The Doctor (Commissions open)

@lucidillusions.in

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Mad (ex) Scientist (Ph.D, IIT Bombay) He/Him Camera and Codex Perversely Subversive and Absurd I love Books, Bowie and the Beatles 📍Bombay 🇼🇳 http://pub.lucidillusions.in | https://ko-fi.com/lucidillusions | https://lucidillusions.darkroom.com/

a 3x3 grid showing various types of artwork + a photograph @ 35% discount.
The inner door cycled open. Jax was there, a pry-bar in hand, eyes wide and horrified. They saw me on the floor, surrounded by flecks of ash. They saw the burn on my arm, the raw red meat visible beneath the cracked black shell.
a flock of gulls about to land in the water. mostly white birds with black marking on edge of the wing feathers.
Asian Green Bee-Eater (with a missing tail streamer) a small green bird perched on a thin branch without any leaves. Bird has a black face mask and red eyes. the body is mostly green to bluish tinge in places, and underside of the wings yellow-ish. it has a long black beak.
A roufus treepie perched on a jeep looking at the photographer The bird is black head, golden orange body, some black and white wing tips, and tails also has black and white feathers.
Screengrab showing original post not found for me (I might be blocked by OP or the other way round, or maybe posy got deleted)
A golden oriole a yellow bird with black wings and tail feathers. perched on a brown branch. it has its head turned so you can see its back and also its head - it has red eyes, and black feather around the eye. #birds #sciart #WaterColor
Below him, the stadium was a sea of upturned, terrified faces—his neighbours, his friends, people who would soon forget he ever existed.
She knew it was a pathetic sum, something she was trying to save to run away, but in the end it was hers. He stood up, pocketed the money, and walked out to buy his rum. Sunita stayed by the window, staring blankly out at the street.
theguardian.com Narendra Modi 'Give him any award, and he'll come running': Narendra Modi racks up honours on overseas trips Indian prime minister has a habit of collecting awards on his travels, some as their first and only recipient Hannah Ellis-Petersen in Delhi An old indian man with white hair, in white attire with a dark nehru jacket holding an award, given to him by a person of darker skin colour (than him) in a grey jacket and pant, next to them is partially visible flags of India (left) and Seychelles (right) behind them is a wooden door, and further right a wooden stand with a pot and red flowers in them .
A knock came at her door. Three taps. A pause. Three taps. She didn't answer. It was Mr. Henderson. He had likely come to ask for a cup of sugar he would never use, or perhaps he just wanted to stand in her doorway and count the ceiling tiles. He had been a math teacher once; now he just counted the slats on his blinds, the steps to the mailbox, the number of times Tanya exhaled. "Tanya?" he called out, his voice flat. "I think I found a loose thread on my sweater. I can't seem to get it. It’s... distracting."
I used a gooseneck kettle to pour the water, aiming for a precise, silver thread that hit the absolute centre of the coffee bed. Ninety-five degrees Celsius. I’d calibrated the digital thermometer myself. At my flat’s altitude, ninety-six degrees would scald the lipids, leaving an ashy aftertaste, and ninety-four would fail to penetrate the cellular structure of the roast.
"I never said it," Charlie admitted, a cold, sharp smile touching his lips. "A PR kid named Vandit made it up forty years ago to make the Alliance look noble during the Water Riots. But it’s cited in every textbook. It's attributed to me on a billion digital profiles. People love it because it sounds authoritative. They don't care if it's true; they care that it sounds like it should be true. They want the aesthetic of truth without the burden of it."
India was shaken. The murders sparked a national debate about the dark side of the internet, the dangers of anonymity, and the potential for online communities to incite violence. News channels ran sensationalised stories, politicians called for stricter regulations, and ordinary citizens grappled with the realisation that the stories they consumed online could have deadly consequences.
It was during his lunch break, while Rohan was contemplating the existential dread of another lukewarm vegetable samosa, that he felt a strange compulsion. A sudden, overwhelming urge to alphabetise the condiments. Then came the irresistible need to rearrange the chairs so they were perfectly aligned with the fluorescent lights. By the time he returned to his desk, a new, unsettling sense of order had taken root in his mind.
She navigated by the glowing signs of the all-night motels run by shady raccoons and she would often catch the subtle, rhythmic twitch of a fox's tail at a corner. To Onyx, the world wasn’t a place to be feared; it was a map to be memorised, its secrets written in the scents of old rain, the hum of electricity, and the quiet footsteps of her fellow nocturnal creatures.
screen grab of 404 error for my website 404 It seems the page you sought has been Consumed by the Eldritch Void. Perhaps a forgotten entity from beyond the veil devoured it whole, or it merely slipped into an unfathomable dimension. We advise you to step back from the brink and return to the sanctuary of the homepage, before you gaze too long into the abyss. © 2023 - 2026 Stories by Lucid Illusions | | | 3999 souls have been to the Lost Alley.
The ancient Egyptian traps were designed to drain magic from supernaturals, and that protective spark broke off and got lodged inside the pyramid.
A blue can, with a cartoon of sleeping baby face, and text on the can says Baby Drools. Purple-pink background, and text on it says Collected from 100% sleeping babies no babies were hurt during packaging
a medium sized black bird, with a long neck (retracted) and a long thin hooked bill. perched on a stone in middle of a large lake. there are small bushes behind it.
A small black crab up on a light orange wall, in the corner (nestled in the wall angle). In the corner above is a white security camera attached to the white concrete ceiling.
I watched, sprawling across the cosmos, a detached amusement colouring my observations. Such destructive efficiency! Such glorious, unbridled chaos! It was a performance, a grand finale to this version of the universe that I had, admittedly, grown a little bored with.
The energy output from 'soul devouring' is negligible, and the clean-up is a lot of work. No, I'm here because my transit request was misfiled. And, now, thanks to your rather... enthusiastic reaction, I'm likely to be subjected to further administrative penalties."
Sandeep didn't shout. He just reached into his jacket and leveled the gold-plated .45 at my chest. The table went dead silent. The guys—his guys—froze, waiting to see if he'd actually pull the trigger on the only person who kept his business running.
Helena shook her head, leaning heavily on her staff. She sensed a coldness in the boy's aura, a predatory stillness that seeped through the canvas and chilled the graveyard air. "The roots will not take him gently. His spirit has begun to curdle with the weight of adolescence. I cannot."
At six-fifteen, the heavy deadbolt of the front door clicked open. “Anita? I’m home.” “In the lounge,” she called back, keeping her voice light. Karan walked in, loosening his silk tie. He was a tall man, impeccably groomed, with dark, assessing eyes that missed nothing. He kissed the top of her head. He smelled of expensive cologne and the sterile, recycled air of a corporate office.
A promo card - Flash Fiction Friday, but a little different.
Below me, a group of four scavengers were stripping copper wire from an old engine. Their halogen torches cut weak, flickering beams through the fog. They were laughing, unaware that death was perched above them. They smelt of cheap alcohol, unwashed skin, and the vibrant, pulsing heat of hearts that had never known a predator.
She had the look of someone who had seen too much. She was tried, questioned, and then quietly allowed to continue her work under strict supervision. She taught a new generation of scientists to be incredibly careful with the things they discovered.
An arachnid like creature, with multiple eyes on its head, pincers like large shearing scissors the body is a rib-like cage and the legs are multi joined human bones
The rain smelled of iron and dying leaves. The wood of the door was oak, ancient and scarred, but to me, it felt as flimsy as wet paper. I stood on the porch—my many-jointed thoughts folding and unfolding in the dark—icy water pooling in my stolen boots, staring down at the threshold. It was just a slab of stone worn smooth by a century of walking across, but it was also the only thing separating the biting wind from the warm, yellow light leaking beneath the front door.
Sengupta had been right. The AI was hallucinating, forcefully dragging forbidden mathematics into the modern era. The app has stopped analysing the data. The query was too deep.
Alisha stood speechless, her heart pounding with a mix of awe and exhilaration. The Whispering Woods had always held secrets, but this... this was a secret that spanned eons, a cosmic gardening project on a scale she could barely comprehend. The old woman simply nodded, her gaze fixed on the empty space where the branch had been.
I sat down at an empty table, a phantom observer in a symphony of clatter, chewing, and conversation. I watched them—office workers complaining about bosses, tourists deciphering maps, students stressing over exams—all solid, casting shadows, taking up space, making dents in the air. I realised that even when I had been visible, this is how I had felt: close enough to see everything, but unable to participate. I was always behind a glass wall, watching the party from the street. Now, the wall between me and them was absolute. I was watching a movie I could no longer pause or edit.
The Solar Festival was supposed to be a night of light, a celebration of the star that fed our civilization. It became a night of silence.
Line art of a dragon head.
A thick wad of crisp, five-hundred rupee notes visible against the concrete, secured by a rusted money clip. Rent was three weeks late.
Janet Murray · Jun 6, 2026 @jan_murray · Follow Late to the party, but I've started watching Season 1 of House. Same narrative every episode: Patient has mysterious illness. Hugh Laurie (House) gets diagnosis wrong. Patient nearly dies. Hugh Laurie gets diagnosis wrong again. Gets threatened with being fired. Patient nearly Hugh Laurie @hughlaurie · Follow Thanks for your critique, Janet. We actually tried a couple of episodes where House (Hugh Laurie) (please put the brackets in the right place) gets it right first time, but they were only 6 minutes long. NBC weren’t happy. Then we tried some where House never gets it right and (Show more)
Screengrab of my profile banner which is a black and white photo of a crocodile. the pfp is a digital caricature of me by pi_alize where I'm in a pinkish tee, holding a cat and asking how can i use the cat to take photographs. The Doctor (Commissions open) and my handle @lucidillusions.in #Photography #herps
I had been different. I had been a craftsman, a refiner. I had practised ‘Ankur's trick’ with the devotion of a monk, perfecting the art of the extraction. I had refined the nectar.
"I'm speaking the only language they hear!" Charlie shouted back. "We’ll tell them the cold in their apartments isn't a lack of heating—it's a 'thermal purification' process. We’ll invent a conspiracy. We'll tell them the government—our own government—doesn't want them to turn their power off because it breaks the *elite* control grid. We'll make turning off the lights an act of ultimate rebellion."
The blue light intensified, and the Triton was gently, but firmly, caught. The rhythmic thrum grew stronger, a lullaby sung by the abyss. The submarine, which moments ago had been plummeting toward its crushing demise, was now being cradled, almost affectionately, by the massive tendrils. It wasn't being towed, not quite; it felt more like it was being... steered. Nudged away from an unseen, far greater danger, away from jagged spires that suddenly appeared in the shifting glow, only to vanish as quickly as the submarine was smoothly diverted.
But there was a problem. They all had arrived at the same time. They couldn't work together; they weren’t allies. They were competitors, and each of them had their own method. And if one of them succeeded, the others would fail. None of them could let that happen.
A raptor bird perched on the arm of a little boy, wearing a red torn shirt (uniform of coolie/porter in railway stations) Text reads ...to protect the porters #DesiWatch
Defeated, he slunk to the kitchen, deciding to focus on small, maddening annoyances. He tried to levitate the sharpest butcher knife, and failed. He tried to make the refrigerator hum with a bone-chilling groan, but it just maintained its steady, cheerful whirr. Finally, in a burst of sheer, miniature fury, he managed to flip the butter dish completely upside down. Success! A tiny, greasy victory.
A noise from the living room froze me in place. It was a soft clicking, like tiny claws tapping against a hard surface. My heart pounded in my ears as I cautiously made my way towards the sound. The living room was bathed in an unnatural blue light, and in the center of the room, a colossal, shimmering crab form was taking shape. It was as if the twelve had merged into one, a monstrous, pulsating entity.
screengrab of Moksha error: Moksha Be right back. We are currently fixing a minor issue. The Moksha system will return shortly.
F███████ is a little annoyed thinking if not for M███████ or D███████, maybe he would be still alive and be with his wife and survive a lifetime normally.
Three figures sat behind a desk of polished bone, their hands literally fused into the keyboards, flesh knitting with plastic and silicon until you couldn’t tell where the man ended and the machine began.
To stay silent was to let them untie their shoes in peace.
The villagers, amazed by the sudden appearance of the exquisitely patterned insects, and recalling the fate of the proud aristocrat who disappeared near the woods, had no doubt.
there is a sleepy baby owl in the hollow of the tree. it is of similar texture and colour of the tree.
Analysis (Data Echo): This is not preservation; it's crystallisation of information. The subject's form remains, but the physical reality has been discarded. The Unknown entity currently designated as "The Weaver" has pulled the hiker's entire data structure — all the facts of its life — and rendered it in this thread-like form. It is some kind of metadata harvesting.
Text reads Extremely Weird Self-Splatter Steve Rasnic Tem, “Dermis” Suvajeet Duttagupta, “The Weight of the Dark” J. Rohr, “A Parent Sacrifices”
Oh no! (500 error) Error is boundless. Nor hope nor doubt, Though both be groundless, Will average out. By J.V. Cunningham, from "Meditation on Statistical Method"
Chris offered a small, almost hopeful smile. “So, Aniruddh. My shift ends in an hour. You want to come meet the dog?”
screen grab showing 32°C in the evening and Humidity of 75%
​For seven days, the rain screamed. On the eighth day, the sun rose, cold and indifferent. Then came the crunch of gravel. Two officers stood at the door.
Screengrab of the website, you can see the header of HEXFILED with different sections. Then an artwork with lots of trees/deep forest, with the Title: The Weaver's Thicket by Dr. Suvajeet Duttagpta. a navigation bar, and then the first paragraph of the story. Our mission was to find the source of the blue light and analyse it. We first had to cut through the normal woods: the messy, chaotic, beautiful wilderness of the national park, where the air was filled with sweet fragrance of Mahua and the undergrowth was a tangle of moss and the unique scent of decaying leaves in the damp soil. Life ended abruptly as we crossed the perimeter and entered the Thicket. The air tasted sharply of burnt wiring and old rusted coins, a noxious scent that stung my sinuses without causing pain. It was the first, and perhaps the most honest warning that we were no longer in nature.