Continued from “On The Interlude.”
Old habits die hard as the saying commonly goes. Let’s just say they linger on…along a rather tricky and incredibly thin line. In a terrifying snare featuring destiny, they draw the distinction between redemption and damnation. The competing interests pitting the habitual path in relapse and the not so easily discerned pleading ray of hope constantly and in some cases subtly begging for audience determine one’s ultimate side of the coin in fulfillment.
A thrilling arena indeed because in the deadlock-breaking climax of it all, every millisecond counts. It’s never about whether the lesson was learnt as it is on whether it was learnt on time…better still well enough; enough to stay on firm ground, away from the path that slides back to danger.
“…Oh! I saw it…saw it all so clearly! – clear as crystal – only it was too late!”
The countdown beams in the homestretch that must draw a clean distinction between mortal and immortal in bidding for honor. In the end, that dreaded red card is almost inevitable. The legend will go forth either way in full witness of the human race. For whether in birthing pain or joy; tears of gladness or misery, we each are a source, a legendary fountain that trickles down the human race in respective spheres of contact. It’s a wait and see situation however when it has to be determined which of the two worlds one represented; when the coin has been tossed. The winner takes it all; evil stands not a chance- in source beyond and representation within.
The Nation was a beehive of activity in the wee hours of the morning. The televised presidential directive that saw the decision to release hostages barely 24 hrs earlier reversed in a historic move came hitting the populace with a storm. Traffic lights flashed apprehensively as bartenders hurriedly wound up business, sheltered from the biting cold from the early morning breeze that elicited such sweet melodies from the birds of the air flying past, with no care in the world.
Security apparatus raced against time in readiness for the grand chase. The state of emergency was finally in place, until the hostages were back – to the infant.
The grotesque Chief of General Staff slowly lowered his handset. He briefly clasped his hands under his chin before he could speak, his tone guarded, with the Nation’s top security brass before him keenly following.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Commander-in-Chief will personally be leading this operation.” He allowed a deliberate pause to allow for shock absorption.
“We have a new code name Best of the Best! It’s exactly fifty-nine minutes on the official countdown. No one stays behind.” He concluded his address, his elevated eyes glued at the multiple clocks on the wall before him pointing at the world time zones.
And so the story ends! In the end, there are no two ways about it. Sight without perception is more disastrous than the pestilence of a Tsunami-one always precedes the other. As he stood watching, he now saw it all…saw it so clearly-as clear as crystal…only it was too late.
“…This pair seems to have fallen into our territory from someplace within space wielding some strange contaminant that is haunting the very core of our national security and rapidly crippling our systems.” The General’s words played through his mind in amazing vividness.
He felt the prize brutally propelled beyond reach as his eyes were opened to the value of the lesson before him. His own life too, felt like it was rapidly fleeting before him; helplessly before his very own eyes. The target before him seemed to accelerate in a blazing trail before his rapidly immobilized entourage.He watched with a deep sigh. Maybe the General should have made contact with the Martian Centre after all! He struggled to contain the volley of ideas and flashbacks flowing through his mind with great intensity. Something told him this would be the point the two worlds parted ways-decisively.
The camera man watched through his lens with mouth wide open. The bass guitarist strummed on G-Major and savored the wonder as the drone eclipsed him in awe indescribable.He frowned and hesitated a bit at what had first felt like the roar of a lion. The historian took a firm grip of his pen, woman, child and man to instruct in wisdom.
“…How do you know this?”
“…He is before all things and in him all things and in him all things hold together!”
“What does that mean? What on earth does that really mean?” a bewildered president muttered to himself. He felt like one on the receiving end taking in bits and pieces he wished would draw a concrete picture.
“…You have an appointment at Ten…a yellow card!”
“Goodness grief-I’m loosing my mind! Let’s get out of here. It’s headed for the red card!”
He let out a desperate cry of panic. His entourage struggled to follow the sudden twist of events. No one had time to move. He watched as the giant walls came crushing in an immortal seal mounted by Operation Marine Gale.
©The Blazing Trail 2013
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