Madhu Goteti
Bio
The thrums in the strums and the delights in the humdrum of life have always fascinated me.
It’s that feast of reason and flow of soul; in all that I see and all that I shall behold!
I am an avid lover of art and philosophy!
Stories (123)
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Plausible Construal :A Desideratum
I was on a winged flight to the far east, soaring high up in the clouds with an anticipatory prospect of meeting a replica of me--someone outwardly-inwardly, identical to me. To believe such a miracle existed was to suppose and transcend earthly space and time theories.
By Madhu Goteti about a year ago in Fiction
EBBING SILENCE
A cryStalline wave wander’s around As the moon soars hIgh up the ground And the timbers aLong the creek howler in a new tongue Swooping hEavy on whites, a drowsy billow, settles down This hour in slumber marches o'er the midnight ruN While the Creepy cold venerates to launch a haunt .... O! Look! Slow in motion, the mEadows, adjunct to unknowns 🧡🦢🦢🦢🧡 ✨💫 © ✍️ Madhu Goteti August 25th, 2024
By Madhu Goteti about a year ago in Poets
Whistler’s Wilde
It was a stormy night! A strange kind of darkness enveloped the skies. The wind was visibly skirmish to distract any wanderers steed. Through those whirlwinds, a sailboat, “Whistler’s Wilde,” mounted up into chaos and appeared drifting away into the unknown. Captain Oscar Smith was stationed at the bridge, tightly holding the wheel between the winds and the waves. He frantically steered the boat to strike a good balance with the rough seas. The yacht crew, for a long time, had indeed been so accustomed to taking voyages that they could hardly remember the count. The seasoned sailors as well as the rookies, were often deployed to sail through those mighty oceans. But this time, they ought to have known better. What they were about to face was extraordinary. Among them was Miss Sylvia Stevens, a young journalist, hawkishly determined, to discover, some truths of her own. Every now and then she had come to hear about some strange happenings at the deep seas. And so she had set sail to uncover those mysterious secrets,alongside, an uttermost attraction towards Captain of the ship. At first glance, Sylvia had been smitten by the Captain’s appearance: His radiant face, chiseled nose and roughened looks were impressively imploring. His eyes — remarkably brilliant, never failed to catch her attention. Most suggestively, his overture was ,apparently,very mesmerizing and Sylvia couldn’t help but dig deep. But on that day, she was there to make an investigation, and go through it all, to seek answers to the most pressing, and the most wiliest of her queries. Unexpectedly, all of a sudden, a storm begins to create a hell of a rage. Splashy sprays of water, rush into the chambers, lashing and bashing, before they retire into obscurity. The boat comes to the verge of collapsing as it goes—lower and higher, ducking into the deep seas. Captain Smith’s first mate, Jack, a little vexed and distressed, calls out-“ Ahoy, Captain! We have to head back soon!” The Captain tries to respond to him, but the gusty winds muffle his voice. Instead of trying to speak over the howling gale, he spins the boat around. The sudden torque keels the boat sharply, throwing Sylvia off of her feet. The waves turn barbarically abrupt ,as though, inclined to snarl at her. Sylvia struggles to gain her balance, but in vain. Within moments she gets irretrievably trapped in the raging turbulence. And a huge wave thrusts up and pushes her overboard! Captain Smith invariably gazes at the sight of Sylvia’s disappearance. In a desperate attempt, he tries to ease the mainsail until the boat stops all forward motion. Then, he turns the rudder hard, taking care that the boat doesn’t topple head long. For a fraction of a second, the Captain tries to steer clear of the waters,but the booming tide roars at him ferociously. Unperturbed by the mysterious sounding storm, the Captain plunges deeper. Just then, a stump of the “top mast,” falls off and rolls over the bridge. The crew notice Sylvia scrambling and sliding away from the boat. And after a while, she arrives back in a semi-conscious state , bobbing in the lines of waves in front of the yacht. Baffled, the crew’s reaction varies between suspicion and wonderment. As for them, something doesn’t seem right. As they scourge through the weird wreckage, a whole new phenomenon erupts at the oblivion sea. By then, the storm claimed Sylvia ,once again, and the foaming walls of waters above her had another story to tell. As the sailboat, “Whistler’s Wilde,”battles over the currents, its crew, start doubting the situation to be a foul play. They uncannily scrutinize the secrets that had gone overboard with Sylvia. “Did she fall off or was she pulled in ?" one of the crew says sadly to the other. "I don't know, but I think we're in trouble," another replies. There upon, the Captain’s past starts to collide with his present ; threatening to destroy everything that he had built so far. The storm had claimed Sylvia but it also exposed the dark truths that the Captain was holding in secrecy, for a long time. Frightful disappearances had become common at the seas. But that hadn’t deterred him from taking up the voyages. "We'll find her, Captain," says Jack in a redeemer’s voice. Captain’s eyes narrow and he remarks —“I hope so, Jack. I hope so." As the yacht battles against the myriadic strangeness, a pulsating light appears at the horizon. The crew exchange nervous glances, unsure of what to make of it. "What is that?" Sylvia’s feeble voice (barely audible,) echoes from nowhere. Suddenly her head bobs above the waters as she clings to a piece of debris. "I don't know, but I don't like this,” the Captain mutters, his eyes fixed upon the light that encircles Sylvia. Then, a gale freezes up in the air and an eerie kind of gloom surrounds them. “It’s a portal opening into the other realm, a little farther forward,” yells Sylvia struggling with the weight of the effect dragging her in the abyss. Within moments, the boat capsizes and everything gets enveloped in an ominous green glow. In the meantime, one by one everything gets swept into the heart of the light, and all gets wallowed in the broad tumultuous expanse. At once, the fabric of reality gets warped around the crew ,and all, disappear like a vapour. "What's happening?" Jack screams wistfully with his voice laced in panic. "I think we're being pulled into some kind of...rift," the Captain cries out, his unblinking eyes hooting sinister at him. The yacht, along with the dust, fluff and smoke, get whisked in, as well. The ambiance transforms into a crystalline beam headed towards a celestial terrine. When the crew open their eyes, they find themselves in a realm ,unlike any other they had ever seen before. There, the skies revel upon a burning crimson, and the spurring seas bathe in sombre mantle of smoky viscous fluids. All around everything seems pulsing with a life of its own. But to the mind’s eye the illusory shift in view becomes very intense. The crew, through the shrieks and twists, realize that they are in an unimaginable plight. Casting mental alertness into the aether, and thence, Sylvia gathers strength to speak—“Where the heck are we?" "I don't know," Captain Smith replies,his eyes scanning the horizon, and instantly he blurts—“ we are a long way from shores ; a thousand light year thro’ this ethereal opening, I guess.” Then, coming out of the seething tumult , the crew further explore the strange surroundings. They encounter many things that defy all earthly logics. As it turns out, nothing holds clear of their understanding,even though, no formal patterns exist in terms of any time scales, forms,sizes or shapes. But, one thing that they all share in common is an intuitive ability to merge their thoughts and emerge through their ideas as one. The prevailing drift seemed like a dream sequence. Then there were creatures coming off as beings of pure energy sending forth ever changing themes to their dream. Peculiar as it seemed, these creatures,at times,mirrored their own entities. Springing up from the unknown vagary ( literally, from nowhere); much as much as some ordained missionaries, they propelled to legitimize the conceptual order of that metaphysical world. Sylvia feels ,as if,she’s sent off as a first hand reporter of some sound vibrations coming out of the “other worldly,” regimes, only to discover, whatsoever,it meant to bring. Then she experiences a droning —upon her ears 👂, and drowning upon its tunes, she gets redirected from those dying hours of gloom towards magical resonance of sounds. Planting her mind deeper into the recitations she leaps into a process of imitation and dissolves in the pool of interacting field of energy. Looking forth, into the gleaming yonder, the entire crew find themselves gazing through similar piercing lightsabers attuning them insolvable mysteries. "This is madness," Jack mutters, his eyes widened in fear. "I think it's just the beginning," Captain replies with his voice laced in a sense of wonder. As they continue to journey furthermore into the deep, they gain recourse into a new supernatural realm. That’s where they feel that they are not alone. A figure, shrouds in shadows, watching over them from a distance. "Who are you?" the Captain asks in a commanding tone, his voice echoing across the strange landscape. "I am the guardian of this realm," the figure replies in a thundering voice. “And you, mortals, are trespassers." The crew of the “ Whistler’s Wilde,” now know that they have to find a way back home, but as they turn to leave, they realize that the guardian has other plans for them... As the crew of the “Whistler’s Wilde,”navigate the surreal landscape, they encounter a series of bizarre challenges. They start feeling as though they are on a winged flight, soaring high and low between the clouds and seas alternately. However, as they continued so, they had no clue of meeting a replica of themselves; someone outwardly-inwardly, identical to them. But then, that happens! To believe such a miracle exists —was to suppose and transcend, all space and time theories. In fact this is a reality that presents itself to them. They get redirected to find someone ditto as themselves. A carbon copy of their prior physical entities. How could they be so blinded by this-“other worldly,”factuality. They think to themselves. But within moments, they find themselves treading from no body to a mega soluble state of existence with elusive and subtle qualities. “ Unbelievable,” the Captain thinks to himself as he prepares to face this voyage of new discoveries. . But certainly, he knew not that, up until that point, he was ,fundamentally and presumably, so wrong in his conception of realities of the universe. All the while, he believed in a simplistic finite notions of reality and habitually drawn towards it —like —opening a door and moving into familiar surroundings. But, in a whiff, everything had changed and all this was striking him as a beam of light, compelling him to swiftly suffuse into things. “Caution mortals, this is the “Realm of the Entangled," just then the guardian declares, with its enigmatic voice. “To escape, you must solve the “Riddle of the Quantum Twins." "What riddle?" Captain Smith asks ,narrowing his eyes. "Two particles, entangled in a dance, yet separated by vast distances. Tell me , how will they communicate, when the laws of nature dictate otherwise ?"the guardian queries. "That's impossible," Jack responds back, shaken up —amidst that —“as above and as below yonder.” "Ah, but that is where you are ," says the guardian, glinting beyond the arrays of yon’. "The answers lie in the realm of the entangled. Seek out the “Oracle of Superposition." says the guardian serenely and disappears. The crew, now, forever gone into an ever-land journey, start to dig deeper into those realms, encountering further strangeness along their ways. Thusly, unchained to any form, the motley crew reach the abode of the Oracle; a pure point of energy, emerges from nowhere. "I will give you the answer," the Oracle announces with its voice echoing through the multiple dimensions. "But first, you must solve my riddle: What can be in two places at once, yet never be seen?" "That's a classic," Sylvia says with a smile spread across her face. "The answer is a quantum particle in a state of superposition,” she blurts instantaneously. The Oracle nods with its pulsating energy and gives its approval -“You are correct!” “And now, I will give you the answer to the Riddle of the Quantum Twins,” the Oracle continues to announce. “Quantum twins communicate through the power of entanglement, a connection that transcends space and time." As the crew ponder over the answer, the guardian appears from nowhere. "Well done, mortals, You have unlocked the secret of quantum entanglement. But be warned: with this knowledge comes great power and great responsibility." As the crew of the “Whistler’s Wilde,” emerge from the Realm of the Entangled, they find themselves back in their own world, forever changed by their surreal journey. One by one, a new awakening-springs up from the sea of their thoughts. The foundering boat had capsized in the dingey darkness and one by one, as schooners , they were coasting the shore. Holding their oars high, they were getting waking up to awakenings. "We did it," the Captain reclaims with his eyes shining in wonderment. “We unlocked the secret of quantum entanglement." "And we discovered something even more profound," Sylvia adds .”The power of human ingenuity, curiosity and determination." The crew nod in agreement, their minds still reeling from the surreal adventure that they had just witnessed. Now they knew that their lives would never be the same, for they had glimpsed the hidden mysteries of the universe. After a few days the crew of the “Whistlers Wilde ,”reflects upon their surreal journey in a consortium and they begin to ,once again, notice strange synchronicities, coincidences and happenings, time and again during their lifetime on earth. Revived and restored by such cataclysmic experiences, the crew find themselves “double -watching,” many opprobrious moments and emerging through many “vision -logics,” in the following years. And such so, gradually, they gravitate towards their own soulful transcendence. Years roll by ! But still, some replicating phenomena in the outer universe has a hold on them. “Is this earth?!” such fleeting words, tug at them, as and when, many hard and easy moments tap into their souls ,as if, to validate their presence on earth. Then, one by one, their lives halt at nothing, and keyless,they transcend this earthly existence. Their physical entities burn up in flames but, something of their’s remains. Slowly years roll by and everything shifts into the future. It’s year 2090 AD .. it’s when humanity is anthropomorphically jumping heaps and pushing through the AI world.. It’s a time when inanimate objects are taking on a new meaning. They start attracting humans at different levels of “possession.” Humans themselves are at the cusp of immortality and flailing through their own “brain implants.” Their thoughts emerge as a construct to map ,anything and everything, that serves them well to deal with nature, transcending the plains of eternity. Recognizably, the spans of enormous alternatives accessed in terms of times , connectivity, objectivity,and perspectives, was turning too dangerous. It was like humans were becoming conduits, to move ,almost instantaneously, into space and time. What just was happening was like heaven and hell —ever expanding without any ends in all directions. Something like a tropism in terms of soul regeneration had been triggered, and to which, souls were connecting with the distant galaxies. Such a questing was ,unknowingly, leading into the creation of megalithic bodies that bore the spirits at large. Somewhere on earth a sailors conference manifests itself and it holds a mirror to a point in time —where—the souls of Captain Smith, Sylvia , Jack and many others of that time, whirls back in a flow of their continuing journey through the deep seas. Along its course, a ceaseless motion of time roves up ahead. A mysterious figure called “Mantraa ,” appears and connects with the crew at that sailor’s convention. Then on, vagrant turnings of the past events start unfolding again. In a steady course, many years whirl back. "Mantraa, what do you know about quantum entanglement?" the Captain asks with his eyes widened. Mantraa smiles enigmatically. "It’s an ethereal Realm. And let’s just say I've had my own share of experiences with the entangled realm." As the crew presses forward for answers, Mantraa reveals a shocking truth about the concept of “quantum entanglement,”and how their lives were soon to get intertwined in ways that they had never imagined. The discovery sets off a chain reaction, leading the crew down a rabbit hole of mysteries and revelations. They begin to unravel the threads of their entangled lives, exposing both secrets and mysteries that threaten to upend their understanding of reality. Following that the crew of the “ Whistler’s Wilde,” are sent on a mission to guard the coasts at the subseas. Subsequently, they reach a point in the oceanic depths where they start to experience the mysteries of “quantum entanglement, “ and there, they stumble upon an ancient text hidden within the “ Realms of the Entangled.” It’s a text that has an inscription in a script unknown to the crew. Just then, the Captain blurts out a lofty remark- “how fleety and uncertain is this world of delusion. This surely must be a feat of mankind to gain laurels through withered texts of the past forever blighted in the hands of time. “ Then, over the silence of the oceanic depths, a remarkable eloquence is heard. It appears ,as though, the voice had emerged to supplicate its effect on the text. Unexpectedly, Mantraa, with an enigmatic smile, reveals himself and explains to them all about the “Upanishadic texts.” Additionally, he marks himself to be a guardian of the cosmic strings, tasked to maintain the harmony of the universe. To that, the crew get spellbound! "The strings vibrate at different frequencies, giving rise to the particles that we observe in our reality," Mantraa explains further, with his eyes gleaming in an “otherworldly intensity. But then, there are those, who seek to disrupt this harmony. They are exploiting the power of the strings for their own purposes." saying so, Mantraa vanishes. The crew soon find themselves entangled in a battle to protect the cosmic strings from an ancient entity known as "The Discordant." This “being,” seeks to shatter the harmony of the universe, plunging reality into chaos. With the fate of the universe hanging in the wild, the crew of the "Whistler’s Wilde,” embark upon a perilous quest to defend the cosmic strings. Along the way, they encounter some more strange creatures—born from the vibrations of the strings, and their they alternate between many simulated realities. Further on, as the crew dwell deeper into the heart of the oceanic depths, they discover a world of cosmic strings that randomly vibrate, orchestrating complex symphonies ,and perhaps, like unseen forces,producing effects, as it seemed. "The music of the spheres," Sylvia whispers with her eyes wide open in wonderment. "The harmony of the universe," Mantraa corrects Sylvia, with his hints striking at her intuitive levels. This again, unravels, an observation ,apparently, birthing, the rills and rivulets of “thought seeds ,” yet unknown to all. Gradually and steadily, the crew of the “Whistler’s Wilde,” succeed in defeating “The Discordant, “ and thus, seemingly, they restore the balance of the cosmic strings. After that, the crew return to their own reality, and realize that their journey had changed them drastically. Their earnest wishes to perfect themselves at the seas, was an entanglement that had led their lives into a “forever mode,” with other dimensional matrixes unfolding into the multi-versed fabric of the universe. Strikingly, the crew had readily gained ,mind and heart, to what was important in their life and existence. In short, it was a mind seeking matter’s sanctuary. Apparently Mantraa, a messenger from the cosmos was breaking an enigmatic code of the string theory, and his presence was fathoming to reverberate specific frequencies to connect the earthly bodies with some unimaginable phenomena. Indeed, the crew had heard of “Solfeggio sounds, “ but they had no clue about the way it worked to stir up a bodily resonance. It was like they could “person-sonically and kinetically” get charged ,and then, scale up to merge with the fundamental resonance of the universe. It was a deep excursion into the “mind-soul-spirit,” amalgam. Against an enigma that was most fundamental and much more rudimentary to their own origins , the crew, automatically entered a zone of clarity in their thoughts. Unknowingly, they start to recall the description given in the earthly ancient Sanskrit texts of “Upanishads.” The light of truth effused by “Mantraa,” enlarges their minds. Their views start getting extended and they witness ages of gathered wisdom showered onto to them. Thusly, they realize why they were made so —likewise. Elementally, they had suddenly discovered the richness of being “in it and of it ,” for their survival and existence. And, to where their reasoning was held to see, there, the miracle signalling of the “Mantraa,” came to be. "The strings vibrate at the frequency of a sound called “OM, 136.1 Hz, and that is the tone of creation," Mantraa reveals “This is the sound of the universe, “the naada,” which gives rise to the ultimate divinity; a manifestation of miraculous possibilities of the “Pontific-per-sonitics.” ‘Twas an out right —meta-logic. The crew then learn all about the “Solfeggio frequencies,” and their role in stirring up —different states of consciousness. All is described in the Vedic texts of the eastern philosophies. Striven to unite them all together, “Mantraa,” gives the crew an understanding of the upper current, that justly so, leads them to a noiseless evolution , subliminally affecting varied levels of their thoughts. He then apprises the crew of the “under and upper,” pinnings of the currents —taken under the influence of such resonance. Saying so and through further deliberations, Mantraa lays down an explanation about the “sound scales,” and the way they weave a sort of direct effect —bending down the cochlear channels to confide an affirmed intentional relief. In any case, the following gets revealed as the crew perch themselves over the “seventh alleyways,” of “SAT-CHIT-ANANDA,” zone. Mantraa announces further saying:“ Here’s how one can coexist with substratum’s of sounds. “ “- UT - 396 Hz - is associated with the state of jagrat, the waking state, and the root chakra. - RE - 417 Hz - is associated with the state of svapna, the dream state, and the sacral chakra. - MI - 528 Hz - is associated with the state of sushupti, the deep sleep state, and the solar plexus chakra. - FA - 639 Hz - is associated with the state of turiya, the fourth state of consciousness, and the heart chakra. - SOL - 741 Hz - is associated with the state of turiyatita, the state beyond the fourth state, and the throat chakra. - LA - 852 Hz - is associated with the state of absolute consciousness, and the third eye chakra.” Then on , by tuning to those sounds and their associated “frequencies,” the crew are able to access the different states of consciousness, and thereby, they realize their true nature as pure consciousness.. Then, out of nowhere, a “prayer of quiet, starts reverberating. “Om Aim Kleem Sau; Sau Kleem Aim," starts reverberating in the air . As the crew prepare to dig further deep into those mystical sounds — Mantraa quaintly harmonizes the strings, and aligns the crew to some more scriptural works —preserved amidst those hidden temples of the far east. "The cosmic strings are the manifestation of the ultimate reality— Brahman," Mantraa declares in a sharp shamanic voice. “Which part of the world is this exactly happening,” the crew members queried Mantraa. Thusly, the crew understood the profound importance of shamanic voyages ,and perhaps, they were part of an archetypical —exploration ; hunting and gathering shamanic societies. And,in this manner, they were discovering an insight into a “transpersonal evolutionary,” world by journeying through those unknown realms. But still, there is no denial about the fact that they weren’t devoid of any biases. Their own subtle bodies with their inner dimensions were,somehow, getting strung together as one ; unified at this point. There they were looking at the disasters (faced at the seas,) as some sort of casualty —vis-à-vis, subjecting themselves towards their own subtle awakenings. Each time they set sail on the high seas, they start to feel ,as though, it is a homecoming without home to be. It is like a paradise prowling along the saber edges of a distant coast, perhaps, craving to rise out of the horizons of the illumined lights. And continuing so, they often find themselves stepping into the “land of ancestors, “ but each time, they feel different from what they had known themselves to be. At times, they feel , as if, they are like shoddy wicks,glimmering in the embers of satanic verses ; moving towards chambers of bottomless pits. That is to say, they were treading into unchartered territories, beyond the marks of prohibitions, running headlong into the caprice of strange reveries. It was all dark there! or at least as their ignorance made them feel so. For decades, they remained ignorant, and now, they were stepping into ranges beyond others’ understandings. They did not realize that taking these causal journeys ,at the seas, would be so varying in rhythms, and apparently, they would be brought to the immediate reputation of “blinded sentinels,” —stranded over the sabre edges of guarded destinies; witnessing their own facade-like identities. All the while , they were conscious of only small parts of themselves. Now, they were like invisible, out of sight, normally unaware, unseen for ages by their own, but then, evermore so , they getting unknown to the cursory glances of their own sight. But, time and again, they were —somehow—getting closer to the ancient hidden truths, that of which, they had become cognizant of lately. Yes, these truths revealed much more than some mind idling over vagaries. 'Twas the reality of witnessing self-- casted over vivid new beginnings, which then — gradually revealed the splendors of lighted veneers. In the end, the crew of the "Whistler’s Wilde,” realize the true power of resonance and learn to embrace their own outlooks instead of overlooking the secrets behind their own “trans-rational,” thoughts. And just for that reason, they know that the key to unlock the secrets of the universe was to realize their own true nature and connect it with the unrelenting powers of the evolving consciousness. © ✍️ Madhu Goteti August 21st, 2024
By Madhu Goteti about a year ago in Fiction
Whistler’s Wilde!
It was a stormy night! A strange kind of darkness enveloped the skies. The wind was visibly skirmish to distract any wanderers steed. Through those whirlwinds, a sailboat, “Whistler’s Wilde,” mounted up into chaos and appeared drifting away into the unknown.
By Madhu Goteti about a year ago in Fiction
Whistler’s Wilde
It was a stormy night! A strange kind of darkness enveloped the skies.The wind was visibly skirmish to distract any wanderers steed. Through those whirlwinds, a sailboat, “Whistler’s Wilde,” mounted up into chaos and appeared drifting away into the unknown.
By Madhu Goteti Exclusive • about a year ago
į ʂąվ, վօմ ʂąվ, էհҽվ ʂąվ; చհօ ʂąվʂ చհąէ ?!
You say : Provide! Provide ! I say: Most of it , I shall revile You say : As mystic plays coming alive ?! I say: Yes, it’s seeding with me, for quite a while You say: headless adventure ebbed to life I say: It’s two looking at two for many a mile —now, smile! You say: Will you 🛑 stop by the woods, to mingle in the wild I say: Yes, of course, pure shall be the current, banking on brooks, with “awe,” to delight ! You say : Acquainting with the clear night or will it be —gazing at the bewitching sights I say: tied to distances, it’ll be self seeking self types You say: signify, that which echoes, all upon your voice I say : it’s myriadic spirit, deeply recitative, long possessed over those eyes You say: of that hold, many deaths nor lives could never suffice I say : a fate so chosen by thee , as though umpteen braves casted to surprise
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Poets
𝚅𝚒𝚟𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚂𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊 !
It’s not like greatness catches me ( unawares,) at 3:00 a.m and matches itself to the gift of ease. To me, over the years, 3:00 a.m has become a time of wonderment, where things in mind, run up against each other, and generate something like a dream. But in general, it’s the time of drawing out rather than putting in factual information. Whatever comes out of this —big release, it’s like a mind over matter appease. Though, nothing is short of any real happening as things get projected or even more so —get transformed over this viva la siesta’s screen. But at times, I do, genially fumble, at what-so-ever the mind generates quite unexpectedly. Strange enough, not all that comes out of nowhere, can be conceded as true. To such we attribute a “make belief.” Yes, mind has a unique way of making trial gallops, time and again, swinging into senses, to take on such back lashes of —this or that sensorium medleys. Incognito cogito or whatever we think it is. Grown to a seat beheld or something of that order makes it’s staged entry, as though, it is as it is —a true verdict.
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Fiction
𝕐𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕝 𝕙𝕒𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 “𝕄𝕒𝕪” 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 : 𝕀𝕥’𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕠 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟.
To those, Who stand steady, most in need of a season to add that spice to life! Dive! It’s a beautiful thing to observe nature in all it’s forms. But to notice how it emerges to make life more meaningful is often a matter of perspective.
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Wander
𝔼 ℂ 𝕃 𝕀 ℙ 𝕊 ℂ 𝔼
𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕓𝕖𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ℂ𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕕𝕤𝕥 those cosmic 𝕞𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤 𝕃𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕦𝕫𝕫𝕝𝕖 𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕘𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕟 𝕀𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕖𝕝𝕕𝕤 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕤 𝕘𝕠 𝕓𝕖𝕪𝕠𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕓𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕧𝕖𝕣’𝕤 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕦𝕖𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕥 goes unseen 𝕊𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘ly 𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕙𝕠𝕡𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕟 𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣Lane over 𝕠𝕣𝕓𝕚𝕔 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕤 —𝕒𝕤 𝕘𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕒ç𝕒𝕕𝕖s’ faded regime
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Poets
𝔸 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕪 ℍ𝕦𝕘 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 ℕ𝕖𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕪
𝕀𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕚𝕔 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕕𝕠𝕠𝕣𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕓 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖’𝕤 𝕒𝕕𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕤. 𝔽𝕒𝕣 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕤 🪵 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕒 𝕗𝕖𝕨 𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕜𝕜𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕚𝕥’𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕙𝕒𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖. 𝔼𝕩𝕡𝕝𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℝ𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕒 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕕𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕥 𝕤𝕜𝕚𝕖𝕤, 𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕. 𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕦𝕡 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕒𝕟 𝕖𝕩𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕖. ℍ𝕖 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕨 𝕦𝕡 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕜 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕖𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕡𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕤. 𝔸𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕘𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕪𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕦𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡𝕤 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕜𝕖𝕡𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕖𝕟𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕤 𝕚𝕥’𝕤 𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕢𝕦𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕚𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕓𝕝𝕖. 𝕀𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕓𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕥𝕠 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕤 𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕕𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝔸𝕝𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕘𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤. 𝕌𝕡 𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕟, 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕒𝕝𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕣𝕦𝕟, 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕞𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕒𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕤 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕤. 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕝𝕪 𝕖𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙, 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕦ing 𝕚𝕥𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕦𝕟𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕙ways 𝕠𝕗 𝕟𝕠 𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕤. ℕ𝕖𝕖𝕕𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕒𝕪, 𝕚𝕟 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕧𝕒𝕘𝕦𝕖𝕝𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕦𝕡𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕥𝕠𝕥𝕒𝕝 𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕖𝕪 𝕒𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕘𝕒𝕞. 𝕀𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕟𝕠 𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕢𝕦𝕒𝕤𝕚 𝕚𝕟 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕒 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕩𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖. 𝔹𝕦𝕥, 𝕚𝕟 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕖, 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕒 𝕘𝕙𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥. ℚ𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕖𝕣𝕟, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟 𝕒𝕓𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕕 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥. And, all 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕤𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕠 ,𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕣 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕤𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕤 𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕒𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕒 𝕤𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕣𝕖𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕖, 𝕤𝕠 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕤𝕠, 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕕 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕒 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕧𝕠𝕚𝕕 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕙𝕖 was 𝕤𝕒𝕝𝕝ting𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙, 𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙, 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 “𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖-𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 -𝕤𝕪𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘,” 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕞. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠𝕘𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕓𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕞𝕓𝕤, and 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 —𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕥𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕦𝕝𝕤𝕖𝕤, 𝕨as 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕠𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠n. 𝕀𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒 𝕕𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕖𝕣 transformation. 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕒𝕪, 𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕕𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕝𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕖𝕗𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕠𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕦𝕣𝕕𝕝𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕜 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕𝕦𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕒 𝟛-𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝟛 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕤. ℍ𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕚𝕘𝕖𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕘𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕤 ⛺️, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕥 𝕒𝕟 𝕙𝕚𝕘𝕙 𝕒𝕝𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕦𝕕𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝟚,𝟛𝟘𝟘 𝕞𝕥𝕣𝕤 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕒 𝕝𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝. ℍ𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕡𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥, 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕚𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕙 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕗 𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕡𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕠𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕠𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕒𝕟𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 ℕ𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕚𝕔 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕝 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕜. ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕤-𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕪 ⛷️ 𝕤𝕜𝕚𝕖𝕣𝕤, 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕤𝕨𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕪 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕝 𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕝𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕤. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕪, 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙ose 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕪 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕤.𝔸𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕠𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕔𝕣𝕚𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕕𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕪 𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕟. 𝔹𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕙𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕚𝕝𝕪 𝕓𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕓𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕝𝕠𝕣𝕖𝕣𝕤. 𝕀𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕘𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕤 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕣𝕪 𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕙𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕣 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕤 𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕗𝕦𝕝 𝕒𝕟𝕪𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕝𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕦𝕡 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥 𝕚𝕥, 𝕜𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕨𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕟 𝕦𝕡𝕠𝕟 𝕚𝕥 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥, 𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕤. ℍ𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕧𝕚𝕧𝕒𝕝 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕥 𝕞𝕒𝕕𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕝𝕪 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 the 𝕖𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕥. ℍ𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕣𝕦𝕘𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕞𝕒𝕟’𝕤 𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕓𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕝𝕖𝕚𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕪. 𝔸𝕦𝕥𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕨𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥. 𝕌𝕡 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕤 𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕒 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 . 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕞𝕒𝕕𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕥𝕒𝕡 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕦𝕡𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕫𝕖𝕟 𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕣 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕖𝕖𝕥, 𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕦𝕡 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕚𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝. “ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕖 𝕦𝕡 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕝,” 𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕘𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕚𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕜𝕖𝕡𝕥 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕨𝕠 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤—“𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕖,” 𝕕𝕣𝕒𝕨𝕟 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕔𝕣𝕚𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕡𝕠𝕟 𝕒 𝕗𝕖𝕨 𝕞𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝕒𝕘𝕠. 𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕖𝕘𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕗𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 all 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕖. ℕ𝕠𝕨 𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕒𝕝 𝕠𝕗 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕚𝕖𝕝𝕕𝕤. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕡𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕥, 𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕖, 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕤. 𝕌𝕡𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕒 𝕗𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕦𝕡 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕙𝕚𝕞. 𝔽𝕠𝕣 𝕒 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕖, 𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙, 𝕕𝕠𝕕𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕥, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕦𝕡𝕥𝕝𝕪. ℕ𝕠 𝕤𝕠𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕣, 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕚𝕞. ℍ𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕚𝕞. 𝔸 𝕗𝕖𝕨 𝕞𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣, 𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕘𝕚𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕧𝕖. 𝔸𝕟𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕧𝕠𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕤 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟 , 𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕗𝕗. 𝕊𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕪 𝕗𝕦𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖. ℍ𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕥 𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕦𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕪 𝕚𝕟𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕦𝕝𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕞. ℍ𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕞𝕪𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕔𝕒𝕧𝕖. 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕥’𝕤 𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖. 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕤𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕦𝕝𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕤. 𝔸𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 —𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕠𝕣 𝕒𝕞 𝕀 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞! 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕓𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕥𝕠 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕙𝕖 was 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕧𝕖—𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕧𝕖𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕞𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕥owards 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 had 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕖𝕖. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕖𝕩𝕥 𝕞𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 , 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕦𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕝𝕪, 𝕞𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕕 him 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 he 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕒 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕚𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕧𝕖. 𝔸𝕤 𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕖𝕖𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕦𝕣𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣, 𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕕 𝕘𝕖𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕚𝕔 𝕕𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕣𝕖 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕘𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕦𝕡 𝕚𝕟 the 𝕘𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝𝕕 𝕓𝕝𝕦𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤. 𝔽𝕠𝕣 𝕒 𝕞𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕒𝕨𝕖. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕦𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕕𝕖𝕗𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕖. 𝕊𝕥𝕖𝕡𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕒 𝕡𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥 𝕜𝕟𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕓𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕔𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤. 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥?! 𝕤𝕒𝕚𝕕 𝕒 𝕧𝕠𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕦𝕟𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕕𝕖𝕖𝕡. 𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕝𝕪 𝕞𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟 𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕤 𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕠𝕥 engulfed by 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕜. 𝕀𝕥 𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕄𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕖. 𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕕 sucked 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕒 𝕓𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕨𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕤 𝕘𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕚𝕥. ℍ𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕓𝕠𝕕𝕪 𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙. ℍ𝕖𝕝𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕝𝕪 𝕠𝕗𝕗- 𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕, 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕘𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕛𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕪 𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕕 𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕠𝕠 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝕚𝕥 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕦𝕟𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠’ 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕗𝕗, 𝕒𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝, 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕕 𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕥𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕟𝕧𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 . 𝔸𝕤 𝕒𝕟 𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕚𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕨𝕒𝕪, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕖𝕩𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕦𝕟𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕘𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕤. 𝔸 𝕧𝕖𝕚𝕝 𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕖𝕪𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥, 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕, 𝕦𝕡 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕟, his 𝕕𝕒𝕪’𝕤 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖 —𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕦𝕡, 𝕞𝕠𝕧ed 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕—𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 —𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕪’𝕤 𝕥𝕚𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕣𝕦𝕟. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕜𝕖𝕡𝕥 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘, 𝔸 𝕤𝕝𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕣𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕟; 𝕣𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕪 𝕒𝕤 𝕦𝕟𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕,𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕘𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕤, 𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕟𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕟. ℍ𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕤𝕝𝕚𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 an 𝕦𝕟𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕔𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕖. 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕗𝕒𝕣 𝕠𝕗𝕗 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖, 𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕟𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕤 𝕚𝕗 𝕚𝕟 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕪𝕓𝕕𝕚𝕤 𝕒𝕝𝕝 “𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖.” 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕨𝕒𝕝𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕕𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟 ,𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕣𝕚𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕒s a 𝕔𝕠𝕠𝕝 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕫𝕖 𝕧𝕖𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕤𝕜𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 —𝕓𝕦𝕥, 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕠 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜, 𝕤𝕨𝕚𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕠𝕨𝕟. 𝕋𝕙𝕦𝕤𝕝𝕪 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜 vicissitudes 𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕥 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕕𝕠𝕠𝕣𝕤 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕙 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖—𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕤. 𝕐𝕖𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕟 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕝𝕖apt 𝕒𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕. 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖, 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕝, 𝕤𝕠 𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕠 𝔸𝕜𝕠𝕟 … 𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟. 𝔼𝕩𝕡𝕝𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕒𝕣 𝕒𝕟𝕕 beyond , 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 as much as 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 , 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟𝕖 —𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕕𝕠𝕟𝕖, 𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕨𝕒𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕒 𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 he 𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕡𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕖 —𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 all 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕣𝕦𝕟𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 a𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘, much over those 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕤, quite 𝕒𝕗𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕥… 𝕋𝕙𝕦𝕤𝕝𝕪, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕓𝕓 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕜𝕖𝕡𝕥 𝕞𝕠𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 —𝕠𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕟 ; Yes, 𝕠𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕖𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘, and then, 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕦𝕝𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕥𝕖𝕕. 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕟 on, 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕓 𝕠𝕗 𝕒𝕖𝕠𝕟𝕤, 𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 it’s 𝕤𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 such so, 𝕚𝕥 all 𝕓𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕥, 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕚𝕥𝕤 𝕓𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕤 — 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕚𝕟 —𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕡𝕠𝕚𝕘𝕟𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕒𝕟 reverberating 𝕖𝕔𝕙𝕠—𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕦𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕝𝕪 disappeared as —“𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕘𝕠𝕟𝕖 , 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕘𝕠𝕟𝕖!” 𝕁𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕟 —𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕫𝕖𝕟 𝕗𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤, 𝕗𝕣𝕖𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕥 , 𝕒𝕝𝕤𝕠 𝕣𝕒𝕟 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕦𝕟𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕤. 𝕀𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 an 𝕦𝕡𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕕 𝕒 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕞𝕪𝕣𝕚𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕔 𝕤𝕡𝕦𝕟𝕤 and 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕟𝕖 ! 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕨, 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣, 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 pace, 𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖, 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕟. 𝕀𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 ,𝕒𝕤 𝕚𝕗 , 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘 a 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕝𝕚ves, 𝕥𝕠 𝕘𝕖𝕥 𝕕𝕖𝕝𝕦𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙is 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕 —𝕪𝕖𝕥 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟—𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕕, 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 again, 𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕒𝕟. 𝔸𝕘𝕠𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕠 , 𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 —𝕤𝕠𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕪—𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 long 𝕣𝕦𝕟 strides. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕤 heavy 𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕔𝕜 𝕤𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟, 𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕔𝕠𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕦𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤. Yes…..𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕒𝕟 𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕒𝕣𝕪 𝕤𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟. 𝕁𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕕 been lain 𝕠𝕟 𝕒 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕕 —𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 up 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕀ℂ𝕌 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕝. 𝕌𝕡 𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕟, 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕒𝕤 like 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕓𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕟 was 𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 things 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞. ℍ𝕚𝕤 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕘𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕟 𝕒 𝕧𝕠𝕪𝕒𝕘𝕖, 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕟𝕠 𝕤𝕠𝕛𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕟s 𝕟𝕠 𝕕𝕖𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕤. 𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕡𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕒 states…He 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕦𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟s, 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟. 𝔸𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕓𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕣𝕪, he 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠’ ℝ𝔼𝕄 𝕤𝕝𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕤 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕤 ,𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟, were 𝕥asking shape in 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕔𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 and he was hankering 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕒𝕓𝕪𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕤 somewhere along those 𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕒𝕝 grounds. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 —𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤, 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙. 𝕊𝕥𝕦𝕔𝕜 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙ose 𝕓𝕒𝕗𝕗𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕤,𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕔’𝕕 𝕓𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕕 𝕥𝕠𝕘𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕣 𝕗𝕒𝕣 𝕗𝕝𝕦𝕟𝕘 as distantly thrown. He was 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕟 held over 𝕒 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟’𝕤 𝕦𝕟𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕 turn. 𝕊𝕠 𝕠𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕠 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙, 𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕦𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕞𝕪𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕦𝕠𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪, 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕒𝕥 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕒 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕚𝕟. 𝕊𝕠𝕠𝕟, 𝕒 𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕒𝕨𝕟. Over 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟s, 𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕝 𝕤𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕗𝕗 𝕥𝕠𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕒𝕟 𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥. ℍ𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕘𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕚𝕩𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕡 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕡𝕠𝕠𝕝 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤. ‘𝕋𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕟 𝕦𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕥. 𝔸𝕝𝕞𝕠𝕤𝕥 , it was 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 “𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕤,” 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤ing itself 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕝𝕪 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕗𝕖𝕔𝕥 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕗𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕝𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕤𝕖𝕒𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕦𝕘𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕥 his 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕝 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕕𝕣𝕒𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕥’𝕤 𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕𝕝𝕪 𝕧𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕘𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕪 𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕤. ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕩𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕖𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕤. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕘𝕠 𝕦𝕡 𝕚𝕟 𝕗𝕝𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤. ℂ𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕦𝕡 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕪𝕖𝕥, 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕥𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖— 𝕥𝕠 𝕗𝕖𝕖𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕦𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕚𝕥. 𝕊𝕠, 𝕠𝕟 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕦𝕟𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕞, 𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕧𝕠𝕪𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕣 —𝕒𝕝𝕞𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕣𝕠𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕘𝕒𝕝𝕒𝕩𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕟𝕕. 𝔽𝕒𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕚𝕥, 𝕤𝕦𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕝𝕪, 𝕒 𝕧𝕠𝕚𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕕𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕕. ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕒 𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞… 𝕒 𝕟𝕖𝕨𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕟! 𝕂𝕖𝕟’𝕤 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕝 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕖𝕗𝕗𝕦𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕦𝕣𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕔𝕙𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕝𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕟𝕖𝕨𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕟 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕓𝕠𝕪. 𝔻𝕚𝕤𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕠, 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕪 , 𝕘𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙e 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 ,𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟 , 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞 𝕠𝕗 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟. © ✍️ 𝕄𝕒𝕕𝕙𝕦 𝔾𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕥𝕚, 𝔸𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕝 𝟛𝕣𝕕,𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟜
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Fiction
