used to stare at the line of ants crawling around for hours or would always hold her mother's hand while even sitting in the verandah. He noticed that she never talked and the only thing that came out of her mouth was some babble.
Mustering some courage he went to her house the next day.
Yes yes the usual greet your new neighbour thing but he was curious to find about that girl too.
So he knocked.
The door was opened by her mother.
After the greetings were exchanged he was so curious to know what was with that girl he instinctively greeting her by a streched hand.
But he was just replied by a stare and a half smile.
Her mother shouted from behind....
"Please, Dear shake hands!!"
She grabbed her hand so quickly that he was quick too to end the touch. Her mother noticed the unusual strangeness growing and called him to the kitchen.

Then he knew that what was wrong.
She was a special child.
He felt really sorry for her. For not getting to know people. Not having to socialize with people. Not having to learn or get close to people.
But as if she was a magnet.
Even after returning from the house he was constantly in thoughts.
The more he stared at her the more he got so into the girl that he couldn't keep himself. Whenever he saw her he used to greet her and make some or the other remark or do something that she replies.
But she always was locked up.
She would just stare at him.
Or sometimes smile.
Oh I forget to mention that.
Her smile.
The most beautiful thing in the world that was even dearer to him and his diary was her smile.
It was magical!
As if the hands of the clock stopped.
The world stops spinning and everything just stops.
He promised himself that he would do anything... Mind you .. anything in this word to keep her smiling.
Oh how he wished that he could take her out. Go to school with her do something.
But you know what?
He sucked at his life.
He wasn't a star kid too.
He was just a nerd. All keeping everything to himself and his diary.
He wasn't social too. Even his Instagram account had only minimum people that he would connect.
Yes connect.
Connect to him was just talking.
But not with her.
When he was with her he used to connect himself to his soul.
Everything seemed so beautiful and peaceful.
He was granted the permission to speak and play with her.
Her mother noticed that he was different. Usually people who got to know her...
Her mother dreaded that.
They usually sexualized her.
A girl with no brains but great beauty was a hot thing to deal with.
That too she barely talked.
But her mother saw that he was different.
He would spend hours just to get her smile.
After all the new neighborhood was good.
It was so cute to see him dancing and swaying to funny songs just to see her smile.
And he used to even bring her ice-creams.
She loved it.
It was so much cute to see them.
She even used to not speak to her father as he abandoned her when he got to know her medical conditions.
Her father just used to bury himself in the newspaper.
But he was the only person that she talked to.
Or whatever babling is.
Maybe that what life is all about.
It maybe that maybe life isn't what is it gives you.
It is what you make out of it.
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silence of the sea Payal Singh Sandhya Jhummi Ritu Meera Rani

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