Naina

Haha, thanks, it just occurred to me. I'm writing a teenage fiction - Naina is a girl with an uncanny ability to see things. I also possess this ability, hence the name. Mike, Anne and Jason are all people who are trying to help, because Naina is marginalised and isolated thanks to her unique blessing and curse. Incidentally, you probably don't remember me, but I was an editor on BS01 like you - KH?

So here I am writing my first entry in a blog. Ever. Seriously, I've never had a blog before. Just wondering what to do with it. Man, the possibilities are endless. I could write reviews of songs I listen to, the books I read, the movies I see... (going to see the Dark Knight Rises tomorrow ) Or then I could mess around and make it a journal for Naina, Anne, Mike, Jason (characters of my story). That'd be fun. Not sure what to do with this, just think I'll do whatever takes my fancy at the moment. Kudos to whoever can guess the reasoning for my blog's name. (PM me if you can. I'd love to hear your theories for why it's "Light and Sight".) My name is KH/Naina. Hoping to see you around, worthy BZPer.

I second that.

Doesn't matter. Once a midget, always a midget.

And he's a midget. 8D

I know the answer. 8D

I apologise for not replying earlier - life's been rather chaotic thanks to senior year and all. :(I'm afraid that now that school's started, I won't be able to participate at all. (Every teacher seems to think that his/her subject is the only one you study.) Thanks for your kind response. I wish I could join but it doesn't seem possible. Sorry.Also, I'm pretty sure that if I did join, I'd wind up having arguments with certain members and quitting in five minutes flat.

I like this. Reads like a thriller and feels like something out of a horror film. It hangs together well and flows smoothly. Nice tight sentence structure, with good economy of words.Only thing, why did Vospula want to leave the village in the first place? Did she think her feeling of claustrophobia more important than security or is she just dumb? :PHope to see some more along this line. (This is going to give me at least two nightmares this week. I hope you're happy. )

Ah, thanks.

Thank you for your kind response. :)What I mean is, I've just started senior year and carry a heavy course load in addition to other activities. The pressure is slack right now because we have exams but will pick up after they finish. Presently, I have time, but in future months, I might vanish.

What if we really want to join but are not sure about whether we have the time?

They're currently suffering from abandonment issues. Swert told me he can hear them crying at night.

Thanks for the review Grant. :)The second half is actually short because it was written for school. (Don't you hate word limits?) I was planning on expanding it actually, but thought, what the heck, and posted it anyway. :PAlso, I kinda wanted to make the ending like an epiphany. You know, sometimes you just get these moments where everything clicks in. (I've had a few moments where I felt able to love everyone.) That's why the story ends there - you don't know if the narrator retains this new perspective or if there's a regression to the previous depression.Please, if you wish, tell me about these hiccups. *produces pen and notepad and listens attentively*

The Final Chronicle By KH A blur of motion before you. A wall of sound crashing incomprehensibly on your ears. A movie flying in front of you, running too fast to catch a single syllable. Then suddenly, it crashes and all turns black.A photo album, filled almost to bursting with family photographs, revelry and joy. You flick through page after page as they fill before you. Then suddenly, you find an incomplete page, an empty story. A teardrop falls, dappling the page.Welcome to my family.Mom and Dad had differences. I always knew that. Everyone did, it seemed. I found that out, over and over. Taunts in playground. Jibes in the cafeteria. All a lifetime away. I knew that Mom and Dad had differences....What I didn’t know was that they had so many differences that they couldn’t stand living together.It was always something small. An argument over whose duty it was to handle housework, every morning when they went to work; an argument over who had to fetch me, starting when I was three (imagine how you’d feel if it seems like your parents would rather leave you behind). I never understood why they had to fight so much. Heck, I don’t fight so much and I’m still just a kid. It seemed like I could take better care of myself than they did of me, what with their continuous fights.I just never knew it could go so far.I’m a smart kid. Everyone says that, whether as praise, taunt or flattery. Everyone in school says it, everyone in the neighbourhood says it. Everyone but my parents. All the smartness in the world couldn’t help me tape my parent’s relationship back together.Like so many colossal chasms, it started out small. A squabble over whether or not to go out for dinner. How it flared into an argument about how my father feels stifled by my mother’s tendency to stay at home, I have no idea. A half-hour that repeats itself in my mind and memory and yet still makes no sense to me.“You don’t care what I want. You never have,” she said in a shaking voice.“I’d say the boot’s on the wrong foot,” he fired back in a vitriolic tone.“Says the one who-”“Stop it! Stop it both of you! I can’t stand this!” (Exit the wounded child who then runs, runs as far away from the house as possible.)And the lights of memory fade to black.I walk down the street now, thinking over a hundred things. As I approach the schoolyard, I see so many friends and none of them mine. No, I’ve had no friends in a while. Only people who pretend to like me then backstab me. That’s what you get for being different and smart at the same time. That’s what children, the vicious creatures they are, do to someone who has problems. I’ve been the prime object of taunts ever since the news of my parents’ breakup went global. Oh, thank you, latest “friend” of mine.I think maybe the best thing for me, would be to disappear. Vanish into the night. Somehow, suicide has never appealed to me, even in the worst of times. Out into the night, with only a rucksack. India’s full of interesting places. I could go on a road trip. See if my parents miss me. Maybe they’ll miss me enough to try once again for my sake. Yeah, good luck with that.Five months laterIt had been three days since we left the base camp. As I trudged forward, my shoes sank into the soft snow. As I stepped forward, I wondered, perhaps for the twentieth time, why I had chosen to come here. What insight had I hoped to gain when I first made the decision, unable to breathe, tense, stifled as I felt I was in the sheltered suburb where I had lived all my life?I reflected on the experiences I had accumulated on this trip along with the weariness in my bones and snow dusted on my shoulders. I shuddered to think of the latest of these: being trapped in a pit fall all night.I had been walking along a mountain range when I was seized with the desire to climb higher than I had ever before. As I stepped forward, eyes on the stars, I suddenly plummeted downward, falling five feet in an instant. A flash of sound caught my ear as I slipped.“Hello?” I called. “Is anyone there? I need help.”A man appeared at the rim of my vision. “Very strange animal this, talking animal.”I stared in stark disbelief. “I’m not an animal, I’m human. I fell in.”“That’s what they all say.”“What?” The word tore itself from my mouth as I felt weak. What lunatic had I encountered, a man who imagined talking animals? (Kindly ignore the months I spent doing that as a child.)“They all say they’re human. Just a ploy.”“Friend, I AM human. How can I prove it?”“Give me some money. Animals don’t carry money.”That would be alright, I thought. Or it would be if I had more than I needed.“I don’t have any money,” I called back.“There! You see, you’re an animal.”I groaned. This was going to be a long night.It took three hours and a hundred rupees to convince that insane man that I was human.For half a dozen years, I’ve been keen on extreme sports. Living on the edge seemed to relieve the inner pain I was forced to conceal: the omnipresent pain of growing up in a broken family. I suppose in a way, that I am trying to feel that I am worth something, that there’s more to life than lost innocence. Perhaps a glimpse of the world from a new perspective is what I need, to revive some zest.Companionable loneliness surrounded me as I scrabbled up another ledge, in what seems like an endless series, just burden to carry. “Why do I even bother?” I muttered, half-expecting the wall face to reply.Its mute acceptance was sufficient, yet from somewhere an answer came, almost physically audible. I scanned the landscape again, trying to perceive more. Then I saw it, a small glimmer of light among clouds, enough to reveal a sparkling panorama, filling everything with beauty and joy. The landscape seemed to gleam, embracing my question and responding with zeal and wonder. A glistening river trickled downstream. A hawk flew north, majestically beating its strong and fierce wings as its call resounded across the land. A flash of light illuminated the new day, the herald of new hope: a sign of eternal optimism for all around. For us lonely wanderers of the night. For me.“So this is what life is!” I whispered. “Would you believe such wonder?”The rock face had no opinion but the sunlight seemed to twinkle at me.-----One day, I was idly thinking about MNOG II. I've always loved the title "The Final Chronicle" and was wondering about what it really meant. Suddenly, the idea behind this story struck me and I began penning down the first paragraph. I later combined it with a short story I had written about a young adult hiking in the mountains, in search of a raison d'etre.Note: Rupee is the currency of India. Rs. 100 is a little under 2 USD, but is enough to buy a meal here.Hope you like it.

The Final Chronicle By KH A blur of motion before you. A wall of sound crashing incomprehensibly on your ears. A movie flying in front of you, soaring too fast to catch a single syllable. Then suddenly, it crashes and all turns black.A photo album, filled almost to bursting with family photographs, revelry and joy. You flick through page after page as they fill before you. Then suddenly, you find an incomplete page, an empty story. A teardrop falls, dappling the page.Welcome to my family.Mom and Dad had differences. I always knew that. Everyone did, it seemed. I found that out, over and over. Taunts in playground. Jibes in the cafeteria. All a lifetime away. I knew that Mom and Dad had differences....What I didn’t know was that they had so many differences that they couldn’t stand living together.It was always something small. An argument over whose duty it was to handle housework, every morning when they went to work; an argument over who had to fetch me, starting when I was three (imagine how you’d feel if it seems like your parents would rather leave you behind). I never understood why they had to fight so much. ######, I don’t fight so much and I’m still just a kid. It seemed like I could take better care of myself than they did of me, what with their continuous fights.I just never knew it could go so far.I’m a smart kid. Everyone says that, whether as praise, taunt or flattery. Everyone in school says it, everyone in the neighbourhood says it. Everyone but my parents. All the smartness in the world couldn’t help me tape my parent’s relationship back together.Like so many colossal chasms, it started out small. A squabble over whether or not to go out for dinner. How it flared into an argument about how my father feels stifled by my mother’s tendency to stay at home, I have no idea. A half-hour that repeats itself in my mind and memory and yet still makes no sense to me.“You don’t care what I want. You never have,” she said in a shaking voice.“I’d say the boot’s on the wrong foot,” he fired back in a vitriolic tone. “Says the one who-”“Stop it! Stop it both of you! I can’t stand this!” (Exit the wounded child who then runs, runs as far away from the house as possible.)And the lights of memory fade to black.I walk down the street now, thinking over a hundred things. As I approach the schoolyard, I see so many friends and none of them mine. No, I’ve had no friends in a while. Only people who pretend to like me then backstab me. That’s what you get for being different and smart at the same time. That’s what children, the vicious creatures they are, do to someone who has problems. I’ve been the prime object of taunts ever since the news of my parents’ breakup went global. Oh, thank you, latest “friend” of mine.I think maybe the best thing for me, would be to disappear. Vanish into the night. Somehow, suicide has never appealed to me, even in the worst of times. Out into the night, with only a rucksack. India’s full of interesting places. I could go on a road trip. See if my parents miss me. Maybe they’ll miss me enough to try once again for my sake. Yeah, good luck with that.Five months laterIt had been three days since we left the base camp. As I trudged forward, my shoes sank into the soft snow. As I stepped forward, I wondered, perhaps for the twentieth time, why I had chosen to come here. What insight had I hoped to gain when I first made the decision, unable to breathe, tense, stifled as I felt I was in the sheltered suburb where I had lived all my life?I reflected on the experiences I had accumulated on this trip along with the weariness in my bones and snow dusted on my shoulders. I shuddered to think of the latest of these: being trapped in a pit fall all night.I had been walking along a mountain range when I was seized with the desire to climb higher than I had ever before. As I stepped forward, eyes on the stars, I suddenly plummeted downward, falling five feet in an instant. A flash of sound caught my ear as I slipped.“Hello?” I called. “Is anyone there? I need help.”A man appeared at the rim of my vision. “Very strange animal this, talking animal.”I stared in stark disbelief. “I’m not an animal, I’m human. I fell in.”“That’s what they all say.”“What?” The word tore itself from my mouth as I felt weak. What lunatic had I encountered, a man who imagined talking animals? (Kindly ignore the months I spent doing that as a child.)“They all say they’re human. Just a ploy.”“Friend, I AM human. How can I prove it?”“Give me some money. Animals don’t carry money.”That would be alright, I thought. Or it would be if I had more than I needed.“I don’t have any money,” I called back.“There! You see, you’re an animal.”I groaned. This was going to be a long night.It took three hours and a hundred rupees to convince that insane man that I was human.For half a dozen years, I’ve been keen on extreme sports. Living on the edge seemed to relieve the inner pain I was forced to conceal: the omnipresent pain of growing up in a broken family. I suppose in a way, that I am trying to feel that I am worth something, that there’s more to life than lost innocence. Perhaps a glimpse of the world from a new perspective is what I need, to revive some zest.Companionable loneliness surrounded me as I scrabbled up another ledge, in what seems like an endless series, just burden to carry. “Why do I even bother?” I muttered, half-expecting the wall face to reply.Its mute acceptance was sufficient, yet from somewhere an answer came, almost physically audible. I scanned the landscape again, trying to perceive more. Then I saw it, a small glimmer of light among clouds, enough to reveal a sparkling panorama, filling everything with beauty and joy. The landscape seemed to gleam, embracing my question and responding with zeal and wonder. A glistening river trickled downstream. A hawk flew north, majestically beating its strong and fierce wings as its call resounded across the land. A flash of light illuminated the new day, the herald of new hope: a sign of eternal optimism for all around. For us lonely wanderers of the night. For me.“So this is what life is!” I whispered. “Would you believe such wonder?”The rock face had no opinion but the sunlight seemed to twinkle at me.-----One day, I was idly thinking about MNOG II. I've always loved the title "The Final Chronicle" and was wondering about what it really meant. Suddenly, the idea behind this story struck me and I began penning down the first paragraph. I later combined it with a short story I had written about a young adult hiking in the mountains, in search of a raison d'etre.Hope you like it.