Dark Roads

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Once I surfaced as a woman, more seductive than sin itself. I learned what men will do for the lust that they call love. I battled like a termagant with overblown executives for an equal scale of pay, for acceptance and promotion on the corporation ladder and all that should be mine. The end result of this was I soon became another man.

Like a chameleon understudy I have played most any part as I moved across the stage of this metamorphic age, yet all of it soon paled without my own identity. My future now stands open like an endless avenue, for every time I start to age I seize on youth once more. Yet is it worth the trouble to keep changing hats and coats, not in rhythm with the seasons, just to please my petty whims, when my soul is lost forever in the shuffling and the rippling of a hundred different skins?

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If there is a kind of answer that has to do with love, if consciousness can change and the world can follow suit, I am not the one to judge. I have stolen other lives. I have left my spirit far behind and forsaken my own name. He delights as he sees it rise from its bed, passing from burning red through orange to yellow, from shades of searing blue to the pure white light of absolute incineration.

He savors the way it slithers along his sides and caresses his flanks. He loves to slather himself with it, to breathe it in and exhale in glorious gouts of smoky incandescence that send his minions slinking and scurrying in every direction. He treasures its obedience, how it comes to his call, devastating entire cities as he marks them on the map, Dresden, Hiroshima, Nagasaki. The shadows of ashed bodies photo flashed upon the walls by nuclear irradiation rank among his favorite instantaneous creations.

Still there are moments, countless ones through the internecine ages, when Satan often craves another brand of fellow, a friend with whom to share an evening's relaxation, the pleasure of a meal, a glass or two of fine cognac amid the formidable intricacies of enlightened conversation.

Headlights on Dark Roads

Fire has long since eaten and will soon devour again, will continue to consume and remain ever ravenous, yet its taste is indifferent and forsakes appreciation of the rare decadent fare on the table of a fallen angel. Fire's tongues are legion yet they speak as one with no shred of wit or reason, a chorus of mad idiots jabbering away like Babel, ranting in a gibberish that apes the souls consigned to its flames.

Lucifer tugs his beard and is brusque with fire at times such as these, stripping away its power, confining it to the grate, making it small and tame. With a voice that bellows through Hellish caverns he berates it incessantly for all its inadequacies, its lack of discernment and a worthless education. For His Infernal Majesty would never countenance a friend or companion he could not dominate, and blame for the untold eons passed and yet to be of his drear incarceration.

It was always the house with its crumbling eaves and weathered gables, its turrets and cupolas, its ornate fretwork and blank window eyes. It was the house with its sagging porticos and scattered trellises, the dark green vines trailing up the walls until their leaves turned sere and pale in the sun's heat.

Dark Roads

It was always the house with its trenched history and ineradicable stains on the hardwood floors, vivid as birthmarks or faded as old scars. I gathered the tools of the draftsman's trade with a serious intent, to learn the craft of the cartographer, to create a detailed map with a detailed legend, extensive and accurate, that would not only chart the limits of the house but give specific definition to its varied elaborations.

I set out to explore its multiple levels and seductive recesses, the shadow and substance of its rectilinear maze. And you came with me in your wayward fashion, less than innocent and far from knowing, to share my explorations and test the dimensions of the world waiting beyond each wall.

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We discovered hallways that led to nothing and others that turned back upon themselves. We entered rooms that were ordered and others in rank disarray. You sat at a slender desk in a high drawing room that bathed your flesh in films of light.

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  • I paced beyond the carpet, dictating imaginary letters to composers and poets and heads of state. We slept in a Victorian boudoir rich in its mock oriental decadence, the portraits of dead sinners gracing our walls.

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    When I cut my hand on a splintered balustrade, your lips closed on the single drop of blood that welled in the lines of my palm. When you turned back, gathering up the ball of yarn you had cleverly unwound to mark our distracted passage, I ventured farther to uncover corridors and cul-de-sacs that recalled ones we had visited together, standing rooms and sitting rooms and those stripped bare of all decor. Was it days or only hours that I wandered before you found me crouched against a wall, unable to speak beyond a thirst that filled my body to its pores?

    We have settled in the rooms we inhabit and we do not stray past their boundaries. We stay close by our hearth and our fire beneath a mantel lined with framed images of these same rooms. Problems classical Dark roads Status Ranking. Input Specification The input file contains several test cases. Output Specification For each test case print one line containing the maximum daily amount the government can save.

    go site Submit solution! Just forgot to print new line in the first attempt. AC in 1 go. All Rights Reserved.

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    Ayush Mahajan : AC in two, really easy. Direct Kruskal :. Last edit:

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