[Novel] Conundrum - Prologue

I was walking down the dark archways of history and just around the corner, painted with blood and tyranny was a mural of humanity getting slaughtered. Her deep black eyes bore into mine with such intense plead for help, the ground beneath my feet existed no more. I tried to convert the lyrics of cruelty, but to no use – she suffered.

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In the throes of warmth and animosity we find ourselves caught; demons of our own person, in an endless pursuit of the glorified nirvana that obscures the nothingness ahead. But what is nothingness, really? It exists purely in the realm of relativity where there is smoke at a quest to consistently shift and rediscover itself – and solidity is a mere idea. Nothingness exists patiently waiting with an absolute forever hanging down its robe, only when the soul discovers the glittering jubilee of ecstasy, from which it emerges forevermore majestic and consents to the light of eventual bliss. The alarming calm before the storm is a mere reflection of its absence and the direct affirmation of the constant change that takes us from one blinking moment to the next… the next. The ticking clocks and fleeting moments raise in us the reality of it – ecstasy and nothingness. Perhaps given the beautiful ambiguity of the universe and our souls is what keeps us wondering. Perhaps it is the limited reach of the deep black eyes that resulted in the silent last cry… and the bewildering ecstasy of pain to nothingness in those eyes – their turning to stone as if carved with precision by the grandest of all sculptors.

From the ecstasy of life to the nothingness of death.
Red is energy, passion, life. Perhaps it evades nothingness like the plague – or so do I think as the blood rushes out of the quickly paling body of the quiet masochist who became a victim of the fleeting moments, the relativities – from life and ecstasy to nothingness. From red to a sickening gray. Red, then, most definitely evades nothingness, and religiously so. Why shouldn’t it? The relentlessness of red appears to be plausible, for it pours out in an orchestrated symphony down towards earth as nothingness encapsulates each and every doorway to the heart as is gives one feeble push.

The two ends of complete lucidity stand to be the aforementioned predicaments known to mankind – one striving to win over the other, the end ironically plain and predestined. The grey between it remains smoke – adjusting to the forever fleeting moments that we remain entangled in before nothingness. Perhaps if one loses all sense of time and devotes the fleeting moments to the task of learning and befriending the two majestic truths, one may realize their subtle natures hiding behind the two alleged extremes - black and white – life and death. Perhaps the hate residing within us at the brink of our skin is the nothingness we fear outside. Ambition, warmth and empathy are therefore the other side of the mirror – life and ecstasy. Giving birth to the endearing concept of each individual as a whole universe – perhaps this is what the great writers meant. The colossal nothingness and the majestic ecstasy are both reflected within our own flesh and blood. The dark moments when nothingness takes over are perhaps just as fleeting as the bright ones.

But would one relent, if one believes this idea? Would one ever forgive the cruel and unjust that is perhaps merely a result of nothingness taking over – responsible for pulling the trigger?

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This is something I started from the very core of my heart - I don't know where it'll go, but I've got good hopes