Now some clarifications.
The story WE was an idea of ArviKot. But all the work is mine. Actually only the setting of the story is been inherited.
Its a story I m likin more everyday, its got a non-linear plot, its got an open ending, it was totally spontaneous, its got no dialogues, no heavy words, no runon sentences, crisply written... blah blah I didn't know I was so conceited as publicly promoting myself.
The second is the second best in a race of two. But I think it hasn't got so many symbols which make sense only to me as the first one.
The junta might rue the open-endedness of the stories, that amounts to creative oversight on part of the author, I acknowledge that and will definitely make amends before late.
I am though I won't admit it again a greenhorn but I'll learn my craft soon.

I

I is a subjective concept.
Me is a hazy,shady creature inside you, everyone.
This is a story about me. I.
The man lay dead. A fall from the top of a highrise generally accomplishes that. The force with which you hit the ground, is like running headlong into a speeding train.
I had no reason to do either.
I wasn't the Supreme Emperor of the Universe but then, who was?
When I started donating blood, I was still young. But then, I had been foraging an existence on the streets for almost a week.
Bed, good food and a paycheck ensured that I keep coming back.
I had grown up hating needles, hell everyone does. But now was a different story altogether. I'd be excited, I'd get restless, I would not sleep.
I like saying the word out loud, BLOOD.
To me it is all the power, the life-force. You've got blood you could do anything, if you ain't, well you can meet me.
On days, I could easily make a lot of money from the kin of accident victims. But then there would be days on which business would be nil. It was easy, the best job.
I think of my profession as a necessary evil, not much unlike prostitution.
Of course, I did not give veneral diseases in the bargain.

Life is full of complications, two plus two aren't always four.
Hell they ain't even five, they're a lot more probably.

As I was falling, a thought flashed my mind. If I survived, I could make a lot of money donating blood to me.

US


We're inflated out of lies, it could have been truth ...
I have so few memories about what happened last night. Blurred images, faces twisted beyond recognition.
You want the truth, I'll tell you the truth.
There was none.
Everyone can have perceptual errors. The world sort of dims. Gets hazy. It’s like a waking dream, almost.
No, more like waking from deep slumber. Afterlife.
Faced with such situations people concentrate on the world around them. They have another option.
You can do what I did. Shut everything out. Clean slate, clear conscience.

Look for me under the stone,
Seek for me when you are alone,
Come to me when you're home ...

It all started very normally. Oddly enough though.
It was a dream, which was what it was. This is what I choose to believe.
She was there too. Short hair, the works.
The lamp post. Opaque light, seeing was like wading through a sea of molasses. I chose not to. Why was she there? What had brought us together? Fate, Karma, God, Sun Yat Sen, I really don't know.
Hanging over the precipice, I was awaiting the fall.
A quick clean blow always does the job.

Time mayn't be right,
Though you almost gave me a fright,
Look for me when the stars are bright,
I'll come to you when it’s all light...

Ever been blinded by neon lights or at a disc, found you can see or hear nothing.
A subhuman ritual, that's what it is. Your senses function but you get no sense out of the world.
At times like these there is no you. There is a single entity of masses, swaying to peculiar chants as one. Gyrating, the orgy of bliss.
That's what happens when a thousand strong crowd goes berserk. Reason could be anything, religion, tyranny, communism, socialism, Nazism, environmentism, peace, war.
Even worse.
Nothing.
Like the many headed Hydra. Chop a head, two more grow.
The mob is an organism, capable of its own existence, to the destruction of everything else.
Probably it is the acme of human evolution. Survival of the fittest.
She died in my arms and I in hers, but that didn't come until much later.

ME

Who decides my life for me?
I am a schizophrenic, bipolar, autistic introvert. I have every right to remain so. Or so you would have thought.
But not they.
I, was an anomaly. I was a non-conformist. I was a diseased-pest. I was sick. I was so many things but me.
So they put me where they put you, when you're "sick". Restraints, dog-collars, electric shocks, the works.
Who decided that I needed to be cured? Indeed if there was a cure why would I ever want it?
All I wanted was to be left at my resources. But who gets that in this world?
You'd understand. I had to escape! I could not have been there.
And if my window of opportunity opened when I stabbed the guard, then you have to bear with me.
I wasn't a psychopath, definitely not a blood-lusting killer prowling through the streets.
I needed to rest. The lamp post was convenient.
That's where they found us.

SHE

I almost forgot . We sat there for a long while. Did we talk. No. With my blood-splattered clothes and the bloodied butcher's knife in my hand who would have?
But then we're not Romeo and Juliet. And we definitely weren't immortal.
We were just us.