Phase Three. Part One.

Eternity, it's your turn to fetch the ebb,
and etch the rest,
on the muddy sands,
and close your fingers tight,
with all your weak might,
to hold those stale waves away from my feet.

I've had my wild date with defeat,
What would you do now?

What is it?

There is this short little story hiding behind the curtain. But everyone is too lazy to move the hanging piece of cloth.
Lazy, laid-back; hazy, heady, and what-not regressive adjective come to the mind.
If the patterns were the very purpose, then it's reason enough for a lot of pessimism.
But pessimism doesn't pay much.
As they say in the movies, any person you pick on, would give you a thousand reasons why he ought to die. Thousand versus one. So it is, for everyone.
The trouble-maker is an exception, though. He would make mistakes, so that others can learn from his. Honor, such an ancient concept to live for. Or almost, die for.
It's so easy to say, after all. It's easier to imagine it.
Fresh twigs strewn around.
That old smell of wet wood; almost pleasant, though rotten.
Soft, fluorescent, crayon-colored leaves.
And an empty drop of dew that the eyes are tired of staring at.
Strength, he refused today.
It's his turn, tonight.

A Happily-Ever-After Story.

Once upon a summer, long, long ago, there was a foolish, foolish man.
As he stood on his porch, drinking water, he saw a bird crying for water.
He took pity on the little creature, and brought it in.
The bird was happy. It got water.
The bird fell in love with the man.
The man fell in love with the bird.
He asked the bird to be with him forever.
The bird said yes, gladly, gratefully, without a second thought.
The man put his beloved inside his rib-cage; the safest place to hide it, he thought.
Love is possessive, and protective.
The bird played around the space, for a long time.
Then, it got tired of the bony enclosure.
It started to flutter its wings violently, so that the man would know that it wanted to go out.
The foolish man thought that the bird must be enjoying itself very much.
He lived on, under the impression that his beloved is safe and happy inside him.
He lived on, with the fluttering in his chest.
One day, suddenly, he discovered that the fluttering has stopped.
He opened his chest to find out what has happened.
The bird looked at him with sad eyes, and made painful noises.
It said, "I still love you."
The man smiled at it, and said "I know."
The bird said "My wings are in pain."
The man smiled and brought a pair of clippers.
He clipped off the bird's wings, and put it back inside his rib-cage.
He was happy that he has relieved his beloved of its pain.
After some time, one day, the bird started singing.
Sad songs. Beautiful songs.
The man was overjoyed at his beloved's voice, coming from within him.
He lived each day and slept each day, smiling at the melody.
Slowly, he discovered that the bird's songs weren't sweet anymore.
The sounds weren't music anymore. They were screams and screeches.
He opened his chest again, to find out what had happened.
The sight of his face silenced the bird. It couldn't sing or make sounds anymore.
It kept looking at the man's eyes. It wondered if the man would read its silence.
The man looked at his beloved bird, and said "I still love you."
The bird was still quiet. It whispered in its mind "I know."
The man whispered in his mind, "I read your silence."
He went away, and came back with a pair of fine scissors.
Carefully, he opened the bird's mouth, and put the scissors inside its throat.
The steel blades cut the vocal cords one by one. Sanp. Snap. Done.
The bird was placed back again into the safety of the rib cage.
And the man and the bird lived happily ever after.