Ronald Hadrian's Blog, page 13

The Girl and the Birds-A Short Story by Ronald Hadrian

The children looked at the new bird cage with confusion.
“Mom, what is this?” the elder one, Sangeetha asked, pointing at the cage.
The younger one, a boy of just 2 years old, came wobbling.

“Ka, ka, ma, ma,” he said.
“No, they are P-A-R-R-O-T-S. Look inside the box.”
The mother brought some vegetables and lured them out of the box. They were beautiful parrots, clothed in an array of colours, wobbling their heads as the little boy Sachin nodded.
“Hey, look at them. They are nodding for you,” Sangeetha said, elated.
“Are they for us?” she asked excitedly.
“Yes, they are, but you should not disturb them,” the mother said hurriedly, making Sangeetha ready for school.
The bus driver kept honking as if it were the end of the world.
“I’m coming,” she dashed with her daughter, holding Sachin’s hand.
“Every day, she is late, madam,” said the conductor lady.
“Sorry,” was all the mother could say.

For the entire day, Sangeetha dreamed about the birds. She told her friends, class teachers, and the school security guard about the parrots while waiting for the bus in the evening. She wanted to get home and look at those pretty, colourful feathers. She imagined feeding them and caring for them, and she was certain to protect her new pets from the vicious hands of her brother, who had a way of manhandling everything and everyone.

“Stop pulling my hair,” she would scream, even though the boy would have only gently tugged at her hair. She sometimes thought about her life before that of her brother. It would have been better if she had a sister. Both her parents loved her more then, but now she has been almost invisible to them ever since the arrival of the baby brother. And he was rough, and he did not like dolls. Anyone who did not like dolls was not going to get along with her.

Every day, Sangeetha would feed the birds, and in the evening, she would talk to them. She would even take a class for them.
“Good morning, class,” she would start with a small ruler in her hand.
The parrots would nod for every sentence Sangeetha uttered. These evening classes captivated young Sachin.

The parrots learned to say, “Yes, ma’am,” “Yes, ma’am.” This was funny, and the children giggled.

After some days, the mother bird laid an egg. The parrots did not come out of their small wooden shelter. Each parent took turns to look after the egg. Sangeetha was happy, and she kept telling everyone about the birds and the egg.
“We got a small baby bird egg,” she would tell her entire class. Her friends’ eyes would bulge, and they would listen to her tales.

Some nefarious kid even suggested, “Can you make an omelet with that?”
“No, there is a baby inside,” chided Sangeetha.
She waited for weeks and noticed how both the birds took time to care for the egg, but in all her excitement, she did not notice her silent mother. She stopped taking class, and little Sachin spent most of the time crying and rolling on the floor with his Power Ranger toys. Her mother did not seem to be much concerned now.

One day, when she came back from school, she noticed her mother looking at the cage, and tears trickling through her eyes.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Nothing, dear,” she said and took the bag and placed it on the shelf. She brought snacks, and while eating, she noticed the house was empty.

“Where is Sachin, Mom?” she asked.
“He has gone out with Dad!”
Sangeetha went to the cage and noticed something odd. The egg and one parrot were missing.
“Mom, what happened?” she shouted.

Her mom held her hand and cried. “There was an accident… today morning, as I was cleaning the room, the cage got knocked down…”

Sangeetha couldn’t understand what her mother was saying.

“Mom…” she started crying with her mother. “It fell down, and the egg cracked…”

Sangeetha’s heart felt so heavy. She had never felt that way. Her mind reeled with images of the egg crashing on the floor. What would she tell her friends? “What happened to the other parrot?” Sangeetha remembered.

“The mother parrot suddenly died in the afternoon… it couldn’t bear the loss. They screeched and screeched for hours,” her mother cried. “I can understand her pain, but they kept saying, ‘Yes, ma’am,’ ‘Yes, ma’am.’ That’s all they knew.”

Sangeetha did not know what to do. It was a pain she had never felt. It was terrible. She kept sobbing, and after some time, she fell asleep. When she woke up, Sachin was asleep near her. She got up to check on the other parrot. She could hear her parents talking. She waited hesitantly to enter the room, but she listened.

“I remembered the baby…” her mother was crying.
“Hey, don’t think about it… it was long ago,” her father consoled her.
Sangeetha remembered that her grandfather once came to school and said she had a baby sister and took her to the hospital. But on the way, he got a call and took her straight to his house. The whole house was upset. Sangeetha then understood what had happened.
Mom had lost one of her eggs. That is why she kept crying sometimes. It all made sense. The pain she felt that evening, her mother would have felt the same way for years. She ran inside the room and hugged her dad and mom.

“Mom, don’t worry. You have me and Sachin.”
Outside from the  parrot cage, came the reply, “Yes, ma’am.”

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Take Action: Silence Your Inner Critic and Start Now!

Take Action: Silence Your Inner Critic and Start Now!

Are you tired of letting your mind hold you back from taking action? It’s time to stop listening to that inner critic and start doing the things you’ve been putting off.

Whenever you want to step out of your comfort zone, your mind bombards you with excuses:

→ “Come on, you can sleep a little longer.”
 → “Tomorrow we can do it.”

→ “A little fun won’t hurt anybody.”

→ “What will they think about me?”

If you keep giving in to this self-sabotaging chatter, you’ll never take action on your goals.

That’s why routines are crucial. They help you bypass the endless mental gymnastics and simply get things done. When you have a set routine, you don’t have to think too much – you just follow the drill.

For example, I plan my writing projects in advance, but once the plan is in place, I stick to it without excuses or compromises. No matter how I feel, I write fiction for 10 minutes every morning. This routine has helped me complete a new short story every two weeks.

Stop letting your mind hold you back. Take action today by establishing routines that keep you on track. Push through the excuses and self-doubt, and start making progress toward your goals. The only way to achieve something is to take that first step – no more delaying or overthinking.

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Prakash Das the Bachelor- A Short Story by Ronald Hadrian

Prakash Das was a middle-aged man who had successfully avoided marriage. This was not easy for him, but teaching in a small hill station at a small school made it look effortless. Being unmarried was not seen as a taboo. Usually, if you are around Church priests for a long time, this was overlooked.

Prakash Das also had another trick up his sleeve. The school, which was not doing well in terms of admissions, changed drastically once he became a teacher there. The real thing that changed that year was Das having to do something magical with the students.

“This is something that is doable,” he would say.

The morning cool walks right up the hill, then to the church, was the morning routine for him. From there, he would hobble to the graveyard, thinking about death for some time and reciting elegies for the hundredth time.

The school gate was only a hundred meters away from the church premises. So, just before the bell would ring, he would hop inside the school and attend the assembly.

He had five hours, but he never complained. It was easy now, and sometimes the only thing that annoyed him was the staff room. But what really mattered to him was the library and a chat with the principal in the office every evening.

“You know, Prakash, this year our students might not get the district first. That Morning Mission school is doing well, I heard.”

Prakash sighed, “Oh, our kids love football more than physics class. How will they get success then?”

“Hey, you are the one who asked for a PT period for 12th standard students.”

“Yes, I did, but they seem to be running on the ground all the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look outside,” he pointed to the students playing. “Today they have Chemistry class, and they seem to be playing. What happened to the chemistry master?”

The principal was furious. He went outside and yelled at the boys, “Come in and study, you buffaloes!” he screamed.

This was nothing new for the boys or Prakash. It was the usual scolding pattern of the principal. If any of them questioned his usage of slang, he would start with his explanation of the buffaloes and their grit.

Prakash laughed out loud. The Chemistry master was called into the room. A stout man entered, his face flushing.

“What happened? Why haven’t you asked the boys to come to class?” the principal started to shout.

“Bad stomach, sir,” he looked with shame.

“Get lost,” the man said sorry and walked out. Prakash felt sad. It was his fault, but like always, he had the power to get second chances. He imagined five minutes going backward in his mind. Then, like a movie in slow motion, things around him moved back.

“Principal, the students have come back to class,” he said and got up.

“Oh, good,” he replied. Prakash left the room, and he noticed the chemistry sir walking up to the room. “He is busy, you can go to class now.”

“Really? I heard he wanted me immediately. I heard he was angry.”

“No, no,” Prakash pushed him. “You can go now.”

This was how their school kids got the first mark every year. He would reverse time and mark the correct answers.

But the time only paused or reversed. He could not go into the future, and it was clear that this trick did not reverse his age. The rhapsodic serenity of the eucalyptus trees filled his heart with joy every day on his walk back home. His ailing father sat on the old chair, rocking and whispering his rosary. His mother, vibrant as ever, brought his hot tea with evening samosas. It was a good life, he thought. Never an ambitious one, he did not think much about using his powers to earn money. He did not even think about such an option.

The clock rolled by, but his mother did not look her usual self. “What happened?” He asked, entering the old tiny kitchen. The smell of wetness and tea filled it.

“Your aunt came today,” she sighed.

“Hmm,” he knew where this was going.

“She asked about your marriage…” Das detested his aunts visiting. They not only took things from their home but left a mine ready to blow in the family.

“So what?” He said, not really interested in asking further.

“She talked about a girl, and their family is interested. She is a teacher in a primary school,” she said, magically drawing a photo from the kitchen shelf.

She looked like a typical hill station girl, wearing sweaters and all. Her face skin was pinkish due to the harsh winters. She was cute but not as beautiful as the ones he had seen at school. The nuns, especially, were beautiful, but sadly they had dedicated their lives to God. In fact, if they were not nuns, he would have fallen in love with them.

But this was the one he had to settle for. He did not have any ego; many people assumed he was looking for some outstanding angel, but he simply wasn’t interested. He wanted to walk, become old, read books. In short, he wanted to be a priest without actually being one. His mother, however, was adamant, and so he let her make further steps. He knew he could reverse time whenever things did not go as he wished. He did not reply but went for another long walk. He had decided to give it a try and change time if things did not go as planned.

The house was small, and Prakash’s family had come as if it were some town festival, and the girl’s father kept coughing after every sentence.

“She is a good girl…cough…cough…”

The girl brought the customary coffee, bowing her head. Das took the coffee and took a sip, looking into her eyes. She was better looking than in the photo. But he knew she might not be this homely. He had read too many Indian women writers to guess what she was thinking.

The coffee was dry, and sugar was conveniently forgotten. When he was allowed to talk to her, this was the first thing he brought up. He had heard somewhere that girls tested a man’s honesty this way. Her face reddened. He must have sounded like an ancient, pre-independence, patriarchal jerk. But like magic, her face was radiant once again.

“I know my family might look intimidating and enormous, but they don’t come to my house, only during such special events,” he said, looking into her eyes. They were green like a cat he knew once.

“I am very poor. I am the one looking after this family. I can only marry if you allow me to take care of them.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he said.

Even though he said it, he started to have doubts about its practicality. He was a simple man. He did not take loans or do anything extraordinary. He worked, saved a little, and enjoyed books and company. He did not wish for more stress. That was one reason he had refrained from marriage. He liked the setting very much.

He visited the girl’s house the next day to say that he was not in a position to marry. But when he visited, he was prepared a sumptuous meal. He did not have the heart to break the sad news. So he left. Then the answer came to him. He would reverse the time before accepting the first invite, then he wouldn’t be in this difficult situation. But when he tried to go back, he heard his mother talk before he entered the house about how much she liked the girl and how she wished her son accepted the marriage.

It was difficult now. He had to go further back to make the correction. But he had never gone back so far, he was afraid of the problems. When he tried, his head spun, and he knew it was dangerous. He came to the present, and he was sitting in the cloth shop selecting the dresses. He couldn’t remember how he had come there. He knew he was playing dangerously with time. The further he went back in time, he seemed to be returning further into the future. He didn’t want to risk it. He simply wanted to make minor changes.

Every night, sadness occupied his mind. Marriage was not a suitable thing for him. He would lose his freedom, and besides, he could live with little to no money, but now he had to take care of this new person. It was not about the responsibility, but something else that bothered him, but he couldn’t precisely state it. It felt like things happened without his will.

The wedding day arrived. The church was decorated. The priest looked at him and said, “Finally, my friend is getting married.”

“Yes,” he smiled. He had an impulse to reverse time and run away. But he didn’t. The marriage was over, and as evening approached, arrangements were made for the first night.

The girl sat comfortably, almost completely changed from her homely demeanor.

He did not speak; he sat there wondering how he should go about it. The girl looked at him and asked, “You are thinking of turning back time and escaping this place, aren’t you?”

Prakash Das was shocked. “How did you know?” He asked.

“You know how difficult it was to counter all your moves,” she sighed.

Prakash Das stood up. “How many times did you reverse time to escape this marriage?”

“But how did you know?”

“I knew about you for years, that is exactly why I plotted to marry you…” she laughed.

“But how?” Prakash Das was suddenly interested in this girl.

“Because I can move in time too, but I can move towards the future. I have already seen your plans, so I altered all your outcomes.”

“Mary, Mother of God,” his anger rose. “You tricked me.”

“No, I helped you reach your destiny,” she smiled and came towards him. “Just imagine with our powers we could change everything.”

Prakash Das stood there bewildered and let the girl kiss him. Then time stood still.

The post Prakash Das the Bachelor- A Short Story by Ronald Hadrian first appeared on Ronald Hadrian.

90% of personal post is really just:

90% of personal essays is really just:

-> Observing details

-> Finding meaning

-> Telling stories

The little stuff that makes all the difference.

On LinkedIn, a post is either a story post or an information post. Or in other words, people write personal essays.

Usually, personal essays start with an observation:

For example, “Top 1% creators on LinkedIn use their personal photos.”

Then, they will try to tell the meaning behind this observation:

Using photos
More impressionsEnhances authenticityConsistency and authenticityMore impressionsEnhances authenticityConsistency and authenticity

Sometimes, these images are used to tell stories:

Visiting new placesNetworking eventsMeetings

All the images likely will tell a story. This has more impact on the reader than some random ideas.

Try this out. Follow for more such content.

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Write better

Most think learning writing takes 10,000 hours, but I’ll explain it in 30 seconds:

-> Read great writing
-> Write constantly
-> Get honest feedback

Let’s dive in and demystify this craft! The usual idea taught in school is to write in flowery prose with more jargon, more adverbs, and more complex sentences. But none of these work in real-world communication.

If you are a beginner:

Read great writing
See how the top writers in your niche writeObserve their approachNote their styleThis is better than 10 writing booksSee how the top writers in your niche writeObserve their approachNote their styleThis is better than 10 writing booksWrite constantly
In the beginning, write a lotDon’t get stuck on quality. Write and see what works. Explore story writing, expressive writing, funny writingYou will notice people like some of your output more than othersIn the beginning, write a lotDon’t get stuck on quality. Write and see what works. Explore story writing, expressive writing, funny writingYou will notice people like some of your output more than othersGet honest feedback
Likes and comments give you real-world feedbackDouble down on what worksDiscard the restLikes and comments give you real-world feedbackDouble down on what worksDiscard the rest

So for the next 14 days, write every day and see what people resonate with and what they don’t. Then double down on the content that works. Rinse and repeat.

Follow Ronald for more such content.

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24 books that every marketer, writer, and branding expert must read:

24 books that every marketer, writer, and branding expert must read:

1. Creativity, Inc.’ by Ed Catmull

2. ‘Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion’ by Dr. Robert Cialdini

3. ‘The Professional Marketer’ by Tim Matthews

4. ‘Play Bigger’ by Al Ramadan, Dave Peterson, Christopher Lochhead, and Kevin Maney

5. ‘The One-Minute Manager Meets the Monkey’ by Ken Blanchard, William Oncken Jr., and Hal Burrows

6. ‘The Art of Action: How Leaders Close the Gaps Between Plans, Actions, and Results’ by Stephen Bungay

7. ‘The Miracle: The Epic Story of Asia’s Quest for Wealth’ by Michael Schuman

8. ‘Talent Is Overrated: What Really Separates World-Class Performers From Everybody Else’ by Geoff Colvin

9. ‘The Code Book: The Science of Secrecy From Ancient Egypt to Quantum Cryptography’ by Simon Singh

10. ‘7 Strategies for Wealth and Happiness’ by Jim Rohn

11. ‘Losing My Virginity’ by Richard Branson

12. ‘How Will You Measure Your Life?’ by Clayton M. Christensen, James Allworth, and Karen Dillon

13. ‘The Everything Store: Jeff Bezos and the Age of Amazon’ by Brad Stone

14. ‘Mistakes Were Made (But Not By Me)’ by Carol Tavris and Elliot Aronson

15. ‘Real Leadership: 9 Simple Practices for Leading and Living With Purpose’ by John Addison

16. ‘Change Starts Within You’ by Cortney McDermott

17. ‘The Potential Principle: A Proven System for Closing the Gap Between How Good You Are and How Good You Could Be’ by Mark Sanborn

18. ‘Results at the Top: Using Gender Intelligence to Create Breakthrough Growth’ by Barbara Annis and Richard Nesbitt

19. ‘A Field Guide to Lies and Statistics’ by Daniel Levitin

20. ‘Awaken the Giant Within’ by Tony Robbins

21. ‘How to Win Friends and Influence People’ by Dale Carnegie

22. ‘Peak: How Great Companies Get Their Mojo From Maslow’ by Chip Conley

23. ‘Double Your Income Doing What You Love: Raymond Aaron’s Guide to Power Mentoring’ by Raymond Aaron

24. ‘Don’t F**k It Up: How Founders and Their Successors Can Avoid the Clichés That Inhibit Growth’ by Les Trachtman

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Content creation needs content curation.

Content curation can be a pain sometimes

Alas,

Content creation needs content curation

You might worry about

Information overloadStaying up-to- dateCredibility

The only way to cut down on information overload is to have clarity about the topic you are going to create about.

Let’s explore some solutions to make content curation easier and more effective.

Focus on only curating things that align with your goals.

But you need one central place to keep all the content.

Then, of course, you need that information to be credible.

To solve these problems,, I use three apps:

OmnivoreGlaspNotion

So, Omnivore is a free read-it-later app. I can get all the newsletters, blog updates, and send my web bookmarks to it.

It is like a big dump of ideas.

Instead of me wasting time rummaging through the internet, I get all the information in one place.

Glasp is a lifesaver. Whenever I come across insightful articles, Youtube videos I hightlight using Glasp.

What is awesome about Glasp is that it can summarize and youtube video.

Pro Tip: Handy while listening to long podcasts.

Of course, Notion is my library.

I take all the curated materials and shelf them.

There are many other tools I use, but these get the job done.

Collecting cool content can help in creating cool content.

Try it out.

PS: Looking for a fantastic researcher or ghostwriter? Hire me

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Obsession: A Short Story by Ronald Hadrian

Balaji sat across the room, holding his head, oblivious to his surroundings. The red vase with dying lilacs was the only living thing in the room, he thought. He had promised a million times that he would never touch another bottle.

The brandy smell made him sick. He felt another pang as he opened the phone to see Google Photos reminding him of memories that he did not want to visit again. The smile of the girl he loved and the smell of liquor felt the same. He was a gone man. Every day followed the same toxic routine.

He made a promise that he would not drink, and as evening came, the demons would whisper. He would resist for a moment. He would imagine overcoming the temptation, and then he would remember her. The pain would come flooding in, his worthlessness magnified by the myriad voices in his head that would influence him to have just a sip. He would fight back. He would think about why she left, the obvious answer was his drinking problem.

Then the memory of that day came rushing in.

It was raining, and the cold winds made the car windshield blurry, making it impossible to drive. She sat agitated.

“This is why I said I would not be coming,” she said curtly.

“Hey, how was I supposed to know that it would rain?” he too replied angrily. Logic does not work in fights. He would have to deal with this problem deftly. He handed her the gift she had asked for, a red vase.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I did not think this would happen.” He stared at her. She wore a black saree, and her heaving chest was inviting. He wanted to kiss her, but it would be a risk that would ruin everything. So, he began to fidget with his phone, trying to get rid of the thoughts. He moved his hands to hold her, but she pushed them aside.

“Don’t you think about anything else?” she said it curtly. He did not reply, no matter what he said, it would be turned against him.

“I am sorry,” he once again said. He had said thousands of sorries in their past two-year relationship. She was a mix of kindness and terror. When she wanted him, she would talk kindly, hold his hands, and kiss him.

He started the car as the rain had subsided, and as the car was moving, he noticed she kept receiving texts.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“A friend,” she said without looking up.

“From work?” He asked, trying to hide his annoyance.

“Yes,” she smiled, looking at the mobile.

“Why are you this way?” he said in a pleading manner.

“What way?” she asked, putting her phone down.

“Nothing…” he changed gears and slowed down. Water was rising high, making it difficult to see the road.

“I think we have to stop for a while. I can hardly see the road,” he said, parked under a tree that was slightly elevated from the road.

“Oh great…” she sighed.

“What is your problem?” He asked, grabbing the handbrake tightly.

“What problem…nothing…” she smiled.

This was the difficult part. She could change in a minute. She slid her hands to his lap and moved them closer to his thigh. Balaji was excited, and all his annoyance vanished.

“You want me…” she said, looking into his eyes.

“Yes,” Balaji moved closer.

“No, no, no… you can never have me… I don’t want you,” she laughed, moving close and whispering in his ear. “I am in love with him,” she said, showing a boy’s photo. The water kept rising, but his heart kept drowning. It was the hardest ride. He left her in a cafe, and, with tears filling his eyes, went to meet his friends. They immediately knew what would make him better.

They took him to their room and poured something slimy that he had never seen.

“Drink,” they said.

“No,” he said.

“Drink,” they commanded. “It will make you better.”

He sipped, and then he drowned in it.

Balaji woke up with a searing headache. The lilacs were fresh today. The smell of brandy made him sick. “No more,” he cried. “This is the day.” He heard her laugh, then pain came flooding in, and he collapsed.

Balaji woke up with a searing headache. The lilacs were gone. The smell of brandy made him sick. “No more, it is over,” he cried. He could hear Ramya crying. It was raining once more. The water was rising.

“Stop the car, see, there is a tree,” she pleaded with him.

He stopped.

“Look at you, Balaji, how can you take care of me,” she cried. “In this condition.”

“I want you…”

“Yes… but I don’t want you this way…”

“You are drunk, the smell is making me sick. I shouldn’t have come with you. It is getting late…”

He grabbed her and tried to kiss her. “Let me go,”

In a fit of anger and desperation, she opened the gift she had just brought, a red vase, and hit him hard on his head. Blood came oozing out of his head. He ran his hands through his hair, soaking it with blood.

The effects of liquor all vanished in a second, and the pain slowly engulfed him. He could see Ramya crying. “I am sorry, I am sorry…” she kept saying.

The waters kept rising, but Ramya jumped out of the car and ran. He lay there in pain, and then he woke up with a searing headache. The red vase had a rose. The smell of brandy made him sick. He stood up and walked towards the door. He opened it, and there stood Ramya, smiling.

“You cannot leave this hell, honey,” and she raised the vase and hit his head.

The infinity loop of memories once again started…

Copyrighted @ Ronald Hadrian D 2024

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The Intern and the Pirates- A Short Story by Ronald Hadrian

The court librarian of the kingdom of Hiron was a respected old man. He deemed it a great responsibility when he chose interns every winter for the library’s scroll readers.

Numerous applications went straight into the fire. He knew who would be able to compete in his most arduous internship roles. The winner was easy to select; the applicants who applied must have already spent a great number of hours in the library.

The application always asked a simple question: “How many hours have you spent in the library?” Anything less than 100 hours was not worthy of going through.

Of course, he already knew who would get the internship post, and that was this nerdy, spectacled, weakling of a magician who knew more about spells and incantations than moving objects. The librarian had noticed him spend whole days in the library reading and taking notes. It was clear he would do well as a librarian.

The boy named Rufus Tamiyo was instantly elated when he was announced as the librarian’s intern. This news was so overwhelming to him that he smiled and went dizzy.

“Come by 9 in the morning, and I will allot the task,” said the librarian without looking at him.

The next day, he arrived by 7, and this sort of discipline made his friends unfriend him. He was too perfect for his own good.

He started to read the big volume of “The History of Hiron, the Abridged Version.” By 9, he promptly stood in front of the head librarian.

“I am going to give you access to the restricted section of the library, and I don’t want you to read anything there,” he sighed, seeing the look of terror in Rufus’s eyes. “Yes, I mean it. You are not supposed to read anything.”

“Then what am I supposed to do, sir?” he asked, almost choking.

“Just make a list of books and categorize them. From warlords’ history to literature of the lost words, I am sure you know all the genres.”

The work, though it seemed daunting in the beginning, became easier as days passed. But boredom eventually set in for Rufus, as the real joy for him meant reading. Sorting and naming, bucketing books that he did not enjoy much.

As he was rummaging for old collections of magical carpenters’ volumes, he came across a nameless book. This piqued his interest, and he brought it to the study room, which was usually empty with only a desk and a lamp. He set out the book and opened it to find it was a book on some mysterious element.

The book kept mentioning it in a very esoteric way, stating that this book must be lived and not read. This statement was made in many different ways. Rufus kept reading about the origin of the book and how it had come about. It was not interesting; it was about some old magi who went around the world collecting metals of magical properties. He had come across this particular metal that shapeshifted into objects.

The writer, however, kept warning about this metal and that it could be deceiving and could deceive people in many different ways. Rufus, however, kept reading, but then he heard a thud outside the room. He closed the book, afraid that the librarian had caught him reading. He looked up and went out to check the hallway. No one was there except the armor and the sword; the armor had fallen. He placed the sword perfectly in its place and went back to the ledger of counting and sorting the books.

For the next three days, he had forgotten about the book, and as he was walking in the park to get some fresh air by the strict compulsion of the librarian, he had gone out. The winds blew, and there was nothing fresh about the air except for the smell of the briny beach.

It had been a long time since he had gone to the beach. He had made a mental note about visiting the beach once he was done with his work in the library. When he returned back to his room, he saw the nameless book lying on the table.

“How did it get here?” he thought and opened a random page. But something was different. The page numbers were missing, and some text was missing. He read the passage, and it was talking about a boy walking along a beach, and in the distance, a ship coming to the shore. It had also rendered an image.

“That is weird,” Rufus thought. “Does this book tell my future?” he thought.

He really did not think much about it but went about his daily work. After three days, he found time to go to the beach in the evening after work. He sauntered along the beach, humming the new song of the Gargoyles, an infamous band in all of Hiron.

He stood and was amazed at the vastness of the ocean. Rufus looked at the horizon in eagerness and wondered when he would get on a ship to embark on his wild journeys. It was so enticing, and just then, an old ship came into view, and he eerily remembered the similar image in front of his eyes. What was happening?

He wanted to have a better look at the approaching ship, so he ran back to the castle and watched the ship anchored away in the distance. “What is a pirate ship doing here?” he jeered. He heard a knock at his door, and it was the librarian, come to tell about the ship in the distance.

“We have some news that some intruders have come,” he pushed aside the boy and watched the great hulls move towards the city.

“How can this be? The clan of Ken Musuri’s pirate ship on our shores?” he cried out.

“The spies would have told about them if they were on their way here, wouldn’t they?” Rufus looked at the librarian. Rufus did not have any idea about why this was happening. On waking up the next morning, he understood what the book was doing.

Rufus understood that the book predicted the future, not much but somewhat into the future. The ships had started to scare the public, and the kingdom was on high alert. Soldiers, archers were all stationed on the towers, and small archery boats were deployed for some sudden attack.

The king was perturbed. For over 10 years, there had not been any such incident, only small goons fighting in the marketplace, but now things started to go bad without a doubt.

The world was changing, and many weary messengers had been talking about the changes in the political world. Rufus waited to see, and he knew that the book had already shown they would come. He once went to the book and could see a small boat drawing… but on deeper notice, he saw that the boat had a doll or effigy of a person. “So they are not apparently sending a person but an effigy, which is probably cursed.”

He rummaged through the books and came to know about the little effigy figures. They could be controlled with magic, and they could be used to spread poison potions. Also, other mass destructive spells could be hidden in them. They were used as assassins as well. In that way, they could kill without being caught. These pirates or people on the ship must come from a far-off place. But what did they want?

But now that he knew what was going to happen, he rushed to the librarian and told him about it. But he didn’t take much thought about it. But when he saw the next day how all boats approached, he told the King immediately. So the boat was never approached. It waited as a lonely drifting thing for a whole day, then it went back. The book again showed that a man was swimming towards them, and he had a dagger.

The man would come during the night. This was good, as he could be captured, and from him, all the information could be gathered. But the librarian told him not to reveal this to anyone. There was no need for it just yet. As the book predicted, a man came, but he was caught by surprise and was brought before the King.

“Why have you come here?” the King questioned.

The sailor looked at everyone blankly. “We want to rescue Pip Pip, a crew member that you have captured.”

“What are you talking about?” The King asked in surprise. “We have no prisoner with that name. Commander, did we capture anyone like that?”

“No, sir,” he bowed.

“You are lying… state your true purpose,” the commander commanded him.

The man shuddered. Rufus watched as the man was taken to the prison for further investigation. He was sure he would be given the truth potion.

He returned to the book and noticed it had a new painting of a man being captured near the market, and under this image, a small scribble called “Pip” was written. He immediately went to the librarian and informed him that the prisoner was in the market. Within an hour, the new prisoner was captured. He also was questioned, but he did not answer like the previous one. He too was administered the truth potion.

But Rufus did not get any more information about what was extracted from the prisoners. He spent the next week with the book, hoping new images would pop up, but sadly, nothing happened. He spent his time working as usual, and the ship still stayed with its hoist up. The next morning, Rufus could see the book glowing, and he saw an army of pirates at the western gate. He panicked. He really didn’t have any time. He informed the librarian, and a huge number of armies were deployed at the western gate. Rufus’s warning did not cause this ruckus; the prisoners had confessed that their army would march through the western gate.

“How come no spies noticed anything weird from that gate?” asked the commander.

“The book has been right all this time,” the librarian said.

Two nights went dreadfully; the army was certain the next day battle would begin. Rufus, as he sat peering through the window from his room, looking at the ship, he saw something flying towards his room. It was a giant falcon, and seated on top of it was a pirate. Before Rufus could escape, the man barged into his room and took the book from Rufus.

“Aren’t you going to attack the western gate?” asked Rufus.

“It is Captain Waltero,” he looked at Rufus.

Rufus took a minute to understand what he had meant. “Captain Waltero, are you not going to attack the Western Gate?”

“Oh, that’s what my boy told you, is it?” he cuddled the book.

“What?” Rufus asked, perplexed.

Within a minute, the two prisoners who were captured barged into the room with a golden egg.

“Ha, my precious,” said the Captain, taking the egg from them. He looked at Rufus, “Do you know how many soldiers we must have killed to get this rarity? But a single book deceived your entire kingdom.”

Rufus was bewildered. “So everything was a decoy?”

“Yes, goodbye then.” The huge falcon flew towards the window, and the two prisoners and the captain jumped on it.

“Hey, wait!” shouted Rufus.

“What is it, son?” Asked the Captain, looking back.

“Take me with you,” the captain was taken aback.

“Are you sure?” asked Captain Waltero. “Yes.”

“I give you 1 minute to pack your things and come.” Rufus quickly wrote a note and left with the pirate.

The next day, the western gate was still silent, and no one was approaching it. The Librarian rushed to ask Rufus about the prediction, but only a small note was left.

“The book deceived us. I am going with the pirate to rescue the golden egg.”

Rufus never came back, of course. He became the infamous strategic pirate of the empire, and as he dreamed, he went on many more wild adventures.

Copyrighted @Ronald Hadrian 2024

The post The Intern and the Pirates- A Short Story by Ronald Hadrian first appeared on Ronald Hadrian.

**Top 3 Productivity Skills College Students Need for Personal Growth**

**Top 3 Productivity Skills College Students Need for Personal Growth**

I wish someone took the time to tell me about these hacks when I was in college. But I don’t want you to miss out!

### Make a To-Do List Every Day

– **Write down three important things you want to accomplish that day.**

– **Complete the most important task first.**

– **Only after the task is complete, move on to the next one.**

### Turn Off Distractions

– **Social media can sap away your time.**

– **Use the one-hour rule:** **For the first hour after you wake up, do not use your mobile.**

– **Throw away your mobile an hour before bed.**

### Build Productive Habits

– **Try to build habits that make you grow physically, mentally, and spiritually.**

– **Make it a habit to exercise regularly.**

– **Read every day.**

– **Pray, meditate, or journal every day.**

Productivity is not about mindlessly completing tasks. Focus on tasks that align with your long-term goals and values to ensure meaningful productivity.

Mastering these essential skills will not only simplify your college life but also enrich it, creating lasting memories and personal growth opportunities.

The post **Top 3 Productivity Skills College Students Need for Personal Growth** first appeared on Ronald Hadrian.