Peacock Unleashed

… guess I did fly in your face. Step on a few toes. Ruffle a few feathers. Now, the object of my design was merely to get you to listen. The abject however, begs to question our affects.

Our voices are only as loud as the ears that are open.

A love story

Her labors of love fruition when her child stretches kicking in her womb. As she cradles her child in her gentle breeze, the child rocks in her whistling lullaby. Her eyes cloud as she lovingly kisses each petal to open; each petal stretching as if yawning from an awakening, birthing sleep. Then,

Bloom!

Each petal beams a lip of succulent, crimson red; Newborn and borne with sweet nectar to make her mother proud. Her mother caresses her rose with drops of fresh love, while her child effortlessly flirts in each beautiful sun kiss. Together they dance both mother and child, their breaths’ sweetening the innocence all around. Yet gentle still, her in her caress, for the thorns show her mature cloaking from any careless plucking.  But alas, it does not last. For to the mother’s anguish, her labor of love then wilts, wanes, and gasps in suffocation, chokes, then perishes to its demise whilst the mother aghast on, a helpless spectator to the death of her innocent child. Despaired, she cries foul, wails her tears, and strikes her thunder with bolting rage.

My child! My child!

Who might that thief be, who creeps their way in and taints her womb; she bewilders, as she withers in despair and curses her murderous breath that would poison her own child. Anguishing, she then veils her mourning in darkness, for now, her child will no longer suckle in her bosom. As she buries her child within herself, she hopes one day, her child will grow back in her again. With remorse gripping, she thinks to herself…

… Never mind …

… For tomorrow …

… I’ll come for yours.

Medusa.

Half the time the truth hits the spot, the rest of the time, it splatters everywhere else. When it does hit the spot, it’s like a raw nerve’s been pulled. you rather not believe it, and instead drowns the YOU voices out to keep it safe. When enough YOU are made liars, then you creates this reality for us to live in.  Next thing you know, everything’s political.

Doctor. Doctor. Doctor!

Spin!

you would do everything from you becoming YOU, because you as you, makes you everything it needs to becoming the bigger you among the you. Then, you becomes this You that’s got us doing everything it needs.

One drop of blood, and now You, is a tiger. Next thing you know, you and it — are us!

Now,

you’re negotiating with the devil you helped create. you can’t blame it!

It’s you !

you standing on the edge yet …

… then, you’re taking up too much room!

Just thinking …

…   .

… are not who you think you are; for you are only you, as you, has not realized YOU.

you, is I and you, but,

YOU is US, not, us, but US.

When you understand YOU,

And you talk as YOU,

Then YOU becomes US.

US, is YOU, whereas you is still us.

Terror

When terror hits you, it’s not the weapon that destroys, that destructs, but what destroys, is your awareness just before. It’s a precursor to an inevitable pain that follows. You have a choice, to fight or flight, as does IT, but for IT, IT loses, for IT walks in the shadow of you and us.

Like the cetaceans, that are trained to turn tricks in the name of science, is not going to ask you what it should do next. It is IT, and you are you, therefore, IT is there.

But,

if you were YOU, then, IT would exist where IT wants to, and YOU would rely on what YOU have to.

IT, is the same as the fins that heap in mountains; when its carcasses sink deep and its eyes scream blood; Or, like being force-fed because your bodily organs are deemed more palatable if done so; Or, you, define its bile to be valuable.

Not YOU, but, you.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

IT, is the tiger that hears the clang of the metal door shut slammed; turns, and looks at you, not YOU, but you, and bewilders with fanged protest for disengaging it from its home. It has done nothing wrong!

Didn’t murder,

Didn’t steal,

Didn’t rape,

Didn’t evade taxes. But,

Arrested.

We arrest ourselves into solitary confinement of you, instead of YOU.

All of you, but not enough of YOU; to understand why we should or should not.

Now, let’s be very clear, this is not about you. This is about YOU.

you should not ask the first you to stop, because you does not like you, if you is to stop, YOU needs to ask you, then you may stop. If you becomes YOU, then you would stop.

If the first you, tells the second you, to tell the third you; the third you is only ever as good as the first you. Then, you will become us, then we’re all…

…. effectively — scr***d!

Collective Insecurity.

Again, this was never about you. you can be you, if you can understand, but for you to be, then you needs to become YOU. When you and us become YOU and US, then IT would exist and live the way IT would. But,

Money.

YOU should always precede you, and US should always precede us.

If you or us were to precede YOU or US, then YOU or US will not manifest.

you will always blame you, and you will never become US, but always remain as us.

Again, we would, effectively — be scr***d.

Survival depends on our inherent you becoming the encompassing YOU. So,

If you took thy veil off,

Shed thy skin, as a snake would; then light, would shine for what is true.

Just thinking, but then again…

…you need light to see color for its different hues…

… if not, take your trash with you on your way out.

…a blade of grass cuts a drop of water; it graduates the droplets to caress itself.

IT does, not consciously, it just is.

It is Being — A phenomenon in all its simplicity.

Being, therefore, IT exists.

We are conscious, therefore, we realize.

This consciousness brings forth our questions, our answers. It creates our waking moments, and these waking moments chart our timeline.

Our time

Your time

His time

Her time

ITs time

It is every particle in an atom.

It is Being, and it is conscious.

Time, therefore, is a creation of our own consciousness.

We are conscious, therefore, there is time.

We are aware, we realize, so, we’ve defined it.

Our actions become a manifestation of our consciousness, for we can only act when we are conscious.

We are conscious; therefore, we have a conscience.

To ask our questions,

To answer our questions,

To do the right thing,

To do the wrong thing,

To walk the talk,

To talk the walk.

But…

…how is it that IT that does not talk, is BEING, without the consciousness. That IT, knows not, how to define time, still exists anyway.

IT still knows to go from Spring to Summer.

IT still knows to rain on our parades.

IT still knows which food to eat.

We, on the other hand, have to look at our clocks!

We, who only ARE when we are conscious, have around us IT that is BEING without the consciousness.

IT exists without needing to know time, but we exist, not, if we no longer are conscious of time.

Therefore, are we more conscious when we are awake, or, are we more conscious when we are asleep?

Have we overestimated our intelligence, or underestimated theirs?

Just thinking, but then again…

… I don’t look good in white.

World War III – The Finale Cont’d

“Come on, Maya, stay with us!” Dr Ren was frantic, to date she has not lost a patient and she was not planning to do so today. “I need the paddles quick!” Charge! Clear! Thump! “Again!” Thump! Maya raised and thumped on her operation bed while the ECG graph rose and fell between soft, struggling beeps and straight lines screaming help. The desperate anticipation and anxiety trickling off Dr Ren’s face necessitating the attendant to replenish again with a fresh, dry cloth. And then suddenly, the stale air of anxiety breaks when the screeching beeps liven into more erratic, hopeful bursts that eventually console to show a rhythmic heart indicating a returning, steadying life.  “She’s stabilizing! Oh dear God, thank you.” Dr Ren collapses into her seat to catch a moment of life back into herself while she murmurs well done to the others and raises her thumb to congratulate louder. Her eyes are fluttering, she’s waking. “Maya, can you hear us?”

Maya softly lifts her heavy eyelids to catch blurry images of bodies and eyes’ looking at her then shut down and safely drifts off. She shifts between conscious and unconscious and slowly plies her eyes open again to catch mouths covered in green masks, heads covered, and long wiry, tubes dangling all around her. She can hear and smell her clinical, sterile environment but could not synthesize why she was there. Maya purses an attempted sound and then manages a whisper of croaky … “why?” All Maya could hear were garbled, gobbled words that she collapsed after a punch in the face and crashed down — thudding. Dr Ren steps out and addresses the police who were anxiously waiting to hear that their witness would be fine. “Thanks Dr Ren. Look after her, we’ve finally got the guy and she’ll be the one who puts him away. Look out for strangers about as well; I hear she’s got some shady characters seething to take her down.” Few short words later, the police leave to return later when recovery and clarity was available. “Find him”, Maya whispers. Dr Ren shuttles over to Maya and gently caresses her forehead and reassures Maya that the police have got the guy and everything will be fine. “Give her a small dose and let her sleep for a while”, Dr Ren instructs the nurse. Maya softly blinks herself to unconsciousness while she purses another whisper to herself – “I got you…finally.” A tear of joy trickles down her cheek as she drifts off into blissfulness.

***

“I got you, finally.” Sharky Jr revels as he sinks his jaws deeper into the thigh of his writhing victim and drags him deeper into the ocean while panicking surfers and swimmers scream out of the ocean. “Arrgh! Get out! Get out! It’s a shark!” Sharky Jr shows no mercy; it’s almost as if all these years of pent up emotions were unleashing themselves on the human species that subjugated and annihilated his fellow mates. For General Humpback, this virtual rape was too much and he signals declaring it enough and monitors to see if Sharky Jr follows his tutelage or continues vigilante. This was the ultimate test; will Sharky Jr let his victim go or will the taste of human blood be too enticing that he demonizes into a species devoid of all emotions? Will better judgment triumph in the face of desire? For at this moment, General Humpback worries that Sharky Jr was dealing dangerously with the hands of both good and evil. Thankfully he shows redemption, but it was becoming apparent though; Sharky Jr was not intoxicated with human blood but was instead displaying seething anger, revenge, and hate almost. This frightening resemblance in his eyes mirrors those of the hunters’ from whom General Humpback and his school artfully dodge every year. Instinctively, he and his school may prime their navigation through charted waters, but yet fall prey to the frightening, maniacal hysteria and obsession that possess these hunters, threatening and driving several of their species to extinction, ripping their families apart. This same hate, disregard, callousness and parochial outlook that has caused the death of Dolphus’s family and several others, has been witnessed and buried several times over by General Humpback, Octopi and Sharky in their lifetime, and now its their children’s turn. It was thus very concerning for General Humpback that Sharky Jr was displaying this juxtaposition, something that Octopi lured to in his scroll to him. Albeit slightly reassured that Sharky Jr still shows stately qualities, and passes the test to not tip the delicate balance set forth by nature, it still heavily weighed on General Humpback that this manifestation of unresolved conflict could potentially demonize him into a dictator.

Sharky Jr does let his victim go. His penetrating glare into his victim’s eyes would scar an indelible impression for life. The victim, despite destitute, throbbing in pain, and yelling for help will still have a story bestowed upon them to be told and re-told with whatever outcome for decades to come.

Sharky Jr dishes one more defiant glare at his victim; almost as if to burn a warning into his human representative that he was the winner at the table, and that Aquatica was here to stay. He calmly glides a short distance to General Humpback and together they disappear back home to Aquatica. They arrive to open arms, pomp and celebration to mark victory. This war was finally over.

THE END

World War III – The Finale Cont’d

Inside the camp there was taunting and mocking. The hero of the moment was no longer to be. Though she was selected to play messenger for the historical scroll, Box Jellyfish was never popular. Forever taunted for not having a brain, it was clear however, that despite the proclaimed lack of by the rejected, it was her intuition that proved far more valuable to Octopi. Box Jellyfish delivered as he knew she would, and Octopi read General Humpback’s scroll in reply. Once again, she bravely shrugged off what was evidently a jealous reaction and bloomed to her favorite abyss to seek solace. Box Jellyfish drew comfort in her strength for she knew she had etched her place in history. And although The Medal of Honor to be bestowed after the war would be testament, she still wanted her own testimony, so she perches herself down to ink on her usual coral.

***

The bees swarm just outside the infirmary for that was where creatures were taken to either be disposed off or healed back to live the rest of their lives as destitute in their displays. Port Pacifico workers, already short handed by colleagues still away with dengue fever, chose night time to move the mighty shark. Little did they know however, that their enemies will be far more alert and aware than them.

In the background, Octopi Jr waits obscurely in the calm ocean with just a few soldiers from Platoon Unit IV. The rest of the army was just patience for execution would mould perfectly with the natural order of things.

They all stood vigilant for they knew it was just a slip, that quick transfer from one container to another across the water. And there it was, the sloppy exchange across, five workers instead of eight, the cooler night air comforting but the spotlights blinding at some spots. The blotchy vision with crippled arms stands no chance when avenging bees swarm around you. It was the workers’ life versus the shark’s and the latter’s importance pales in comparison in this instance. Slop! Slip! Splash! Sharky slips off, banging himself on the platform, and then, Crash! thuds into the water. Bleeding, he was now in the ocean, not far to be re-captured again, but too instinctive to swiftly glide out into the vast ocean. He could smell Octopi Jr and his platoon. Their union was indescribable. Octopi Jr was three weeks old when they last met. “My boy, how you’ve grown, and a fine young species you are. How is Octopi? Sharky Jr? Where is he?” Sharky looks around elated but perplexed. “Dad’s sent him down with General Humpback. He’s been ordered to do something else.” For some reason, Sharky knew what it could be. He knew his old friend too well, and believed his judgment to always be right. Smirking with satisfaction he snuggles Octopi Jr, commanding all to return home. He was free now, and the Commander-In-Chief he had to continue being.

World War III – The Finale

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ready? Get set, Go! After much Err! Ahh! and Oh…Oh…Awhh! The crowd cheers, Mozzie! Mozzie! Mozzie!  He wins once again. The reigning champion, three years in a row now, he gets to keep his featherweight Wing Wrestling belt all over again. His shiny stinger flashes to the crowd while he flaps his wings fiercely with pride, adjusts his belt proudly and looks over at Stripes. Poor Stripes, he was buzzing and humming in the corner, fluffing his yellow and black stripes and tendering his wing with sticky honey. He gives Mozzie a cursory look and murmurs, you cheated, Prick! I’ll get you back, you watch… jjjust watch! Mozzie smirking replies, Hehehe…sore loser! Better luck for next year, aye!

It was getting late. The crowd dispersed and Mozzie and Stripes had to be at the checkpoint pronto; they’re boss was waiting. Arch enemies they were on-ring but off-ring they were partners-in-crime, and partners-in-crime they were this time all right. The highlights of their careers sealed it — Operation Code Jailbreak it was called. History was in the making.

They arrive at the checkpoint to see Soldier Ant waiting, his feelers akimbo. He looks squarely but attentively while Chief Worker Ant communicates the codes in the scroll to him.  Moon Jellyfish delivered it to the usual post, and the ever industrious working ants picked it up even though it was a much larger parcel than their laboriously used to.  Instinctively, they signaled their pheromones feeler to feeler and arrived at the checkpoint on schedule. Their natural order of working as a team proved successful once again, deservingly according them one of the oldest invaders and colonizers still valuably existing on earth.

Soldier Ant: It looks like alls in place, what’s the update on your side?

Mozzie: Well, for my part – Mission accomplished, happy to report. Pacifico Tank workers ain’t feeling too good the last I checked. Three of them looked green after I left and I haven’t seen them back at work since.

Stripes and he exchange the familiar sinister look, each one knowing exactly what the other meant.

Stripes: And I got the family covered right where they need to be. They found one helluvacrack where it all takes place! Air-conditioners flapped on, it’s vigilance in comfort. One slip and that’s it! Booyah!

Soldier Ant seemed satisfied with their execution. The creatures of the sky have hardly disappointed and the plan was well in place. Octopi was a sheer genius. The Chief Minister knew that the only way to accomplish victory would be to crack from within the walls. Soldier Ant calls on Chief Worker Ant to give them both an update. Mozzie and Stripes fly away to their nests, chuckling meanwhile at what the worker ants have been up to.

***

Workers at Pacifico Tank were scrambling about to get their work done. The recent outbreak of dengue fever consumed too many casualties. The remaining were stressed, overworked and annoyed and were glad to complete what was needed although not necessarily correctly. The bees meanwhile, stayed ever close by, vigilantly monitoring every one of their moves. They knew an accident was waiting to happen and they were standing by to cease every opportunity.

The other workers were examining Sharky’s tank. The occasional creaks aroused suspicion eventually revealing a visible crack. An extraordinary trail of ant gnawing revealed a marathon effort scurried by these unsuspecting tiniest of all creatures. Gone undetected to the human eye, they managed to gnaw jeopardy into a massive tank with a strategic hairline. Only a matter of time and the tank will explode, spilling every bit of its content through its sheer force of pressure. The majestic shark had to be moved.

The day had arrived and just as Pacifico tank workers were preparing for this major event, the creatures of the sky were preparing for their very own onslaught.