The American Civil War tipped the scales for sad stories, many of which wrench the heart, even today. It reveals an era stacked with gloomy playing cards, cheerless scarecrows, heartsick yarns, and war-torn dilapidation. These are flora and fauna, these essentiality. The distinctive dream-escapee tasted life till it died; the bursting of bubbles, the swipe of found-less islands. Enheartenment looks not like a gratuity, windfall, or sweepstakes hit. It is not about happiness, joy, bliss or blessedness. Inflated words solicit us to their lip-service. Instead, a tidbit inspirits, a morsel of food enraptures, and a mere scent sends goose bumps up and down the neck. True love breathes not much in these parts, only in diminished silhouettes; all numbed down, reductionism dulls the culture, drives the humdrum, heats the monotonous day. War has come, Gung-ho! — but we are not ready, we have no guns; for soldiering, no skill-set. Go, the politician’s incite…