It was with great anticipation that people packed the convention hall. Such was the popularity of the guest speaker of the day. There was an air of high expectation all around. The great Mr Arten was coming here, and he was going to deliver a talk on the origin of life. It was bound to be interesting as he had been working on this subject fruitfully for several years.

The buzz in the hall suddenly died. The great person had arrived. The audience rose to give him a standing ovation. He bowed and took his seat with great dignity.

First, there were a few speeches by the organizers about the guest speaker, his life and work, his extraordinary contribution to science, in particular his discoveries about the ever-interesting, ever-mystifying subject of the origin of life. The audience fidgeted and murmured, waiting for all these speeches to end and for the great scientist and philosopher to take up the microphone.

Finally, the moment arrived. With ponderous steps, Mr Arten mounted the podium. He cast a grave glance at the packed hall. A hush fell over the audience.

And then he began speaking. His voice was sonorous, his delivery clear. He exuded an aura of supreme self-confidence.

He spoke thus:

Ladies and gentlemen, I am here to prove the creationists wrong.

Let us go about it logically.

What are the arguments that the creationists put forward? The primary one concerns the chain of cause and effect - the argument that the existence of a thing points to the existence of its maker.

Why should this reasoning be true? I agree that we have yet to discover any causeless effect, but does it mean that it does not exist, never did exist and will never exist in the future? As you can see, this line of argument leads us into a labyrinth of philosophical concepts, without helping us reach any conclusive result. All we can concede is that creationist view is nothing more than a mere hypothesis.

I want to present the counter hypothesis that causality does break down at some level of existence, and at that point, a thing can come into existence spontaneously. There doesn't always have to be a maker.

The second argument that the creationists put forward is this: strange objects, pictures and signs have been unearthed which point to the existence, at some time in the very remote past, of the Maker. They believe that at one time, much before our existence, the Maker lived on earth. He created us in order to serve him. But later, something befell the Maker and he vanished from the earth, leaving only vague traces.

Now, this is an interesting argument. I see that my esteemed opponent Mr Defore is in the audience. I am sure he can provide you with more details about these so called signs of the Maker. However, it was to these very signs that I have applied myself for the past decade. My research has been gathered in a book called "The Maker Myth", which is now undergoing publication. I urge you all to read this book when it comes out. I promise that you will find it interesting and stimulating. In this book, I have taken the alleged signs of the Maker and have postulated possible rational causes for each and every one of them, proving that these signs do not necessarily point to the Maker.

So then, if there is no Maker, how did we come into existence? This is the question that I am going to answer now. Listen carefully to the following scenario and see how rational, how intellectually satisfying it is.

In the beginning there was a timeless singularity. This singularity exploded in a big bang and gave birth to two things, matter and energy. The existence of matter and energy resulted in the simultaneous existence of time. The world progressed. Chaos settled into order. The matter, influenced by energy, formed various ordered elements, substances, planets, suns, and so on. One of the planets thus formed was earth.

On earth, several random combinations of elements took place and several substances were formed. One of these substances was also the substance of our bodies. This substance, when formed, had no coherent shape. Then, with the passing of eons and the continuation of random combinations, once again order resulted from chaos and some of the substances arranged themselves into an orderly shape - the shape of our bodies. The substance was of course, lifeless. It probably lay lifeless for several more eons until, on pure chance, a bolt of lightning hit it. Electricity coursed through it, and this electricity did strange things to it. It gave sentience and motion to the substance.

That was the first being, the father of us all. Once he became alive, he took control of what so far had been a random process. He began gathering and giving shape to the substances. He discovered how to create electricity and he also discovered other sources of power. With these power sources, he gave life to the images he had assembled. In short, he created more beings like himself, who then helped him to create still more, till the world was populated by our like.

That is my hypothesis about our origin. Tell me honestly. Isn't it a beauty? And where does the so-called Maker come into it?

In conclusion, ladies and gentlemen, I firmly believe that us robots came into being by ourselves as I have described, and the myth of Man, the Maker, is just that - a myth.

THE END

I was seventeen when I came to the first major crossroads of my life. Two paths diverged before me but, unlike Robert Frost, I did not take the path less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

It began as a very special winter night, a night with a very special moon and a very special snowfall. A night full of benevolent but potent magic.

Till that time, I had been a loner by nature, a shy boy who had difficulty in talking to girls, even though I felt that girls were attracted to me, probably not so much for myself as for the fact that I came from a rich and prestigious family. I think it is to my credit that I usually managed to hide my shyness behind a mask of seriousness.

That night, something in the air made me think of the ice skating rink. I dressed up, gathered my skating shoes, put them in a knapsack and hung the knapsack on my back. I thought of taking my motorbike but the air outside was so invigorating that I chucked the idea and jogged all the way to the rink.

As I jogged, the wind played with my hair, snowflakes softly brushed my cheeks and my moving legs seemed to draw power from the very earth itself.

The slumbering, snow-tinged trees, the sleepily blinking far-away houses, the silent moonlit road -- everything reconfirmed my earlier feeling that this night was magic.

My legs pistoning powerfully against the earth, and my body cutting through the snow-laden air, I imagined that I could actually feel the earth rotate beneath my feet, bringing the skating rink nearer and nearer to me.

Ahead, I heard cheerful voices raised in care-free banter. It was a group of young people sauntering along to the ice rink. I waved to them as I passed them and they cheerfully waved back. One of them, a blonde girl in a red dress, a girl whom I knew slightly, shouted out my name. She blew me a kiss and it made my step falter. And then I had left them behind.

I could see the rink. And in front of me, I saw a graceful silhouette of a girl in a white dress, jogging in easy, zestful strides towards the rink. She had a pair of skates slung behind her back.

I slowed my jog and hung back, letting the girl stay ahead of me all the way to the rink. I saw her face clearly as she passed the lighted doorway of the rink and recognized her as a girl I had seen a few times in the town. I had always been fascinated by her loveliness and her look of innocence. Of course, I had never talked to her. No one had introduced us to each other and I did not have the guts to approach her directly.

Through the lighted doorway she passed into the rink and I followed her quietly.

On account of a beautiful moonlit night, the managers of the rink had sense enough to put off the artificial lights that normally shone over the rink. The pearly moonlight, falling on the ice, transformed the rink into a land of enchantment where faeries and elves danced with throat-choking grace.

She was a faery queen among all the lesser faeries skating around. The moonlight, when it fell on her ice-white dress, formed an aura of purity around her, and when it fell on her cloud-dark hair, gave it a lining of sparkling silver. The snowflakes were like stars in her hair.

A sudden impulse took complete control of my body and propelled me toward her, and my hands reached out and held her around her waist, and my lips said, "Mind if I skate with you?" And she turned her face to me and looked at me and I was bathed in the light of pure, joyful innocence and beauty and loveliness which made me catch my breath and made my heart strain against my chest.

And together, we skated around for an eternity which passed in an instant.

Gloriously tired, we then sat on a snow bank, talking and watching others skate. Playfully, I picked up some snow and threw it on her, adding more stars to her hair.

Then it was time to go. I walked with her to her house, and as I parted from her, I said, "I will call you."

Alone, I made my way home. On the way, I once again passed the blonde girl in the red dress. This time she was alone, and she fell in step beside me and started talking to me. Just before we reached the main street of the town, she took my hand in hers and pulled me off the road and into a dark alley, and I followed her like a zombie.

Later, when we emerged from the alley, there was a horrible emptiness within me, a crushing sense of loss. It was then that I knew that I would not keep my promise to my faery queen. I would not call her ever again. I no longer had the power to face her innocence.

************

Denine was eight when she lost her mother.

It happened on her second date with Esfour from Children’s Unit (CU) number twenty three. Esfour was eleven, nice to look at and fun to be with – a boy with thoughtful eyes that could easily burst into sparkles of delight or enthusiasm. Their first date, arranged by her mother in coordination with Esfour’s mother, had been an unqualified success and after a few days, Denine had requested her mother to set up a second date. Mother approved.

For their first date, they had met at her cubicle – number 69 of CU#21 which was two levels above Esfour’s unit, CU#23. For the second date, they would meet at his cubicle number #72 and have lunch together.

At noon, she left her cubicle and, guided by her mother, took the shaft – no, “tube” was the more fashionable word – to CU#23. The tube was not crowded this time of the day. Thinking of time, Denine recalled the lesson she had learned just a few days ago. A day consists of 1440 minutes. In the olden days, another word was used in conjunction with “day”. The word was “night”. What was a night? Mother had not explained.

Reaching CU#23 and there, switching from rail to rail – again no crowd, just a few children moving about – it took her less than 4 minutes to reach cubicle 72. The door slid open as she approached, indicating that Esfour was waiting for her. She entered. Esfour took her in hands in his. They laughed joyously. It was nice to be together again.

They sat and talked for some time. It was a lively talk. Denine was usually shy and tongue-tied but with Esfour, she had a sense of comfort and she opened up. Words followed words like bubbles in a stream. Gestures accompanied words. Giggles punctuated phrases. Sentences overlapped. Sounds filled the small cubicle to the brim.

Suddenly, Esfour stopped talking. He put his arms around her and pulled her close. He began kissing her on her lips. Denine was completely taken aback. Her whole body twitched as strange sensations flooded her. She tried to pull back. She found she didn’t want to.

“Mother,” she gasped between kisses.

“Yes, baby?” mother said.

“What’s he doing to me?”

“I don’t know. You tell me what he is doing,” Of course mother could not see. She could only feel and hear.

“Is it all right?” There was an urgency in Denine’s voice. It was all so new, so strange.

“Is what all right, dear?” mother queried.

“Whatever Esfour is doing to me.”

“By the electrical emanations from the pleasure centres of your brain, I would say it seems all right.”

“You need not have bothered,” Esfour said. There was a soft slur in his voice. “It was my mother who told me I should kiss you this way.”

Denine felt positively light-headed, buoyant and slightly faint.

Sensations swirled. Their mothers carefully monitored and recorded the intensity of their sensations, and after approximately 700 seconds, told the two children to stop whatever they were doing.

They didn’t want to stop. It was all such fun.

“Stop now,” both their mother’s ordered for the second time. Denine tried to stop but oh, it was so difficult. Then suddenly she jerked as pain filled her brain for a fraction of a second and receded, only its memory remaining behind, bringing tears to her eyes. Almost simultaneously, Esfour went through the same experience. He too had disobeyed his mother and mothers always punished disobedience.

“Shall we have lunch now?” Esfour asked. By then, both of them had got over the shock of their mothers’ displeasure.

“Why not?” A few of her wayward tresses had fallen over her eyes. She jerked her head to remove them.

Ceremoniously, Esfour picked up and placed her taste helmet over her head. His helmet he placed over himself. He pressed a few keys on his terminal and out of a slot in the wall, two plates of the nutritious pulp emerged.

“What would you like to have?” he asked.

“Hmm, how about sixty seven?”

Esfour keyed in the number 67 on Denine’s helmet and adjusted his own to 32.

On the taste helmets, 67 was the taste of a spicy dish from India but, of course, Denine didn’t know it. All she knew was that she liked this particular taste very much and reserved it for special occasions.

They proceeded to enjoy the meal, the pulp in their plates tasting the way they had programmed it to taste.

It was several hundred seconds after lunch. Esfour and Denine sat close to each other, holding hands. A cosy silence surrounded them. This was broken abruptly when Esfour, with one of his sudden movements, brought out something black from his pocket and started writing on the wall of the cubicle. What was it in his hands? What was he writing with? Denine’s eyes went wide. Coal! It was a piece of coal. Where had he got it from? The only piece of coal she had ever seen was at the museum on CU#29. And why was he writing on the wall instead of on the smartboards provided to them for just that purpose? Denine looked at the written words.

“Let us speak for a while by writing on the wall,” Esfour had written. “This way, our mothers will not know what we are saying.” What? Hmm, yes. That is correct, isn’t it? How clever of him to have thought of it. But why?

“Would you like to go to the Top?” wrote Esfour.

The Top? The Top? Grey sky. Hovercrafts, big and small, running about on legs of air. Savages. Wars. Strange structures called buildings. And the sun – the fiery, blazing sun. Oh how many times had she seen all these things on the video. The Top. Horrible, fascinating Top.

She stretched her hand. He handed her the piece of coal. For a few seconds, she looked at it curiously. Then she wrote a single word: “Why?”

“To find out.”

Was the Top really the way they showed in the videos? Denine sensed the awakening of a strange yearning within her. To find out? Why not.

“All right, but how?” she wrote. “Our mothers would know when we move from this level.

“I know a way,” Esfour was beaming now, happy that Denine was going to share his adventure. He did something to his mother and hers. “Now, no matter where we go, the mothers will think we are still in my cubicle. Let’s go.”

The tube was quite crowded this time. They had to wait, with loudly beating hearts, for nearly 1000 seconds before they could enter it. Just then, Denine’s mother spoke up. “Your pulse rate has increased. Your breathing is rapid. Your adrenalin is up. What is going on? Are you kissing again?” Denine heard Esfour’s mother ask him similar questions.

They said they were fine, just excited thinking about the kissing. This kept the mother’s quiet for some time but repeated the questions and received the same responses. This happened again and again throughout the adventure but the mothers didn’t take any further action because they didn’t know exactly what was going on.

Inside the tube, the two children were apprehensive of both the known and the unknown. The tube was becoming emptier and emptier as they went up level by level. At level 9, the tube emptied and the children heaved a sigh of relief when no one entered.

Level one. They were there. This was the last point of the tube. One level up was the Top but the tube did not go there. They emerged out of the tube into a vast hall full of hovercrafts. A lot of huge plastic boxes were strewn around while some adults operated strange machinery to unload more such boxes from some of the hovers. A strange light filled the place.

Fortunately, no one was near the tube so no one saw the children emerge. They quickly hid behind a box and peered around. Suddenly, Denine nudged Esfour. She excitedly pointing overhead. What was it? A huge opening in the roof. That was the place where the strange light was coming from. It was an opening to the Top. They could see the sky. The grey sky. And white mountains. No buildings, no savages. Just white mountains.

There was a slope leading to the opening from the hall. Transfixed, Denine and Esfour watched a hover, its cargo apparently unloaded, majestically rise up the slope and with a hiss of airjets vanish from sight.

Denine nudged him again and pointed to the top. Now that they were here, she wanted to go all the way up. Holding their breath, they started sneaking toward the slope. Could they make it? Should they?

Just then there was a shout. They had been spotted.

“Run”, Denine shouted. They ran towards the tube. There was a strange machine in the way. They dodged around it. Suddenly, Denine was jerked to a stop. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought she had been caught. Then she realized that it was her backstrap which was caught in the protruding arm of the machine. The men and women running to catch them were almost upon them. She panicked. She tried to jerk herself fee. Esfour held her hand and pulled. There was a loud snap. She was free and once again racing towards the tube. All this had taken not more than half a second.

They reached the tube. Entered it. Streaked down. Safe. They were safe. They had out-run their pursuers.

Back in Esfour’s cubicle, they were too excited to speak to each other for quite a while. Wow, what an adventure. What a narrow escape.

Just then there was a sound of a chime. “End of free time,” Esfour’s mother announced. "Education time begins after exactly 1000 seconds. Send Denine back and start preparing.”

Denine waited for her mother to say something similar but there was only silence. What was going on? Denine’s hand immediately went to her back. She wanted to touch her mother, ask her not to be angry with her. “Mother?” She froze in utter shock. Her mother was not there.

“Mother?”

She screamed. “Mother, where are you?” Esfour watched, dazed.

Then Denine remembered the machine snaring her backstrap, remembered herself wrenching away from the machine, remembered the sound of her backstrap snapping. No! Oh, no! Her mother. She had lost her mother up there. Almost crazy with fear and worry, she wept.

Esfour touched her. Awkwardly, he tried to comfort her. But her loss was too great. She had lost her mother. What could he do?

From the depths of Denine’s brain, a far away memory rose to the surface of her awareness. The Guardian. She remembered the instructions given to her by the Guardian a long time ago. What had the Guardian said? “Whenever you feel you are threatened by a situation that your mother cannot help you with, press hard the small button embedded in your left wrist.”

For a brief instant Denine hesitated as she felt a sneaky thought intrude upon her awareness. No mother would mean relief from discipline, from constant surveillance.

Denine severely chided herself. Discipline or no discipline, her mother loved her and she loved her mother and wanted her back. Between sobs, she pressed the button.

An electronic impulse left her wrist transmitter. Within an infinitesimal fraction of a second, it was caught by the receiver in the administration department on level 30, the lowest level in the structure.

Two women observed the signal on their monitors. These were two of the several Guardians operating the structure.

“What is it, Sav? Who is signalling?” One of the women asked.

The younger of the two women read the console. “It is coming from a child assigned to cubicle sixty nine of CU twenty one, Jen – a girl named Denine.”

“But the signal is not coming from CU twenty one.”

“Yes, right now the source is located at cubicle seventy two on CU twenty three. This cubicle belongs to a boy, Esfour.”

“Oh, a date probably. Try to contact Denine’s mother and find out what is going on.”

The younger woman’s fingers flew over the keyboard. She suddenly jerked upright. “What…!”

“What’s wrong?” Jen asked anxiously.

“Look,” the younger one pointed to the console.

“Oh God!”

“The child is on level twenty three and her mother is on a level one. Level one? What is going on here?” Sav was flabbergasted.

Jen had seen many more emergencies than the younger Sav, so she was comparatively calm. “Have the mother collected from level one immediately,” she said, “and get Denine and Esfour down here. We will find out what is going on.”

While waiting for the workers to carry out the assigned tasks, the two woman talked.

“I sometimes wonder if what we are doing is ethical,” Sav said.

“Oh, I have wondered about that for a long time.”

“So what do you think?”

Jen sat back in her chair and went into her expository mode. “Well, we have to look at the whole picture,” she began. “Think of what is going on out there. After the third World War, the fabric of human civilization is in tatters. At least this organization, Psychorg, managed to save part of that civilization in the form of a few hundred human children that had survived the devastation. This crècheworld they created in the Himalyas may not be the best solution but it is not a very bad solution either. There are several grey areas in the system, I agree, but I am hoping that these would be sorted out in time.”

Just then, a worker entered the office carrying Denine’s mother in his hand. Almost as soon as he left, another worker brought the two children in.

“So that is the story.” The two Guardians looked at each other and looked back at the two children.

“You know that going to the Top is forbidden,” said Guardian Sav. “It is dangerous.” The children nodded, sheepishly.

“Your mothers will punish you for your actions of today,” said Guardian Jen. Esfour nodded again but Denine was more worried about the whereabouts and the safety of her mother than about the punishment she would receive.

“And you, young lady,” Guardian Jen continued, “should take much better care of your mother.” She had been holding one of her hands behind her back. Now she brought it forward. Held in her hand was Denine’s mother.

Denine screamed with joy. The Guardian placed the small black box in her hands and she hugged it to herself.

“Mother,” she called out.

“Denine, Denine. You’ve been a naughty girl, haven’t you?” The box said.

Then two mothers administered punishment to their respective charges.

The punishment over, their composures regained to some extent, Denine and Esfour parted. But before they parted, they gave each other a look, and this look promised that – punishment or no punishment – someday they would once again try to reach the Top and gaze at the vast, grey sky.

*****

Ross Baker closed the fantasy novel he was reading and got up. The last customer had left quite some time ago. Time to close the bookshop and go home.

Ross closed the lights, locked up the shop and left.

He sauntered leisurely, hands thrust in his pockets, thinking about his future. He had just completed high school and was working part-time at the local used books shop. What was he going to do after summer? Continue with further education or go into business with his father? His parents had left the decision to him but with hints that continuing education may be the better option.

While he was passing along a lonely stretch of the road, a very polite "Excuse me" broke the chain of his thoughts. He turned and peered into the dark alley from which the sound had come. He found himself face to face with a dragon whose ivory white scales gleamed dully even in the darkness.

"I should stop reading all those fantasy novels," he said to himself. "I have started seeing - and hearing – things."

"Excuse me," the dragon spoke again.

Baker shook his head violently, but the apparition wouldn't go.

"I am seeing things. Let me prove it," he thought and stepped into the alley.

The dragon was still there.

This was some sort of a gag. Baker decided to go along with the gag.

"Did you say something?" he asked the dragon.

"Yes," the dragon said quite clearly. "I wanted to talk to someone of your world."

"What can I do for you?" Baker was politeness itself.

"I am hungry. Could you get me some fresh green grass?"

"Grass? I thought dragons were non-vegetarian.”

“We ivory dragons are strict vegetarians, almost vegans”.

“Oh!

“So can you get me some grass?”

“I am sorry, I don't think I can get you grass right now. But wait a minute. Would hibiscus leaves do? I have a pot of hibiscus at my shop."

The dragon thought for a while. "I will have to try them and see," he said.

"Okay, wait here."

Baker retraced his steps to his shop, opened it, went behind the counter, opened one of his draws and took out a flashlight. Whatever trick was being played on him behind the curtain of darkness, it could not stand up to the bright beam of his flashlight.

He stepped out of his shop, hesitated, went back in and picked up the pot of hibiscus. Just in case.

Back in the alley, he found the dragon waiting for him.

He immediately pointed the flashlight at him and switched it on.

The apparition did not vanish. No trick was revealed. All he saw was a beautiful white dragon standing there, bathed in the beam of his flashlight.

Ross Baker gasped. The dragon looked at him with eyes that showed amusement.

"Did you think I was not real?"

Ross floundered for words.

"If you are satisfied that I am real, would you mind shutting off the flashlight?"

Ross switched the flashlight off, and once again, the alley was plunged into darkness.

"May I?" asked the dragon, shaking his head at the pot of hibiscus. Without a word, Ross offered the pot to him. The dragon bent his head and sniffed at the leaves. Tentatively, he took a nibble.

"It is very nice," he said, and immediately proceeded to make a square meal of it.

After the hibiscus plant was polished off, the dragon looked at Ross.

"Thank you," he said.

"You are welcome," said Ross.

"You must be wondering about me," said the dragon.

"Not at all. Not at all," said Ross. "I come across talking dragons in dark alleys almost every day."

The dragon laughed. "Okay. Don't fret. I will tell you about myself and about how I came to be here.

"I come from a land called Ghelenden. Don't ask me where it is, for I cannot tell you. The high king of Ghelenden sent me here to study this world of yours and to report to him about it. I had twelve hours to complete my task. We dragons are beings with strange powers, you know. We have the power to stretch time to certain extent, and so twelve hours were more than enough to survey your world, your culture, your ethics, and other such things. And..."

"What did you find about our world?" asked Ross, curious.

"Most of it you would not like to hear, so let it go. Where was I? Ah, yes. I was telling you about the strange powers of dragons. I came to your world this morning. Using my powers, I finished my assigned task, and I also managed to remain concealed from all eyes till now. But now, my hunger forced me to reveal myself."

The dragon, who seemed quite a talkative creature, paused for breath but not for long.

"I would like to repay you for the kindness you have shown me," he said. "Right now, I can give you any one of two things. One is that I can take you on a visit to Ghelenden. It is a place full of wonders and beauty and adventure."

"What is the second thing you can give me?" Ross Baker asked.

"I can give you untold wealth," said the dragon. "So choose. Remember one thing though. You cannot go back on your choice."

And Ross Baker made his choice.

"Give me wealth," he said.

The dragon sighed. Was it Baker's imagination or did the dragon sound disappointed?

"Have you heard of the philosopher's stone?" asked the dragon.

"Yes," said Ross. "It is supposed to turn anything it touches into gold."

"Right. I can use my fiery breath as a philosopher's stone."

Baker's eyes went glazed with thoughts of gold all around him. He quickly extended his flashlight to the dragon.

"Make this gold," he said eagerly.

The dragon shook his head.

"It is not that simple," he said. "There is a requirement to be fulfilled before my breath can turn things to gold."

"What is that?"

"It is required that the hands of a virgin but nubile girl should be touching my scales all the time while I turn things to gold. Can you get me such a girl?"

"No problem. I will do it," said Ross confidently. It really should be no problem. He would get Joanna, his girlfriend. Then he suddenly remembered. Just last weekend, he had coaxed Joanna to sleep with him and she had given in. Oh well! He knew many other unmarried girls in town. He would get one of them.

"Wait for me here," he said and started to hurry away.

"Stop," said the dragon. "Before you leave, let me tell you that my time in your world will be up within an hour. You have to be back before then."

"Okay," said Ross and went in search of a virgin nubile girl in town.

The hour passed leaving Ross a broken man.

*****************

What would you have done if you were in my shoes?

It happened suddenly. One night, I had gone to sleep, a normal man. The next morning I got up, a thoroughly abnormal individual.

At that time, I was a moderately well-to-do writer. I had no living relatives and lived alone in my apartment.

That morning, I switched on the TV. A cartoon was being shown but the sound I heard was not the sound of a cartoon but of news being read. Was something wrong with the TV?

Had two channels somehow got mixed up? Then I heard the news reader announce the date. I sat bolt-upright. How could it be the 25th of May, today? Yesterday, when I had gone to sleep, it had been the 20th. What was going on? Had I slept for four days – a modern day Rip Van Winkle? I ran outside, picked up the newspaper lying on my doorstep and looked at the date. Twenty first of May.

So, after all, I had not slept for four days.

That was just the beginning. That whole day, I kept hearing voices: Voices of my friends, my neighbors, the voice of my sweet heart, and my own voice. What was going on? Was I going mad? But there was no insanity in the voices I heard.

I thought hard, struggling against a rising sense of panic. Slowly, almost shyly, a tiny idea raised its head. I had a hypothesis. It was fantastic. Nevertheless, I decided to test it.

Next morning, I switched on the television. Once again, the picture on the tube didn't match the sounds. I heard the date being announced, and it was the twenty sixth of May. Hypothesis proved!

No matter how fantastic, it was probably true. My sense of hearing had extended four days and a couple of hours into the future.

First, I went into panic. Then, recovering, I quietly sat at my writing table for hours, mentally working out the ramifications of my condition. There were various things, big and small, to take care of. For instance, if someone rang the doorbell, I wouldn’t hear it. I had to have some kind of visual indication for it. Then there was the phone. This was one instrument that would become almost totally useless to me. And what about conversation with people? I could talk to them and they would hear me but when they talked, I would have heard it four days ago. How then to have a coherent conversation? The only solution was to tell everyone that I had gone totally deaf. Let them communicate with me via writing or sign language.

And life went on with all its strangeness.

*              

My pre-sonic condition had its advantages. I made it a habit of hearing the business news bulletins on the TV, and armed with advance knowledge of the market, I started playing the stocks. Inevitably my income became healthier and healthier. In turn, I became quite a philanthropist and had no end of fun.

No one knew about my abnormality till I heard himself telling my sweetheart about it and didn’t hear her scream or panic. So four days later, I did tell her about it and she, after a brief adjustment period, accepted it and said so in writing.

And one day, I wrote a note to her, asking her to marry me. She accepted and soon we became man and wife and lived happily for quite some time...

...till the time – yesterday - that I heard my wife crying with grief. And this grief was over my death.

I immediately got busy straightening out my things, preparing my will, loving and cherishing my wife.

Today, I heard my friends come to bury me.

And then my world went dead silent for some time.

And then I heard a terrible voice say: "Who is your God?"

And now I have three days to find the correct answer to that question.

THE END

Was he a madman, a consummate actor and prankster taking advantage of the similarity of facial features, or truly the person he claimed to be? To this day, I do not know for sure, but that encounter changed my life in a way. Until that day, I had been interested in English literature and was planning to make it my career, but the strange meeting sparked in me an interest in the Mexican culture. As a result, here I am, sitting in the verandah of a quaint old villa on the outskirts of Yucatan, drinking my morning cup of coffee and enjoying the beautiful view while my wife prepares the breakfast.

And I am remembering another morning.

On that fateful day several years ago, I was nineteen years old, had just finished my first undergrad year at the University of Western Ontario and was spending my summer vacation with my parents.

One morning, bright and early, I jogged to Harris Park and sat down on a bench near the water fountain. For some time I enjoyed the morning breeze playing around me and letting me cool down after the exertion of the long jog. Then I pulled out the copy of “The Devil’s Dictionary” from my backpack and started reading it. A little while later, I heard someone approaching me. I looked up and saw a man. He stopped near me, looked at me silently for some time then said: "Would you mind if I sit here with you for a while?"

That was a strange question. The bench was big enough for three people and I was not hogging it. He could have just sat down if he wanted to. It looked as if the man wanted to talk to me and the question was just his way of breaking the ice.

I looked at him carefully. I consider myself a pretty good face reader and this is what I guessed about him from his face: sharp, cynical and yet kindly, not given to pampering fools. Come to think of it, did I really guess all that or is my older self creating false memories? Oh well! At least my memories of his physical appearance are not false. He sported a distinctive moustache and a short beard; he was quite handsome and had a slightly tanned complexion. His age seemed to be somewhere around a sturdy sixty but I later surmised that it must have been around seventy two if he was who he claimed he was. He looked tired.

Normally, like a typical male specimen of humanity, I rarely notice people’s clothes or remember them if I do notice them, but somehow, I distinctly remember his dress. He wore brown trousers, a brown safari jacket and a panama hat. He carried a knapsack on his back.

"Not at all,” I replied.

He sat down beside me on the bench and there was silence for a while.

“Good to see that book is still around and still being read,” he said, pointing to The Devil’s Dictionary, “and you must be an intelligent young man to be reading it.” He had a strange smile on his face, as if he knew something that I did not.

“Thank you,” I said, for the want of anything better to say.

“My name is Ahmed,” I said, extending my hand.

“Ambrose,” he grasped my hand.

He removed his hat. His hair were receding in the middle. There was a nagging familiarity about his looks.

“New to this place?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Looks like you’ve been traveling a lot.”

“You don’t know how much.”

“What do you do?”

“Once, I was a writer. Now I am a traveler.”

I looked at his knapsack. “Traveling salesman of some kind?”

“No. I am a time traveler.”

“What?”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Of course, I don’t. You are pulling my leg.”

He gave me that enigmatic smile again. “Just for fun, assume that I am telling the truth. What questions, if any, would you ask me then?”

I thought it over. This could be fun. Whatever he was, he was an interesting person.

"Okay, first question. How do you know our language so well? Is it spoken in your time too?"

"Yes," he said. "I am not that much removed from your time."

"Does it mean time travel is just around the corner?" I asked him.

He did not respond but he looked amused.

Then I asked him: "Tell me something about your time."

"Hmm?" He seemed to fall into a reverie. "Those were quite good times, you know," he said at length, rather wistfully, “even though my two sons died and my wife apparently cheated on me. Hope my daughter did well. Wish I had enough time to locate her.”

"What year do you come from? How far ahead in our future?" He turned and looked at me in a strange way.

"You don't understand," he said gently. "Time travel to the past involves paradoxes out of man's control."

"I know. Science fiction is full of them."

"And because of these paradoxes," he continued, ignoring my interruption, "time travel to the past is out of reach of common man within the boundaries of the normal universe."

Comprehension did not come immediately. "But - but - that means..."

"Yes, I think you understand now. I come not from your future but from your past.”

I assimilated this information. A thousand questions raised their heads in my mind. "Time travel was known in the past?" Somehow I was starting to take this man seriously.

"Yes."

"Then why is it not known today?"

"Even in those days, time travel was known only to a select few. Time-travel is physically not possible but it is possible metaphysically and is performed using esoteric methods. With time, and wars and disasters, humans totally lost the esoteric knowledge of time travel,” he paused, “as they seem to have lost several valuable things."

"What valuable things?"

"Values, for one."

At that time, I thought it was a corny statement. At that time I was young.

Shading his eyes with his hand, he looked at the burning orb in the sky. "I have very short time before my next jump," he said. "Already, the time to leave is drawing near."

"You are going back?" That made me think. "Wait a minute. Didn't you say that traveling back in time is not possible?"

"Yes."

"But if you are going back to your time from here, it means you are traveling to the past."

He smiled, and there was something both mocking and sad about his smile. "Whatever gave you the idea that I was going back to my time? No, my young friend. I am jumping forward some twenty years in your future."

I then had to ask the next question.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why have you left your time? What made you undertake this one-way super fast journey into the future? What is the purpose?"

This time, he was silent for quite a while. It seemed as if he was finding it difficult to give words to his thoughts. At last, he spoke.

"I have to leave you soon, so I will try to tell you about it as briefly as I can.

"In my time, a great scholar studied the sun. He found out that the sun was cooling down at an incredible rate. If this cooling rate went unchecked, we would have a dead sun on our hands within a matter of a dozen centuries or so.” He paused and I pounced in.

“Several decades ago, some scientists believed that stars cooled down with time but later discoveries about evolution of stars proved this wrong. Stars don’t cool down.” You see, I knew my astronomy even though I was not a science student.

He looked at me with what I thought was a grudging approval.

“You are generally right,” he said. “But the universe is not devoid of anomalies and our sun turned out to be an anomaly. It was really cooling down.”

“Who was this scholar and how far back was this?”

“That was in the early twentieth century and you would not recognize the name of the scientist. He was a recluse, living in a small village near Chihuahua in Mexico. Now don’t interrupt. I don’t have much time left.

“About the cooling down of the sun, after a lot of pondering on the matter by some of the greatest minds of our times, a decision was reached. There was one way to prolong the life of the sun. First of all, a tremendous source of energy was needed. It was a known fact even in my time that time travel to the future is accompanied by the release of great quantity of energy. So if someone were to start jumping forward in time, each jump would generate energy. The only problem was how to channel this energy to the sun. Once this problem was solved, there was a call for volunteers. Of those who volunteered, I was selected. So here I am. With my every jump into the future, there is a release of energy and this energy is siphoned off to the heart of the sun via a rune I carry. Here, let me show you." He undid the top buttons of his shirt and pulled out a chain that hung around his neck. Attached to the chain was what looked like a metal ball with strange markings on it. I looked at it, silently.

He turned the object around in his hand. “Round,” he said, “like time itself.”

He gave me a deep, studying look. “I don’t show this rune to everyone. Neither do I tell everyone my story. I like you, particularly seeing that you have good taste in literature.” He pointed to the book in my hand.

“So when did you make your first jump?”

“It was in the December of 1913. Mexico was in turmoil and Pancho Villa was busy capturing Ojinaga.

"I have left my times, my world, my friends, never to return to them, ever moving onwards, with no time to call my own, no home to look forward to. I have sacrificed a lot to prolong life on this planet. I hope the life on this planet does not disappoint me."

In spite of the bright morning, I felt a darkness fall on me as I tried to imagine the loneliness of this person, if what he was saying was true.

“Where do you expect all this to end?” I asked finally.

“At my death or at the time of the big crunch, if it is not very far off in the future.”

He paused, then said, "Farewell, my friend of a few moments. It was nice meeting you and talking to you. I find you intelligent and sensible and I think I can count you among those people who perhaps will not disappoint me. I may see you, or hear of you again, in twenty years from now. God be with you." He got up and started walking down the path.

Just then I looked down at the book in my hand. The back cover was facing me and it had a photo of the writer. I realized that this was the source of my sense of familiarity with the traveler. He looked quite like the writer in the photo, except that the writer did not have a beard.

Suddenly, all those bits and pieces of information that he had given me came together in my mind: a writer, was pleased that I was reading The Devil’s Dictionary, had a wife whom he suspected had cheated on him, had two sons who died, had a daughter too. A writer who was in Mexico in 1913, and had vanished without trace in the Mexican wilderness.

“Wait,” I blurted. “Are you truly Bierce? Ambrose Bierce?”

He turned, gave me a nod, walked down the path and seemed proverbially to vanish into the rising sun.

THE END

1.

Half past one, Greenwich Mean Time, earthwise.

The kids would have come home from school now.

She would be having her lunch.

What the hell!

What’s wrong?

How long are we going to be earthbound? When are we going to realize that we are stranded – trapped – on this planet of tall mountains, huge lakes and thick jungles and no sentient life? We will be spending the rest of our lives here, both of us.

I still don’t get it. What’s wrong with thinking and talking about earth and – and about our people back there?

But damn it! It seems so useless, so futile.

So do a lot of other things, like us sitting here and tossing pebbles into the lake.

One of these days, I think I am going to toss my watch into the lake. It doesn’t seem right, counting the days and nights of this planet in earthly units of time.

Hmm. You are right. It does seem out of place. Don’t worry about your watch, though. One of these days it’s battery is going to run down and it will stop functioning and you will be saved from the bother of throwing it into the lake.

2.

Do you see those strange, creatures floating on the air?

Remind me of manta rays.

Remind me more of the mythical will-o-the-wisps.

Are they predators? Could they harm us?

Why take chances? Let us hide in the cave.

3.

Are you afraid of loneliness?

Yes, yes I am.

So am I.

Why?

Why what?

Why do we fear loneliness?

I have a pet theory about it. When I am lonely - with no ties of companionship with anybody – then my mind starts working in a strange way. It projects the immenseness of the multidimensional cosmos before me and against this background I find myself, my whole existence, too small, too insignificant, too unimportant. And it is this feeling of insignificance that a person fears.

And what happens when a person is not alone?

Then links and bonds are formed between that person and the companions. With these links and bonds comes strength. With these links and bonds, the existence of the person spreads itself beyond the person remaining insignificant no longer.

4.

I dreamt of her today.

I too dreamt of my wife and kids.

Did your wife and children speak to you in your dream?

As a matter of fact, they did.

She spoke to me today.

What did she say?

She said she loves me, and she smiled and there were tears in her eyes. Did I ever tell you that she gets dimples when she smiles? We were planning to get married this year.

Of what use dreams?

Dreams are real. They are just a different kind of reality.

Listen. I just had a dreadful thought. What would happen if back there on earth, your girl friend, my wife and kids, our friends, in short all the people who love us all of a sudden stop loving us, stop thinking about us, stop caring for us.

Shut up. Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. It should not happen. It cannot happen. I will always be remembered.

Yes. I can see you feel about it the same way that I do. But why? In God’s name, why? Why do we feel the way we do? Of what importance to us are thoughts and feelings of people billions of miles away from us? Can you answer me that? Can you?

No. The only thing I know is that this belief that someone somewhere really loves me, this belief is one of those very few things on the basis of which I can say that not all of my life had been a waste.

Yes. Put that way, love seems to be the prime function – or one of the prime functions - of life, doesn’t it?

To love and be loved.

To love and be loved.

5.

Those will-o-the-wisps seem harmless.

They seem to like sticking around with us.

And don’t they look beautiful, dancing on the air?

Do you think they are sentient?

I hope so.

Somehow, it seems important, doesn’t it?

6.

Let us forget the woes and count the blessings.

Okay. To begin with, we are alive. We didn’t die in the spaceship crash. We were not even hurt much.

This planet is liveable.

We have found a nice and cozy cave to live in.

Our stores of food will last us for months and by then we should be able to find edible fruits and such on this planet.

We have each other for company.

And probably a good thing that one of us is not a woman. This way we avoid the complications of being the new Adam and Eve for this planet.

And the planet, on the surface, is not a bad looking one. It has got some beautiful scenery.

And the books. Don’t forget the books we managed to salvage from the wreck. We have the Bible, the Qur’an, and those poetry collections – Keats, Tennyson, Elliot.

And we have the sense of wonder, the desire for knowledge, and this planet might – just might – prove interesting.

7.

I have noticed something. I dream more often and more intensely when the will-o-the-wisps are near me.

Strange. Now that you put it into words, of late my dreams seem more and more real to me.

Reminds me of a line I read somewhere: What are dreams if not a different kind of reality?

8.

It is strange, isn’t it, the way our perspective changes with time? Things always seem different when you look at them in retrospect.

Yes. The sense of values changes. What seemed important then seems trivial now. That which was trivial then appears important now. These days I never even think about who is going to win the next elections back home but I do often think of the way my mother used to kiss me goodbye every morning when I left for school so many years ago.

There is another thing. In retrospect, I have nothing more than a vague memory of the hurts I received in life. Even when put together and taken collectively, these hurts don’t seem to amount to much. But when I think of all the hurts that I have dished out to others ---

I know what you are talking about. Regrets. A whole lot of regrets. That day when I slapped my kid when all he did was ask me to buy him a chocolate icecream.

That day when my mother asked me to get her a book from the library and I refused saying that I couldn’t leave my favorite TV program.

How many times have I hurt my wife unreasonably, pig-headedly, just out to prove that I was the boss of the house.

How many times did I simply neglect – and sometimes even crush – the feelings of others.

And they – all of them – were people who loved us.

Loved us and cared for us and ---

And we ---

Regrets. And pain. And a soul screaming for a second chance.

You are crying!

Do you mind? No, you would not. You are crying too.

Yes. Let us cry ourselves to sleep.

9.

Life seems so meaningless now.

Do you think the will-o-the-wisps are sentient?

A strange response to my observation about the meaning of life.

I somehow feel that our life will be meaningful again if the will-o-the-wisps are sentient.

What is the meaning of life?

I don’t know. Do you?

10.

Most of our problems back on earth – they seem so petty now.

So many of concerns misplaced.

So many actions futile.

Now we learn.

11.

Other than home and family and friends, what are the things you miss the most?

Why do you always have to ask these painful questions? Why can’t you leave memories well enough alone?

Catharsis man, catharsis.

Catharsis my foot. I think the concept of catharsis is humbug. Another blunder of modern psychology.

Okay, then let us talk about these things to pass our time.

All right then. I will join you. I miss the little things – those things that many good writers wrote about in their books.

Things like?

The stone benches in the park.

The early morning strollers.

The dim, dark streets of the night.

The children going to and coming back from school.

The tea house and the steam rising up from the tea cups.

The town library with its dimly lit corners where the mysterious smell of old books hung in the air, like the smell of captured time.

The birds.

And the bees.

Ha, ha!

12.

Say, my watch has stopped. What about yours?

Hmm? Mine seems to have stopped too. The batteries have run down at last.

So shall we toss them into the lake now?

Again, why bother? Why not just take them off and leave them lying around on this rock?

Yeah. Why not?

And I do believe the will-o-the-wisps are sentient creatures. Let us see if we can communicate with them.

THE END

Morning breathes

We sit by the side of a stream; you and I

Feet dipped in water

Playfully, tenderly

I take your hand in mine

And hook my fingers in yours

And ask

Which of these fingers are yours, my heart

And which are mine

You look at me, dawn on your face

None of them, my darling, you say

They are all yours

***

On earth, sometime during the nineteenth century, a calm night lay over the city. Gaslight created patterns of light and dark in the streets. Inside the houses - with the possible exception of lovers, poets, writers and criminals – people slept.

The ethereal form of a ghost floated over rooftops. The ghost was a male, dressed in Errol Flynn type flamboyant but ghastly white dress. He seemed a youngish soul with average looks.

“I thought once you are a ghost, all cravings ended,” he said to himself, “but I need my daily fix of the written word now as I did in my corporeal form.”

Down below, he spotted a huge stone building in the midst of a clearing. A board on the building read: "CENTRAL LIBRARY"

He floated down and entered the building through the wall.

He looked at the bookshelves, his surroundings lit with an eerie light emanating from his body. “What shall I read?” He stopped at a shelf labelled “GHOST STORIES”.

Nah! Too mundane, he thought. May be some escapist reading. He moved toward the shelf labelled "POLITICS".

On another planet, at an army base, little green men discussed the plan to conquer earth. The Commander was seated at a huge table in a huge room. An ensign stood respectfully before him.

“The scout is back from the target planet, Sir,” the ensign reported. “The planet has sentient life of a form very similar to our own, but intellectually they are far inferior. They do not have nuclear power or computers. They have just started experimenting with electricity.”

“The troop been hypno-fed with the language recordings brought by the scout?”

“Yes.”

“Then prepare the invasion tube.”

Back on earth, in the clearing beside the library, a sphere of light appeared, and from it emerged the aliens. There were two hundred of them.

The commander pointed towards the library. “Let's investigate that building.”

“What is the plan of conquest, Commander?” a trooper asked.

“The usual. When it is daylight, we move on to the nearest city which we takeover completely,” the Commander explained as they drew near the library building. “Then we destroy the key power points of the planet and become its rulers. To help us in the ruling and administration of the planet, we recruit local gentry. We are sure to find lots of natives willing to work for us against their own kind.”

The commander then moved forward and touched the wall of the building.

“Made of stone,” he declared. “No plastics.”

“How backward!” responded his men.

“Our conquest will be a blessing for them in disguise.”

“How true!”

Just then, the ectoplasmic body of a man half-emerged through the wall, half out and leaning forward. “Who's making all that ruckus at this time of the night? Can’t a ghost have some peace?”

The Commander gasped. “A g-ghost!” His green face turned greener still.

The ghost had a good view of the backs and heels of the commander and his soldiers as the invasion tube became the retreat tube.

Dawn was approaching.

“Fear of ghosts seems universal,” mused the ghost as he floated back into the library to finish his interrupted dose of the printed word.

1.

Half past one, Greenwich Mean Time, earthwise.

The kids would have come home from school now.

She would be having her lunch.

What the hell!

What’s wrong?

How long are we going to be earthbound? When are we going to realize that we are stranded – trapped – on this planet of tall mountains, huge lakes and thick jungles and no sentient life? We will be spending the rest of our lives here, both of us.

Why so frustrated? At least we are alive. Do you think it would have been better if we had died in the spaceship crash on this unexplored planet?

May be. I frankly don’t know.

And what’s wrong with thinking and talking about earth and – and about our people back there?

But damn it! It seems so useless, so futile.

So do a lot of other things, like us sitting here and tossing pebbles into the lake.

One of these days, I think I am going to toss my watch into the lake. It doesn’t seem right, counting the days and nights of this planet in earthly units of time.

Hmm. You are right. It does seem out of place. Don’t worry about your watch, though. One of these days its battery is going to run down and it will stop functioning and you will be saved from the bother of throwing it into the lake.

2.

Do you see those strange, creatures floating on the air?

Remind me of manta rays.

Remind me more of the mythical will-o-the-wisps.

Are they predators? Could they harm us?

Why take chances? Let us hide in the cave.

3.

Are you afraid of loneliness?

Yes, yes I am.

So am I.

Why?

Why what?

Why do we fear loneliness?

I have a pet theory about it. When I am lonely - with no ties of companionship with anybody – then my mind starts working in a strange way. It projects the immenseness of the multidimensional cosmos before me and against this background I find myself, my whole existence, too small, too insignificant, too unimportant. And it is this feeling of insignificance that a person fears.

And what happens when a person is not alone?

Then links and bonds are formed between that person and the companions. With these links and bonds comes strength. With these links and bonds, the existence of the person spreads itself beyond the person remaining insignificant no longer.

4.

I dreamt of her today.

I too dreamt of my wife and kids.

Did your wife and children speak to you in your dream?

As a matter of fact, they did.

She spoke to me today.

What did she say?

She said she loves me, and she smiled and there were tears in her eyes. Did I ever tell you that she gets dimples when she smiles? We were planning to get married this year.

Of what use dreams?

Dreams are real. They are just a different kind of reality.

Listen. I just had a dreadful thought. What would happen if back there on earth, your girl friend, my wife and kids, our friends, in short all the people who love us all of a sudden stop loving us, stop thinking about us, stop caring for us.

Shut up.

Huh?

Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. It should not happen. It cannot happen. I will always be remembered.

Yes. I can see you feel about it the same way that I do. But why? In God’s name, why? Why do we feel the way we do? Of what importance to us are thoughts and feelings of people billions of miles away from us? Can you answer me that? Can you?

No. The only thing I know is that this belief that someone somewhere really loves me, this belief is one of those very few things on the basis of which I can say that not all of my life had been a waste.

Yes. Put that way, love seems to be the prime function – or one of the prime functions - of life, doesn’t it?

To love and be loved.

To love and be loved.

5.

Those will-o-the-wisps seem harmless.

They seem to like sticking around with us.

And don’t they look beautiful, dancing on the air?

Do you think they are sentient?

I hope so.

Somehow, it seems important, doesn’t it?

6.

Let us forget the woes and count the blessings.

Okay. To begin with, we are alive. We didn’t die in the spaceship crash. We were not even hurt much.

This planet is liveable.

We have found a nice and cozy cave to live in.

Our stores of food will last us for months and by then we should be able to find edible fruits and such on this planet.

We have each other for company.

And probably a good thing that one of us is not of the opposite sex. This way we avoid the complications of being the new Adam and Eve for this planet.

And the planet, on the surface, is not a bad looking one. It has got some beautiful scenery.

And the books. Don’t forget the books we managed to salvage from the wreck. We have the Bible, the Qur’an, and those poetry collections – Keats, Tennyson, Elliot.

And we have the sense of wonder, the desire for knowledge, and this planet might – just might – prove interesting.

7.

I have noticed something. I dream more often and more intensely when the will-o-the-wisps are near me.

Strange. Now that you put it into words, of late my dreams seem more and more real to me.

Reminds me of something I had said earlier - what are dreams if not a different kind of reality?

8.

It is strange, isn’t it, the way our perspective changes with time? Things always seem different when you look at them in retrospect.

Yes. The sense of values changes. What seemed important then seems trivial now. That which was trivial then appears important now. These days I never even think about who is going to win the next elections back home but I do often think of the way my mother used to kiss me goodbye every morning when I left for school so many years ago.

There is another thing. In retrospect, I have nothing more than a vague memory of the hurts I received in life. Even when put together and taken collectively, these hurts don’t seem to amount to much. But when I think of all the hurts that I have dished out to others ---

I know what you are talking about. Regrets. A whole lot of regrets. That day when I slapped my kid when all he did was ask me to buy him a chocolate icecream.

That day when my mother asked me to get her a book from the library and I refused saying that I couldn’t leave my favorite TV program.

How many times have I hurt my wife unreasonably, pig-headedly, just out to prove that I was the boss of the house.

How many times did I simply neglect – and sometimes even crush – the feelings of others.

And they – all of them – were people who loved us.

Loved us and cared for us and ---

And we ---

Regrets. And pain. And a soul screaming for a second chance.

You are crying!

Do you mind? No, you would not. You are crying too.

Yes. Let us cry ourselves to sleep.

9.

Life seems so meaningless now.

Do you think the will-o-the-wisps are sentient?

A strange response to my observation about the meaning of life.

I somehow feel that our life will be meaningful again if the will-o-the-wisps are sentient.

What is the meaning of life?

I don’t know. Do you?

10.

Most of our problems back on earth – they seem so petty now.

So many of concerns misplaced.

So many actions futile.

Now we learn.

11.

Other than home and family and friends, what are the things you miss the most?

Why do you always have to ask these painful questions? Why can’t you leave memories well enough alone?

Catharsis man, catharsis.

Catharsis my foot. I think the concept of catharsis is humbug. Another blunder of modern psychology.

Okay, then let us talk about these things to pass our time.

All right then. I will join you. I miss the little things – those things that many good writers wrote about in their books.

Things like?

The stone benches in the park.

The early morning strollers.

The dim, dark streets of the night.

The children going to and coming back from school.

The tea house and the steam rising up from the tea cups.

The town library with its dimly lit corners where the mysterious smell of old books hung in the air, like the smell of captured time.

The birds.

And the bees.

Ha, ha!

12.

Say, my watch has stopped. What about yours?

Hmm? Mine seems to have stopped too. The batteries have run down at last.

So shall we toss them into the lake now?

Again, why bother? Why not just take them off and leave them lying around on this rock?

Yeah. Why not?

And I do believe the will-o-the-wisps are sentient creatures. Let us see if we can communicate with them.

THE END