letters to aught

to the hitherto killer

receiver's address: the smaller shelter, normally passed over without due attention.

sender's address: in the present.

subject: doubt is a scandalous spark, which with a single brush, can light wildfires in the tranquil dark.

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dear sir,

it was pouring, pouring heavily. the main shelter was jam packed, therefore i ran towards the smaller shelter, the one normally passed over without due attention, where you, a middle-aged man, sat all alone with your head in your hands. i was utterly bored and reckless, which is all an eight year old needs to pull off a good prank on a stranger. childish as it may sound, i walked upto you with no concrete plan but the sheer desire to fool.

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"ahem ahem" i coughed deliberately, earning response.

you looked my way, a screened maniacal glow in your eyes. in a raspy, low, deadly but grieving voice, you said, 

"insane or something?" 

i paid no heed to your remark and started singing:

"humans' blood i boil,
their meat i beat and cook!
every child's nightmare,
fear me, for i'm killer krook!"

you looked at me with what seemed like horror, and just when i thought my prank paid off, you said-

"girl, you know me? who of yours have i killed? friend? family? i'm so sorry. i know i don't deserve forgiveness, report me if you wish."

that's when i took your appearance into consideration- 

lawless, semi-professional suit,
bruised and scarred hands,
a red aura reeking of cold blood,
vicious, scandalous but....grand.

"you're trying to tell me you're a killer?" 

"was. was a killer. killer for a cause. actually, you're right. a killer is a killer, and once a killer, always a killer."

"i mean, if you don't kill now, you're not a killer anymore, right?"

"tell that to my conscience."

i didn't know what conscience was, i assumed it meant fbi or something. so i went on to say-

"you mean the fbi is chasing you?"

"no girl, astonishingly, i was good at my 'art.' the fbi isn't even suspecting me."

"so what's the problem?"

"i had some, issues in life. wanted to die. joined this criminal organisation who offered to take me. did all sorts of preposterous tasks for a year, regretted it later. therefore, i killed the newcomers, who wanted to die, just like i had. i killed them, as surprising as it may sound, with their permission. it saved them, saved them from the eternal forlorn doom i am living in today."

"i don't see that as a problem sir, that makes you a good man, doesn't it?"

"ah girl, you see, that is the problem. it's a war between my conscience and my sanity. 

"for my sanity knows, it was an unsolicited virtue, but murder will remain sinuous forevermore, in my conscience's view. it's my birthday today, another ironic abuse, for in my life, "justice" but prevails mistrue. in conclusion, i realise i'm ranting to an eight year old you, so i must get going, stop voicing my woe, for you and i both know, there's nothing we can do."

you let out a humourless laugh, and just while i pondered upon that, you got up and left.

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today, i relate to each word,
everything you said, is brutally learnt
as i pensively stare at the ruins
of my own childhood, now burnt.

and these ten years taught me,
that doubt is a scandalous spark,
which with a single brush-
can light wildfires in the tranquil dark.

but as cliché as it is, 
you cannot change the past,
all you have is today,
only today that you can recast.

it is today you can pick a new book,
from your ever expansive bookshelf,
i believe it's high time you change
the story you're telling yourself.

for both your sanity and conscience,
are from yesterday - ever evanescent.
why fret over which past would've been moral,
when you can master living in the present. 

17.07.03 - yes, i remember the date. international justice day. your birthday. a day, i hope, you now celebrate heartfully.

yours undoubtedly,
eight(een) year old me.

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