Biography of twelve

Growing consciousness is a danger and a disease........
~Frederich Nietzsche.

Warm and silent, the air weighed pregnant with the scent of old wine, burnt tobacco and the growing night.Embalmed in the ambience of such a night he sat by the fire, reading his testament that rested weightless on the lap.By now, he had read it such many times that his eyes ached in weariness.Having carefully studied the final words again , he laid back, slowly closing his eyes and in the darkness all he felt was the moist beads of sweat formed on his forehead.For some strange reason, a fleeting all-knowing smile crossed his face before he smoothly embraced the oblivion of sleep.
It wasnt too long before he was woken up by the clock striking a lengthy twelve. As he gathered to stand up his bowels churned restlessly in anticipation of the great unknown creating eddies in his ears.His throat filled with certain tasteless waters.Now upright and firm he gazed absently around, while his hand found the heavy steel underneath his coat and pressed it obediently against his temple.'Its time for farewell' he muttered aloud.
In the next instant his form lay lifeless amidst spurting pool of blood and fresh smoke.

A new day had otherwise started on its own terms. Dark as always.
It was just his clock that was ahead of time.

-------

The fault, dear Brutus is not in our stars,
But in ourselves that we are underlings..
~William shakespeare /Julius Caesar/

She woke up with an almost finishing dream and a faint scent of night's vodka in her breath.A rusty consciousness and the early summer light piercing past the curtains made it hard to focus on the clock.Soon the blur settled into a digital image of twenty to eight.Still dazed, she lit up a cigarette, the first of the day and sat smoking while pondering over the long day ahead .When the cigarette died an eventual death, she dawdled herself effortfully towards the mirror-the old pimple on her left cheek was swollen and tender. As she stood, thinking of the probable remedies, a vague overwhelming impulse with the belching waters in the mouth seized her.She heard a consistent gurgle from the belly.Perceptive of the impending, she hastened to the wash- to find what could only be her night's dinner splashed about. It was bitter and strong.Although relieved, it was worrying that it was the third time she was sick in two days.Suddenly a thought seized her.

In a frenzy, she took out the white-pack from the top shelf and read the small print carefully.Over and over and many a times aloud.Within moments, she opened it and placed two drops of urine and waited impatiently through a seeming eternity.
Soon a tiny streak of irregular blue formed against a white backdground.'Damn' she swore aloud with the second cigarette flaring in hand.

In the background the electronic timbre of the eight o clock alarm repeated endlessly in a monotonous song.
Outside the city bustled in welcome of another rush hour.

Epilogue/Theme: The sentences are deliberately fragmented at the expense of rhythm and flow.The purpose is to accomodate the theme of twelve cranial nerves.
Each sentence, at large, is meant to represent the function of a cranial nerve.Sign-off sentences are used to re-impress the backdrop of birth and death.

Could have done lot better , but what would you expect on a long motorway?