Opium Dreams

The first time is always the hardest, you think of it, it's appalling, it's repulsive, it's inhumane, to say the least, and you leave it at that, but only for sometime of-course, because you're curious, and let me just say that curiosity is at its core very primordially humane, our curiosity defines us, in a way it is the very essence of '' human'', and for being curious you can never be blamed, never, period! But curiosity is a very dangerous toy to play with, once you lose control you lose it once and for all, and it is this very curiosity that I am so vividly defending that will take you down the deepest pit if not mastered, which brings us back to the first line: because you're curious, you approach, you have to know, WHAT IS THIS? it eats you up from the inside, and you start feeling it, playing with it a bit from a safe distance, and you come close little by little, and you touch it, it is new and exciting, you can not take your hand off ...

Dakota took a long sip of her lemon honey tea, one teaspoon of sugar, and looked at the white page on the desk in front of her. She had some keywords scattered here and there, but nothing substantial. Ideas came scarcely and order was lacking, disjointed words that so stubbornly refused to draw a picture. She had a white shirt with black buttons, and she wore pearl earrings that went perfectly with her smile. She peered into her page through thick glasses, as if this layer of glass gave her a sense of security and protection. She had a round, friendly face with a small flat nose, and her black eyeballs were carefully placed on an extremely white sclera.    At this point, except for words scattered here and there, she had one line written on her page that held any promise: "Their graves were marked with pale stones, no names, no dates"  She did not make any progress on this idea for a couple of months now. It started from a newspaper story she read about ...

Midnight Rendez-vous In our land, fishing is not just for surviving, it is a way of life. I've been on fishing boats earlier than I've been standing on my feet, the same goes for the other children of the village. We live in the sea much more than we live on land, and for that we are grateful. The man with the tank-top first came to our village two weeks ago. I remember seeing him for the first time in the middle of the night as he limbed to the outcast hut of the village. One of the huts that we keep to outsiders who pass by so that they do not disturb our people. That was a week ago, and ever since, we didn't see him come out. We were not even sure that he was inside, but the elders warned us of disturbing him. We played outside by the river each day. Older kids would tease us to go near his hut, they would threaten that otherwise, they will not let us play. We were scared of the elders so we did not listen to them at first, we kept to ourselves and played with sma...

He had an orange, irregular shaped stain on his white tank top, and the thought of it brought heaviness to his lungs. He hated it, despised it. He appreciated symmetry in things, including color, it brought grace he thought, how shapes were perfectly delineated, their edges even, their sides perfectly distinguished and their halves transposable. It bestowed calm upon him. The stain was located below his torso to his right side, just above where his kidney is. It was more yellowish than orange, almost transparent on his garment, giving a foggy view of one of his scars. He was proud, very proud, of his people. He admired how they looked; tall, with a straight, arrow-like back and a face that does not smile. They had big, veiny hands and large stallion legs. their skin tone ranged from dark chocolate to fresh honey, and they had coarse facial traits with large jaws and big noses. their foreheads were lined with ant bites. He was young and vigorous once, with energy flowing through...

He had so much trust in his God at these moments that he felt his chest would explode, he felt the swelling and breathlessness. God took care of him at every turn it was almost too obvious, he could almost see him. at red lights at night clubs at brothels, he saw his God, always where he most needed. he would look at a woman's exquisite curves and strategically placed garments and say, God! he would open up her legs and before he could penetrate he'd feel his desire dissipated into thin air, miracle! he'd make bets with his God knowing full well that he'd lose, that his God would not abandon him even when he disobeys and even when he sins. it is a relation that can not be contained in words and eloquence, a link that can not be captured in songs or movies. the way he looks at the hidden part of the lane and talks to his God, and then a car comes. it is fucking magic. He took the shortest road to the bus stop, his eyes burning and his chest wheezing. in his min...

The man had a strange aura to him, strong sure, but not just that, confidence, not exuding, his aura had a peaceful calm to it, like the night, but not really antagonistic, he sat on a nearby rock facing them. '' Thank you for taking care of him'' he said, pointing towards Cross  '' So he was coming for you ?'' said the rookie  '' Yes, he was after my head'' he said, '' you seem to dispute ''  '' It is under control'' said the sniper '' no need for your interference ''  '' The bounty is not clear, we need an outside perspective'' rookie  '' The bounty is for the sniper, he shot first, that being said, you should be compensated'' said the man  '' I think you should take Silva since you're the only one here to withstand its mighty blow'' he continued. '' The sniper hid in the trees while I took the pre...

  Kross was as ripe as they get, with his neck stretched to its limits and his veins bulging with hot blood, already dripping from the last cut, with this glory in sight, there was absolutely no way that the rookie would miss this one, his commitment to the hunt is ingrained in his brain, and moments like this are his driving force, his mantra, his chakra, call it what you like, but this 'energy' that kept him alive, was at its beak at the particular moment, he leaped. With a shadow of a demon and with uncompromising eyes, he leaped in front of Kross, Kross, the pale demon, could not help but follow the movement of the rookie with his look as if he is seeing an apparition, this made his neck more exposed and much more desirable, calling for a young, thirsty blade to pluck it up with a swift swing, like a virgin daffodil. Playing more to his strengths, the rookie realized that he had officially won his first hunt, and thought of what to come after that, his aspiratio...

His blade broke! In his ecstatic state, the rookie thrust his sword with all his power against the thick neck of the pale demon Cross, the blade, having sustained devastating blows only seconds earlier, was in bad shape and would not tolerate another one, and Cross's skin was as hard as ice, the strain from the full thrust broke the sword in two, and half of the blade stayed attached to Cross's neck while the other half was in the rookie's hands, the rookie landed on the ground a couple of feet away from Cross, and as soon as his feet touched the earth, he dashed further and further away.  Cross, now disposing of enough seconds to understand his current conundrum, became furious beyond reason, he looked swiftly at the trees where the projectile came from, he saw nothing but never the less deducted the presence of a sniper, he touched on his neck and found the half-sword sticking to it, no blood was coming out nor was he deeply injured, but this was nevertheless a...

Just before he could come down on the two hunters with all his might, Cross was Hit in the chest with a projectile, a 10 cm long bullet fired by the sniper. The dust around the rookie and the old snake was clearing up, the projectile took Cross completely by surprise which gave the two a couple of supplementary seconds, which they could have either used for escaping or otherwise, now, if logic is to be followed here, the best possible course of action would have been to use these precious seconds to escape, which would have been entirely possible, the old snake was as light as a feather, the youngster was fast on his feet as demonstrated by him blocking the demon's attack at near point black, they could raise more dust to obscure vision and dash away from doom, it is feasible, logical, in fact, this, any other day, would have been a no-brainer, for the rookie as well as the snake, but not today.  Now, this rookie was a peculiar spirit, his way of perceiving situations and...

A head-on clash ensued, between the old venomous Krait and the pale demon, Cross, who is now determined to kill the snake, even if he does not recognize him or remember his story, the old man was an annoying hindrance, and he indulged him long enough. Krait had a very different perspective on the current events, he had been traveling for years now, chasing shadows, looking for meaning, since the day his wife was sliced open, at his feet back at the Borrows, he made a solemn oath to kill Cross, he joined the Bounty hunters for this sole purpose, and even though he has enjoyed the hunt occasionally, he never lost sight of his goal, the face of his wife haunted him every night, he wanted to pay his debt and free himself, for him, this encounter could not have gone any better, and at the end of it, whether victorious or slain, the one thing he was sure of was that he'd be free, and this sense of relief made him formidable. The rookie hunter continued to watch from afar, immer...