The Story - 1.61803399

This is a story about an old god. And I hope the new god is listening. Because I am here 'coz they wouldn't listen to me...

""

“You know what a priest is Hermes? Do you know??? Tell me…do you know???!!!” rumbled his voice.

“No sir” was a timid reply.

“And what about story-tellers, hmmm…?”

“What about them, sir?”

“What about them…!!! You ask me what about them??? YOU ASK ME WHAT ABOUT THEM!!!”

This time, the demure voice was not to be heard.

“If they had their way, they’d make clowns out of us even before we’d have a chance to say apokálypsis!!!”

“Oh…” was the soft reply.

“Oh… OH!!! That’s the best you can come up with!!! Oh…”

The voice thundered with mockery.

Silence

“What I meant sir was that they’ve done it already, haven’t they?”

The voice was timid but meaningful.

The behemoth turned around to face the streaks of light fidgeting about in the gloom. The pillars were occasionally glowing as the streaks approached them, rather in a very disorderly manner. The statues of a bull and a swan among others rested over tufts of cloud like mantle pieces. The sky was embroidered with stars thrown in at regular intervals to resemble the heroes of yesteryears.

“Yes…” lumbered the heavy voice. The moon shone past the colossal silhouette and cast infinitely long shadows of the pillars. Even she didn’t feel her best today.

“Don’t you remember sir, the one meant for the kids? Though I did enjoy my portrayal in…”

The voice was lost as sudden flashes of thunder emerged out of the dark clouds hovering above the colossus’ head.

“Yes…” rumbled the deep voice “and what about that Kratos fellow?”

“Well, eh…”

He was right though. Ares was being kicked around all over the world as if the most devalued stock in a bustling market, and even with the recession, it did mean lunacy. But to tell this to Zeus would probably result in Vulcan popping of his cork for no reason at all. ‘Gosh!’ thought Hermes. ‘I’m even beginning to think like the cartoon Hermes’.

“And the irony of it all! Imagine them, these men, disrespecting my son, Ares- the god of war, and that too when the most widespread occupation of these mortals seems to be war itself.”

Zeus had a point thought Hermes. There was a reason the Spartans liked Ares. Now look at him. Abased into oblivion. Even the guys down in California didn’t spare him. Always being turned into a villain, getting his butt kicked by Xena or Athena or Herakles.

“Herakles…”

“Yes, what about him?” inquired the deep growl.

“Well, doesn’t he seem to be a bit too popular? You know the movies are more about him than us. And he’s always a good guy.”

“Hmmm…” sighed the voice. Suddenly there seemed to be a quality of ancientness lurking in it, a sense of tiredness. “The boy deserved it. Look at the amount of pain those men in the past had belted out on him. Twelve labors and then getting him killed by his own wife; it seems he always had it going tough for him. Oh…those ones born out of wedlock; they have it so hard on them.”

Another sigh followed. But Hermes didn’t take particular notice of it. He was busy trying to figure it out. ‘Herakles born out of wedlock? But wasn’t he the son of Zeus and Hera? But what does Zeus mean?’

“Sir, I cannot quite comprehend what you just said.”

“Yes, yes… how would you? It’s hard being a father…”

“No sir, I mean Herakles being born outside of wedlock… I remember him being your and Hera mam’s son. That’s what they showed in the movie Hercules.”

For a moment, Zeus could almost observe the streaks of lightning flashes come to a halt. He could observe doubt on the blurring face of his favourite messenger. He saw naivety.

“I would not blame you son” he spoke in a gentle voice, “for if I were to be depicted in as many comic books and cartoons and commercials as you, I would have a mind as fickle as yours. Really, your question has done more to eradicate my belief in my own existence than any atheist group downstairs. Look how frail your mind has become. It is as if you were a mortal whose destiny was being written down by men rather than having it the other way around. It is as if the gods have lost all their values and men have become gods. With all honesty, I feel more like a mortal today than when the Greek writers made me seduce all the women back then, conjuring up all sorts of animals to fool them into falling for me. And seriously, how did those ones fall for animals, I mean all that was needed was me turning into some handsome stranger. It wasn’t that Hera did not already know about it. But that is not the point, now is it dear messenger. The point is…”

Zeus did not finish his statement. Rather, he could not for his attention was grabbed by noises of scuffling coming from downstairs. Hermes could observe that his gentle face was replaced by a monstrosity.

Zeus’s voice thundered

“Artemis, hide behind the clouds. Heroes and sons, fade out. Hermes, it be best you don’t show up for some time. Now! all of you.”

Apollo broke into the temple panting and puffing.

“Zeus, my Lord, he’s here. And no one can stop him…”

Hermes heard him pant and spill his lungs out while he took cover behind a pillar. The constellations of the heroes had disappeared behind the clouds, as had Artemis in her lunar form. Suddenly there was a great thud as Apollo was suddenly air-borne. The dull thud after that was the one due to his falling back. The dust settled in some time to reveal a bald man with blood in his eyes and the blades of Ares fused into his arms. He was Kratos, for Hermes could recognize the new God of War from his attire.

“Zeus, your promise is due…and your time is up.”

Between the ticks of a clock, for an infinitesimally small time Hermes saw Zeus’s eyes soften. He recognized those eyes. They were the same ones piercing into his face when he had almost veered to a halt, when he had his head bursting with doubts, when Zeus had explained to him that they were the mortals, the ones whose destinies were malleable, and the ones who were a part of the popular culture.

Hermes chuckled to himself.

It was the final level of the PC version of God of War II.
 ""

Heh heh heh heh heh heh...

The Story - 2

O.K. so you're down on your luck and I give you a million dollars, and a fake passport. What do you do? I mean you could very well run off to a Banana Republic and come back richer and a better man, well yes better is a relative word, or you could change your identity and be someone else. Of course, you're still you, but aren't, you know, the same you. You could start all over again, do things differently. You could study and get that Grad School degree you so very much wanted instead of getting caught selling dope. You could have become a doctor instead of an extortionist. You could have become a lawyer instead of a bookie. You could have joined the army and served the country instead of robbing a jewelery store in broad daylight. You could have featured on the front page of the local newspaper, instead of the wanted list in the police station. You could have pleaded not guilty instead of pleading insanity, especially when faced with 20 years in prison. You could've started all over again at 26.

Even I could've. But nobody gave me a million dollars, or a thousand or a hundred when half way through college I realized I couldn't support an alcoholic father and a dying mother while studying in a mediocre college in a time of economic screwups. So I decided to sell dope.

I don't know how it feels to be high on drugs. I never took them. I only sold them to kids of filthy rich parents who couldn't care less whether their kids took brain enhancing drugs or crack. And I had to plead insanity.

I don't know how it feels to lose a father, not when his body is found in a drain. But I did cry when my mother died 'coz no one could take the pain of visiting a bed ridden lady in the final stage of cancer, while I was locked up in a cell for being a pusher. And I had to plead insanity.

I don't know how it feels to cheer for your home team, 'coz I was busy fixing up for rich swines making players richer for losing matches. And I had to plead insanity.

I don't know it feels to have a gun pointed at you while your life's savings are plundered right before your eyes. I neither had a life, nor savings when I robbed that store. But I sure as hell had a lot of savings after it.

Heh...

I don't know what it means to be a friend, 'coz the night of the heist when I'd have had enough money to start a new life, a life where I wouldn't have to be a pusher, a criminal, a fixer, I was ratted out by my accomplice to a cop who later took 25% of the loot. The jeweler got only half of his stuff returned to him. And what did I do?

I ratted out the bosses and bookies, the pushers and cops, the fixers and pimps, every single rat I'd known for the last 7 years. And guess what?

The next day the police shrink issued a report saying I was wrong in my head. They said I would spend six months in the loony bin and then go free, instead of 20 in the prison. So I dropped the charges and pleaded insanity.

Tomorrow I go free, to start a new life. Do I have a million dollars or a fake passport?
No.
But at least now I'm a part of the sane society.

The Story - 3

This goes backwards.

I ain't crazy like Keel there. He thinks the Pied Piper of Hamlyn is gonna' come and whoop someone's ass. I like to think this world is kinder. That this world is gentler. That it's beautiful. That there's innocence in the bud that blooms into an orchid. That the blue of the sky is the ink with which God paints his painting. That there is a God. That He smiles upon those who ask of him. That She stretches forward and pulls them out of their pain. That It cradles the child who asks It of a wish with the innocence, unremarkable and incomprehensible to our minds; the sophisticated citizens of a society of concrete and steel, calculators and super-computers, fords and ferraris, princes and paupers, dollars and dimes.

I am an unremarkable man. And like others before me, I have come here to be rehabilitated. I am here to regain my sanity. I am here because I need Psychological Treatment. By now, you must know that I am in an Asylum. An asylum for the mentally unstable, the emotionally tormented, the insane.

I checked my prescription. They give me Sertraline. I checked it up. It's an antidepressant. Why would I need one? I am not depressed. Of all people, I know that the world isn't as bad as it seems. Just that a few things are out of order.

But that's okay, right? I mean it's like an escalator. It's out of order, but that isn't stopping anyone from getting upstairs. That's the best thing about an escalator, isn't it?

No, no. I didn't think of it. Some smart guy did. I am a simple man. I think simply. I like the calm this place brings me. Alright, I do admit that the occasional scream or suicide attempt is a little unsettling.

By the way, I saw you talking to Keel there. Did you know, he tried to commit suicide. Poor chap rants about the Hamlyn thing all day long. Thinks everyone's responsible for what's happening. But that's not true now, is it? I mean it's not logical to me. Why would everyone try to hurt everyone else? That way, isn't everyone going to get hurt?

I see you are baffled by my simplicity. I am sorry for not being as insightful as some of the others around here. But I am a man of principles. Could you pass a smoke please. Thanks. I enjoy cigarettes. No, no, don't worry. Docs are okay with it. Even this is an antidepressant, isn't it?

So, where was I? Oh yeah, the world. No, it's not that bad. I lived a happy life. Nothing really bothered me much. One day I realized, that bothered me. So I shifted to the country. I sold everything I owned. Gave all the money to a Charity organization which was revealed to be a fraud. They trafficked girls. They were supposed to protect them. Innocent little girls, little buds, torn from their fields and thrown in with the thorns.

But I moved on. No point crying over spilt milk, I say. Then came the war. All of them. So, a few planes popped into a few buildings. "So what?" I said. "Happens all the time, doesn't it?" Not this time it didn't. They killed bearded men while killing their own. They liberated women in burkhas by fire bombing their villages. Little girls and boys died under tonnes of debris. But fair enough, you can't have your cake and eat it too.

Do you know why Keel's here?

He fought in the war and lost his mind. He couldn't understand why he had to fire missiles at a small settlement of farmers. He told me they found four dead children and two corpses of women, in burkhas of course. He can't sleep at night. Says the dead children scream out for him. Ahh... the pain, I can almost feel it.

Could you light another one? Thanks buddy. But I think it's best you'd exclude that from your report.

So now comes the big question, right? Why am I here? Why am I in this cell? Why am I wearing a strait jacket? Why have they chained me? Why why why why why???

I don't know. I guess I'd have served a life sentence for blowing up the Charity building with it's President still in it. What? of course I knew- for God's sake I tied him up to the water cooler.

But when they found out I killed the rapist with the warden's ballpoint pen in the Prison playground, they decided to send me to a cell, not this one.

When I didn't eat for 32 days, that's more than a month by the way, they decided to shift me to a hospital, but it was for the sane. After they diagnosed I needed a shrink, and not a surgeon, they send me here. But I was classified as dangerous, so the jacket.

Yeah, I'd like another smoke. Thanks for it though. My hands hurt sometimes. But that's okay.

So, why the cell? Well, I talked a lot to Keel, you must have figured that by now. He needed someone to talk to. So I talked some sense into him. Told him cyanide was for cowards. Told him to put himself on fire. Would help him understand their pain. The shrink thought I was too talkative.

But you know I am not, right? I mean I only talk to the point. But who cares what the shrink thinks, they've passed their judgment, right? They got the degree, not me. So let them decide...

Yes, the chains. You see the cell can physically hold me, but not my vision. I mean I can see through the slit. The new restrainer, the one who feeds me, well he did bad things to the little child who is afraid of everything. She has all kinds of phobias. So what did I do? Well I impaired the restrainer, of course when he came to feed me? How? My God, isn't He in the details.

Ha ha.

I crushed his balls.


So do I have any regrets? Yeah, a few. For starters, you're out of cigarettes. That's a let down. Another one would be that the guys around here don't feed me very well anymore. But that's okay.

So you're leaving? Wait, there's one more.

I miss Lucy. She was my darling. She died in an accident, a drunk ass hole crushed her.

Who's Lucy?

My pet kitten, who else. Hell that's the reason I drove over him with a bulldozer. But that's not important now, is it?

The story - 4

The Pied Piper of Hamlin ain’t no folklore. He is real. But you don’t believe me, do you? Paulson says that no one believed him when he told ‘em about el-Dorado, but see now, see… they believe him aw’right, they let him free; they let him be free. But they ain’t believing me, they think I’m all lies. But they’ll believe me soon enough.

I ain’t afraid for myself. I ain’t afraid for this city. I ain’t afraid for them people. Them people won’t pay now, but they’ll pay soon enough. Hehe… they think they’re so smart, don’t they? But we’ll see who’s really smart.

I’m just afraid for the kids. But I can’t be sorry for ‘em. No, of course I ain’t got nothing to do with ‘em. I just look at things and tell ‘em to act ‘fore it’s too late. But damn ‘em , damn ‘em cause they don’t wanna read the signs. You thought the Grimm’s were jokin’ when they wrote those funny li’ll stories, didn’t ya? You thought they were kid stories, they were what-is –that-they-call-it, yeah parables and all, right?

Well those Grimm brothers and those Canterbury guys weren’t up-to no jokes, that’s for sure.

I have seen the Pied Piper of Hamlin. He ain’t got no pipe, he ain’t pied, and he surely ain’t just from Hamlin. But he’s the Pied Piper of Hamlin. And this time he’s back with a vendetta. He does good but then we mock him. Go on, mock him, mock him all you like, mock him and see what happens. He’ll be back in your face, bang! But wait, I got news for you.

He’s already at work.

Hah!!! I love it when you look confused. I love it when you guys look loony and us the sane. I love that smirk on my face, that stupid laughter Branson conjures up, that bunny who ran down the tunnel, that princess who dozed off on chewing an apple, that prince who turned into a frog, that monarch who lost his kingdom for the sake of a nail, that sultan who killed his own son, that horse who flew, that girl who fell for a bull, that city which fell for a woman. I love them for they are my world now. I love them for they became my world the day that Piper from Hamlin decided that the rats were taken care of; it was time for the children.

You know, he ain’t the villain. No, he ain’t; he’s the anti-hero, the guy who would’ve been a hero if them parents had paid attention to his clauses. The children thought they were going to a world where they’d find eternal springs, where there’s the fountain of youth, where J.M. Barrie’s Neverland existed, where li’ll critters would play with ‘em till they’d forget the misery of missing their parents. But the sparkle would lead them to a cave in a mountain. And a cave which ain’t no tunnel leads straight down, into Hell’s own kitchen.

I know, you folks are smart enough to figure out how this one’s gonna end. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, I got nowhere to go. I’m stayin' here, in Loonsville. I just wish that I were smart enough to know then how it would end; that when the Pied Piper played, I would forever be trapped in his stupid tune. I know not everyone ends up in Hell’s kitchen, but the number of ‘em who do, you’d be surprised to know. Where am I? Well not exactly roastin’ on a spit for Mr. D-evil to dine on, no sir. I’m in limbo. But most folks you’d know of are lucky enough to make it to the purgatory and back. And guess what? The treatment here’s the same ol’ Pied Piper playing the same ol’ tune which got me here in the first place.

I guess I wasn’t smart enough to stop myself in time. That and the accident got me here. The shrink said I took it on the head. But that wasn’t no accident. No, that was my punishment. Once you get hooked to the tunes of ol’ Hamlin, you ain’t gonna give up easy.

But the funny part is, watchin’ the news makes me feel it ain’t much better out there in your free world either; especially for those kids down South in Africa.

AK-47 s?

Shi...t

What else is the eager beaver from Hamlin gonna dish out from his hat? I guess ‘em poor kids have enough on their minds already, don’t ya?

Well who am I to complain? I had my day under the sun and blew it. To tell you the truth, it ain’t that bad here either. Only the Hamlin fellow gets on my nerves sometimes.

What’s that he sings…

“London bridge is falling down…”