Writer or God

Do you ever feel like a single line from one of the novels will have such a lasting impact that all the stuff you read after it is just mediocre in comparison to that solitary profound line. This line is intertwined in your memory so deeply that it may never be forgotten. Whether the writer knows about the magic of this one line or not, does he feel the same way as you do about that line, only the writer knows.
Every great book has it fair share of good lines for which the writer has put an effort and weaved his magic into it. But what makes it special?
The writer who writes the line or the character who speaks it. The writer speaks to the reader through the character he has created but as a reader we connect to the character and more often than not we put ourselves in place of that character. If you look it from a third persons point of view, it would look like writer speaking through the character which has turned out to be the reader or you. One can even say that the reader and the writer are one or the same person.
The writer is like a God who has created the characters and in turn created the disciples or the readers for his story.
That's why every story has an end and it completely depends on the writer/God to give it a happy ending or in some cases even a sad one.

Alive

'Bang' the sound shattered my ear drums.
'Bang' 'Bang' two more shots.
By the time I realized what was happening, it had ended.
All that remained was eerie silence and white noise.
I tried to shout but couldn't my voice.
I opened my eyes to everything white. No other colour except white. It was like all the other colors have been sucked out of their glory and all that remained was white; only white.
As I inhaled it was like the first time my lungs have tasted the oxygen. So fresh and so pure, I was getting high by just breathing.
I was alive for the very first time.
As I tried leaving the bed I felt pretty nimble. It was a different feeling, it felt ethereal.
My senses were hyper sensitive. I could feel the rustle of my clothes as I walked, the twitch of the bones as they bent and even the sound of blood flowing through the vessel's.
As I walked, everything felt altered and for the first time I was closer to reality.
It surely felt lively being dead.

Parallel universe

I think I would envy the life of myself in a parallel universe.
He must be living in the flat with his wife; Maa, Paa and bhai would also be there with him celebrating the festival of lights.
He must be working with that Italian company raking in big bucks which allows him to maintain that lavish lifestyle and social circles.
He may have learnt playing guitar and he plays it to her on rainy days. Maybe he goes to wine tasting with her on weekends or do some charity work or go on long drives in his convertible.
I wonder whether he also thinks about his life in a parallel universe, I know he may not like the decisions I have taken or the life I have chosen but one thing is for certain;
I have lived and loved with all my heart.
I may have faltered a few times but I am still here living and fighting each day, every hour, every minute, every second.

Intruder

Love. Hate. Dreams. Reality.
What's the meaning of all these words in my life?
Whom to love and trust?
Why have I started to hate my life?
What happened to all my dreams?
Is this the reality where I have to suffer everyday?
What have I changed into?
And that too without even trying.
Everyday has become a struggle to find the very reason of my existence.
This is not the person I was before or the person I ever wanted to be. This is not me.
This is not a rant against anyone; this one is for me.
This is me trying to get hold of things.
This is me trying to understand life, this is me trying to be real.
This is me trying to fight off this guy with a facade who has taken over the real me.
Because this all ends.
Now.

The pretender

It used to be so simple back then and I never thought life would be this complicated.
A lot has changed and so have I, but not willingly.
Is it my undoing or has the world moved on, leaving me floating on the strands of time.
For most people, time is said to be the greatest healer but for me it was slowly becoming the greatest aggravator; urging me to change and become someone I was not, someone normal. The deepest loss a person can suffer in this mortal world is losing ones individuality. And all this for whose sake? This societies, which presumes you based on your appearance and wealth rather than your humility and wisdom.
Centuries ago Heraclitus wrote that "change is the only constant", and just look at what I have changed into; another ordinary member of the society, simply a pretender.

Gray?

What is gray?
I binge or I starve.
Sleep like in a coma or have insomniac nights.
Fall in love head over heels or hate passionately.
I don’t know what gray is. I never did.
I believe I am parked diagonally in a parallel universe!