The Marijuana, dissolving and liberating, cathartic and somber.into the lungs, into the blood streams, straight to the head..

The young boy, though had not eaten a good meal in days, was ecstatic for he could see stars in the mid noon. His head felt heavy, but nevertheless good. And he levitated. That's how he felt, six feet above the ground, rest of the world, petty and inconsequential.

His old mother, sick and brazen, lay in the other room. She was coughing incessantly, but that was melody to his ears. She was sullen and cold and he wanted her Dead.

His little sister had refused him to be his accomplice in the Puff-sucker. A puff, and she too would be an angel. The demons were too many to count, an angel would have been a tremendous reprieve.

..Puff.!

.Obscure.

Suspending Him in the air, loose, and soft like a fizz.!

Cough, cough..! a stroke, a heavy breath.! Pant..! Wooosh!!

The little girl crying, Momma, you need water momma..cough cough.Momma, Please say something.......

The Boy did not hear the cries; it was just music, the harmony in the chaos, struck and reverberated.

And then silence. No coughs, no breathes, no Sighss. A cold body, lying on the floor, a little child, hanging her face down.Crying..!

"At last we got the Angel there!" said the Boy, looking at the Dead body.

Pufff...

And the world was beautiful again.!!

I am in a jail, sentenced to death for brutally killing a family of six, two kids and four adults. I am sentenced for the debauchery, a crime against society and the humanity. I stand guilty, counting the moments, till they decide to pull off my life in the snap of the finger, in the grin of the uniformed men, their whims and their caprice.

Only I do not know, when would I be dead? I do not know when would be my last living day, I just exist in as if everyday was my last. The Jury determined that I should have been dead, but was furtive enough to do without the seal on my Death date.

I wake up every morning, sinking in it as the last sunup I would have woken up to. My last sunshine, my last shower, my last prayer, my last breath, and my last everything.

It was one of those mornings, only a little less still. The restlessness outside made my heart sink a little more. The four walls were closing in; there was a premonition in my head that Today was It. I made a mental note of everything that I wished to do, when this realization would sound a little more impending, a little more unfortunate. I prayed, my fingers rummaged for the last human touch, for the last whiff of "mouthful of air." And The Last Long Kiss Goodnight.!

My morning cereal was missing; the same insipid nibble that had marked every dawn, for last years, seven in counting. I missed it more today than everyday else. It was raining outside; I could feel it pounding on the lay of roof.

I think about my mother. For her, I was already dead. Seven years is a long time, she would have made her peace with a Dead son. I had never heard from her once, or from anyone else.

I thought of killing myself in my first month here. The feeling was too strong, my hands too weak. It was cowardice, undeserving for the fate I was embarked upon.

I clutch on to my journal, every word scribbled on to the pages for last every year. "The Assassins Handbook", my only priced possession by the end of it all. It should be 11 in the morning, the thunder was deafening outside and I laid on the floor, gloomy and misty.

The knock on the door; "Its Time" shouts the guard outside. I skip a beat , thinking of the Life that was getting over, that got over seven years back. I step out, the rain on my skin, the life awash in the soil. I walk to the other side, shackled and restraint.

The guard smiles at me, So Long! He whispers something to his fellow man. He looks at me, pity and disgust is a funny combination. I am walking still, my eyes at the sky, closed to the raindrops on my face.

I could hear the chants of the priest, wishing for my better after-life. He asks for my last wish, I had nothing. I just asked my journal to be sent to my wife, the lady who truly loved me, for what I was. He nods at me "May Peace be Upon you, My child", and I was led to the execution room.

I did not feel a thing when I died. It was quick and painless. Less pain than these seven years, good years with every moment stretched to the eons unfolded.

And I did not float up, as I thought I would. I did not sink in to the Cosmos Infinitum, like I wanted to. I just lay there, as cold as frost, as stiff as a frozen meat. They lift me up on a stretcher, I was headed to the Morgue for "Unwanted Souls Unrest and Discarded." My journal was swept in the pile of trash.

I pass through the room where I was housed for last seven years. I sit in the corner, looking at my belongings, my rug, a broken cup, a plate never used.

And I cry.

It had stopped raining.

.........................

....................

And then there was a knock on the door. My Breakfast was slipped from the doorway, cereal as bland and as inviting. I had been dreaming, my end is not as close as I wanted it to be. Another day for the waiting to the end of this vile cycle, and it is so dark.

Hang me Till I Die -Part II

The Voice hung up, and she was left saddled with her phone still onto her ears. Another Blast, unbelievable, she looked for the sight of a Television, anything that could connect her to the outer world, but she could not spot a thing. The Wireless ages have so conveniently untouched this side of the world, the people around looked cannily self contented and "complete". It was another waft to have ripped the city apart in less than three months. The furry of agony and a cold sweat past through her, she made her way to the platform: may be the hustle outside would calm her.

She sees an old man, too frail and dressed in rugs, lying next to the dump yard. His life was way past through his prime, his only belongings were the thrash to shoo off the strays and a bowl, full of slime water. He looks at her, completely oblivious to the world outside his bowl and the whip: may be there is nothing that could move this Man, no sign of charity, no blow of adversity: for he had already seen the worst and still living in it. Just a Breathing lump, for him the Bomb detonation would not make much difference, his eyes had already lived those demons everyday, people living and dying did not distress him as much. He just laid there, no counts of time, for it laid frozen for him. No one was waiting for him and for others he did not exist. He was just as inconspicuous as his Cane of wood, and as much Dead. He did not beg for any alms, perhaps he had already given up on the Life living. His existence was stalled and stuck on the sands of time, waiting for the swoosh of winds to swipe him along.

She sat there, looking at him for some moments, completely beyond the cacophony outside. For her, there was a greater human tragedy lying afore, a sad paraphrase for today's economic imbalance. Nothing can stand taller than the life this Old man had lived through and no 10000 blasts can surmount to the death that he would have died each single day. And then suddenly, the old man moved, looking for the stick, to shoo the dog sniffing the dumps. His life for the day lived, his eyes shone with a feeling: was it the moment that his life hangs upon every single day, in and out..?

Rinnggggggggg .Rinng..Hello Are you Ok?

........................................................................................................................................................................

Inhale Deeply, ...Exhale Slowly...To the Counts of 1, 2..ummm.!!Psst.Never knew that Breathing in itself is gonna be on the tones of arithmetic counting. The Air through the lungs circulated through the Body and then out, and the Out Air circulating through another's Lungs.The Molecules traversing different Bodies, encompassing just the purity of the Inner selves mingling with the Primordial Soups.

Her head was still heavy with the last stubs of broken sleep, she was weighed with the thought of a long day ahead, why cant we just stay passive whole day, learning our arithmetic from the rules of Inhalation and exhalation. Why can't Breathing be as easy as it seems to be?

"If you voluntarily suspend your breathing under water you would not die" joked the boy. His eyes were rolled to his sleeves as if he was watching the world through a canny eye and propounding his most prized secret.

She was drawn back to her exercise, capturing the last whiff of the airy molecule past through her lungs on the count of 63627 or was it 63628.?

The boy then put his head into the water and closed his eyes. The water in his ears, his hair, his eyes were shut tight and his jaw clenched. He lay still, so passive and so stern. And just before he was to give up his own play of life under water, he emerged ..conquering and jubilant."See, see I have told you.. you would not die" screamed he, jumping and floating across the hallway..

The time was drawing to a close, its soon gonna be back to the chores, a walk back home, busy streets; kids dragging their feet to the school, the early hawkers, the jogs, the lives breathless and urbane.

But she was still counting in her head for the air felt light. Like a warm blanket around her, like the veil off her essence. She was sparkling for she had just learnt the basic karma for a life, the Inhalation and the Exhalation chorus for a Melody unsung.

The boy was ecstatic for he had learnt the rules of survival by defeating the chorus of breathing: To stay afloat in the waters of deep thick, to defeat death by lying dead, as an impostor--- a temporary suspension, the permanent exalt...!!

So its been Three days, three full days—Not smoked, did not even talk to anyone who is a Branded Smoker—Am I Healthy or Happy, well I don't know. A close friend says, I am loosing it, its showing on me..U know the side effects of Non-Smoking..But what the heck, I am definitely a Polar bear in the Melting Snows of Global warming. Alcohol, naah after a bad episode of passing out as a Drunkard, I have given that Up.totally into entirely different pleasures of life—ehh , I meant like Papaya a day, it's a good substitute just that its formaldehyde poor. But may be Genetic Engg can work on that Too..

So Whats the apprehension? A Smokeless Sober Life—Definitely works Best for the Global warming coz I can see the Ice melting from under mah Feet.!! Ummm. may be its time for another cigarette..Fire anyone??

The rains were watched from the eyes, the eyes that have precipitated its own emotions time and again. The clouds were on the horizon, no silver lining just a shroud of hoary blanket, symbolizing the iniquity and the malice on the earth, casting its shadows on the Expanse above. The tea was cold, the fire had died, the ashes lingered with a flicker of ambers, dying slowly, before retching its last sparks. It was late, v late, the time was a moment, a smudge on the lives unlived. The book was unread, the pages were folded, to get back to its core, for the convenience of an abject idler. The pours on the roof, the thunderstorms, the lightening shone on the face, the smokes from her cigarette, the ashes on her tray, on her fingers, the muck, the reek, the vestiges.

The thud in her head surpassed the clatter on the streets, the beggar under the steel-sheets with a dog beside, the old man by the puddle, watching his own life in the reflections of the waters below. And the shadow up the window, the eyes fixed on to the horizons, looking for a silver-lining, for the nature's law that affected one, that defeated one.Yet Again..!!