I was sitting on a bench under the black sky, gibbous moon shining and chilly wind blowing, and thinking about those trucks and cars plying on the highway, and cantankerous insects around me. Those machines, cantankerous though, were moving with a sense of purpose, from place to place, carrying something, man or material, driven by replenishable motive fuel. On the other hand, those insects and birds merely were whining about their condition, their plight, and their helplessness to protect themselves. They were whining about: How humanoid invasion had demolished their natural habitat? How they used to roam about freely, even couple of decades ago here? Now, those buildings, highways, vehicles plying on those highways, lights, noise, humanoid movement. Everything had made their life difficult and they were on the verge of extinction. There was no sense of purpose in those noise they were making. That was just a distraction which machines were rightly ignoring.
Wind grew chillier. After four round around the atheletic track, my skin was burning. I had taken my shirts off. Now, the cold wind was trying to freeze me. It succeeded, partially though, it succeeded, I must concede that. My skin felt like wood, insensitive and hard, and hair stood up like a rough texture on the wood. But there was too much fire inside to let that meagre wind completely freeze me. Fuel, just like the one inside those machines on the highway, was burning and energizing me to move forward. I closed my eyes. I enjoyed the feeling, feeling of insensitiveness, feeling that those motors were moving with the fuel that was replenishable. I then realized that my fuel was replenishable too. And that was a very good feeling.
