This is a novel planked in a universe that occupied our orbital space before it painted its own doom. The murder of the king/president of that world triggers a chain of events that unfold, to arc the doom hammer. The saga of a disgusted detective for whom the wheels turn to make him a man destined to garb the clothes of a .......... Read more to know more.


17. A catastrophy


The sparks flew out, the final confrontation of a world time started chiming. In what was a battle of wills, flesh had no cards to play. One of the two was staking his anger; he was pit bulling everything that mattered in his life. This could be a mattress that could cushion his success could he just reeve the soul off this word. The other was staking nothing because he had nothing to lose and nothing to gain. His life had been a turgid trumpet call of the losers, now he was navigating and steering to his winning post, where he would live a grim reaper and no one would swivel him to succeed.

Eschewing this well mounded fight would have meant a tumble for the world. It would have meant a reel of possibilities run out just because anger had not foddered cowardice even when time stinted its careening textures. The world seemed black and white for Zeus, this was bliss for him. He was fighting just because he knew the final lash of originality in this world would blossom individuality in him. He had been planted with the truth he had been evading. The truth that it was the heart that was the god and the mind that was the temple that enshrined it, and the vice versa propagation of truth was just distraught, fabricated, coated version of the truth.

The introverted inverted cousin of luxury had finally surfaced, and during it glinted in his direction, Zeus realized that always the buried bore more sequences of truth than the other reckoned it did. The monopoly of power, when it had fallen to lethargy had mechanized and had hardwired the human minds in a way so as to pave way through watching. People followed the throng and talent faded in the surface, when ingenuity lost to the crowd, the riveting faucet of difference was drowned in a sea of fame tainted wolves.

As simple and impertinent to the subject at hand, Zeus felt that the end was the only moment when a man knew that his life could have been. These differing designs of the undulating wave of life that stumbled at every turn was just one colossal piece of fabric, segregated by a thousand textures. Yet there being pinioned and pummeled to the floor, Zeus heard a whisper that told him his job was done. The lament of his life draped in failure was just a test apprenticed to the various tests of the brain. That cerebral chunk of flesh so precious that the voice of gods confined to the heart was just a bellow in a market brimmed with sounds akin.

Blood tickled him and his life of mockery would end soon. Zeus never cared about this large archipelago where a single mischance would mean a visit down the abyss. The torment was finally running towards the gate, the threshold of enlightenment was just a few steps away, when the materialistic condor of life perturbed into his insight of gods.

Hades was screaming at him, profanities that had been eased into his soul a thousand times. In miracles Zeus never believed and none did happen to change his view of them, his sight was still with him, his consciousness just rocking on death, there was no blood left to suck out of him. Zeus lay in the ruthless room of death, the panel of destruction before him. There bombarding him with rims of insults spiked with reality in them. Zeus was deaf at least to the affront as his mind had started sorting out the possibilities of saving the world.

Zeus’s heart irked him to die; it told him that all miseries were forked from a single factor. It told him that his status of a martyr was inked the moment he embarked on this spy collage of stupendous occurrings. But the janitor of truth in heart was the same thing that led to the contradictions within. There, in the deepest layers of heart, derived from some of the profane lecture of Hades, a question stuck out. Zeus was one soul that had contrived paradise in hell, but out there in the battlefield of lives, there were a thousand deprived. Those who didn’t need to solidify their mental dignity, those who still had steel in their minds.

  The caricature of their departure, the proliferation of their unwanted demise, the death of his cast of people who were devoid of success and were still soldering to live. Their situations haunted him, he wanted them to smell the rose in the thorn they were living in, and he wanted them to know that even when the highest of waves crested against them there was a beacon beckoning.

They had to see the light; the spiritual mortification of individuality was the cremation of talent. He wanted them to live; he wanted them to be what he was not. That small candle flamed his clandestine mission, and he for the first time since venturing yonder wanted to succeed to give the failures a chance, he didn’t care if the Queen or the newly elected King died.

He looked at the panel; there the third crystal was ready to be rocketed to space. Two buttons were glowing reddish hue. Incandescent were the words “Alarm” and “Snooze”. Skewering out of the junk of memory were these words. Zeus had heard of them, the latter word had saved him once. In the imagery dimension when he had thrust to ricochet the incoming lightning these two words had engorged the better part of his mind.

To ward off the encroaching doom, Zeus had just to choose. He had to iron out the paradox; he had to act with conviction. All he had to do was lunge and push in the buttons of Fate, one would sway success for Hades and other would mean the caress for Zeus’s heart.

Zeus chose to button “Snooze”, whatever they were, he still owed them and that small window tossed him his decision. He for the first time since being bludgeoned noticed the thrusters. The crystal was exposed to open air, but was placed in the far side of the room, exactly some paces next to the prancing Hades. Grinding behind it and in a position to power it to space was a giant beam of Iron placed horizontally on a raised pad. Zeus reckoned that the narrow podium was movable and now it was directed towards the last portal.

Five paces to the right of them were the buttons Zeus intended to act upon. As Zeus couldn’t grab the crystal and hope to squirm out of the room with Hades in place. Zeus decided that de-energizing the thruster was the only method viable. The territory of Hades’s patrol was confined to the breadth of the thrusters and Zeus noticed that the sun had already licked the horizon.

Actually the sun was accentuating a hot day and a propel now would spell Hades a victory. But Hades was not rolling in on his pedigree; he was not as much as a quick head as the tribals were. Maybe, he was waiting for a call from his employer. Zeus rent out his thinking sensors and did the blind thing he had contemplated upon. He pounced upon the button and in one single motion Zeus punched the “Snooze” button.


And in that moment, Zeus knew his heart had betrayed him, the thruster starter advancing towards the crystal.

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