Cortex of vanity

The commotions in his surrounding had chanced him with the habit of meeting the silence of the early morning every day. Had it been just noise, he wouldn't have had any problem. But it was a noise with words. The words in that noise showed vanity.

He didn't want to be a part of that vicious vanities of vulturous human beings. The morning hours yielded him the song of wordless noises. The noise of constant whirling and some buzz. He liked being in that noise, to keep afloat his being on the white noises, formed by the amalgation of those constant whirls and buzz.

But, all of a sudden, a sharp blow of summer rays in its full glory of golden fire hit his face. An anger rose within the cortex of his being. He loathed himself right then more than any other being, for being a prey to the nature's game of bliss and pain. The indifference of nature towards him!

He shouted in anger "If it is to be so, then let it be so but I warn thou that the same is to be so by me towards thy world"


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