This a story about her, thrall and him.

The land extended and always seems that it was in a quest to meet the horizon. they seemed like two lovers condemned like Sisyphus in their pursuit to be together...the land rose and fell, cut through itself and let its passion flow through the abstract beneath it, to rise and fold into peaks and alas the journey appeared as a trifling junket anyways its hope never failed. The land I say can exist anywhere but not everywhere. It had the barren earth like a female unfolded and brought into the earth with innocence, it had been tilled like a women aged with thoughts, memories, fears and ambitions in her youth. It lay beside the banks of rivers giving the impression she was under the mercy of the rivers, little did they know if she rose above the rivers she would swallow them like the desert and but she knew too well to do that lest she swallows and be damned. She persisted through floods and flowered through the spring. This is not the anecdote on her but on her passing master who loved her. Wanted to make her the queen and wanted in an absurd way to ravish her; take away her attire and outfit throw them in to the surrounding banks only to get new ones and rejoice on the occasion...the master who was her slave and mastered her only till she wanted to be enslaved...in her own free will. Thrall is a farmer. He grew things that could be reaped. Alike his human and alike the mongers between them he wanted money. But it was not all that he wanted. He never knew...wearing the greased outfit with a grey tinge to it he never could blend with the surroundings that he sweated on. But then he went on with an unsaid commitment like Jeeves...sans the humour for the onlookers. He was not ignored. He had moments of attention in which he loved to bask and moments he wanted to be outlawed and isolated. These were the moments of victory when he wanted to be alone...he did not want to share it. He wanted to share it with nobody. Thrall is bored. Why? He is bored of her...she always grew what she was seeded with. Nobody knew and everybody knew why. Yet he was not happy about himself. He was very happy about her. He was not sure whether she was happy about herself; he admits that he cares less about that.
She has been a woman for long...she never aged and Thrall could be some where near handsome and ugly but not the average...he neither received many compliments about his looks nor was ignored.

Their quest and objectives where different. She wanted to meet him. He was blue and handsome and he always looked at her and sometimes people called him blind, sometimes people hoped there was something above him where they could reach. He was challenging as he tried and twisted people's predictions and premonitions cast on him. They always talked and the banks heard them. They smiled.

Thrall will never know the above though...sad, so sad else he would have helped them. He always wanted to help her but when he did he ended helping himself.

He was growing spinach this season and she lay hid beneath his crops.


The dawn awoke Thrall and today was different. He wanted to see her. It’s been long since he had seen her naked and yes it had been long since he had seen her naked too.
He undressed her in a hurry as a lot had to be done. He held the spinach with her head and then wrenched it out. And when he did the spores of the spinach fell around. Sweating and panting he undertook the repetitive process and the veins of her were filled with pain a pain so relieving. She was being stretched, explored and fluids emerged from the crevices of spinach. She screamed wit a riff-raff sound as Thrall continued doing the same...it went on for a timeless period through the day.

In the end it was done. There she lay in all her brown glory. He stood solemn without a word...when they would meet? The two waited and only knew they could not until they would measure their wait with time. The time had to end and then they would rush and hug each other, wipe their tears and laugh aloud. The time had to end. Wish Thrall knew about it.
Thrall could not have done anything about it...but sometimes they are things that are good to know about. Just know them even when you cannot do anything about it. It’s nice to know...it’s pleasing.

He remained solemn looking at her from above....he never said anything more, he never rained he saw her, her curves, her mounts he saw her. He loved her ugly rustic postures the way she shifted from one place to another, the way she recoiled and moved on herself. He loved her and he stood solemn. She stared at him.

Thrall since he knew nothing, understood nothing. He was not happy about himself most of the times but then he was totally mad at her. It has been since he had weeded her of the spinach but after the occasion, she never allowed anything to be grown on her...nothing...she was like the child who outgrew her father's control...Thrall had no influence on her anymore...she had understood any influence was bad...influence in itself was bad...she is not Thrall and Thrall isn’t her. her trivialities might be colossal for him and vice-versa...she never thought about Thrall and Thrall always thought about her, wept for her and slept on her day and night and looked at him above but he was not given a glance. he was looking at her from above and she was returning his stare... Thrall could do nothing, Thrall lay on her with his eyes staring at him above...Thrall lay now on his side and could see both in his vision. The banks were swallowed by her and the tree at the edge withered. The water vaporised into him above and the tree withered and mixed with her and Thrall lay on her. He still thought he was the one who was to be taken care of and given a part in the act. Alas he never knew that he wasn't in the play...the banks looked beneath at the trees and they stared at each other.

Thrall was not alone though...he was looked by time and nobody else cared as they knew Thrall and time would both pass...pass away...
Thrall! Oh Thrall! Wish you knew something though you cannot have done anything about them because it’s nice to know things...jus to know them...

Roof coloured sand, the floating dust, the warming sun. Used rails blocking the rays and their shadows cast on the cement pavements. As to deny its vanity, stains of spit on the rail's legs formed intricate vulgar designs and its off springs stood few meters away, repeating themselves as if a staccato verse was being completed by them.

The silence, that the pavements and the walls arising from their heads bore was the best work till now by any con. And as Smarag neared it he could hear the hot air rising and mixing with steam. Dragging his suitcase filled with several things of no use to anybody but himself, he dragged on...
At the entrance he placed his luggage down and wiped his brow and to soften his creased palms he slid them over his brown coat. He saw above and involuntary tears filled his eyes, the sun had beckoned them.
After searching in his pockets he produced his tickets and looked at them. Yes, they were for his train and yes of course the journey was meant to be made in a few hours from now. He picked his luggage; he knew not what the destination was and cared less for not many know where they are destined to. He brushed his coat, he wanted them to be clean as he would not take them after this journey, and so he thought. He was never sure of many things anymore.
He stepped on the station and his cells in the head began to ooze out some irritants and the reheard voices of the chai-walla and vendors stroke his senses and the smell of the urine diluted by the stench of sweat pervaded. It never changed and he wondered how all the vendors could go on and on for all the bygone decades with the same cacophony. Long before he had thought people bought from these vendors to stop them from going on, just stop them for a moment so that they could listen to silence, yes not many have heard silence for long, people have forgotten to listen to silence, and they simply cannot fathom its beauty. it was beautiful than the euphonies of their times and records of their forefathers, something that was lost, silence lost in evolution...he stopped as he could no more remember what he was saying, and then he remembered only a bit of it, yes he was not saying he was thinking?? He sighed.

It was sultry and the sun was no more to be seen, the standing posts made of rails veiled them. He placed his head against the post and the closed his eyes and imagined a million arrows flying past the fortress and plunging into the enemy's hearts...he always did that to get sleep, it was the best sedative he had come across- defying his logic.

The wires livened themselves and the diaphragm above them quivered and the wires asserted to themselves and to the diaphragm around, “yes something is coming in us just be prepared.” to which the latter replied, "yeah am always..." and then the sound cracked announcing the arrival of the train and Smarag woke up, wiped his brow again to find no sweat but only the stickiness left behind them, he felt better. Smarag boarded the train, the compartments were not crowded.

He sat in the corner where he neither could see anybody nor can someone look at him. He reclined but felt restless and saw the coat shimmering in the sun, he always liked it when the coat shimmered.

The train chugged as the steam rose high in the air. The coals made their journey down below while the steam rose above and i moved on straight not knowing that i go in circles.

As the train moved on the wind made him sit erect and his hands were laid on his knees with grace as he used to do it. The train breathed life in to him and making him to live it a step above his existence. He felt him self sitting with ease and the brow enlivened and light peered into his eyes a bit more; atleast at the sides, he could not see anybody, he nodded, he wanted it that way...

He looked outside the window with his palm under his chin and head laid on the window, the sun streaming through his face exploring the passages of his countenance. The train sped through. It was gaining speed as it rode on and he felt stronger as it moved, it was a circle of energy being given to him and then intensified and a little more being given and then intensified again...the more he felt strong the train moved faster, there were no curves and there way no caves of darkness, it was a warm day and the coat added to the sudden felt comfort.

His hair lay now thrown back from the forehead and the claws beyond his eyes became retractable, he wanted to see and look and he decide to move on and sit amongst people, he was feeling bored and the long time that had elapsed in the train accentuated his curiosity and then he drew back himself...

He saw his hands; he never liked them in particular. For no reason, he looked at his hands. The wrinkles were vanishing and the red spots diluted to pink and then to cream yellow as they settled to their natural colour, the bones fell into their places and the creaking of his knees stopped. His knees heard silence, he stood up and he realised he could do that faster. He sat again and then shot upwards and stood erect and his spectacles hindered his vision, he removed them, the train was moving faster like never before, no he remembered they had moved this fast a long time ago, the rails stopped screeching and accelerated the wheels above them and greeted the next set of wagons as they ran over them, they shined along with rays as the wheels polished and scratched them. It had been long since they had loved each other so much...the train sped with an unearthly speed, a revolution.

He strode to the mirrors and wiped them, yes they were never clean and amongst the dew spots he could see himself, his angular cheek bones and his eyes set like pearls of human value...they shined and glimmered not with the sun but with something he had lost a while ago, they glimmered with hope...

he went and he could not see any people, they were jumping off from the train as it turned around the edges as curves in the rails had seemed to cease existing, the train ran over the shadows of the mounting landscapes around, threatening to tear them apart and shred the trees by cutting their shadows.

He was young he said to himself. he shouted and tore his silence and shrieked in happiness and bounced on the seats...spat in freedom and smoked, standing on the edges of the wagons and shrieked at women at whom the train allowed a glance. He ignored the sun, had his hands in his pockets and brought his coat taut on his shoulders and then he relaxed them and sang his song, that ran through the air...he never thought, he did...

The sound crackled far away and this time the lines and the diaphragm just sat there and then they voiced the opinions of their master, he began sweating and they was a pain in his knee...he could not see the diaphragm nor the lines as he closed his eyes, he sat in his seat and and then ran his fingers through his hair and felt them falling. The train made a shrill noise with joy as it pumped energy into itself and the rails lost their shine as he lost it in his eyes...he saw his hands where the vein spots started reappearing, he shrieked but could not hear himself and felt his tongue wobbling....the diaphragm shrieked again....he could not keep his eyes closed again anymore, he opened them and looked above and saw the train pumping the last of energy into it and come to a standstill, he stood up carefully and boarded his wagon, he sat and his hunchback hurt him but nevertheless he brushed his coat and they shimmered…

He liked it when his coat shimmered.