==This article is not suitable for the faintest of the hearts because it is not optimised for Homo Sapiens readability. Thank You.==

Then I started writing when the night began to fall on me.

I always knew that night was someone with whom I could always mess up with. When I was a kid, I was poured on with a bazillion stories in which the hero ended being killed by a monster on eaten up by a bear when the night fell slowly on the prey and predator.

Later, when I grew up, I found out that the night indeed was the time when the most brilliant among the predators chose to roam around. They evolved such that they could make the most out of the night.

When the night fall on the prey and predator, the predator is the one who is reaping the benefits.

Right now, I am least bothered about the epistemological significance of “truth Ever triumphs”. When the predator roars the truth, the prey flees the scene.

When the prey mews the truth, it is often digested in the predator’s gut.

But this night would go much deeper into the existence of homo sapiens than the claws of the most dreaded predator has ever dug into the flesh of it’s prey.

I am no predator, I am no prey.

Today, I talked with a girl who identifies herself as a wolf. She is one among the most lucky people I have ever met. She is living her dream.

When a prey is born, it hardly recognises the fact that it is the prey. When the predator is born, it is nothing but a live blob of flesh that clung to it’s mother’s breast.

Both are identical that they are fed, they are cared and they are grown.

Only difference is in what they are ‘fed’.

The predator grows out to be strong, shaking whatever that comes in it’s way. When it was a kid, it was fed with confidence that it’s ‘clan’ chased away the rest and ate them up.

That he is always meant to be the one who kills.

The prey always lived in constant fear. Whenever he lifted his head, all he could see was his herd running in multiple directions when the predators approached,

He hated to be the last one, for the least strongest one was the first one to be killed.

He strived hard to be the strongest. He knew that he had the best of the genes possible and the best of the resources possible to survive.

May be, on his day, he could knock of the predator with his strong hind legs. Maybe one day!

But he dared not to lift his head much, for if he is the one who stands out of the herd, he would have to be the one sworn to protect the rest.

That will eventually get him killed.

The prey and predators were born alike, but led very very different lives.

Some argue that it is because of the inherent differences between them.

Some argue that it is because of the difference in what was fed to them.

I really don’t care how their lives turned out to be. When I am taking my time to type this out at this hour of the day, I do expect something.

I have heard that Hemingway used to keep writing without a thought and then used to come back and edit the stuff.

He created classics. May be I should also experiment with the way he created the tip of the ice-berg.

May be the rest of the ice-berg will turn out to be so deep so that the people who read this will decide that it is better for them to subscribe to dogma than trust me.

The dogma is that Hashin never tells truth and hence whatever that Hashin says isn’t true. Occasionally he indeed tells truth, but he never types it out.

Hashin is a liar. But wait, who are the ones who never lied to anyone?

If you are to please, you have to lie.

If you are to be your true self, you have to lie. Because the true self is to be unpleasant to most people around you.

You are currently nice because that niceness is what the society expects from you. You in turn is conditioned to not trust in yourself and subscribe to the most tried tested methods of being oneself.

Being oneself is to lose oneself. To lose the natural way you are. To subscribe to the archetypes that will make you loveable and a better person.

I choose not to edit this article. And not to become a better person.

I have spoken the truth because I have short circuited my common sense. I created a bridge between my heart and the keyboard.

Both did well. I will read this article a long time from now. There ought to be mistakes.

Some parts may be even exposing a peculiar part of my psyche. May be literature forensics of this article may be the key evidence for the serial murders I am going to commit years from today.

I simply don’t care because I am not going to read this article again, ever!