http://www.dailylove.net/2010/09/91710.html
=)
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Wednesday, 3 August 2011
Friday, 28 January 2011
Smash
Hasegawa arose from his slumber. He threw his blanket aside nonchalantly and rose to his feet. Slowly, he paces to the valuable shiny silver mirror. He observes his reflection. Newly tattooed symbols on his shoulders were still sore.
He drew a deep breath, held it momentarily before exhaling it forcibly.
And he went back to sleep.
Tuesday, 1 June 2010
What Is This Feeling - So Sudden and Foreign?
"Come, I'll walk you home," he says to me, concern lingering in his voice.
I ignore him.
"It's raining..." he holds out an umbrella and follows me, shielding me from the rain.
I duck out from underneath the cover, letting the raindrops fall on me.
I hear him sigh behind me.
"Fine, take this then," he hands me the umbrella and hurries across the street before I could refuse him yet again.
I stare at the handle, unsure of this gesture of kindness.
I was tempted to squash the very show of genorisity, and throw the evidence of it on the ground.
I didn't though, I walked home with the umbrella in my hand, as if nothing was amiss.
As I was busy drying my hair, my glance went back to the soggy umbrella, sitting by my door.
"Damn it," I said aloud.
I made plans to leave it by his desk tomorrow.
I couldn't understand him. I couldn't understand why he bothered. Especially when I have been nothing but cold. Cold wasn't even the word. I was, quite frankly, a bitch.
My mind involuntarily flashed back to a scene I would rather just forget. He had the misfortune of having me as a lab partner. I kind of pitied him, I wasn't much of a team player.
"Here, I got a band-aid from the TA,"
"I'm fine. Let's just finish this experiment, I want to get out of here," I muttered.
I had my fingers wrapped around a small cut on my palm, plugging the wound.
I stared up at him and was surprised to be met with his eyes. He gawked at me as if I had slapped him.
"Why do you always assume the worst in people? And here, just take the stupid bandage." He said with a scowl on his face.
I was a little taken aback, I did not expect such an interrogation coming from him.
"Because they have never given me any reason to assume otherwise," I challenged. I still ignored the flesh-colored bandage he was holding out to me. He finally gave up and just placed the thing on my side of the counter.
He was trying to read me further, but it was too late, my face was back to being painted a nice neutral.
Somewhere along the line, I had stopped caring and started being indifferent. It made life simpler, less stressful. In doing so, I had forgotten how it feels like to care for someone else.
I was a coward, still am a coward. I play it safe, never daring to take risks. My comfort zone is my shell.
I would hold myself back, hold myself at a distance. I was deathly afraid of peering over my carefully built barrier. So fearful of putting myself out there, to form actual human relationships. I decided that temporary happiness was not worth a moment's vulnerability.
Thinking of him, the stubborn guy with the umbrella and the band-aid. My insides are at once, raw and numb, begging for relief yet unsure of where to start treating it.
Am I possibly feeling moved? Touched?
I ignore him.
"It's raining..." he holds out an umbrella and follows me, shielding me from the rain.
I duck out from underneath the cover, letting the raindrops fall on me.
I hear him sigh behind me.
"Fine, take this then," he hands me the umbrella and hurries across the street before I could refuse him yet again.
I stare at the handle, unsure of this gesture of kindness.
I was tempted to squash the very show of genorisity, and throw the evidence of it on the ground.
I didn't though, I walked home with the umbrella in my hand, as if nothing was amiss.
As I was busy drying my hair, my glance went back to the soggy umbrella, sitting by my door.
"Damn it," I said aloud.
I made plans to leave it by his desk tomorrow.
I couldn't understand him. I couldn't understand why he bothered. Especially when I have been nothing but cold. Cold wasn't even the word. I was, quite frankly, a bitch.
My mind involuntarily flashed back to a scene I would rather just forget. He had the misfortune of having me as a lab partner. I kind of pitied him, I wasn't much of a team player.
"Here, I got a band-aid from the TA,"
"I'm fine. Let's just finish this experiment, I want to get out of here," I muttered.
I had my fingers wrapped around a small cut on my palm, plugging the wound.
I stared up at him and was surprised to be met with his eyes. He gawked at me as if I had slapped him.
"Why do you always assume the worst in people? And here, just take the stupid bandage." He said with a scowl on his face.
I was a little taken aback, I did not expect such an interrogation coming from him.
"Because they have never given me any reason to assume otherwise," I challenged. I still ignored the flesh-colored bandage he was holding out to me. He finally gave up and just placed the thing on my side of the counter.
He was trying to read me further, but it was too late, my face was back to being painted a nice neutral.
Somewhere along the line, I had stopped caring and started being indifferent. It made life simpler, less stressful. In doing so, I had forgotten how it feels like to care for someone else.
I was a coward, still am a coward. I play it safe, never daring to take risks. My comfort zone is my shell.
I would hold myself back, hold myself at a distance. I was deathly afraid of peering over my carefully built barrier. So fearful of putting myself out there, to form actual human relationships. I decided that temporary happiness was not worth a moment's vulnerability.
Thinking of him, the stubborn guy with the umbrella and the band-aid. My insides are at once, raw and numb, begging for relief yet unsure of where to start treating it.
Am I possibly feeling moved? Touched?
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
One day I asked him. "Mister Wordsworth, why you does keep all this bush in your yard? Ain't it does make the place damp?"
He said, "Listen, and I will tell you a story. Once upon a time a boy and girl met each other and they fell in love. They loved each other so much they got married. They were both poets. He loved words. She loved grass and flowers and tress. They lived happily in a single room, and then one day, the girl poet said to the boy poet, 'We are going to have another poet in the family.' But this poet was never born, because the girl died, and the young poet died with her, inside her. And the girl's husband was very sad, and he said he would never touch a thing in the girl's garden. And so the garden remained, and grew high and wild."
I looked at B. Wordsworth, and as he told me this lovely story, he seemed to grow older. I understood his story.
Excerpt from B. Wordsworth, V.S. Naipaul
He said, "Listen, and I will tell you a story. Once upon a time a boy and girl met each other and they fell in love. They loved each other so much they got married. They were both poets. He loved words. She loved grass and flowers and tress. They lived happily in a single room, and then one day, the girl poet said to the boy poet, 'We are going to have another poet in the family.' But this poet was never born, because the girl died, and the young poet died with her, inside her. And the girl's husband was very sad, and he said he would never touch a thing in the girl's garden. And so the garden remained, and grew high and wild."
I looked at B. Wordsworth, and as he told me this lovely story, he seemed to grow older. I understood his story.
Excerpt from B. Wordsworth, V.S. Naipaul
Saturday, 26 December 2009
Colours return (Part 2)
"Asheroth."
Familiar voice.
"Asheroth."
The voice came again.
"Asheroth."
Firmer. But who's Asheroth anyway?
The throbbing in my temples somewhat subsided, and I risked opening eyes, only to regret doing so. The surroundings were a still bit too bright and my headache returned. I closed my eyes again, groaning. The unknown person gave an audible sigh of relief.
"Who are you?" I asked the stranger, and strangely I didn't feel that he was an intruder nor had any ill intentions. Yet, I asked, "What are you doing in my house?"
"Good, you're back," came the reply.
Then I heard a small "whoosh" and felt a weird breeze.
"Hey, who are you?" I asked again. I wasn't sure why I wanted to know who that stranger was, and why I didn't feel threatened. And I felt really confused. What happened to me? Who was that unidentified man?
I gently opened my eyes and tried to ignore the brightness.
Nobody.
"Where did he go?" I wondered aloud.
What happened? I was suddenly alarmed that I can't remember anything before the time I heard that stranger calling out for someone with a strange name. Asheroth? I observed my surroundings. Yes, this IS my house. I've lived here for 19 years. Yet, I had this odd feeling that I couldn't put into words.
It was like waking up from a really long sleep, from a really bad dream that felt so long to the extent you can't remember reality.
Who am I?
I got up and I realized I was wearing weird clothes. Clothes which I don't remember owning or purchasing. And someone was playing my piano, because the fallboard was up.
What is going on?
Familiar voice.
"Asheroth."
The voice came again.
"Asheroth."
Firmer. But who's Asheroth anyway?
The throbbing in my temples somewhat subsided, and I risked opening eyes, only to regret doing so. The surroundings were a still bit too bright and my headache returned. I closed my eyes again, groaning. The unknown person gave an audible sigh of relief.
"Who are you?" I asked the stranger, and strangely I didn't feel that he was an intruder nor had any ill intentions. Yet, I asked, "What are you doing in my house?"
"Good, you're back," came the reply.
Then I heard a small "whoosh" and felt a weird breeze.
"Hey, who are you?" I asked again. I wasn't sure why I wanted to know who that stranger was, and why I didn't feel threatened. And I felt really confused. What happened to me? Who was that unidentified man?
I gently opened my eyes and tried to ignore the brightness.
Nobody.
"Where did he go?" I wondered aloud.
What happened? I was suddenly alarmed that I can't remember anything before the time I heard that stranger calling out for someone with a strange name. Asheroth? I observed my surroundings. Yes, this IS my house. I've lived here for 19 years. Yet, I had this odd feeling that I couldn't put into words.
It was like waking up from a really long sleep, from a really bad dream that felt so long to the extent you can't remember reality.
Who am I?
I got up and I realized I was wearing weird clothes. Clothes which I don't remember owning or purchasing. And someone was playing my piano, because the fallboard was up.
What is going on?
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
Colours return (Part 1)
The black of the night sky hides the bashful twinkling stars. I allow my brown irises to relax, enlarging my pupils - as black as the velvet blanket of the night sky.
With a mutter of a simple spell, I teleport myself to my intended destination. Gray and startled, the owl flutters away, hooting its displeasure.
"Nice spot, Asheroth," commented BenGarth as he too popped out of oblivion to perch beside me on the brown branch of the tallest tree on the green hill.
"Why on a tree?" BenGarth asked again.
I shrugged, uninterested in answering his question. He put his arms around my shoulder, and teleported us to an unfamiliar room. White walls, large windows, glass door. And I took notice of a black and roughly rectangular object. It was as tall as my height, an arms' length deep, and two arms' length wide. The front had a projection, as if a box was attached to the main body. And at the bottom, there were three brass protrutions which seemed like pedals.
BenGarth smiled, pulled a nearby bench, black like the unknown object. He sat down and gestured for me to come near. I stepped closer, and watched him lift cover off the box-projection, revealing a bright red silk cloth below. And he removed the red cloth, further revealing a great number of straight, small...
"Keys," BenGarth told me. "These things are called keys. You press on them."
Yes. Great number of keys. Black and white. Alternating with a certain pattern.
"What is this?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.
Without answering my query, he began to press on the keys, several at once with both hands. And a chord of the most beautiful sounding notes flooded my ears.
Oh, it's a musical instrument? I realized silently as BenGarth continued to play. And with every bit of dynamism he displayed through his skillful manipulation of the black-white keys, I felt my body sway. A strange stirring began in my heart, and I felt my heart thumping faster faster and faster. I began to sweat. I gulped as I began to feel hot. My fingers mirrored the vibrations of the instrument. Every note, chord. Overwhelming.
Overwhelmingly familiar.
BenGarth's playing gained volume. As he crescendoed, I developed a headache. I clutched my head, and tried to cover my ears.
"Cease this music!" I demanded. My cry was ignored; BenGarth was reaching the climax of his song and pressed on. I stumbled away from my friend and clumsily knocked over a chair. I collapsed to the floor, the headache rising with the wave of notes BenGarth was drumming out. I was in torment, and I began to scream in agony. Yet, the music droned on until the pain was finally too much to bear. My vision became brighter and brighter as a blinding spot of light appeared before my eyes.
I passed out.
With a mutter of a simple spell, I teleport myself to my intended destination. Gray and startled, the owl flutters away, hooting its displeasure.
"Nice spot, Asheroth," commented BenGarth as he too popped out of oblivion to perch beside me on the brown branch of the tallest tree on the green hill.
"Why on a tree?" BenGarth asked again.
I shrugged, uninterested in answering his question. He put his arms around my shoulder, and teleported us to an unfamiliar room. White walls, large windows, glass door. And I took notice of a black and roughly rectangular object. It was as tall as my height, an arms' length deep, and two arms' length wide. The front had a projection, as if a box was attached to the main body. And at the bottom, there were three brass protrutions which seemed like pedals.
BenGarth smiled, pulled a nearby bench, black like the unknown object. He sat down and gestured for me to come near. I stepped closer, and watched him lift cover off the box-projection, revealing a bright red silk cloth below. And he removed the red cloth, further revealing a great number of straight, small...
"Keys," BenGarth told me. "These things are called keys. You press on them."
Yes. Great number of keys. Black and white. Alternating with a certain pattern.
"What is this?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.
Without answering my query, he began to press on the keys, several at once with both hands. And a chord of the most beautiful sounding notes flooded my ears.
Oh, it's a musical instrument? I realized silently as BenGarth continued to play. And with every bit of dynamism he displayed through his skillful manipulation of the black-white keys, I felt my body sway. A strange stirring began in my heart, and I felt my heart thumping faster faster and faster. I began to sweat. I gulped as I began to feel hot. My fingers mirrored the vibrations of the instrument. Every note, chord. Overwhelming.
Overwhelmingly familiar.
BenGarth's playing gained volume. As he crescendoed, I developed a headache. I clutched my head, and tried to cover my ears.
"Cease this music!" I demanded. My cry was ignored; BenGarth was reaching the climax of his song and pressed on. I stumbled away from my friend and clumsily knocked over a chair. I collapsed to the floor, the headache rising with the wave of notes BenGarth was drumming out. I was in torment, and I began to scream in agony. Yet, the music droned on until the pain was finally too much to bear. My vision became brighter and brighter as a blinding spot of light appeared before my eyes.
I passed out.
Thursday, 10 December 2009
Beautiful Nightmare
"Oh!" came her short exclamation.
I just smiled.
She let me into her house.
"Oh my. What a surprise," she commented, half fumbling with the door. She began to clear her things of the table and chairs, trying to make her den look neater and presentable to her guest.
"What are you doing here?" she asked a few moments later, bringing two reasonably large mugs of water. She sipped from one nervously as she slowly sat down opposite me.
I shrugged, and looked at her sheepishly. She blushed noticably. She cleared her throat.
And we just sat there. Quiet. Still.
"Say... uhm..." I awkwardly tried to start a conversation.
"Yeah?" she instantly replied, eager to break the tension. She played with her hair, probably a sign of nervousness.
"Did a man ever tell you that you're beautiful?" I said calmly. Clearly, she was somewhat taken aback at my question, and I could tell she was starting to feel uncomfortable. Before she could answer, I leaned closer to her, and looked her in her eyes.
"You are beautiful. Your narrow eyes, your odd puffy nose, your full lips. The curve of your waist and hips. I like the way you are always spontaneous, and I really like how you laugh at my witty remarks."
She gulped. I held her hand.
"I..." she began to speak.
And I kissed her lips. Next thing we knew, we were making love in her bed. I dozed off gazing at her fair face whilst stroking her long red hair.
A gentle kiss on my cheek woke me up. The room was dimly lit by a candle. It was raining slightly outside.
"Good morning darling," I greeted her.
She smiled, but almost instantly her smiled vanished.
"What's wrong?" I asked gently.
"This. Us." Guilt was written all over her face.
She bit her lower lip. She pulled the blanket away from me, and covered her naked body.
"Please get dressed. And leave," she said coldly without even looking at me.
***
I woke up. What a dream. Maybe this is what they mean by a Beautiful Nightmare.
I just smiled.
She let me into her house.
"Oh my. What a surprise," she commented, half fumbling with the door. She began to clear her things of the table and chairs, trying to make her den look neater and presentable to her guest.
"What are you doing here?" she asked a few moments later, bringing two reasonably large mugs of water. She sipped from one nervously as she slowly sat down opposite me.
I shrugged, and looked at her sheepishly. She blushed noticably. She cleared her throat.
And we just sat there. Quiet. Still.
"Say... uhm..." I awkwardly tried to start a conversation.
"Yeah?" she instantly replied, eager to break the tension. She played with her hair, probably a sign of nervousness.
"Did a man ever tell you that you're beautiful?" I said calmly. Clearly, she was somewhat taken aback at my question, and I could tell she was starting to feel uncomfortable. Before she could answer, I leaned closer to her, and looked her in her eyes.
"You are beautiful. Your narrow eyes, your odd puffy nose, your full lips. The curve of your waist and hips. I like the way you are always spontaneous, and I really like how you laugh at my witty remarks."
She gulped. I held her hand.
"I..." she began to speak.
And I kissed her lips. Next thing we knew, we were making love in her bed. I dozed off gazing at her fair face whilst stroking her long red hair.
A gentle kiss on my cheek woke me up. The room was dimly lit by a candle. It was raining slightly outside.
"Good morning darling," I greeted her.
She smiled, but almost instantly her smiled vanished.
"What's wrong?" I asked gently.
"This. Us." Guilt was written all over her face.
She bit her lower lip. She pulled the blanket away from me, and covered her naked body.
"Please get dressed. And leave," she said coldly without even looking at me.
***
I woke up. What a dream. Maybe this is what they mean by a Beautiful Nightmare.
Monday, 17 August 2009
How to Apologize to Your Girlfriend
"You're late," she said quietly.
I nodded guiltily. I knew tardiness was one of the few things she couldn't stand. I racked my mind for excuses, but I didn't have any. I'd overslept, thanks to my "trusty" alarm clock. I wasn't a morning person. Maybe I should have gone to bed earlier, not watched that movie with my friends, not help out the new kids who'd arrived last night, not surfed the net for...
I kicked myself. No excuses. This wasn't the first time, either.
"Can I make it up to you somehow?" Silly question, really. I thought it would show her how sorry I was, but the moment it left my mouth I realized that I was only asking because I didn't know how to apologize. And asking the girl you'd wronged for advice on how to correct a wrong was insensitive and unintelligent, to say the least. I winced inwardly.
"Try to," she replied. Then she turned and walked away.
I watched her retreating back, trying to make sense of her words. My lack of sleep did not aid my inner disorientation. "I love you," I shouted after her, but she didn't acknowledge it. I saw her make the tiniest shake of her head, but she kept on walking.
Nice way of showing her that you do, an inner voice said wryly. I kicked myself again. Of course she wouldn't appreciate a declaration of love right now. My poor choices of words weren't helping. I needed an EQ boost.
I sat down and wracked my brains. How could I possibly make up for being late again? It's not like I hadn't done it before, and in all probability I'd do it again. A simple "I'm sorry, I won't do it again" note wouldn't suffice, and would most likely be dishonest, too. How do you apologize for a character failing?
I snapped my fingers. Flowers. Six red roses. The universal "I messed up but I still love you" indicator. I hurried over to the florist, but they were closed. I pounded on the door in the hope that somebody, anybody, would aid me in my desperation. The woman inside glanced at me, rolled her eyes, and pointed to a sign above that said, "FLOWERS = INSINCERE APOLOGY. GO AWAY." I slumped to the ground in defeat. The woman was right. She didn't like flowers anyway.
The it hit me. Chocolate. She loved chocolate. Yes, the creamy dark kind... Breaking into a run, I dashed into a nearby grocery store and picked out the largest box of chocolates I could find. But as I approached the counter, the cashier gave me a once-over, sighed, and said, "Honey, if that's an apology, forget it. She deserves better." My mouth dropped open. Was I really that obvious?
"Bb..but...but..."
"Trust me, honey." She yanked the box out of my arms.
Dejected, I walked out into the street. I was out of ideas. I wanted nothing more than to go to her and envelope her in a big bear-hug, but I doubted that there was such a thing as a "physical apology" in the female vocabulary. A foot massage, then? A back rub? Maybe. I didn't know.
Then I remembered. She'd told me of her friend who baked a cake for his girlfriend in apology. She hadn't sounded too approving of the idea at the time, but maybe...
The blare of a horn broke my reverie, and I jumped back onto the sidewalk just in time to look up and see the bus driver shaking his fist at me. JUST DO IT, the bus' Nike logo shouted at me as it zoomed by. I wondered if it was a sign.
...
Two hours and an exploded oven later, I knew it wasn't. I was no baker. Covered in flour, I collapsed onto my bed and squeezed my eyes shut. "Never give a nerd a cookbook," I muttered to myself.
My eyes snapped open. I was a nerd. Nerds don't give up, they Google. I hurried over to my computer.
"HOW TO APOLOGIZE TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND by Rosecrans Baldwin" jumped out at me. Perfect, I thought.
"Feel free to use any tactic that seems relevant:
Bewildered, it took me 2 minutes to realise that the writer was being sarcastic. I read the article again. "Lose a leg; who's sorry now?" I cringed in sociopathic ecstasy.
It looked like the trusted Net wasn't going to be any help. None of the guys knew any better, and the gals sure weren't telling. I wasn't crazy yet, but I sure was was getting desperate.
"Take her away. I'm sorry sir, but your wife is as crazy as a jaybird."
"I'm going to send you to the booby-hatch!"
I groaned.
***
At precisely 9 pm, her doorbell rang. She opened the door, and without a word I handed her the package I'd brought.
"What's this?" she asked.
"A gun, so you can shoot me," I quipped.
Giving me her "that's-so-lame" look, she ripped open the package. Inside were a few sheafs of paper. She read the title and the first few lines:
How to Apologize to Your Girlfriend
"You're late," she said quietly.
I nodded guiltily. I knew tardiness was one of the few things she couldn't stand....
She looked up and gave me a quizzical look. I tried to look guilty but failed. I grinned.
"Want to join me for supper tonight?"
She rolled her eyes. "Guys," she muttered. Then she smiled, and everything was alright.
I nodded guiltily. I knew tardiness was one of the few things she couldn't stand. I racked my mind for excuses, but I didn't have any. I'd overslept, thanks to my "trusty" alarm clock. I wasn't a morning person. Maybe I should have gone to bed earlier, not watched that movie with my friends, not help out the new kids who'd arrived last night, not surfed the net for...
I kicked myself. No excuses. This wasn't the first time, either.
"Can I make it up to you somehow?" Silly question, really. I thought it would show her how sorry I was, but the moment it left my mouth I realized that I was only asking because I didn't know how to apologize. And asking the girl you'd wronged for advice on how to correct a wrong was insensitive and unintelligent, to say the least. I winced inwardly.
"Try to," she replied. Then she turned and walked away.
I watched her retreating back, trying to make sense of her words. My lack of sleep did not aid my inner disorientation. "I love you," I shouted after her, but she didn't acknowledge it. I saw her make the tiniest shake of her head, but she kept on walking.
Nice way of showing her that you do, an inner voice said wryly. I kicked myself again. Of course she wouldn't appreciate a declaration of love right now. My poor choices of words weren't helping. I needed an EQ boost.
I sat down and wracked my brains. How could I possibly make up for being late again? It's not like I hadn't done it before, and in all probability I'd do it again. A simple "I'm sorry, I won't do it again" note wouldn't suffice, and would most likely be dishonest, too. How do you apologize for a character failing?
I snapped my fingers. Flowers. Six red roses. The universal "I messed up but I still love you" indicator. I hurried over to the florist, but they were closed. I pounded on the door in the hope that somebody, anybody, would aid me in my desperation. The woman inside glanced at me, rolled her eyes, and pointed to a sign above that said, "FLOWERS = INSINCERE APOLOGY. GO AWAY." I slumped to the ground in defeat. The woman was right. She didn't like flowers anyway.
The it hit me. Chocolate. She loved chocolate. Yes, the creamy dark kind... Breaking into a run, I dashed into a nearby grocery store and picked out the largest box of chocolates I could find. But as I approached the counter, the cashier gave me a once-over, sighed, and said, "Honey, if that's an apology, forget it. She deserves better." My mouth dropped open. Was I really that obvious?
"Bb..but...but..."
"Trust me, honey." She yanked the box out of my arms.
Dejected, I walked out into the street. I was out of ideas. I wanted nothing more than to go to her and envelope her in a big bear-hug, but I doubted that there was such a thing as a "physical apology" in the female vocabulary. A foot massage, then? A back rub? Maybe. I didn't know.
Then I remembered. She'd told me of her friend who baked a cake for his girlfriend in apology. She hadn't sounded too approving of the idea at the time, but maybe...
The blare of a horn broke my reverie, and I jumped back onto the sidewalk just in time to look up and see the bus driver shaking his fist at me. JUST DO IT, the bus' Nike logo shouted at me as it zoomed by. I wondered if it was a sign.
...
Two hours and an exploded oven later, I knew it wasn't. I was no baker. Covered in flour, I collapsed onto my bed and squeezed my eyes shut. "Never give a nerd a cookbook," I muttered to myself.
My eyes snapped open. I was a nerd. Nerds don't give up, they Google. I hurried over to my computer.
"HOW TO APOLOGIZE TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND by Rosecrans Baldwin" jumped out at me. Perfect, I thought.
"Feel free to use any tactic that seems relevant:
- Say you’ll meet her for dinner at the new, raved about and very expensive restaurant, but don’t show up. That way, she can meet someone new. Phone the maître d’ an hour later and pay for their meal.
- Have her favorite pet stuffed, smiling, with “love is forever” tattooed on its stomach.
- Lose a leg; who’s sorry now?
- Be hungry for her again: After a two-week fast, say you got skinny to show her how awful she’d look if she weren’t so fat.
- Invent her a superhero identity featuring you as the reliable, naïve sidekick in tights. Exploit all entendres—bat caves, lassos of truth, etc.
- Recalibrate her sister’s and mother’s bathroom scales to be ten pounds heavier.
- Give her a dozen roses. Better than that, give her a single rose and a Mercedes. Better than that, fill the Mercedes with shoes. Better than that, dump yourself after she’s driven away.
- Let her use the bathroom pass more often than the other kids.
- Break up with your other girlfriends.
- Pat Benatar said, “Love is a battlefield.” Love is not a battlefield; Iraq is a battlefield, where two thousand American soldiers have died. Isn’t she glad you guys don’t live in Iraq?
- Detail her car.
- Practice apologizing on hookers. If she finds out, explain you wanted to be really sorry.
- Sign her up for a Match.com account.
- Send her on a beach vacation to Australia. On her trip home, arrange for her plane to crash on a remote island in the South Pacific. Stalk her with monsters, handsome men with five o’clock shadows, and a shark with a weird logo on its flank. Two weeks later, arrange for her to find a new iPod in the sand loaded with a home movie of your apology.
- Legally change your name—to your pet name.
- Does your girlfriend like opera? So does Ewan McGregor. Inscribe his cell phone number (07761554841) down the side of a nine-inch rubber.
- Take the day off, go to Six Flags, and buy her all the souvenirs she would have wanted. Make sure you get a photo of yourself being sick after too many roller coasters.
- Tip her 20 bucks."
Bewildered, it took me 2 minutes to realise that the writer was being sarcastic. I read the article again. "Lose a leg; who's sorry now?" I cringed in sociopathic ecstasy.
It looked like the trusted Net wasn't going to be any help. None of the guys knew any better, and the gals sure weren't telling. I wasn't crazy yet, but I sure was was getting desperate.
"Take her away. I'm sorry sir, but your wife is as crazy as a jaybird."
"I'm going to send you to the booby-hatch!"
I groaned.
***
At precisely 9 pm, her doorbell rang. She opened the door, and without a word I handed her the package I'd brought.
"What's this?" she asked.
"A gun, so you can shoot me," I quipped.
Giving me her "that's-so-lame" look, she ripped open the package. Inside were a few sheafs of paper. She read the title and the first few lines:
How to Apologize to Your Girlfriend
"You're late," she said quietly.
I nodded guiltily. I knew tardiness was one of the few things she couldn't stand....
She looked up and gave me a quizzical look. I tried to look guilty but failed. I grinned.
"Want to join me for supper tonight?"
She rolled her eyes. "Guys," she muttered. Then she smiled, and everything was alright.
Wednesday, 17 December 2008
I'm "special"
"What do you mean you're special? Of course you're special to me," she said as her beautiful, innocent eyes met mine. Her gaze was pure, trying to dive into my soul, to unlock the mystery hidden behind my unfathomable face.
"Well, yeah.. but that's not what I meant," I said, nearly stammering, struggling to get my point across.
"Hmm?" she prompted gently, her right eyebrow raised. Her chin rested on her gentle hands. Sweet smile. My heart ached. The pressure. The beating of my heart. The thunder roaring in my mind. The pounding at my temples. The blood rushing to my cheeks, making me blush.
"I'm.. different," I mumbled, nearly inaudible.
"I know. I love you, and I respect you. And I'm ready to listen. I'm willing to wait, as long as it takes for you to gather your words, and for you to tell me what it is you want to tell me," she said as she reached her left hand out, offering to me.
I heard something break. I think it sounded like my heart.
"You know, I really treasure you," I spoke with difficulty.
She smiled back at me. "I love you dear..."
"Honestly..." I began. I've got to own up - better now than later.
A frown began to form on her forehead.
"I... I... " I couldn't bring myself to say it.
She just kept quiet. Tears started to well at her eyes, threatening to fall. Raindrops begin to drip - drip, drip, drip on the roof.
"I don't love you, not the way you love me," I blurted.
Thunder roared, and the rain began to pour. Her tears fell.
"Is it another woman? Who?" Her eyes were full of venom, her tears proved her sorrow, her facial expression betraying her anger.
"No.. it's a man," I finally confessed.
She looked confused. For a moment, her anger dissipated - she was distracted.
"I'm a homosexual."
"Well, yeah.. but that's not what I meant," I said, nearly stammering, struggling to get my point across.
"Hmm?" she prompted gently, her right eyebrow raised. Her chin rested on her gentle hands. Sweet smile. My heart ached. The pressure. The beating of my heart. The thunder roaring in my mind. The pounding at my temples. The blood rushing to my cheeks, making me blush.
"I'm.. different," I mumbled, nearly inaudible.
"I know. I love you, and I respect you. And I'm ready to listen. I'm willing to wait, as long as it takes for you to gather your words, and for you to tell me what it is you want to tell me," she said as she reached her left hand out, offering to me.
I heard something break. I think it sounded like my heart.
"You know, I really treasure you," I spoke with difficulty.
She smiled back at me. "I love you dear..."
"Honestly..." I began. I've got to own up - better now than later.
A frown began to form on her forehead.
"I... I... " I couldn't bring myself to say it.
She just kept quiet. Tears started to well at her eyes, threatening to fall. Raindrops begin to drip - drip, drip, drip on the roof.
"I don't love you, not the way you love me," I blurted.
Thunder roared, and the rain began to pour. Her tears fell.
"Is it another woman? Who?" Her eyes were full of venom, her tears proved her sorrow, her facial expression betraying her anger.
"No.. it's a man," I finally confessed.
She looked confused. For a moment, her anger dissipated - she was distracted.
"I'm a homosexual."
Monday, 1 December 2008
Cryptic Writings at 2:00 A.M
I once had a dream that did not make sense. Of course, most dreams do not make sense. They tend to defy time and space (once, I was in a dream where I was in an open field and also in a vaguely familiar living room, at the same time), or sometimes anachronistic (two friends were talking to one another in a dream. I know them both, though they don't know each other. They were talking about an event both of them knew nothing about).
At any rate, I once had a dream that did not make sense. I do not remember the details, but in it there was a pale little girl in a white dress. The kind little girls tend to wear, no doubt forced upon by parents, but that is beside the point. She had black-hollow eyes, her hair long and fluid, and a mouthful of fangs, blood dripping onto her white dress.
She was trying to tell me something, in that dream, though I do not remember what. No one takes very seriously what a little girl in a bloodied dress would say anyway. She guided me, in that dream, to a place I have forgotten. It was distinctly unpleasant.
The distressing part was not the dream itself, but that fracture of a second upon waking from that dream, where I discover that it is still night, and in the darkness of my room a little girl stood silently. White dress. Bloodstained. Fangs. It was only a small moment, but I knew she was there. In the darkness. Staring at me.
I should be careful which dreams I choose to manifest into reality.
Thank you.
****
Note:
This story was written by a person named Shahriman Latif. He's from Subang Jaya, or at least according to his blog Demented Reality.
Do drop by Shahriman's blog for more interesting stuff!
P/S Don't do anything to the title, because that's what it looks like in Demented Reality. And, sorry I'm too lazy to think of any stories - I mean, come on, my holidays just started, I wanna chill a little bit.
At any rate, I once had a dream that did not make sense. I do not remember the details, but in it there was a pale little girl in a white dress. The kind little girls tend to wear, no doubt forced upon by parents, but that is beside the point. She had black-hollow eyes, her hair long and fluid, and a mouthful of fangs, blood dripping onto her white dress.
She was trying to tell me something, in that dream, though I do not remember what. No one takes very seriously what a little girl in a bloodied dress would say anyway. She guided me, in that dream, to a place I have forgotten. It was distinctly unpleasant.
The distressing part was not the dream itself, but that fracture of a second upon waking from that dream, where I discover that it is still night, and in the darkness of my room a little girl stood silently. White dress. Bloodstained. Fangs. It was only a small moment, but I knew she was there. In the darkness. Staring at me.
I should be careful which dreams I choose to manifest into reality.
Thank you.
****
Note:
This story was written by a person named Shahriman Latif. He's from Subang Jaya, or at least according to his blog Demented Reality.
Do drop by Shahriman's blog for more interesting stuff!
P/S Don't do anything to the title, because that's what it looks like in Demented Reality. And, sorry I'm too lazy to think of any stories - I mean, come on, my holidays just started, I wanna chill a little bit.
Thursday, 20 November 2008
The Invasion
I closed my eyes.
Summoned to a duty of higher importance, my remaining senses instantly sharpened. Every stimulus in the room became magnified to my receptors. The jumbled voices were also beginning to separate; Distinctions between tones could now be identified.
I listened harder. The muffled words finally took on a definite sentence structure of their own, forming a clear picture of what was going through their minds.
She had two jobs and five kids. He had just celebrated his daughter's first birthday. She was in love with the little black dress on sale. He was struggling to save his marriage. She had suicidal tendencies. He was looking forward to the 8 o'clock news.
With every thought I deciphered, the emotions linked to them coursed through my body like jolts of electricity. Enough, enough! I screamed silently, unable to bear the sudden onslaught of sensations, switching to and fro in the blink of an eye. In a desperate attempt to silence the voices, my eyes flew open, but to no avail. They reverberated around me, filling up every last unoccupied space in the room. Stop, stop..no...
I slumped to the floor in defeat, the voices still clawing at me, refusing to let go.
She was right.
Summoned to a duty of higher importance, my remaining senses instantly sharpened. Every stimulus in the room became magnified to my receptors. The jumbled voices were also beginning to separate; Distinctions between tones could now be identified.
I listened harder. The muffled words finally took on a definite sentence structure of their own, forming a clear picture of what was going through their minds.
She had two jobs and five kids. He had just celebrated his daughter's first birthday. She was in love with the little black dress on sale. He was struggling to save his marriage. She had suicidal tendencies. He was looking forward to the 8 o'clock news.
With every thought I deciphered, the emotions linked to them coursed through my body like jolts of electricity. Enough, enough! I screamed silently, unable to bear the sudden onslaught of sensations, switching to and fro in the blink of an eye. In a desperate attempt to silence the voices, my eyes flew open, but to no avail. They reverberated around me, filling up every last unoccupied space in the room. Stop, stop..no...
I slumped to the floor in defeat, the voices still clawing at me, refusing to let go.
She was right.
Thursday, 6 November 2008
Insecurity
She curled up on the couch, restlessless and apathy only thinly veiling the distress eating into her.
She thought of her. Casey, who was superior in every way - her sense of style, her blemish-free complexion, her magnetism. The way her eyes sparkled, the way she flipped her luxurious long hair, the way she looked at people that made them believe they were the most important people in the world to her. Boys flirted with her, even if she didn't always flirt back. She had a steady flow of admirers whom she never gave any false hope to, yet ardently pursued her as if they were oblivious to the futility of their chase.
She sat in the cafe, waiting for Matt. It was nine already. Nine, and he said he'd be there by eight fifty. It was uncharacteristic of him to be late, even by a few minutes. Not that she was worried - 10 minutes was not that big a deal. Then she heard them coming up to her. What was Casey doing here?
"Hey hun, sorry I'm late. I met Casey on the way here and stopped for a chat. Guess I lost track of time."
Casey. Why did Casey have to look so pretty? If that wasn't bad enough, Matt was one of Casey's closest friends. She obviously paled in comparison to the vivacious, popular girl. Painfully obviously.
***
He looked at her questioningly. She hadn't been herself for the past few days, and every time he asked what was wrong, she just brushed off the question. Not that she was fooling him, he knew her too well for that. He had to find out what was going on. Was it something he said? Something he did? Why wouldn't she just tell him then? Why did girls have to be so secretive and complex? He heaved a perplexed, inaudible sigh.
Walking over to the couch, he snuggled up against her. She moved over to make room for him, but he stopped her by pulling her waist closer. She smiled, and let him have his way. Then he tilted her chin up and looked her in the eye.
"Georgie, are you okay?" The tenderness in his voice was heartfelt. It was times like these that he wished he could read her thoughts instead of being left out in the dark.
"I don't know."
"Talk to me. You know I care."
I know you do. But she's so pretty. She's perfect. I'm inferior to her. I wish I were prettier and more perfect. Then maybe I wouldn't feel this way about her.
"How's Casey?"
"What does she have to do with this?" He was puzzled, "Look, don't try to change the topic, okay? I wanna know what's wrong. I really do."
"Tell me why you love me."
"Uh, okay. You're beautiful, you're funny, you're intelligent, you're lovable and I love you because you're you. Don't you know that already? Not that I mind reminding you, of course. " He smiled, still unsure of what she was getting at.
"I'm not as pretty as Casey is," she murmured softly.
He suddenly understood.
"Georgie, you're the one I love. She's just a friend. You don't doubt me, do you?"
"No." Then she fell silent again. He knew he had to do better than that. Casey was just a friend, nothing more. But maybe, just maybe, he'd been spending a little too much time with her lately.
"Georgie, Georgie. Look at me."
She met his gaze.
"I love you. I don't know what's bothering you exactly, but I love you. When I say you're beautiful, I mean it. Casey is pretty, but that doesn't mean you can't measure up to her. I don't like Casey in any other way. She's just a friend. You're the one I can't go a day without thinking about."
"Why?"
"You see through me like no one else does. You make my heart feel like it's about to burst with love for you. You make me laugh and brighten up my day whenever I need to be cheered up. I...I'm not an eloquent person and I don't always know the right things to say, like right now. But one thing I know, I love you like I've never loved anyone before, and you're definitely not getting any competition from Casey."
He stroked her cheek gently, earnestly looking into her eyes.
"I love you too."
And her heart felt so much lighter, unexpectedly.
[Author's note : Not one of my best pieces, but I guess it'll have to do. Note to self : Don't write stories at 12 midnight with a half-fried brain from the saturation of all sorts of subjects. Hehe.]
Tuesday, 14 October 2008
Sanctuary
"We're stranded," I said softly.
"Really?" She asked, moving up beside me.
"Look," I pointed. The stormy sea had risen more than ten feet, and waves were cascading over the narrow causeway that was our only link to the rest of the world.
From our lofty view at the top of the lighthouse, we watched in silence as the angry storm roared its challenge at the world. None but the wind answered, its howling voice matching the thundering crashes of thunder.
"How long will we be stuck here?" Her quiet question rose above the din outside.
"I don't know. A few days, probably. This storm looks pretty bad," I answered absently, my attention still drawn to the mighty display of force outside that Mother Nature had conjured.
Her touch was light as she gently linked her fingers with mine. I turned to look at her.
"Good," she said simply, as her face broke into a soft smile.
Turning back to face the storm, we watched quietly with our fingers linked, silent observers of the fury outside that, for all its might, could not tear down the peace that reigned in our little sanctuary.
To be continued...
"Really?" She asked, moving up beside me.
"Look," I pointed. The stormy sea had risen more than ten feet, and waves were cascading over the narrow causeway that was our only link to the rest of the world.
From our lofty view at the top of the lighthouse, we watched in silence as the angry storm roared its challenge at the world. None but the wind answered, its howling voice matching the thundering crashes of thunder.
"How long will we be stuck here?" Her quiet question rose above the din outside.
"I don't know. A few days, probably. This storm looks pretty bad," I answered absently, my attention still drawn to the mighty display of force outside that Mother Nature had conjured.
Her touch was light as she gently linked her fingers with mine. I turned to look at her.
"Good," she said simply, as her face broke into a soft smile.
Turning back to face the storm, we watched quietly with our fingers linked, silent observers of the fury outside that, for all its might, could not tear down the peace that reigned in our little sanctuary.
To be continued...
Thursday, 2 October 2008
A Date
The crowd cheered and clapped as the actors took one last bow before leaving the stage.
Seona turned and gave me a smile. I squeezed her hand gently and smiled back. It was quite unbelievable that I was in love with a girl who I thought I wouldn't be in love with. And just like all those mawkish love stories I've listened to, I'm the Romeo who speaks to his Juliet with his eyes and smiles.
Yea, truly with that simple gaze, smile and squeeze, countless words were exchanged. I don't think either one of us understood the language we're speaking, but at least our subconscious understood the subliminal messages that were relayed.
We rose, and took slow steps. As I walked her back, we didn't speak a word. Before long, we arrived at her doorstep.
"Thank you for spending time with me," I told her. I kissed her hand.
"Xeo, I like spending time with you. Thank you," Seona replied.
I couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was under the moonlight. Damn it, all the soppy songs sung by those lovestruck minstrels, I'm like the men they sing about!
She leaned close and kissed me.
"Good night Xeo," she said as she gently loosed her fingers from mine and went into her house.
I smiled.
Seona turned and gave me a smile. I squeezed her hand gently and smiled back. It was quite unbelievable that I was in love with a girl who I thought I wouldn't be in love with. And just like all those mawkish love stories I've listened to, I'm the Romeo who speaks to his Juliet with his eyes and smiles.
Yea, truly with that simple gaze, smile and squeeze, countless words were exchanged. I don't think either one of us understood the language we're speaking, but at least our subconscious understood the subliminal messages that were relayed.
We rose, and took slow steps. As I walked her back, we didn't speak a word. Before long, we arrived at her doorstep.
"Thank you for spending time with me," I told her. I kissed her hand.
"Xeo, I like spending time with you. Thank you," Seona replied.
I couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was under the moonlight. Damn it, all the soppy songs sung by those lovestruck minstrels, I'm like the men they sing about!
She leaned close and kissed me.
"Good night Xeo," she said as she gently loosed her fingers from mine and went into her house.
I smiled.
Sunday, 20 July 2008
Teddy Bear Anonymous
Scarlet Brown was a young teenager, full of life, sugar and spice. She was a cheerful and helpful girl and though she led a very-near-perfect life, she was never proud or boastful. Everyone loved Scarlet Brown, and really, she had everything she could wish for. However, one day, Scarlet Brown, with her brown eyes and brown hair, wished for a teddy bear.
So there they were, on that fateful day, in the first toy shop they saw. Scarlet browsed the shelves of soft toys, fingers lightly sweeping the dark mahogany panes, but found nothing to her liking. Disappointed, she shook her head at her parents and they made their way to the exit. As she glanced around the cluttered shop one last time, she suddenly spotted a matted brown ear poking out among the junk at the back of the shop, half hidden in the darkness. Scarlet’s hope now rejuvenated, she hastened towards it, and pulled out an old but soft and fluffy brown teddy bear with a matted ear. She instantly fell in love with the second-hand teddy bear. It took some persuasion and Scarlet’s big brown puppy-dog-eyes before her parents finally relented and bought the teddy bear.
Scarlet was absolutely smitten with her new teddy bear and she carried it around with her everywhere, showing it off whenever she could with such eagerness and pride, it startled a lot of the elderly. Even though they found it unnerving, they just smiled and shrugged it off, thinking it was just a phase.
One night, however, Scarlet suddenly had a nightmare. She was in a sea, and water stretched for miles all around her. Rain poured and lightning forked through the sky, illuminating the dark sky and dark sea surrounding Scarlet. No one heard or responded to her desperate cries for help. She swam for what felt like hours. Fatigue overtook her and she struggled to stay afloat. Slowly, but surely, she began to drown.
Scarlet woke up screaming, bathed in sweat. She at once grabbed her teddy bear closer to her and buried her face in its fur, whimpering softly. She did not dare go back to sleep and she stayed awake, murmuring prayers till the first rays of dawn filtered into her room.
She did not have this nightmare again until a fortnight later. This time, however, it was accompanied by whispers. She heard their mournful voices all around her, enclosing her in this empty void filled with fear and hate. It terrified Scarlet to no end. She told her parents about these nightmares as it began to occur more frequently, getting more horrible each time. For fear of falling asleep, Scarlet continuously took medications and coffee, becoming addicted to the drugs. Soon dark rings formed around her eyes and she became frail and weak. Her face had a ghastly look and she looked years older. Of course, Scarlet became very ill due to her insomnia and she lay bedridden, confined to the vicinity of her room. Her parents were worried sick, but no doctor or psychiatrist could cure her.
A week later, Scarlet disappeared thoroughly, taking her beloved teddy bear with her. No one knew how it happened. She was just suddenly gone. The police looked high and low, but there was not a trace of Scarlet Brown and her unnamed teddy bear. Driven by grief, Scarlet’s parents barred the door of her room and gloom reigned over the Brown household.
Two months later, a body was washed ashore and DNA proved it to be the Brown’s missing daughter, Scarlet. Everyone mourned for Scarlet’s death, for she was such a lovely girl, but none were as affected as her parents. Now mad beyond grief, they made an impulsive decision to move away. As the workers trudged out of their house from unbarring the doorway to Scarlet’s room, her mother pushed open the door. As she took in the dust-filled room and cobwebbed corners, she saw a small brown teddy bear sitting harmlessly on Scarlet’s pillow, dripping wet, with a piece of seaweed dangling from a matted ear, its mouth curved into a small smile.
FIN.
*written by Christine Ling, Ben Ling's sis and Eu Fern's classmate. Reprinted without permission.
Whoa, Malaysia's got talent.
Saturday, 7 June 2008
Far (part 2)
"Aww come on Asheroth! Cheer up!" bellowed Ben-Garth, obviously inebriated from too much ale.
I was still sulking. I broke up with Galena. No, she dumped me. She cheated on me. I downed another tankard of ale, then regretted doing it. I struggled to hold the contents of my stomach in. The din in the Red Tavern wasn't exactly helping my throbbing head either.
"What's the matter?" asked Ben-Garth. He gave me a smack on the back.
I belched and everything came out. The roast pork and all the ale. All over the table and the floor. Barmaids screamed and nimbly jumped aside to avoid the stinking cud-like stuff. My friends guffawed.
I was done, and I looked up to see Ben-Garth turning green. He turned away and barfed as well. I joined my friends in laughing at him.
Suddenly I burst out in tears.
I grabbed Ben-Garth's collar and yanked him roughly.
"Why?" I asked.
Ben-Garth suddenly looked sober.
"Why?" I reiterated.
"I don't know, brother of my soul," came the reply.
"Listen Asheroth," said Reuben, clumsily climbing over our table to sit next to me. "I have no idea - hell, I think even all the gods of the Blazing Hells have no idea - why on Edenia would she leave you."
I looked at Reuben. He drank from the tankard in his hand and continued.
"And more astounding is, she left you for sissy Keltho! Which sane, normal woman, would want a stinking 'prince' from the gods-know-where kingdom of whichever suckling pig, a lousy 'prince' like that asshole Keltho?"
"Aye!" My other friends cried in unison, and almost at the same time drank their ale.
"What an ungrateful bitch!"
"Aye!"
"Forget her, dear friend!" cried Reuben.
"Aye!"
Reuben put his arm around me and said, "Don't worry, we know how to fix this, no?"
He whistled, and waved at the bartender. After a short while, a busty barmaid came by and took my arm. She was as strong as a mare, and she pulled me off my seat. My friends cheered, hooted and whistled.
Reuben pinched the woman's buttock and said to her, "Give him a good time, aye?"
I staggered upstairs as the busty barmaid half-led, half-dragged me upstairs the Red Tavern. I stumbled into an empty room. It smelt of flowers - jasmine, rose and daisy. What happened next was a blur...
Undressing... Kissing... Caressing... Love-making...
The next morning I woke up with a splitting headache. But feeling the warm body of that busty barmaid next to mine... it sort of compensated for the hangover. And the heartache left by Galena.
***
"So how do you feel now?" asked Ben-Garth.
"Better."
He laughed.
"I bet ten gold pieces that you want to do it all over again," said Reuben.
I blushed.
They roared with laughter.
I was still sulking. I broke up with Galena. No, she dumped me. She cheated on me. I downed another tankard of ale, then regretted doing it. I struggled to hold the contents of my stomach in. The din in the Red Tavern wasn't exactly helping my throbbing head either.
"What's the matter?" asked Ben-Garth. He gave me a smack on the back.
I belched and everything came out. The roast pork and all the ale. All over the table and the floor. Barmaids screamed and nimbly jumped aside to avoid the stinking cud-like stuff. My friends guffawed.
I was done, and I looked up to see Ben-Garth turning green. He turned away and barfed as well. I joined my friends in laughing at him.
Suddenly I burst out in tears.
I grabbed Ben-Garth's collar and yanked him roughly.
"Why?" I asked.
Ben-Garth suddenly looked sober.
"Why?" I reiterated.
"I don't know, brother of my soul," came the reply.
"Listen Asheroth," said Reuben, clumsily climbing over our table to sit next to me. "I have no idea - hell, I think even all the gods of the Blazing Hells have no idea - why on Edenia would she leave you."
I looked at Reuben. He drank from the tankard in his hand and continued.
"And more astounding is, she left you for sissy Keltho! Which sane, normal woman, would want a stinking 'prince' from the gods-know-where kingdom of whichever suckling pig, a lousy 'prince' like that asshole Keltho?"
"Aye!" My other friends cried in unison, and almost at the same time drank their ale.
"What an ungrateful bitch!"
"Aye!"
"Forget her, dear friend!" cried Reuben.
"Aye!"
Reuben put his arm around me and said, "Don't worry, we know how to fix this, no?"
He whistled, and waved at the bartender. After a short while, a busty barmaid came by and took my arm. She was as strong as a mare, and she pulled me off my seat. My friends cheered, hooted and whistled.
Reuben pinched the woman's buttock and said to her, "Give him a good time, aye?"
I staggered upstairs as the busty barmaid half-led, half-dragged me upstairs the Red Tavern. I stumbled into an empty room. It smelt of flowers - jasmine, rose and daisy. What happened next was a blur...
Undressing... Kissing... Caressing... Love-making...
The next morning I woke up with a splitting headache. But feeling the warm body of that busty barmaid next to mine... it sort of compensated for the hangover. And the heartache left by Galena.
***
"So how do you feel now?" asked Ben-Garth.
"Better."
He laughed.
"I bet ten gold pieces that you want to do it all over again," said Reuben.
I blushed.
They roared with laughter.
Far (part 1)
Ben-Garth jabbed me in the ribs, disrupting my day-dreaming.
"What's with that look?" he asked.
"What look?"
"What look you ask?" he asked slightly annoyed at my pretending.
I shrugged.
"You know what I mean."
I sighed.
He sighed too.
"Listen Asheroth, you've gotta get yourself together. You're the one who's been stressing on how important it is to stay focussed, not to let personal matters get in the way of business," said Ben-Garth.
My chest felt heavy. Not again. No.
"If you won't talk about it, then fine. But, you must come with me," he continued.
I looked at my old friend's face. He offered his hand, and I took it. He promptly pulled me to my feet. He gave me a slap on my back and rested his arm around my shoulder as we walked towards the town.
My head was blank, my mind was blank. Blank.
Don't. Want. To. Think.
I walked absent-mindedly with Ben-Garth guiding me through the town streets.
"Here we are - The Red Tavern," he said after we walked for a while.
The Red Tavern. Old memories. Lots of ale, lots of fights. And lots of nights with whores in the upper floor of this tavern. Ben-Garth feeling nostalgic tonight?
We stepped into the tavern and Reuben, the owner who was also our close friend, bellowed a greeting. He waved us over, and we went to sit at counter.
"Ho, how long has it been, fellas?" said Reuben in his deep, growling voice. He gave a wide grin.
Ben-Garth whispered something into Reuben's ears and his facial expression changed.
"Oh..." said Reuben, his face showing apprehension. "I'll see what I can do."
Reuben placed two tankards of his best ale on the counter as he called for Camelia, one of his servants. Something fishy was going on, and I had a feeling that I was going to be the centre of all the soon to come hoo-ha. I cautiously sipped on my ale. It didn't smell or taste wrong, so I downed the whole mug. Something inside my head told me that I had just done something very unwise.
"Yes, Master Reuben?" asked Camelia as she appeared from the stairs.
Reuben winked and pointed a finger at me.
Wait, something's wrong....???
"Help me bring him upstairs," said Reuben. Ben-Garth put my right arm over his shoulders as Reuben took my left arm.
Why am I not fighting? What's happening? Blast, so they did drug me.
They brought me up the stairs then into a dim candle-lit room with no windows. I could smell flowers - jasmine, rose, daisy. Then they let me lie on the soft, comfortable bed. I watched the men exiting the room, leaving Camelia. She looked at me as she locked the door.
I tried to get up, suddenly realising what they're planning. Oh, so sweet of them. NOT.
"Please mi'lord," said Camelia in a soft, seductive voice as she tiptoed towards me. "Let me do my work."
"No," I began to retort. "I.. thrink yoush.."
What? Curses, the drug's effects.... I was a blabbering old man sitting on the edge of a bed, with a young nubile girl who was about to make love to me without my consent. Or perhaps the drug's aphrodisiac effect will kick in soon, and the act could no longer be considered rape.
Camelia slowly loosed her gown. "I can help you forget the pain... if you just let me..."
I closed my eyes. My mind was on fire - I can't focus. Damned drug. Neurons firing random impulses. Random sensations at random places. Random images flashing in my eyes. Random random random.
Relax. Gather energy.
Camelia was totally nude in front of me now. Her body was lithe, lovely. Her breasts, her hips, her legs, it seemed like she was glowing. She kissed my lips gently, and her hand was slowly encouraging my manhood.
Relax. Gather energy.
She climbed onto my lap, and pressed her soft breasts against my face. Her hand was still exciting my manhood, and I felt myself hardening.
Gather. Gather. Gather..... GATHER!
She pushed my chest and I fell. My body landed on the soft bed. She undressed me.
I felt my body tingling. Starting to loose control. Damn it, I want that girl!
No, I must not loose it. Just a bit more energy....
Camelia was kissing me everywhere, moaning softly. I was getting pretty excited. It felt good. The drug must have enhanced my senses. Her butterfly lips on my chest, slowly moving towards my belly. She was going lower and lower...
Gather. Gather. Release!
BIND!
I managed to cast the spell! Camelia screamed as an invisible force pushed her away roughly. Invisible cords gripped her arms and legs, rendering her unable to move, and unable to continue her "work". I heaved a sigh of relief, and I was sweating from the effort. I passed out just as I saw Reuben and Ben-Garth coming through the door.
"What's with that look?" he asked.
"What look?"
"What look you ask?" he asked slightly annoyed at my pretending.
I shrugged.
"You know what I mean."
I sighed.
He sighed too.
"Listen Asheroth, you've gotta get yourself together. You're the one who's been stressing on how important it is to stay focussed, not to let personal matters get in the way of business," said Ben-Garth.
My chest felt heavy. Not again. No.
"If you won't talk about it, then fine. But, you must come with me," he continued.
I looked at my old friend's face. He offered his hand, and I took it. He promptly pulled me to my feet. He gave me a slap on my back and rested his arm around my shoulder as we walked towards the town.
My head was blank, my mind was blank. Blank.
Don't. Want. To. Think.
I walked absent-mindedly with Ben-Garth guiding me through the town streets.
"Here we are - The Red Tavern," he said after we walked for a while.
The Red Tavern. Old memories. Lots of ale, lots of fights. And lots of nights with whores in the upper floor of this tavern. Ben-Garth feeling nostalgic tonight?
We stepped into the tavern and Reuben, the owner who was also our close friend, bellowed a greeting. He waved us over, and we went to sit at counter.
"Ho, how long has it been, fellas?" said Reuben in his deep, growling voice. He gave a wide grin.
Ben-Garth whispered something into Reuben's ears and his facial expression changed.
"Oh..." said Reuben, his face showing apprehension. "I'll see what I can do."
Reuben placed two tankards of his best ale on the counter as he called for Camelia, one of his servants. Something fishy was going on, and I had a feeling that I was going to be the centre of all the soon to come hoo-ha. I cautiously sipped on my ale. It didn't smell or taste wrong, so I downed the whole mug. Something inside my head told me that I had just done something very unwise.
"Yes, Master Reuben?" asked Camelia as she appeared from the stairs.
Reuben winked and pointed a finger at me.
Wait, something's wrong....???
"Help me bring him upstairs," said Reuben. Ben-Garth put my right arm over his shoulders as Reuben took my left arm.
Why am I not fighting? What's happening? Blast, so they did drug me.
They brought me up the stairs then into a dim candle-lit room with no windows. I could smell flowers - jasmine, rose, daisy. Then they let me lie on the soft, comfortable bed. I watched the men exiting the room, leaving Camelia. She looked at me as she locked the door.
I tried to get up, suddenly realising what they're planning. Oh, so sweet of them. NOT.
"Please mi'lord," said Camelia in a soft, seductive voice as she tiptoed towards me. "Let me do my work."
"No," I began to retort. "I.. thrink yoush.."
What? Curses, the drug's effects.... I was a blabbering old man sitting on the edge of a bed, with a young nubile girl who was about to make love to me without my consent. Or perhaps the drug's aphrodisiac effect will kick in soon, and the act could no longer be considered rape.
Camelia slowly loosed her gown. "I can help you forget the pain... if you just let me..."
I closed my eyes. My mind was on fire - I can't focus. Damned drug. Neurons firing random impulses. Random sensations at random places. Random images flashing in my eyes. Random random random.
Relax. Gather energy.
Camelia was totally nude in front of me now. Her body was lithe, lovely. Her breasts, her hips, her legs, it seemed like she was glowing. She kissed my lips gently, and her hand was slowly encouraging my manhood.
Relax. Gather energy.
She climbed onto my lap, and pressed her soft breasts against my face. Her hand was still exciting my manhood, and I felt myself hardening.
Gather. Gather. Gather..... GATHER!
She pushed my chest and I fell. My body landed on the soft bed. She undressed me.
I felt my body tingling. Starting to loose control. Damn it, I want that girl!
No, I must not loose it. Just a bit more energy....
Camelia was kissing me everywhere, moaning softly. I was getting pretty excited. It felt good. The drug must have enhanced my senses. Her butterfly lips on my chest, slowly moving towards my belly. She was going lower and lower...
Gather. Gather. Release!
BIND!
I managed to cast the spell! Camelia screamed as an invisible force pushed her away roughly. Invisible cords gripped her arms and legs, rendering her unable to move, and unable to continue her "work". I heaved a sigh of relief, and I was sweating from the effort. I passed out just as I saw Reuben and Ben-Garth coming through the door.
Monday, 26 May 2008
First kiss
Dark night.
The small, crescent moon gives forth a gentle glow, spilling dim light onto our faces.
She smiles softly as we finally reach her doorstep.
"Goodnight," I whisper.
I take one step backwards.
"I want to hug you..." she whispers back.
She surges forward and clutches me in her arms.
She holds me so tightly, just like how she holds my hand so tightly when we walk, I think.
She lets go, to look at my face, and then leans forward and our lips touch. Gently, gently she kissed me. I could feel her dry, cracked lips, meeting with my soft lips.
"I love you. Goodnight..."
***
I awaken with a sudden sense of alarm. I find myself in my bedroom.
Dark. Soundless.
Alone.
Damn, I was dreaming.
I closed my eyes again, and slowly I drifted back into sleep with a sense of hope.
The small, crescent moon gives forth a gentle glow, spilling dim light onto our faces.
She smiles softly as we finally reach her doorstep.
"Goodnight," I whisper.
I take one step backwards.
"I want to hug you..." she whispers back.
She surges forward and clutches me in her arms.
She holds me so tightly, just like how she holds my hand so tightly when we walk, I think.
She lets go, to look at my face, and then leans forward and our lips touch. Gently, gently she kissed me. I could feel her dry, cracked lips, meeting with my soft lips.
"I love you. Goodnight..."
***
I awaken with a sudden sense of alarm. I find myself in my bedroom.
Dark. Soundless.
Alone.
Damn, I was dreaming.
I closed my eyes again, and slowly I drifted back into sleep with a sense of hope.
Saturday, 5 April 2008
You, who?
Angela
I was short of breath as I made my way out of the cafe, it was as though I had participated in a thousand mile marathon. I was determined to leave with as much composure as I could gather, to exhibit some form of bravado. My right hand clutched onto my tote tightly, but my other hand went up to my eyes instinctively, trying to wipe away the fallen beads of salt-laced moisture. The very tears that I kept from flowing before the conversation with her even started.
It was much easier than I had imagined it though - sitting down and having a civilized conversation with someone I would have loved to hate, yet couldn't bring myself to. The words came to me rather naturally, like I had rehearsed them for twenty times the night before. Rehearsed, I had not. Debate, I did. There was an ongoing debate playing out in my head ever since I decided to let this little meeting happen.
Of course, I could have argued that it wasn't my place to say anything. It really was none of my business, after all. I didn't have to tell her. I didn't have to let her know. Her being, of course, Diana. She looked surprised -a little taken aback, even- when I told her everything I knew. Matter of fact, I was still more than a little surprised at myself too.
I didn't do it out of the goodness of my heart. Believe me, I am not nearly noble or kind enough. I really did like James, a lot. But if it was one thing that I've learned all these years, it is that some things cannot be forced. Especially when it comes to feelings. I smirked, amazed at the thoughts I came up with. 'When did spoilt Angela learn to grow up?'
I walked and walked for what seemed like hours, and finally half stumbled onto what looked like a path in a park. I could hear the faint laughter of children and barking dogs in the far distance, hidden in plain view by the tall trees along the pathway. Nature, greenery. Just what I needed. 'A little fresh air would do my head some good,' I thought to myself.
I must have been pretty focused on getting my self-recommended dose of pure oxygen because the next thing I know, I was sitting on the gravel, amidst the pebbles and sand. To say I was disoriented was probably an understatement, I literally had the wind knocked out of me. I must have sat there for a minute or two before I noticed a hand reaching out for mine. I looked up to see a guy around my age, he was staring at me with a look filled with apology and concern. His handsome face was familiar yet I could not place him. Where have I seen him before? I definitely would be able to distinguish his face in a crowd. Hmm...
"Are you alright?" his voice rang through the humid air, subsequently bringing me back from my memory sorting.
I nodded quickly.
He continued to let his arm dangle in front of me, probably thinking I was a lunatic for not getting up by now.
I contemplated for a spilt second before deciding to grasp his hand, he pulled me up and I proceeded to steady myself.
"Ouch!" a sharp pain pulsated up my arm. I had scraped my elbow in the process of breaking my fall.
I am continually amazed by my stunning grace and elegance.
"I am so sorry, I didn't see you when I was turning the corner there," the kind stranger said as he pointed to what looked like the end of the path.
"It's okay, I didn't see you either," I felt bad as well and was half apologizing to him.
He lead me toward a bench and sat me down.
"You're bleeding," he made a rather trivial statement, as if he was making a mental note to himself.
He then produced a handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to hand it to me. "Here, use this,"
"Don't worry about it. I'm fine," I assured him and managed a smile.
"No, at least use it to clean up the wound a bit,"
I was not in the mood to argue so I just obliged and said thanks.
He, on the other hand, was looking like he didn't know what to do with himself now as he sat beside me. I gave him a quick sideway glance and came to conclude that he was obviously out for a run, he was clad in a sweatshirt and a pair sneakers.
In an attempt to break the silence, I decided that I should at least introduce myself.
"Um. I'm Angela, by the way," I uttered, a little awkwardly.
It's not everyday that you meet someone you literally 'bumped into'.
"Oh, nice to meet you. Rather unfortunate we should meet like this though," he smiled easily. "I'm Marshall, for the record I'm not usually this careless,"
We spent the next ten minutes or so chatting. I would have continued the conversation had I not remembered that I was supposed to be elsewhere. My father was going to disown me if I show up late for another one of his important dinner parties.
"Goodness!" I cried as I noticed what time it was already.
"What's wrong?"
"I've got to run," I grabbed my bag as I continued, "It was really great meeting you though, Marshall,"
He laughed and said, "Oh, I don't know about that. You got yourself hurt in the process,"
We said goodbye hastily and I marched towards the exit of the secluded park. On the way out, I realized that I still had his handkerchief with me. I stopped in my tracks and waved the piece of cloth at him. He was still sitting on the bench, leaning over and fixing his shoe laces. I was about to give up and leave when he looked up. He seemed to understand my gestures well enough as he yelled for me to "Just keep it!"
I examined the now slightly bloodstained handkerchief, and ran my finger across a little embroidered letter M on one of the corners.
'I'll return the handkerchief to its owner,' I thought to myself as I hailed and got in a taxi. Only later did I remember that I had no way of contacting him. 'One day.'
-Rachelle-
I was short of breath as I made my way out of the cafe, it was as though I had participated in a thousand mile marathon. I was determined to leave with as much composure as I could gather, to exhibit some form of bravado. My right hand clutched onto my tote tightly, but my other hand went up to my eyes instinctively, trying to wipe away the fallen beads of salt-laced moisture. The very tears that I kept from flowing before the conversation with her even started.
It was much easier than I had imagined it though - sitting down and having a civilized conversation with someone I would have loved to hate, yet couldn't bring myself to. The words came to me rather naturally, like I had rehearsed them for twenty times the night before. Rehearsed, I had not. Debate, I did. There was an ongoing debate playing out in my head ever since I decided to let this little meeting happen.
Of course, I could have argued that it wasn't my place to say anything. It really was none of my business, after all. I didn't have to tell her. I didn't have to let her know. Her being, of course, Diana. She looked surprised -a little taken aback, even- when I told her everything I knew. Matter of fact, I was still more than a little surprised at myself too.
I didn't do it out of the goodness of my heart. Believe me, I am not nearly noble or kind enough. I really did like James, a lot. But if it was one thing that I've learned all these years, it is that some things cannot be forced. Especially when it comes to feelings. I smirked, amazed at the thoughts I came up with. 'When did spoilt Angela learn to grow up?'
I walked and walked for what seemed like hours, and finally half stumbled onto what looked like a path in a park. I could hear the faint laughter of children and barking dogs in the far distance, hidden in plain view by the tall trees along the pathway. Nature, greenery. Just what I needed. 'A little fresh air would do my head some good,' I thought to myself.
I must have been pretty focused on getting my self-recommended dose of pure oxygen because the next thing I know, I was sitting on the gravel, amidst the pebbles and sand. To say I was disoriented was probably an understatement, I literally had the wind knocked out of me. I must have sat there for a minute or two before I noticed a hand reaching out for mine. I looked up to see a guy around my age, he was staring at me with a look filled with apology and concern. His handsome face was familiar yet I could not place him. Where have I seen him before? I definitely would be able to distinguish his face in a crowd. Hmm...
"Are you alright?" his voice rang through the humid air, subsequently bringing me back from my memory sorting.
I nodded quickly.
He continued to let his arm dangle in front of me, probably thinking I was a lunatic for not getting up by now.
I contemplated for a spilt second before deciding to grasp his hand, he pulled me up and I proceeded to steady myself.
"Ouch!" a sharp pain pulsated up my arm. I had scraped my elbow in the process of breaking my fall.
I am continually amazed by my stunning grace and elegance.
"I am so sorry, I didn't see you when I was turning the corner there," the kind stranger said as he pointed to what looked like the end of the path.
"It's okay, I didn't see you either," I felt bad as well and was half apologizing to him.
He lead me toward a bench and sat me down.
"You're bleeding," he made a rather trivial statement, as if he was making a mental note to himself.
He then produced a handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to hand it to me. "Here, use this,"
"Don't worry about it. I'm fine," I assured him and managed a smile.
"No, at least use it to clean up the wound a bit,"
I was not in the mood to argue so I just obliged and said thanks.
He, on the other hand, was looking like he didn't know what to do with himself now as he sat beside me. I gave him a quick sideway glance and came to conclude that he was obviously out for a run, he was clad in a sweatshirt and a pair sneakers.
In an attempt to break the silence, I decided that I should at least introduce myself.
"Um. I'm Angela, by the way," I uttered, a little awkwardly.
It's not everyday that you meet someone you literally 'bumped into'.
"Oh, nice to meet you. Rather unfortunate we should meet like this though," he smiled easily. "I'm Marshall, for the record I'm not usually this careless,"
We spent the next ten minutes or so chatting. I would have continued the conversation had I not remembered that I was supposed to be elsewhere. My father was going to disown me if I show up late for another one of his important dinner parties.
"Goodness!" I cried as I noticed what time it was already.
"What's wrong?"
"I've got to run," I grabbed my bag as I continued, "It was really great meeting you though, Marshall,"
He laughed and said, "Oh, I don't know about that. You got yourself hurt in the process,"
We said goodbye hastily and I marched towards the exit of the secluded park. On the way out, I realized that I still had his handkerchief with me. I stopped in my tracks and waved the piece of cloth at him. He was still sitting on the bench, leaning over and fixing his shoe laces. I was about to give up and leave when he looked up. He seemed to understand my gestures well enough as he yelled for me to "Just keep it!"
I examined the now slightly bloodstained handkerchief, and ran my finger across a little embroidered letter M on one of the corners.
'I'll return the handkerchief to its owner,' I thought to myself as I hailed and got in a taxi. Only later did I remember that I had no way of contacting him. 'One day.'
-Rachelle-
Tuesday, 25 March 2008
Skin deep
Mr Murray
I looked into the mirror. A well-dressed, sharp-looking man stared back. Brushing an imaginary speck of dust off the suit I wore, I studied the image. Life had been kind to me, at least on the surface. My image was perfect, save for the long, faded scar that began on the right side of my neck that disappeared underneath my collar. As always, I traced the scar, feeling and relieving the fiery pain that still smoldered within. There were more scars below, hidden by my shirt, and not all of them were skin-deep. Looking away, I sat down at the mahogany desk, my eyes drawn to the family photo in the ornate photo frame displayed proudly for my clients' viewing. The American Dream. The perfect family. Happy and smiling, safe and secure. Skin-deep. No one sees the tightness in her throat, the tension in my shoulders, or the hand clenched into a fist behind his body. All they see are the smiles. Skin-deep.
A sudden fire welled up in my heart as my eyes fell on the little boy standing with his sister in the middle of the picture. My son, James. My rightful heir. The boy that I had carefully groomed and cultivated in the hope that he would one day become all that I had failed to be. The boy that I had loved with all my heart. And he had been on the brink of throwing his life away. For her. His daughter. The scar on my neck throbbed. For a brief moment my heart filled with an unreasonable sense of betrayal. But I knew it was unreasonable, because James did not know, and so I willed it away. I had done enough. I had hurt James, but I did not regret it. She would only have led him astray. Led him to destruction. I knew because she looked exactly like her father. And I knew her father. Oh, I knew him very well indeed.
My eyes shifted to the left. Frances. I wondered where she was now. She moved out the first chance she got, and never spoke to me again. Even her mother would not tell me anything about her. For the umpteenth time, I wondered where I had gone wrong.
The rapping on the door caught my attention. "Come in," I said immediately. Ah, Marshall. I liked this one. Hardworking, responsible, a tad sad puppy-like, and most importantly, naive. Perfect for my purposes.
"You called me, sir?"
"Yes, yes. I wanted to talk to you."
"What about, sir?"
"I will be hosting a function tonight. And I want you to be present."
"Me, sir? I'm honoured."
"Yes, you, son. You've put up a good job performance around here. That's why I'm going to show you off to the bigshots. Oh, and before I forget, I suggest you bring a date. You know, James' ex-girlfriend. Just ask her out for the night - it'll help sharpen up your image of togetherness. And in this political business, son, your image is everything."
"Sir, I'm not too sure..."
"He won't be there tonight - he's out of town for the weekend. Don't worry. Just ask her for a favour as a friend."
"Alright, I'll ask her, sir. Thanks."
"Be here at 7 sharp. Remember, your image is everything."
"Yes, sir."
The door creaked shut behind him, and I leaned back onto the padded chair in satisfaction. Marshall, oh, Marshall. You're so in love with her. Anyone can see that. And so, you shall be the perfect instrument in keeping them apart. Diana will never hurt James again.
-Maia-
I looked into the mirror. A well-dressed, sharp-looking man stared back. Brushing an imaginary speck of dust off the suit I wore, I studied the image. Life had been kind to me, at least on the surface. My image was perfect, save for the long, faded scar that began on the right side of my neck that disappeared underneath my collar. As always, I traced the scar, feeling and relieving the fiery pain that still smoldered within. There were more scars below, hidden by my shirt, and not all of them were skin-deep. Looking away, I sat down at the mahogany desk, my eyes drawn to the family photo in the ornate photo frame displayed proudly for my clients' viewing. The American Dream. The perfect family. Happy and smiling, safe and secure. Skin-deep. No one sees the tightness in her throat, the tension in my shoulders, or the hand clenched into a fist behind his body. All they see are the smiles. Skin-deep.
A sudden fire welled up in my heart as my eyes fell on the little boy standing with his sister in the middle of the picture. My son, James. My rightful heir. The boy that I had carefully groomed and cultivated in the hope that he would one day become all that I had failed to be. The boy that I had loved with all my heart. And he had been on the brink of throwing his life away. For her. His daughter. The scar on my neck throbbed. For a brief moment my heart filled with an unreasonable sense of betrayal. But I knew it was unreasonable, because James did not know, and so I willed it away. I had done enough. I had hurt James, but I did not regret it. She would only have led him astray. Led him to destruction. I knew because she looked exactly like her father. And I knew her father. Oh, I knew him very well indeed.
My eyes shifted to the left. Frances. I wondered where she was now. She moved out the first chance she got, and never spoke to me again. Even her mother would not tell me anything about her. For the umpteenth time, I wondered where I had gone wrong.
The rapping on the door caught my attention. "Come in," I said immediately. Ah, Marshall. I liked this one. Hardworking, responsible, a tad sad puppy-like, and most importantly, naive. Perfect for my purposes.
"You called me, sir?"
"Yes, yes. I wanted to talk to you."
"What about, sir?"
"I will be hosting a function tonight. And I want you to be present."
"Me, sir? I'm honoured."
"Yes, you, son. You've put up a good job performance around here. That's why I'm going to show you off to the bigshots. Oh, and before I forget, I suggest you bring a date. You know, James' ex-girlfriend. Just ask her out for the night - it'll help sharpen up your image of togetherness. And in this political business, son, your image is everything."
"Sir, I'm not too sure..."
"He won't be there tonight - he's out of town for the weekend. Don't worry. Just ask her for a favour as a friend."
"Alright, I'll ask her, sir. Thanks."
"Be here at 7 sharp. Remember, your image is everything."
"Yes, sir."
The door creaked shut behind him, and I leaned back onto the padded chair in satisfaction. Marshall, oh, Marshall. You're so in love with her. Anyone can see that. And so, you shall be the perfect instrument in keeping them apart. Diana will never hurt James again.
-Maia-
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
