Judging and Critiquing - Lessons learnt - Deepa

I’m going to pluck a leaf off of Suresh’s book. I hate judging! I hate judging! I hate judging! There, that felt good. Judging is an arduous task. Critiquing even more so. I must say at the outset, that even though I did not get to participate in this edition, it was as much as learning experience for me, as for all the others, maybe even more. I want to share two very important lessons that I learnt, that we all as writers need to know. Some of you are way up ahead on the writing journey than the rest of us, nonetheless, I am sure putting this out here will help us all as a group.

The first one’s about reading as a writer versus reading as a reader. Reading a post or a short story as a reader is very different than reading it as a writer. As a reader, you take home the whole experience, you simply assess the impact the entire post left at the end of it and make up your mind if it was good or bad. Sometimes characters stay with you much later, some dialogues do, yet other times the author’s style catches your eye. But that’s it. The end. But as a writer you’re expected to pay special attention and critique the writing styles, the language, the effectiveness of dialogues, the style of the writer, the  strength and conviction of his character definitions, any deviations that require explanations (more on this later), how the author builds suspense or incorporates ‘Cliff-hangers’ within his/her piece, whether the characters elicit empathy or not and so on. You read through the lines, and then you read them again and again. To identify flaws if they exist, to suggest workarounds, see if the plot is still workable with a few changes or something that should be completely scrapped and re-started. You identify loopholes if any, open questions left unanswered. 

The other one’s about mental stereotypes versus consistency of characters within the story. The whole topic came into light with Suresh’s post where critiques (specifically II and me) and Suresh went back and forth on some of the critique comments. There are two parts to this. The first is mental stereotypes. For a lot of professions, we tend to have mental stereotypes in our minds, sometimes even their physical attributes. A prison guard should be tough. A teacher should be patient. A doctor should look educated and groomed. A drug addict mostly sports disheveled looks and is slovenly in nature. Books, movies and TV series contribute majorly in building these stereotypes because of which we (atleast some of us) start expecting the same in posts and stories written by others. But what I realized through this edition is, it doesn’t have to be that way. People came in all shapes and sizes. There are always outliers. And thus, we come to the second part. However, when we create characters as outliers in our tales, it is very important to make them convincing enough and explain the deviations. Give a quick background as to why someone is the way he is. Explain what circumstances led to this behaviour. However, what’s most important that the character definition remains consistent within the story. If there’s a significant change in the character’s nature, again, there needs to be an explanation for the change. In Nabanita’s story, we saw Billy changing from a brutal rapist to a softie towards the end. It was a good attempt to show the more humane side of Billy, but it would have been extremely effective if the WHY had been answered. I cannot speak for II here, just for myself. All I had to do in my critique comment to Suresh, was to mention that I did not find the explanation of the deviation convincing enough and it would have resolved the conflict. However, I am glad that we beat the topic to death - how else would we have learnt so much!  

Second Round Feedback - Sandeep

Hello people,

So, we come to the end of the second edition of IndiFictionWorkshop.

First things first, thanks to CS and TF for the original initiative, and also to the members who participated in this edition of the IndiFictionWorkshop to make it a successful one.

Thanks also to Deepa and Indolent Insomniac for the time and effort they have put in, despite the obstacles in their way, to provide their expertise in critiquing and judging the entries as per a plot and rules laid out by my whims and fancies.

It is not an easy job to critique so many 4000 word entries in such excruciating detail, and I am grateful for the support and understanding you two have provided.

Looking at the entries received, there has been such a wide variety of takes on the plot that I am sure all the participants who were initially hesitant about the dark theme will agree that even dark themes can be explored in a number of interesting ways, regardless of your individual style.

Hopefully, some of you will now approach stories involving blood, gore and crime with a lot more confidence, and enrich my pet genre with your talent.

Many questions have also been asked about why I had such weird rules for this exercise. The easiest answer would be to say that I did everything I could to throw the participants out of every comfort zone they inhabited. However, the story behind me giving out such a plot is as follows.

Since I am a commercial writer, I happen to know many people from the same field in real life. We formed a group, with the idea of writing screenplays for Mumbai’s theatre scene.

I was to co-write a screenplay with another writer. We had a complex idea which involved weaving two stories into a coherent whole, where each story could be enacted on its own, and the two could be combined into a common whole.

It was a nightmare.

There was absolutely no synergy between the two of us since one of us was weak with technique, and the other was weak with plotting. Other groups too faced similar problems.

After a month of rowing our individual boats in circles, we decided to embark on an exercise which would bring all the writers to a common datum in terms of technique as well as plotting.

We did a plot, which I had originally planned for this edition of the workshop, which involved transvestites, and eunuchs in a psychedelic sleaze setting.

We followed similar rules to what I laid out here.

At the end of the exercise, most of our objectives were met. We were more aware of our flaws and much more confident about our ability to tackle the most uncomfortable of themes.

When the IndiFictionWorkshop was announced, I realized that the same exercise could be replicated here too.

What I gave out was not a plot. It was a straitjacket masquerading as a plot, what with all the pesky rules.

The Rules:

1)      Your story should be written in the first person point of view. You may choose to narrate in either Bruce or Billy's POV.

Writing in the first person point of view isn’t something that comes naturally to most writers. It is much easier to write from an omniscient viewpoint where the reactions of the characters need only be shown, not felt.

Bruce felt angry.

I felt angry.

The first person POV immediately places you into the shoes of your character. It requires minute detailing of the stimuli being received by your character from his surroundings, and a coherent response to it consistent with the psychology of the character.

Anyone who has played a video game will know the immense difference it makes in, say, driving a car with a third person camera view, or driving it “through the windshield” camera.

Similarly, shooting games are so much more enjoyable when they are FPS “First Person Shooters”, because it places you squarely in the thick of the action. The gun is in your hands, not in the hands of a character. You pull the trigger, not a 3D image.

Also, in the few months that I have spent in the blogosphere, I haven’t read too many fiction pieces in the first person POV. Strangely, a lot of blog posts are.

Based on that, I felt a first person POV fiction piece would be beneficial as an academic exercise for writers who didn’t practice it too much.

Again, as an additional challenge for those confident of their first person POV skills, I let those who wanted to try and tell the story of the primary character through the eyes of a second character, use Billy for the exercise.

I let it be Billy, because he shared an immediate conflict with Bruce.

I let it be only Billy so that we could judge on a somewhat level datum because too many people attempting a first person POV through too many secondary characters would have us tearing our hair out trying to normalize the scores.

2)Your story should stick to the incidents given in the plot.

There shouldn't be any other major characters apart from Bruce and Billy.

This is obvious. It was just to keep the cast of characters within limits. So there would be Billy and Bruce, then a dead girlfriend, a guard or two, some thugs, a big boss… We have pretty much the same cast in all the stories.

3)Your story should contain a description of daily life inside an American Penitentiary.

This was inserted to force participants to also devote some of the narrative to the “surroundings” of the prison setting. A lot of entries have provided beautiful description of the bleak routine of a prisoner and the surroundings in which they play out. Obviously, it took a lot of thought and imagination.

4)Regardless of the POV, your story should have Bruce selecting one of the three options. It should also describe his emotions, thought processes and rationale behind choosing one of the three, and spell out what happens with/to Bruce thereafter.

5)The story should not have any loose ends when it concludes.

Self-explanatory. The last line was placed just to remind the participants to review the characters they had introduced and to ensure that there were no dangling stories left incomplete at the end of the narrative.

6)The story will be NO LESS THAN 2000 words. It will be NO MORE THAN 4000 Words.

If we are to write 80,000 word novels, we need to practice with higher word counts. Most blog posts end before they begin. Having said that I am sure most of you have novels being typed out on your computers. I toyed with the idea of having a 10,000 word upper word limit but decided that the judges wouldn’t have the bandwidth required to effectively judge such long posts within a reasonable time frame, while still doing justice to all the entries.

Now that we have the uninteresting part of my closing post out of the way, it is time to come to the part which everyone wants to read, the names of the winners of this edition.

Deepa and I beat our heads against walls to come up with the final three who would carry the baton in the next edition.

We first selected the top 7 entries, and immediately ran into differences, because that is how strong all the entries were.

After much reading, thinking, re-reading, screaming, threatening etc. Deepa and I have, to the best of our abilities, selected the following entries as our top three for this round.

 The first spot goes to Radha’s entry – 48 Hours.

The second spot goes to Medha Kapoor’s entry – A Rush of Blood to the Head

The third spot goes to Leo’s entry – 48 Hours

Congratulations! The three of you will conduct the third edition of IndiFictionWorkshop!

For the third spot, Rajrupa Gupta’s entry – The Perfect Revenge was also a strong contender, and were it possible, we would have selected two people for the third spot.

I believe every entry has received line by line attention, and lengthy critiques, and further critiquing is unnecessary.

I will, however, sketch out some thoughts on some of the entries that caught my fancy.

Radha

At first sight, I thought you had pretty much defeated my purpose in setting the plot in an American Penitentiary.

Introducing Hindu Mythology was a highly risky move and I was skeptical that it could be pulled off. However, you did exactly that.

The narrative was tight, the conversations were tense, and the technique was near-flawless. Also, the plot elements, like the discovery of the tunnel, the escape plan etc., that had been left to the imagination of the participants were well thought out and, more
importantly, very well executed with very few inconsistencies.

The dream sequence convinced me that this entry deserved the top spot.


Medha

You took on the tougher challenge of writing from Billy’s POV and pulled it off with astonishing felicity. Your narration gripped me from the get-go and never let up. It had such a rough edge to it, that I was hooked.The profanity that you have used doesn’t sound out of place or forced or vulgar. There is unapologetic violence. There are a lot of tense moments built up around the point where Bruce and Billy circle each other around the knowledge of the escape plan. There would have been a tight contest between you and Radha, but for the fact that you let some tense mistakes get in the way. That, and an ending a little crispier would have added to your case, but I was pretty much sold when I first read this entry.

Leo

I mentioned it in my critique and I will say it again, your entry was near-flawless. Entries like yours, if read patiently, can teach far more about writing than any critique. The classic Leo dreamy narrative, interspersed with a graphic rape scene, a truly evil
villain, and flawless technique, this entry was always a winner, regardless of what the Judges thought. However, we thought the same too. You are one ferocious and fearless writer underneath that genteel manner, and will shy away from no literary challenge, as is quite evident from this knock-out of an entry.

Congratulations once again to the winners!

I will share a few brief sentences about some of the other entries too.

Rajrupa Gupta: Your entry put up a strong fight. We did not hold it against you that your ending went beyond the point at which the prisoners escaped, since due to my oversight it was never posted on the official post containing the plot. The entry started off with a brilliant depiction of a prison. It was also a delight to see a prison scene culminate in a gory blood-fest!

However, there were some minor flaws in editing and language use. 

The Fool: The song was a nice touch. However, what I really liked about your entry was the undertone of religion and the biblical references. I would like you to write a sequel to the point where this entry ends for the benefit of your fans, yours truly included, because I really like reading TF stories. I could have identified it as your entry from a mile away.

The only flaw was a shaky start. 

C. Suresh: Yours was one of my favourite entries too. The line “She was brassy, foul-mouthed, slovenly and amoral but there was this peculiar vulnerability about her that made me want to protect her” will stay with me for a long time. Also, you have that rare ability to “sketch scenes” and have your writing run “in the moment” (Bruce fumbling with the keys, as Deepa pointed out). I will have to repay the compliment you gave me for ‘Strangers in the Night’ in that you have the ability to walk the minds of your characters with rare felicity, even if you are too modest to accept the praise. 

Jayashree: Your narrative was interspersed with brilliant lines that I paused to read over and over again. I suppose my critique must have made my appreciation clear. My only grouse was that you did not deliver the same punch in your ending, that you repeatedly kept socking me with in your narrative. Some minor editing flaws too.

Nabanita: I mentioned this in the critique as well. What made your entry a stand-out for me was your ability to get your readers to feel for your characters. It doesn’t matter if there is a brilliant death-scene if it only elicits a “Ho-Hum” from the reader. Your ability to create that emotional connect will be one of your strongest selling points. There was a good twisted ending too. However, the dialogues and Billy’s back-story execution were a little lacking.

These 8 entries made it to the top 7 in our individual lists. I believe we have provided quite a lot of feedback throughout the course of this edition, and it is time for us now to rest.

We will now move to Edition 3 of IndiFictionWorkshop, where I look forward to donning the mantle of a participant. Let us get this show on the road! Over to the winners!

P.S.
Once again, I thank everyone for participating to the best of their abilities. Any mistakes made during the conduct of this edition are all mine. I will now be responding to the responses to my responses!

Second Edition Feedback - Deepa

Congratulations to Radha Sawana, Medha Kapoor and Leo for clinching the top three titles, in that order. Let me talk about these posts specifically.

My first thoughts as I started with Radha’s post were highly skeptical. Introducing Hindu mythology in an American prison setting is a huge gamble and if not done right, the whole thing has the potential to blow up in your face. But this one didn’t, the incorporation of mythology and the effect it has on the protagonist were flawless. That one alone becomes the WOW in this case. Radha goes on to deliver some very well timed sucker punches and keeps the reader wanting for more. You pause to catch your breath when the story takes a pause. Clear winner there!

Moving on to Medha’s post. One of the few posts from Billy’s perspective. Medha’s post had issues with use of tenses. The ending could have been a little more crisper and punch-packed. However, the positives in her post far outweigh the negatives. Her smooth narratives, flawless conversations and highly convincing characters place her clearly in the winning league.

And finally there’s Leo. With a really evil villain, a very graphic rape scene and the brilliant rendition in first voice, Leo’s entry left a lingering sense of empathizing with Bruce long after reading the post. Our only major complaint was for the death scene to have had more emotion!

The next few entries were among the stronger ones in the running.
Rajrupa:

Her WOW: The prior link between Billy and Bruce. Very innovative.

Irritant: Minor language flaws, editing.

The Fool:

His WOW: Perfectly placed song lines alternating with text, each part lending context. Religion.

Irritant: Tenses in first voice rendition.

Suresh:

His WOW: Vivid imagery. Blood, fights, rape scene, all of those.

Irritant: Character descriptions and more conviction for deviations.

Jayashree:

Her WOW: Bruce’s first encounter with Billy. Disgusting brilliant. Her sucker-punch lines.

Irritant: I am sure Sandy would ask for an ending with more punch, I pick editing.

Nabanita:

Her WOW: Her ability to create empathy

Irritant: Character inconsistency.

For the remaining entries, the detailed feedback on each of their posts would work best.

With this, we now move to Edition 3 of the workshop! May the games begin!

It’s all in the mouth

Too late for contest

Author : Yatin

Author intro : I believe i did a mistake in the last workshop, and pity1 i have repeated it. i have carried on my abstract style.

also this time i might not be able to read other entries, and doing this i beliieve yes i am going against the spirit of the workshp, maybe in the next one i'll try reading peoples entry too!!

Story:

It’s all in the mouth !

“ Cut this damn siren off, someone! “

I shouted; maybe to myself.

Not unfamiliar with the sounds of siren, I was but with this small closed vault. There has to be a way out from here, obviously, how else would Billy and all escaped this vault, or rather crossed this vault. I need to think. Some metaphysicians says something of a mind palace, an (may or may not) imaginary place where we drop our memories, a sort of a mental map, theoretically then we ne’er forget anything. I need to go there, cause I believe Billy must have told me the way, must not have done it intentionally though.

Sirens raging, yes! When I entered this Arlington State Penitentiary they were too then. Dressed in orange, limbs cuffed, I was taken through the checking arena to my cell. Billy too then attempted an escape, sirens weren’t too irritating then. My cellmate was poopin’ when I entered the cell. The walls were full off graffiti sayin’ ‘Hail the brawler’. Oblivious to both, Billy and The brawler, I offended Billy, The brawler, and realized ‘at next morning in the daily shower when he got hold of me. If you’re in a penitentiary, you’ll realize why we need to havva bath. You sleep next to your dump, and also to your cellmates dump and also to the rodents dump. Then I didn’t knew the first one to take a shower, and that to alone is Billy, and no one even wants the newcomers to know ‘at. They all want we all to face him, and know him, and praise him. Face him, well he’s a guy you daren’t. Build with some iron, and with built of an iron man (heavy iron, I’ll say ), he was like those stereotypic villains of those vintage movies, with gold stuffed o’er their black skin, big cigar in a mouth, and with a really weird taste of clothes.

“ O’er here, Now !! “

Not to indulge in any mishappenings, I preferred to ignore that hoarse voice. Maybe I should have not, cause being dragged by your neck cannot be better than simply walking to the other side of the locker room.

“ Why are you ‘ere? “

“ To havva bath I believe “

“ With me ? “

“ I ain’t have any option I guess ! “

He took his towel off, displaying a very peculiar tattoo on the shaved scalp around his err phallus. The look in his eyes made it obvious that if I value my neck, I must not then value my mouth. I bowed down and made an attempt to convince him not to make my mouth open but

“ But sir, I ain’t …… ”

 uggh my neck ! It did hurt then.

He took my towel off then. Helpless I was I again made an attempt to convince him not to make my….

“ But sir, you shain’t ……….. ”

Ughhh, it still hurts.

Off I go from my mind palace. I know I am drenched in sweat, the vault makes me feel it’ll close upon me, I’ll be dead yes! But tomorrow but then I cannot stand that memory. No . No ! No! No ! I’ll rather die here. I already did a mistake to opt this passage. Yeah ! I’ll bury myself here. The tunnel ends on this side, and those sirens, still on, tells me the jailers will be here within an hour through the other side of the tunnel. And they will not fail to look upon this passage in the tunnel which closes in this vault. Anyhow, I have to be executed the day after the next. This life will end how it started, all in misery. A month in the penitentiary, I’ve seen enough to hate this place. Not only that rape, not only the torture, not only the indifference of everyone but …. But…. Everythin’ o’er here. It’s better to die and meet my love in the next world am to see. Yes! My love. She’ll be o’er there, we can enjoy like we used to do, long walks, ice cream parlours, the rain, yeah ! So sweet the death will be. I’ll meet my love and we’ll make love, pure casual love, not to worry of these STDs , not to worry o’er AIDS, and no guilt of have been killing her, no I did not killed her, no I could never kill her, how I could I, at least not knowingly. She got AIDS from me, I ne’er gave it to her, I ne’er intended to. I ne’er even knew I had that disease. And, and what she said in her statement for the court that I forced her, she has been so naïve all that time. She was being forced to say that, and I know that. And, that stupid lawyer, huh ! , I’d infect her purposely to get o’er her property he said. Man ! and that judge, am a threat to the society, and am no less than a … a… ! they all have been so foolish. And then these jailers, jerkin’ off in my mouth all these times, and they feel like they are the ruler, that they have the power on us, and no one can beat them. huh ! Billy did it. Smash on their face. He’s off and free, and proved ‘em that they all are a disgrace, just misusing their powers. Even I can do that, yeah ! I must do ‘at. I don’t want ‘em to make it all ugly with me again, and make ‘em feel the king again, with ultimate powers o’er us.

I must return to my mind palace.

That day, yes, it did hurt badly, I was crying then, under the shower, and was yes still alone. Yeah! Before going Billy did said

“ Bruce remember, it’s all in the mouth “

I was then not concerned, how he got my name, maybe he was kind of a godfather o’er here, I was also not concerned about what he said about my mouth. I was raped, my body ached, even doctors says anal sex is not healthy, the muscles o’er there are not meant to ….. something. I had kinda lost my dignity then. After the shower, we all were led to some workplace, and as I imagined we were not asked to break stones o’er there, rather we had to do odd jobs mainly related to the maintenance of the petitionary. I was asked to broom the dining mess.   My cellmate, who seldom spoke, was to serve the food to the convicts. Later after spending an hour in the library, I tried to have conversation with him. He spoke less, and only could tell me, the man who assaulted me in the morning was Billy the Brawler, and it’s like a custom for every new convict to please him when he enters the shower for the first time. He told me ‘at it was like an organization of criminals, Billy being its head and we all gain membership by …. by pleasing him. I never spoke to him again, and never could I even meet Billy again. I knew I had to spend li’l time o’er here and as soon as the trial is o’er I’ll be out, so I preferred to stay away from these men. I grew a loner over here. Daily cleaning of the mess, then of the toilets, hell dirty they were, then to swallow some officers or co-victims seed, read something in the library, and then to sleep. Every day was normal, expect yesterday when the courts judgement came ordering me to be executed the day after tomorrows morning.

 Disappointed, I thought of taking refuge in Billys gang, he had escaped once, I overheard someone saying before, and he planned to that again, and I must get what I deserve, my freedom, I knew am wrongly being accused and am not supposed to be here. I went early for shower the next day, that being today.

“ Bruce out! “

I could not see where was he, but he was very loud and angry!

“ But! I am … ”

“ You ain’t supposed to be here now! OFF ! “

I had no choice.

“ and remember, HA HA HA “

I could not make out what he said but he indicated me to leave! I could not make out anything but that’s it ! I knew nothing of how they plan to escape, just that while cleanin’ the mess I found a small note on a toilet paper sayin’

“ Behind the library is the court. ”

It was intuition which led me over there and all I saw was an empty court o’er there. And that court being empty itself was unusual. A close detailed scrutiny of the place told me that the drain besides the court leads to a tunnel and as I entered that tunnel I alarmed the guards and have been running in the tunnel from then. I spotted this intricate passage within which closed o’er here and there is no way out. There are only sirens everywhere.

It makes no sense  ! What, why, how, and and I am just trapped. He wanted me to remember my mouth ! but why ?

What’s in a mouth ?? genital organs as an answer doesn’t make sense.

Tongue .. ?? NO !

Speech!! Is it !

The Message.

I’d never know it.

I could ne’er convey my messages. Ne’er to my love, ne’er to the court, ne’er to the judge, ne’er to billy, ne’er to my cell mates, ne’er to anyone.

And I won’t be able to convey it when the jailers would find me here.

Maybe that’s the way it is. No one wants to understand me, or rather us, and the message remains with us, only with us, in our mouth. Billy seldom speaks, so do my cell mates. They have messages, they don’t convey, cause no one wants to understand ‘em, everyone is so self-centred,  no one wanna hear others, they all just wanna speak, and the message remains, only in the mouth. It’s all in the mouth. It has always been. It will always be.

And, here I see these armed jailers coming in.

I hold my arms above my head, they ask me to keep ‘em behind my head and turn and kneel down.

I do as asked.

They handcuff and lead me out of the tunnel.

They ask me how many were with me.

I keep quite.

It’s all in my mouth and I cannot lose it .

They take me to some head officer and he interrogates.

I remain silent.

Cause it’s all in my mouth and I cannot lose it.

I understood what he meant, or maybe I believe I know what he said, or whatever I know now I believe it to be right, I know no ones gonna understand me, they all have already understood, pre assumed rather, and they don’t care, so why make an effort to make them understand.

It’s all in my mouth and let me remain.

They let me sleep in a separate cell.

When I’ll wake up I’ll be hanged.

They ask my last wish.

I want to meet billy, I say !

When I wake up they bring him to me,

I stare in his eyes !

He grins .

I nods at him, trying to convey I understood what he meant.

That tunnel was built by whomsoever I don’t care but I know why billy sent me there, so as to understand I am wasting time in a cruel, wicked world o’er here.

He nods back at me.

He’s not happy, but maybe proud that he brought me away from here.

I realize why cellmate hails him.

He says “ if it’ll make you feel better, consider this as a punishment to get me AIDS and some of these officers as well”

It makes me laugh.

The officers listening him gets scared. And now they believe that yes I am a threat to this society and all and I must be hanged.

They hang me up.

I don’t close my eyes.

I just close my mouth.

Cause it’s all in the mouth !

48 Hours

Author: Radha

Author Description: I am finding it really difficult to describe myself here. Lets just say that writing is one of the things I love to do and one of the things I would like to be better at. I am not sure right now if I am cut for fiction, but I am ready to find that out. Generally I write about any random thing that I find impossible to not write about. You can read the random stuff at Entropy.

Story: 

I think it is incredibly ironic that Krishna, the cleverest God in the Hindu pantheon, was born in a prison and had died almost a royalty. On my part, I had been born really rich, almost a royalty, and am now going to die in a prison. 

On the day after tomorrow, at 11:00 A.M., I will be executed. That leaves me with less than 48 hours to live. Death doesn’t frighten me, though. If truth be told, it doesn’t arouse any feeling in particular. This is probably a form of Nirvana, and if it is, it is the best thing my fate has allowed me to achieve.

Fate brought me to the Arlington State Prison, and here the Scriptures have become my only companion in life. I was never religious though, I was more of a philosophical, poetic kind. The sacrifices of Jesus Christ never struck a chord in my heart, but somehow, I have developed a taste for the Hindu Scriptures. It began when I saw some eclectic philanthropist donate an entire set of these books to the prison library. He believed that they would help the prisoners to make peace with their Karma. I started reading out of curiosity, and realised that I could connect with them. I could connect with the child Prahlad who was abused by his father, and with the God King Rama, who was exiled by his father at the behest of his stepmother. And in a wry way, with the cowherd Krishna, who had fallen in love with a milkmaid. I think it is uncharacteristically lucky that I have something to occupy myself with in a prison where life is so stifling mundane.

I wonder why they need electric chairs really; the benumbing regularity of things here could be enough to drive a person to madness and suicide. Every day, an alarm wakes us up, and we are herded together to the showers to get as clean as we could. Then there's breakfast, and everyone goes to their respective duties, which in my case is the library maintenance. I clean the room, scrub the floors, dust the shelves and check if any new books have been added – which is very rare. By then, it’s time for the next meal, followed by free time. This is the only time that varies from day to day – the time when I decide what to read. Today, it is Kalki, the tenth Avatar of Vishnu, the awaited God of the Iron Age. 

That’s when Billy enters with his cronies. He comes, smirks, and eyes me lustily. His eyes, his face, his deliberate wetting of his lips and everything from his short cropped hair to his huge size 15 feet invoke just one feeling in me – disgust, and revulsion. I refuse to encourage him, averting my eyes from the group and closing my ears to their lewd words. As they deliberately walk towards me, I shut my book and leave. This hasn’t changed either, not since that day. 

That day is still fresh in my mind. The memories start resurfacing as I walk out to the jeers of the Brawler and the Brutes. Not now, not tonight, I tell myself. I take a deep breath, calm myself down and begin to live the last mundane part of the perfectly mundane day – the part when we sleep.

**

Tonight is different, though. Billy the Brawler keeps cropping up in my mind and the horrific events of that day threaten to come back to me again. I can see the dirty floor of the bathroom, smell the soap mixed with sweat, I can hear his voice, his voice which still creeps me out… No, I tell myself, block the thoughts, think about something else, think about what you read today, think about Kalki. He is supposed to have a white horse and an arsenal of weapons. He will be born in some place called Shambala and brought up by religious scholarly people. I wonder which monster will meet his end at Kalki’s hands; I was about to read that when Billy walked in… Billy, oh Billy, the Brawler…

Then the memories flood back and my first week at the prison comes alive in front my eyes… It had been a week since I had come to the prison. I was wrongfully convicted, yes, but I had a rich father; I was sure to find a way out of the hellhole. 

The prison authorities hadn’t been bad to me either; I was going to be released, after all. What was the point in toughening me up? I was given minor library duties, like indexing the few books the library housed and arranging them according to categories. I had spent most of my free time in my cell, brooding over revenge for my dead girlfriend and waiting for my father to come and get me released. After a week, I started feeling restless. After two, I came to know that my father had refused to pay for my bail. My stepmother had convinced him not to squander his money and smudge the name of his family for a good-for-nothing HIV+ son. I was fated to die an unremarkable death anyway, wasn’t I? 

Till that day, I had been seething with anger and contempt and all of it was directed at my stepmother who was corrupt and damned beyond redemption. I knew it was she who had convinced my father to get Maya killed – a hooker was not a suitable bride for a house of such prestige, after all. But she had planned for more – in one master stroke, she had got rid of me too, clearing her way to my father's wealth. Since the day Maya had been murdered, I had hatched a thousand different plans of exacting my revenge, hell-bent about getting justice for myself and for my love. But that day, I began to realise how very weak and helpless I really was.  The same woman had taken away my father, my girlfriend and my freedom, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. The woman had killed me before AIDS and the electric chair could come close. 

That day, I had been allotted a new cell, and had been given full time library maintenance duty. It was no surprise, given that I was one of the few who were literate, but I had hardly cared. I was entering a stage of helplessness and resignation. Billy has completed the process.

He had sneaked upon me when I was in the library, grabbed both of my weak emaciated hands in his strong muscular ones, and told me to follow his gang to the showers. A look at the gang told me that resistance was futile, and I had meekly followed. If I had known what was to follow, I would have thought of raising an alarm. 

Because that day, I had been held in place on all fours by the gang as Billy the Brawler took me from behind. At first, I could only think of the excruciating pain coursing through my body. As my senses dulled, I was taken over by humiliation. With every thrust of his hips, I could see my self-respect dissolving away. Every inch of my body wanted to protest, but every inch put together was far weaker than the four men holding me together and the monster taking pleasure off my body. Then another man of the gang thrust his penis in my mouth, and I realized the futility of my protest, my emotions, my existence... Then the only though that remained was that of Maya, my beautiful sweet Maya, who must have gone through this often enough to become insane…  Enough to…

Enough, I tell myself. But the images keep flashing in my head. ENOUGH! I shout. The flow of thoughts ebbs away, leaving me breathless and drenched in my own sweat. I am trembling slightly. I am not sure whether it is out of anger or out of fear. 

With a few deep breaths, I try to calm myself down again. It doesn’t work. I wish I could smoke some Marijuana and slide into a dreamless sleep. But those days are behind me. The only solace I have now is my unfinished book. 

I check the time; it is only 9:35 PM. I have 25 minutes to sleep time. The Brawler would have left by now, assuming me to be in my cell. I get up and start walking towards the library.

Curiously though, I hear voices coming out of the library when I approach it. I listen closely, and they sound like Billy and his gang having an agitated discussion in whispers. I wonder why they are talking in the library, and I realize, suddenly, that at this time there are generally no guards in this area. I tiptoe to the door, and strain my ears to hear the better of it. 

I can register only a few random words, like guard duty, change of shifts, spare uniforms and the tunnel. It sounds like an adventure story straight out of an action movie. And then it hits me – they are planning an escape!

I wonder where in the prison they could have managed to find enough privacy to dig a tunnel all the way out. And then the realization dawns upon me – it’s right here, in the library! That is why they used to visit the library every single day - not to harass me, but to drive me out! When I come to think of it, Billy had raped me the very day I had been allotted permanent library duties. So the rape was not out of desire. It was to instill a fear and revulsion in me, so that I would avoid them. 

So The Brutes weren’t just brawn, there was quite a lot of brain involved in their planning. The thought makes me want to laugh out loud, simply out of amazement. But then I hear the shuffle of a lot of feet, which means the gang is about to leave the library. Before they walk out, I tiptoe back to a safe area, and then rush back to my cell, still amazed. 

**

This new revelation drives everything away from my mind. For one, I see Billy in a whole new light. So far I had known that he was a boxer by profession and had come to Arlington on the charges of an armed robbery. I believed him to be a reckless brute who had thought that robbing a bank with a couple of goons and a couple of guns will be as easy as taking out a fellow boxer in the arena. And of course, I believed him to be a bully. This new focused man desperate about an escape was a whole different entity to me. While my misery had driven me to resign to my fate, his misery had made him even bolder. 

Secondly, I realize that I do not care about escaping myself. I have accepted my fate, for good or for worse. It is my karma, which has brought me so far, and it is my karma which has earned me this ending. There was no other possibility, ever. 

Tomorrow will be my last day in this prison, and I will live it like I have lived other day of the past five months. I will go through the daily grind and find some time to read the last part of the Dashavatharam. And the next day, I will embrace my death serenely, and probably meet Maya on the other side. The thought brings a smile to my face, and on the penultimate night of my existence, I fall into a deep slumber. 

**

I smile as I read about Kalki. He is the apocalyptic God, mounted on a swift horse with a mighty sword in his hand. He will 'descend from the heavens riding swiftly and kill all those thieves who dare to dress as kings'. I think this phrase implies all the corrupt politicians of our times. He will 'also destroy all those beings that are grossly immoral and have indulged in unjust and wicked practices'.

I hope he finds my stepmother when he comes. She would certainly qualify to be on his hitlist. With that thought, I decide to close the book and go back to my cell. 

Then I realize that it is early, Billy and his gang haven’t made their appearance. I wonder where their tunnel is. Out of curiosity, I start looking for loose tiles. But I don't find anything, not under the heavy carpet, neither below the massive study table. Maybe it isn't in the library then. Or maybe it is too well hidden. I was only being curious anyway, I am not really concerned. Without bothering to look any more, I leave for my cell.

It is time to live through the last mundane night of my existence.

**

I see myself dressed as a King, holding court. I am armed with a bow and a quiver full of arrows, with monkey-men guarding my person. But there is a bitter taste in my mouth. I am morally obligated to be the model king, and my subjects demand that I banish my Maya from the kingdom, away from me. My heart cries out to her, but I am helpless...

Now I am a cowherd, but my destiny has bigger plans for me. I am to leave the village where I grew up and go to the city to  vanquish the evil. I would do this happily enough but in addition, I am also to leave my Maya behind. She is but a milkmaid, what place does she have beside the saviour of the world in a city of royals? The pain of parting with her mixed with the my own helplessness is such an overwhelming burden...

And now I am with Maya. She looks beautiful as she sleeps beside me, safe and content. She looks ravishing as she bends over me, almost naked, and whispers - “They say I am a drug. They say I am addicting. What say?”

She looks shocked when I tell her I have got AIDS. She looks, oh, she looks so ecstatic as I get

down on one knee and ask her to marry me. She jumps and says yes, even though I have no ring to seal the bond. 

I hear her voice, innocent and excited, as she tells me how my parents have invited her to our mansion. I imagine her confused expression as I tell her, over the phone, to leave the mansion immediately. For a hooker, she was ever so trustful...

And then I see her in my own bedroom – her body decorated with cigarette burns, covered in bite marks at the most intimate places, mutilated with innumerable cut wounds, stabbed in her chest...

The scene transforms, and I see my own life unfolding in front of my eyes. I see a little boy crying over his mother's grave. I see a young man cowering as an older man throws a half-broken glass bottle at him. The young man flees the house and stops under a tree, when a group of wasted junkies start teasing him. And then a young woman tells them to stop troubling the terrified man. She has such a sweet voice! She looks at him and smiles. She has such a beautiful face! She approaches him and says, “I am Maya, you are...?”

Suddenly, the young man has a magnificent sword in his hands and he is astride a pure white horse. In a deep, resonant voice, he announces, “I am Kalki.”

There is a flash of lightening and a blast of icy wind raking the trees...

And I wake up. I instantly cover my eyes from the blinding flashlight coming from the door. And a  guard holding a torch shouts, “Who do you think you are boxing with?!”

**

Apparently, I had been thrashing the bed in my dream. Well, it was one hell of a dream. Still disoriented, I try to calm the tumult of thoughts in my head. 

The Gods of old were forced by the society to fulfill their destiny by sacrificing their love. In my case, my love had been wrenched away from me. Apparently, I too have a destiny to fulfill. It begins with avenging Maya. And I know exactly what I have to do to achieve just that!

I know that I don't have the strength to fight even a single person from Billy's gang. I know that I don't have much time either. But I have 3 things. I know my opponent better than they know me. I have the element of surprise. And I have nothing to lose. 

They say that when Lord Krishna had to be whisked away from the prison as a one day old baby, the gates of the prison had opened up to his father by themselves. I wonder whether a similar luck awaits me. I have one hour to find out, till the end of the day roll call. 

**

I enter the library silently, without giving them any hint of my arrival. The look of shock on their faces is testimony to that. To their knowledge, Bruce Tracy is scared to the bone of the gay boxer and his gang. Why would he walk into their midst willingly and unafraid? This was a part of my strategy - to surprise them into inaction.  

“It's the chair for me tomorrow.” I announce to them. “Just... just came to look at the library one last time.” They exchange a look, and decide to let me be.  

I start walking around in the library, touching things randomly. Their eyes follow me. As I walk beside one of the bookshelves, a few of them exchange another look. Billy narrows his eyes, but goes back to being normal the moment I pass the shelf. I notice that it is the only shelf which rests against a wall. 

I start walking towards them now, assuring that I don't stand in their line of eyesight towards the shelf. And I throw the question, “So, when are you guys planning it?”

Two of them exchange a look again. Three glance towards the bookshelf. 

Billy asks me back, “Planning what?”

“The escape.”, I reply plainly, as if it is the most obvious answer. 

One of them is about to launch himself at me, when Billy holds him back. I had banked on him to do this. “Nobody's escapin, Brucy.” he says, trying hard to sound confused and innocent.

“You are. I have known that for ages. I just want to know when.” This is just between me and Billy, I don't let go of our eye-contact. 

“What do you know?” he narrows his eyes again. 

I am prepared for this question. “I know about the spare uniforms and the guard duty. I know about the pattern of shift change. I know about the tunnel.” This time, I throw a quick glance at the bookshelf and then start looking at each of them in turn, noticing every eye as it moves. Especially the eyes which glance towards the very same bookshelf again.

Billy isn't amused. “I could pin you to the ground and rip that tongue off so you don't squeal, you bastard!” But everyone else is too confused and scared to move. 

“I know you won't.” Otherwise, you would have done it by now. “Instead, you could help me escape with you.”

“Tough luck, mate. You would be dead by the time we leave.”

“Tough luck for you too. If I don't escape, neither do you.” I eye everyone, slightly smiling. 

In turn, they all keep eying Billy, who is silent in thought. Half a minute later, he starts speaking carefully. “We cannot help you, Bruce. We do not have enough ammo outside to escape altogether right now.”

I know that would come. “Then let me escape alone. And you all clean up after me.” He didn't see this coming, though. 

“I escape using your tunnel, but with your help, I ensure the tunnel is not discovered. Believe me, you will still be able to escape.” I look at the rest of them when I say this. 

Billy is uncomfortable now, and drives the conversation back to himself. “That won't happen. You cannot escape. Go back to your cell, Bruce.”

I smile. “If I go back, I will squeal. If you try to hurt me here, the guards will come to know, and I will squeal. If you decide to kick me in the gut and escape, well, you cannot. Otherwise you would rather take me with you, won't you? Safer that way.”

I know I have done it right when one of his brutes speaks up. “How on earth is that gonna happen?” He says it sarcastically, but I know he is interested. 

“I will help you place hints about my escape at a different location in the prison. They will never come to know that I escaped from here. After I go, one of you should seize the library maintenance duty. You can ensure that they don't poke too much.”

One of them speaks up immediately, “Billy, let him fly man.” He looks at me then, “We will do it, bro.” 

Two more of them assert their approval. I thank them jovially, and continue to eye Billy. After a while, in a resigned tone, he says, “Fine. What do you want us to do?” 

Next, its all about the execution. I give my shoes and the shirt of my uniform to them. The instructions are simple and clear. Exactly at 9:55 PM, two of them are to start a brawl near one of the manned gates. A third person is to seize the chance to tie my shirt to one of the spikes of the gate and pull at it while ensuring that he doesn't plant his fingerprints on it. Then he is to throw my shoes outside over the gate at a good distance and leave the scene to attend the roll call.

When my escape is discovered, the authorities would believe that I used my tied shirt as a rope to launch myself on the gate. The shoes will just confuse them, leading them to believe that I had an accomplice outside. They would never think of the library.

They like the plan and give their silent approval. Two of them leave to guard the library. Two start removing the books from the shelf. I watch with fascination as they remove the wooden  plank behind the books to show a gaping hole in the wall. Billy hoists me up and pushes me in through the hole. The tunnel is dug for 6 feet tall hulks. For me, it is almost comfortable. With a smile, I start walking out, listening to the muffled sounds of a shelf getting lined with books. 

**

It has been years since I was Bruce Tracy. I am more popular as the White Horse now.  Beginning with the first double murder, I have been on a killing streak, removing the filth from this world. A few days ago, I realised that I am going to die of my disease very soon. So I admitted all those crimes, all except the one for which I was arrested to begin with years ago. I proclaimed my reasons for all the murders too. God cannot do everything, I told them. Someone had to be his own Kalki. 

I am not sure that they got it though. In the end, they just sent me back to another high security prison to die at their hands. I am going to be executed in 48 hours.

A start to the full stop

Author: Someone is Special

Author Introduction:

I’m Saravana Kumar Murugan, a software engineer by profession and a blogger by passion. I write at Few Miles under a pen name “Someone is Special” as it is a sweet dedication to my dream angel. I write fiction mostly on romance, love, relationships, and poems on whatever that strikes the chord.

“Writing is my passion, and I am born in this world to express my dreams, I do so as poems and prose. I do prefer poetry as it helps me to rhyme what I love to, and attain peace.”

The Story:

……………………………………………….Now

People calls me a brutal murderer, for which I deserve absolutely nothing, not even the simplest of life to live and they await my end, which is just 12 hours away, but are they ready to accept that I’ve a heart too, which has emotions, desires and dreams about a girl, with whom I fell in love deeply. Even the wall of this prison, though a hell-hole, knows how much I love that brown-eyed beauty, which constantly reminds me of the beautiful days I once lived with her.

…………………………………….six months ago

I, Bruce Tracy – a former drug addict, and a mad lover of ballet accidentally met a brown-eyed beauty, Rose, who was a ballet dancer by passion and a hooker by profession, and the very next minute I was with her on a bed, fucking her hard for hours, and Heroin – a drug that ruled me those days, did the rest. That night helped to burn my physical desires, and I was hitting upon her now and then for a month, but eventually, I fell in love with her brown eyes that pierced my soul each time I looked into it.

She helped to get rid of my drug addiction with her pure love and she did stop sleeping with other nasty men for the reason that she kept secret until I confessed my never-ending love for her. Not only we exchanged hearts but also the special rings with our names printed on it. Life became meaningful, beautiful, and soulful. Actually, she was my life.

…………………………………….three months ago

It was a fateful night that crushed our dreams like a sandstorm destroying the crop filed. My cute girl, the love of my life was lying naked on a pool of blood, her eyes were pierced out, her breast was cut, her throat was slit, and her legs was split with an axe stabbed, which should’ve had hurt our angel. I went down on my knee, broke down in tears, and I so wanted to find them, cut into pieces, grind to granules, and burn those perverts. As before fate decided my bad, I was caught by a police officer who came in there casually. My bloodshed hands, my fingerprints on the axe were enough to convict and I had no escape. I was fuming in vengeance, and all I wanted was a clue to find them, and an opportunity to crush those motherfuckers.

…………………………………….two months ago

Prison life had no new surprises for me, but each time there will be a gang of people who keeps bullying me until I lose my self-control. Despite those torments and hunger for vengeance, I had to perform various duties as a part of our daily schedule in the prison. It included kitchen services, restrooms cleaning services, laundry services, and other duties as well. I was the unluckiest of all, I did know it before, because I had to clean restrooms, and the worst part was to work with two assholes– Billy and Rocky.

Billy, an ex-boxer, a fat bastard who has 52-inch chest, weighing 400 pounds, and he is known for his 10-inch cock, and he had brutally raped most of the assholes in the prison. Rocky, a lean asshole, who is also a gay and they had fucked every other man in the prison. It was a nightmare to work with them; in fact, I cleaned the toilets that they were supposed to clean and I filled the water tubs on behalf of them. It was hell for me.

When I spent my daytime working with those trashes, I loved my nights, because that’s when, I wrote her name on the wall of the prison, and sometimes I scribbled poems too. One of those poems that explain my loneliness is.

The bridge is not so long

I can come to you along

The loneliness is killing me,

I can kill myself to be with you

Those sweet memories never fade away

I wish I could relive my days with you

The hunger for vengeance is still alive

I want to cut them into pieces

RIP Rose

*****

It was once again a fateful day in my life. It was the fat bastard Billy, who forced me down to floor during work without any clue, handcuffed me back, made me naked, and he penetrated my anus with his 10-inch cock, biting my ears and neck.

I was burning in pain, crying for help, but no one helped; it was hard to escape from the fat bastard, after a certain point of time, my body gave up, and I froze. After Billy, it was that lean one-eyed bastard Rocky took his turn and filled my asshole again. I hate this feeling; in fact, I can never imagine being fucked by a gay but two gays had fucked me for hours? Shit, shit… shit!

It was not just the physical pain but I felt ashamed for being incapable to fight back, and it caused impotency in extracting revenge. I was unable to show my face to anyone in the prison after that, not even to work, and I was counting my days, the last few days of my hectic life.

…………………………………….a month ago

It was a general medical checkup for the prisoners, which shocked, and shattered me into pieces. I wished to die the next second, as I still cannot believe that I had acquired AIDS – a dreadful Deficiency Syndrome that kills White Blood Corpuscles from one’s body to invite other germs. It furies me to know I did acquire this disease in the last one month and it must be from those bastards, Billy and Rocky.

Though I was fuming at first, the dark patches of my life made me a fatalistic man. I lost the hope for living; in fact, I had no reasons to live, my whole body was tiring sooner, and was falling sick now and then. I had nothing left to live, and I was counting my last few days of my hectic life.

…………………………………….a week ago

It was yet another day that I loved to live once again. I was on cleaning duty, and heard two-men discussing about a secret tunnel that some other prisoners have dug in a plan to escape from the prison. I fixed my ears on the wall of the restroom, listened to their conversation, and learnt every small detail about the secret tunnel. Moreover, in no time, they came out naked, and they were none other than those motherfuckers Billy, and Rocky. I hid myself behind the door to escape from being fucked again. I knew I could have had been fucked again if I was caught by them. Glad, I did not.

I was confused on what to do next; either to escape from this hellhole with Billy, Rocky, and Team or to expose Billy and his plan, thus denying Billy his one shot at freedom. I knew I could not live for hundred years; still, if I escape with them, I could fly like a free bird. On the other hand, they were the ones who fucked me, who gave this dreadful disease to me, and made me a fatalistic man. I was damn sure that they would spoil the world with whatever they’ve had given me, that’s why I had taken a decision and I so wanted to execute it before being executed.

…………………………………….36 hours ago

Just 48 hours, all I had was 48 hours before my end. I wanted to do get rid of the impotency in extracting anger, to revenge, and to be a man I was before six months ago, but was not the same now, though I so wanted to kill these bastards but...

Why me? Why could not I? Why?

I asked to myself, a billion times. Still, I could not figure out an answer. I wanted to… so I banged my head on the wall a few times, then I punched on the floor and finally kicked on the door a few times, but… nothing helped, and I was tired; hence, I slept.

…………………………………….12 hours ago

I sensed my end, which was 24 hours away. I know I would be executed as scheduled, but do I deserve the capital punishment? Did I kill my girl? Should not she rest in peace? After all, she was the one who colored my life beautifully, she was my medicine to get rid of drugs, and she was myself, my real self, no?

‘Bruce… C’mon, you are an angry man… you have to extract revenge against those fuckers; after all, they deserve to be dead. C’mon…’

‘It wasn’t me… It wasn’t me… It wasn’t me who killed Rose…’ I blabbered

I banged my head again and again trying to get rid of the impotency in extracting revenge but doing so, I became semiconscious. Rose and the beautiful memories invaded my mind and occupied my thoughts. I smiled counting the last few hours of my life, as I knew I would be executed as scheduled because I had no choice.

……………………………………………….Now

I could hear the footsteps. ‘It should be Billy’s and his teammates… It’s my turn baby.’

Hungering for vengeance, I fume like an acid, and I wait for them with my hawk eyes.

‘It’s just ninety seconds away. C’mon Bruce, fuck those motherfuckers!’

‘Cut them into pieces, grind to granules. Are you ready?’

Billy, Rocky, and team are taken by surprise, as I’m standing just before the doors of their freedom. I welcome them with a smile, which I enjoyed.

Billy approaches me shouting like a banshee with a big knife. I move aside only to make him fall down. He angry face burns, and he once again tries to stab me, but this time… I moved aside, slit his throat with a small weapon, the weapon known for cutting sharply, easily and powerfully – a scalpel (surgical knife). He falls down saying that it was a good move!

Rocky, the one-eyed fucker loses his eye while trying to attack me from behind and his animal cry makes me happy. That’s a perfect revenge for whatever they have done to Rose and in a similar way by slitting their throat and piercing out the eyes.

The only person left in the Billy’s gang is Jane. She is a doctor who served American Army in her late twenties, wrongly booked in a medical fraud, and imprisoned for lifetime. She sees delighted as she could finally see the real Bruce – a beast who ruled his school days.

…………………………………….10 hours ago

If it was Rose who made me feel loved, but then I lost my virginity with Jane. She was a beautiful queen, with a strange air of mystery around her, her beautiful and big blue eyes and to look into those eyes was bliss, her face was round like a moon, her skin was as white as milk and she was a queen of my heart in those days. Though we lost the golden touch, I was happy to meet her in the hellhole as a savior at the last minute of my life.

She was the one who revealed about Rose murder and what Billy and Rocky did to her, how much she had to suffer in the last few minutes before her end. It made me furious; actually, I became uncontrollable as I kept punching my face.

She made me calm, narrated a plan, she promised she would help with weapons, and she made to believe that I could revenge those motherfuckers. In addition to this, it was also her payback to Billy, as he tricked her in the medical fraud for which she was imprisoned for years despite being innocent.

……………………………………………….Now

She hugs me smiling, as we avenged Billy and Rocky to deny his freedom at one shot, and more than that, we rediscovered the lost magical touch between us as fell for each other once again.

‘Let’s search for Inland Taipan. It’ll help to cure you’

I smile, she hugs, and kisses me deep passionately. It’s time for Bruce-maniac!