"You have no idea what the shit happened yesterday."        He had been talking. Like since forever. He had no reason he shouldn't. He was very annoyed. His rage could trace sanity across the bark of his consciousness. He was very vexed. His instinct had been smothered. He tried as much as possible not to make himself sad, but that was all to no avail. He tried to keep his head cool but he was but pawn to his felon feelings. He actually wasn't going to fight that feeling. He needn't fight it. He was going to keep nursing it. That was the best thing to do at that moment and he was already on it.       He felt betrayed. Who wouldn't? The Nymph who had raped him, lived under his own roof, even if twas borrowed, it was none of her goddamn business?. Why would such Nymph take side with Ja Lia of all people. He didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't help the urg

      "Hell kiss you."       He didn't know whether or not to believe his eyes. He was very mad. Not like crazy. But in no time he could merge the two maladies and be crazily mad. He needed to be sure of what he was seeing. But he could not fathom why that could be true. Somethings are simply meant to be illusions. They have no rights to be featured into the rustic reality. He feared to believe his instinct, but there was nothing better to believe in. He didn't know whether or not to cowtow and that was the Genesis of his confusion. He wouldn't be wrapped up by contention, but would let the scene sink.       What was the crazy Nymph doing there? How did she enter the house? Who invited her? Who did she think she was? What guts had severed her reason that she thought she could mar and make at her choice? It seemed as though he had an answer to the second question. Of cou

"Ahh. Why is he lain like the slave of death?" He moved closer to him. His staff was his eyes. His eyes had no reconciliation with light. Lanky light had pored them that one for the other did not know what to do or say. He'd been like that since forever and gloom had began to appeal to his senses. Seeing the rays of his gloom pleased him than seeing the rays of the eyes of the apt azure. He'd learnt to make sound of the calm. Learnt to make awe of the sane. He'd learnt to make rage of the cool. He was no exception as the cod. Only that he was blinded by nature, the Cod, by rage. He moved closer. His instinct had told him before his eyes. He had had it in mind to go into the hut, but he'd halted by the oak tree. He'd felt a pulpy presence there. He knew that he needed to stop and of course he did. He'd danced his staffs towards the root of the tree. Well, he'd missed. He tried again. He missed. But he wouldn't give up. His instinct was strong. He knew when a human was some

       "Unkrhh"        That was from her. She'd been walking since the past 20 minutes and it seemed to her as though she was flying. Of course she could had disappeared to the Monarch's castle, but of course not, she'd walk. She decided to walk. It'd been a while since she had taken a walk from her place to other places; for quite the tiring journey though. Her limbs were light as though they were made of air. She could cover eight paces at a time. Who knew? Probably she could contend with any wild cat in race. She entered the village of the Cod.        His hut was the first thing in sight. Of course it was. Anyone who would walk into the village must pass through his hut. Well, if such would take some apt alakazam, such even wouldn't need to step on the soil of the village but the earth of whoever such would visit. She walked briskly as though she was tamed by so

     "His mercy be pruned."       She was already out of the castle. Out of the Monarch's castle. Out of the Monarch's rusty rage. And she could feel that. Not the rage, nor freedom but the sense of peace. She felt good. Really good. She always did. Her sense of pain had been pored evenly and she was a product of whatever she saw or saw. The dark dust of her actions most times foiled her vision, but she had learnt to manage them. She had learnt to make rage of them. And she'd learnt to make confetti of whoever was present when she plied such rotten route. Ah! She was a stray of wit.        That lad should be there. Of course she had told him to meet her at the Monarch's castle. Probably he had never stuck to taunting time. Probably he was a by product of assumptions of lured lateness. She would take everything but those. She looked through the plain before the castle. F