From Four Quartets for T. S. Eliot

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.

The Locket

When you get the urge to kill someone, you don't plan for it. You just jump, you don't look for difficulties, and ramifications are the least of your troubles. Not twisted, rather a magnification of any driven desire, good or bad, you do feel like you're behind the eight ball. If not done, it never actually passes into nothingness. It just sits there, caressing your wild, probably polite at the time, imagination. Building bridges and arsenals, dicing with unicorns and fairies, putting and end to calamities for the fun of it and that's not all. He thinks too much when he's in the mood unlike the average 20-years-old guy. That very day, the pattern was heading the same way. He was not in the mood, and yet managed to go against it. Revenge does that, hell, it goes beyond that. "My life's not ruined .. yet.", he thought. "It could be considerably OK compared to other lives, if only I could ruin theirs even more.", thought aloud while looking through his window. Pretty much what he LOVED to do when distracted, talking to his alter-ego. The reason was, how on earth could he consider such  fatal tendencies in so short time.

What a gem I had, and what a gem I lost., exactly what jumped to his mind instantly.
He wasn't younger when he lost them, not just a family, a whole life, an affair. It might be supposed that a catastrophe such as he just have had would have slain his incipient passion for life. On the contrary, he never experienced a more ardent longing for life, once he based it all on getting back at the ones who crushed his glowing vision for life. "I need to plan for something on the spot, right this second.", he thought. But that thought was soon interrupted by his phone, followed by his machine, "Hey, Mr. Sanders. You missed your appointment again this Wednesday. Can you get back to us on whether or not, you're going through with your sessions?! Thank you."

Unaware of what just took place, he snapped out as if he realized that this oblong metal object he's been gazing at, contains his cold beer. He walked to the referigerator , snatched his can and gulped it down with relish, as though quenching a flame in his breast.

But the bloodthirsty mourning man in him was in an utter separate daze from any other metabolic or circulatory system.

He was thinking while walking down the few stairs, "Should I take the car or not?'. "Should I buy my own knife, or search for one at that family's house?"

He's at back the door. And as the door squeaks opening, his feelings rushes out of their box, but evaporate at once. Instead, he kept that little composure he's got and hastily plan the unplanned as if he's intending on taking them all for a stroll. "How did you get in .." The husband didn't finish that. He actually got distracted with the blood fountain out of his carotid. The little boy came running," Daddy!" But the plastic bag cut off the air supply enough to say no more with his eyes set upon his dad's obscene sight.

"I'm not wiping away the blood on my knife.", he said decisively, "She needs to know I killed them both.". "I only wish she could give my mother's locket, she stole, back to me."

He looked and looked till he found her in the bathroom. "Of course, she is. Trying to wash the guilt away, the debris of her own barbarian scenery she painted with my family's blood."

His thoughts vigorously rushed into his head. "The Coroner told me, whoever killed my mother, snatched   her locket causing the antemortem injury."

He approached the door with extremely fiery eyes. While she was getting ready, he urged upon himself the excellency of the opportunity offered for indulging his desire to kill.

He swore he'd mutilate and torture her helpless body right before he finished what came for. All she kept saying was, "No, no please no, it was not me I swear please no." But nothing's coming between his inner blood-lust and her death just now. And it was quit all of a sudden. Roaming hopelessly to find the locket, the one with a picture of the three of them inside, he found nothing. Drained and lethargic he maneuvered his way home. After taking a shower and doing his best to erase his traces away, he headed to the closet to find himself another clean pair of shoes. He unintentionally looked up at something shiny that caught his eye. In an attempt to recognize the touch and the look of it, he quickly remembered. It was his Mom's Locket, with her flesh embedded in between the little rings of the chain.

Define elections, (with no reference to democracy)

Lately, It's much easier to be outraged by the political scene in Egypt, instead of pitching in with one's own version of one's own part of the equation. Most of the hardworking citizens don't have the luxury to have an actual misgiving here or there. "I don't have a choice but to vote to A" said an old man with an impression that it's a burden, not just towards his fellow citizens, but also towards his kids. He's in war that could come back to haunt him, since he's a guy with conscious, probably unlike the candidates. The underlying reason to choose is 80 percent economic to such goodhearted people. Sometimes, it's safe haven driven choice. In the middle of all this, they forgot about Scaf, Are they going to be less involved? Are they going to preserve peace? Are they going to carry us to conflicts with or without their own weight? 'Not my problem.", another well-educated young lady who thinks, priorities are changing.

So, at some point, we'll have to or not to choose between a theocracy with a long flaky, undetermined and covenant-like past and a capitalistic former prime minister/minister of aviation who was in the position of power during the famous "Camel incident".

Call it cruel injustice, fatal course of things, karma for not having this mutual standpoint. It doesn't matter: we're already here.

The presentiments we have for now make the already-documented sentiments towards any President quite vague instead of merely capturing the essence of the long-term traces any politician leaves behind.  And here, Robert Frost's words just fit, "I hold it to be the inalienable right of anybody to go to hell in his own way." 

We're in the middle of a battle, now, between a realistic vision and a dream. Between what could and couldn't happen if we set our minds on it. This inside flame should turn to something constructive, feel the other flames, use the portals, enslave the channels to do it, or else, let the generations to come pay for it.

From a non-practical candidate to another you couldn't help but think? Who's the least of two evils? Especially, after the blast Mubarak's trial have made the flame even bigger. Between contrived demarche of political parties, and the greedy scheme of the candidates, it feels like the revolution was never over. In fact, it needed that push. Between Islamists who still don't acknowledge the fact that there's blood spatter on their hands, with an intimate yet whimsical and goes as the wind blows and another type of gluttons, upstarters and lightweight status seekers, all what the revolutionaries have got are the will and perseverance that kept on dwindling ever since they found themselves in the middle of a deserted  war-zone like confined arena, between the aforementioned and SCAF.

Elections are no more the sole concern, it never was actually. But if this verdict we heard today is the last straw, so be it.

Poverty, humiliation, broad-daylight killings, repressed women and unfulfilled children right, social justice and the list goes on, are what the media dropped while advertising for "Who's The Boss!". Therefore, there's no better time for the eruption to make a comeback with a little more unity, a little less second-hand leaders and a martyr-like hero, "who" has always been the main aim. Speak of the unspeakable, sheer violence taking place each and everyday for a start. Then when you come back with pure, exquisite and immanent priorities, maybe then, the actual goals of the uprising would fall into place. Egypt could actually have a saying in the region and regain a long lost value and, who knows? One united nation to aspire for.