Love.

He was lazily eyeing the highway, looking at the wisp of hair caressing her sleepy rounded eyes. He smiles to himself, the number of times she had pushed his hand away affectionately. He slowly turns around to see her mild discomfort, squirming on the seat, and extends his hand to prod her a bit. All hell breaks-

Madness.

The rag picker,eating on the by-lanes together with the armful of beggars and louts, with food that can pass off as garbage is suddenly interested in the incandescence of the only light on the street and the girl underneath. The rag picker, watches the little girl followed by four burly hirsute men, and the girl hastens her pace-

Sacrifice.

The child was never to be. He calls the doctor, eight times. He knows the lines are dead. He knows nobody is going to help. He is not going to stop. He watches the women wipe the sweat off his wife's forehead. She faints. She gains consciousness and screams. She faints again. She cannot go on like this. And then, he hears a shriek-

Betrayal.

Listen, if you are out there, run. Run and hide. They are coming for you. Go you fool. No? What are you? A rebel who wants to get shot? You fool. Your vanity doesn't let you free even when you want to die? Go. Never turn back, and promise me this-you will never, ever come back for anything. There is just nothing here, that can-
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love.

-loose. He wakes up and gasps. He breathes hard, and all of a sudden, a hand touches his shoulder. The same way, a few minutes back, when he almost lost control of everything. Now, the hand. She is here, isn't she? She is here. He is comforted. Morphine acts very quickly. The doctors examine his pulse. Steady. Too bad. His wife looked beautiful even after she had...

madness.

-and makes the mistake of turning back. Now, fear, the one thing that can kill any good plan stalks her together with the other preying creatures. She enters a lane. Its dark. Compound wall. She is scared and looks like the driver who misses the oncoming vehicle on the highway. The only sound from the neighborhood is the muffled scream of a fourteen year old praying to god to kill her every single moment rather than...

sacrifice.

-The bleeding ends. The baby is out. The baby, is numb. Its as if she is dead. She looks beautiful, with her blood soaked body and the big eyes. Yes, she is held upside down. A smack. A shriek. What a lovely sight. Slowly, the mother's legs start to shake violently. Her eyes bulge. She breathes hard, almost like a fourteen year old being raped by...

betrayal.

-save you. The bullet lands right across the temple, and a sputter of blood. This life, ends with no notice. Too bad. He is dead. Like the mother who had to give her life up for her baby. Nothing can stop him from being here now. He is not going to leave this place. This is his fort. Vanity, yes. Vanity...

ps:

#Cloud Atlas is a brilliant book written by David Mitchell that has a lovely interwoven narrative with six nested stories. This is a very cheap illustration of that technique, mainly to show off, but also to let you all know how reading a book could be this different. Do read.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cloud_Atlas_(novel)

#Just like every other idiot, I got carried away by gloom. I promise, I will write a happy one in my next one to make up for this depression.