Fear. Yes. That thing which makes you act in the most desperate way. It makes you forget everything you ever stood for. All the big talks. All the small talks. All the talks that were left unuttered. Fear, ruins you status of being unbroken and unspoken. The fear that a Titanik might land right inside on your head, or the fear that you'll dies that slow, painful death, all the while listening to sweet, lovely music. Or maybe the fear that a time bomb will blow inside you, making every bit of your signs of existence fly till the ends of the world. Yes, this is the best one.
A time bomb, that's strapped right to your heart. A heart is possessed by even the most brainiest man on earth. It's inside you, and it has a beat. Anyway, the question is, what shall you do? Tear apart that heart, crumble it inside your own hands, or maybe make paper boat out of it and let it go, hoping that once its a good distance away, you can get to enjoy the fireworks with a bucket full of popcorns. All the while trying to forget all the pain that was involved in the process of ripping it apart, or maybe slicing open the veins. So yay, you wont die now, the heart's gone. But there's this new problem. What do you filll up that little place right above your left lung with? Paper? Broken bottles? A cat? Its a fucking landfill, and there's nothing, nothing huge enough to fill that void. So a heartless man sits, thinking what next? Where to get those new, expensive hearts you heard they were selling in the streets? You turn the whole city upside down, yet there's no sign of a good enough heart. And I'm sure you know, that just like wands in HP series, not all hearts fit that bony cage of yours. You search everywhere, the neon lighted streets, the dark alleyways, the dark corporate houses, the dingy markets. There's hearts, everywhere, but not the one for you. Then one day, this shady character, in his 60s bollywood noir tone, lets you know a little secret, in return for a handsome fee. You sell everything, everything to get back that heart of yours. And he tells you, far away in a hill, there lives a witch, a wise, compassionate witch, who can give you whatever you want. You run for that hill. And you run, you run, and the sun is the same in a relative way, but your older, as the old bards had sang. Once you reach the witch, and tell her what you want, she agrees to give it to you, in return for your brain. Yes, that thing that's inside the bony skull of yours. You decide to give it up, brains grow back, hearts don't. And she, taking her cauldron, and all the secret ingredients, brews a potion, and right out of the potion, jumps out a healthy heart. A healthy, welthy heart, for which any son of God can put up his godliness on sell. You take the heart, thank the witch, and fit in the heart. You screw it tight, patch up the blocks neatly, and seal your chests so that no one, ever, ever again can lay their hands on that heart again.
And it is then you realise, there's a clock ticking inside that heart. It's that timebomb. It's back. You ask the witch why she had to cheat you, and she replies, "it is you who asked for the perfect heart. The heart perfect for you. So this is it."
And the game begins, again.
