Two sides, and both right.

Try living the life where you try to think of the other person, the other side, the opposing story... constantly. It's painful. But is it right?

Whether with friends or foes, imagine yourself reasoning for their behavior, attitude and feelings, and more than often above your own. Just because you realize that there are sides,and there are stories, and that the other person is as human as you. He/She deserves as much a chance as you.  I believe , 'empathy' is what its called.

But how much empathy is enough?  And on the expense of sounding selfish and insane, does constant empathy not ruin our own self esteem? As egocentric as this may seem, how do I find logic in losing my self in the process of understanding others. Just how...

Can anyone out there tell  me the exact proportion of using 'I' as well as 'them', and in that maintaining individual sensibilities and the social etiquette necessary to run a better world?

I am living in paradoxes, which life is. But I can't do it. Cause it seems that this very contradiction this universe runs on, disallows it to be followed by men - perhaps only understood.

Baah! How unfair is life.

Hulksville Villain

Chapter 1: Casual killing

Known for its year around cheerful spring-summer weather, it was an awfully dark and gloomy night for Hulksville. Massive grey clouds encircled close to the earth’s skin, engulfing the moon in and out of sight. It felt as though the moon was drowning over and over again, and even though one felt they could reach to touch the protruded tummy of the clouds, against the terror they welcomed, the moon was far from reach and shone merely as an example of what one assumes was a show of tyrannical public punishment. 

Famous for its friendly crowd, functioning institutions and governmental competency, Hulksville was an ideal city of a few thousands. Surrounded by high peaks and low valleys, flowing rivers and evenly spread green pastures, it gave a reflection of a post-card perfect picture. Only today, contrary to its general nature, it was dark from the outside and it was on the inside. On Lane 26, house no. 13, home to Mr. and Mrs. Frank, a monster was to be born. He was going to commit the first true sin the city would suffer greatly from in the future.

It was Saturday, this dark night, and the couple had decided to grant themselves a break and go out on a date leaving their 5 year old son under charge of Melissa, the designated babysitter of the night; and another, very patient guest, but one who they were oblivious to.

Our uninvited guest, apparently a figure of sleek stealth had made way through the garage when the couple was on their way out, and into the house, where he seated himself on the ground in the shadows of the study adjacent to the garage, waiting for the kid to be put to bed, and in no hurry.
At 10 pm, when the parents had been out for some odd 20 minutes and Mel had put James to bed, a black hooded figure entered into the kitchen where she had her face dug into the fridge. Cashing in on the opportunity, the black hood walked swiftly past her into the kitchen closet right next to the sink and crouched to not be seen.

‘James?’ Mel turned looking around and down, ‘are you up, Jammie?’ she asked loudly to reaffirm, but there was nothing and she got back to finding something to eat. He gazed longingly at the babysitter, smirking with an aura of superiority. He had the chance he was longing for. Sliding by the wall to the lounge, taking the knife Mel had put on the counter, he strolled quietly past the fireplace and for a moment there, when his eyes met the fire, his irises reflected those flames, a little too perfectly. His walk reflected unsullied familiarity with the house and could have easily fooled any stranger into taking him as a member of the house.

By the time he reached the end of the lounge, he decided to give the babysitter one more look. From the other door that opened between the lounge and the stairs linking to the first floor, he could see her making a sandwich and swaying to the music that reached her ears through her headphones. At this sight, he couldn’t help but run a finger on the blade of the knife he had now attached to the left side of his pocket.

What seemed like a few seconds of pondering over whatever he was thinking, he started to walk upstairs, taking each step with care. The silence was so deafening that his heartbeat was the only sound clear to his ears.  And with each step he took, his heartbeat grew louder, consuming him and making all blood in his body rush to his face in waves, hitting his flesh hard.

At the head of the stairs, the silence only grew louder and with each pair of heartbeat that gonged, it signified a step forward. Steps he took towards James’ room.

Soon finding himself standing at the door ajar, he took his hood off, revealing a head full of lively brown hair. Pushing the door, he crept in and found Jamie tucked gently in his bed.

‘What an angel’ he thought and closed the door behind his back.

The room was small and had a suppressed strawberry scent to it. It was carpeted blue with a singular window to the left with the view of the backyard. The tiny cupboard to the window’s right had toys stacked on its top, with a reading table right parallel to it. On it was a night lamp that made the room shine with thousands of tiny little stars, and with each rotation the lamp would complete, it would make a little sound, *tik*. The silence made it audible, albeit gently.  It was to the right of the room, where Jamie actually lay secured in the embrace of his blanket.

Smiling, with his head tilted in almost with awe for Jamie, he slowly started moving towards him, making each step more meaningful than his last, all the while, scanning Jamie from head to toe. His breathing grew louder with each step, competing for loudness against his heartbeat and the *tik* the night lamp made every five seconds. The same rush of blood, this time stronger, started hitting the flesh of his face. Even his skull was pumping. Whether he was thrilled or scared was unknown. All was known was he now stood at the side of James’s bed, looking at James with wonderment, and stroking his arm with the tips of his gloved fingers. So gentle was his touch that it failed to even stir Jamie in his sleep.

‘Wakey wakey little one’, said the killer softly, stroking James’ arm a little firmly now.

While the killers’ attempt made James twirl to face him, he was still very much in sleep.  He dragged his finger from the child’s chest, to his chin and shook it a little.

‘Look, who’s here’.

And with some struggle, only a child in deep sleep would portray, James batted his eyes heavily and smiled at the sight of his companion, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Just sending you someplace where you can play forever…’ 

Confused, James did not know what to reply with.

‘I just came here to say goodbye… go to sleep …’ and so James did, instantaneously falling asleep to the lullaby the killer was now singing. The astonishment in the killer’s eyes had gone, and his stare grew but empty. His breathing subdued, the *tik* continued, but his heartbeat mounted simultaneously with the goose bumps on the back of his neck.

The lullaby soon found sleep with James’ little snores dancing off his nose. A full of five minutes must have passed when the killer flexed his muscle, gulping the little saliva that accumulated at the end of his throat and slowly snaked James’ pillow from underneath his head. Puffing it up to even the softness and not once moving his gaze from the child’s face.  


‘I’ll miss you James’


Slowly placing the pillow on James’s head, he soberly climbed the bed and sat on the pillow with his butt on it, opening to keep his feet on both side of James’ torso.*tik* James read struggle started after a few seconds of realization, *tik*, his hands started to claw the killer’s legs and his body jerked. His legs moved frantically, making the bed budge. But how hard can the combined strength of a five year old move the bed? He screamed into the pillow, into nothingness, only drawing more air out which squeezed his chest harder with every try he made. *tik* the killer sat with emptiness in his eyes, staring at the wall in front of him, unaffected by the nudges his body too was receiving.

 James body grew heavy and the intense pumping of blood was the only thing any sense in his body could experience. It was resonating in his entire body. With the energy running out of him and his limbs fidgeting more from the pain than with the effort to fight back, he grew slower and slower.
The killer took his knife out, and wiped the little trickle of sweat that had made its way to his forehead with the pointed edge of the knife, closing his eyes in the process, mumbling something to himself and with little wait, striking it hard and fast to James’s chest. *tik* Ending little James’s little left struggle, and leaving the knife there.