#review #Go #prologue O' Lost
Between the leafs of a dawn, the poet’s soul arises, the writer’s spirit writes, and the head of a
Mathematician goes far beyond. But underneath those, there was a boy, no less a man than the
others, and a girl whom by Wagner the queen of Valkyries was called. The Dark was shown upon
London, and the bright in shores of Thames, no Leader, no Queen nor King, the vicious people
appeared, the river was full of Dark mysteries, but how come such proud river allowed the invaders
with their tools and fools, with their machines and means, that were never seen before, struck
London Bridge with a cannon so powerful, we had thought the sun was beneath our own noses. But
a conquest is no more than a act of treason to ourselves, as the British people tried before, now
beasts and beings of another world do as they pleased, we betray ourselves for thinking we are the
ones in control, but believe in these words, no will is left uncontrolled and there’s no action that
doesn’t have another with the same strength. The boy, with the small stature, that was no man, leads
another army, but was it the English? Was it the Vicious? No, another one. The boy that shall be
know as William, the protector, was once just another orphan, but now, he has become the greatest
of men. The Army of William makes a stand in Westminster, alongside his wife, he shouts:
- Today we may die, but nevertheless, we will live forever. Who of you are with me? – And by that
cry of victory, the Armies confront turns, who will conquer? Who will die?
Between the leafs of a dawn, the poet’s soul arises, the writer’s spirit writes, and the head of a
Mathematician goes far beyond. But underneath those, there was a boy, no less a man than the
others, and a girl whom by Wagner the queen of Valkyries was called. The Dark was shown upon
London, and the bright in shores of Thames, no Leader, no Queen nor King, the vicious people
appeared, the river was full of Dark mysteries, but how come such proud river allowed the invaders
with their tools and fools, with their machines and means, that were never seen before, struck
London Bridge with a cannon so powerful, we had thought the sun was beneath our own noses. But
a conquest is no more than a act of treason to ourselves, as the British people tried before, now
beasts and beings of another world do as they pleased, we betray ourselves for thinking we are the
ones in control, but believe in these words, no will is left uncontrolled and there’s no action that
doesn’t have another with the same strength. The boy, with the small stature, that was no man, leads
another army, but was it the English? Was it the Vicious? No, another one. The boy that shall be
know as William, the protector, was once just another orphan, but now, he has become the greatest
of men. The Army of William makes a stand in Westminster, alongside his wife, he shouts:
- Today we may die, but nevertheless, we will live forever. Who of you are with me? – And by that
cry of victory, the Armies confront turns, who will conquer? Who will die?
#review #prologue #thatsal
It could have been just another ordinary day, unfolding an ordinary natural calamity, but this was the day when felonious and cunning exertions had reaped the whirlwind, prompting the following fall of meticulously built house of cards.
Between the Devil and deep blue sea, the mighty Sun was horror-stricken and stowed behind the thundering clouds. Golden ray was sheathing the black clouds and it emerged as the eyes of angered God- capricious and fatal. Bolts were strangling the land with bare lightening, angered winds were furious and indigenously throwing the droplets in swirling strings. Blurred by the heavy storms, the aura around was so enraging that even healthy pair of eyes couldn't see sixteen feet across the street.
Ground was wet, muddy, sloppy, moreover, waiting for some over confident lad to climb it up, like an inexperienced mountaineer trying to climb up rock and meet the Yamaraj himself. No one in the soulful of his mind would have tried to walk on those paths, though few differently shaped boxes could be seen on their wheels churning over the ground, trying to race out the mud behind it.
Just by lifting eyes a little upwards and farther across the ground at the end of street, an old rustic board, straight out of the dinosaur's era, was barely hanging itself against the tempest; something was written on it in Marathi which roughly translated to be a primary school from class Nursery to class eighth. Barren land- a tamarind tree - a old building, the world had progressed up to see wireless connectivity but the school was still in its nineteenth century getup, where underneath the tree you could see the black board, probably be stricken by the stormy winds to the ground. To the opposite of the tree, was a buzzing rusty bell with no rhythm of music, fighting against the thunder storms.
It was roughly Nine 'o'clock in the morning, yet somehow it felt like, the darkest of the hour. This was the only school within fifteen kilometers of the radius where kids from all the nearby villages used to study. In that four room building, only three rooms allocated as classroom and the fourth one used by the principal and school teachers. Entire session of one particular class was held either in corridor, over the roof or outside in the ground as the weather allow them to sit wherever possible. The structure of the building wasn't modernized, though the building wasn't that old.
It was usual enactment for student to adjust during monsoon season for all the classes being shifted inside the structure of the building. All the children had to sit on the floor in organized manner because of limited chairs and tables, still few amongst them was imbecile enough to give a perfectionist the taste of irritation.
On that day, majority children of the school were absent. It was visible in the morning sky that this day wasn't going to be dry one. Most of the children didn't need any excuse to not attend the school but rumbling sky seems to be good reason to skip the school without being scolded. The students who chose to obedient that day were standing in the corridor cheering over the rain, as expected from innocence of still-growing kids. Although, a peak of tension could be seen on faces of teacher, as they were trying to manage them, yelling on them to stay far from the pillar. Outrage of hurled sky and exertion of rain could also be judged from that vagrant water, trying to climb up and shortened the distance of two feet between the mud and concrete floor of corridor.
As the time went, the rain was nowhere near the finish line, in fact it was the opposite. Thunder was growing to be more threatening, like it was on mission to drown everyone and everything. Water had covered the entire floor around and leveling up minute by minute. Teachers have tucked their sarees upwards half way through the legs and their knees were visible. Their calves were drained in the water and almost all the kids were half way through the drowning.
It could have been just another ordinary day, unfolding an ordinary natural calamity, but this was the day when felonious and cunning exertions had reaped the whirlwind, prompting the following fall of meticulously built house of cards.
Between the Devil and deep blue sea, the mighty Sun was horror-stricken and stowed behind the thundering clouds. Golden ray was sheathing the black clouds and it emerged as the eyes of angered God- capricious and fatal. Bolts were strangling the land with bare lightening, angered winds were furious and indigenously throwing the droplets in swirling strings. Blurred by the heavy storms, the aura around was so enraging that even healthy pair of eyes couldn't see sixteen feet across the street.
Ground was wet, muddy, sloppy, moreover, waiting for some over confident lad to climb it up, like an inexperienced mountaineer trying to climb up rock and meet the Yamaraj himself. No one in the soulful of his mind would have tried to walk on those paths, though few differently shaped boxes could be seen on their wheels churning over the ground, trying to race out the mud behind it.
Just by lifting eyes a little upwards and farther across the ground at the end of street, an old rustic board, straight out of the dinosaur's era, was barely hanging itself against the tempest; something was written on it in Marathi which roughly translated to be a primary school from class Nursery to class eighth. Barren land- a tamarind tree - a old building, the world had progressed up to see wireless connectivity but the school was still in its nineteenth century getup, where underneath the tree you could see the black board, probably be stricken by the stormy winds to the ground. To the opposite of the tree, was a buzzing rusty bell with no rhythm of music, fighting against the thunder storms.
It was roughly Nine 'o'clock in the morning, yet somehow it felt like, the darkest of the hour. This was the only school within fifteen kilometers of the radius where kids from all the nearby villages used to study. In that four room building, only three rooms allocated as classroom and the fourth one used by the principal and school teachers. Entire session of one particular class was held either in corridor, over the roof or outside in the ground as the weather allow them to sit wherever possible. The structure of the building wasn't modernized, though the building wasn't that old.
It was usual enactment for student to adjust during monsoon season for all the classes being shifted inside the structure of the building. All the children had to sit on the floor in organized manner because of limited chairs and tables, still few amongst them was imbecile enough to give a perfectionist the taste of irritation.
On that day, majority children of the school were absent. It was visible in the morning sky that this day wasn't going to be dry one. Most of the children didn't need any excuse to not attend the school but rumbling sky seems to be good reason to skip the school without being scolded. The students who chose to obedient that day were standing in the corridor cheering over the rain, as expected from innocence of still-growing kids. Although, a peak of tension could be seen on faces of teacher, as they were trying to manage them, yelling on them to stay far from the pillar. Outrage of hurled sky and exertion of rain could also be judged from that vagrant water, trying to climb up and shortened the distance of two feet between the mud and concrete floor of corridor.
As the time went, the rain was nowhere near the finish line, in fact it was the opposite. Thunder was growing to be more threatening, like it was on mission to drown everyone and everything. Water had covered the entire floor around and leveling up minute by minute. Teachers have tucked their sarees upwards half way through the legs and their knees were visible. Their calves were drained in the water and almost all the kids were half way through the drowning.