In short sight.

This week’s take on the Trifextra Challenge:
(To add thirty of your own words to the following three words for a total of thirty-three.)

The words are ‘myopic’, ‘dazzle’, ‘basin’.

Nature’s Child by Karin Taylor

Her myopic eyes saw nothing except for Nature’s hidden signs; the songs in the storm and a dazzle in the waning moon. Only she saw the pixies skip merrily over the ancient basin.

Sharing the universe with monsters and lost eyeliner-prophets

(Trigger warning: Child abuse, abuse, genocide, sarcasm)

Pure empathy. The art of being able to fill in the other person’s shoes to an extent that the other perspective becomes completely internalised. So, let us put the very ideas of right and wrong, good and evil and other such absolutes under the scanner and routinely dissect them.

Every crime that is committed seems to exist in a Schrodingerian universe of sorts, where it is simultaneously a crime and not a crime.

Better put, they always come with justifications. A woman was violated? She was provocatively dressed and walking alone at night, can’t blame the man who did it out of predatory urges. Cultural genocide in Tibet? It’s part of the Chinese expansionist policy, whether you like it or not. The point is, irrespective of whether one agrees with the justification or not, it is always going to exist, even if only as a matter of discourse. The perpetrators will always have a defending argument.

However, there is one space within which all such defences fail. That mind numbing space where crimes are committed against children.

Children.

Was there some logic behind what happened to Baby P and Victoria Climbie? Maybe they were too noisy, or too naughty, thus provoking their respective guardians to torture and ultimately kill them? Maybe there’s some justification for what Ian Watkins did?

People who commit unspeakable crimes like this are also human, right? Then please, let us find another word to describe the rest of us. I, for one, refuse to be called human then.

Children.

We humans have gotten away with a lot. But not this. We cannot justify an existence within which children are tortured, violated or killed. Because here, there is no provocative dressing, no socio-political motive or any other preposterous debate that we are routinely good at cooking up.

The disovery of a rockstar nephew

I dislike huge family gatherings with a vengeance. Too many people fluster me. I sit, languish in a dark corner and look mysterious.
This gathering turned out no different until I discovered the existence of a nephew. He is all of ten and already possesses the wisdom of the stars.
With all the awkwardness of new found auntdom, I tried the usual mandatory bonding starters.

“Uh, what’s your favourite subject in school?”
“English”, the little man solemnly replies.
“I heard you like dancing? What else do you like doing?”

He pauses, and then glances sideways at me, appraising whether I am worthy of what he’s about to say.
“Rock. I like rock.”

(I think I passed the test.)
I clutch the sides of whatever seating device I was on.

“Rock? What rock do you listen to?”
Not 1D , not 1D, I prayed.
Again, that pre-bombshell glance.

“Iron Maiden”.
My eyes widen slowly. Is he the Chosen One or something?

“That’s heavy metal though, I also like Mettalica.”
“Uhhh, which Metallica song…?”
He grins.
“Enter Sandman”

So, there is hope for humanity and music and world peace and all things good and kind.