Short Stories

The Hunger – Wolf #1

It was a time when dread has set in so deep, nothing else seemed worthwhile. It seemed like time had stopped and only brick walls all around, stalling any advance. A hunger that had died long ago, had resurfaced, just when all hope for the future he wished for had died.

It was a hunger of desperation, just to stick around and beat the world at it’s own game. The wolf had already lost what he desired most; but that didn’t mean he would give up without a fight. For the wolf, the battle raged as long as one tried, taking time was of no shame but giving up meant he would just prove his naysayers right. Fighting till the last breath, for the sake of changing fate one last time, with all his strength.


And so the cage broke, the wolf smelt blood and ran after it. The brick walls long distant in sight but not in memory, the wolf ran faster with each milestone he crossed. Freedom was at stake, from the dread that captured him and caged his senses. Memories made the wolf run, the scars ran deep and the wolf ran, knowing full well that complacency is what would eventually kill him.

The rain battered the earth like drum beats, playing along an aggressive rhythm. The lightning just made the weather feel a little more authentic. A harsh reality faced the wolf in it’s face; for he never saw the world outside the cage. He did think about the life beyond the brick walls that barred his advance and he honed his skills as much he could. A life which he needed to face and fight for. However, his dream broken quickly by what he thought was fiction. It seemed fate had different things in mind for the young predator, now out for blood.

The wolf however, didn’t dissuade. The cage was his ultimate bane; the dread upon his being keeping him down, – that terrified the wolf more than that of not being able to achieve his dreams. The weather beat him down but he didn’t kneel even once. With the force of battering rams, he went to quench his thirst for blood, drenched and with the weight of the world on his shoulders, he ran. ~


Erratic Scribbles


There are certain quirks of life that no one can really get over. For the greater part of our life, we seem to be after a sort of permanence even with the knowledge, the certainty, that nothing is around forever.

We live our life telling ourselves we’ll grow old with someone, telling ourselves that we’ll achieve our dreams, and telling ourselves, that we’ll be that one person who stands out of the crowd to change the world.

Like an empty canvas, we paint our lives with the stories we deem fit. Somewhere along our journey to achieve what we dream, we get satisfied with what life has to offer rather than to fight for what we aspire.

The distant past seems like yesterday and the most painful memories are the fond ones that remind us that we can’t go back; that in life, we can only move forward. But what do we really sacrifice when we run this race to reach the end of the cave, and for what? By the end of it all, few even remember what they dreamt of and even fewer having truly achieved what they wanted. Too many of us fall into the illusion of wanting what’s on the other side of the field rather making making the most out of what we have around us. Too many aspire to be like their role models than to be a role model.

When the night falls and the day’s changes have finally settled down, why do we still hope for permanence in a world that is ever changing? We wake up the next day and it’s the same thing. We pursue the change we want to bring, forgetting that it’ll fly past us the moment we arrive. In pursuit of it, we forget that it’s an illusion. But when we remember, we stall, because what’s the point of going any further.


As we grow old, maybe it is our definition of permanence that changes overtime. When we start out, permanence is in the future, long away from us, to be achieved in a day when we can reach the top of the fridge without any difficulty. When we can see everyone eye to eye, and stand tall; at equal stature, with those around us.

Then as time breezes by, we seek permanence in our present when we can have none. When we are not in control of ourselves, pushed out the door and into the world with no one to look for help. But we grow accustomed to the rollercoaster that takes place. Within days, we live in highs and lows trying to preserve everything we can perceive and yet, only for all of it to fade as soon as it settles in on our life.

And then we seek permanence in the past, in our past. We read the books we wrote, and study the paintings we painted, irritated with the imperfections surrounding our art, the sole permanence that we seem to have acquired in life. The fond memories turn to stone, thrust into the whirlwind of memories from the past, slowly chipping away and disappearing.


Our desire for perfection in our permanence make us forget that the paintings aren’t complete and the books still mostly unwritten. Our perception of permanence changes in time, as time drags us through regardless of our intentions.

But what if the permanence that we seek were kept in our hands the entire time. Wouldn’t the story we write for ourselves, be for us to define?

Maybe, in pursuit of permanence, at the end of the day, we stop caring. And we replace it with a pursuit to chase change. Change, that will redefine the books we wrote, and the canvases we painted. And in this pursuit, we start running away from light at the end of the cave, and into the dark abyss ready to take on the horrors that we kept at bay and away from the permanence that we sought for.

Maybe, permanence is whatever we define it to be and maybe, we all run after it for the same reason. Maybe, after all of this is over, the permanence we seek will finally arrive and never leave.

But till then, believe it to be the illusion that it is because the permanence we seek doesn’t exist.