The Escape

“More than 200,000 people die in the United States from septic shock and hemorrhagic shock each year. Shock is defined medically as a condition of abnormally low blood pressure associated with poor blood flow to the tissues. It can result from physical damage (hemorrhagic shock) or from infection (septic shock). In shock, too little blood goes to vital organs, such as liver, kidney, intestine, and brain. This causes cellular damage, loss of function of organs, and, ultimately, death. Hemorrhagic shock is primarily caused by traumatic injury, from automobile accidents, bullet or knife wounds, and falls. “

Source: http://lifesciences.umkc.edu/shocktrauma.cfm

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The Stare of Death

I never wished to see her. I could still remember the stare of her blood red eyes that choked him to death. Yet . . . I could her soul calling for help. I felt her innocence. She was lost and I am the only one who could help her find her way back home.

******

I observed as she entered the “shouk” (marketplace). Chava, whom she refers to as Enma, was busy trading the goat milk with the merchants she lost sight of her. She looked very different from the first time I saw her. Her clothes were sewn typical to the villagers, but the blue linen made her beauty radiate. She is not from the village and the villagers will soon notice it. Chava is a fool to think she could hide her identity by sewing a dress fit for the locals. Her skin is fairer than the women in the market place. Her hair is blacker than that of a goat. Her smile emanates a spell bound to make you lose your consciousness. She was too naïve to see how the old jewelry kept looking at her while she held the peridot necklace in her hands. She was looking at her eyes. I feared the worst. I feared a strategy may befall the village. I feared she may unwillfully commit murder by gazing her stare to one of the villagers. I came close to protect the old lady from her gaze, but it seemed I came closer to protect her from harm.

The villagers knew who she was. She was the stranger that cursed the land. She was the reason for the death of the beautiful Amahlia who was adored by everyone in the village. Her grace is enough for you to forget your worries. I gazed upon her beauty once in the forest when she came to pick some flowers. She was a rare gem, but the stranger was a cursed star. The elders were expecting her arrival and poor Chava was too estranged for living alone on the hill for decades. She failed to anticipate the danger soon to befall her newfound daughter. It would have been her end or the village’s end if I did not catch the arrow before it hit her heart.

*****

I did the impossible. I risked taking her hand and keep her safe from the wrath of the villagers. I was confused, but I knew this is the right thing to do. Protect the innocent from harm, but is she really innocent?

*****

We arrived at the hill of Chava. She was grasping for air. It seemed this was the first time she ever ran that fast in her life. A cool breeze blew towards our direction. It reminded me that I still held her hand. I slowly let it go. I avoided her stare. I feared she would remember me as the man from the shore.

I left her alone.

*****

Special thanks to new friend,

Between the Realms of Moonbeam

for allowing me to use some of the images she has gathered. You will be seeing more of these images and her thoughts on this site. Connect with her through Facebook to read her eloquence accompanied by captivating images.

The Villagers

The Political Philosophy Behind the Existence of a Village

“Aristotle lays the foundations for his political theory in Politicsbook I by arguing that the city-state and political rule are “natural.”The argument begins with a schematic, quasi-historical account of the development of the city-state out of simpler communities. First, individual human beings combined in pairs because they could not exist apart. The male and female joined in order to reproduce, and the master and slave came together for self-preservation. The natural master used his intellect to rule, and the natural slave employed his body to labor. Second, the household arose naturally from these primitive communities in order to serve everyday needs. Third, when several households combined for further needs a village emerged also according to nature. Finally, “the complete community, formed from several villages, is a city-state, which at once attains the limit of self-sufficiency, roughly speaking. It comes to be for the sake of life, and exists for the sake of the good life” (I.2.1252b27–30). “

source: http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/aristotle-politics/supplement3.html

Enma asked me to accompany her to go to the village. i believe we need to purchase supplies. I guess living with a stranger caused her to use her resources quite quickly. i am not complaining, but without a sufficient source of protein i believe our muscles will soon grow frail. Our daily diet has been vegetables and rootcrops. i miss the taste of eggs and although i could barely understand what she wishes to convey during our breakfast and lunch sessions, i could sense she was trying to explain to me the culture of the village, Dimlun.

She has repeated the term often, and i grasp that is the name of the village.

i was happy to learn i could go and see the village. i believe she intended to let me see it after she has finished sewing the blue linen she gave me a early in the morning. i think she wanted me to look as an ordinary villager. i smiled with the gift she has offered. i wore it to her delight. She was teary eyed as i came out of the room. She held my hand and kissed my cheek. She whispered, “Yalda, sheli”.

The road to the village was a tough one. If not for the leather lace-up moccasin she gave me my feet would have suffered blisters. She looked old, but she was very much strong. It seems to me that it is only her skin that has left her youth, but her strength is that of a young woman. She walked too fast for me to follow. i have to shout back at her to inform her that i am losing breath. She quickly understood my message and walked slowly.

The village was busy with merchants selling variety of items. i was thrilled to see several ornaments on a store, while she traded the glass of goat milk we carried for exchange. I was enthralled by a beautiful green gem, a peridot. i was about to try it on when someone started cursing at me.

She was a middle-aged woman dressed in black. She was mumbling words i could not comprehend. The villagers started to murmur and started to stare at me with fear. i looked for Enma but she was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, a few men started to come from nowhere with spears on their hands. Am i to be attacked? What have i done?

i saw an arrow strike towards my direction. i was in shock and thought it was my end. i closed my eyes and i saw him catching the arrow with his bare hand. He grabbed hold of my hand and we started to run.

*****

The Peridot Myths:

  1. It is a precious gem for Eygptians and believed to cure variety of diseases of the heart. It has been related to the goddess Isis.
  2. Hawaiians believed it is the tears of the goddess Pele
  3. It is believe to calm anger and attract love.
  4. It has a soothing effect on the nervous system and dispels negative emotions.

Sources:

http://minerals.usgs.gov/minerals/pubs/commodity/gemstones/sp14-95/peridot.html

http://academic.emporia.edu/abersusa/go340/students/inmon/

http://www.bernardine.com/gemstones/peridot.htm

The Stare of Death

FACTS:

“MONTHS of emotional and physical abuse, combined with the suspicion of infidelity and the inability to reconcile his marriage with his wife of eight months, drove Vishwanath Sharma into a state of temporary insanity, resulting in him chopping her to death. . . read more for details”

*****

I was staring at her lifeless body lying on the beach. I was certain she was dead. This is not the first time that I saw a dead body on the shore. Things like this are usual in this place, especially after a storm. I would have easily moved away, but there was something about her that left me immovable from my place. Is it the amusement of seeing her black hair slightly cover her face, which wanted me to look closer to see how she looked? Is it the fact that this time it was a woman on the shore and not a fisherman or a merchant?

I was instructing my feet to step forward, but there is something strange with her presence that prevented it from moving. A few minutes more, I saw her fingers make a slight movement. She is alive! I hurried to see if I can do anything to help her. I wonder how I managed to finally move my feet, but I guess the urgency to see her alive made it happen. I found myself holding her in my arms and for the first time I have held a woman close to my heart.

I expected her body to be cold, but it was warm. It was too warm I believe she was suffering from a fever. I was about to carry her when she opened her eyes. She stared directly at me and as she did a throbbing pain in my heart caused me to choke. I was grasping for air. I dropped her and she lost consciousness.Eyes of Danger

Image Source Courtesy of http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2002/04/afghan-girl/index-text

The Island of Dilmun

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The land Dilmun is a pure place, the land Dilmun is a clean place,

The land Dilmun is a clean place, the land Dilmun is a bright place;

He who is all alone laid himself down in Dilmun,

The place, after Enki had laid himself by his wife,

That place is clean, that place is bright;

He who is all alone laid himself down in Dilmun,

The place, after Enki had laid himself by Ninsikil,

That place is clean, that place is bright.

In Dilmun the raven uttered no cries,

The kite uttered not the cry of the kite,

The lion killed not,

The wolf snatched not the lamb,

Unknown was the kid-killing dog,

Unknown was the grain-devouring boar,

The bird on high . . . not its young,

The dove . . . not the head,

The sick-eyed says not “I am sick-eyed,”

The sick-headed says not “I am sick-headed,”

Its (Dilmun’s) old woman says not “I am an old woman,”

Its old man says not “I am an old man,”

Its unwashed maid is not . . . in the city,

He who crosses the river utters no . . . ,

The overseer does not . . . ,

The singer utters no wail,

By the side of the city he utters no lament.

Source Credit: http://www.sevenfoldtruth.com/dilmun/index.html

 

I know that Dilmun is a paradise. I have heard travelers passing through our island tell stories of how majestic it is. Most of them chose to stay, while others were forced to leave its abode. The elders cast them to the sea bound never to return. They were evil men that sought the treasure of the island. There is a treasure lying in the island. I don’t know where it is, but I am certain it is priceless because a celebration to remember its beauty and elegance are held in the island annually. I don’t know how it looked like, but I felt I saw something more precious than that in the island on the eve the terrible lightning struck one of the huts of the villages.

I was supposed to be inside, but I was staring the angry waves of the sea. I have never seen it roar in fury. The moon looked interestingly happy to see the ocean cry in turmoil as it offered it light. Suddenly, something from the ocean formed and twisted water emerged from the heart of it. It managed to waltz its way into the shore, as it touched the earth lightning struck and the whirling water was broken. I was in full shock to see it happening. Something was left on the shore.

I can hear the village wail in tears as someone had to bid goodbye to a family member. I was not interested with this kind of news. I wanted to see what the whirling water dropped. I was curious. I run towards the shore and I saw her.

 

In the Eyes of Amita

“When you are playing a videogame, an external observer will probably say that you are sitting in a sofa or at the computer desk. But is this really where you are? When immersed in the virtual world of a videogame, do you still feel that you are sitting on a chair or in a sofa, staring at the screen?”

                                                                                    Source Credit from: http://frictionalgames.blogspot.com/2010_09_01_archive.html

 

 

The Facts:

H.M. is a name of an amnesiac. He lost his ability to form new memories so all of his experiences become a first time experience for him. Is it a gift or is it a curse?

 

*****

 

I believe I was unconscious for several days. I wanted to ask my caretaker, but I later realized they are using a tongue I have never heard in my lifetime. I am on my own in this island with no memory, except for the floral dress they suggested I wore when they found me at the shore. It has the marking AMR. I believe that is my initial.

 

*****

i began observing the territory that gave me refuge. i can sense that the village is divided over my arrival. Some would consider me as a bad omen because i arrived simultaneously with death. i couldn’t blame them. i am just grateful for the kindness of old lady who gave me shelter.

 

She called me Amita. i guess this is the name i have to remember from this point forward. It sounded nice, but i wondered what it meant. She wished to address her as Ima. i uttered it to her and she shed a tear. She held my hand and gave me a gentle smile.

 

i assigned myself to wash the dishes and give drink to her sheep and goat. She only had a few. i was fortunate her hut was blessed to have a nearby well. i wake up early in the morning and consider this my daily routine. There was no man in the house to assist us. We were both on our own and i am happy to be of help to her. She seemed happy to have me as company, but i showed very little emotion to all that she has done.

 

*****

I developed a fear of the night, better yet I developed a fear of sleeping. I don’t want to close my eyes. I don’t want to lose consciousness. For some reason, I feel like something bad will happen if I do close it.

 

THE PAINS OF SLEEP

 by: Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Ere on my bed my limbs I lay, It hath not been my use to pray With moving lips or bended knees; But silently, by slow degrees, My spirit I to Love compose, In humble trust mine eyelids close, With reverential resignation, No wish conceived, no thought expressed, Only a sense of supplication; A sense o’er all my soul impressed That I am weak, yet not unblessed, Since in me, round me, every where Eternal strength and wisdom are.

 

But yester-night I prayed aloud In anguish and in agony, Up-starting from the fiendish crowd Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me: A lurid light, a trampling throng, Sense of intolerable wrong, And whom I scorned, those only strong! Thirst of revenge, the powerless will Still baffled, and yet burning still! Desire with loathing strangely mixed On wild or hateful objects fixed. Fantastic passions! maddening brawl! And shame and terror over all! Deeds to be hid which were not hid, Which all confused I could not know Whether I suffered, or I did: For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe, My own or others still the same Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.

 

So two nights passed: the night’s dismay Saddened and stunned the coming day. Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me Distemper’s worst calamity. The third night, when my own loud scream Had waked me from the fiendish dream, O’ercome with sufferings strange and wild, I wept as I had been a child; And having thus by tears subdued My anguish to a milder mood, Such punishments, I said, were due To natures deepliest stained with sin, – For aye entempesting anew The unfathomable hell within The horror of their deeds to view, To know and loathe, yet wish and do! Such griefs with such men well agree, But wherefore, wherefore fall on me? To be beloved is all I need, And whom I love, I love indeed.

Chapter 1: On Sandy Shores

“They said I was washed to the shore. I can’t remember anything. I don’t know my name. I am unaware of my past or of my future. I don’t even know if I should be happy I am alive. It is frightening to discover you are in a strange place with no memory of the past or knowledge of the future. It frightens me. “

* * *

It was a stormy evening. The waves were terribly wild. Everyone in the village sought refuge inside their homes. The whirling of the wind can be heard from the inside. Each one held their beloved family members by the hand as they prayed to their gods in mercy. This could be the end of the island. It could be washed-out from the map of the world permanently. It has happened in the past and it could very much happen once again.

Lightning struck one of the huts.

There was a momentary silence, followed by a wail of despair.

Death has arrived at the island.

It came uninvited.

Kindly wait for Chapter 2….

I will appreciate any comments from my readers. It will help me formulate the plot of the story…

Guilty: Beyond Reasonable Doubt

I am gulity

I must say…
I have no right to plead my case
Let the judgement be rendered
Let me suffer
Let me bleed
Let me cry in pain
for I am
g
 u
  i
   l
    t
     y

beyond reasonable doubt

I have to detest myself
I have to become a murderer
I have to rip it off its life
I have to force it to its last breath
                                        for
                                   only
                               then
                            can
                           I
                 return
             back
          home
       into
   your
arms

I willfully killed
I intentionally murdered
I blissfully laughed as it pleaded for its life
I showed no mercy
I showed no love
I showed nothing
but a smile