Pseudo Writer

In the heart of the country, lived a man very insignificant. He is long forgotten by the place, and his house has long been vacant. There are streets he used to pass by, and the people he used to walk past, and the flurry of greetings that he exchanged; all of them, alive in a diary of his past. His days might be dark now, and he might not have enough to feed the keen, but he still feeds the birds as he did, when light was the only thing he had seen. He still walks out, in the first rain, without an umbrella, looking at the sky, and even though his vision is clouded now, his clouds can never hide the clouds that fly. He is still kind with the people, with whom no one else ever tries to be, and still has a heart big enough, to cry for them when there is noone to see. He still trusts people, after all the betrayals, and still gets broken by people under his sight. Maybe he is really stupid to make such mistakes, or maybe faith in comrades lets him sleep at night. ...

Some days, I just walk down the way, and look around the concrete-forests as they say. But what we often forget at times, is that this concrete was incubated from clay. Wet deformed clay that was left behind, withered by a tug of war between cruel and kind, and the only silver lining that we got from it , was the freedom to shape the clay by our mind. And this is why we celebrate this day, so those who freed us have confidence to say, that no matter what set of events may succeed, freedom will always carve its way . Some will find their freedom in the range of their sight, while some will find their freedom in the food they bite. Some will find their freedom in the games they play, while society will find its freedom when people will unite. Some will find their freedom in the little texts they write, while some will find their freedom in flying of a kite. And at the dawn of the day, when society wakes , our freedom will be alive in every fundamental right. But then...

Monster stories have never ceased to amaze me, and not only because they are well written. Whether it's the blood-sucking vampires or Dracula, their king, whether it's the one-eyed cyclopes or the horned minotaur, whether it's the big-footed bigfoot, or the big-toothed werewolf, despite being figments of imagination, they are as well known as dinosaur. So why was this concept introduced in our society? Maybe to scare the children to sleep, or maybe to keep in check, the superstitious heap, or maybe to destroy the solitude of shadowy spaces, or maybe to create stories worthy to keep. Or maybe these stories were diversions, to give monsters, unfathomable identities, so that when we think of monsters, the images in our mind are never-to-be-found entities. Providing us with a sense of security, letting us feel protected, feel presence of light. M aking us forget the reality of our situation, making us overlook the monsters that hide in plain sight. Monsters ...