It came out of the far left field.
Like Beckham’s bend-it.
The spinning ball hit me right on the face.
Shattering my spectacles and bleeding my nose.
I was dazed at first.
But the aftermath was clear.
The pain dissolved,
Leaving residue of a faint scent.
A dwindling fragrance, yet,
Seductively, thoroughly evoking.
Like Old Spice.
It was more than just a cologne.
In a flying second,
I knew.
As clear as I knew,
I was alive.
A scent from the far off-field.
The scent – A call for adventure.
One spark. One distant trigger.
To shatter the peace and to take arms.
A scent which I want all of.
Which I follow, like a lonely ant,
Finding its way home
In the wilderness of the 3-Dimensional.
Somewhere out there, far away,
The source of the scent, sits fat and heavy.
One day, one fine day,
I will be The Best Selling Author.
