Thus Spake Loki: Two


It was morning. A dull, chilly morning. The wind was biting, cold, and the sky was grey. It was a day when the dead would like to stay dead, I thought grimly. This is a morning, when they would like to stay buried in the warmth of their bloody graves. This is not a morning when they would venture out as ghosts or any other such imaginary creatures. Too bloody cold for them, I thought, with a vicious laugh rattling inside my brain.

It was no bloody fun, walking to office on a day like this. I really don’t know why the damned office didn’t stay shut and let us all lie back in bed. Why the bloody shit didn’t they leave us in peace. But then, I thought grimly, office does have it’s advantages at times. Stingy, bloody company, I thought, not giving us enough salary. I could not afford to rent a heated flat, and my blankets were worn and threadbare. I had to wear three pair of worn and torn socks at night to avoid freezing. And, does that shitty little boss of mine care? No. No sir, my boss does not give a damned shit.

At least the office is heated. I am going to make up for this damned walk in the frigging, freezing cold weather by drinking lots of tea, and staying late in office. That should teach those bloody managers a thing or two. They sit there in their offices, those smug old bastards. Who the shit do they think they are, keeping all the frigging perks to themselves, and passing nothing down to faithful workers like me. So, I am going to sit late, earn overtime, and drink lots of tea and coffee. That should teach those old sods a lesson. As though they give a damned shit about the company. All that they care about , is stuffing their fat, shiny faces in the manager’s canteen. Bloody hell. Bloody hell.

I walked along the freezing road, my teeth chattering in the cold, and giving my thoughts company with their damned noise. The chattering is loud enough to wake Death himself from his slumber, I thought morosely.

“Feeling cold, are you?”, a slow voice spoke in my ear.

“Whaddya want?”, I growled back.

“It’s morning”, said he. “Think about it. A freezing morning. A dull, grey morning. This sort of morning lets you see the world in a completely different light. You are all so used to seeing the world in the bright sunshine that you forget that the world is manifest in different ways. You all want warmth, but not heat. You want the sun, but not too strong and bright. You want a sky, but it must be blue with white clouds. It must not be grey. You want a breeze, but not a hot or cold wind. Some of you like the desert, as long as the sand does not get into your eyes and clothes. So, tell me, my friend, are you reasonable? Do you consider yourself to be a reasonable man?”

We walked on in silence, and I brooded in anger. Who the bloody hell was he, I thought, to come along and preach? No one likes him anyway. People hate him. They find him creepy, with his pale, sunken eyes; and pasty, white skin that gleamed blue in the moonlight. I was the only one that dared walk with him, and all I got was a damned lecture on the wind, the sun, clouds and other such assorted nonsense. I am cold. I am freaking freezing, and I get no bloody sympathy. Think of it. Can you imagine the bleeding injustice of it all? Who is the injured, freezing one here? Me.

I buried my head in my coat and hurried on, and suddenly stopped as a thought struck me. I turned and looked at him.

Death, Old Friend”, I said. “Tell me, what do you do? You simply stand around. You lurk in corners, and greedily wait for people to die, so that you can continue to build your collage of Dead Souls.”

“Then tell me, my friend”, he said. “Why is it that none of you want to come home to me? All of you cry and moan about life. You cry that it is not perfect. You cry that it is too perfect. Why do you not seek me? The Hindus believe that this world is Hell, and that the objective of life is to ensure that you are not reborn. Liberation, Nirvana, is what they seek. They say that there is no way that a person should be reborn into this painful, sinful world. Yet, they created the caste system, and exploit other people. The rich don’t want to die. They are diseased because life is too good, yet they don’t want to die. The poor seek death to escape this wretched life, yet fear me when they see me.”

“Don’t  you see, my friend, that there is a contradiction here? Don’t you think that you need to re-evaluate your life, your concepts, your beliefs and how you see the world? Think about it, and maybe your teeth would stop chattering so much.”

“Sonofabitch”, I growled to myself. A retort was growing deep inside me, and was slowly finding it’s way to my lips. My lips curled in a sardonic, sarcastic, bitter smile, and I looked up at him, ready to retort. I wanted to punch him on the bloody nose, and see if he had any blood inside him, but he was gone,

All that was left, was his mocking smile, and I found myself at the entrance to my office.

“Screw philosophy”, I thought.”Let’s have some tea, and watch those smug managers stuff cake into their faces.”…


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