B is for Stealing

( part one can be read here ) The erratic monsoon swept the continent again. Even so, as rains pound the backs of a weary militia, warriors trod through flood waters to be kings of a territory not their own. It would have been admirable during the days of the war games but this was now real. And for what? LOVE they said. For those in the trenches, running through fires, continental shifts and now the erratic patterns of the monsoon, LOVE seemed too pale a reason to be at war but the pride of The Four demanded the destruction of all that lay around even if they annihilated each other, hollowing out the land they inhabited. Soul remembered when they all sat by the same table and slept under the same stars when they visited each other. She remembered these things when mortar shells exploded in the faintest part of her ears. And it was all Spirit’s fault. He with his righteous banner and loud voice. He called them all wrong. To see Spirit… he honestly thought this was the ...

The churning in my stomach was a pale reflection of the war that continued among my states. Heart vs Mind vs Spirit vs Body. Soul has often considered itself neutral ground accepting whatever philosophy that graced her shores. And for sure, there have been days of due diligence when Soul has tried to reach a peace between The Four warring factions, yet this near-thirty-year civil war continued on with little respite and no possibly permanent end to the inkshed. The actions of Soul were often times not completely without selfish ambition. She had enough situations to overcome within her borders without the constant worry that the views of The Four will spill all over to her land. Her people were already susceptible to the actions of Heart, Mind, Spirit and Body. And why shouldn’t they? They (The Four) may have been at war but they all did live on the one continent. It was hard for Soul, trying to be the peace when all around her borders were fighting compatriots. If someth...

  Now: “I need a favour.” He stayed silent. With these four words this new world had ceased to exist. He had felt the air punched out of him and he was fourteen again. “Tailz? Tailz! You hearing me?”   the voice faded into the past… Then: They say fairy tales weren’t real but here he was, like the miller’s daughter, up all night, sewing with an impossible deadline for the king of drug lords. If he succeeded, he would be paid handsomely; if not, he would surely die. And like the story… he was a girl. Not gay, but a girl since he chose Home Economics instead of brawny woodwork and T.D. And the fools never let him forget it. Fools. They were all spectacularly visionless. It was the truth. Of course the other truth was that it was close to the unholy hour of two and he was still cutting and sewing and ironing logos so as to make his employer’s team, become police and coast guard protectors instead of what they really were… organized. He chu...