The JesterThe JesterThe curtain draws, the stage is set,For the travelling dancer, jester, he's yet,Prances forth, with confidence full,And begins his act, all else annulled... ..Colours twisting in the air,You cast a glance, but he's not there.His limits of skill, the jester meets,In spirals, back flips, turns and leaps... ..He holds the crowd with a paralysing spell,The children, too, their interest tells,All are stunned at his daring tricks,Not seen before, an exotic mix... ..His hat adorned with many bells,Of happy times the sweet sound tells,A break from hunger, and tiring work,To see this actor, from task they shirk... ..'He has a gift!' is said by one The cry taken up, none to shun,The talented performer on his stage,Gold coins thrown, they are his wage... ..The dancer slows, and takes his bow,A tale to be told, of the jester, long from now.
Open SkyOpen sky soothesThe rage of clouds,Like a mother -Picking up possessionsThat were flung astray.
Sirocco Prologue and Chapter 1Sirocco PrologueTo the ever-curious human mind, the Constellation provides an inexhaustible supply of questions. Men have never resisted the urge to expand and explore, to not just discover but take, and the orbital system of over a hundred million continent-sized worldlets was the perfect place to nurture Magellan's Children. Just a million kilometres from the system's sun, a few hundred from each other, the larger worlds create their own distortion of space time and gravity, catching smaller sub-planets like the proverbial lead ball on the rubber sheet. These gravity centres in turn rotate around each other in an endless dance. Their nearness and complete coverage of every approach to the sun collected air like a vast butterfly net; giving rise to wind, storms, and tides in the air. Rain and clouds drift between worlds and whirl through the sub-systems as planet sized hurricanes. Through this ordered cha
BulliesThe fight in the quad was the last thing anyone expected. Least of all myself. I really pitied him, the victim - not much at the time, I was kinda going along with the crowd, you know? As if it was really a fight. More like a massacre. Little John, a pimply, short and slightly too intelligent year 8 kid, set off the bully's irrational rage like a red rag before a bull.Everyone was standing in a circle so I just like
joined in. Went along with what was expected of me by social rules and stuff. The bully's fists rose and fell, hammering John like a blacksmith at his anvil, beating the poor child into a shape more to his liking. A shape more pitiable, small, acceptable to his overweening sense of self-importance. A shape that he could deal with - a shape that reduced the moral superiority he saw in his victim's eyes. Or so I thought at the time, looking on detachedly, chained by peer pressure to what the crowd wanted to see. I just went along with the beat that the mob s