One day, a thousand deaths.

Once upon a time, I was scared to death.

They say that a man who can bring any wish to reality is the powerful one. But what if by mistake, possessing of an innocence, as pious as that of a cub walking to its famished father, he brings about his own death? Will you call him powerful or just a pawn, a simple victim, an innocent one , though, ready to reveal all to the whims of a clandestine force, so great and confident, that it does not even feel the necessity of revealing itself and bask in the immensity of its power. It is not at all boastful. It lets you carry your wishes out, observing silently like a mother watches a new born with overflowing filial love, but, diabolically molds your thoughts without leaving any imprint on them, lest you might recognize its machinations. If you can watch your own exequies from the heavens, will you dare call yourself powerful? You are trying desperately to abdicate  your throne, but the omnipotent has other plans for you, by that time the unforgivable sin has been committed. You would think yourself fortunate to see the self obviated, as inevitable as it might be, only once, but you are innocent, oblivious of the immediate future; you are doomed as you die a thousand deaths.

Time has a magical power. It is an all pervading filter, an infinite one at that, through which the present passes and comes out of the other side, with decreased vitality, and upon its arrival is rebranded as past. Most of us depend on this simple and ubiquitous process to make sense of things, to live. But, what if time has chosen to play a very simple game with you today? It only lets you see one half of the screen, the entry of the present, but masks away the other side. To what horrors would you face a situation where the process of conversion of present to past is as mysterious and indecipherable as a maze with infinite levels? You soon realize that time is but subservient to the master, yet another pawn in the larger game. You beg for convalescence, but it is as impossible a reality, as the word's obscurity in modern day vocabulary.

When the revered laws of physics are no more valid, you know that the universe is not the same. It scares you out of your mind to see all the familiarities and comforts of the previous existence vanish in thin air. All because you had an insatiable quest for ultimate power. And then, as if to drive the final nail into the coffin, your coffin, your senses renege.

Sound flows into your ears in arbitrary geometrical patterns, restless ones painted in green. You get confused and excited at the same time at the wonderful possibility of defining those shapes with the mortal mathematics you have managed to imbibe, but it lasts only for an instant. You are soon overtaken by the fear of your existential indeterminism. The only instance  when you could appreciate Doppler while standing still. Oh, he would have been so happy, had he been alive. Your eyes see the way, the power wants them to. Your past flashes in front of your eyes, underlining cruelly, the antitheticalities with the present.

The world around you is no more yours to claim. It has changed sharply in character and color, unrecognizable  to your mortal senses. You dreamed of a power, look at what you have gotten into. Since childhood they have tried to teach you that greed is not good, but you chose to forget it. You succumbed to your follies and now you regret. Renunciation is not an option, because the power won't let you.

That was the day, when I was scared to death.