My story has no start, apart from my birth, but I will start with my arrival in a distant country, a long way from my town of growing up. On my arrival, I was thirty-four and it was not a product of a conscious thought. My arrival in this small township wasn’t a total shock; I’d found out that I was in a conundrum. Living in a jail for thirty annum wasn’t an option I was going to follow.

But, I saw an amazing sight; right in front of a crumbling old shack in a town that civilisation had long forgot, my childhood guru was stumbling, half falling and half walking. Curiously no outfit was worn though a nasty chill was all around and against all odds my guru was smiling. I, too, was grinning, until a primal guttural wail that could only haunt and chill was soon coming from his mouth. That was my ‘hi’ to a town that I would, on occasions, call Latima.

My living in Latima didn’t start brilliantly, first I lost my coat, bag and most of my worldly goods and if that wasn’t hard to stomach I found my mind was playing tricks. Not during days, but at night I would cry, wail and howl, and I didn’t know why, but this township with its rundown shacks and archaic buildings with no humans in sight, a bit of a ghost town, hurt my soul and would drain away my spirit and so I would start crying. For four days I was all on my own as my guru was not around, and I would hurt and my body would shout “pain” almost constantly.

Whilst you scan my words, I am trying hard to think of worlds long lost and now sought, to fill my mind’s jigsaw so that I can inform you of this story. Many days past, copious moons ago, I thought of nothing, of nobody and within I would fly missions and a singular thought always swam around my mind: whom can I trust?

On my sixth day in Latima, I again saw my guru. I was wrong, as by now I had found a part of town that had a vibrant social community and had found a location in which I could lovingly stay. It was a spot in which I could build a habitat and prolong my mission, which was to know and study from my guru.

I think that you as a bookworm of my story must know of my days prior to arriving in Latima. I want this story to contain clarity, and so I will impart to you, my actions from my young days, but first I must inform you about what my guru saw within my disposition. I was in my room in my living spot within Latima and my guru, who was by my right hand, said that as a guru it was not difficult to spot magic in my body and within my soul. Not pink magic, but scary black magic that could hurt and maim.

I had always known that my mind had links that didn’t function as you or I would normally think. As a young boy, about four I think I was, I first found out about my flair for disruption. My mum, may god look happily down on my mum’s final habitat, first took a punch from my magic as I got angry and hit out hard. Mum couldn’t work out what I did; mum had a look of confusion and drawn across my mum’s old facial cracks was shock. As I saw my mum fall and crash downwards, I stood, waiting for my fury to pass.

And so, I was first conscious of a dormant control that I could allow to run riot. But, what was this unusual clout that I had? And how was I to control it? As I got old, I did what I could and taught my mind how to act and how to control my cravings and longings but still I found that I had a growing difficulty in controlling my faults harmful and bolts of hurt sought to flow out of my body.

Occasionally I fought in vain and I involuntarily struck out against my wants causing hurt to any individual in my way. I was out shopping as my worst clash struck down a non-guilty participant. A bolt of my fury caught a young lady who was passing by and not causing any harm. But, this amazing lady wound up my spirit and bought on my lust. Hitting a lady with a bolt of black magic obviously wasn’t a way to sort out my mood of lust. But that’s what I did. This girl was cut down, and a loud cry of pain rang out across a crowd. I was in a conflict situation and I did what I could to avoid it – I ran straight into a group of burly guys. It won’t shock you if I was to say I got into a fight. I did and I won. It was only a skirmish and I got away with hardly any marks or bumps. Two days past and shocking information was on tv: a young woman who was out shopping was now not living. It was my attack that was at fault.

I was a criminal and now had no option but to abscond from this country of my birth. From my childhood an opportunity took form and a shadowy body from my past was big in my mind. This guy had always hung out in my night thoughts and this odd man had told my night adaptation that his tag was guru.

During my visitations to my night locations, my guru told his story. Sorry, my constant support, but I can only inform you of a small bit of what was told. On an individual occasion I was with my guru in an amazing and wondrous land. I took his hand and thought about his way of living, “I find it magical and invigorating” was all that my guru said. Surprisingly at this unknown location, twilight would always last for six long witching hours, during which hawks, dogs and wild cows would roam with gay abandon. Fading light didn’t distract my guru from his calling; wild animals didn’t disturb him. Whistling bought a hawk to him, and I caught my guru murmuring, tiny sounds not words fall from his mouth as if a salmon swimming in a brook. I turn to my guru, within is an air of calm tranquillity; I nod to him admitting that his faith is all knowing. Following this I am conscious and I am lost but calm.

My guru would habitually visit and I would find out additional information about him and this land, which I would soon grasp as Latima. So I had to start a mission in pursuit of my guru, I had to hunt down my spiritual conductor. I had to pack my bag; into a small black holdall I put a t-shirt, hat, pants, a ham sandwich and a jug of squash and by kissing my cat, Snowy, I said goodnight to my birth location. I was happy, bright and not so gloomy; my vital organ was, for a split instant, unbound from its constraints.

Back to Latima: my guru took hold of my soul and would show faults in my living ways. It was spring and dawn would start daily at about four am, at which point my guru, would launch into his daily ritual. It starts with praying, which builds into dancing with sounds and transforms into a lavish show comprising of song, music and light. I watch from afar, not wanting to bring it to a halt as bright light surrounds my guru. His hair, naturally brown, now looks an amazing mix of colours, his soul full of wisdom as only a man of so much know-how could possibly gain.

For months and months this ritual would unfold and as days past my black magic was not as much of a difficulty. Now thanks to my guru, I am conscious of living as a virgin: intact and unhurt.