Mindreader in Deluge

(THis is the 3rd part of an ongoing prose series on this blog. The first part was Mindreader and the second part was Mindreader Once Again)

His new assignment was simple. Kill an American Billionaire's two daughters and kidnap the youngest. He followed a simple rule of never asking his employers the need for the task, it kept him both alive and actually sane. This time his timeframe was of two months and a fat paycheck of three million. He was quite satiated with his life and quite eager to once again taste Death.
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He landed the next day in the International Airport and for now he was Shameer Khardiff, a Spanish Soccer fan. As soon as he was processed and let out of the Airport, the first thing he did was to leave for Mr. John Doe's villa in the outskirts of the city. His week of recon brought in a whole lot of bad news for him. The body guards quite ably guarded their "principals" from any form of sniper or staccato gun-fire as well as stab instruments. Their were each ex-Mossad operatives and hence not only non-buyable but also suicidally tough and impossible to beat in hand to hand combat or close range armanent use. Poison was ruled out by too faithful servants and car accidents or bombs were nullified by a combination of able Bodyguards and suitably modern technology.

There was only one process left-the playboy. The only place the bodyguards did not venture was the girls' bedroom and that is where they would have to be killed. He had seen the two girls, the elder would be easy, she was the super model princess of the family. He would target her first but of the younger daughter he wasn't sure but then there always was risky sniper shots to take care of her. She was as sexless as a nun and wouldn't have aroused the most sexually famished creature on the planet, let alone him but the elder one, that one was going to be fun. Once the deaths are doled, he would then think of the kidnap. Accordingly he contacted his employers.
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A month later Miss Jean Doe the elder daughter of Mr. John Doe met Archduke Phillip of Austria on a tour of Italy. His Alfa Romeo and Ambassador suite in Caesar's Castle quite easily attracted her eyes but to this perhaps his smart look in Armani Suite have certain complementary effect. It was a quickly established scandal that they were seeing each other and that they were both residing in the same suite.

However Miss Jean Doe's premature death due to a weird cerebral stroke put an end to this happy love story. A forensic surgeon in mind of suggesting Concentrated Peroxyacyl Acetic acid which leaves but minor trace in the human body tragically died in a road accident pitiably also producing the mutilated body of Archduke Phillip in the other only recognised by his passport. Soon Rome had a new story of a curse as all those who had seen the happy couple a few months back died tragically in accidents and in a week all stories and traces of Archduke Phillip had vanished. The weeping royal family of Austria informed, the one with that name in the family was missing for two months and was presumed dead on a cliff climbing accident but the body had never being found. How he ended up in Rome was anybody's guess.
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A Chicago window was being used at that time the eyes of the voyeur fixed intently on Miss Jean Doe's younger sister, the Einstein of the family.

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.

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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

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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

Flights of Fantasy

Today I am Chengiz as I stare over the Mongol Waste
No I am Timur with my army riding in haste
To the next conquer, to the next plunder
To make waste of others blunder
Yet I am wrong
Today I am Don Juan which I have been for long
I am again the master of Amourous Tales
Again I depend on my luck which never fails
My hunt for that true love, I long continue
My love for Heidis and Julias,I always rue
Yet I feel I am the daring Achilles
In search of Immortality, I kill Hector the flawless
I am again Parris
But then who doesn't want to step in shoes his
The gift of Helen, He was lucky but fool
He should have also learned to use war's tool
Then again I am the hapless Romeo of Lay
Who died for one girl but could have had a thousand any day
I won't be that fool for anymore, I am rather Zeus himself
Who else has in the bedroom of more women delved
Who cares, I am the valiant Ghatothkach son of Bhim
A Death worth having was received by him
Today I am Samudra Gupta, the Great
The Emperor before whom all foreigners did fret
The great warrior,who unified India of old
I only wish that I was that bold
I am a warrior in search of fame
I pass blood drenched fields of limbs and body with no name
I am a lover with a crooked smile
Girls fathers lock them seeing him coming from afar even a mile
I am the most famous of actors today and I am the best chef of fame
I am a Gentleman, Girls swoon hearing his name

Then I get a cold drenching spray
I realise I am awake and ready to face life's fray
One of the poor old sods whom no one knows
One who one day ends his existence and from Earth quitely goes
No one monument, no remembrance, nothing he gets
He is remembered by those for a day, whom he begets
A man has but one life but his history remains
He is just one fool from whom fame abstains

Fun retitled

My last post was basically to entertain which no one seems to have found interesting, so This time I am blogging a rather more serious blank verse no blatant comedy, this time around. To anybody whom I had made aware of my desire to put up my short story "Immortal Trove" which was originally written for Bombadil's short story competition- I am sorry but it will take some time. I haven't had time to upload it yet. Thank You and keep following.
Talk to me
Go talk to the nefarious elements the ghostly sprites of the night
Talk now to the hell bound spirits that stutter you mortal frame
Go seek the dew drop of the fallen sky the latest victim of your nefarious evil
Live near that idiot toad that causes death

Listen from them for they shall tell you of the woebgone fool
For he has takes humanity's cause and is served no interest none
The fool fights that others may sleep
That one more Romeo his Juliet may meet
That one more Rustam doesn't seek the death of his Sohrab
That one more mother her son doesn't lose
That one more soul to the devil isn't lost

I know he is a fool as do you as do us all Normal one's
But is he really for is there anything called Normal on this Mortal Plane
He is immortal in the eyes of death
For Gory fields are his home and ruined decapitated limbs his art
The fool lacks love for this cause, he but has lost his family too
In that sticky red wet thing
Due to that bloated and torn human Liver on his hand
How can those hold a rose?
What is a rose who has torn alive his still beating enemy's heart
Why did he leave his home?
Well, the fool left it for us

Where is the peace he sought?
Why more thrashing limbs?
Where is the brotherhood he desired?
In this world of perpetual sin

So live your life take no note of else
You are the winner if you have a filled purse
And your family, no not they
If you have a food-filled belly