A Story in Present Tense

Keep your hands off me.

You refuse to leave us alone... we, who only want to live in rustic peace... but you come for us from afar, with greed and destruction in your eyes.

In my mind, I see my fallen comrades, five of them, writhing, burning before my eyes, unable to bear the heat... all to satisfy your cravings. I see their remains, their disfigurations, a battlefield in ruins.

Why am I the last one standing? Luck perhaps... maybe you pick and choose at random. Or maybe you start at one end and decide to work your way down. Or maybe you are taking out the little guys quickly and leaving bigger ones like me for the end, for a bit of sport.

But I am a fighter. Today, I avenge my neighbours, and you are in for a surprise. Come at last to me, with your instruments of destruction. My insides are a sickly liquid yellow, but I too have a weapon... one that will choke your nostrils, your sense of smell, and leave you gasping.

You have to make do with coffee and bacon this morning, I’m afraid.

One for the Josephites

(This post will mean little to all but the students of St. Joseph’s Boys’ High School, Bangalore.)

I just discovered that Saints Andrew, David, George and Patrick are respectively the patron-saints of Scotland, Wales, England and Ireland.

Who knew.