Imagination is dangerous. But life without it is lethal. Thus, I end this blog with a story.
Once upon a time there was a girl who talked to the moon. It was her nightly ritual. One night, she asked the moon to give her a shallow mind so that she won't get hurt anymore.
"Why would you like to have a shallow mind? Don't you want to understand life more deeply?" asked the moon.
The girl was astonished. "We don't have to understand life. It is not worthy to be understood at all," she replied.
"Don't you know that your depth is a gift? Not everyone is blessed with that," said the moon.
"Yes it is a gift, and a curse as well. Because of it people laugh and throw stones at me. I just want to be like them. I just want to be happy with simple things. I don't want to get hurt anymore. Because of it, I feel intense emotions all the time that I feel like I am always bleeding inside", the girl complained.
"Very well, as you wish. Tomorrow when you wake up, the depth will all be gone," said the moon.
The next day, the girl woke up and participated in a meaningless activity called routine. Everything had changed.
She stopped talking about her nightly dreams of ancient Persia. In fact, she stopped having any dreams at all. She could not stand reading books anymore because she would now prefer sitcoms. She worked and worked for money to buy the things others also bought. She dressed like others and like them, she talked about the weather and who kissed who as if those were very important to her. She would laugh even at a dropping of a hat. She cared more about how she looks because she was afraid to lose her newly gained friends who accepted her into their groups.
At work she was given orders and she acquiesced without even questioning why she had to follow those orders. Everyday became a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy and so on. And it would not be surprising to tell that she stopped talking to the moon. In fact, she forgot the moon's existence. She knew there was a moon but that's just it.
The girl was contented and happy. She could not complain. Everything in her life was perfect. No more worries and anxiety. No need to think at all.
Seeing all these, the moon wept. It wept nightly that it would be covered with dark, heavy clouds. It lost the girl who was really dear to it. It lost the girl to mundaneness. But then, there were still others.
One day, the girl came across another girl whom the moon was also having conversations with nightly. She noticed that this girl is strange in her entirety. The girl was being laughed at and mocked. People threw stones at her. But that girl didn't mind at all. She just simply stared at an empty space infront of her oblivious of what was going on.
The girl confronted this eccentric girl and told her how pathetic she is but the strange girl seemed like she can't hear anything at all. She just noticed a particular luminousity in the strange girl's eyes.
"What are you thinking? Can you hear me?" she asked the strange girl.
The strange girl looked at her and said, "Do not disturb me. I am talking to the stars."
At those words, she felt a pang somewhere inside her.
Talking to the stars? It sounded familiar. What was it? Why can't she remember?
So the girl went away and proceeded with her beloved routine. But from that day onward, she started becoming unhappy. Everyday she felt that there was something missing or lost, she just couldn't remember. She started feeling hopeless. It happened everyday that she longed to put an end to her misery.
She decided one day to tie a noose around her neck while the other end of the rope is attached to a branch of a tree. It was at the woods she preferred to end her life.
It felt horrible. She was struggling so hard but there was no going back. She only felt her nimble feet dancing through the empty space while she gasped for air.
After like a century of torment which in reality was just about a minute, there was nothingness. Then she felt it. There is no doubt she felt it. The feeling doesn't have a name. At that same instant, she can only see one thing on her mind. A silvery white circle across the night sky. It was calling her. And she felt like she was going home.
Sunday, April 2, 2017
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
Of Unrequited Love and Irreversible Resentment
There is no love- there never was and there never will,
Only the ever growing hunger for flesh and blood subsist.
Yet that carnal famine had been a one- sided blindness
Misplaced on things one couldn't resist.
Oblivious as you are, you had been a stabbing knife
Razing a feeble, almost dying decency,
Turning it into a wild and malevolent outrage-
Adoration transformed into a ghastly villainy.
Isn't it enough to be deprived of such contentment?
Why did one bring oneself to the ground?
How will one look at oneself again?
Will exaltation be ever found?
I know not if one is tender or one is tough,
But this I say to myself- it is enough!
Only the ever growing hunger for flesh and blood subsist.
Yet that carnal famine had been a one- sided blindness
Misplaced on things one couldn't resist.
Oblivious as you are, you had been a stabbing knife
Razing a feeble, almost dying decency,
Turning it into a wild and malevolent outrage-
Adoration transformed into a ghastly villainy.
Isn't it enough to be deprived of such contentment?
Why did one bring oneself to the ground?
How will one look at oneself again?
Will exaltation be ever found?
I know not if one is tender or one is tough,
But this I say to myself- it is enough!
Saturday, March 18, 2017
Pandemonium
11
Consumed by the flames of her fury, her heart was shattered severely. And at that point, the pure blackness of that vengeful spirit has governed all her will and deeds and has purchased her existence- mind and body. Fair shake, she decided, is something she has to take in her own bloody hands. This is the violent story of our dearest friend, Vengeance.
10
She has a dragonfly. She heartily tears away its right wings. She sets it free encouraging it "Fly, fly!"- but it woefully strains to fly. She picks it up and tears away its remaining wings and she says to it "Fly, dragonfly, fly!" - and she will rejoice beholding the dragonfly on the ground striving to fly wingless. And she would do the same to them. She would not kill them, she does not kill. She would prefer to be filled with satiety in condemning the objects of her abhorrence to despair. Her name is Hatred, in her purest form.
9
Though at times driven by impulse, she had always been a carefully laid plan. She loves to dress in crimson perfumed with a lethal scent. She has assumed different versions of herself through time yet the hand that held the knife has always been her most sophisticated form. She's the coward's kiss or the brave man's sword. How cunning, how refined yet how vicious she is. Behold Murder, the mistress of tempestuous and wicked souls.
8
She graciously swooped down like an angel dissipating the aroma of infection and decay she brought about her. Everything she touched instantly crumbled into putrefaction. Every place she left was not without stark eyes fixed on an empty sky. And now, the angel of annihilation called Plague, will spread again her wings.
7
She has a knife and she is the knife herself, which perpetually stabs while you sleep or turn your back on her. She cradled Trust in her arms and ran away- a madwoman stealing an infant. She brought the child in the woods where they were alone. And she savagely devoured the child. This deranged woman named Betrayal, now saunters aimlessly in that desolated woods.
6
She uttered a hollow, eerie shriek which flagged her advent. An oppressive silence followed. Suddenly, millions dropped dead on the ground- men,women, children, elderly- all have that same frozen, haunted look of gaped mouth and lifeless eyes. It was a vast uncovered cemetery of bony and deteriorated bodies plagued by incessant and unrelieved churning of the gut. This is her- that banshee called Hunger. This is her signature.
5
One of the arch- seven, this wild spirit is deemed as an unstoppable amorous wind. She blew away all sorts of sweet nonchalance in every faultless soul. She had spread the itch of vileness through her scent of infection. She has a profane womb- a breeding ground for all souls ever rotting in perversion. The bearer of the seeds of corruption, say hello to Lust.
4
Dancing in tumult and conflict, our heroine is at her best. Her fierce character manifest itself in her greed for slaying thousands of brave men. She wears sword, gun, gun powder, tanks, air bombs, mines and so on. She welcomes everyone in her lair, the battlefield. Meet Ares' original wife, War.
3
She watched her neighbors and something irked inside her. She wanted them- their lives and everything they have. If they had not have those things, she wouldn't desire for them. It was merely because of the fact that her neighbors held those things that she ached for them. She would then thought to herself what great injustice the world had done to her. A member of the arch-seven, Envy had always been a strange creature.
2
She appears to have a sense of leadership thus, she is deemed to be the leader of the arch-seven. But she's nothing more than a leviathan of ego and a deficiency of true grit. But we need to place her in a pedestal. She needs that. Always. Right, Pride?
1
Earth has no pain which she cannot take away. She has always been the one patiently waiting at the end of the line. It does not matter how long she waits but every being, certainly and inevitably, falls into her arms in his or her right time. Most fear her for her countenance is unknown to them. Some seek her gentle hands. It's up to her for if it's your time, she never fails to come. I hope you won't meet yet the angel with the most ravishing face- Death.
Consumed by the flames of her fury, her heart was shattered severely. And at that point, the pure blackness of that vengeful spirit has governed all her will and deeds and has purchased her existence- mind and body. Fair shake, she decided, is something she has to take in her own bloody hands. This is the violent story of our dearest friend, Vengeance.
10
She has a dragonfly. She heartily tears away its right wings. She sets it free encouraging it "Fly, fly!"- but it woefully strains to fly. She picks it up and tears away its remaining wings and she says to it "Fly, dragonfly, fly!" - and she will rejoice beholding the dragonfly on the ground striving to fly wingless. And she would do the same to them. She would not kill them, she does not kill. She would prefer to be filled with satiety in condemning the objects of her abhorrence to despair. Her name is Hatred, in her purest form.
9
Though at times driven by impulse, she had always been a carefully laid plan. She loves to dress in crimson perfumed with a lethal scent. She has assumed different versions of herself through time yet the hand that held the knife has always been her most sophisticated form. She's the coward's kiss or the brave man's sword. How cunning, how refined yet how vicious she is. Behold Murder, the mistress of tempestuous and wicked souls.
8
She graciously swooped down like an angel dissipating the aroma of infection and decay she brought about her. Everything she touched instantly crumbled into putrefaction. Every place she left was not without stark eyes fixed on an empty sky. And now, the angel of annihilation called Plague, will spread again her wings.
7
She has a knife and she is the knife herself, which perpetually stabs while you sleep or turn your back on her. She cradled Trust in her arms and ran away- a madwoman stealing an infant. She brought the child in the woods where they were alone. And she savagely devoured the child. This deranged woman named Betrayal, now saunters aimlessly in that desolated woods.
6
She uttered a hollow, eerie shriek which flagged her advent. An oppressive silence followed. Suddenly, millions dropped dead on the ground- men,women, children, elderly- all have that same frozen, haunted look of gaped mouth and lifeless eyes. It was a vast uncovered cemetery of bony and deteriorated bodies plagued by incessant and unrelieved churning of the gut. This is her- that banshee called Hunger. This is her signature.
5
One of the arch- seven, this wild spirit is deemed as an unstoppable amorous wind. She blew away all sorts of sweet nonchalance in every faultless soul. She had spread the itch of vileness through her scent of infection. She has a profane womb- a breeding ground for all souls ever rotting in perversion. The bearer of the seeds of corruption, say hello to Lust.
4
Dancing in tumult and conflict, our heroine is at her best. Her fierce character manifest itself in her greed for slaying thousands of brave men. She wears sword, gun, gun powder, tanks, air bombs, mines and so on. She welcomes everyone in her lair, the battlefield. Meet Ares' original wife, War.
3
She watched her neighbors and something irked inside her. She wanted them- their lives and everything they have. If they had not have those things, she wouldn't desire for them. It was merely because of the fact that her neighbors held those things that she ached for them. She would then thought to herself what great injustice the world had done to her. A member of the arch-seven, Envy had always been a strange creature.
2
She appears to have a sense of leadership thus, she is deemed to be the leader of the arch-seven. But she's nothing more than a leviathan of ego and a deficiency of true grit. But we need to place her in a pedestal. She needs that. Always. Right, Pride?
1
Earth has no pain which she cannot take away. She has always been the one patiently waiting at the end of the line. It does not matter how long she waits but every being, certainly and inevitably, falls into her arms in his or her right time. Most fear her for her countenance is unknown to them. Some seek her gentle hands. It's up to her for if it's your time, she never fails to come. I hope you won't meet yet the angel with the most ravishing face- Death.
Sunday, March 12, 2017
Of Raving Devotion
Thou shall not destroy me, I shall not wreck myself.
'Tis a violent altercation within me.
Thine are the cruelest damnation-
What life- solely at your mercy!
Nay, 'tis not, there is a Deity up there-
Who looks upon my colossal misery,
And is it not just here that I suffer-
Suffer all because of thee?
Ah, wretched as I am, my heart was pure
Thou has come and tainted all my hope,
Too much havoc grew in me-
A havoc of extensive scope.
Fare thee well, wearisome devotion,
I prefer a noble exaltation.
'Tis a violent altercation within me.
Thine are the cruelest damnation-
What life- solely at your mercy!
Nay, 'tis not, there is a Deity up there-
Who looks upon my colossal misery,
And is it not just here that I suffer-
Suffer all because of thee?
Ah, wretched as I am, my heart was pure
Thou has come and tainted all my hope,
Too much havoc grew in me-
A havoc of extensive scope.
Fare thee well, wearisome devotion,
I prefer a noble exaltation.
Wednesday, March 1, 2017
Death of the Child
The mere child had died that night
in that cold room in that lifeless hospital.
The child had died because she was forced to be an adult.
She was watching the woman who had bore her
lying in that comfortless hospital bed-
weak, weary, unconscious, dying!
So the child had to die.
The child had to die.
in that cold room in that lifeless hospital.
The child had died because she was forced to be an adult.
She was watching the woman who had bore her
lying in that comfortless hospital bed-
weak, weary, unconscious, dying!
So the child had to die.
The child had to die.
Madness
I'm shrinking one minute, I shrink more the other
As I drown myself in this burning spirit drink
And here you are screaming into my ears
Words. Yes words. Words? Words.
All I hear are words of mere madness-
Disguised as exclamation of affection and love
But those are words of mere madness-
Useless as they are to cure the pain in my chest.
Our lives will never be story-shaped as we expect
It takes more than bleeding dry to fly high
We will be shrinking into a big black hole
And all left will be the final sigh.
They say we have to live life to the fullest-
All I hear are just words of mere madness.
As I drown myself in this burning spirit drink
And here you are screaming into my ears
Words. Yes words. Words? Words.
All I hear are words of mere madness-
Disguised as exclamation of affection and love
But those are words of mere madness-
Useless as they are to cure the pain in my chest.
Our lives will never be story-shaped as we expect
It takes more than bleeding dry to fly high
We will be shrinking into a big black hole
And all left will be the final sigh.
They say we have to live life to the fullest-
All I hear are just words of mere madness.
Sunday, February 19, 2017
. . .
She was intensely absorbed in reading an odd book one late December night. Then she heard three faint knocks on her door. "Who's there?" she muttered, her voice failing her. Only three faint knocks again answered her. She stood up and walked to the door with a foreboding of something evil. In a hell-for-leather manner, she opened the door. A very cold wind brushed against her face. It was darkness. Nothing more.
Saturday, February 11, 2017
. . .
Tired with endless bafflegab around her, what could be much better than wearing the noose around her neck? But she won't do that as it is too prosaic. She will instead snake her way into oblivion and give reverence in her own eccentric ways to Providence who had brought her up. For she is a grateful creature, this girl- untamed but grateful.
. . .
Dreams are fragile things-
songs which no one ever sings,
made of broken wings.
#bedtimepoetry
#haiku
songs which no one ever sings,
made of broken wings.
#bedtimepoetry
#haiku
. . .
There were two. The dark one- carnal, bold and more dominant; and the bright one- upright, spiritual and noble. Each fought through their claws and teeth. Each struggled for supremacy. But one has to devour or be devoured. The dark one, being the older and more vicious, has ingested the other entirely. He may have won the fight but he lost the war. For inside him, the seed of righteousness has grown and contaminated his foul blood. Now they are one. So even in his most wicked deed, he will never forget how once he had been kind, and remembering, will give birth to remorse. Thus, there isn't only black nor white. They are one.
Sunday, February 5, 2017
. . .
The abrasions on her knees and arms are nothing. It is the lost of all will to get up that has mangled her heart the most. She felt a lump in her throat. She struggled so hard to repress the tears that have started to well up in the corners of her eyes. In a shaky voice she told them, "I'm fine."
Saturday, February 4, 2017
. . .
She clenched her teeth and stared straight ahead. She knew that eventually, she will rot into oblivion. She had beaten her fist very hard against her left chest. Then she whispered to herself, "Thou shall not crumble, dear heart. Thou shall not crumble."
Friday, February 3, 2017
Thursday, February 2, 2017
. . .
She could have thrown herself at the object of her terrene passion's feet if it was not because of a Miracle. The Miracle has proved that she was not doomed to sink altogether in her baseness and be crushed by the aftermath of an unrequited love. What she found is an unrivaled resplendence- the Miracle that has saved her. Cruel world, do not rob her of her Miracle.
. . .
That voice, I know it - sonorous and has an element of pathos in it. It is the voice of Vengeance. From stifled moans, it unfolded into a ghastly wail. And I knew- I had always known. Vengeance is a knife that cuts both ways. But why does such passion make us forget that axiom?
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
. . .
You were intricately created out of boundless love by the Supreme Divinity and yet they only sum you up to neglected appearance and eccentric jeremiads. But you will not allow such petty ostracism to lead to a cataclysm of your mental faculty. Reason has never left you. You only drank the sweet water from the exclusive well.
. . .
While one is being eaten away by his own conceited bravado- believing only what can be seen and proving only what his senses can attain-; one fails to understand that those proofs are so horribly futile to bring to light the existence of an overwhelming Reality.
Wednesday, January 25, 2017
. . .
It is hard to conquer oneself. But it is harder not to be what you ought to be. In aberration, there is that salvation from becoming a worldly redundancy. For even the frenzied has a spot on this earth.
Sunday, January 22, 2017
H
Though lost forever into that abyss of darkness,
which no man had ever return from,
I can't forget and I will not forget a hope
amidst the wreckage of my dreams
and the ruins of the life I had led.
It's you.
Years passed and I was forced to move on and dance
with all the changes in all aspects of the said life.
Yet all of those failed to remove a singular light
across my dismal, moonless night-sky.
It's you.
I was dead yet I am alive because a particular thought
invaded every cell in my body like a poison,
not to kill me slowly but breathe into my lifeless way, shape, or form.
It's you.
Why- notwithstanding the time that has elapsed-
did you remain in me?
I turned my back on a sweet memory unattained and left
yet all this time it was with me.
It's you.
A tragedy- a land filled with flowers, groves, music and laughter
I had been approaching but the wind has revealed
your scent of infection- lethal, charnel, rotting smell
of plague and uncovered cemeteries.
It's you.
which no man had ever return from,
I can't forget and I will not forget a hope
amidst the wreckage of my dreams
and the ruins of the life I had led.
It's you.
Years passed and I was forced to move on and dance
with all the changes in all aspects of the said life.
Yet all of those failed to remove a singular light
across my dismal, moonless night-sky.
It's you.
I was dead yet I am alive because a particular thought
invaded every cell in my body like a poison,
not to kill me slowly but breathe into my lifeless way, shape, or form.
It's you.
Why- notwithstanding the time that has elapsed-
did you remain in me?
I turned my back on a sweet memory unattained and left
yet all this time it was with me.
It's you.
A tragedy- a land filled with flowers, groves, music and laughter
I had been approaching but the wind has revealed
your scent of infection- lethal, charnel, rotting smell
of plague and uncovered cemeteries.
It's you.
Saturday, January 21, 2017
The Road to Happiness
"There is a space in the heart that can never be filled." - Charles Bukowski
Girl: I know where you're going.
Old Man: Oh, you know? Tell me.
Boy: Old Man's going to travel down the road to happiness.
Doctor: You won't get to happiness alive. You will die because of old age.
Girl: But Old Man's still strong.
Old Man: Indeed, I am. I am stronger than I seem to be.
Beggar: Uh-uh. It takes more than being strong to make out of that road alive. That singular road is haunted!
Boy: How did you know? Have you traveled that road?
Doctor: No, he had not traveled that road yet. His friend did.
Old Man: Friend? Who?
Beggar: My poor friend. The one who lives each day in the wreckage of his dreams. You'll see him one of these days.
Doctor: He walks the street aimlessly muttering to himself. He was locked up in a room two weeks ago where he cannot harm others anymore nor himself.
Girl: Tell me beggar, what happened to him?
Beggar: Well, my friend. .er. . let's call him Looney. . yes, that is his name. Well, Looney treaded that road a few months ago but he never made it to happiness.
Fortune- teller: I see. I know what really happened. Let me tell the rest of the story. Looney did not tell you everything, Beggar.
Boy: Alright Fortune-teller, tell us everything you know.
Fortune-teller: Looney traveled that damned road alone. While he walked that road, he was accompanied by accursed creatures you would not dare to talk about.
Old Man: Lady, tell us about these creatures.
Beggar: Oh come on. Looney told me all about those walking skeletons and giant spiders.
Fortune-teller: There were more than walking skeletons and giant spiders that because of it, Looney had lost his wits.
Doctor: Tell us more.
Fortune-teller: There were uncovered cemeteries at each side of the road. There were thos plague-stricken bodies in those cemeteries- ever rotting, infected with unattained dreams.
Girl: That's actually disturbing.
Fortune-teller: Those cemeteries extend all the way till you reach happiness.
Old Man: I am not afraid of dead bodies, skeletons and giant spiders.
Fortune-teller: But Old Man, when you travel that road, you will see something else. Cemeteries, skeletons, and spiders are Looney's ghosts or rather burden to bear before reaching happiness.
Doctor: Yes, I heard about that. One who dares to travel the road to happiness will have to face his own demons before reaching that blessed place.
Old Man: Demons! I don't have those.
Boy: We all have those, Old Man. If you want to know what will hinder you on your way to happiness, why don't you ask Fortune-teller. She might have a clue.
Old Man: Tell me, Fortune-teller.
Fortune-teller: Give me a minute. Well.. uhm.. I see a lady in white soaked in blood and a dead baby. And uh.. let me see...
Beggar: Old Man, why are you crying?
Old Man: You're right Beggar. I might not make out of that road alive. (Leaves.)
Boy: Poor Old Man! He gave up the journey to happiness.
Doctor: What about me Fortune-teller? Should I travel that road, what would I see?
Can you tell me?
Fortune-teller: Of course, Doctor. But I'm telling you, $10 is enough for me to tell you all about the things you will encounter when you follow that road.
Doctor: Here's my $10. (Gives the money to Fortune-teller)
Fortune-teller: (Smiles.)
Girl: But you didn't ask for $10 when Old Man asked you.
Fortune-teller: Old Man is a senior citizen.
Beggar: Tell the Doctor now Lady.
Fortune-teller: Alright, for you Doctor, I see.. uhm.. well.. books. I see lots of books burning!
Doctor: (Smiles weakly.) What else do you see?
Fortune-teller: A stern old man. He is frowning like the Devil himself. He has a stick in his hands. But..uhm.. I'm concerned about the burning books. I think they were self-published.
Doctor: Enough.
Girl: Here Fortune-teller. I have $8. Please, give me a discount. I am a good girl. Tell me what I'll see on that road.
Fortune-teller: Oh, no! It's $10.
Girl: Then take my bracelet. It's not much but I know it's worth more than $2.
Fortune-teller: (Accepts the money and the bracelet.) Very well. For you.. I see a field. Is it a cornfield? I see a scarecrow. It's moving. I see a dead soldier on the road and an abandoned house.
Girl: I see. I understand now.
Boy: How about me? Here, I have $5. Take my watch. Dad gave it to me.
Fortune-teller: (Accepts the money and the watch.) Alright, for you Boy.. I see a lady floating.
Boy: That's it? A floating lady?
Fortune-teller: Yes. I think she is dead. Misery and supressed grief killed her. Do you know her?
Boy: I think I know her now.
Fortune-teller: Alright, anyone else? What about you Beggar?
Beggar: Uhm.. anyone? Can someone pay $10 for me?
###
Girl: I know where you're going.
Old Man: Oh, you know? Tell me.
Boy: Old Man's going to travel down the road to happiness.
Doctor: You won't get to happiness alive. You will die because of old age.
Girl: But Old Man's still strong.
Old Man: Indeed, I am. I am stronger than I seem to be.
Beggar: Uh-uh. It takes more than being strong to make out of that road alive. That singular road is haunted!
Boy: How did you know? Have you traveled that road?
Doctor: No, he had not traveled that road yet. His friend did.
Old Man: Friend? Who?
Beggar: My poor friend. The one who lives each day in the wreckage of his dreams. You'll see him one of these days.
Doctor: He walks the street aimlessly muttering to himself. He was locked up in a room two weeks ago where he cannot harm others anymore nor himself.
Girl: Tell me beggar, what happened to him?
Beggar: Well, my friend. .er. . let's call him Looney. . yes, that is his name. Well, Looney treaded that road a few months ago but he never made it to happiness.
Fortune- teller: I see. I know what really happened. Let me tell the rest of the story. Looney did not tell you everything, Beggar.
Boy: Alright Fortune-teller, tell us everything you know.
Fortune-teller: Looney traveled that damned road alone. While he walked that road, he was accompanied by accursed creatures you would not dare to talk about.
Old Man: Lady, tell us about these creatures.
Beggar: Oh come on. Looney told me all about those walking skeletons and giant spiders.
Fortune-teller: There were more than walking skeletons and giant spiders that because of it, Looney had lost his wits.
Doctor: Tell us more.
Fortune-teller: There were uncovered cemeteries at each side of the road. There were thos plague-stricken bodies in those cemeteries- ever rotting, infected with unattained dreams.
Girl: That's actually disturbing.
Fortune-teller: Those cemeteries extend all the way till you reach happiness.
Old Man: I am not afraid of dead bodies, skeletons and giant spiders.
Fortune-teller: But Old Man, when you travel that road, you will see something else. Cemeteries, skeletons, and spiders are Looney's ghosts or rather burden to bear before reaching happiness.
Doctor: Yes, I heard about that. One who dares to travel the road to happiness will have to face his own demons before reaching that blessed place.
Old Man: Demons! I don't have those.
Boy: We all have those, Old Man. If you want to know what will hinder you on your way to happiness, why don't you ask Fortune-teller. She might have a clue.
Old Man: Tell me, Fortune-teller.
Fortune-teller: Give me a minute. Well.. uhm.. I see a lady in white soaked in blood and a dead baby. And uh.. let me see...
Beggar: Old Man, why are you crying?
Old Man: You're right Beggar. I might not make out of that road alive. (Leaves.)
Boy: Poor Old Man! He gave up the journey to happiness.
Doctor: What about me Fortune-teller? Should I travel that road, what would I see?
Can you tell me?
Fortune-teller: Of course, Doctor. But I'm telling you, $10 is enough for me to tell you all about the things you will encounter when you follow that road.
Doctor: Here's my $10. (Gives the money to Fortune-teller)
Fortune-teller: (Smiles.)
Girl: But you didn't ask for $10 when Old Man asked you.
Fortune-teller: Old Man is a senior citizen.
Beggar: Tell the Doctor now Lady.
Fortune-teller: Alright, for you Doctor, I see.. uhm.. well.. books. I see lots of books burning!
Doctor: (Smiles weakly.) What else do you see?
Fortune-teller: A stern old man. He is frowning like the Devil himself. He has a stick in his hands. But..uhm.. I'm concerned about the burning books. I think they were self-published.
Doctor: Enough.
Girl: Here Fortune-teller. I have $8. Please, give me a discount. I am a good girl. Tell me what I'll see on that road.
Fortune-teller: Oh, no! It's $10.
Girl: Then take my bracelet. It's not much but I know it's worth more than $2.
Fortune-teller: (Accepts the money and the bracelet.) Very well. For you.. I see a field. Is it a cornfield? I see a scarecrow. It's moving. I see a dead soldier on the road and an abandoned house.
Girl: I see. I understand now.
Boy: How about me? Here, I have $5. Take my watch. Dad gave it to me.
Fortune-teller: (Accepts the money and the watch.) Alright, for you Boy.. I see a lady floating.
Boy: That's it? A floating lady?
Fortune-teller: Yes. I think she is dead. Misery and supressed grief killed her. Do you know her?
Boy: I think I know her now.
Fortune-teller: Alright, anyone else? What about you Beggar?
Beggar: Uhm.. anyone? Can someone pay $10 for me?
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