Dear Sexy Brains:

I wasn't going to post a video today, but reading this Challenge by Beatrice Gomes pulled me in. Some of our resident legends and some new blood entered the circle for this one, each creating dark and irresistible worlds. Here's the link.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OhYpK2wNVmE

And here's the Challenge.

https://www.theprose.com/challenge/14174

And.

As always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

I come from a small town in Kerala and my ancestral home is close to the paddy fields. Infact the paddy fields can be seen when we stand near the fence. My house is small thatched house in the middle of a huge plot. As we enter, on the right side we have the Columb mango tree. The mangoes are almost long and oval in shape, when you bit into it the pulp is colour of the sky when the sun is setting. Its too sweet to my liking. After describing it, I feel embarrased to be saying that I don't like it much. But ammamma's (Maternal grandmother) house is not just a place, its a feeling. The place has too many memories attached to it. The old house had a cowshed attached to the main house. I remember my muthashi( great grandmother) was a task master who used to keep a count of the number of eggs the hens had laid in the haystack. The younger me once fought with her when she grabbed an egg from my sister's hand. Muthashi passed away and now, this is one of the memories that we smile about.

With so many plants and trees around us, it felt like we were in the middle of the forest half the time. Unlike the place that I currently stay at, this ancesteral house had four doors in four sides. It was a strange thing because the house was tiny but it had four huge doors, I used to wonder. My ammamma used to always say that she needs some ventilation in the house. I used to wonder why she even needed walls. The house was small with one bed for her because she used to stay alone. When we went there during our summer breaks, we would sleep on the floor. Unlike the tiles here in the city, our house had rough floor, we were too close to the earth I used to feel. I could hear the millipedes, centipedes, baby scorpions, spiders, mosquitoes and an entire ecosystem made up of little insects invading my sleep. I remember seeing a snake on the inner part of the roof once. I was just lying down on my grandmother's lap and listening to her gossip with my amma( mother). I suddenly saw something brown just slithering away. It had golden brown scales and I could see some wave like patterns on it. I jumped up and started screaming in horror, my ammamma told me be calm because she thought I was scaring the snake. She said, " Its a chera( non- venomous snake), leave it".

The house had just three parts: the veranda, the inner hall plus bedroom and the kitchen. The bathroom was situated outside, just in case you are wondering. It was a small house but one thing I remember the most about it is the space in it, I remember us huddled up when it used to rain. The bricks walls were not really waterproof, water used to leak inside. Even if we fought, there was no room to keep grudges. I feel that the house used to keep us close because of its space. We would sit together on the floor and have food in vaazha ila(plantain leaf). If the power went, we would take our lamps and sit out chit chatting. When I used to wake up early in the morning, I used to see my grandmother talking to her cow and milking it. My ammamma was very much in sync with nature.

These are the memories of my home. I think my ancestral house is a place that I can call 'home' because of my ammamma. Her happiness when she saw us, he sadness when we leave after the summer break, her excitement to give us mangoes that she had collected over the season, her image standing at the door when our autorickshaw slowly faded. All this made it HOME.

I come from a small town in Kerala and my ancestral home is close to the paddy fields. Infact the paddy fields can be seen when we stand near the fence. My house is small thatched house in the middle of a huge plot. As we enter, on the right side we have the Columb mango tree. The mangoes are almost long and oval in shape, when you bit into it the pulp is colour of the sky when the sun is setting. Its too sweet to my liking. After describing it, I feel embarrased to be saying that I don't like it much. But ammamma's (Maternal grandmother) house is not just a place, its a feeling. The place has too many memories attached to it. The old house had a cowshed attached to the main house. I remember my muthashi( great grandmother) was a task master who used to keep a count of the number of eggs the hens had laid in the haystack. The younger me once fought with her when she grabbed an egg from my sister's hand. Muthashi passed away and now, this is one of the memories that we smile about.

With so many plants and trees around us, it felt like we were in the middle of the forest half the time. Unlike the place that I currently stay at, this ancesteral house had four doors in four sides. It was a strange thing because the house was tiny but it had four huge doors, I used to wonder. My ammamma used to always say that she needs some ventilation in the house. I used to wonder why she even needed walls. The house was small with one bed for her because she used to stay alone. When we went there during our summer breaks, we would sleep on the floor. Unlike the tiles here in the city, our house had rough floor, we were too close to the earth I used to feel. I could hear the millipedes, centipedes, baby scorpions, spiders, mosquitoes and an entire ecosystem made up of little insects invading my sleep. I remember seeing a snake on the inner part of the roof once. I was just lying down on my grandmother's lap and listening to her gossip with my amma( mother). I suddenly saw something brown just slithering away. It had golden brown scales and I could see some wave like patterns on it. I jumped up and started screaming in horror, my ammamma told me be calm because she thought I was scaring the snake. She said, " Its a chera( non- venomous snake), leave it".

The house had just three parts: the veranda, the inner hall plus bedroom and the kitchen. The bathroom was situated outside, just in case you are wondering. It was a small house but one thing I remember the most about it is the space in it, I remember us huddled up when it used to rain. The bricks walls were not really waterproof, water used to leak inside. Even if we fought, there was no room to keep grudges. I feel that the house used to keep us close because of its space. We would sit together on the floor and have food in vaazha ila(plantain leaf). If the power went, we would take our lamps and sit out chit chatting. When I used to wake up early in the morning, I used to see my grandmother talking to her cow and milking it. My ammamma was very much in sync with nature.

These are the memories of my home. I think my ancestral house is a place that I can call 'home' because of my ammamma. Her happiness when she saw us, he sadness when we leave after the summer break, her excitement to give us mangoes that she had collected over the season, her image standing at the door when our autorickshaw slowly faded. All this made it HOME.

Under the black moon's shine, sugarcoated lies were told.

The truth carried the stench of blood and death, as the innocent fell into evil's claws.

Prey get easily caught under the black moon's shine, clouding one's judgement.

The hunter prepares to tear into juicy flesh, ready to satiate the hunger.

That's the beginning of the hunter's downfall.

Under the black moon's shine, the roles were reversed.

Under the black moon's shine, the hunter becomes the hunted, deceived by prey.

The ashes paved the way to victory under the black moon's shine.

A new hunter emerged, under the black moon's shine, more evil and lethal.

A menace guided by the wicked energy of the black moon's shine.

Gretel was the vicious one,

the vindictive one,

Hansel found her charming,

if not somewhat alarming.

The old woman kept a secret,

close to her heart,

She had one, that didn't look like her,

ragged and torn apart.

They drew a hex,

whoever was in the circle wept,

forever and ever and ever.

Hansel wondered at the rapt

attention that Gretel kept

focused on the old woman

and her gentle pet,

the gingerbread cat.

It came to pass,

as everything does,

that the old woman in question

was none other than,

Gretel herself; Hansel the cat.

For as everyone knows,

You become what you eat.

And for all eternity, Hansel lay at the feet

Of the old women who did nothing

but weep and weep and weep.

“I was once a man . . . not so different from you.”

The words slipped off my tongue lacking the condescension I had intended.

“I know, my lord.” Came his reply.

He knew? What did this poor slob know? He knew nothing.

I . . . I know everything. Rather, I can make them think I know everything. Close enough.

“I had gone to bed slightly parched,” I began to recite the tale I had told hundreds of times, “It was a hot summer day . . .”

“Yes, my lord,” the beggar took advantage of my pause. “I know the story. I have heard tell of how you woke to find water dripping from the ceiling, how it quenched your thirst and how mysteriously it vanished.”

“I had summoned it. Even unintentionally. That is how great my powers are.”

This story was a vague facsimile of the truth. There was water but it quenched anger more than thirst. That sordid fool never bothered me again.

“Perhaps you can explain to me one thing,” I pause to build the tension, enjoying the feel of his rising hope, reveling in anticipation of knocking it back down. The power to crush a spirit is truly the greatest power of all. “Why ever would I do something for a maggot such as you?”

He sputters searching for an answer. “But . . . you said . . . once you were not so different. I thought you might understand my situation.”

“Once perhaps, but I am no longer the man I once was. I am as unlike you as day is unlike night, matter unlike emptiness, life, death. You are nothing. While I, I am everything.” A lightning bolt followed by a rippling crack of thunder punctuates my sentence.

I hate this kind of nonsense. I was no common man. I am not unable to sympathize with this man’s troubles but even at my weakest I was so much more than he could ever be. A nothing like him could never wrest such power from the hands of fate. I deserve this power. I suffered for it. It is my right. I am wisest. While I am generous with my gifts, I am careful to keep everything in check. I can only do so much or who know what evil could be unleashed. I must pick and choose, decided and conquer for the good of all mankind. Only I know what is best. No regular mortal could face the challenges I must. Greedy and lazy the lot of them.

Well, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, as they say.

“At any rate, I will help you.” I declare. “You have asked me no great thing.”

I snap my fingers, unnecessarily, of course, just for show. A basket appears at the beggar’s feet. He bows low, thanks me profusely and leaves.

I should not be so generous. It only encourages them. These small, pitiful, powerless creatures ought to make do on their own, as I always had. No one should have things handed to them.

It is so satisfying to flaunt my dominion and I am so kind, so generous. Like a loving father, I daresay.

They owe me so much more than their feeble minds can comprehend. They ought to pay me back, yet there isn’t much they could offer. I don’t require anything from anyone.

They could work for me, though I don’t need them to.

I can make them suffer to prove their value, hurt them to prove their strength, all the while demanding they shower me with praise and honor just to let them live. I could force them to worship me, to suffer, bleed and even die for me.

I could promise rewards for them in the next life, the life after life. They don’t know any better. They would believe every word.

And you know what?

I think I shall.

Sky splits open, flames erupt

Judgement day for the corrupt

Those men will hide themselves with shame

In fear of iron rod, resigning the game

All shall get their house in order

Or be led like lambs to slaughter

For when he returns, he will not be a lamb

But a lion judging the damned

Arriving in a cloud of lightning and thunder

Casting down the sons of plunder

Cannot run, cannot hide

He sees your soul inside

A pure righteous soul has been sent

Time to bow down, time to repent

The sun creates fire in his eyes

Judging your plight, judging your lies

Feel the earth shake, stars fall from the sky

Lost souls will fear the cry

He returns as a mighty king

Feel his wrath, feel his sting

As for this time, no crown of thorns

Coming to teach and adorn

The meek shall inherit the earth

Bringing a planet of new birth

Tearing down a broken system

Rebuilding with compassion and wisdom

When you face him, what will you say?

Where will you be on judgement day?