HappyLand

(concept) written solely for later use as a guide.  CHAPTER TITLE: 0. PROLOGUE:  we are hearing a TV news. Weather report. The downpour will continue for three more days due to the depression in the Bay of Bangle.  We see a red wire dissected in two parts. We see fingers connecting it. A metal cover clouds over the wires. Metal casing. We zoom out. We see its a TORCHLIGHT. Old fashioned.( in the background we hear the noise of a man moving around, rustling clothes) Is there something ominous about it?. Before we could analyze it more. A hand takes it from the table. 1. THE TRAGEDY:  on a stormy night (downpour) while our protagonist was heading to his home he heard a woman shriek. THIEF! then heard the sound of footsteps coming closer and closer. Suddenly he saw the face( of the thief). The face saw him. Halted on his feet. Slipped on the road. Then suddenly disappeared ( where the light fell) before our protagonist could comprehend what Just occurred. The woman appe...

 Pray, for the late and the living, For the mother and the sibling, For the father and son, Pray,  What once was a dream, Now have come undone.

  It ends It  mends It bends

  (WIP) Round and round it moves,  Following the invisible line.  Neighbors are aloof, If they are too friendly, they will poof,  Nonetheless, relationships never decline.  Round and round it moves, Circling the great giant, And the fiery giant, like an unknown guide, Guides it towards, and to eternity.  It moves, round and round, And so does the living inside. And so do their thoughts, that haunt them And taunts them;  It Goes Round and round.  

On a still water A pebble fall, S tirring the semi-quietness, living creatures rustled and moved about, tiny air too small to see, Penetrated the water surface, And let shrubs and herbs grow. A world breaths inside, For a pebble a nd more. happening like this constantly. In a calm crowd Asma came, stirring the semi-numbed emotions Hearts and minds rattled and ran with, Tiny ecstasy, too small to sense, Penetrated the emotional surface, And let friendship and fiend-ship grow, A community breathe inside For Asma a nd more, happens like this constantly. 

I know I want to say something, Something very profound, intimate. Something that will unburden me, Something that will keep me from murdering myself. But...but I cannot trace the letters, words, and sentences. As if they had left my mind, leaving a lingering sense of void. My Inner-void made my tongue rigid, Hence, my silence.    

(draft) Twenty one O twenty one!  O blessed numeral, you bring me midst of ceaseless fun made me desire a funeral! half spent in innocence half in ignorance  other half in losing sense and the rest getting back 

My morning begins with a daze in slumber when the clocks  second hand running minute hand jogging and hour stand still at ten Hunger, now a baby monster, tugs my body up and out of the bed I surrender, I brush, I pee, I eat I watch (Cinema) I waste (Time) the clock  Tick, Tock! Morning ends,  Noon says hello, both are the same fellow, Afternoon and Evening waves their hand at me I return the courtesy Nights fall I fall, All fall I sleep (shallow) I dream (of death) until... (Friday, Jan 19, 1:44:44 am) 

(Draft) Day 01 31-12-23 I have no idea how I will write the story of “Fish”. I have only the concept of the story but not the mechanics, the structure, character and logic (believable quality). And I feel stupid about it. I guess that is a staple feeling for those who are not genius like HER , such imaginative, descriptive woman, every time my eyes locate her, this thought comes rushing: she is the perfect opposite of me. Is it because she was born at the same year and date as me? I don’t know. What I do know is, she is a perfect version of me. She is a Da Vinci, I am a doodler She is beautiful, and I am me Her Hand-writing is Art in itself , where mine is barely readable What I am trying to say is, she is the one who is supposed to write and illustrate this kind of story because it suits her. She is the one who is supposed to worry about how to conjure an event out of thin air, and make the story sense, not ME! I am just an insect. I am not supposed to worry about this hi...

1. First day  

(Draft)   (1)     21/10/23 Lost control of the Felus-is- not-plaizar . The artificial intelligence pilot is no longer active. Controls are busted due to radiation. It is no longer a viable option to try to save myself. The ship has deviated from its trajectory and now heading towards a planet full of N 2 O. The long-awaited departure of my soul is imminent. I stare at the planet even though there is nothing to look at. As if it is a magician's trick. It is there but is it there? Sun’s reflection makes a glare on its surface. How beautiful, I say. I remember, I used the word when I gawked at the spectacle of a barrage of rockets leaving our home planet when I was a teenager, which was twenty-one years ago. And I remember, following the word, I said that, one day I will be a pilot. Following my sentence, family, and relatives around me would break into laughter and say the following words, “But you don’t even know the difference between ‘Neuro-resonance’ and ‘Quant...

Rizwan R Rishad's Nonsensical logo I think I was in 3rd or 4th grade when I first learned the love between pen and paper. After reading/encountering a youth magazine named Kishor Kontho , I fell in love with storytelling and wrote my first horror story, with a pencil (like Sadat Hossain Manto). Even though I was unaware of the methods of structure, my story had an ideal protagonist, foil characters, and villains. Surprisingly it had three structures. Intro to the character and his journey, a call to action when he meets with his friends and learns about a supposed treasure (common troupe), and an invisible villain testing the characters to give them moral lessons like Aeshop's fable, I think it was a conscious choice I chose after reading his fables, particularly about greed. And had a denouement where everyone but the protagonist succumbs to greed and dies and the hero gets a diamond and keeps it at his bedside as memorabilia. For me, it was a miracle. The miracle is that it w...