Anyyse

It

 is a story that every mother tells her child. And every child out of ten, when they grow up, learns that what their mothers told them wasn’t just some story. It is one of those things every mother prepares their children for to face in the long run. Almost all those who do face it don’t actually live long enough to let the newcomers know exactly how they should prepare.

        It is the story of Anyyse, and Baziri knows it well. But knowing the story doesn’t make it any easier for him to walk this long way. He tries not to be late to finish work, but tonight he’s very late. The birds have all almost gone quite in the woods. It is the hour of the crows, and the most dangerous time to be outside, alone and away from home. If he keeps his current pace, he would reach home before anything bad happens. But he’s getting more scared as he walks, and so his pace is getting slower. He knows it’s not good, but what else can he do? Fear makes him slow, his mother always complained. Fear is making him slow.

        Baziri is the only man of his generation so far who has ever come across Anyyse. But that was three years ago. He is also one of the very few men who have a chance of meeting Anyyse twice. Normally, men met Anyyse once in their lives and that was it. They didn’t live to see the five-eyed giant for the second time. Baziri is alive, and he’s sure to meet Anyyse again, be that tonight or the 100^th one from tonight. Because, once you see Anyyse its one red, bright, big eye will always search for you. And there’s no escape from that search.  

        Baziri is trying to walk faster, but he is starting to sweat and it’s starting to get uncomfortable in this cold night. He stops for a second, undrapes himself and starts walking again. But he stops again. Something has caught his eye. Or, he has caught something’s eye. A red, bright, big eye. Shivering, he tells himself that it’s a hallucination. It has to be one. He closes his eyes and tries to walk as fast as he could without exhausting himself. But no, he is indeed seeing the red eye. The only way to escape this is to talk in the opposite direction. It will mean walking back to the direction he came all this way from. But it’s the only way to save himself from Anyyse.

        Baziri knows tonight’s his last night. If only he had wished his mother a proper goodbye. She will be heartbroken. For one moment, he thinks about simply giving in. What’s the point of running away from the inevitable? Everyone is born to die someday. Tonight’s his day to die. He still keeps walking in the direction he came from. If, only if he could fool Anyyse one more time…he would never leave home again, he would work in the other houses, wash their clothes, clean their dishes, scrub their floors. If and only if…

        All this while he was forcing himself to look at the ground. Baziri has to look up to ensure Anyyse’s eye isn’t following him still. But he’s afraid to do so. Anyyse, however, is still following him with its one red, bright, big eye, for now.

        Baziri must have walked for ages, because his feet have started to feel sore. They are sore. Maybe he lost Anyyse. He dares a look up in the sky ahead of him. There it is, the pale yellow moon and right beside it, if not above it, is the red, bright, big eye. But the red eye means there is still time. How long? That doesn’t matter anymore.

        Baziri is feeling so tired and sore that he has to stop now. Death would probably be less painful than this. That’s that then. He takes a deep breath, wishes his mother goodbye into the wind and starts walking again. As he expected, walking now feels easier. His feet are still sore, but they don’t hurt as much as they did before. He is still a bit scared. He is granted this at least.

        Soon enough Baziri isn’t looking at the ground, but looking up and ahead. That one eye is still there, but slowly two more have started to appear. These yellow, rather dimmer though stark eyes seem to be hanging a great deal amount lower than the red one. He is getting closer to Anyyse. Or maybe, Anyyse is coming closer to him, for the eyes seemed to be the things that are moving while is merely standing. To make sure, he looked at his feet. Yes, he is still walking. So, are they moving closer to each other? Does Anyyse remember him from their last encounter? Anyyse should. Anyyse does.

        Baziri has started to feel cold again. He wants to drape himself again, but earlier in his panic he has left it somewhere behind. There is no point to it now anyway. The yellow eyes are getting closer. They are almost as close to be right above where he is now. But he knows that’s not the case at all. There is still some more of the path to cover. Death is just out there, but while he can’t will to come any faster death can very well come whenever it pleases.

        Somewhere close, where the trees have started to thin out, something white catches Baziri’s eyes. But there should be a pair of them. Oh, there it is, the other white eye. This pair of eyes is as bright as the sun would be if he alone could see its shine. They are unwavering, like the upper three eyes. To a stranger, they would seem like stars in the sky. But those who know know that they are not. These sun-like eyes mean that he is almost there. Anyyse is almost here.  

        Baziri is now standing in front of Anyyse. He can still see the upper yellow eyes, the red one however seems like a star in the sky. A red, bright, big star, shining brighter than the moon. Where is the moon? Where are the other stars? And the cold? The trees? The ground? Where are those shining five eyes?

Bathrooms – Are they really from this dimension?

        From my continuous and dedicated use of bathrooms, I’ve come to the conclusion that they are not part of our regular dimension. Instead, they are part of a totally separate dimension. Before, of course, going into details as to why I believe so, I think it is important that we are clear about the terminology of the said space. I’ve always felt that bathrooms are solely for taking baths, then why do we say bathroom when we want to take a piss? Because, probably, toilets, washroom, restroom, loo etc. are such complex words that in the time you will say them shit is sure to hit the fan. So in the end we are left with “bathroom”, in many of which no activity of bathing takes place of at all, given there are no provisions provided inside.

        So, how have I come to such space-shattering conclusion?

§  Have you ever been to a terrace which is actually an under-construction floor? With pillars and protruding rods and stuff? And did you notice that although the rooms below that terrace are of the same proportions as of the outlines of those on the terrace the to-be-made room-spaces look smaller than the already-made ones below? And in such lack of space, I’ve always wondered how did they fit in the bathroom space? Theoretically it should be possible, with math and stuff, but practically? Nope. Okay, forget about the terrace. Even looking from the inside, it feels that even though there is hardly much space for three rooms to fit in, somehow there are also two bathrooms fitted along with them. What kind of architectural and constructional sorcery is this? It must be so that the spaces made for the bathrooms are pulled out from a different dimension and not from the one we live in.

§  I have many other reasons to believe this, but the most important one is that time runs very slow in the bathroom. Come on, you must have been in a situation where you thought you just got in the bathroom when somebody knocked on the door saying that you have been inside for hours. How the fuck is that even possible? Again, when you are in a hurry and think that you are going to do all the bathroom-centered jobs very quickly and you even feel that you are doing them very quickly, but then you come out and see that you have either taken the equal amount of time you take every other day or taken longer than usual. In fact, there have also been times when I felt that I’ve been inside the bathroom for hours but after coming out I found that it had only been 15 minutes. Fuck, how? Time must flow differently inside the bathrooms. Why? Because the bathroom is not in this dimension.

§  Even temperature is not the same inside the bathrooms compared to that of the other rooms. It is either colder or hotter, but never the same. Surely, temperature fluctuation is obvious when we are talking about a dimension that is separate from ours.

§  Talking about temperature, have you noticed that sometimes the mirrors inside the bathrooms fog up even when you didn’t use hot water? Even water evaporation is not normal in the bathrooms.

§  Talking about mirrors, has it ever not happened that you enter the bathroom, only have a partial look at the mirror while you go directly to do your job and while doing your job felt that the partial view wasn’t exactly usual? Or that you have looked into the bathroom mirror and felt that someone else is looking at you through your eyes? Or, when you rub off the said fog, a sense of anxiety hits you as to your being uncertain what you might see when the fog is gone?

§  And talking about water, have you ever been bothered about a water dripping sound that is coming from the bathroom but never found exactly where from? My guess, it is not at all water that is dripping. The sound is actually from this other dimension in which the bathroom is located. Does the sound come from the other beings in that dimension?

§  Surely, communicating on an inter-dimensional level should be difficult. And it is quite difficult to communicate with someone who’s inside the bathroom and vice-versa. We always have to shout in order to make our words travel from outside the bathroom to the inside, to be precise, to a different dimension. It is the same case when trying to do it from the inside. The strain on our voices can even be fatal. You never know.

§  I’m not sure what kind of energy passes through this bathroom-dimension, but I know that this energy brings in the urge to sing. People who can’t be made to sing even with a guillotine over their necks tend to sing inside the bathrooms. If you ask them what’s the reason behind this, they can’t say. Because this urge is imposed and the singing takes place unintentionally. There are even cases where people don’t even remember singing inside the bathrooms after they come outside. However, this energy doesn’t work on everybody, for example me.

§  Speaking of singing, the energy inside the bathrooms also aids in our thought processes. Esp. when we are squatting/sitting comfortably while answering nature’s calls. No matter what kind of matter it is, once inside the bathroom our neurons start sending currents automatically and thus we are able to think about the most critical and life-threatening matters more clearly than ever.  Ever heard the story of EUREKA?

§  Every time you open the bathroom door, don’t you feel a gust of wind, though very light, blow over you? This gust of wind is a very common thing when traveling inter-dimensionally.

§  Finally, this dimension is safe from all kinds of harm that our regular dimension offers. Why do you think people tend to run to the bathroom when a serial killer is on loose in the house? Now, some may say it is because of the sudden urge to take a shit in such times of crisis. But then, what do you think causes this urge? Which also means that this other dimension can affect us even when we are not inside it. Moreover, we never fear that the ceiling would collapse upon us while we are in the most vulnerable state inside our bathrooms. The force of the sense of safety is strong.

        Now comes the topic of how did that connection between dimensions take place. Who/what is responsible and is it really a good thing? I’ve some theories on this matter.

§  First of all, the primary gateway to go in and out of this other dimension is through the bathroom door. The secondary gateway is through the window, which in our country is normally inaccessible.

§  So, who created this gateway? My theory is that it is created by the builders of the building. It is possible that they have a secret organization where they impart and pass on this knowledge from one builder to other, and only a few builders get to have this knowledge. Obviously, they are sworn to secrecy so they never tell others about it, esp. the people for whom they are creating the gateway in the first place. It also makes me wonder that what else they are capable of doing through this second dimension. Damn it, they are probably Freemasons. Why didn’t this occur to me before? Freemasons have always been capable to undertaking impossible, out-of-this-world feats. Who knows what else they have under their sleeves.

§  Now, if they are not Freemasons, they must have some kind of superpower in order to be able to access this separate dimension. Or maybe, they are from that dimension. That would mean they are actually aliens and not human at all. Shit.

§  But if, somehow, the builders are innocent of this, it must be so that the gateway gets created all by itself. They think of making a bathroom, they try to find space for it and voila! There’s your bathroom. So, probably the dimension itself is conscious. If not, there must be other beings (said aliens) that make this happen without the knowledge of the builders. But why? And am I under any risk since I’ve uncovered this secret? Hell, for the first time in my life I’m afraid of going to the bathroom.

§  If not the aliens or Freemasons, it must be the people who manufacture the particular kinds of bathroom doors. In this case, this inter-dimensional gateway only to came to use through the manufacture of these doors. And so, this gateway didn’t exist in the old times as the doors were made individually by the carpenters.

        I think the Freemason theory is more possible and plausible. Plus, it feels good to think while you are releasing your undigested food into the chasm of no return that the space surrounding you is not only from a different dimension but also one that has been pulled in by the Freemasons.

Languid

What's the fun in waking up,

I am yawning right now

I would like to go to sleep sometime soon.

Since when,

I can't exactly remember,

I am having a much harder time waking up.

It doesn't matter when I go to sleep at night,

My days nowadays only begin at 10.

Somedays even much later.

I read once somewhere

Someone calculated the extra minutes he slept everyday

And found out when he was going to die.

I don't how to do either of the two,

But I know I'm going to wake up late tomorrow.

It feels good to sleep more and more,

But it comes with a feeling of depression,

And with one that of hopelessness.

I am feeling them now in fact

I feel so sleepy I can hardly think of a word to write.

Funny, I actually fell asleep while writing this

These lines you now read

Are from two days past the night I began writing this.

It seems, if anybody should ever think of

Taking upon the ponderous job of writing my biography

They would find hardly anything significant to put together.

And after they have completed composing it

All it would contain are these invigorating words:

All he did was sleep

Sleep, and sleep, and sleep and zzzzzz.

The Rain In The Cloud

         Red. Yes, that’s the color he sees everywhere.

       He sees it when he wakes up. The color red first appears on his eyelids. This is the moment when his eyes are still closed. Even before he realizes that he is awake, he sees his red, warm eyelids. And when he opens them, still not realizing that he’s awake, or going to be awake, he sees the world spreading around him in full blooming red.

       Earlier, he used to think that the red began from his red eyes. And from his eyes, that red radiated into the world. But now he knows that it’s not that complicated. The red is simply everywhere. It is omnipresence.

       Upon waking up, he sometimes looks at the windows. There are five – all red French windows. Some mornings, he finds them all open, and through them red morning breeze pours into the room. And on other, more frequent, occasions, he looks at the red ceiling, which requires no effort. Today, when he woke up, he looked at the ceiling. He thought it was wet. It must be due to the hard red rainfall last night. The red rainwater sipped into the ceiling and turned it wet and muddy. On some places of the ceiling, there are still red puddles that are slowly threatening to drip and wet his bed. Maybe, the bed is already wet now. Since he is outside now, sitting on the porch and looking out into the red grass fields, he is not giving his bed any thought. Throughout the grass fields, little red flowers have blossomed. Some of them are shining lazily in the red sunlight. While looking at those flowers, he sips from his red cup. The red liquid goes slowly down his esophagus. On the way to his stomach, the liquid evaporates bit by bit. The vapors come out of his throat while more of that red liquid skids inside. Some of that vapor settles on his tongue, being soaked into the saliva. And the rest simply comes out and goes back into the cup. As a result, finishing a cup takes long hours. But he is okay with that. He has got habituated with this routine. In fact, the longer it takes to finish all the liquid in the cup, the better he considers his mornings. How today’s morning is going to be is yet to be known.

       When he finishes drinking the liquid, taking less time than yesterday, he stands up. He has started to feel the liquid spread through his system. And that must be turning his gut red all over again. He needs to take a stroll now. He stands on the edge of the red porch and then jumps down into the red grass fields. It takes exactly 43 seconds for his feet to touch the grass down below. Once he gets back his balance, he notices that he has squashed some of the red flowers. He shrugs and starts walking. He doesn’t care where he steps. He just walks. Until evening starts to set in and the sun vanishes behind the red horizon, he just walks.

       Night takes a little longer to appear today. He notices this anomaly, but decides to ignore the matter. And when night has fully spread throughout, he starts looking for his home again. The red home appears some yards behind him and once he sees it, he goes inside.

       During the nighttime, the omnipresent red takes a lighter shade. It still remains darker in some places though. For example, under his bed and the last page of the book he read last.

        He doesn’t have to look at those places to know that. He knew it the moment he entered his room. Pale red light is afloat in every corner. Even his skin is losing its color, turning slowly and slowly into an unknown shade of red. This is nothing new. His skin takes a different shade of red every time he goes to sleep and a different one the moment he wakes up. His skin is just as aware as he is. It is time.

       He picks up the book lying open, face down on the bed. The pages have soaked the red from the bedspread, which is bad. Now the pages and the letters are of the same shade of red and so he can’t read a single word. With a sigh, he closes the book and slides it under the bed. Under the bed, the book disappears into the still darker red – a place best known for forgotten things.

       He takes off his shirt, which is as pale as the red in the room. He smooths the crevices on his chest, and by doing so he releases a different shade of red – reminiscent of the book that is now lost under the bed. That red tries to fight the red of his skin, it almost wins, he hears applauds from under his bed, looks down at this feet – a different shade of red now. Just as the applaud ends, his skin takes over and gets back to the shade of red it previously was.

       With another, redder sigh, he lies down on the bed on his back. Now it’s the bedspread’s turn to try to change the red of his skin. Until his skin wins, again, he is unable to rest. The thing they don’t understand is that, the more a red is connected to a red beating heart the stronger it is, regardless of its shade.

       He turns on his side, looks at the red wind-charms tinkling a red tune in the red breeze filling the red night. The tune is soothing in a way that it makes him remember the red, little flowers he saw in the morning. The flowers are gone now, now replaced by blood red buds. Morning will set them free, once again.

       He tries to remember something that he promised not to forget. But what is it? All that pops up in his mind is a red star – the most beautiful star he has ever seen. Its red has a hypnotic effect on him, and he falls asleep. In his dream, he wakes up in a red room, booming with red sunlight.