The 6 mark answer.

I sat there. Silence. The tiny scratching noises of 36 watches merging into that of pens (not ball pens. They don't scratch). Rustle. Extra Sheets. Double spaced-lined sheets. Very un-green. More rustle. Scratch.
Screech! How can you possibly afford to leave your seat. Time, there isn't any.
And I sit still. Scratching, but nothing coherent. The one point that eludes me. A greasy fish.
Fish... red herring... ? What if there is no 6th point? What if one of the previous 5 carries 2 marks? I'll have to elaborate it. But which one? Do I, at all? Or do I just chase the missing (or not) 6th?
6 marks equals to 6 points. Logic follows. Sadism doesn't.
The reason for my dilemma and agitation, the last 10 agonizing minutes, a delusion?
How can this possibly be legal?!

Uh... well... wait... I know... hmmm... ... ...
Oh, forget it! I've got nothing.

The colour of chaos

White. The amalgamation of all the colours simple and devoid of conflict on their own. All the other colours, for me, have chosen their sides. Not white.
When I picture white I am quite washed over by so many feelings at the same time. Vertigo, claustrophobia, confusion, a sudden rush, a strange sense of futility. The blankness of it is so bewildering. It is like an abrupt conclusion to an unfinished story. There is so much left to be said. No, you can't leave it at a blank, not now.
For many it is calm. I can see how, but the only calm I see is that of helplessness, of predestined outcomes.
Chaos, a whirl, so fast that all you catch is white. Stark, unspeaking, unyielding, withought compassion white.
And still magnificent.

At 11:43 pm

Of all the things hard to find, good food and good sleep, in that order, are the hardest. Also are english papers that really go well. There is a conflict here. What I might consider correct, according to my interpretation, hardly ever coincides with what is more universally accepted (or so I am made to believe; the best of authorities assure me). And when I don't write what my own convictions are I am left with the worst of feelings of being hypocritical.
Sigh. I am not meant for this time zone.

How stupid of me!

So sorry! I just realised I have two pictures on my blog and I haven't mentioned that they aren't mine! The main one, with the fire on water, and the other black and white one of the tree in the right column are taken by me from the internet. I apologize again for the almost plagiarism. I don't know the sources, I have had them for a long time, but I'll find out and acknowledge them as soon as I do.

It sits ablush in morning glory.

A small little thing, a short new story.

Too small, insignificant. It doesn't matter.

But oh, too small, give it some water.

The stem, pale green, bows to the ground.

It's too young and weak to lift it's crown.

It is too small, it will die soon.

It won't be around to even meet the moon.

No one will remember it when it's gone.

It leaves only its leaves to mourn.

The grass, the leaves, the bowed down stem.

It was special all alone, and alone to them.

Miss my sis...?

It could be, you know. It could just be.

The weird sisters.

You tell me who is the better photographer.

Choke hold! Struggle! Defeat.

2 or 9? 2 or 9? Which one is it?!

So, do I... ?

......................?

..............................?

Nope!

:)

Muah!

Remember the failed attempt at writing that book I told you about? This was a part of it.

There is this land of another time
Where birds and bells in harmony chime.
Lush grass of royal gren.
Higher trees than ever seen.
Never a kinder day was found,
But at night things turned around.
Trees drooped down as if to crush,
The blanket of a sinister hush.
Rocks which in day gave the weary rest,
Unwelcoming with jagged crests.
It wasn't just the time for the bird of prey,
Every sparrow and fledgling simply turned its way.
The playful twitter turned into a shriek,
The bubbling brook into a gnarled creek.
It was as if the hours had set,
During the day the good would dwell,
But at night don't venture around
As all dark is set unbound
And I don't talk of hunters alone.
Despite the brightest moon which shone,
(Infact, I am sure you'd rather not see
Whatever is out to play with thee)
So hear the woods sing their song
To bring back the long gone.
Maybe they will one day return
And give the day a better turn.

It's okay. I wrote it long back, you know. It sounds kinda lame now :).

The Letter

Cleaning the cupboard
In the house we shared.
Cleaning out the things
For which I never cared.

A rusted pin, a broken pen,
A reciept of the laundry
And suddenly I discovered
A letter that you sent me.

It spoke of things I remember not,
You wrote when you were far away,
Of things long past which I forgot,
But I remember now, I remember that day.

You talked of wonders that you saw.
You wrote of things all new.
I kept it in the box full of others.
Now these are the cherished few.

A few days later I got another
And this would be the last.
It was from a lawyer saying
That you had died in the blast.

He offered me solace,
He said he understood,
But I listened to none
For I knew he never would.

I was sad. I was dead,
I was just quiet.
Forgetting you was not easy
Even though I did try it.

But that is all past and gone,
Though you shall never be
And I burn this letter hoping you'll get it
And maybe will remember me.

Bang, poof, and then some.

Back with a bang. But won't last this time either. Exams next week. Exams are so like natural calamities. Can't stop them. All you can really do is stock up food and wait for it all to blow over.
Well, I really have been missing posting things for a long time now, but... '12th standard' is so self explanatory. You might be interested in knowing that I haven't been idle in all this time. Far from it. Won some, lost some, what matters is participation after all. Have not precisely done much concrete reading. I am not counting Anna Karenina. You know, it really isn't as bad as people might have you believe. Sure, there isn't much that compels one to read it till the end, but it isn't like it can't be done. Admittedly, the parts about Anna's life are not... well... but Levin's story is genuinely interesting. His reactons and opinions on things, political, social and agrarian, are very worthy of thought. I might not agree with him, which I don't on various accounts, but it is still one way of seeing things.
Other than that, I read my first Segal (I know, about time). Prizes. Nice. Really nice.
I have also tried writing a book. Didn't like the way it was going. Mission aborted. I am currently on my second attempt. Hmmm... it is going... okay, I guess.
Also, I am on my path to rediscovering my taste for pizza.
Written two plays. Both were... well. In all fairness, the scripts were actually good. The execution is a very different aspect.
Have of late become very interested in the UFT. I am largely considered to have lost it beyond any help.
The education system, atleast the one here, quite defies its very purpose, don't you think. Why is there this unspoken law which ropes out half the school library to 2/3rds of the students? But let's not start on this. I find it much to maddening to talk of it politely for long.
Under consideration is a new blog in partnership with Cz. Let's see how things work out for that.
I shall try to keep this up for as long as I can, but I really can make no promises.
Till later then,
Ciao.