Mihir Jaiswal's Blog, page 8

A Portal to a World Unknown

Vertical clouds descended, sunrays penetrated through
Golden hue over horizons hit mud, shale and sandstone
Red, brown, green, grey layers of geological magic grew
A giant rainbow of seven, a portal to a world unknown

Giant birds in the sky, mega snails swimming in water
Rivers are wide, waters are gushing, it’s canyon zone
Dinosaurs fall, extinction ensures, it’s a fossil hoarder
A giant rainbow of seven, a portal to a world unknown

Corn, squash, beans farms, wild animals and plants
Pit houses below and above, a wise society grown
War, pandemic, famine, extinction of those gallants
A giant rainbow of seven, a portal to a world unknown

Climate changed, rivers diverted, clouds vanished
Desert bloomed, civilizations left, a silent groan
Resilient flora and fauna, everything else banished
A giant rainbow of seven, a portal to a world unknown

Industrialization arrived with modern world rules
Metal ores, mining, quarrying in economic zone
New frontiers, trails, roads, rails, harvesting fuels
A giant rainbow of seven, a portal to a world unknown

Beauty admired, camping enjoyed, a protected land
Hiking, sightseeing, vista points, tourists’ cyclone
All the history, glory, stories were words on sand
A giant rainbow of seven, a portal to a world unknown  

To Protest or Not to Protest

I protest out of fear, fear of change, fear of losing, fear of them.
I protest out of hate, hate to change, hate to lose, hate against them.
I protest out of habit, habit of routine, habit of despising them.
I protest because I am trained. I am trained to oppose them.
I protest to gain acceptance. I have friends when I detest them.
I protest against perceived ideas, because I don’t know them.
I protest on someone’s words, I have to resist them.
I protest because I am weak, I don’t have strength to change them.
I protest because I am a pawn, we have power against them.
I protest by a scripted propaganda, I have learned opinions against them.
I protest for the sake of protest, protesting for the sake of protest will shake them.

I disguised to mingle with them, to understand them.
They had a story that continually scared them.
They had unhealed scars; they had skepticism in them.
They had procured strength, protest was not taught to them.
They were afraid of me, but other means had found them.
They were on top, so protest had no use for them.
They were right in crushing me or I was right in hating them.
After learning their story, I have sympathy for them.
Do I protest against them, ignore them, or befriend them?
They are right, I am right, do I understand them?
I don’t love them, I can’t hate them, do I tell them?
Do I lose my friends by being sensible to them?
Habit, training, social shackles, how do I explain to them?
I was better ignorant, I would have kept protesting against them.

I Played Some Music Retro

 

I heard the sound of music from heart.
The waves vibrated in my heart.
The wavelengths matched and a lust I found.
Love at first sound with violin I found.

Violin, Fiddle, Stradivarius, Pochette, the name you call
The sound and waves it generates for all
Love, hate, sorrow, sad, happy, nostalgic, ecstatic
The range of emotions four strings generate is bombastic

Restless I was the day it I bought
The sound was not as I had thought
A frog was crying, an elephant was shouting
Patience waned, against the wall I was clouting

A maestro I needed to learn from
To a music school I went in Akron
Sound waves touched my heart again
A truckload of skill I needed to gain

My head was clouded, my mind over confident
My posture was slouched, I was not despondent
At concerts, I dreamed of being center of attraction
Still restless, with violin I didn’t have any traction

Stillness in mind, stillness in body, stillness in thought
Emotions don’t run amok; I can’t be a wild goat
Straight head, relaxed shoulders, erected spine, flat violin
Flexible right hand, wrist straight, to achieve I needed a gin

With violin meditation, I learned to be still
Still mind, still body, still thought, emotions were nil
Months I learned posture, years I became maestro
Many concerts I led, I played some music retro

National Mississippi River Museum and Aquarium: Mihir’s Memoir

If you have been reading my articles, than Mississippi river’s enchantment on me is no secret. I had mentioned before about the Great River Road, a scenic byway that passes through ten states on both sides of the Mississippi River (https://experiencemississippiriver.com/). When I traveled through the Great River Road, I experienced Mississippi culture: ancient, old and new, river wildlife, natural beauty, fish, art, influence, history and unique geographical landscaped. All these come together at the National Mississippi River Museum and Aquarium. I have not been to any other museum dedicated to a river and its system. The museum was comprehensive. However, it primarily described the upper Mississippi River valley. “Let us permit the nature to have her way: she understands her way better than we do.” A quote by Michel Eyquem de Montaigne was one of many in the museum. The museum had 37 permanent exhibits.  The first set of exhibits had many such quotes sprinkled all over. One thing that touched me emotionally was all those quotes and what different explorers, authors, leaders, and visitors felt about the Mississippi river. I urge you read Mark Twain after visiting this museum and you will realize why he fell in love with the mighty Mississippi. Read my favorite quotes from the museum on my blog: http://mihirjaiswal.blogspot.com/2020/03/river-quotes-from-national-mississippi.html.Dubuque was a unique location for the museum. Most of the residential area in Dubuque was on cliffs with picturesque views of the river. Airbnb I stayed in had a spectacular view of the river from the windows of my room. The museum was on the banks of the river spanned over two large buildings and an outdoor area. Unlike other obscure museums I have been to, the National Mississippi River Museum and Aquarium was bustling with people.The highlight for me was exhibits describing different features of a river and specifying how those features look on the mighty Mississippi. Flood table and erosion table let me run simulations of different flood and erosion events and their effects on riverbeds. In addition, planks surrounding the board explained Mississippi’s flood and erosion plains, and how human activities and environmental factors affected them over the years. Bayou and backwater marsh were even more interesting. They had alligators and turtles, which frequent bayous and marshlands. Backwater marshlands, a type of wetlands, have been seriously decreasing in area due to urban development posing a serious risk of flood, erosion, and pollution. Main channel, down in delta and Gulf of Mexico aquarium exhibits highlighted different aquatic wildlife habitats of the Mississippi. Flooded forest and the otter habitat dived deeper into diverse wildlife.As I entered the museum, a large river map of the United States greeted me on the left wall, while a floor map of the Mississippi river guided through the landmarks of the river. A cool screen with a dial enabled me to travel from headwaters to the mouth. I could rotate the dial to adjust the speed of my travel, point of view being a low flying aircraft. I was hooked to the museum after that very first exhibit. River alterations exhibit explained different types of alterations, most common being dams as well as their positive and detrimental effects on the river. The museum also had first people exhibition outlining ancient civilizations of Mississippian culture. On the other side, several stories of explorers shed light on old and modern history.In addition, it had a blacksmith shop, an exhibit on boat engine making, a harbor, a theater describing journey on the river, a boat shop, a boat launch, a sand and gravel barge, a conservation lab, national rivers hall of fame, a space wall and many more exhibits. Rivers and Roads exhibit described importance of river as transportation especially before big highways and air travel. The National Mississippi River Museum and Aquarium was comprehensive covering every bit of river soul in it.Visit Dubuque for this amazing experience. Mississippi river banks have history, nature, serene landscape and culture in areas surrounding Dubuque. Iowa does not come up in conversation often, but you will bring it to the conversation more after your visit Dubuque and surrounding areas. Here is the website to explore some parts of the museum virtually during the social distancing: https://www.rivermuseum.com/all-exhibits. Next week I will describe my visit to the Boeing factory in Seattle.

River Quotes from the National Mississippi River Museum, Dubuque, Iowa

Andrea Kim's Interview Part 1: Motivation for Medical Mixed Reality

Andrea is a mixed medical reality fellow at FDA. When she first introduced herself as a mixed medical reality fellow, I didn’t quite understand, but two phrases - mixed reality and medical – got my attention. Then she showed me her website andreaseung.com and it was mesmerizing. I have met many incredible artists and scientists, but Andres’s website had both scientific and artistic excellence. Since our first meeting, we had talked more about her skills and motivations. Finally, on one fine day she agreed to let me interview her. Here is the first part of it, where Andrea opens up about her motivation.


Tell me about your website and its contents.

I have a personal portfolio website. When you go to the main page, I have an animation in the background, because I think the landing page should be the flashiest. That will make you explore more, right? When you click on my portfolio - which is also flashy. I have a lot of art in there and I like to show off my art. Main page is all my 3-D arts, which are highly rendered using software like keyshot. Very eye catchy. When you scroll down all the way, you will see links to my traditional illustrations. And I have some of my interactive work. Basically, the things that I am proud of being created (by me) I like to put up there. Though, I haven’t updated it in a long time.

Initial purpose (of the website) was to find me a job. Since working here I don’t need that. Now it is more for myself. When I meet new people, I can tell that check out my website and the things that I have made.

What would you like people to remember from your website?
 
I don’t want to be just another artist. There are lot of artists out there with beautiful arts, but what makes my art special is that it has a focus on biomedical application visualization and also I have a mission to be truthful to scientific accuracies. I have a passion about science and accuracy that has a lot to do with my research side. I am not just an artist making weird art, but I have other aspects to incorporate in my art.
Giraffe Dragon by Andrea Kim
Even when I make something like giraffe dragon, I am always looking at underlying anatomy and making sure that it make sense. You can see some people who begin to learn to draw because they add random muscular structures. I understand anatomy and that (random muscular structure) does not make sense. I have a lot of respect for surreal art that has considerations of how biomechanics work and how certain muscles are attached. The art should be cool and creative, but it also should have restrain.

On that example of random muscular structures, artists may be doing that to please their particular audience. Do you target certain audience with your art?

That is like opening a can of worms. Am I drawing for myself or to create a certain perception of myself? Where is my intrinsic joy coming from? I don’t know if I will ever have answers. In the end, if I create something that I like, I want to show to people. I like what I created and I want other people to see that.

Other part of it is, if I post my art on instagram and I don’t get enough likes in 24 hours than it affects me. (Ideally,) it shouldn’t affect me. I created it for myself and I showed to the world because I liked it. But I also want it to be well-received. My mom is on instagram and she is my harshest critique. She saw the drawing I did this morning and she texted me that it was stupid. I went back at her and I told her, “I don’t care what you think. It is a drawing for myself.” Now I am thinking what if other people also think it’s stupid.

So, I don’t have a clear answer. I think initially it is for my own satisfaction. I want to see what I thought on paper. I want to keep improving.

When you put your art on Instagram, what does make you happy? Number of likes, or likes from particular people, or something else?
 
Initially, it used to be number of likes, but I realized that depends on the hash tags I put. So likes affect me less. Sometimes my friends direct message me ‘Hey, it’s cool’, and that means a lot more to me.

When you are over exposed or redundant, people care less. There’s a term for that, I am not recalling. When someone sees my art first time, they are like wow. For my friends on Instagram, who have seen my art for many years, for them it is like, ‘Yeh, she draws.’ So again, number of likes don’t matter. When I make new friends and they appreciate or especially when other artists appreciates my art, that has real impact on me. The other day a friend who had never liked anything on my instagram before, mentioned how much he liked my art. Things like these, when someone brings it into a conversation makes me happy a lot.

What about reaction from a total stranger?

Yes. I sketch on the bus. I always have my sketch book with me. I was shy about my art to start with, but then I got over it and started sketching in public. Few commuters look at it and say, “Wow. This is great.” And I say, “Yeah! Thank you!” At this point, I know my drawings are above average. It may sound a bit conceded. Most people are not spending the time every day I spent drawing and so of course, my drawings are better. You are never going to get worse by practicing more. It is a skill. One can only get better.

What was the last compliment you received?
 
We had a foreign visitor last three days in our lab from university of Ghent, Belgium. While we were discussing future collaborations, I got to know him personally as well. We shared each other’s arts, because he also draws for fun. It was good to share art interests with someone doing research with you. He showed me his drawings, and he was definitely talented, but he was not pursuing it as seriously. When he saw my work, he said, “That’s really refreshing. I needed someone to motivate me.” That was a nice compliment. By seeing my work, he decided to get back to drawing.

The Wounded Knee Massacre – Record-Keeping vs. Story-Telling

While growing up in India, my grandparents used to tell medozens of stories every day, some fables, some mythological, some cultural,some religious and many more. All of them had a common goal to transferknowledge. Civilizations have used one of the two methods to educate the nextgeneration and build a cultural knowledge base: story-telling andrecord-keeping. Eastern civilizations, including India, are primarilystory-telling, while the western world puts more emphasis on record-keeping.

During my travels to different Native American reservationsand festivals, I was surprised by the similarities between Indian and NativeAmerican societies. Both had many different cultures, languages, religions,festivals, and relationships. Traditionally, each culture or tribe used to callthemselves nations. Both were story-telling civilizations. Spiritual practiceswere at the heart of many cultures, both in India and in ancient Americas. Ironically,Native Americans were called Indians.

The National Museum of American Indian in Washington, D.C.has an exhibition called Nation to Nation: Treaties Between the United Statesand American Indian Nations. Through few historical instances, the exhibitiontells the story of treaties, broken promises, coerced agreements and overalldiplomacy between the US and Native American Nations. Although the exhibitionoutlines broken and coerced treaties by the United States, at the heart of itwas record-keeping vs. story-telling. The Natives viewed each treaty as apromise, while the US went through a process of ratification, debate andconverting a treaty to a record. In that lengthy process, the original treatywas often changed. For Native Americans promise of the person was importantthan the language of the treaty. That resulted in many altercations. Thestanding rock protests in 2017 in North Dakota over the oil pipeline also hadan element of coerced treaty. Read Smithsonian blog on it - https://blog.nmai.si.edu/main/nation-to-nation/

On a trip through Rockies and Dakota plains, I spent acouple of days at Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota. The site of theWounded Knee Massacre is in that reservation and is a designated NationalHistoric Landmark. The massacre led to the death of almost 300 men, women andchildren of Lakota at the hands of the United States Army on December 29, 1890.25 soldiers were also killed. According to an account, midst the tensionbetween Lakota tribes and the US, the US army’s 7th cavalry surrounded a Lakotaband near Porcupine Butte in present-day South Dakota and escorted them toWounded Knee creek in a camp. The army was carrying out a disarmament operationwhen a bullet was fired resulting in the army opening fire on Lakota. The tribefought back, but most of their weapons were confiscated and, thus, Lakotasuffered heavy loss. In 1990, US congress passed resolutions to regret themassacre formally on its centennial.

Today, the Wounded Knee Massacre site is a large plain. Asign telling the brief story is at a corner of it. When I read the sign, Ifound it objective and fair. The sign was carefully constructed from therecords. On a small hill across the road was the mass grave of all Lakota men,women and children buried by the army after the massacre. A tombstone and fencehad been built around the grave. Many Lakota decedents pay their homage at thegrave and tie fabrics to the fence in remembrance. A tribesman from nearbywounded knee camp walked up to me. Yes, they still did not have a proper townor village. They still lived in a subsidized camp, entire band under one roof.He told me the version of the massacre that had been told in the tribes.According to him, the US army planned for this massacre to avenge General Custer’skilling, as General Custer was as important as the President. They made surethe tribal band was disarmed and then a soldier covertly fired a bullet tocreate an impression of Lakota’s aggression. The army fired machine guns ondisarmed tribe. The soldiers tossed children in the air and shot them astargets. Then the army dumped all dead and some who appeared dead into a ditchand called it the mass grave.

The tribesman was hopeless. He told of no employment, nofuture and corruption on the reservation by tribal chiefs. I could see thedifference between the reservation and the outside world. It was liketime-traveling 100 years back: minimum infrastructure, minimum activities, anddeserted plains. He desperately believed that they were still discriminatedagainst and said, “I wish we were treated as slaves like blacks. We would havebeen accepted into the society, at least, by now.”

The record-keeping way of advancing knowledge allowed theUnited States to move on from the mass shooting of Wounded Knee, while thestory-telling made sure that Lakota tribes held on to their history. Lookingclosely, record-keeping drains the emotions out of the knowledge, while thestory-telling transfers the emotions to the next generation as well. There liesthe difference. The holiday season is here and next week I will describeholiday celebrations at St. Louis botanical gardens.

The Flying Bride

A shotgun wedding was set by a lakesideGroom was ready, where was the bride?Spring flowers were blooming, bridallers had arrivedWait was not over, missing was the bride.
Pastor was restless, he could not chideWaiting for him were another groom and bridePointing at his watch, he asked the groomWait was not over, missing was the bride.
Hands were shaking, butterflies were flying insideCarrying his child, nuptial stress she had not survivedThin air separated the groom and the maid of honorWait was not over, missing was the bride.
Bosom friends they were, what she could not confideMaid of honor she was, her anger was amplifiedShowing more outrage than her was the groom’s fatherWait was not over, missing was the bride.
Sympathetic to his son, he simply sighedHis actions or inertia, everyone will derideBridal party was shaken, all but bride’s motherWait was not over, missing was the bride.
A request of her daughter, she had compliedBemused faces all around, she was satisfiedA noise broke the silence, she was not surprisedWait was almost over, flying was the bride.
A tiny plane grew larger, everyone cried,The groom smiled, a scare he had survivedThe plane glided, door opened, the guests were mesmerizedWait was over, the beautiful bride had arrived.

Sculpting Revenge: Excerpt

Chapter 1
“Happy New Year!” Everyone else in the room shouted. But Dave just mumbled. Instinctively he looked to his right, half-expecting Arianna to show up just as she had the previous year. Then he turned back to his almost-empty glass of beer. His friends asked him to join in with them a few times, then accepted defeat and left Dave to his thoughts. Ever since his last, unceremonious, date with Arianna, Dave had been searching for ways to reach her. He‘d been rehearsing: apologies, flatteries, flirts, excuses, anything to keep Arianna with him. He’d neither asked for Arianna’s address or email, nor connected with her on social media. In the final analysis, though, any and all success felt empty without her.Over the past few months, he’d been drafting an email to her. He’d also located her email address, but he still couldn’t work up enough courage to push the ‘Send’ button. Dave emptied the last few drops of beer from his glass and put the glass down beside his phone; touched his phone to stop it going to sleep. Maybe she was still angry with him or – worse – she’d totally forgotten about him. After all, Arianna had his number. If she called him now, he wouldn’t have to send that email. He could just say to her all those things he’d put into the email. On the other hand, she might not have forgotten him; she just might be waiting for him to apologize. His brain fought a yes-no battle over pressing ‘Send’. He swiped his finger over the screen once again, keeping the phone alive. His brain was getting tired. He couldn’t construct any more arguments, either in favor or against sending the email. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands together. He opened his eyes and touched the phone. It displayed 12:07 PM in a big font in the middle and January 1, 2018 in a smaller font below that. Dave typed in his password. Without any more thought, he pushed ‘Send’ and let out a sigh of relief. He chuckled looking at his phone. His mind was numb.Against the wishes of his friends at the party, Dave left for home soon after. The D.C. streets were dark and empty. New Year’s partygoers were still at their parties and non-party goers were comfortably tucked in their beds. The cops were warming up to their first task of the New Year –catching miscreants and drunk drivers. Dave did not like driving inebriated, as he wanted to avoid cops. Although Dave did not usually drink much, tonight his alcohol level was above the legal limit. He droveI-66 towards Virginia.“Hey Jude, don't be a foolTake a sad song and make it betterThe minute you let her into your heartThen you can start to make it better”Not the Beatles, but Elvis was singing. Dave’s thoughts had settled. He was relieved after months of anguish after sending the email. A car passed by on his right. Dave did not pay attention. He was singing with Elvis. He was Elvis. Ah, the New Year, he thought. It’s all in place. Any minute he’d be getting a reply from Arianna. And his work for the past six years was about to bear fruit–immense success. He’d already signed the deal. Unlike so many who had tried before, Dave was millimeters away from success, success without much risk. Many had failed. In those six years, Dave himself had been responsible for the failure of many. The world is full of cutthroat competition, he thought. In order for him to win, others had to lose. That was the way it worked. Lost in his thoughts and Elvis’s charisma, Dave wasn’t aware that a car had been following him for the last 10 minutes. He sang even louder.“Why can't you seeWhat you're doing to meWhen you don't believe a word I say?We can't go on togetherWith suspicious minds And we can't build our dreamsOn suspicious mindsSo, if an old friend I knowStops by to say helloWould I still see suspicion in your eyes?”Bright lights in the rearview mirror snapped Dave awake from his trance. A cop car was flashing its lights behind him. Dave wasn’t too disturbed. He was in too much of a good mood to fear the cops. He slowed down, drove to the right shoulder and stopped. As he’d been trained, he kept his hands on the steering wheel. Waiting for the cop to get out of his car and approach him, Dave’s brain, in calculator mode, quickly started working out why he’d been pulled over. Perhaps, he had been driving 4 or 5 miles above the speed limit. Surely, the cops didn’t have time to stop people driving 5 miles over the limit. Could it be a random check for alcohol? If that was the case, Dave was confident. He’d drunk four beers total and the last one...more than an hour ago, except for those last few drops. Four beers would not affect his judgment or motor skills. He could easily walk in a straight line, if asked to. He saw a beam of light. It was getting closer in the rearview mirror. Elvis was still singing. To make a good impression, Dave switched off the music. A knock on the window prompted him to lower it. The flashlight pointed at Dave’s face, into his eyes, blinding him. Dave could not see the cop.“Hello officer, could you please lower the light a little? It hurts my eyes.”The cop lowered the light. As his eyes adjusted, Dave saw the cop’s face. Dave’s eyes lit up, his back muscles relaxed, his feet stretched and he laughed.“Oh! It’s you. Didn’t you recognize my car?” Dave took his left hand off the wheel, rested it on the driver’s side door, and looked up at the cop. “Just because you know me, that doesn’t mean you don’t have to say your disclosure. I know you’re recording me. I’m not drunk and I wasn’t speeding. I guess now you want to see my license, hmm?” A car zoomed past. Dave looked up at the cop, pointing ahead. “See, he’s speeding. Instead of wasting time with me, you should go after him.” The cop stared at Dave with an inanimate face. While he was speaking, Dave had not followed the cop’s right hand. Before Dave could understand what was happening, the cop took out his gun. Its safety clasp was off. The cop pointed his gun at Dave and shot, right through Dave’s heart.Get your copy on Amazon to read the complete story of Arianna and Dave in Sculpting Revenge or just search through your Kindle readers. Use one of the following links or search on Amazon. Enjoy!
USA: (Ebook) https://amzn.to/2SCPjEd
India: https://www.amazon.in/Sculpting-Revenge-Mihir-Jaiswal-ebook/dp/B07JYKH5WD/
Mexico: https://www.amazon.com.mx/Sculpting-Revenge-English-Mihir-Jaiswal-ebook/dp/B07JYKH5WD/
France: https://www.amazon.fr/Sculpting-Revenge-English-Mihir-Jaiswal-ebook/dp/B07JYKH5WD/
UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sculpting-Revenge-Mihir-Jaiswal-ebook/dp/B07JYKH5WD/
Australia: https://www.amazon.com.au/Sculpting-Revenge-Mihir-Jaiswal-ebook/dp/B07JYKH5WD/
Germany: https://www.amazon.de/Sculpting-Revenge-English-Mihir-Jaiswal-ebook/dp/B07JYKH5WD/

Sculpting Revenge: Excerpt

Get your copy on Amazon to read the complete story of Arianna and Dave in Sculpting Revenge Enjoy!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07JYKH5WD

Chapter 1

“Happy New Year!” Everyone else in the room shouted. But Dave just mumbled. Instinctively he looked to his right, half-expecting Arianna to show up just as she had the previous year. Then he turned back to his almost-empty glass of beer. His friends asked him to join in with them a few times, then accepted defeat and left Dave to his thoughts. Ever since his last, unceremonious, date with Arianna, Dave had been searching for ways to reach her. He‘d been rehearsing: apologies, flatteries, flirts, excuses, anything to keep Arianna with him. He’d neither asked for Arianna’s address or email, nor connected with her on social media. In the final analysis, though, any and all success felt empty without her. 

Over the past few months, he’d been drafting an email to her. He’d also located her email address, but he still couldn’t work up enough courage to push the ‘Send’ button. Dave emptied the last few drops of beer from his glass and put the glass down beside his phone; touched his phone to stop it going to sleep. Maybe she was still angry with him or – worse – she’d totally forgotten about him. After all, Arianna had his number. If she called him now, he wouldn’t have to send that email. He could just say to her all those things he’d put into the email. On the other hand, she might not have forgotten him; she just might be waiting for him to apologize. His brain fought a yes-no battle over pressing ‘Send’. He swiped his finger over the screen once again, keeping the phone alive. His brain was getting tired. He couldn’t construct any more arguments, either in favor or against sending the email. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands together. He opened his eyes and touched the phone. It displayed 12:07 PM in a big font in the middle and January 1, 2018 in a smaller font below that. Dave typed in his password. Without any more thought, he pushed ‘Send’ and let out a sigh of relief. He chuckled looking at his phone. His mind was numb. 

Against the wishes of his friends at the party, Dave left for home soon after. The D.C. streets were dark and empty. New Year’s partygoers were still at their parties and non-party goers were comfortably tucked in their beds. The cops were warming up to their first task of the New Year –catching miscreants and drunk drivers. Dave did not like driving inebriated, as he wanted to avoid cops. Although Dave did not usually drink much, tonight his alcohol level was above the legal limit. He droveI-66 towards Virginia.“Hey Jude!…” was playing. Not the Beatles, but Elvis was singing. Dave’s thoughts had settled. He was relieved after months of anguish after sending the email. A car passed by on his right. Dave did not pay attention. He was singing with Elvis. He was Elvis. Ah, the New Year, he thought. It’s all in place. Any minute he’d be getting a reply from Arianna. And his work for the past six years was about to bear fruit–immense success. He’d already signed the deal. Unlike so many who had tried before, Dave was millimeters away from success, success without much risk. 

Many had failed. In those six years, Dave himself had been responsible for the failure of many. The world is full of cutthroat competition, he thought. In order for him to win, others had to lose. That was the way it worked. Lost in his thoughts and Elvis’s charisma, Dave wasn’t aware that a car had been following him for the last 10 minutes. He sang “Suspicious mind…” even louder.Bright lights in the rearview mirror snapped Dave awake from his trance. A cop car was flashing its lights behind him. Dave wasn’t too disturbed. He was in too much of a good mood to fear the cops. He slowed down, drove to the right shoulder and stopped. As he’d been trained, he kept his hands on the steering wheel. Waiting for the cop to get out of his car and approach him, Dave’s brain, in calculator mode, quickly started working out why he’d been pulled over. Perhaps, he had been driving 4 or 5 miles above the speed limit. Surely, the cops didn’t have time to stop people driving 5 miles over the limit. Could it be a random check for alcohol? If that was the case, Dave was confident. He’d drunk four beers total and the last one…more than an hour ago, except for those last few drops. Four beers would not affect his judgment or motor skills. He could easily walk in a straight line, if asked to. 

He saw a beam of light. It was getting closer in the rearview mirror. Elvis was still singing. To make a good impression, Dave switched off the music. A knock on the window prompted him to lower it. The flashlight pointed at Dave’s face, into his eyes, blinding him. Dave could not see the cop.“Hello officer, could you please lower the light a little? It hurts my eyes.”The cop lowered the light. As his eyes adjusted, Dave saw the cop’s face. Dave’s eyes lit up, his back muscles relaxed, his feet stretched and he laughed.“Oh! It’s you. Didn’t you recognize my car?” Dave took his left hand off the wheel, rested it on the driver’s side door, and looked up at the cop. “Just because you know me, that doesn’t mean you don’t have to say your disclosure. I know you’re recording me. I’m not drunk and I wasn’t speeding. I guess now you want to see my license, hmm?” A car zoomed past. Dave looked up at the cop, pointing ahead. “See, he’s speeding. Instead of wasting time with me, you should go after him.” The cop stared at Dave with an inanimate face. While he was speaking, Dave had not followed the cop’s right hand. Before Dave could understand what was happening, the cop took out his gun. Its safety clasp was off. The cop pointed his gun at Dave and shot, right through Dave’s heart.

Get your copy on Amazon to read the complete story of Arianna and Dave in Sculpting Revenge Enjoy!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07JYKH5WD