Klarke

Some men personify determination. Klarke was not better than them – he was the superlative. His personality radiated itself everywhere he would go – to the walls, to the machines, to the people around him. Sometimes it would make the aura uncomfortable for the ones who felt it, and made them almost certainly sure of standing not with a normal being as themselves, but with a divine heroic presence. But the chapter would not close there. It's not natural, they would say, in this age, for men with sharp determination to be honest and humble as well – words whose origin must certainly lie attributed to a prophecy or a vision of Klarke's, by the men who invented them.

He relished learning – and that seemed to be an unstoppable motivation towards his self-actualization. The level of detail with which he could absorb the observable enabled him to mix his essence with the unspoken beauty around him. Many a times, he would just stand close to random subsets of random universe, feel the rhythm, accepting it with a strange intimacy.

His sight was sharp, as sharp as his other senses of hearing, smell and taste. Somehow, they seemed to symbolize a non-stop information flow between him and his compliment – consisting of everything else. But the 'touch' was the most sensitive – his fingers would elegantly trace the outlines of a morning rose, like it was someone's most prized piece of art. With a pencil between those fingers, he could create abstraction and reality in unparalleled synchronization. With his thumb, he could feel the piece of a charcoal sketch freshly prepared by him – breathing, sensing, having a life of its own. For him, it was not just carbon spread on paper in a randomly ordered fashion, but the ability to give birth – to be a miniature God.

A die-hard romantic he would be. His philosophy about life - “Live each moment like its your last.” He could have silent abstract romances with the beauty around him – beauty not just noticed by normal humanly perceptions, but whose sole existence could make you forget the concept of 'me' and 'I', as you delve into a universal plurality of homogeneity. These moments were rare – rare but glorious, and for days altogether he would be mesmerized by thoughts of capturing it forever – giving it the immortality it truly deserves.

At times, he would imagine of a beauty surpassing all previous unchallenged notions in his mind. A strange consciousness would tell him the moment was near – he knew not why, he knew not when. He did not know the sweet beautiful pain that was to flood his heart. All he knew was that when the time comes, he and his lady would be intoxicated with the purest forms of emotions impossible to be captured by any known tools of human brilliance, including he himself.

K