Mondo's

Alright, kept this in enough,

But can we please?

It’s been a really long time,

And I’ve kept shush all this while,

Thinking you fancied something else.

How I crave it,

Hoped you’d come around and see.

Anyway, I’m saying it now,

And really want to go ahead with it.

This evening,

When the sun goes down,

Can we just go for pizza at Mondo’s?

Salvation River

In a lonely forest,

Under turgid tops,

A dark curtain hanging,

Where souls screamed,

Shrieks ripping the sky,

A glimmer atop the enfolding black.

Where abide jade memories,

And fields of dreams,

You will see it.

Salvation River.

Spectrum #2

“Patricia! Patricia, where’s that damn stand?!”

            With probably no less than ten things of all shapes and sizes in both hands, I struggled to make my way past the crowd of designers, stylists, models, bloggers, reporters and who knew who else had managed to wheedle their way in backstage. Absolute bedlam reigned. If I were in charge, half these people would have been stopped before they even caught the first glimpse of the fluorescent light behind the massive crimson curtains, beckoning them, seducing them with delusions of glamour and ephemeral attention.

            Faye was yelling at anyone and anything her voice could possibly reach, sending people scuttling here and there. This breakdown wasn’t happening because we were inept. It was happening because we outdid ourselves.

            As the inaugural edition of an event that was being planned as a mainstay of the city’s social calendar, we pulled out all the stops to ensure that word got out to everyone. If anything, it should register as more than just a blip, even if catering to a niche. The plan we all agreed on was to work harder on it, year by year, and eventually build it up into something huge, something that people would one day mark down on their calendars as the event to watch out for.

            The press work we did turned out to be a smashing success. Never did any one of us envision such a massive turnout. For most of us, fresh out of college, it was our first job at a company barely on its feet. The downside to the response was that our preparations reflected our expectations. By then, a few days before launch, it was too late. We were severely understaffed. And so it came to be that a PR executive ended up hauling banners, roll-ups, calming irate designers and models, guiding photographers and doing a whole host of other things that she wasn’t even supposed to be doing, and didn’t really want to get into.

            I watched as Jane went scampering after one of the models, no doubt fresh from a barking as well. Poor girl. Hardworking and obeisant to the point of insanity, but timorous and easily cowed. Unfortunate that this was her debut event, but in a way it was for her own good - we all need our baptism of fire at some point, and better to have it done with sooner than later.

            Another thing: this was Faye’s debut with her new startup. One of the most respected names in the business, she decided to branch out on her own – new blood, new thinking, new way of getting things done without all the fumbling that plagued all the previous gigs she kept telling us about. This would be her success or failure as much as ours. And we were all thinking about this. Running in between people, coordinating press and hospitality personnel who had no idea what was going on, making sure the models kept to their schedule, and also making sure the designers didn’t blow up if they didn’t, this was the one thought racing through our heads. Knowing Faye, the latter outcome was not an option.

            Truth be told, I did admire her in a way. Fastidious to the core, she did have her good moments on occasion. Being with her at the office, I could easily see how she managed to reach the top in such a short amount of time. There was a reason she did what she did and I could appreciate it – you didn’t succeed by being soft. Of course, you didn’t have to reduce people like Jane to tears either, but that’s probably one thing that would never change about Faye. After decades in the industry, was it really all that easy to change, to see the world from a different lens, to act as people desired?

            I struggled to manoeuvre through the crowd. The banner was too big to push through the throng of people, so it had to be done by gently turning it in little increments, timed with the movement of people. Agonizingly slow.

            Despite the great commotion, Faye still managed to draw attention and make herself heard. Even after hours of this, she was indefatigable. From where she was standing, she was strategically placed to give out orders and to see whether they were being carried through to completion. If not, a litany of verbal barbs was surely promised.

            “Patricia! What…what are you doing?!” came her booming voice. “I asked you to move that ages ago. The hell are you waiting for?! MOVE!”

            I hated her then. As much as I looked up to her, I also reviled her. I could somewhat understand the stress she was going through. If I were in her position, who’s to say whether I would act any different? But this was not the first time this had happened. Enlightened theories and any proclivity I may have had for empathy became buried under passionate impulses, as they usually do. Behavior like this was second nature to Faye. Episodes like these occurred almost on a daily basis and brought up nothing but revulsion. I felt beaten down, depressed, defeated.

            But I still carried the load that was currently weighing down both of my arms. The good thing about all this was simply this: It was great. I felt truly blessed. All the glitz, the glamour, the sheer life of it all was something almost out of this world and something most people probably never experience. I loved it and wouldn’t have it any other way. Somewhere in the thick of it all, I could lose myself and do things because they had to be done. Because people were counting on me, on us. Because if we didn’t, no one else would. Because we wanted everyone, including ourselves, to have a good time.

            One of the girls at the far end of the aisle, whose eyes had quickly moved from Faye to me, flashed me a wink and gave an encouraging wave. This quickly turned into a dirty look, aimed at my boss, even though Faye wasn’t remotely aware of it. I loved Diane. She was a breath of fresh air. At times – when I had time to think that is – I wondered why she had pursued her specific line of work. She was one of the few – come to think it, probably the only one – who was not fussy about the brand of champagne, the blaring music or the outfit she was forced to sport in front of dozens of flashing cameras.

            So if not for Faye, I would do this for myself, and for everyone involved who had invested themselves so deeply. I would do whatever was required of me, even it meant occasionally suffering the indignity of being shouted in the face. I mean, all this eventually pays off someday, right?

            It does…doesn’t it?

Spectrum #1

The sudden plodding of files on the glazed wooden surface of my table was almost like a earthquake, causing a seismic shift, where once peace and order had reigned. I snapped back in shock. Not too severely, but enough for the resultant sensation to last the better part of the next hour. The impact of the files knocked my folded glasses askew, and sent some of my meticulously arranged papers flying. The files at the top of the pile were sent tumbling to the floor in turn, spoiling the momentary perfection with which I’m sure they had been stacked for just this golden moment. Looking up to see who was responsible for such a brazen stroke, my face crumpled in disgust – Smuts.

A sinister smile etched across a pasty visage greeted me as my neck craned upward. For some reason, he seemed mighty pleased with himself – his default expression. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what it was this time, nor was I bothered. The gusto with which he had dumped a model high-rise of files on my table was the only thing that had brought our two estranged worlds into collision.

Moving slowly to restore my table to a semblance of its former pristine condition, I fumed, “What the hell are you doing?”
            “Sorry bro, these just came in,” said the nausea-inducing one called Smuts. “Boss wants these figures looked over by tomorrow.”

My jaw almost dropped at that, my ears, despite the softness of his tone, ringing like the great bell of the Notre-Dame at noon.

“Sorry? T-tomorrow?”

“Yeah bro, tomorrow. Clients don’t wait man, you know how it is. Boss says tomorrow, so it’s gotta be tomorrow. He’s meeting them in the afternoon. Make sure it’s done.”

I stared at him, not open-mouthed but definitely dumbfounded. If it wasn’t so horrible, it would have been hilarious. And that was exactly what was going on in my head – wasn’t sure whether it more apt to laugh or scream.

I wasn’t going down without a fight though. Several hours of onerous page-flipping and analyzing, answering calls, not to mention being deprived of my favourite salmon risotto (it’s amazing, trust me, has to be tasted to be believed) from across the street had soured my mood. At that point, I was probably the worst person to be around, and that was saying something in an office that would make a federal institution look positively cheerful.

“Why do I have to do it?” I demanded.

“Just came from the big man’s office, bro, he asked you in specific. What, you want me to go back in and tell him you refused?” he replied, with uncanny repose, as if my response was not unexpected. More disturbingly, it was as if he relished the idea of throwing it back in my face.

“Why not someone else? You’ve seen me, I’ve been here since the morning. What about Anders?

“Flatlined, bro. Submerged for the next few days, it’s crazy. Don’t think he’s gonna be free of that desk of his for a while,” he snickered, ridiculously lost in his own wit, running a hand through his black, slicked-back hair. “At least you get to go home.”

“So, yeah,” he said, flipping the top file page by page with his thumb and forefinger as he did. “Get it done.”

Having to suffer his smug face, not to mention his hand on my desk – my precious desk, my demesne which was now a congeries of loose papers, folders, CDs, stationery and whatnot – was enough to drive me up the wall. It was a feeling akin to a comet going off trajectory and then inexplicably exploding in mid-flight – a very violent explosion, right at the synapse of my entire being. Not exactly the best feeling to have.

Suddenly aware of the passage of time, I looked past Smuts’ shoulder to a clock hanging on the lacquered, white wall: 8 p.m.

Turning back to the repulsive creature still hovering over my desk, who stubbornly refused to deprive me of the privilege of being graced with his presence, I asked him, “Wait, so…how come you’re not doing it?”

“I’m done for the night, bro. Headed out,” he said gleefully, behind an insufferably fatuous grin. Before I had a chance to counter, a casual wave cut me off as he turned around to leave. “Later bro, take it easy.”

Of course he’s headed out. Martin wants to keep his pet happy. The boss treated Smuts like a proud owner would his prize stallion. Except that in this case, the stallion was more like an impetuous mare, reluctant to do anything, absolutely impossible in a team, knowing he was secure under the big man and not shying away from revelling in it. Ever since he joined, he had become something of a local kingpin, looking over others’ shoulders, instead of actually using his own for something.

Smuts. Bloody Smuts.

The Reckoning III (The Doom)

Joy, a golden light gilds the waters.

As the sun creeps up behind the dark horizon.

As weary legs make to get up, my eyes catch,

The Boundless Blue.

The last great realm, unbroken, unravaged.

I stride out of my room,

To join my comrades.

But as the weight of sleep wears off.

As the haze recedes behind the glare.

What is this?

An ocean of white sails,

Dotting the blue.

The dread day has dawned.

I always knew they would come.

After what we did, who could blame them?

‘twas only a matter of time.

They are here, I whisper to myself.

They have come.

 

The Reckoning II (The Aftermath)

And so they overcame us.

All our bravery, ground to ashes.

Beneath the heel of the eastern fury.

The eye of the Sun let loose.

To take back what we wrested.

What was rightfully theirs.

The Sun and Serpent flying high again.

Yes, we stood.

Knowing what would befall, if we failed.

But behind our walls and barricades, tremorous.

It was only time, we knew.

But a greater calamity followed.

To this day, the gravest of mistakes.

Now their ships prowl the open seas.

Ranging far and wide.

Ever on the hunt.

Marring the Blue with our blood.

The Reckoning

They came in the night.

A seething mass, as far as the eye could see.

The open maws of hell itself.

Greeting us with a wicked grin.

A million fires, as vast as the ocean.

They came in the night.

Sweeping everything before them.

All scattered like leaves before a gale.

Scaling our walls, overwhelming all.

Redoubtable were we no more.

And so this became,

Their first push against our world.

Tainted

The lightest touch can be far deadlier than the deepest snakebite. More powerful than the most virulent maelstrom. Blacker than night. Colder than ice.

            At first, it was nothing more than a smattering of grains on the plain surface. Nothing to speak of. You would think it was simply a matter of brushing them off. Utterly inconsequential. And you’d be forgiven for thinking so. Naiveté is but an indelible part of man. They burned and scratched. Oh, how those tiny, ignoble grains burned and scratched.

            Who knew that man, greatest of the Almighty’s creations, could succumb to so base a thing. Man, who had outlived beings inherently greater than himself. Man, who had reached the moon and was now laying claim to other worlds. Man, who was capable of destroying this world many times over, yet also create of his own will.

            The burning turned rank, furrowing into the hitherto indestructible carapace. It transfixed him. It made him sway on the spot. The edges of his vision turned blurry, and gradually became greyer and murkier. A low, sinister humming filled his head. Utter obfuscation blanketed his senses. A benumbing cold took him, clawing its way upward as he stood rooted to the spot, unaware of what held him so. An invisible harness had been put around him, a solitary blood orchid deadening everything around it.

            The itching was overpowering now. He had to. He just…had to...

            How he ever broke free of the spell, one will never know. He himself could not explain it. Now, mind you, he was not oblivious to the trance he was in. Even staring at that tiny, yet potent taint…he knew. He knew what had almost happened. He knew how perilously close he had come to the edge. How did he pull back? Where had that enormous will come from?

            He never did forget it. It would not be the last time he would find himself in the talons of taint. And yet, when it abated, in the time between, he wondered…

The East Wind II: Awakening

The boy and his father joined the throng lined up on both sides of the palisade in cheering as the cavalcade wound its way through the streets.

“Yay!” “Hooray!” they all shouted tirelessly, waving their hands and throwing their fists in the air.

The boy felt elated. After a tough week in the fields and a sore back, this moment gave him some much-needed respite. He was grateful to his father for bringing him to witness this. “A momentous occasion for our people, son,” he had said. “Something they’ll sing about through the ages.” While the boy had no idea what his father meant, he was keen to see for himself what it was all about. The sheer loudness of the massive gathering had raised his spirits but he had yet to see what all the excitement entailed.

The crowd erupted again as another pair of guards passed by, their tall pikes pointed towards the sky, their faces hidden behind silver visors. They did not seem to take any notice of the crowds on either side, striding along in precise formation on the wide flower-laden lane as if on an empty street, in a city devoid of life.

“Pompous little snots, aren’t they?” came a snigger beside the boy and his father. The one who had done so did not look at the boy while saying so, his eyes focused on the street and the procession. “But they’ve earned it, I’m sure. That`s royalty for you – they can look on us rabble as they please.”

Men in military outfits were nothing new for the boy. Civil guards and police were almost commonplace in the streets, where they were charged with keeping the peace. In a city such as theirs, there was always some disturbance or the other. On more than one occasion did they have to intervene whenever he or some of the other neighbourhood boys scuffled. Or when one of his father’s friends came bursting out of the door of a tavern on all fours, usually followed by an angry patron or the owner himself.

But these were elite royal guards, which the boy – and he was sure, most people he knew – had never seen before. They were mostly stationed on the palace grounds and its immediate vicinity, never venturing out into the city save for the rare occasion when the police needed help, or when a member of the royal household paid a visit to someone. Their weapons glinted as the steel tips caught the rays of the mid-afternoon sun, and their splendid attire would have humbled even the haughtiest and most self-assured street patrolman.

“Watch it!” “Oy, watch it, fool!” “Hey, mind your foot, stupid twat” came several jeers and cries from the crowd as many jostled to get closer to the barrier separating the people from the guards. The boy felt something building up, something he couldn’t fully understand - something that perhaps only the others were aware of. Maybe this was the reason that they were all assembled there. That would explain all the sudden pushing and restlessness among the crowd.  

“They await the champion, son. Just as we are now,” said his father, detecting his son’s curiosity. “You shall see him shortly. Great glory has he won for our nation and is now being welcomed back in honour. Do you understand glory, son?” his father questioned.

“Um, I think so. He has vanquished many foes and shown no fear while doing so,” the boy replied.

“Yes, true, he has. But to do so honourably, and showing the enemy generosity, even in victory, is what sets one apart. He has shown a presence of mind even the king’s greatest generals could not,” the boy’s father said.

“Most importantly, our enemies are hostile to us no longer and have been brought into the fold, all thanks to his restraint and foresight. That is the mark of a true soldier and leader, son. Remember that. And to think, he started off as only a guard, running around at the whims of those far higher in station.”

His attention now back to the two guards still passing by, the boy saw that they flanked a man in resplendent robes, riding slightly to their rear. Borne upon a gold two-wheeled chariot, he waved to the crowds on either side with a vigour that the boy had not seen among any other members of the procession. It was too amusing since it seemed the man was doing so because either his life depended on it, or as if he had never had the pleasure of doing so and wanted to experience it before, heavens forbid, death snatched him prematurely. He carried no weapons, as the chariot also carried two other guards, standing by either shoulder. The man had a certain presence, although that could be the effect of the rich clothing. Surely that must be the…

“No boy, ain’t the one. Although if you look at him, you’d think he’d won the war all by himself. Another palace brat, haha,” broke in the voice of the same man beside him who had earlier made the remark about the guards. “Nope, that be the precious Highness, son of the king and the one in charge of the campaign. Of course, all the grunt work was done by someone else,” he finished with the slightest hint of a sneer.

The father made a courteous smile to the other man as he spoke, but scowled as he put his hand around his son and turned him away.

“Do not be swayed by that, son,” his father said gently, whilst waving at the same time. He was a tall man and the movement of his arm made his son’s face jump in and out of the light. “While he may speak the truth, that loose tongue of his will land him in trouble. The nobility are to be respected, always.” A brief downward gesture indicated he had not forgotten his son’s presence.

The crowd’s energy was building up now. The cheering and hollering continued, but after seeing the Prince himself pass through, they knew the time was drawing near when the finest among them would ride under the massive stone archway that greeted visitors to the city and down the bedecked streets where excited maidens waited to chant his name.

Under the blazing sun, the crowd were now getting impatient and restless. For this very reason, more of the city guard had been called out to keep the populace at bay. The boy himself was amazed that they had such numbers, not seeing more than a handful on the streets at any given time. Yet, nothing seemed to sap the people’s energy or enthusiasm. As more and more soldiers, officers and guards passed by, the din rose higher and higher, unceasing. Perhaps it’s a distraction for all, not just for me, the boy thought. Maybe they’ve all had it rough this year. I know that mother and father have…

His mother wanted no part of it, loathing war, huge crowds and the deifying of soldiers and, no matter how high and praiseworthy. Home was where she considered her place to be and would not join the “mindless, bleating sheep”, as she branded the crowd.

While many of her own kin fought for the banners, she was secretly glad that neither her son nor husband had shown any inclination to join the ranks. Even at her husband’s insistence, she would not leave the house that day, preferring instead to have a “nice meal prepared for them when they came back tired and were done shouting themselves hoarse over their ‘beloved’ champion.”

So father and son alone went to the gathering. She was missed but her absence was not deeply felt in the great wave of euphoria that had swept the city, including him. Well, at least I’ll get something good when I get back, he thought. She always makes good fo…

A great upsurge in the noise made the boy turn around and stand on his toes. That was when he saw him – the King’s Champion and commander of the victorious Eastern army, according to his father. He rode in on a black stallion, accompanied by his retinue of loyal officers. The awe he inspired in the crowd had nothing to do with riches, lineage or what he was wearing.

He looked unremarkable for the most part, clad in grey armour that had lost much of its sheen, and the plain garments that were issued to soldiers, rather than the intricately-patterned livery of the royal guards. Clearly, he looked down upon the ostentation of the Prince and other high officials at court. Under one arm he carried a large helm that bore marks and dents from where it had been struck. And by his side was girt a longsword which, despite being sheathed, instilled fear, hinting of a dozen long-forgotten battles.

From a distance, the boy could make out that the Champion still retained some of his youth – by contrast, some of the officers and the generals who had preceded him in the march had flecks of grey or looked too feeble to wield a blade properly. He had a grim look about him, yet did not look displeased at the swarming crowds. He smiled and occasionally waved here and there, even stopping to dismount and accept a lily from a little girl. After patting her on the head and nodding to her parents, he continued on his way.

And yet, it was the quiet dignity which most impressed the boy. Not the stories he had heard about his exploits, not the adulating crowd, not even the formidable accoutrements. For any other man would have been carried away by all that praise, the showering of favours and the promises of wealth and estates.

But not this one, it seemed. Modest and overly silent, he commanded a level of respect most other men could only dream of. The boy wondered whether even the king was this popular with the people. He had never seen him but knew that he was one of those ‘big’ people that everyone was supposed to like.

The boy nudged and pushed his way past the crowd, ignoring the calls of his worried father, as the Champion moved up the street and towards the royal palace. After a while, when he had passed beyond the civilian area and it became impossible to slide in between the thickening mass of people, the boy turned back towards his father. By now, some of the noise had subsided and the boy saw his panting father running towards him, looking flustered rather than angry. Like everyone else, he was sweating and looked thoroughly excited.

“Well, now that was fun, wasn’t it? So what did you think, son?” he asked.

“It was amazing! So many people, so many soldiers…just, amazing.”

“See? And did he not look splendid, the Champion?”

“He did. I want to be just like him someday.”

“Haha, do you indeed. Well, don’t let your mother hear that.”

And as his father turned around, leading the way back home, the boy could not help but feel that he didn’t care what his mother – or anyone else – might think.