He sat there like a space vehicle,waiting for the countdown to cease and then to blast off from where it had been stationed.His eyes were fixed on the book titled "Micro Economics".This book was where his mind sought refuge from the tritest of subjects and in direst of times-the stupor after a long twenty minutes of "numerical bombardment" on itself-he wished the self-imposed,cilice like torture flushed out all his sins from his soul-but there it was,literally,right under his nose,repelling its beneficiary like a whore.The subject,the book was as pretty as ever,it turned him on this time like ever,but the fact that it had been used by him far too often to satisfy his lustful desire to do something interesting,forced him to force it out of his head.He said to himself 'practice makes the act boring' and brought a crooked smile to his light brown eyes,merely by concoction-not because it was a fake smile,because he felt too lazy to stress few 100 muscles on his face in the process.This smile never failed to embezzle the love of the prettiest girls in school,the kind of smile that was used to turn them all down after a period which he liked to call "probational experimentation",the kind of smile which abetted dextrous escape from his teachers' wrath.a simple,subversive,sophisticated smile.His bored eyes craved electrocution and the unsavoury rejuvenation which lunatics tasted after a 'shock treatment'.He liked paradoxes and wanted to reach this momentary Nirvana the simplest way,which he learned he could succeed in by allowing his eyes a vision which is placid yet powerful,plain but profound,senseless but sensible,rock but POP.He opened his windows to the darkness of his orchard and learned why night is a universal solvent.A blend of life and death hit his tympanum,and later stimulated his brain.The frogs sang like a bunch of wannabe vocalists and the crickets clearly seemed to dislike the wannabes.The roar of a chainsaw hitting some lumber,whinged and worked as an anticlimax to each of the frogs' verses.For the first time,he knew what death sounded like,like the sound of an estranged timber hitting the earth,like the ripping sound of the chainsaw.As the moist breeze kissed his cheeks,he contemplated the darkness and the ecology dissolved in it.Was that the darkness of ignorance?-The cacophonous symphony of life and death sounded more like a farrago and not a homogeneous blend.He felt that the blackness of the orchard and the apparent nothingness forced him to ignore the speechless fauna and the silent flora-was that darkness a shield?-the darkness did,to certain extend,make the common preys invulnerable to the hunters-was that the darkness of death-contrary to that previous thought,there was some food-cycle-related ingestion dynamics going on out there.The last thought eliminated his qualms about this contemplation as it threw light on HIM.was that the darkness of life?the nothingness and meaninglessness of life?the futility in ruminating unpalatable and defecated subjects? he fixed earphones that extended from his mp3 player and heard "OMERTA" playing through his mind,body,heart and soul.DEATH metal.he thought.
edited version.
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