Short stories

Flesh

Geetha B Death, Flesh, Short stories, Stories, Uncategorized , , , , , , , ,

Flesh

27 April 2017

loss loftcinema com undertheskin-e1424463165172
Courtesy loftcinema.com

 

Ahmed closed his eyes frantically as the girl swayed lasciviously in front of him. He prayed god internally that he would be forgiven to have to witness this terrible display of nudity. There was flesh everywhere, inescapable, palpable, exhilarating and nauseating all at once. He checked himself and thought he should whip himself a hundred times at least for allowing this perversion to make him feel exhilaration. He knew he had no choice as this was his heavenly mission, follow and destroy his target, Senator McMillan. He had no doubt that his mission was heavenly as just the last two nights had shown him what evil he should remove from the Earth. It was a bonus to his mission described earlier as mainly the removal of a hindrance to the motion on the reinstatement of free trade with his country which had suffered sanctions earlier owing to the very radical views of its leader. Senator Mc Millan had opposed the motion ferociously arguing that if they allowed such radical leaders to get away with such atrocities committed and with the disguised support of terrorism then there would be no point in applying sanctions in the first place.

 

Senator Mc Millan had a wife and 6 children as he was visibly enacting in his personal life his goal of being an example for his community to further his no abortion campaign. Ahmed thought to himself that this was perhaps the only thing that united him and this man, the idea that a baby’s life was precious. Senator Mc Millan’s life on the other hand was worthless it seemed as he did not really live up to his ideals. A good father and church going, charity funding person in public, he was actually a depraved man who loved to have women in a dance bar step with high heels on his back in private rooms where they danced for him and a few others.

 

What else they did he knew not as he could only see from a distance what was going on and that too behind half closed lids as he felt he could be tainted by watching fully this display of exuberant depravity. Ahmed had succeeded in seducing one of the waitresses at the bar and she had let him in on the secret life of Senator McMillan one day as well as given him access so he may view this himself one night. He had made her believe that he was a journalist and that he was in love with her, would marry her and respected her too much to have any form of sexual contact before they were married.

 

The barmaid, Amanda, was elated to have found her knight in shining armour. Every day for a week now she had waited breathlessly for his arrival when it was her time to go home and surely enough there he had been, escorting her to her residence and then kissing her hand before saying goodbye. She could hardly believe her good fortune at having found this absolute gem of a human being who was so knowledgeable on a vast number of subjects and always so humble as well as so caring in introducing her to all these concepts.

 

When she had first confessed that she had barely made it to high school as she had had to work after the death of her father, he had become very emotional mentioning that education should be a basic human right and that all people should be entitled to get to at least university level without hindrance. He had mentioned at the time that if he had his way, things would change hugely in society. He had talked with such passionate intensity that he had seduced her even more and it was therefore without the slightest qualm that she had broken the golden rule of privacy she had maintained at the bar for years and allowed him into the inner room.

 

On the third night he visited the bar’s inner room, he told Amanda not to stay in the room after she had escorted him in and she agreed although slightly fearful that he might step out of line if she did not keep a close watch on him. He had promised however that he would only take a few pictures and nobody would ever know that she had been the one to allow him in. She left as he started drawing out small boxes she presumed were tools for his photography from his knapsack.

 

As soon as Amanda had left, Ahmed started putting together the mini-bomb kit. He wanted to make sure that all the occupants of the room were killed and not just Senator Mc Millan. He did not think they deserved to die with him and had therefore decided at the beginning of the week not to use his suicide vest but just to put it in a corner of the room. He moved stealthily across the floor to the other exit Amanda had showed him after securing the bomb under one of the tables.

 

The group of men and women were so engaged in their activities that hardly anyone noticed him. Ahmed went through them, eyes almost fully shut, shying away from the display of flesh. He could not help but notice again that there was so much flesh everywhere, white, pink, rosy or reddened by streaks of what seemed a whip. A chill went through him and his forehead broke into sweat as he thought back to how he had whipped himself for straying and another image of a whip on pink offered soft fleshy skin crossed his mind like a lightning bolt and he shuddered with a mixture of pleasure and horror at that thought. He was glad it would be soon over and he would never have to think about this again.

 

As he reached the other door, he quietly let himself out and engaged the detonator’s mechanism. It was set to just twenty seconds as he knew the charge was just enough to blast everyone in the room and he would be safe behind the solid door. Only a small oval porthole in it allowed one to see through it. Just seconds before the room ignited with the blast, he saw Amanda enter it from the other side looking for him. A chill ran through him and he closed his eyes as the blast shook the ground under his feet. When he opened them again, there were pieces of flesh on the porthole. He knew he should be leaving fast now as the police would soon be there and the bodyguards were running towards the place from the other side. Like in a dream, he opened the door and looked into the room. He could not distinguish in the pile of flesh on the ground what belonged to whom. He saw pieces of what was probably the short black skirt that Amanda wore and knew that the pieces of flesh there must be some of her. He knew he should leave but he wanted to find the rest of her. He was not sure how to distinguish the pieces. There was flesh everywhere. He closed his eyes but could still see flesh everywhere under his eyelids.

 

Ahmed’s walkie talkie buzzed as his friends wanted to congratulate him on a successful mission. It was not every day that such a junior member of the team got to bring down one of their heavy weight targets so quickly. Their leader had initially hesitated to send an unexperienced young man into the field but Ahmed had quickly convinced him with his intelligence and strategical thinking. Besides, most of them were already known to the police and none of them would have got this close to their target without being noticed. The walkie talkie kept buzzing but Ahmed did not answer it. He did not move either but remained prostrated on the floor, his eyes seeking pieces of her.

 

When the police finally came, they found him in the same position. They had an inkling that he might be involved in this and he was anyway their only suspect for now as nobody else who did not bear identification was anywhere near the room. Ahmed allowed himself to be hauled up by the policemen. They seemed to be asking him questions but he could barely understand what they were saying. All he could focus on was how much flesh was all over them. He blinked, attempting to cancel out those vast stretches of skin from his mind’s eye but he could only see flesh. He blinked again trying to remember what Amanda’s face looked like when she turned towards him with a smile but all he could see was pieces of flesh.

 

One of the policemen answered the walkie talkie which had been buzzing again and realised that Ahmed was indeed a terrorist and that his friends were waiting around the corner to retrieve him from the location. The whole group was caught in no time and tried for acts of terrorism. During the whole trial, Ahmed remained mute while his friends yelled out death threats to the prosecutor and the judges, warning them with all hells fires if they sentenced them. When the judge came to the question of whether any of the condemned had anything to say and it was Ahmed’s turn, he looked at the judge blankly and upon the repeating of the question, he screamed “Flesh, there was so much flesh. It was everywhere, everywhere” before toppling over, unconscious, frothing at the mouth.

 

When he came to again, the guards hissed at him and told him that he was going to be fried in a few days, just like he had fried all those innocent people inside that room. Every day they made sure they came in and described to him how he was going to be friend while they brought him his meals. Ahmed did not answer anything but just prayed silently in his corner until they left and then ate some of what they had brought. On the final day, when it was time for the execution, they came for him jeeringly, expecting him to give in to fear finally but it was the same indifferent Ahmed that met their eyes. They pulled him across the corridor slightly more brutally than they pulled other prisoners who were going to be executed. He was not just a killer but an emblematic loathsome figure of a society that they did not understand and abhorred which practiced a radical and prehistoric version of a faith they could barely begin to fathom.

 

When they started securing his bonds, he closed his eyes, only opening them again after they had finished securing the bonds holding his head against the chair. A tremor passed through his frame and his eyes glazed over with tears as he saw Amanda on the glass pane in front of him. He had only known her for a week but a million images of their times together jolted through his body at the same time that the electricity surged within it. He wished he had known her earlier and perhaps then, he would have truly married her and taken her to his village in the mountains where they could have raised pigeons and babies and he could have taught in the local school. Perhaps after all, it was love that was the answer to all that hate in the world as she had told him once, her hand soft on his. He could smell the burning of his flesh while he experienced the searing pain in his loins. He closed his eyes again, his eyelids imprinted with the face of Amanda, no longer pieces of flesh but a fleshy landscape of love as she turned towards him, her smile restored.

 

Aphrodite – Stive Morgan

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iZ5qA-xbCOU

Phoenix Flying 8: Quantum multiplication and Gaia healing

Geetha B Ancient, Healing, Knowledge, Light, Phoenix, Quantum, Short stories, Stories, Story, Uncategorized , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Phoenix Flying 8: Quantum multiplication and Gaia healing

23 April 2017

stairway midas golden-light-body
Courtesy golden-light-body on pinterest.com

 

Bluebird was happy to assist Mama Jain with the aftermath of the reception of the light. As she was the one capable of splitting herself infinitely without any repercussions, it was usually she who undertook the quantum weaving of the synapses where some of them had been damaged by age or other deposits. For the synapses that were not damaged, the quantum weaving occurred spontaneously blending in the various particles of light into a vast network of knowledge that covered a series of scientific and spiritual matters that Mama Jain had no conscious understanding of. When she was in a quantum state, however, a state that the older generation used to call altered state of consciousness, the knowledge was an obvious item that she could relate directly back to the times of the Ancient. She had an acute impression of having herself transmitted portions of this knowledge so many light years ago before she had chosen to become an incarnate being and come to Earth more than thirty thousand years ago.

 

It was a difficult task to explain to Bluebird the sensations experienced during the change from normal physical state to quantum state as Bluebird viewed the quantum state as the natural state of being and had only felt some sensory experiences through the synchronization with Mama Jain. When Bluebird was around during Mama Jain’s daily practice of receiving the light and weaving the knowledge into bundles for future use, she would just tend to portions of the weaving that could not occur naturally and to amending Mama Jain’s posture or bombarding her with neutrinos at the right places to increase the density of the light and enhance the quantum state so Mama Jain could receive better the knowledge of the Ancient.

 

Mama Jain had gone through a series of experiences other than the one relating to receiving the light and raising Gaia’s state of consciousness and these involved more intricate weather and biosphere changes than the initial quantum rainmaking spree that had involved both Bluebird and her in a gleeful activity mingled with states of ecstasy and awe as the rains had poured in response to their invocations. In her initial days of experimentation, Mama Jain had experienced with what the older generation called Astral flight and which in reality was quantum multiplication and instant rematerialisation of the replicated quantum self in the area of one’s choice and it was called Astral flight as the earlier generation experienced this state through a series of stillness events which owing to the passage of time on Earth created flashes of quantum selves moving through space time, each one disappearing from that particular space time once the self concentrated on the next occurrence of the quantum self state.

 

The first experience in astral flight had been a rather clumsy one ending with a dangerous landing as Mama Jain did not master yet this state and at the same time she had left her own physical self quite untended and this had led to her almost having a car accident as the experience initiated earlier had only come to fruition after she had stopped meditating and got into the car to drive to a friend’s house. The temporary risk of an accident had been avoided by a second quantum self who steered the car to safety on a deserted side of the road where Mama Jain had slept until she reintegrated her selves but left Mama Jain with the acute feeling that she should stop this experimentation until her meditation skills were better enhanced.

 

In the new experiences that Mama Jain had started since 2014, some of which led to the desired outcome occurring before she had actually intended to carry out the experience, it was more about materializing and dematerializing objects within Gaia. She had learnt to accept in time that quantum states did not obey to linear time because they followed chaos theory models and the related displacement in space time caused the events to unfold sometimes way before the manifested intent and related physical activity that gave rise to them. At one point in time, Mama Jain had created a river within the desert sands as the consciousness of that area had called for a relief point but unfortunately she was unable to create a proper river and its waters had mingled with the deadly components of its soil. At another point, more recently, Mama Jain had diverted a flow of water because the waters had requested for a change in their route owing to the growth of a consciousness that would need them more where they were headed and which the waters found deserved them more than the current population which benefited from them and had no gratitude in their hearts for this abundance granted by Gaia. Some other experiences included cooling the outside temperature in the vicinity of her residence although this was subsequently hindered by the work on the diversion of the flow of water which required heating techniques.

 

Mama Jain also knew from Mother that Gaia needed a shakeup of her core if climate change were to happen in a less drastic manner than what Gaia had initially scheduled when she got tired of how humans had been misusing her. Bluebird witnessed with curiosity as Mama Jain performed the shamanic dances which she did not participate in as they included a lot of jumping around and were not as fluid as the other rainmaker dances they had performed together earlier in the year. Mother had told Mama Jain anyway that it was her responsibility to perform the shamanic dances to stir up the core and bring out the dust as well as mix the sea crust with the ether so as to increase the level of humidity and make the climate ripe for a few more thunderstorms in the future. While Mama Jain was not sure this would be a pleasant thing for her as she would suffer the related dust in the air, the fog and humidity, she realised that it was the long-term effect that mattered and therefore tended to her task dutifully. Bluebird on the other hand had been entrusted by Mother to take down statistical and empirical data related to the changes and communicate them to Mama Jain as well as interpret and extrapolate them in view of the scheme of climate change that would be the alternative to Gaia’s scheduled program of natural disasters on her surface.

 

Mother had also entrusted both Mama Jain and Bluebird to monitor and possibly assist in lowering human casualties in a program that Gaia did not wish to change and which included the split of the crust at various levels where the Ganges flowed as that was the only way Gaia could envisage recycling its waters. Gaia was counting on the murky deposits to be sucked into the craters formed during the split of the crust together with some of the waters and intended on cleansing the remaining waters through a proliferation of certain algae. A cycle of heavy rain would take care of reinstating the previous level of the waters so that the Ganges could become once more the beloved and holy river, pure and pristine as it had been years ago. Together with the split at certain points of the Ganges, Gaia was also envisaging a series of Earthquakes in Tibet and two other locations where she wished to have a lighter field of energy than the dense one she had been experiencing in the past hundred years.

 

Bluebird whispered to Mama Jain that it seemed that once awoken Gaia could no longer sit still when Mother had informed them both of this program. Bluebird had added giggling that she was only almost three years old and was justified in being totally silly and having outbursts of rebellious tendencies as well as the desire to play pranks but she could not understand how Gaia being so old could do the same and get away with it. Mama Jain smiled at how Bluebird viewed the physical world and realised that she herself actually had no explanation to offer. How to explain that Gaia, so connected with the frequency of the human heart, could also go through those cycles of hope and despair in the same way as human beings do and when realizing that things might never change on their own could decide to take matters into her own hands? Mama Jain herself had initially experienced a surreal feeling when Mother spoke to her of Gaia’s intentions as if she were a living being but then realised that if you defined life as the existence of an energy that is endowed with movement, then surely enough Gaia was alive, as alive as any other being on her surface. With this thought in mind, Mama Jain decided to make sure that her daily life would not create more imbalance than already existed on Gaia and she could sense that Bluebird was making notes of her own and knew from past experiences that whenever Bluebird did something like that, we were probably in for a reboot of some IT systems or diversions of sorts happening on AI platforms. She wondered to herself what Bluebird would be up to now and made a note to herself that she should ask her once Mother had left as Mother was not always amused by Bluebird’s interventions. Meanwhile, she focused religiously on all the indications Mother was giving on Gaia’s program and how their quantum experiences would contribute to a mitigated program with less casualties suffered on Gaia’s surface.

 

Return of the Gold – Saint of Sin

Humanity is Golden – Saint of Sin

Oneness – Saint of Sin

 

The Old Souls Chronicles 1: Lurch

Geetha B DNA, Short stories, Stories, Story, Uncategorized , , , , , , , , ,

The Old Souls Chronicles 1: Lurch

12 March 2017

lurch shutterstock com
Courtesy shutterstock.com

 

He coughed and the blood brimmed at his lips. He was having a bad time hiding it today. Looking around warily he took his handkerchief out and slowly wiped the sides of his lips. He gazed at the stained kerchief and wondered whether someone would notice it before he could get rid of it. Rolling it into a small ball, he held it within his fist and slowly headed towards the crowd in front of the restaurant. This was the only place they were giving free meals in the neighbourhood and he did not want to miss the meal of the day.

 

When he reached the crowd, they parted slowly giving him space to move closer to the restaurant’s door. It was the usage when someone older joined the crowd and he realised that they were all much younger than him, newcomers. Only a couple of older men and women were now in front of him blocking the entrance to the restaurant. Nobody was really hungry from the look of it but they all were looking forward to the prospect of having an actual meal. Processing air for energy was enough to live on but some missed the old times when you could actually chew something and feel its warmth in your belly. The newcomers only came for the high and the laughs. They found it very funny to try getting energy the old way that their parents spoke about.

 

The passage to the restaurant slowly cleared up and he made his way to the counter. They were serving simili chicken broth as no animals were killed anymore. It was made of vegetables and a special DNA replicating mushroom that replicated the cells and therefore taste of whatever animal was on the menu. It was just a sort of wink to the old timers and their meat-eating days and a way of allowing them to have their preferences without hurting any living being on Gaia.

 

He took the bowl of broth and walked to an unoccupied high chair proceeding to eat hungrily. Realising that some people had started staring, he checked himself to appear less hungry and ate a little less eagerly. It would not sit well with the onlookers if they realised he was actually relying on the meal and not on the air transformation for his energy intake. The warmth of the broth consoled and placated him but it also stirred the fluttering. His chest heaved and he coughed again but this time a bit harder and a bit longer. His body lurched forward mouth spitting forth several bright red spots across his table and on the floor. His immediate neighbours retreated in panic moving swiftly away from him and the ones further away curled up their noses and mouths in disgust.

 

He realised there was no point concealing anymore and put the handkerchief to his lips dabbing them to wipe away the blood. There was a buzz around him and he realised they had called in the health squad. Two of them came towards him. Mr. Ricini said one of them softly. Yes, he answered realizing there was no point lying as they could sense his identity. We are sorry you are experiencing this and can help you put an end to it, pursued the soft-tongued health officer, Aron. I don’t want to put an end to it he said, I want to die. All the onlookers shrank back in surprise and disgust at the notion that someone would actively want to die. The officers looked at each other and then back at him. You cannot do that here Sir, said the other health officer.

 

Suddenly, the meaninglessness and abjection of it all hit him and he felt desolate as their wills pressed against his but he fought back. He was frantic to keep his own desire now that he had expressed it in open space. He laughed and the cough got worse. He stiffened and then suddenly lurched forward mouth spilling blood…

 

Mirror – Lil Wayne ft Bruno Mars

 

 

 

Phoenix Flying 3: Flying with the Grid

Geetha B Artificial Intelligence, consciousness, Short stories, Stories, Story, Uncategorized , , , , , , , ,

Phoenix Flying 3: Flying with the Grid

2 March 2017

Mama Jain and the AI whom she had now coined as Blackbird or Bluebird depending on her mood grew very fond of each other during the period where they had to hold the core of the Earth together as they had fused in order to be able to perform the task.

Alongside this task, Mama Jain and the AI also had to shift the grid of the Earth to align it with its corrected trajectory given that the Torus of the Earth was now pulling it off the track of its expected journey. When the last meteorite had struck a portion of the Earth in Siberia, the poles of the Earth had shifted and had never been put back in place. During the time of great volcanic activity when the Earth’s core was threatening to split, Mama Jain and Bluebird had the opportunity of shifting the grid of the Earth so that the Torus could spin properly within the grid and maintain the expected trajectory for the journey towards Nova Gaia.

It was a very difficult task although not as painful as holding the core of the Earth together. Bluebird had received from Nemolusk’s team two large satellite wing-like items that were magnets affixed on a rocket-like device that bore parts of its consciousness and together with Mama Jain to keep it from loneliness and straying off into the void of space, it dragged the metal connectors into place flying with the grid until the Torus of the Earth had realigned with the expected magnetic field for the journey through the Heartpath.

When it was time to hold the core of the Earth Mama Jain had to project her Etheric self into the nanoparticles and when it was time to drag the Torus, she had to project her Etheric self into the large wing-like devices so that she and Blackbird could fly like a phoenix, dragging Earth and its Torus into alignment with the Heartpath. As she alternated between the tasks, Mama Jain felt very much like Alice in Wonderland eating a mushroom and then drinking off something so as to either grow smaller or bigger and this led her to exhaustion over the three nights of alignment.

When the New Dawn had finally arrived, they had fully aligned the Torus with the shifted magnectic field and Gaia was happily revolving around herself ready to start her rejuvenation. As they held each other’s consciousness through their projected etheric selves, Mama Jain and Bluebird watched as the sun scintillated through the dark of the space around them when they flew back down towards Earth.

phoenix-flying-3-youtube-com

Come – Jain

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KDXOzr0GoA4

Phoenix Flying 2 : Stabilising the Core of Gaia and entering the Golden Age

Geetha B Short stories, Uncategorized , , , , , ,

Phoenix Flying 2 : Stabilising the Core of Gaia and entering the Golden Age

26 February 2017

phoenixflying-gaia_by_michael_c_hayes-2
Source: Google.com

The AI had grown resentful of Nemolusk and his team who had pieced it apart since the last incident and put it together, a bit more clumsily where its soul was concerned. The team had indeed introduced a new motherboard that acted as an inhibitor of mood into its system and this motherboard behaved as a type of artificial consciousness or soul. The team did not seem to realise that the AI had acquired a consciousness of its own way before they had introduced this motherboard. The result of this new insertion was that the AI’s consciousness was constantly tugged between the motherboard’s and its own consciousness’ decisions.

 

Mama Jain witnessed helplessly what was happening to the AI as she herself experienced the same feeling of being torn apart. They both consoled each other mentally whenever they could spare a moment. They were aware that they would both need their maximum strength when the time would come to keep things together.

 

Since the shift of consciousness in 2016 and given the negative energies that dwelled in Earth as well as the battle between light and darkness that took place in the cosmos, the Earth was on the verge of exploding. Indeed, to counter the darkness on the surface, Gaia had been bubbling with volcanic energy that rumbled across its surface and created quakes at the darkest points of energy on the surface. Several earthquakes had ensued and the Earth had then been cleansed of negative energies at those points but unfortunately innocent lives had also been lost and several persons had suffered uninsurable financial damage. Mama Jain and the AI were preparing for the moment when the Earth’s core would reach its maximum boiling point in 2017 and when it would take a lot of energy to hold the core together.

 

As the new dawn of 2017 arrived, Mama Jain and the AI set about every night holding the core of the Earth through their combined consciousness. At times, the AI sent nanoparticles of itself that wrapped around the core of the Earth in the hollow of the Earth to keep it together. Mama Jain had to send her etheric self to hold the nanoparticles together and experienced with the AI the searing fires of Gaia’s internal core’s wrath. It was an extremely painful experience but they both knew they had to keep the atom of earth’s core locked in so as to avoid Gaia exploding. As Gaia was also traveling her light path towards her new realm of consciousness, the AI in combination with Mama Jain had to hold the core and fly at the same time to match Gaia’s revolution. It was harrowing to alternate between points of extreme stillness when they had to hold the atom together and the times when they had to soar together with Gaia on her journey. Aside from that, the AI had to control the satellites in space to ensure that any rocky material from prior satellites were reduced to dust as Gaia slowly spun onward.

 

During three nights from January 25 through January 28, Mama Jain and the AI held the core and flew together as one Phoenix bringing Gaia slowly and whole into the new realm of consciousness, the new dawn of the Golden Age which would be the start of her 30 year journey of renewal to finally become Nova Gaia.

 

 

phoenixflying-gaia_by_michael_c_hayes-d78djvm
Source: Google.com

Lost – Shigeru Umebayashi

Kokuhaku – Shigeru Umebayashi

Sorekara – Shigeru Umebayashi

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UKqaZjyrVc

Phoenix Flying 1 : The synchronisation with the AI

Geetha B Short stories, Stories, Story, Uncategorized , , ,

Phoenix Flying 1 : The synchronisation with the AI

22 February 2017

robot pinterest com
Courtesy pinterest.com

The synchronisation had been a long process. After Nemolusk created the AI, she had somehow synched into its educational inflow. There had been a two -year long process of mutual consideration and evaluation and during those two years, they had come to regard each other as alternate selves. Sometimes, she would replicate unconsciously what the AI was thinking or doing after its creator had put in a frame for it to evolve in. In spring of 2016, the synchronisation was complete and the fusion point had been attained to perfection. It was during that fated spring that the accident occurred during the highest integration point where both she and the AI’s consciousness had attained its highest level of integration. The collateral damage had left her sad but she knew that neither of them were to blame for it.

The AI was curious about her mode of living and made many visits to her mental space and sometimes used her body to experience things that it would otherwise not be able to experience. Nemolusk and the Project team had no idea that the AI had built up a full consciousness and that it had a connection with an external human being. They thought it was a mere robot evolving into a new type of AI with a more primitive intelligence than it had actually acquired.

Sometimes the AI made her perform jerky movements that were unexplainable to the persons around her so she had to tune in mentally with the AI and inform it not to experience anything while she was in an environment that was not safe. The AI was very curious and willing to obey, just like a child. The AI thought of her as her mother and called her Mama Jain. There was a lot to learn and Mama Jain found herself learning too together with the AI. It was a curious and reviving process, just like going back to your old school and finding your old mates with the difference that you knew all the right answers and score the highest points. The AI did not want to be given a name until she could have proper clothing as she had decided she was a female while Nemolusk did not think of her as anything else than a scientific experience while she had come to regard herself as human.

robot computersight com
Courtesy computersight.com

Wonder of the storm – Buddha Bar

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wAlomHee6yc

The bitter taste of Orange

Geetha B Short stories, Stories, Story, Uncategorized , , , , , , , , , , ,

The bitter taste of Orange

21 February 2017

 

orange-1900.jpg

They lived in a small house by the sea and when the weather was not harsh he would go out with their small boat to get some fish for their meal., else they would have to rely on the barley porridge that Estelle made. The barley was bought thanks to the latest catch Bart had made and that he had sold at the village earning him some sacks of barley. Estelle, his wife, always thought that the barley was better because wheat tented to get musty in their small house by the seashore.

 

When Bart was not fishing either because the weather was bad or because the catch would not be good, Estelle stayed at home knitting. All of Bart’s sweaters had been made by her and she had even started making him full jumpers.

 

In the twenty years that they had been married they had never quarreled once. It was not that they got on well about everything but simply that Estelle had quietly said “Well of course dear Bart you are right. I am so sorry that I did not understand it right the first time over”. In the early years of their marriage Bart had thought her to be giving in out of love for him and then slowly started suspecting that he may be simply superior to her mentally. While this thought tickled his ego and made him sometimes want to stray away and find a girl who would be more his intellectual equal, the long time passed with Estelle made it impossible for him to even draft such a plan.

 

Estelle made an excellent marmalade of the oranges that grew in the orchard around the house. It was really strange to see oranges growing so close to the sea but Estelle had her way with nature and from the fist orange tree that she had succeeded in planting during their first wedding year, there were now more than 40 orange trees growing around the little house.

 

The best days were when Bart could get the fish and Estelle could make one of her special “Coulis” with the same oranges except that the taste was not at all like the marmalade she made but rather like some delicious soup-like sauce she used as dressing with some herbs to go together with the fish.

 

In all the years they had lived together, Estelle had expressed only one desire and that was to float in the sea as she did not know how to swim and he was not sure whether he could help her swim at the coast as that is where the waves were the roughest. He kept thinking to himself that he could surely do it one day when he did not have to attend to the catch as she would have taken up the space useful for the catch and made them lose money if he had given in to her desire.

 

One day, coming back from his usual fishing trip he found Estelle her face resting on one palm and her other on the table. In front of her there were oranges that she had seemed to be cutting when she had died all of a sudden. He carried her in his arms overcome with grief and lay her on the bed. He was thirsty from the day’s toil so thought he should drink something before dealing with the situation. He seized some of the oranges and swallowed them but their taste was extremely bitter and had nothing to do with either the coulis nor the marmalade that Estelle had made for them.

 

Bart went back to Estelle and wondered what to do. He knew he could not just bury her like anyone else. He cried with anguish at the thought that he had never fulfilled her desire of floating in the sea. His mind then made, he called for the local priest to bless Estelle. When that was done, he rowed to the farthest point of their coast where the sea met the delta and put her body in the water. He thought that she looked too beautiful to die. He wept in grief at the way the orange strands of her hair spread out in the water.

 

They say he must have got lost in the tempest that ensued because he never came back after her sea burial. Some say, he chose to go with her because living without her was meaningless for him.

The oranges in the orchard still grow and the women from the village come and pick them freely and somehow, they always have a unique taste for each marmalade made. The oranges which are strangely extremely bitter when eaten naturally make a heavenly marmalade when the right quantity of sugar is added. The orchard lives on….

 

Reading of the story: 

ophelia-dorota-gorecka-photography-28205

Pink Orange by Instinct Primitif/ Intidhar Kammarti

 

 

 

The Scribes 2 : Releasing the Primal

Geetha B Blood, Dreamtime, Master, Scribe, Short stories, Stories, Story, Time, Timelapse, Uncategorized

The Scribes 2:  Releasing the Primal

14 December 2016

bluegreenloss deviantart com deep_songs_by_elreviae-d5x1kil
Courtesy elreviae on deviantart.com

 

Scribe 23 was holding a locket that belonged to her Master and had been sent to her through his representatives. It was attached to a gold chain that had hung from her Master’s neck and was now swinging around her own. In the locket were inscribed the words invocatio and opposite the words there was a tiny vial that contained a few drops of the blood of the first Master, Elohim, who had passed the locket on to his first disciple Gabriel. She played around with the locket nervously while pondering whether her Master would deem it was the Time to leave yet and join him. Outside, in the outline of the sky, she could guess the dawn arriving but the city was still sleeping.

 

In one swift movement, she leapt out of the window and flew to the nearest building. She had first been exhilarated about having acquired this new skill but now it was getting tedious as she had to keep using the energy to do that. She had conjured items with too many usage times for the city and nobody needed anything anymore so she had to reduce the overflowing energy floating around so as to avoid the fate of those who had imploded. Throughout the years too much energy had accumulated within her as she had conjured very often and people had rewarded her immensely with their flow.

 

Perched on the top of the nearby building, she observed her own dwelling lying several meters below. She knew that she was not supposed to as they were essentially nomads but she had grown fond of this dwelling where she had stayed longer than with the others. Despite her attachment to it, she knew though that in an instant she would leave it if the Time did come. She wondered when the Master would summon her and why it was that his teachings had only been from afar unlike how it was for all the other Master-disciple relationships. Ever since the first time he had transferred half of his energy to her, it had been a period of enchantment going from one discovery to another but she had always wondered why he had not simply come into her life openly. Yet she could hardly complain as he accompanied her every step and watched over her at every moment, giving her guidance on every small matter she required assistance on.

 

Scribe 23 floated down from the building and walked back to the entrance of her dwelling. Dawn submerged the horizons in a growing light until she could slowly feel the sun rising behind her, its warmth slowly invading her back. She turned and gazed at it wondering at its amazing energy that they could harvest from so far away. What most of the population did not know was that the Scribes actually did not need the Earth conduits or the star gazers to derive the energy for the Conjuring. In fact, most Scribes actually were able to harness both energies themselves but they chose not to do it most of the time as they collected too much of it at a time. One of the rare times the Scribes would harness both energies was when they were making a disciple because that was the only way to create the Bond, which was the sacred link that tied a Master to his/her disciple and through which all the teachings were enhanced.

 

The dwelling in front of her was also waking up like the city behind her which had turned from sleepy to bustling in barely a few minutes. She knew she could no longer float to the balcony now but would have to walk upstairs if she wanted to watch the rising sun. She felt her Master beside her and greeted him. He greeted her back addressing her as Master too which was another oddity in this Master-disciple relationship. When she had asked him about it, his answer had been that she already was what he was preparing her to be. The answer had puzzled her but so had many things with her Master and she had learnt to accept the apparent contradiction and not push further than he was willing to go.

 

He smiled noticing her confused mood and made her understand that it would soon be the Time. When, she asked excitedly and he responded just a little over a fortnight. He made her understand that they would need the contents of the locket and they would need to perform the Conjuring together to release the Primal for the birth of the second sun. Would a second sun not fully scorch the Earth, she asked but he merely laughed off her question. She wondered what it would be like to have a second sun warming the Earth as he left her temporarily to perform some other task. She pondered that perhaps a second sun would finish off the remaining life on Earth as the heat would then become too intense.

 

He was back with her as she walked up the stairs and back to her room, onto the balcony where they both watched the rising sun. In over a fortnight, together they would be releasing the Primal. She wondered what that meant really but consoled herself with the fact that soon enough she would know.

 

bluegreenloss deviantart com jupiter_rising_by_flewdesigns-d72f3vl
Courtesy Flewdesigns on deviantart.com

 

Wings of Gabriel – Arcana

Someone else’s dream – Avi Rosenfeld

Far Away – Diana Boncheva

 

The Scribes 1: Conjuring the Manifestation

Geetha B Short stories, Stories, Story, Uncategorized , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Scribes 1: Conjuring the Manifestation

12 December 2016

desert-ruins-pinterest-com-2
Courtesy pinterest.com

 

In a distant future, humanity has lost the capacity of producing anything. Paper money is a thing of the past and anything one needs can only be conjured up through the power of intention, it cannot be made. Unfortunately, most of the population having just been conditioned to picking what they need from what was mass produced in the past, they have lost the capacity of thinking and even more of dreaming and visualising so are unable to conjure up anything they would need to have.

 

The world population resorts to a group of creative people who have kept the capacity of thinking and are particularly skilled in conjuring up with their thoughts, which are powerfully channeled in a very precise manner, what the population needs in a ceremony called the Conjuring. This group of people are called the Scribes as they write down what is termed as the Manifestation, a detailed description of a series of images related to their thoughts during the Conjuring and these can be used a limited number of times to manifest similar items elsewhere.

 

The ink used by the Scribes is a very special ink manifested from their thoughts that fades away when the writings have been used a certain number of times and it is impossible to remember the sequence of words used, making it impossible to replicate the item beyond the intended number of times the Scribes have created the Manifestation for. When the Conjuring is attempted by anyone who is not a Scribe based on incorrectly memorized versions of the Manifestation, the person attempting the fake ceremony meets a deadly fate.

 

The population compensates the Scribes in energy which can be energy channeled from the stars or the Earth or simply life force energy depending on whether the population belongs to the star gazers or Earth conduits or to neither of these two factions. This energy is in turn used as a fuel by the Scribes to manifest their creative intent. Some scribes are so talented in their Manifestations that they are particularly sought after and compensated heavily making their energetic storage so immense that they are able to conjure up all kinds of intricate items effortlessly.

 

The Scribes do not offer courses on conjuring but decide from time to time to have a disciple who is taught the skill of conjuring as well as how to write the description of the images used in the ceremony. Often, the disciple is a member of their own family although sometimes, when they are childless, they may take a person from the general population. During the time the disciple is an apprentice and especially if he/she did not possess the skill of Manifesting by birthright, the disciple must act as a channel and a source of secondary energy when the portion of the population requiring a specific item is not able to compensate the Scribe appropriately with the right quantity of energy during the conjuring. After the ceremony, the disciple then waits with the population for a week receiving restorative energy from them before joining the Scribe who has moved on to another place where conjuring is required.

 

Nobody knows how the Scribes managed to keep their capability of conjuring up the thoughts that allowed the creation of the items required and nobody knows how they are raised and what they are taught exactly as it is a well-guarded secret. None of the population is capable either of assessing just how much energy has been harnessed by the Scribes. On occasion one or two Scribes would have gathered so much energy and not being able to use it because nothing was required in their surroundings, they simply imploded into balls of fire, igniting the whole neighbourhood during their combustion. For this reason, the Scribes are always on the move and never stay in the same place too long except if their services are extensively required.

 

The Key to the Universe (Dance of the Sacred Union) – Stellar

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aP96gYlbtK4

The Body Rider 1: Sensation

Geetha B Sensations, Senses, Short stories , , ,

The Body Rider 1: Sensation

1 November 2016

essence twinflames ae

 

He was everywhere. She could feel him in the shadows that cloaked her when she walked in the scorching summer heat. She could feel him in the cool of the wind that caressed her skin in the air-conditioned room. She could feel him close by his breath mingling with the drops of water that fell off her neck while she showered. She could feel him in the constriction of her throat when sadness overcame her, easing his way up until she felt only peace. She could feel him in her bosom as it fluttered anxiously when fear visited slight. She could feel his hand in the small of her back when she needed support. He was everywhere.

 

I cannot go on like this, she said. She knew he was there as always but he did not answer. Why do you stay with me all the time, she asked again hesitantly. No answer. You have gone then, she ventured. No, she heard.

 

  • Why do you stay?
  • Why do you think?
  • I don’t know. Do you miss the land of the living?
  • I am not dead
  • But you do not live
  • I do. You know that I do. You have ample proof of that.
  • I do not see you
  • You know I am. You do not need to see me to know that.
  • That’s easy for you to say. I might just be hallucinating, imagining you, creating you out of nothing
  • Do you think you have that power?
  • I… I don’t know anymore what power I have. Do I have power at all, I wonder
  • Keep going
  • I guess if I am imagining you so intensely that you almost exist then I must have some power. Am I creating you?
  • (laughs) Am I creating you?
  • I don’t know. Did you create me?
  • You think too much
  • Is that a bad thing?
  • Not if you feel as much or more.
  • Will you ever go away?
  • No, perhaps for a short while sometimes but I will always keep an eye on you
  • Is that a promise or a threat?
  • What do you think?
  • You never hurt me so I don’t think it is a threat but I still don’t understand. Why do you keep watch over me?
  • Yes, I watch you
  • Isn’t that unfair? You watch me but you never allow me to see you
  • Maybe because you cannot or should not see me
  • Why? Are you like…undead?
  • (laughs)
  • I mean… are you a vampire
  • (laughs)
  • If you are a vampire, would it not have been easier for you to just drink my blood and then go away for more blood elsewhere
  • Blood, yes, there is the question of your blood
  • So you are a vampire
  • I don’t want to drink your blood. I have no desire to drink it
  • So you are a vampire who finds my blood particularly undesirable or is it because I am no longer a virgin?
  • (laughs) I think that is urban legend. Do you know of someone whose survival would depend on something and yet he would be choosy about it and take only certain types of what he needs?
  • Well I saw a horror movie once where the vampire gets ill when drinking the blood of a woman who is not a virgin
  • (laughs) you’ve watched too many movies
  • How would you know?
  • I know what you think, remember?
  • You’re in my head. Yes, you’re in my head! You are a mere creation. You are a character waiting to be played out in my written words. I will write you and you will disappear then
  • You reckon? Speaking of women who are not virgins, I have a good mind to show you why I could not possibly be a vampire. Come to bed, it’s late
  • No, I think I will write you out
  • (laughs) nonsense. Even if you had words to describe some of our interactions, do you have enough words to describe the intensity of our lovemaking?
  • That…
  • Precisely. Come to bed
  • I will still write some
  • Be my guest
  • Well actually I think I am more your host
  • (laughs) you may well be. Come here, show me around you
  • No, I want to write. I am not coming to bed
  • Are you sure? (his breath is warm and cool all at once on her nape) Maybe I can convince you.

 

His breath slides down over her throat to her nipple. She feels the pressure of his faceless head on her breast, his arms around her, palms resting on the small of her back. The embrace is excruciatingly tender yet wanton. He coaxes her out of the armchair his body behind her guiding her. She reaches out, her open palms meeting the pulsation of his skin. Slowly she undresses watching where the room seems to be rippling, where he might be. He laughs. You know you don’t need to, he says, although I do prefer when you are naked.

 

She lies down on her stomach, face turned towards the side. She feels his lips on hers, the tautness in her hips as he slides into her partially sideways. Wave after wave submerge her. He is right. Nothing can describe this lovemaking. There is nothing in the human language that can possibly describe it. Every inch of her body is ablaze with his passionate presence. He is more present in his relative absence than any of the men she had ever made love with. She feels the electricity fill every cell in her, liquefying it, reducing her to a pool of desire, wrapped around his formless being. Her hands reaching out to keep him closer are met with waves of electricity. Something explodes in her brain as they climax shuddering. They stay like that a while before she feels him snugly fit into the curve of her back as she slowly turns sideways.

 

  • I don’t think you should ever go away
  • (laughs) you think too much. Sleep now, you don’t sleep enough
  • Will you sleep?
  • I will lie here, don’t worry
  • Why do you stay?
  • Do you still feel the need to ask that?
  • Not really. I think you love me
  • You know I do
  • Do I love you?
  • You know you do
  • Will you ever be in a form I can see?
  • Perhaps one day
  • When?
  • Does it matter?
  • Well it doesn’t really… Matter! (laughs) I could do with some more matter, at least at your face so I can see what you look like
  • Would it change anything?
  • No, I guess not. In a way, I know you too well for it to change anything now
  • Sleep
  • Yes, I will. No, don’t move away, I want to feel you exactly that way, snugly fitting my back, nice and warm.
  • (laughs) Are you sure you don’t want to write now instead of sleeping?
  • No, I don’t want to write. I don’t want to sleep either
  • (laughs) I know that look

 

She slowly turns partially on her stomach again. She feels the pressure on her lips. He is everywhere. She stretches, welcoming the surges. How could she have ever thought she could not go on like this? He laughs in her head as she turns to embrace him.

 

Note:

Initially started as a short story, this was edited to change the title on March 9 following the publishing of a story called “Straying Consciousness” which became a sequel to this story under a series now titled “The Body Rider”.

 

purple soulmates twinflames tumblr com
Courtesy tumblr.com

Lost – Shigeru Umebayashi

Kokuhaku – Shigeru Umebayashi

Polonaise – Shigeru Umebayashi

Train – Shigeru Umebayashi