A conflict of interest

There was the evening news. Someone had died. It was rousing him the whole night, he could not give a motive towards the murder. He was stumped, he knew. He put out his last cigarette and left the office.

The cold wind blew on his face, as he treaded the streets on that very November. He could not let the thought of the case slip by. But of course, he was too tired, and just wanted to get home. A homeless man came out to him begging for some money. A quarter was handed out. The man then disappeared. There were dogs ransacking the dumpster in search for food. He got to a bend and turned in.

"Bruce, right?" the man in shades asked him. "Yeah." And the man continues, "You know the deal." A swift reply,"A penny for each word, no witnesses." Information was money as it is, and anonymity was gold. "Here it is, he was actually doing some underground deals, and that stupid Dick got greedy and wanted a larger cut. He is dead real alright, and he almost dragged me into the mess as well. But the man you should be going for goes by the name of Big Brad." And as the man in shades said his last word, he slumped to the floor. Big Brad is now dead.

He left the alley and walked on. It may not have been the best of days, and then as he gave a little whine on having to work in this terrible weather, he headed to the crime scene. It was more or less the bloody scene that every provocative murder is made of, shattered glass, battered furniture, drops of blood everywhere. He retraced the steps to where the victim last breathed.

He slowly recalled the deal with the victim, of course, it was simple, everything was swept under the rug. That very scene, a man died. A conflict of interest. He sat back and continually reminisce about that bloody morning. It was dark and it was grim but all it was done beautifully. And as he left that very room, he already knew who the murderer would be, and it was not Bruce.

Ockham's Razor

He stood up after a rest, lesser known to him, he started walking, and found himself in a barren land. The land stretched miles and miles of red dirt, he find himself no where near civilization. The dog which was by him earlier was now nowhere to be found.

He found a rock, solitary in the barren lands. Not knowing where to head next, he sat on the rock while watching his trails in the red dirt disappear as the wind blows. Oddly enough, he did not feel hungry despite being out here for a time that is long enough to starve a man to his bones.

******

He fell asleep for a long time that is not known to him, and as he perceives the sun, obscured by the red dust. The sun is still where it was. At the far end, the moon stood tall. He found himself having no more desires, the fatigue, the hunger, the want for companionship. It all felt foreign. Was he ever there, has he ever possessed these things? Yet, there was nothing else he wanted anymore.

There the dog was, right beside him and as it was, it did not notice him and far from thought, the dog walked past him into the unknown. He followed the dog and as time went on, he felt more and more sluggish. He was having flashes of memories of which he has no recognition of, his thought raced on logic and reality. He had neither in him anymore. The dog was out of sight. It was all dark. He was lost.

******

A burst of light. It penetrated the darkness, he was no longer thinking. He found himself traveling through a tunnel at giddying speeds. The lights extended towards him, drawing him. As he gazed upon the sides, he could see etchings and figures, pictures formed as it travels past him into the blinding light.

That he saw the whole history of humans, the earth, then the universe. God. The surge of knowledge rushed into him as he approached the light. The absolute truth. A singularity. Then, nothingness.

******

He felt as though a million needles were pricking his hands, as he woke up from his nap. He was just a man, ordinary. He did not love nor hate his life, he had nothing to depend on, likewise, nothing that depended on him, he was alone. And a little voice was in his head, it was screaming to detach. And at a certain point somewhere along his life, he detached.

The Breaking of a Break

There wouldn't be much of a story here.

Of the things that happened, and of many that did, and the life changing experiences. A door opened. Many doors were opened.

I have not been updating this blog since, well, my last A levels examinations, a very long hiatus, one that people questioned if the blog has been orphaned. Now here I am, back, fresh from UK just lesser than 2 weeks ago. Nothing spectacular indeed.

I could say that many things have happened and in fact there were, quite a number, but if I had it sorted out, I can't say it was that numerous at all. That little changes that never seemed to surface, until a year later, you come back to what it was a year ago, and find yourself a total stranger to that of the before.

Once again, I am here to stay, this blog, my blog. =)