Night of the Champions

At that particular hour, when He woke up in sweat, suffocated and severely satisfied that He had had enough of hallucinating hearings from His sons-prayers, plying for perfection; deliriums, demanding a direction; expectations, enclosing excellence; sighs, surrounding super success and bribes, baying for better butter and breads- the Almighty underwent a change; edited the gazillion-year-old, treacherous tome of Human Management; wringing out a few new rules from the holy quill, strangling to death, the cursed and the booed ones and holding back with Him, His favorite ones. An attitude adjustment of this might was accompanied by a shake of the earth and a tremble of the moon; the unlucky sons still engaged enormously in their chores, deaf-eared to the sonic boom.

Despite such a shift, the sun shone, somewhat timidly though; and the winds continued to blow, not happily so. The birds bore a baleful look, the rivers rued and the skies swooned. But synthetically, the things seemed bright and big. Not a hint of inexperience could be sensed out of the thin air. The situation was just so perfect, materially. Everyone was dressed to the nines, looking dapper and smarter. The overall efficiency of the world had increased by leaps and bounds, thanks to the changes in the law book, which apparently seemed to be working out for the humans. Sciences advanced, inventions rained, industries flourished and more mouths were fed. These ‘developments’ took place at a rate, numerous times greater than the previous ones in the history ever; the sole reason being the ‘All, Bonds at work’ this time. A superior site was in sight. The records fell like apples on a windy day. Guess who’d have been the happiest person? Newton! But we already had, at present, some perfectionists lurking around, in fact, many of them, far better than a Newton, an Einstein or a Maxwell. And none of them bothered to stick a neck out, only to take a look, since the gargantuan improvisation in their performing capabilities and in turn, the unending expectations of each and every kind from them had left with them, only miniscule moments of respite, and those too were booked in advance by their breaths. No regrets though. The burden of success was not despised to any depth by these great minds. They seemed to be enjoying it, on the contrary. All of a sudden, the world’s vocabulary started dealing in the superlatives: fastest, greatest, richest and the best; the next form being, ‘better than the best.’ There seemed to be not even a single room for error. From the cradle to the gate, and from the origin to the end; every execution was precise and pure and perfect. Maybe the sons got finally, what they had wanted. Or not?

Actually, this meticulousness came at the cost of the lesser mortals. The lower levels of the hierarchy had to serve as stepping stones to make their successful counterparts, more successful; sorry, the most successful. And what was next? No doubt, the commons, needed no more here, were banished from this faultless world. And whosever left, lay in a squalid and redundant state in the filthiest corner of the poorest street; their value not more than a penny, or not even that. The urban lights never cared to lighten the lives of these excess and dying men, leaving them to be engulfed, one day, in the stark darkness of ignorance and exile. Their ruthful cries could never reach those aristocrat-ears, deafeningly blocked by the foulness of fantasies and fanfares. But there was still some more, waiting in the stock, to be unleashed.  

The haunting part turned out to be the rate of this mass destruction, which seemed to be getting way faster with each new discovery made by our Dexters. The bar separating the high and the low, the savvy and the sod was rising; taking in everyone, belonging to those levels which were considered better, a few days ago and the best, a few weeks ago. Holy Grail! The end was nearing, and nearing fast. The situation was grim. A scintillating gloom had arrived. A night had descended. And this night seemed to last so long, till her creators did not surrender to her, completely; till she didn’t win over them, single handedly; and till she didn’t make them experience a kink of their lifetimes, cruelly. She was hungry for ingenious blood. And, no doubt, the present scenario was providing superbly to her needs, making her more intense and inveterate. Utter horror prevailed around. She sounded like and literally was, the Night of the Champions.