Men may come and men may go, but i go on forever...

No,this ain't Tennyson's Brook talking. This is the harsh abrasive scorching star flaring his fiery tongue at me.
If the sun reminds you of warm California beaches and chilled lemonades, let me take you on a 10 minute walk at 8 30 am out in the Muscat city streets.You will start to loathe the sun.
The sun isn't just a hot ball of gas as he pretends to be. He has a mind. A mind supremely capable of coming up with its gambits.He has ears. How many, I know not. But ears capable of listening sneakily to your silent curses and in perfect co-ordination with the mind, he lashes back at you all the more fiercely.And if he has a conscience somewhere within that impenetrable exterior,let me assure you,it is defunct.
Imagine yourself walking on a Muscat city street at 8 30 am for some reason,the reason being unimportant here.And the person responsible for placing you out in the streets(be it yourself, or your mother) was kind enough to provide you with an umbrella and a bottle of water.You think you are well protected against the sun and can make it unscathed to your destination within 10 minutes. Aha! But you,my poor fellow,have misjudged the true limit of his potential.
He sees you hiding from his glare under the umbrella.Instantly he strikes a deal with the wind. The wind blows its mightiest blow. Whoooooosh...the umbrella flies out of your hand even as you desperately try to clutch onto it...you try to run behind it, But aha! the wind and the sand shake hands( yes they all are successful businessmen) and the sand whirls around you, lifts into the air and the dust particles irritate your eyes...and while you are left standing there scratching your eyes furiously wishing the sand out of them,your umbrella disappears into eternity. Well not really into eternity,but well out of your sight.And this is how,ladies and gentlemen and my poor friend stranded out in the sun,in cahoots with the wind and the sand,he snatches away your first weapon.
He knows the bottle of water is no great weapon. But he is a misanthrope. Seeing man suffer alone with not even water to give him a moral boost is what fuels him. You can feel his hot breath on you. You find your skin breaking out into perspiration.Millions of tiny droplets of sweat.Your body cries out for water and as you gulp down every drop that the bottle holds, he mercilessly continues to suck it all through his straw till the very last drop.And a bit more for pure unabashed pleasure.
And there you are, at the end of ten torturous minutes,dragging your defeated feet which can barely support your withered body and your mind which has ungraciously conceded defeat,to the gates of your destination,the sight of which ameliorate your spirits. And he? He sits high up in his abode,grinning at you,a mere mortal, nefariously, and the above described sight having fueled his fire instead of satisfying his hunger,he spans the earth,searching for his next victim...

inspired by a true incident.