Wherewithal, Bereft

[Fanfiction written for the Peaky Blinders series. Oh, how I've missed novelising.]

''You see, I've got a bright future…"

It was often that Michael Gray would wake up to the sound of his own words ringing in his ears, the irony of his incarceration (for the second time, he'd have to remind himself) not lost upon him.

There was time for painful reflection after all, a bit too much in his opinion, but what else could he do while confined within these dank stone walls?

Reflection that didn't culminate in him retching from shameful remorse at the thought of having taken two lives within a single day. It so remained that he contemplated the possibility of remorse only perfunctorily.

For no one willingly walked into the lair of the Peaky Blinders with any intention of holding onto their moral scruples. Michael knew what he was in for when Tommy took him under his wing, even as his mother held onto the mistaken belief that he was only required to look the other way.

What he hadn't anticipated was their boss turning on them, every single one of them.

And so Michael would pace the length of his sordid cell, bitterly aware of his conversion to the gang's true methodology – a lethal mix of intoxicating power and force – as the realisation that normal, ordinary life wouldn't sate him henceforth began to sink its teeth into his very being.

…

The door to his cell opened, forcing Michael to snap out of his usual reverie, as he heard a brusque command emerge from the shadows followed by the sound of heels clicking against the stone floor, the silhouette of a woman darkening the doorway.

He looked up as Charlotte Murray lifted the veil off her face, offering a strained smile by a way of a greeting. Michael rose to his feet, astonishment etched in his features, and gestured to the mourning attire she was dressed in. "Did someone…?"

Charlotte shook her head. "It's a disguise. Your lot has considerably lost favour with the city."

"It's all part of a plan," he sighed in response, echoing Tommy's words, albeit hollowly. She shook her head yet again, this time in disbelief.

Michael stepped closer, tentatively reaching out to cup her face. "That night…was it taken care of?"

Charlotte momentarily leaned into his touch before pulling back abruptly. "It was taken care of," she affirmed, locking her gaze with his, and he sighed again, conveying the apology he couldn't bring himself to express in words.

She stepped back as he continued to appraise her, murmuring, "Why are you here, Charlotte?"

She looked away, unsure of her answer. It lay somewhere between her impending engagement to that cavalry officer stationed in Ceylon and her increasingly inability to stay away from this dangerous, dangerous man.

A man who both was and wasn't like the bunch of gangsters he called 'family'. A man almost the father of her almost born child.

Instead, she simply said, "You killed a man."

Michael stared back at her with affected equanimity, taking a moment to register that his formal charges listed only Father Hughes, that blasted priest. "I would explain, but it won't matter, would it?"

How was he to explain to her the strangely liberating feeling of hacking away at his childhood abuser's throat, a yet unacknowledged thirst for vengeance fulfilled at last?

His silence spoke for him, and Charlotte could barely hold herself together as she turned around and started to walk away.

Michael didn't try to hold her back, choosing to call after her instead. "But you wanted me to be like them, didn't you?"

She didn't look back, and in a single moment of permitted frustration, he punched the wall before him.

"Well, here I am, a fucking Peaky Blinder."

A Tenuous Quest

I’m back from the dead! Or well, at least to me, it seems like that.

(This is going to be a deviation from my usual to the point posts, so you chose to read the rambling that follows, okay? I hope I make myself clear.)

Let me deal with all that I missed, nevermind the fact that I just barely stumbled out of finishing Boards before rushing to finish registering for CLAT and starting the preparations for cracking the same. (which also reminds me that I just learned how thoroughly I detest paperwork. Add to that how I ironically aim to throw myself into an administrative framework for a career. The Indian Foreign Service, with any luck.)

Ahem, before I completely forget about what I was going to say, back to where I started.

First, thank you all for your good wishes. With God’s grace, I have done well in my examinations. Now, I have been fortunate enough to be awarded by the very astute Supernick  at The Devil’s Workshop. The Overlord, of all things! To the awarder, I cannot thank you enough. I only hope I live up to all the praises.

My only contention is that I’m not eligible to pass on the award, mainly because I haven’t been stalking enough blogs. Scratch that, I haven’t been commenting as often to strike an acquaintance with most bloggers. So, my followers and all other readers, don’t be surprised if I’m suddenly here, there and everywhere. I should know as a writer that any feedback is appreciated and yet as a reader I hesitate to give the same. None of that anymore.  (It will take me sometime to catch up with reading, of course)

There, that’s done, what I had to say has been conveyed. Onto the part that will finally end the tiresome rant, I believe.

What I could all manage was a dismally short Inception fanfiction (my current obsession and I do have a tendency to randomly obsess myself with things, the predecessor to this wonderful movie being Big Bang Theory.) The reason I’m choosing to post it here is a hopefully not-in-vain attempt to garner more feedback than what I got on Fanfiction. Without spoiling it further, all I would add is that it’s written from Eames’ perspective.

Now I should really let my writing do the talking here.

... ...

He watches Fischer open the safe and spot the will, only to remove the pinwheel – their key to extraction – lying beneath.

It was done. The job was completed, successfully. He continues to watch impassively the scene play out between father and son.

Emotions. Sentiments. Feelings. So very captivating and more often than not the purpose of existence for majority of people.

To him, they were simply convenient.

An emotional block could easily turn out to be an insurmountable maze for a person of his profession but it was the very base for his deceptions as a forger.

Naturally, he has to get it right, always. In the world of extraction – and now, inception – there are no second chances.

It is at such times when he muses upon his ability to decipher the emotional strength of his subject from a perspective that allows no such indulgence on his part.

He only has to remember Dominic Cobb to be reminded of what attachments and even possessiveness can do to one’s subconscious.

(He would be lying if he claimed he knew the story. But it is not difficult to piece it together.)

It is almost strange, what love and fear – the two sentiments that comprise everything that could possibly dictate one’s actions – can do to people.  It is those feelings that manipulates every single time, always choosing to disregard the thought that he could be dealt with in the same manner.

Of course, he is no less immune; time will tell. No less immune than that stick-in-the-mud Arthur, with his seemingly subtle preference for Ariadne.

They had all gone to extraordinary lengths to cultivate the veil of professionalism and detachment to keep them from falling apart every single time they took on a job.

How long till it stopped working? He, despite his laconic, devil-may-care attitude, always comes face to face with that question.

The ignored thought still remains hanging: how long till he loses his grip on reality?

(After all, everyone is entitled to their share of self-doubts.)

But his mind quickly clears when the kick sets in and with a last look at his surroundings…the dream world, he undoubtedly knew of the one certainty he shares with everyone on the team (even Cobb, despite it being his last job)

He would be loath to leave it.

A Glimpse Of Fulfilment

Note: This was originally written as a fanfiction of Ayn Rand's We The Living. For readers not acquainted with the novel, think of it as original fiction, with Russian names, of course. :)

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“Because we often love the man whom we torment,

 You, you, now you, only it should be the luck of my soul

  Come, follow me in the wonderland,

 Your dark eyes shine by the night!”

The song continued to grow hypnotic and mesmerizing as a perfectly pitched voice sang as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Rising in rhythm, it seemed to blend with the surroundings – the heavy fragrance of newly bloomed flowers lingered in the air and the soft breeze was laden with the refreshing scent of water – all of it as if taking me into a trance. For a moment, I had forgotten that I stood on the shore of a sprawling lake which disappeared into thick woods all around,

The breathtaking scenery however did not match up to the intoxicating effect that the voice had, so taken I was with it.

…So much that I couldn’t look away from the vision of beauty that Kira Argounova was – who merely stood feet apart from where I was.

And I, Andrei Taganov, stood frozen at my place. To think that I would meet Kira again…unimaginable.

The song ceased and life returned to my senses. And yet it seemed as if I had been seamlessly merged into the environ that Kira had created. She stood tall and slender, gracefully draped in soft pastel shades of crepe that fluttered in the breeze. Her tousled brown hair fell on both sides of her delicate neck that was stretched like a swan’s, as if she was laughing, rejoicing in the eternal bliss of the universe – adding to a demeanor so alive and carefree. Her grey eyes were full of joy and masked beneath them was an everlasting understanding of life and its mysteries. The lit sky was beyond her, giving her an almost angelic appearance and the shifting shafts of sunlight that streamed through the overlying foliage made those very eyes…glimmer.

…She did not smile. Her lips were set in a firm and yet yielding line. She did not move – time seemed to stand still , if only to immortalize the magnificent splendor – gentle, elegant and giving – that stood in the form of Kira.

I couldn’t bring myself to speak. However, that was exactly what she wanted me to do.

I would have been content to simply gaze into her eyes and relive the memories, the only happy memories of my life that I had shared with her. But as my eyes met hers, the impending storm beneath the calm startled me out of my reverie.

She raised her head in a long-drawn, mocking laughter.

“Oh, Andrei…do you even realize why you’re here?”

I was taken aback. However, I chose not to show my surprise. “Kira, I…”

She raised her hand. “Don’t bother. We both know why we are here.”

‘Here’. What did it mean? We were not in Petrograd. Hell, we were not even ‘abroad’ – the mystical place which partly accounted for risking our lives

Then where were we?

To see Kira before me…the fact in itself…

“…Kira! You don’t, you certainly don’t mean…”

She looked away, whispering. “I wanted to meet Leo again.”

She looked at me as I slowly approached her. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I tried to be as gentle as possible. “It’s all right. One doesn’t give up on loving even when it is no longer requited.”

Her eyes closed, Kira murmured. “It never was. Oh, Andrei, I…I couldn’t see...”

I tenderly held her in my arms. “Loving you was enough in itself. I willingly chose to make the sacrifice.”

She did not move. Her stance rigid, her head against my shoulder. Tears had begun to flow but I withstood the fact that they were not for me.

They never will be.

The scene rapidly changed as the light changed it colors and Kira seemed to be fading from my hands. Her purpose here was fulfilled.

As the light enveloped me, I held on to Kira, before letting go.

I took but a moment to reflect. All that we had done, sacrificed…resulted in nothing.  I gave up my position in the Party, only so that Kira could be with that wretched Leo Kovalensky again. I loved her but she loved him. Was it worthwhile in the end: going to all extents, giving up our lives, dying in the unfulfilled hope of being loved?

I knew the answer to my question as well as I knew how Kira would answer.

“Kira…I always have, do and will love you…my highest reverence…”

A fading smile was all that I got in response.

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Another note: The opening lines are the translation of ‘Song of Broken Glass’ – Kira’s favourite song in the novel - which is actually an operetta called Die Bajadere by Hungarian composer Emmerich Kalman. Yes, I can go to such extents for being original. ^^"

Whispers Of The Past - A Bleach Drabble

The benefits of having a blog? You get to gush and rave and write about the things you like.

Or, as in my case, the characters you like.

But I'm talking about Japanese anime/manga. And more specifically a very popular series called Bleach.

The following post is a drabble about two characters from Bleach, namely Ichimaru Gin and Matsumoto Rangiku. It's too short to be posted as a fiction story on Fanfiction.net, where I have an official profile, so it goes here.

(For those who can relate to this, admittedly these two make an adorable pair.)

...

“Gin…Gin! Where were you all this time? Is that a Shinigami’s uniform? Where did you get it from?”

“I’ve made up my mind. I will become a Shinigami.”

“…What?”

“I will become a Shinigami and change things. I’ll surely do…”

“…so you won’t have to cry anymore, Rangiku…”

...

Your honey-sweet voice still rings in my ears, as if it were yesterday.

But I can’t hear you screaming my name. I don’t want to hear you screaming.

…I’m content to revel in the comforting presence of your singsong voice, the sparkle in your ash blue eyes, the lustre of your caramel hair, the innocence inherent in every expression of your face.

…The dark sky, the gentle, falling snow. The time when I spoke of my promise to protect you, to avenge you, no matter what.

Needless to say, I failed.

I could not protect you. I could do nothing to return what was taken from you.

I can’t bring myself to open my eyes. For I know you’re there. I don’t want to see it in your eyes that I failed you.

Atonement…oh, how I wish I could be given a chance for it. But I apologised. I sought your forgiveness. That’s enough, isn't it?

I’m sorry, Rangiku.

Your tears streak my face.

I could have said a thousand things but I don’t.

I’m glad I apologised.

A final, soft, genuine smile graces my lips as I slip deeper into unconsciousness.

Goodbye…Rangiku.

I know you’ll be able to take care of yourself, as you always have done.

My eyes close to the sound of your voice calling my name…