An incomplete story

Curiosity is a curious boon to mankind, I thought, as, by a happy coincidence, I stepped inside you-know-where to respond the call of nature when I found a puny little ant struggling against the gravity on top of the acclivity that led to the obvious death, which may it know or know not but was immensely desperate to avoid the fate that led to its inexistence; curious, very curious I thought, a strange contemplation of the death that chose to surprise – the ultimate truth defined so miserably as the end of life subsequently incepting doubts and fears – the default virulence for a weak heart, as difficult to destroy as to choose to live and live happily enough to accept the death, so then as I saw the curiously innocent creature I saw fear of death –a resilient idea for a general perception so heartily welcomed and fed and nurtured, the roots spread hard and wide, watered by fear herself to grow a subtle truth that continues to respire entropic doubt in vulnerable milieu, there, where our souls are doomed to inhale the same, breed in pollution and die in vain, why grieve the obvious, I thought, for the body that houses the indestructible soul is bound to die and a soul, oh so pure, is never harmed, not a bit, by the mightiest of the weapons or darkened by the darkest of the forces; curious, very curious I thought  as I realized with more clarity, what is it to die – an obvious event – the end of a journey taken by the soul for a purpose, which, is like the answer and the question, the more you answer the more you have questions to answer – the more the soul lives the more it has to live to stride along the path of time to accomplish the perpetual journey perhaps to reinstate the god-intention – a supreme quality that god feared to gift, for, being a merciful lord, he mercies even the evil, so, then, he chose to gift ‘karma’, he chose to leave a few things to us and only us, he chose to gift us the freedom to choose, and that, he chose to teach his cubs – he chose to let them earn, he chose to let them hunt the wisdom but not to gift and that, he, and only he, could gift the same but oh my friends, I wish I could tell you how merciful he is, the awe in which he puts the stopper in death when purpose tops his priority, the artistic beauty of the smile that hates to wear off his face, the elegant charm of his majesty veneered with behavioral  sophistication; curious, very curious I thought, as I enjoyed the fierce war between the puny ant and mighty death and though I tried to make myself abundantly clear that the puny thing is certain to die, somewhere in my heart a kind belief existed, a belief, if admitted, I would then be a fool in my own eyes and somehow I managed to defeat the unexpected kindness and enjoy the evil, how cruel I was, as I think now, but as they say, goodness dies not, and as I thought the same, I saw the cohesion gradually weakening and death, the immortal enemy, nearing the victim – totally petrified by now – perhaps it was crying, perhaps it was allowing nostalgia to fill it up, perhaps it was too kind to disrespect the fate which he helplessly assumed and death offers no mercy, which it obviously knew and still it hesitated to move, perhaps it was stupefied by the intensifying tendency, perhaps it had made no anticipation of the fear of that magnitude, and so the so-supposed lamentation made me suddenly sad, the source of which was latent but still man is cruel and so am I - I froze my hands, perhaps being kind was a matter of shame, I may have thought, perhaps helping the puny creature abated my morality, perhaps I was ashamed of helping the creature, existence of which never mattered a bit, and yet how curious is it that I chose to stay and not to kill or to save the same, how curious it is that I chose to be a neutral audience when, being neutral was not my fashion for, neutrality, in my words, is cowardice – the truth that I realized then and yet chose to suppress ….

(real version of this story will be posted later)