Surprisingly the blood didn’t spurt. There was where it happened – In the corner of a dimly lit alleyway, by an old swimming pool. The smell of chlorine wafting through the warm summer air.
I stood, she lay. And in my head I did a quick replay – of all that had commenced since the death of my wife had sliced though the jugular of Miss Janice Mellar.
Everything had gone according to plan – until the blood hadn’t chosen to spurt.
Awkwardly the moments stood before me – anti climatic. Although the measures these days to commit these crimes were less drastic.
The list of women whose flesh had tasted my blade isn’t much elaborate. Martha Swinston, Cassie Munro, 14-year-old Helen Swazniq, Isha Dunham, Michelle Mossburg and my dear ladies and gentlemen, Janice Mellar.
Although the last on there was the most stellar. In looks and victimology. Meh.
Yet surprisingly, oh-dear-god, the blood didn’t spurt!
Now don’t look at me miss with those accusing eyes. I completely understand, but it is this numbing remorselessness lately that has grabbed my senses. Neuroscientists say ‘haha’ that I have issues with my serotonin.
All I can say, Doctor, is that I just cannot take it in.
There are times when I have to hide and stay low. A ruthless man, by the name Detective Crossbow, is looking for the Jugular Killer. You see, he doesn’t enjoy the popularity of people like me.
It is this madness sometimes that dazzles my every bone, certified from the classic psychopathic tendencies that I have shown – where murder is my only sexual getaway and release, and the gap between my artistic acts is starting to decrease.
But don’t you take another breath, because what I felt…when the blood from her paling body did not spurt. It was a revelation; heavens were opening up to listen, while I stood by the swimming pool dirt.
My name is Alfred Kevins, and dear Janice, haven’t you figured out still? I am not the man with whom you will sleep tonight. For I am, ‘drum rolls’, a killer! A murderous victim to all theories of lust, paraphilia, distraught development and ill sociological conditions!
And even though the Scooby Doo and Gang would call me devilishly charming, sometimes the skin I live in…has me alarming.
I may have a soul, but I am never going to be a soldier, dear mother. I am in too deep in sin.
Surprisingly the blood didn’t spurt, as the blade ran one last time, cutting through my skin.
Trust was the oddest thing that I had to deal with for quite a while this year. I am not someone who looks at the art of friendship in a bad light. In fact, I cherish a lot of it that it has to offer. How can we know if we are walking the right path? It is too hard to realize that until it is too late, perhaps.
I have realized that one can never know if somebody can be trusted, unless you risk it, go ahead and place your faith on that person. It is always a matter of trial and error. And this indeed starts to bring trouble to your doorstep when you are out there in the world, making friends, hoping that the conflicts with your personal demons will turn out right. Let’s face it, relationships like these matter, especially if you are somewhere in your teens, studying at college, spending quality time outside your homes, hoping to someday perhaps ‘change the world’. Lunch breaks, night outs, assignment panic, exam schedules, everything begins to take priority around the folk you call as friends. Even if you are an introvert, you end up being a part of a social group at some point in your life.
You start to believe in your friends and what can bear out of the relationship that you share with them. I had this deep conversation with a friend yesterday who was disturbed by the choices she had made in life. She was regretful about some of the people that she once knew. I could only nod in understanding, although it is, at any point, hard to fathom what the person is feeling when it comes to issues like betrayal, lies, fights, and everything dark and beyond that.
Upon giving it a deeper thought, I realized that nothing can be done about it, really. I belong to one of the most populated countries in the world. There are people everywhere. People that you need to interact with in order to get something done. If your trust is betrayed, everything feels like it is tumbling off the roof. Revenge and comebacks begin to get redundant. You can only choose to let it go.
It is hard to face reality at times, when you have realized some of the things you have had to deal with just for the sake of another friend. What you once believed to be a meaningful relationship is now nothing but a balloon filled with thin air. It seems so stupid that you had bothered to give the time that you had for that person.
Nothing can be done about such betrayal of faith, apart from learning from it and moving on. I maybe one of those who betrayed your trust, and perhaps I am sorry. But some choices are hard, and are meant to be taken, in spite of the promises that are broken thanks to which.
This is the first week of December, 2013, and I hope you are having a good time, where ever you are. We can only continue to hang where we are, and breathe. You are never alone, as long as you hope, keep your head up and smile for the world wants to see more of that.
– shaun d’souza
Connect with me @hunchbakdsouza
An Epic Fail is troublesome. It is embarrassing and often puts us in a very difficult position. What happens is that, we often go out and believe in something. And we work towards what we believe. In most occasions, we end up making a lot of mistakes, we get a lot of people angry. Relationships are hampered, wrong decisions are taken and a lot of things are compromised.
In the end, you fail. A lot of things screw up and you alone are blamed for it all.
That in my opinion is okay. Really. Because, what we have not realized for a long time is the fact that an Epic Fail can have a lot of things to its bright side.
Failure is a very good part of our lives. It is rather important to have some amount of failed attempts at achieving something. If you’re doing something and have been largely successful at it, in your first attempt, then there could be some magical loop-hole that you’ve managed to establish in your favor. That is luck, a factor that I have found to be lacking a LOT in my life.
Let me add that I have been responsible for some very good number of blunders. At the end of each blunders and failure, I have realized that I have even lesser friends and believers by my side. Which is good.
Yes. Often, when you fail, you begin to realize that even though your friend circle has lessened to almost nothing, the ones you’ve left with are the ones that truly believe in you and will always stand by you, no matter what. And only such friends are the ones that you really need. I face this issue every time my attempt have gone down the drain. But at the end of it, I’m nothing more than grateful to the ones who have forgiven me and stood up for what I have believed. Also, Epic ails are funny and make good substance to laugh about later.
So it doesn’t matter if you fail. It doesn’t matter if you have ended up penniless and every thing that you’ve done has turned up to be useless. You rather fail at something than be responsible for being nothing. Let it go and try again. You should know: What does not kill you, makes you stronger. Epic Fails are required. Epic Fails are inevitable. Epic Fails reminds you of your reality. And most of all, an Epic Fail is epic.
– Shaun D’souza
This track makes sense, right?
Now there are three sorts of confession I particularly wish to write about. There could be more, which I am blatantly not aware of.Also, let me add that all the three sorts of don’t make sense to me. And honestly, I don’t see why they ever would.
The first sort would be the typical catholic confession. An individual goes up to the priest who himself is seated behind a curtain, hiding away. The priest or and other dude from the church expects you to chant a few prayers, state your sins after which he mumbles a set of prayers himself and claims you to be forgiven.
The second is the kind where you commit a mistake against someone and you feel so guilty that you go to that respective person and confess your actions.
The third, and the most modern and ridiculous is the latest fad of the confession fad over on Facebook where one either insults someone in secrecy or expresses his or her love to someone else.
And here is why it doesn’t make sense to me. How does anyone expect me to be honest and open to a Priest hiding behind a closure himself, when I cannot be the same even with a friend whom ‘I’m supposed’ to trust? Do the prayers even make sense, or are just random lines that are mandatory to get done with the process?
I agree that sins are bad but yet, I committed them and that alone leaves an impression on me. Everything I do, good or bad, has contributed to who I am today. That does not mean I can simply tell away my errors to someone, no matter how bad they are.
At times, the things we do are so meaningless. And by talking about it to someone,you can ruin your relationship with them. Yes, you can term them to be sins and wrong deeds, but does it really matter? Call me cold-hearted and conscienceless, but I dont really feel any pang of guilt when I choose to let something go when opposed to the cost of ruining something that I cherish. Instead I would focus on not committing the same blunder again and work my best towards damage control.
And lastly, the confession pages over at Facebook Really now? Is that what our insecurities has led us to; not facing facts and dealing them in the most inhuman
way possible? We’ve successfully succumbed to the internet and are dependent on it for things as little as disclosing our interests. What is worse is that people have taken to virtually-verbally abusing ridiculing others over the social network. It is simply pathetic. As if, bullying wasn’t extravagant already.
This is me, I am sure you don’t agree with me on a lot of points here. I appreciate it and would love to hear you out. Do comment of leave me a mail at email@example.com
Have a good weekend otherwise.
A little something I wrote to the one person, friend and brother who would has got me stronger than I ever have been gotten before. It may make very less sense, but I sort of had a fight with him this evening, and know I hurt him. If you’re reading this anytime in the future, you should know that I still respect, love and look up to you more than anything. And I’m sorry, of course.
For the lovers of literature, this is NOT proper poetry (and neither my genre of writing), and should perhaps be in a personal diary, my apologies. Please be kind while rating it, I’m mostly a sentimental fool tonight. 🙂
Are one side of the same coin,
together, you and I
Exploring the other end,
nothing to lose or spend.
You cope up with the world
I try to figure it out.
Short fights and purple hearts
full of pain, we try not to shout.
So while our worlds rages on
telling us what we try not to know.
Let’s fight and stay sure
that together we are happily insecure.
– Shaun D’souza
Every time I leave my household for some worldly redundant purpose, like receive education, for instance, I cannot help but feel a little remorseful. Not that I feel that for leaving my indoor luxuries, it’s just that I have personified home on a personal level, as a friend.
True, my friends get to see my usual overt baseless behavior. But it’s just home who gets the privilege of watching the real me, live in action. Be it the Green day singing sessions in my underwear, those countless hours spent TV viewing in insufferable positions or times spent in self-grooming: checking out my (soon to come) abs before the mirror. (Would mention more but that would be impossible without censoring this post).
Home bears it all. Well there are times when we honor the personal space pact. Those are time when am studying or attending to my passions while home stands patiently, passively active, I believe, before yet another physical outburst from my side. There are also those times, the bad ones, when our homes just give us our space.
I guess every adult, or even the older generation is a little wackier when alone inside our four walls. Because that is our last resort in most times, big or small. Home sweet home.
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