Proclamation

Mindreader Once Again is the second installment of Mindreader

Mindreader Once Again

Another succesful kill. Sometimes he stared at the heavens whether in the plains of the highland villas or the sands of the torrid deserts, sometimes in the plains of river alluvi or even in the winds of the coast, what was his success, what was the quantum in his life. Each victory in the pathetic excuse of his life would perfect that vaunted title he had taken, the best murderer in the planet and it would result in another job and another and another and another.................................................................................. that marred his soul in the eternal confusion called life. But did he want to kill again? But then again did he want to die? Did he want to lose all those pleasures he had gained his life? Did he want life? Did he know Life? What was Life? An Eternal ectasy and symphony of pain? Was he even alive?

The boy had grown into the perfect haunted man. The man for whom Death held no charm yet neither did life but yet he went about sensing the climax, the arousal of it every day and found the sweetness and the taste of both. The intoxicating charm of the sensual oblivion of Death the sensory overload and the cheer and sweetness of the beating heart of life itself.

The pain and hope seemed intoxicating to the boy as he rose metres above the humdrum of these greatest Necromantic drug of all and lived its ectasy and its honour and its pure pleasure. Such state of affairs pushed him to spend every penny of the vast fortunes of his bank account between every kill as he tasted life "to its lees" and prepared each waking hour hour to fight and yet welcome that inevitable oblivion that waited for him at the ever sinking horizon.

He didn't know defeat, especially not at the hand of a two bit bird. He had learned to fight on and on and on.
He had tasted every girl this world had to offer from voluptuous models to the aristrocrats to the poor lovers. He had tasted the olive and cherry of the west and the chocolate and honey of the east with the ebony of the equator. He had tried every Aphrodite, every Helen, every Laila, Sheba and Rambha and Menoka. He had sunk in Beauty and come out all the more stronger and kept strengthening his resolve. He felt he had acertained that Love was one thing he had flushed out in those intimate embraces and loving touches and he had felt the feminine heart as it pounded and surfeited to his feet not only the last droplets of its physical treasures but also those delicate strains of her heart in thrall to his embrace. And he had enjoyed grounding it feeling not a thing in his heart for he believed it dead and he lived only on the strength of his loins and muscular physique.

He felt that he had beaten the two bit bird and sang one day:
Let me not to fear for it scares of me
Let me not to Death surrendered be
Let this world not know for they are my thrall
Fate and Death have with my hand pushed to stall
Let Love not come near me
For my thrall for Eternity it is to be
I command Emotions this day
I come the new Messiah in even newer lay
For I am of Fate and this world, Lord
Bow to me, your new GOD

The exultation lasted always till the bank got dried and then came the task, the pain of poison, the pain of a bullet, knife, bomb, he had endured all and willed each time for the all cleansing clean Death to end all pain all strife, for Freedom but then again his mighty heart willed his punishment on, he wouldn't die, he couldn't die, he lived to die another day. Then came the pleasure of life, in food, music, parties, engrossing books, exotic vacations in the never ending vacation. The loving embrace of a simple rural belle or the welcoming bed of the aristocrat. Sometimes it was the exulatation of the killing and fighting of the Evil in Humanity but with it also came the pain to be suppressed with movies and Nature and Death Defying Sports. He was the violent enigma of pain and death.

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

Three months had passed and Spain had exhausted of Daughters and Rebels to satisfy the unquenchable thirst of Life. The Ardennes caged Life no longer in his rugged beauty and so with empty purse walked out Death to the Living World.

Mindreader

( An Episodic narration of a prosaic story which is yet a poem)

The boy stared hard at the two bit red bird. It was so easy to kill, a single sling shot that was all it took to snuff off the livid flame. With practiced ease he eased into the shooting position, it must be remembered that whether in bow or sling the main stress was to feel and see the target with sensitive eyes and to hear the very heart beat of the victim even from a distance of upto a mile and not stare at the dart or the stone. Once the victim's body and mind were yours, all you had to do was ease the twang at the dart, not to push the dart or to stare at the dart, your target would be achieved. The boy had imprisoned the bird's mind and soul. Now only to release, then with practised ease the string was given its much desperately sought freedom. There is a unique majesty in the flying shot........................... The flowing air seeking to debunk it and it mysteriously cutting its own path in the parabolic saga of beauty and ultimate truth revelling in its own strength and its pride. The spattering speed taking it like an immortal God in the very splash and explosion of mortal incardine staggering gouts.

The bird fell dead and the smiling boy went up to it to claim his trophy when he saw the still beating pump opened to the view of the world. He smiled and sat beside his dying victim revelling in the despair and steep accusation of those faltering eyes boring into those of its victor questioning the need. Why should it die? It had harmed none, it was but the most beautiful creation of Mother Nature, Oh, then why, why should it die? It served no purpose to the boy as food nor as garment or respect. Then why was it removed so futilely for nothing but boyish sport? Why couldn't its life had served a purpose? Why this futile death?

But the questions found mute gloating stare that only revelled in success of its sport. The flame in heat of rage before subsiding to ash.

However when the Gloating boy went to lift his prize there was the squeak all around him but it bespoke a human tongue. Its message chilled the spine of the fleeing boy who never returned to lift his prize from the decomposing earth as flesh and earth bound as one as energy and soul and the proud red plume sunk in the ground to the bone dry skeleton that passed into dust. Thus was beauty destroyed but it was rage that said:

Mortal whelp of the nether sands

To you are barred joy's lands

You will do but what you love

That is help people to snuff

You will kill and kill each day but you will relieve your victims

You will like oil that over slip always skims

Relieve and die with those you hunt

You will feel death but you dead will shunt

You will read their minds and their hearts

You will be crushed like apple tarts

Yet you will live till that day is reached

When from hatred is leached

By a woman you will love to fault

But from killing her you will be unable to halt

The death will release you from your bond and fate

For you will see me again on that date

When the day comes kill me again quick

For then together in this mortal realm we will never again stick

*******************************

The man's heart had come in the the in the intersecting lines that some call cross-hairs. Which would be faster, the heart or the femoral artery or the carotid artery or lobular venacava and the cranial explosion. He would have to die fast as he would savour the same pain as his victim. He better die quick as these days the experience was getting nigh unbearable. With resigned he wished for something like a zillionth time that he would not have to do this to live but what can he do? He was the best sniper in the country and thus automatically the best Hitman for the job. He chose the cranial cavity and then stepped into the mind of the victim, soon he was walking his gait, thinking his thoughts and the jailer of the gaol for the man's heart and soul, the trigger got pressed almost by itself. He quickly stashed his thick wad of cotton in his jaw trapping the tongue, teeth and his face.

Even the speeding beauty of the bullet was thing to watch as it immersed itself a mile away in between the eyes of the victim, where the mortal sweetness of satisfying warmth outpoured as perfume. Then his body, which he had already put in lying position hit the first spasm followed by those terrible 1 minute 15 seconds of cold chill and heartbreaking fear of the void and the wild spasms and laboured breathing, till the final absolution.

Shit! He had misjudged the wind, the bullet had torn apart his lower right brain and the hypothalamus but not the neurospasmic control section of the heart. That terrible fear, he hated his life,simply hated it but he would have to live some way or other. Nobody defeats him especially not a two bit bird.

(To Be Continued)

Mindreader