Storywala

Nested dream

Devansh Mishra, AIS VYC Lucknow, XII A

Guilt, shame, pain - physical and emotional - possessed the German soldier as the war ended and he began his long walk back home. Memories of destruction and bloodshed shadowed behind his eyes that were staring at the lifeless ground. Tears welled up and his vision blurred. He kneeled, weeping on the ground. It felt like the most appropriate response to his desperate situation. He held his head, suddenly the world around him started spinning, becoming even darker.
He did not know when he had lost consciousness, but the loud ringing noise only made his heart thud. He was taken aback, opening his eyes to an unfamiliar city a bustling metropolis of metal and glass skyscrapers, with electric powered trains moving silently along elevated tracks. The streets were occupied by people dressed in loose-fitted denim and brightly patterned jackets. What confused him the most were the animated figures around. Why the huge eyes and pink hair? He stood still as a rock as he observed the city.
Yet, amidst all of this, what befuddled him the most were Japanese characters on billboards, cars, even the bright oddballs. “Excuse me, sir,” the soldier asked carefully to a man exiting what appeared like a coffee house with a cup containing a strangely grassy liquid. “Where am I?” The man looked very confused. “Uh, the United States of America?” he replied before walking away, talking into a small transmission device. The soldier’s heart raced. American voices. Japanese writing. He could not grasp how the cultures of such bitter enemies coexisted in one space.
Before he could even begin to wonder how he ended up in a city that apparently belonged to no single nation, he was thrown off by the encounter with a familiar but unexpected subject. This time, it was the vehicle by the roadside. The man recognised that car’s logo, it was a Volkswagen, ‘people’s car’. The mere sight of the German machinery made him wonder why and how a vehicle built in and by his native land was allowed to travel freely and safely in a region with whom they share a turbulent history. Suddenly, the soldier was hit by a screechingly loud frequency that felt like it’d shatter him. And before he even realised he fainted by the disturbing sound of it. But when he woke up, he was surrounded by the familiar damp air of the cement bunkhouse. It took him a minute to figure out which of the two states were a dream. Outside, a newspaper’s first page flashed with not just American victory, but its power to govern others. Visions of the city from his dream came back to his mind. He felt what could only be described as absurd – what he saw was not chaos or a loss of uniformity, but rather a future moulded by the march of time, where lines between nations blurred to birth a multicultural generation.

 American voices. Japanese writing. He could not grasp how the cultures of such
bitter enemies coexist  
in one space.

WORDS VERSE

Sculpting

Aadya Behl, AIS MV, X A

“Selfish much?” Maybe it’s true
I mould sand under sky so blue
As the waves crash on the land
The fast water sweeps the sand
All my sculptures wash to sea
But giving up is no part of me
Wet or dry, I must commence
Time won’t stop, so I advance
Alas, in sand no shape is firm
And soon, issues begin to burn
Beside the silt, I saw some fern
And found a lesson I must learn
Not the soft sand, but firm soil
I burn the oil through the night
To bring the heavy soil to light
As I pick rocks with my voile
And soil up my flamed turmoil
Through contours, I start to till
Though it was against my will
Heartbroken, I persisted still
Quite a mess, but more a thrill.