My Literary Indulgences...

A year of destruction. A year of chaos. A year of unmasking. A year of pain. All this because of his whim. His whim of ripping the pretentious facades and laying everyone, everything bare - watching his college burn. And none were spared his spite - student or staff, for none were truly innocent, some bone in every closet. A bone they fed him, and on which he feasted, akin to a rabid dog. But their bad times were to last only so long, his pleasures to last only so long. There came a crescendo leading him headlong to a precipice, then his sudden realization of it, followed by a vain attempt to undo that last teetering step. And then, his fall. It is said of hacking, "Hacking is a crime later, but an art first". And as with all art, who knows when an artist may come pick up that gauntlet you threw and then one up you. He was good no doubt, his reign of pandemonium stands testimony to that. But he lacked wisdom, or else he would have seen it coming long before he did. His twist...

I've been told that I'm not the usual 21. But pray tell me, what does that even mean, who is one?   The countless depictions, left me confused. So I formed my own definition, not bothered if it's reused. I've been accused of maturity, in plentiful. In deference, pity or spite, of that, I'm still doubtful. Precocious would do better justice I believe, As I'm still quite a bit of a fool, by my loved ones' leave! I've been accused of mirthlessness, unsurprisingly. I know I don't throw around smiles or cheers ordinarily. But that does not a man with weary worried lines make. I do smile inside. Acquaintances! I pause now for your double take! I've been accused of reticence, by friends old and new. To this I say, I love to hear more thoughts, and speak but a few. However, I'm not your internet romanticised introvert, no. When I want to talk, my taciturnity goes for a toss, as my dear ones know. I've been led to believe, in this era individual...