Different

Must we let society dictate our fate?

Must we allow our tumultuous mind gain control?

What seed could sprout approval from your heart?

what is it you’re afraid to  give up, or the world may take away?

It all begins with one person. One mind. One entity

Yes it begins with  who you believe you are

Time and again we draw ourselves towards the fear of unconformity

When we were truly born to stand out

If only I’d know it all along

I threw away my beliefs so no one would think I was conceited

I could be ostracised, as a freak of nature

But I was never meant to be her

and she was never meant to walk like me

and we were never meant to think alike.

We are divergent and that works better

so what is it you believe in?

shout it from a rooftop today.

 

The Pre-extinction of Mankind

It is the year 3005. Approximately a century of a light year,  man is on the verge of extinction. The ozone is depleting, unfiltered rays shone through. Each Human  had a 100% chance of getting cancer if they were exposed to the atmosphere.

Augusta sat at her grandma’s heel, they’d just had lunch. The grub is meager now-a-days, all food, even confectionery  truck  foods had GMO traces in them which is gastronomically toxic. At the time of discovery, less than 3% crops were organic and while the world steadily ate their way to the grave, Australia  proved resilient to the natural selection of humanity.

Augusta loved stories, her favourite were about the life before the extinction era,  she was curious about civilization and the millennials. She’d revere in the stories like she lived then as she’d never known smart phones or social media and today was no exception. Luckily grandma Alex is the best story teller alive, literally, as there were only 300 humans alive.

Grandmother Alex enigmatic eyes loomed into the distance. She knew the story her grand daughter would request far too well. She relived it as many times as she reiterated it. She heaved heavily as if it’ll hurt to utter a word. She started;

“I come from a time of great triviality. We could have done better because we knew better. It was the year 2017 and mankind was at the peak of evolution. The world had 3 trillion occupants with oodling birth rates and a recline in  mortality.

I was a young student at the time, my ultimate goal, to become a neurology specialist. I was insouciant to the world around me,  It was the only way to stay sane… little did I know what life had in store for us. The migration rate was explosive, with the ongoing war in the Middle East, and economic stand of third world countries, everyone wanted a better life elsewhere than home, including myself, albeit this was the beginning of the end.

A neo-viral disease surfaced,  The terminal ailment was traced back to a CNC mechanic in Cardiff. I was the resident physician on call that day.  He presented symptoms of a complicated flu, 11 days later, the young man made a complete recovery, or so we thought. Later that evening, he suffers from status epilepticus and died within seconds. A culture of his blood sent to the lab suggested that the infection was a recombinant cluster of Ebola and Dengue virus. Attempts to identify it’s diverse symptomatology failed and sure enough, the disease spread fast.

Vietnamese migrants were the first to be associated with the disease.  East-Asia crumbled under the blow of an epidemic, the economic instability worsened it.  Attempts by the world leaders to aid Asia proved futile. Europe and USA went on the defence, abandoning Asia, watching under quarantined roofs as one subcontinent vanished. There was an uprising by world activists; liberals protesting the governments, and thus began the third world war.

Lives were destroyed. Dreams shattered, and families  separated.  Meanwhile Russian biologists worked secretly on a trial antidote for the pandemic, it was solely in the interest of the government. Nonetheless, the grim reaper spared them not.

By 2020,  the rate of inborn errors of metabolism had drastically tripled, and the world population was halved yet again. This was indirectly linked to GMO in food produce.

All these while, Australia went A-wall. That seemed to have a source of hope. Unbelievably, it worked. Almost no one migrated there. In that period, Australia was simply forgotten. The underdogs survived the greatest tribulations of Mother nature.

You, my dearest Augusta, are the descendants of the fittest survivors, grandma concluded.

Although Augusta loved that story, she knew it was a far greater burden for Grandma Alex. She made a solemn promise to herself that she’d never make her millennium old relative relive the worst era of her life.

An so it was, because as nightfall came and they rested their eyes, so they could fight tomorrow. Grandma suffered a stroke.

Today is  29. 2. 3005, General population of the world, 299 survivors left.

 


I wrote this story a while back but held back from publishing it. I guess now’s as good a time as ever. I hope it makes sense to you and you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Don’t forget to let love shine through your words, and deeds.

Bless your beautiful hearts. Au revoir.

My Ugly Notebook

This is where I scribble my fascinations.

I go to it when I’m terrified,

and when I need to confess my truest desires.

It rescues me when I fall,

yet plunges me into lucid hazes

I so fondly wish to not wake up from.

It holds onto my hand while coaxing me

to look into the eyes of terror until it quivers like a smitten kitten

and succumbs to my will.

 

It’s lustrous red cover seals words inked in secrecy,

and bound in confidentiality.

It deciphers my lingo

It understands my agony

My ugly notebook is what keeps me warm on midsummer’s night

and hugs me dearly so I feel my heart palpate through its pages.

Within it, I could procrastinate forever.

I can confide in the unrefined calligraphy

signed by your’s truly.

 

 

My ugly notebook is the expression of myself

as an entity, bold. Unfazed

It nurtures my zeal and unburdens my spirit

so that I am light,

resting in the comfort of my words,

indulging in quests I wouldn’t normally

yield to with my eyes open.

 

 

This is home. It is  disorderly and messy,

but it is home.

Once in a while,

I find inspiration in these pages

and even more, I find healing.

The things I may never be able to say,

I find zenitude.

 

My ugly notebook is my fortress of hope in the midst of shadow chasers

It calms my turmoil soul when songs of sorrows escape into the wind,

keeping me engaged in profound chatter

so that I may not think of the dangers I struggle to overcome

in Amphetamine city.

As I plunge into the deep blues to confront my reflection.

It adjusts my gaze to the sunset on Chloé

causing fire & blood to blend into a rare hue of indigo

in order to kill the beast that is the banshee.

 

 

My ugly notebook is Alexander.