With a stoic face, I picked up the revolver from within my drawer, and levelled it against my forehead, just above the spot between my eyes. It was an Enfield, a true vintage piece that had passed down through the family, stored hidden away in one of the many packing boxes in the attic of the old house that I happened to chance upon. It was loaded, of course; why would I want to point an unloaded gun to myself?
I cocked the hammer with my forefinger, and closed my eyes. Images of my torrid past flashed before my mind's eye, in vivid technicolour. The people that I had met, either as friends or as enemies, appeared with cruel clarity. Their faces, they all had the same mocking response, staring at me with their mouths grinning vilely, showing their splendid teeth, and their unconcealed mirth at my soon-to-be demise.
Oh how I wished I had the courage to turn the weapon in my hand against them! To pump lead into their gleeful faces and riddle their body with holes so that the fresh blood of vengeance spurts forth---oh I could have done that to satiate my vendetta against all of them! Bleed, yes to make them bleed for all the pain and suffering that they had given me all these years!
But, it was never to be, for the Law forbade me to turn my weapon upon others in the way that I had envisioned. Oh piteous me! Why is the Law so cruel and un-understanding? Why does it mock me so? Why does it limit what I can and cannot do, to those enemies that I want to be grounded into fine dust through the heels of my boot?
No, this is not the way to go, not with my eyes closed. I opened up my eyes, and stared straight at the revolver that I had levelled against myself. My hands trembled a little from holding it up so long, but I feared not death anymore. Surely, anything is welcome when compared to the ignoble existence that I keep myself in trying to live down the bull shit that I had faced.
I would die a man, staring death in the face. Damnit, you forced me, Death! I didn't want to die! You forced my hand, you fiend! Now pay the price of me staring you down, even when all life is extinguished from my body.
Gripping the gun in my already trembling hands, I squeezed the trigger. I saw a bright flash and heard a loud boom, as I felt the gun kicking out of my wimpy hands and flying backwards. I felt a thunk through my forehead, and heard a squelch sound as the bullet passed through my skull. Suddenly, I lost the ability to control my movements and senses, and found myself slowly falling backwards. As my head hit the ground, the last sight I remembered was the face of pure horror when my secretary opened my office door at the last possible moment, immediately after I had pulled the trigger.
Thursday, 7 August 2008
Monday, 14 July 2008
The Armies of Man: Part I
Between the armies of Heaven and Hell, one thing is clear---Man suffers in either way.
Standing between the gates of Hell and Heaven is Man's final army. The army to, hopefully, defeat all armies. Millions of the world's ground forces have gathered at the single point on Earth where the trans-dimensional gates of Hell will be opened, and where hell-spawn will surge forth like the waves of a tsunami. Like all enounters between Heaven and Hell, Heaven's armies are no where in sight; some say that Heaven's armies are waiting just near the gates of Heaven, while others say that the gods have abandoned Man in their darkest time of need.
T'sun Chu knew better. Having communicated with the various deities in the Heavens through his preternatural ability, he knew that the armies of Heaven are at ready, standing near the armies of Man, but are currently kept hidden. It was he who discovered that a rift was opening at the concentration of leylines located near the deserts of Egypt during an archaelogical dig. The discovery of the rift would be so epic that it warranted a story on its own.
The armies of Man stood in formation in the hot, arid desert lands, their rifles in their hands, and their 32-inch steel blades by their side. For once in the history of mankind, the major religions and countries of the world have agreed to a truce of sorts, in order to deal with the ensuing dangers that mankind as a whole was facing. The bullets in the rifles were no ordinary bullets; each and every round for each calibre of ammunition used was bathed in the holy waters of all the great religions, and personally blessed by the holiest men of their creed, all in the hopes that their efficacy against the minions of Hell would be the best. The 32-inch steel blades underwent a similar ritual, complete with inscribed runes and talismans embedded in the hollow of the hilt itself to provide the necessary divine energies required to smite the demons back to Hell.
It was back-breaking work blessing all the ammunition and weapons for an army that numbers in the millions, but no one complained much, for the price of failure was too high even to fathom.
The war against Hell, was never fought with guns. From the earliest writings on the skirmishes between Man and Hell, it was always noted that the fights were always one-on-one, muscle-to-muscle, face-to-face, Man-to-demon. In what is predicted to be the biggest battle yet, Man now trains his most advanced weapons onto the demons from Hell. No one knows what the outcome will be, not even the most learned scholars from the various religions. All the people could do, was to sit down and pray for the best outcome that they could have.
The sun was slowly setting upon the desert landscape, its rays bending eerily across the sky. For some odd reason, the moon was directly up ahead, and as the sun was setting, it started to glow blood red. Clouds slowly formed above the desertscape, dark clouds that would never had occurred in that place at that weather condition. The armies of Man stood at ready, their weapons raised at the level where a quick deployment could be executed.
The clouds swirled slowly and turned to dark red around the red moon. Bolts of yellow lightning shot out from the swirl of clouds towards the moon. The swirl itself seemed to have affected the moon, for the red moon itself started to show swirling patterns in its reflection. The swirls of the moon intensified and from it, a single focused lightning stuck the barren ground at the intersection of the leylines.
The ground shook hard and from the chasm that was formed, a bloody red mass of creatures surged forth relentlessly. The armies of Man took aim at the throng of creatures, and fired away.
Standing between the gates of Hell and Heaven is Man's final army. The army to, hopefully, defeat all armies. Millions of the world's ground forces have gathered at the single point on Earth where the trans-dimensional gates of Hell will be opened, and where hell-spawn will surge forth like the waves of a tsunami. Like all enounters between Heaven and Hell, Heaven's armies are no where in sight; some say that Heaven's armies are waiting just near the gates of Heaven, while others say that the gods have abandoned Man in their darkest time of need.
T'sun Chu knew better. Having communicated with the various deities in the Heavens through his preternatural ability, he knew that the armies of Heaven are at ready, standing near the armies of Man, but are currently kept hidden. It was he who discovered that a rift was opening at the concentration of leylines located near the deserts of Egypt during an archaelogical dig. The discovery of the rift would be so epic that it warranted a story on its own.
The armies of Man stood in formation in the hot, arid desert lands, their rifles in their hands, and their 32-inch steel blades by their side. For once in the history of mankind, the major religions and countries of the world have agreed to a truce of sorts, in order to deal with the ensuing dangers that mankind as a whole was facing. The bullets in the rifles were no ordinary bullets; each and every round for each calibre of ammunition used was bathed in the holy waters of all the great religions, and personally blessed by the holiest men of their creed, all in the hopes that their efficacy against the minions of Hell would be the best. The 32-inch steel blades underwent a similar ritual, complete with inscribed runes and talismans embedded in the hollow of the hilt itself to provide the necessary divine energies required to smite the demons back to Hell.
It was back-breaking work blessing all the ammunition and weapons for an army that numbers in the millions, but no one complained much, for the price of failure was too high even to fathom.
The war against Hell, was never fought with guns. From the earliest writings on the skirmishes between Man and Hell, it was always noted that the fights were always one-on-one, muscle-to-muscle, face-to-face, Man-to-demon. In what is predicted to be the biggest battle yet, Man now trains his most advanced weapons onto the demons from Hell. No one knows what the outcome will be, not even the most learned scholars from the various religions. All the people could do, was to sit down and pray for the best outcome that they could have.
The sun was slowly setting upon the desert landscape, its rays bending eerily across the sky. For some odd reason, the moon was directly up ahead, and as the sun was setting, it started to glow blood red. Clouds slowly formed above the desertscape, dark clouds that would never had occurred in that place at that weather condition. The armies of Man stood at ready, their weapons raised at the level where a quick deployment could be executed.
The clouds swirled slowly and turned to dark red around the red moon. Bolts of yellow lightning shot out from the swirl of clouds towards the moon. The swirl itself seemed to have affected the moon, for the red moon itself started to show swirling patterns in its reflection. The swirls of the moon intensified and from it, a single focused lightning stuck the barren ground at the intersection of the leylines.
The ground shook hard and from the chasm that was formed, a bloody red mass of creatures surged forth relentlessly. The armies of Man took aim at the throng of creatures, and fired away.
Tuesday, 3 June 2008
Time's Up
A wise man once said, that when one's time is up, it is truly up, and no one can do anything about it. It seemed to be something that was matter-of-fact, yet many never believed in such pessimistic tendencies, and instead believing in the concept of hope, and that miracles do truly occur. She was like any typical person in her day, believing that technology and scientific know-how was sufficient to deal with the emergencies of life that occur. That is, until she realised the sad truth behind the meaning of what the wise man meant.
It was a time of great technological progress. Many hailed it the new Golden Age of civilisation, what with all the new-found knowledge that people have accumulated over time through the untiring efforts of scientists all over the world in all sort of fields. Science and technology was such an ``in'' thing amongst the populace that conceitedness seemed to be the dominating force these days.
``But there is nothing that Science cannot deal with!'' The masses cry out in defiance to critics of the cause. Priests and other holy people shook their heads at the return to the pagan ways.
She was born in that era, and thus was led to believe that Science could indeed deal with all the calamities that humankind would face. Already cancer was a thing of the past, and the much-feared AIDS is no more than a passing memory to those who were old enough to remember the times when the pandemic raged on.
All through her life, her firm belief in Science held on, unwavering. A person of almost perfect logical reasoning, she found that there was little that she couldn't handle with the application of logic and technology. She grew up into a fine young woman with a strong and firm mind, and impressed both admirers and critics alike with her razor sharp wit and illuminative understanding of things around her. Her parents, both eminent scientists in their own right, were proud of their only daughter, and they showed their pride each time that they could do it.
She graduated from the university with her PhD and was head-hunted by a rather powerful technology company to work as one of their principal investigators, a post that only the most senior of all the research scientists could hold; such was the extent of her capabilities. Heralded as the Einstein of her field, she won many accolades throughout her career, and earned praise from her initially skeptical peers.
Each time they wanted to promote her, she turned it down, citing the reason that she liked solve problems with logic and technology, and not to perform management roles that were the mainstay of those who were higher up on the hierarchy. At the end of it all, the company decided to force a promotion upon her with threat of dismissal should she refuse---flatly declining their offer for a final time, she deduced that the threat was illogical and counter-proposed with her dismissal as they had planned. Exasperated, the company had no choice but to follow up on their words and let her go.
With enough money to boot and the distinct lack of a regular job, she found that she had a lot of time on her hands and didn't quite figure out how best to deal with it.
At first, she thought of starting her own technology company. But when she realised that she would be compromising her position of solving science and technology problems and staying away from management issues, she put that thought away.
She was stuck in a stasis for several years, thinking about what she wanted to do with her newly found free time. As time passed, she found herself becoming increasingly alone, as her friends and family start to distance themselves from her, labelling her as a heretic. The only thing that they hadn't done was to get her declared insane and commit her to an asylum.
Decades pass, and when she suddenly found out what she wanted to do. But then, her time was almost up, and with that, she passed away, never ever having the chance to do what she wanted. All her life was spent in theorising for so long that she never got to actually do what she wanted.
As the wise man said, ``when one's time is up, there is little that one can do about it.''
[Ed: This story turned out worse than I thought it would be. Just proves that I shouldn't plan multi-part stories like that in the future.]
It was a time of great technological progress. Many hailed it the new Golden Age of civilisation, what with all the new-found knowledge that people have accumulated over time through the untiring efforts of scientists all over the world in all sort of fields. Science and technology was such an ``in'' thing amongst the populace that conceitedness seemed to be the dominating force these days.
``But there is nothing that Science cannot deal with!'' The masses cry out in defiance to critics of the cause. Priests and other holy people shook their heads at the return to the pagan ways.
She was born in that era, and thus was led to believe that Science could indeed deal with all the calamities that humankind would face. Already cancer was a thing of the past, and the much-feared AIDS is no more than a passing memory to those who were old enough to remember the times when the pandemic raged on.
All through her life, her firm belief in Science held on, unwavering. A person of almost perfect logical reasoning, she found that there was little that she couldn't handle with the application of logic and technology. She grew up into a fine young woman with a strong and firm mind, and impressed both admirers and critics alike with her razor sharp wit and illuminative understanding of things around her. Her parents, both eminent scientists in their own right, were proud of their only daughter, and they showed their pride each time that they could do it.
She graduated from the university with her PhD and was head-hunted by a rather powerful technology company to work as one of their principal investigators, a post that only the most senior of all the research scientists could hold; such was the extent of her capabilities. Heralded as the Einstein of her field, she won many accolades throughout her career, and earned praise from her initially skeptical peers.
Each time they wanted to promote her, she turned it down, citing the reason that she liked solve problems with logic and technology, and not to perform management roles that were the mainstay of those who were higher up on the hierarchy. At the end of it all, the company decided to force a promotion upon her with threat of dismissal should she refuse---flatly declining their offer for a final time, she deduced that the threat was illogical and counter-proposed with her dismissal as they had planned. Exasperated, the company had no choice but to follow up on their words and let her go.
With enough money to boot and the distinct lack of a regular job, she found that she had a lot of time on her hands and didn't quite figure out how best to deal with it.
At first, she thought of starting her own technology company. But when she realised that she would be compromising her position of solving science and technology problems and staying away from management issues, she put that thought away.
She was stuck in a stasis for several years, thinking about what she wanted to do with her newly found free time. As time passed, she found herself becoming increasingly alone, as her friends and family start to distance themselves from her, labelling her as a heretic. The only thing that they hadn't done was to get her declared insane and commit her to an asylum.
Decades pass, and when she suddenly found out what she wanted to do. But then, her time was almost up, and with that, she passed away, never ever having the chance to do what she wanted. All her life was spent in theorising for so long that she never got to actually do what she wanted.
As the wise man said, ``when one's time is up, there is little that one can do about it.''
[Ed: This story turned out worse than I thought it would be. Just proves that I shouldn't plan multi-part stories like that in the future.]
Wednesday, 21 May 2008
Final Approach
The intensity of the pain... it burns, it hurts, it never relents. To stand there out in the frostbiting cold, yet to feel the unending throb of pure anguish and discomfort flooding over one's body; it is the single most mind-numbing pain of all. The wind blows, nay, it howls, yet all that one can feel is but the icy slashes of the dagger of truth slicing away at the worn down heart.
Amid all the discomfort and cold, a sole figure stands there, waiting, haunting. A quick glance at the eyes reveal a look most shocking and fiery---it seemed to be no less than that of the devil itself, burning with pure hatred and rage. The eyes glow red from the flames of dispassionate anger, and the snow all around melts as fast as they fall in the blizzard. In no way was this figure going to disappear.
She grabbed the hilt of her sword, her other hand clutching at her heart, trying to ease away the pain that she felt. She fought back the tears that were welling up in her dainty eyes, as memories of her beloved flooded back into her mind's eye. She could never forget the final moment, when her beloved faced off with the most vile of all evils in their time, alone, and succumbing to its treachery, right before her helpless self. His final glance of despair towards her before they closed into the finality of death lingers freshly in her mind, even though this was a scene that she had seen only a few years before.
With the cry of the wounded love, she lifted her sword up and lunged towards the figure with the fiery eyes. The snow fell heavily on all sides as she charged ahead, with little worry in the world other than to avenge the death of her love.
The figure gave a wry grin, and revealed its dark blade carved with strange runic symbols. The blade was bathed in a cold blue flame, a stark difference to the redness of its eyes. Without so much of a thought, it flung its blade in front of it.
She never did have the chance. The dark blade found its mark and impaled straight through her aching heart, its blue flame searing around it. Stunned, she looked with defiance at the figure, and summoning all of her last strength, she continued her charge. With each step that she took, her strength waned, and at long last when she finally reached the figure, she had hardly the strength to plough her sword deep into its chest.
Staggering towards the figure, she made a last ditched effort to embed her sword into it, thus having her revenge. The figure laughed mendaciously and gripped the hilt of the dark blade still stuck in her torso, and twisted it. Blood slashed all over the snow-covered ground as it retracted the dark blade from her weakened body, staining the snow a deep crimson red.
``You fiend! You... you will never get away with this!''
With the last efforts of a dying person, she made a final attempt at stabbing it, only to find herself falling towards the ground. She never made it, for with a swift stroke, the figure had decapitated her cleanly with its dark blade.
Against the blizzard, a dark silhouette stands with a fallen figure. Its eyes were aglow with hatred and pure rage. Today, the evil has won, but when will the evil be vanquished?
Amid all the discomfort and cold, a sole figure stands there, waiting, haunting. A quick glance at the eyes reveal a look most shocking and fiery---it seemed to be no less than that of the devil itself, burning with pure hatred and rage. The eyes glow red from the flames of dispassionate anger, and the snow all around melts as fast as they fall in the blizzard. In no way was this figure going to disappear.
She grabbed the hilt of her sword, her other hand clutching at her heart, trying to ease away the pain that she felt. She fought back the tears that were welling up in her dainty eyes, as memories of her beloved flooded back into her mind's eye. She could never forget the final moment, when her beloved faced off with the most vile of all evils in their time, alone, and succumbing to its treachery, right before her helpless self. His final glance of despair towards her before they closed into the finality of death lingers freshly in her mind, even though this was a scene that she had seen only a few years before.
With the cry of the wounded love, she lifted her sword up and lunged towards the figure with the fiery eyes. The snow fell heavily on all sides as she charged ahead, with little worry in the world other than to avenge the death of her love.
The figure gave a wry grin, and revealed its dark blade carved with strange runic symbols. The blade was bathed in a cold blue flame, a stark difference to the redness of its eyes. Without so much of a thought, it flung its blade in front of it.
She never did have the chance. The dark blade found its mark and impaled straight through her aching heart, its blue flame searing around it. Stunned, she looked with defiance at the figure, and summoning all of her last strength, she continued her charge. With each step that she took, her strength waned, and at long last when she finally reached the figure, she had hardly the strength to plough her sword deep into its chest.
Staggering towards the figure, she made a last ditched effort to embed her sword into it, thus having her revenge. The figure laughed mendaciously and gripped the hilt of the dark blade still stuck in her torso, and twisted it. Blood slashed all over the snow-covered ground as it retracted the dark blade from her weakened body, staining the snow a deep crimson red.
``You fiend! You... you will never get away with this!''
With the last efforts of a dying person, she made a final attempt at stabbing it, only to find herself falling towards the ground. She never made it, for with a swift stroke, the figure had decapitated her cleanly with its dark blade.
Against the blizzard, a dark silhouette stands with a fallen figure. Its eyes were aglow with hatred and pure rage. Today, the evil has won, but when will the evil be vanquished?
Wednesday, 30 April 2008
Blackguard (fragment)
Gritting her teeth and gripping her broadsword with both hands in front of her, she stood at ready, her piercing eyes focused on her foe in front of her. Before her was the Blackguard, the most fearsome dark knight of the land. She didn't want this encounter to occur, but it was by a sheer twist of fate that she got involved in this duel.
The Blackguard stood his ground, a massive 7-foot character in full plate armour, himself at the ready with a longsword held to his front with both his hands. Rumours had it that he was a skilled swordsman and has slain all who dared cross his path. Looking at him, she didn't see how those rumours could be false. All in all, he was an impressive figure, and his mastery in his craft was almost apparent as he stood there motionless, waiting for her first move---there is usually less incentive to be on the attacking side when one is assured of one's defensive ability.
A bead of sweat rippled down her face in the blazing sun along the forsaken road. She held herself steady, and decided to end it once and for all. With a shout, she thrusted her broadsword outwards in a half-run, aiming for his upper right arm. Deftly, he shifted himself to the left and brought his longsword down on her broadsword as it came close to him, stopping her in that split second, and swung his blade towards her neck.
She quickly crouched and threw her broadsword towards the right, parrying the blow that was aiming for her. With quick reflexes, his longsword went over to the other side, and in panic she leapt backwards, only to find herself stumbling over an out rock.
With a satisfied laugh, the Blackguard aimed his blade at her neck and stood with a foot on her chest, crushing it slightly.
``Begone you wench! I will not waste my strength on such a petty creature like you!''
The Blackguard stood his ground, a massive 7-foot character in full plate armour, himself at the ready with a longsword held to his front with both his hands. Rumours had it that he was a skilled swordsman and has slain all who dared cross his path. Looking at him, she didn't see how those rumours could be false. All in all, he was an impressive figure, and his mastery in his craft was almost apparent as he stood there motionless, waiting for her first move---there is usually less incentive to be on the attacking side when one is assured of one's defensive ability.
A bead of sweat rippled down her face in the blazing sun along the forsaken road. She held herself steady, and decided to end it once and for all. With a shout, she thrusted her broadsword outwards in a half-run, aiming for his upper right arm. Deftly, he shifted himself to the left and brought his longsword down on her broadsword as it came close to him, stopping her in that split second, and swung his blade towards her neck.
She quickly crouched and threw her broadsword towards the right, parrying the blow that was aiming for her. With quick reflexes, his longsword went over to the other side, and in panic she leapt backwards, only to find herself stumbling over an out rock.
With a satisfied laugh, the Blackguard aimed his blade at her neck and stood with a foot on her chest, crushing it slightly.
``Begone you wench! I will not waste my strength on such a petty creature like you!''
Friday, 11 April 2008
Resting Place
Sally stood there, shaking uncontrollably as the pall bearers lowered the casket into the freshly dug grave. It was such an emotional moment, to see one's loved one finally being given a proper burial place.
``Calm down my dear,'' Adam said reassuringly as he gave her a slight hug from behind.
``I... I'm trying Adam. But it's just that... that Dad finally has a place where he can be laid to rest, after all the turmoil with my brothers-in-law,'' Sally tearfully replied.
``I know, I know,'' began Adam, ``I know how it feels. But think of it, do you think Dad would want to see you crying like this?''
``No...''
``Alright then, just calm down,'' Adam said gently.
``Okay.''
The machinations behind what had transpired were baffling, even to Adam, who did most of the wrangling necessary to secure this grave site. Sally's brothers-in-law were adamant that a cheaper grave site ought to be found for the dead old man, claiming that the original site that the old man chose was not worth the money.
At first, Sally started to protest about how it was going against her father's wishes and such, but being the chauvinists they were, the brothers-in-law refuse to accede to what she said. Her sisters were of no good; each of them were completely subservient to their husbands and didn't dare to fight for their father's wishes. The tangling and politicking got so out of control that she had to ask Adam to step in as an outside observer to help resolve the matter.
Adam had hesitated---he didn't felt that it was his place in interfere what was essentially a family issue. But Sally was so sad and was practically breaking down in front of him that he relented and decided to help Sally in fighting for her father's wishes.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 11 Apr 2008 08:53:39)
``Calm down my dear,'' Adam said reassuringly as he gave her a slight hug from behind.
``I... I'm trying Adam. But it's just that... that Dad finally has a place where he can be laid to rest, after all the turmoil with my brothers-in-law,'' Sally tearfully replied.
``I know, I know,'' began Adam, ``I know how it feels. But think of it, do you think Dad would want to see you crying like this?''
``No...''
``Alright then, just calm down,'' Adam said gently.
``Okay.''
The machinations behind what had transpired were baffling, even to Adam, who did most of the wrangling necessary to secure this grave site. Sally's brothers-in-law were adamant that a cheaper grave site ought to be found for the dead old man, claiming that the original site that the old man chose was not worth the money.
At first, Sally started to protest about how it was going against her father's wishes and such, but being the chauvinists they were, the brothers-in-law refuse to accede to what she said. Her sisters were of no good; each of them were completely subservient to their husbands and didn't dare to fight for their father's wishes. The tangling and politicking got so out of control that she had to ask Adam to step in as an outside observer to help resolve the matter.
Adam had hesitated---he didn't felt that it was his place in interfere what was essentially a family issue. But Sally was so sad and was practically breaking down in front of him that he relented and decided to help Sally in fighting for her father's wishes.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 11 Apr 2008 08:53:39)
Monday, 7 April 2008
Flute or Food
Sally contemplated, and wondered if it was a good idea for her to take part in the performance. After all, it has been a long while since she last played her flute, and with that in mind, her skills are probably still a little rusty.
But Alan was going to be there, as a cellist. Her heart fluttered a little each time the remembered Alan, for all his sweetness, manliness and the warm embraces that he gives. She wasn't content with just showing up at the orchestra to watch Alan play---she wanted to be with Alan and play it.
With a slight sigh, she opened up her elegant flute case and lovingly removed the headjoint, main body and foot joint and assembled them with relative ease. Sitting in front of her musical stand with music on it, she started to practice the flute parts of the pieces.
Soon, the evening arrived, and Sally was still playing on the flute. Her cellphone rang, and hastily, she put her flute down and picked up her cellphone to answer it.
``Hi...?''
``Hey Sally, it's Alan!''
``Oh, Alan! What's up?''
``I was wondering if you'd be free for dinner tonight. I know that it is a little bit late and such, but I found this place that is awesome and would like you to be there.''
Sally was in a spot. On the one hand, she hadn't eaten and would love to go with Alan for dinner, yet on the other hand she had to practice on her flute to ensure that she does a good job at the performance that was going to be in 3 days.
`Oh Alan, why must you always give me such problems?' she thought as she wondered what she should say to him.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 07 Apr 2008 07:50:15)
But Alan was going to be there, as a cellist. Her heart fluttered a little each time the remembered Alan, for all his sweetness, manliness and the warm embraces that he gives. She wasn't content with just showing up at the orchestra to watch Alan play---she wanted to be with Alan and play it.
With a slight sigh, she opened up her elegant flute case and lovingly removed the headjoint, main body and foot joint and assembled them with relative ease. Sitting in front of her musical stand with music on it, she started to practice the flute parts of the pieces.
Soon, the evening arrived, and Sally was still playing on the flute. Her cellphone rang, and hastily, she put her flute down and picked up her cellphone to answer it.
``Hi...?''
``Hey Sally, it's Alan!''
``Oh, Alan! What's up?''
``I was wondering if you'd be free for dinner tonight. I know that it is a little bit late and such, but I found this place that is awesome and would like you to be there.''
Sally was in a spot. On the one hand, she hadn't eaten and would love to go with Alan for dinner, yet on the other hand she had to practice on her flute to ensure that she does a good job at the performance that was going to be in 3 days.
`Oh Alan, why must you always give me such problems?' she thought as she wondered what she should say to him.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 07 Apr 2008 07:50:15)
Tuesday, 1 April 2008
What Did It Mean?
Summer time, a period of sun, sand and the waves. The sweltering heat gets into almost everyone, even for those who are used to the generally muggy feeling.
It was of no difference to him of course. Summer time in the tropics was especially bad, considering the fact that in the tropics, it was always hot and muggy all year round. But unlike most of his cohort, there was a rather different feeling for him; while the rest felt the heat broiling them, he felt only a strange, cold detachedness.
A kiss. It all started from a kiss. On the last possible day of class before the break of the summer holidays, when he was about to leave the dormitories to catch his flight home, while he was standing at the bus stop waiting for the airport shuttle, she came by shyly, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before turning around and running away, leaving him standing there shocked and disorientated.
What did that kiss mean? It was something that had been bugging him for the most of the break, and till then, he still had no clue what to make of it. Was it a good luck kiss? No, it couldn't be---no good luck kiss would be done in the manner that she did. Was it a kiss representative of her innate feelings for him? Perhaps, but they have always had a friendly relationship with each other for quite a long time, so it might not be the case.
Or could it?
That possbility had been floating around in his head for a long time, and the more that he thought about it, the more that it seemed to be likely. But each time he thought about the possibility, the more he wanted to reject it; what was it in him that she found attractive? That didn't make any sense to him; he was neither good-looking nor rich, and was definitely not a very social person to start with, having turned down practically every invitation to parties that his other friends have given him.
So, could that kiss really mean more? Or was he just trying to delude himself into believing that there was more than there is? He couldn't decide. The hot dreary summer has turned into a tumultous weather of sorts marked by squalls, sunshine and fog.
He was confused; he didn't know what to make of it. Even after 3 months of thinking through it, he still had no clue. He thought of talking to her and asking her what she meant, but thought better of it. What would his response be if she confessed that she had a liking for him?
Sitting at the balcony of his apartment, he looked on into the horizon, waiting for the day that the fall semester would begin so that he could look her up and ask her directly, what that kiss meant.
Perhaps he would be better prepared then.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 31 Mar 2008 14:55:49)
It was of no difference to him of course. Summer time in the tropics was especially bad, considering the fact that in the tropics, it was always hot and muggy all year round. But unlike most of his cohort, there was a rather different feeling for him; while the rest felt the heat broiling them, he felt only a strange, cold detachedness.
A kiss. It all started from a kiss. On the last possible day of class before the break of the summer holidays, when he was about to leave the dormitories to catch his flight home, while he was standing at the bus stop waiting for the airport shuttle, she came by shyly, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before turning around and running away, leaving him standing there shocked and disorientated.
What did that kiss mean? It was something that had been bugging him for the most of the break, and till then, he still had no clue what to make of it. Was it a good luck kiss? No, it couldn't be---no good luck kiss would be done in the manner that she did. Was it a kiss representative of her innate feelings for him? Perhaps, but they have always had a friendly relationship with each other for quite a long time, so it might not be the case.
Or could it?
That possbility had been floating around in his head for a long time, and the more that he thought about it, the more that it seemed to be likely. But each time he thought about the possibility, the more he wanted to reject it; what was it in him that she found attractive? That didn't make any sense to him; he was neither good-looking nor rich, and was definitely not a very social person to start with, having turned down practically every invitation to parties that his other friends have given him.
So, could that kiss really mean more? Or was he just trying to delude himself into believing that there was more than there is? He couldn't decide. The hot dreary summer has turned into a tumultous weather of sorts marked by squalls, sunshine and fog.
He was confused; he didn't know what to make of it. Even after 3 months of thinking through it, he still had no clue. He thought of talking to her and asking her what she meant, but thought better of it. What would his response be if she confessed that she had a liking for him?
Sitting at the balcony of his apartment, he looked on into the horizon, waiting for the day that the fall semester would begin so that he could look her up and ask her directly, what that kiss meant.
Perhaps he would be better prepared then.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 31 Mar 2008 14:55:49)
Tuesday, 11 March 2008
Training
``Haul it you loser!''
``Yeah, haul it! Are you really that slow, you loser?''
Huffing and puffing, Jim found himself struggling with the rest of the recruits, heaving that 10-foot log way above their heads as they were walking through the muddy grounds of the training centre. It was among the worst things that they had to go through, considering the fact that the boot camp was known for its gruelling and often times demeaning ``traditions''.
```Move it! Do you think that we have all day, eh? Goddamnit, haul it! Move your slobby ass along!''
Grunting, Jim and 9 other recruits gave a last heave-ho and struggled to maintain their balance in the muddy grounds. Trying to concentrate on the task rather than cursing at the drill instructors, Jim suddenly found himself stepping into air, and falling, face-first into the mud below.
``Recruit Jim! What the fuck do you think you are doing? Well all you fat slobs, thanks to ol' Jimmy here, all of you will have to start over!''
Groaning and muttering insults, the other recruits turned slowly around and staggered back to the beginning of the route with the log on their shoulders. And each of them who passed Jim by either gave him the eye or spat at him in disgust, for wasting all their efforts in the task.
Frustrated with himself and the futility of the task at hand, Jim picked himself up and hurriedly joined his section-mates and took his place below the log. All of them glared at him from the corner of their eyes, muttering all manners of insults and curses that they could under their breath to avoid the drill instructors' admonitions.
With about another half-an-hour's work, the team successfully navigated through the obstacle course with the log and with great sighs of relief, they tossed the log back into the pile that they picked up from. Of course, the drill instructor was not going to let them off that easily.
``Hey slobs! You've made yourself so dirty now; you have exactly 5 minutes to change into clean fatigues and report here. Go! Go! Go!''
They rushed off towards their barracks which was about 100 feet away and ran to their rooms to obtain their gear.
Jim ran along too, afraid of being the black sheep again. But in his mind, he knew what was about to happen---they were not going to let him forget about the idiocy that he committed during the training.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 10 Mar 2008 12:17:24)
``Yeah, haul it! Are you really that slow, you loser?''
Huffing and puffing, Jim found himself struggling with the rest of the recruits, heaving that 10-foot log way above their heads as they were walking through the muddy grounds of the training centre. It was among the worst things that they had to go through, considering the fact that the boot camp was known for its gruelling and often times demeaning ``traditions''.
```Move it! Do you think that we have all day, eh? Goddamnit, haul it! Move your slobby ass along!''
Grunting, Jim and 9 other recruits gave a last heave-ho and struggled to maintain their balance in the muddy grounds. Trying to concentrate on the task rather than cursing at the drill instructors, Jim suddenly found himself stepping into air, and falling, face-first into the mud below.
``Recruit Jim! What the fuck do you think you are doing? Well all you fat slobs, thanks to ol' Jimmy here, all of you will have to start over!''
Groaning and muttering insults, the other recruits turned slowly around and staggered back to the beginning of the route with the log on their shoulders. And each of them who passed Jim by either gave him the eye or spat at him in disgust, for wasting all their efforts in the task.
Frustrated with himself and the futility of the task at hand, Jim picked himself up and hurriedly joined his section-mates and took his place below the log. All of them glared at him from the corner of their eyes, muttering all manners of insults and curses that they could under their breath to avoid the drill instructors' admonitions.
With about another half-an-hour's work, the team successfully navigated through the obstacle course with the log and with great sighs of relief, they tossed the log back into the pile that they picked up from. Of course, the drill instructor was not going to let them off that easily.
``Hey slobs! You've made yourself so dirty now; you have exactly 5 minutes to change into clean fatigues and report here. Go! Go! Go!''
They rushed off towards their barracks which was about 100 feet away and ran to their rooms to obtain their gear.
Jim ran along too, afraid of being the black sheep again. But in his mind, he knew what was about to happen---they were not going to let him forget about the idiocy that he committed during the training.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 10 Mar 2008 12:17:24)
Sunday, 2 March 2008
Out in the Field
So, it was decided then on the spur of the moment that Tim and Sally would have to meet, somehow. It is already past winter and well into spring, and almost everyone noticed that Sally and Tim were indeed getting rather restless. It was a most strange thing, to see Sally so agitated and Tim so obviously bothered. It irritated almost all who were nearby.
Now the problem was: where?
Indoors wasn't really a good idea; nobody really wanted to be there to observe what was going on. Moreover, it was rather uncomfortable for Tim and Sally to be indoors when they meet because it would just be too awkward even for them.
Some smart guy came up with the suggestion that they should meet out in the field instead, where there's nice soft green grass and plenty of wind and sunshine; a most romantic place indeed.
Thankfully, everyone was in agreement with that, and they all found themselves trudging to the field out in the back, dragging Tim and Sally along on one fine sunny day.
When Tim and Sally met, it was most electrifying. Tim immediately pounced on Sally and started humping her, and the folks who brought them there stood gaping with wonder, before they collectively realised that it was probably not a good idea to watch. Quietly, they all retreated and left Tim and Sally alone out there in the field.
One month later, a new brood of rabbits were born.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 01 Mar 2008 17:09:14)
[Ed: I swear that WriteThis is out to get me. See why from the picture below.]
Now the problem was: where?
Indoors wasn't really a good idea; nobody really wanted to be there to observe what was going on. Moreover, it was rather uncomfortable for Tim and Sally to be indoors when they meet because it would just be too awkward even for them.
Some smart guy came up with the suggestion that they should meet out in the field instead, where there's nice soft green grass and plenty of wind and sunshine; a most romantic place indeed.
Thankfully, everyone was in agreement with that, and they all found themselves trudging to the field out in the back, dragging Tim and Sally along on one fine sunny day.
When Tim and Sally met, it was most electrifying. Tim immediately pounced on Sally and started humping her, and the folks who brought them there stood gaping with wonder, before they collectively realised that it was probably not a good idea to watch. Quietly, they all retreated and left Tim and Sally alone out there in the field.
One month later, a new brood of rabbits were born.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 01 Mar 2008 17:09:14)
[Ed: I swear that WriteThis is out to get me. See why from the picture below.]
Friday, 29 February 2008
Prelude to the Date
Time. It is always about time. Sally couldn't avoid it; business was brisk and she was always on the phone, trying to get things done as she multi-tasked with other things.
It wasn't like that before; life was a little easier then, when she was still a lowly executive. Now, being the manager of several large portfolios, Sally found herself living on the edge of life, always rushing from one meeting to the next, always rushing from one report to the next.
As she was putting her printed invoices together, her phone rang. Sally grabbed the receiver.
``Hi, Sally Simmons speaking.''
``Sally? What are you still doing in the office? Aren't you supposed to be at the Victorian Concert Hall in about 10 minutes?''
``Oh my gosh! I'm so so sorry Alan, I'll be right there. Work's been so hectic today that I forgot about the time. Be there in a few!''
Putting down the receiver, Sally re-tidyed her invoices into a neat pile on her desk and stepped away from the fray. It was already past seven, and most of her colleagues have already left for the evening. She had planned to leave earlier, but the client's data was coming in during the afternoon and thus she had to adjust the figures that she had on the client.
Pushing her executive chair in, Sally picked up her briefcase, walked towards the coat-hanger and grabbed her coat, walked towards the open door, flicked the light switch off, stepped out, closed the door, and locked it before heading to her car.
Victoria Concert Hall wasn't too far away from where Sally worked; just a five-minute drive. Taking the elevator down from her office to the basement carpark, Sally tried to recompose her thoughts. Alan had invited her to a night out to the symphony that was playing that night. The theme for the night was Bach, and she knew that Alan loved Bach's music more than anything else.
More importantly, it was the first major date that they had ever since she was promoted to that of manager. Alan was a great catch, and she knew it; yet each time whenever she wanted to get even closer to him, something happened externally to force her to keep her distance.
Tonight though, it was supposed to be the night. The night that she made her move. But already she's starting on the wrong foot; by forgetting about the time while working.
The elevator door opened, and Sally walked briskly out of it towards her car. She got into the car and turned the ignition. The head lights lit and the car started rolling forward. She was on to the concert hall.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 28 Feb 2008 17:39:40)
It wasn't like that before; life was a little easier then, when she was still a lowly executive. Now, being the manager of several large portfolios, Sally found herself living on the edge of life, always rushing from one meeting to the next, always rushing from one report to the next.
As she was putting her printed invoices together, her phone rang. Sally grabbed the receiver.
``Hi, Sally Simmons speaking.''
``Sally? What are you still doing in the office? Aren't you supposed to be at the Victorian Concert Hall in about 10 minutes?''
``Oh my gosh! I'm so so sorry Alan, I'll be right there. Work's been so hectic today that I forgot about the time. Be there in a few!''
Putting down the receiver, Sally re-tidyed her invoices into a neat pile on her desk and stepped away from the fray. It was already past seven, and most of her colleagues have already left for the evening. She had planned to leave earlier, but the client's data was coming in during the afternoon and thus she had to adjust the figures that she had on the client.
Pushing her executive chair in, Sally picked up her briefcase, walked towards the coat-hanger and grabbed her coat, walked towards the open door, flicked the light switch off, stepped out, closed the door, and locked it before heading to her car.
Victoria Concert Hall wasn't too far away from where Sally worked; just a five-minute drive. Taking the elevator down from her office to the basement carpark, Sally tried to recompose her thoughts. Alan had invited her to a night out to the symphony that was playing that night. The theme for the night was Bach, and she knew that Alan loved Bach's music more than anything else.
More importantly, it was the first major date that they had ever since she was promoted to that of manager. Alan was a great catch, and she knew it; yet each time whenever she wanted to get even closer to him, something happened externally to force her to keep her distance.
Tonight though, it was supposed to be the night. The night that she made her move. But already she's starting on the wrong foot; by forgetting about the time while working.
The elevator door opened, and Sally walked briskly out of it towards her car. She got into the car and turned the ignition. The head lights lit and the car started rolling forward. She was on to the concert hall.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 28 Feb 2008 17:39:40)
Thursday, 28 February 2008
Red Tie
It was of little doubt that he had to look his best. No question about it. No siree. There's almost no other way around it.
It had to be that way. A suit. And a tie. He might not like the whole ``suited'' feel, but it was one of the requirements that he had to deal with. He had the suit, but he had no idea about the tie.
There was a long history between he and his ties. Each tie that he had ever owned was reduced to shreds for one reason or another; a most strange but utterly coincidental occurrence. At least, that was what he thought.
So, a tie. A need to dress up. Completely at odds with his rather loose style of doing things. A stuffed shirt. Something that he abhorred with a passion. But duty calls; he needed that job as money was already wearing thin. No way around it, no siree, no way around it at all.
He opened his wardrobe, and peered into the pile of tie shreds. He hoped and wished that there was still a tie that he could wear and pass off decently, but he knew that there was never going to be one; the last one had been destroyed a good long time ago. Trying to prolong the inevitable, he dug around, and much to his chagrin and surprise, he found a perfectly good red tie which had fallen into a corner, hidden away behind the pile of tie fragments.
Sighing, he put it on and knotted it up, his suit already on. Suits, schuits. He hated suits; they made him feel so superfluous, so pretentious. But still, duty calls, and he needed the job. Dusting himself and doing some final adjustments, he made his way out of his apartment, and hailed a cab to take him to his interview place.
And so he arrived, and presented himself to the receptionist. Eyeing him with a rather critical eye, she directed him to the interviewer's room somewhere on the fifth floor of the tower. He thanked her, and made his way to the room on the fifth floor.
Knock knock.
``Come in!''
Somewhat apprehensively, he grabbed the door knob, opened the door, and entered. Before him was the interviewer, and between them was a simple desk and an empty seat.
``Take a seat.''
Trying hard not to shuffle, he stepped to the chair and sat down. The interviewer was still reading the dossier intently, and he sat there, feeling even more uncomfortable than before. He coughed.
She looked up sharply, saw the red tie, and promptly slapped him hard across the face. Stunned, he started to retort, but she yelled at him.
``You lousy faggot of a fucker! How dare you seduce my husband! That red tie was the one that I hand sewed for him; there is no other like that in the world! Get out! GET OUT!''
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 27 Feb 2008 18:53:17)
It had to be that way. A suit. And a tie. He might not like the whole ``suited'' feel, but it was one of the requirements that he had to deal with. He had the suit, but he had no idea about the tie.
There was a long history between he and his ties. Each tie that he had ever owned was reduced to shreds for one reason or another; a most strange but utterly coincidental occurrence. At least, that was what he thought.
So, a tie. A need to dress up. Completely at odds with his rather loose style of doing things. A stuffed shirt. Something that he abhorred with a passion. But duty calls; he needed that job as money was already wearing thin. No way around it, no siree, no way around it at all.
He opened his wardrobe, and peered into the pile of tie shreds. He hoped and wished that there was still a tie that he could wear and pass off decently, but he knew that there was never going to be one; the last one had been destroyed a good long time ago. Trying to prolong the inevitable, he dug around, and much to his chagrin and surprise, he found a perfectly good red tie which had fallen into a corner, hidden away behind the pile of tie fragments.
Sighing, he put it on and knotted it up, his suit already on. Suits, schuits. He hated suits; they made him feel so superfluous, so pretentious. But still, duty calls, and he needed the job. Dusting himself and doing some final adjustments, he made his way out of his apartment, and hailed a cab to take him to his interview place.
And so he arrived, and presented himself to the receptionist. Eyeing him with a rather critical eye, she directed him to the interviewer's room somewhere on the fifth floor of the tower. He thanked her, and made his way to the room on the fifth floor.
Knock knock.
``Come in!''
Somewhat apprehensively, he grabbed the door knob, opened the door, and entered. Before him was the interviewer, and between them was a simple desk and an empty seat.
``Take a seat.''
Trying hard not to shuffle, he stepped to the chair and sat down. The interviewer was still reading the dossier intently, and he sat there, feeling even more uncomfortable than before. He coughed.
She looked up sharply, saw the red tie, and promptly slapped him hard across the face. Stunned, he started to retort, but she yelled at him.
``You lousy faggot of a fucker! How dare you seduce my husband! That red tie was the one that I hand sewed for him; there is no other like that in the world! Get out! GET OUT!''
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 27 Feb 2008 18:53:17)
Tuesday, 26 February 2008
The Gift
I knew that this year was a special year. The seventh anniversary that we first met, seven years since that special day when I first gathered the guts to ask her out. Seven years of tears, of joy, of pain, of pleasure, of sorrow and of happiness. Seven long years spread across two continents, separated by the vastness of the Pacific.
Seven years. That magic number. It had to be something special, something intimate, something that makes her feel so much closer to me. Over the years, I've come up with a lot of gift ideas, from flowers to chocolates, to cutesy obfuscated C code and even other geeky pranks which surprised and then please her.
But of course, this time it is different. It had to be more intimate. I didn't quite know what to get her, but as I lay there on my bed, looking at the ceiling and wondering deeply to myself, for some odd reason, one word came to mind.
A brassiere. Not any brassiere, but one of those silky soft oh-so-expensive ones from Victoria's Secret. Complete with matching panties of course. That would definitely titillate her and surprise her once more; who'd have thought that I would have the gall to buy such an intimate gift for her?
Nah. Sounds too kinky. But try as I might, I could not come up with a good reason why I shouldn't do this. And so making up my mind, I slept and waited for tomorrow to come.
I woke up, bright and early, and wondering why in the blazes I had to set myself up for such an impossible task. Everyone knows that the ladies who man the Victoria's Secret store are evil towards guys who shop there; I've heard plenty of scary stories where the guys who were shopping there for their significant others had been embarassed rather publicly about what they were doing.
I'd try my luck then. Thankfully, there was one that was rather far away, far enough that I don't think that I will run into people I know. I mean, I know I'm rather thick-skinned, but it is kind of hard trying to explain why a man was at Victoria's Secret shopping without sounding too suspicious.
So, I drove to the shop, and parked discreetly far away. I had brought along a nondescript brown paper bag, just to hide the tell-tale Victoria's Secret shopping bag. Standing in front of the store front, I mustered my courage and nonchalantly walked into the store.
Glancing around discreetly, I made my way to the rack which contained the silky, lacy lingerie and discreetly picked up a set which I thought was probably good enough for her. Thankfully, it was early enough that no one else was in the store, save for the cashier.
Somewhat apprehensively, I shuffled my way to the cashier and presented my purchase. Eyeing me with a somewhat amused look, she smiled at me.
``For a loved one?''
``Uh... yeah.''
``Awww... that's so sweet of you! Most guys won't even have the guts to step in here!''
``Uh... huh...''
``Here's your purchase, and have a nice day! I'm sure she'll be really pleased with your selection!'' She winked at me as she put the lingerie into a non-descript white bag as opposed to the pink-and-white striped one that they usually used.
``Don't worry, we have a policy of treating our customers with understanding and respect.'' And with that, she handed me the bag and bade me farewell.
So I stepped out of the store, and walked to my car, feeling somewhat relieved that I managed to make my purchase without embarassing myself.
Who said that folks weren't nice people?
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 25 Feb 2008 17:00:21)
[Ed: I swear that this was written in response to the topic of ``Write a story where a bra features in the story'']
Seven years. That magic number. It had to be something special, something intimate, something that makes her feel so much closer to me. Over the years, I've come up with a lot of gift ideas, from flowers to chocolates, to cutesy obfuscated C code and even other geeky pranks which surprised and then please her.
But of course, this time it is different. It had to be more intimate. I didn't quite know what to get her, but as I lay there on my bed, looking at the ceiling and wondering deeply to myself, for some odd reason, one word came to mind.
A brassiere. Not any brassiere, but one of those silky soft oh-so-expensive ones from Victoria's Secret. Complete with matching panties of course. That would definitely titillate her and surprise her once more; who'd have thought that I would have the gall to buy such an intimate gift for her?
Nah. Sounds too kinky. But try as I might, I could not come up with a good reason why I shouldn't do this. And so making up my mind, I slept and waited for tomorrow to come.
I woke up, bright and early, and wondering why in the blazes I had to set myself up for such an impossible task. Everyone knows that the ladies who man the Victoria's Secret store are evil towards guys who shop there; I've heard plenty of scary stories where the guys who were shopping there for their significant others had been embarassed rather publicly about what they were doing.
I'd try my luck then. Thankfully, there was one that was rather far away, far enough that I don't think that I will run into people I know. I mean, I know I'm rather thick-skinned, but it is kind of hard trying to explain why a man was at Victoria's Secret shopping without sounding too suspicious.
So, I drove to the shop, and parked discreetly far away. I had brought along a nondescript brown paper bag, just to hide the tell-tale Victoria's Secret shopping bag. Standing in front of the store front, I mustered my courage and nonchalantly walked into the store.
Glancing around discreetly, I made my way to the rack which contained the silky, lacy lingerie and discreetly picked up a set which I thought was probably good enough for her. Thankfully, it was early enough that no one else was in the store, save for the cashier.
Somewhat apprehensively, I shuffled my way to the cashier and presented my purchase. Eyeing me with a somewhat amused look, she smiled at me.
``For a loved one?''
``Uh... yeah.''
``Awww... that's so sweet of you! Most guys won't even have the guts to step in here!''
``Uh... huh...''
``Here's your purchase, and have a nice day! I'm sure she'll be really pleased with your selection!'' She winked at me as she put the lingerie into a non-descript white bag as opposed to the pink-and-white striped one that they usually used.
``Don't worry, we have a policy of treating our customers with understanding and respect.'' And with that, she handed me the bag and bade me farewell.
So I stepped out of the store, and walked to my car, feeling somewhat relieved that I managed to make my purchase without embarassing myself.
Who said that folks weren't nice people?
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 25 Feb 2008 17:00:21)
[Ed: I swear that this was written in response to the topic of ``Write a story where a bra features in the story'']
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
Con Job
Sitting around in the corner of the airport, Sally held on to her paperback, engrossed in its contents as she waited for Alan to arrive. She knew that it wouldn't be until an hour later that his flight would touchdown, but she didn't really want him to wait for her while he was weary from the rather long flight.
``Excuse me miss, may we ask you a few questions?''
``Huh?'' Sally replied somewhat confused and looked up from her paperback. In front of her stood two rather well-built males dressed in generic black suits and ties, and they both had earpieces on. One of them was looking at her, obviously the one who was directly addressing her earlier. The both of them seemed like Serious Business.
``Could you please stand up, miss, and put that paperback down slowly.''
Feeling no clearer than before, Sally stood up slowly and eye-balled both the suits. They seemed like the government kinds, but why would they be talking to her in such a tone in such a public area like the airport? She knew for certain that she hadn't done anything wrong, and she knew that there was nothing to be afraid of.
``Are you Sally Thompson?''
``Yes, I am. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I have no idea what is going on; will you please enlighten me what is going on?''
``In due time Ms Thompson. Do you know a certain Alan Grimble? He is supposed to be on flight number 578 which is supposed to touch down within the next hour.''
``Yes I do... why? What happened? Did Alan's flight have a problem?''
``I'm afraid that that is something that we cannot discuss at this moment. We would like you to follow us where we can ask some questions about Mr Grimble.''
``What if I refuse?'' Sally said in a rather defiant yet clearly frightened way.
``Then I'm afraid you are obstructing Official Business, and we are compelled to arrest you then.''
``Alright then...'' Sally said guardedly and with great reservation.
With one of the suited men leading the way, Sally followed rather reluctantly, and the rear was covered by the remaining man. The lead person opened an unmarked door found near the offices of the airport administrative staff, and Sally looked tentatively into the dark room beyond.
Without a word, she found herself forcefully shoved into the room head-first, and heard the door slam shut as a rag with strange vapours emanating stuffed up into her face. She struggled a little, but found herself pinned down by powerful arms.
Little by little, Sally slipped into unconsciousness.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 29 Jan 2008 17:44:13)
``Excuse me miss, may we ask you a few questions?''
``Huh?'' Sally replied somewhat confused and looked up from her paperback. In front of her stood two rather well-built males dressed in generic black suits and ties, and they both had earpieces on. One of them was looking at her, obviously the one who was directly addressing her earlier. The both of them seemed like Serious Business.
``Could you please stand up, miss, and put that paperback down slowly.''
Feeling no clearer than before, Sally stood up slowly and eye-balled both the suits. They seemed like the government kinds, but why would they be talking to her in such a tone in such a public area like the airport? She knew for certain that she hadn't done anything wrong, and she knew that there was nothing to be afraid of.
``Are you Sally Thompson?''
``Yes, I am. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I have no idea what is going on; will you please enlighten me what is going on?''
``In due time Ms Thompson. Do you know a certain Alan Grimble? He is supposed to be on flight number 578 which is supposed to touch down within the next hour.''
``Yes I do... why? What happened? Did Alan's flight have a problem?''
``I'm afraid that that is something that we cannot discuss at this moment. We would like you to follow us where we can ask some questions about Mr Grimble.''
``What if I refuse?'' Sally said in a rather defiant yet clearly frightened way.
``Then I'm afraid you are obstructing Official Business, and we are compelled to arrest you then.''
``Alright then...'' Sally said guardedly and with great reservation.
With one of the suited men leading the way, Sally followed rather reluctantly, and the rear was covered by the remaining man. The lead person opened an unmarked door found near the offices of the airport administrative staff, and Sally looked tentatively into the dark room beyond.
Without a word, she found herself forcefully shoved into the room head-first, and heard the door slam shut as a rag with strange vapours emanating stuffed up into her face. She struggled a little, but found herself pinned down by powerful arms.
Little by little, Sally slipped into unconsciousness.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 29 Jan 2008 17:44:13)
Wednesday, 9 January 2008
Data Manipulator
I can scarcely remember the time that I walked the surface of the earth for any extended period of time. Data manipulation has reached the point where I find that most of what I need to do can be accomplished from the comfort of my own home, without ever having the need to get to the outside world.
The revolution came subtly, like most widespread and successful ones. I could barely remembered the time where I had to peer into a computer monitor to see what I am doing. Now, all that I ever needed to do, was just to switch my glasses to projection mode, and everywhere that I looked, there will be a ghostly visage which shows the location that I am in in virtual space.
Information on my computer was displayed in a large and rather visual four dimensional data cube, with teleporting portals allowing me to access virtually the remaining spatial dimension that no one can ever visualise, even in their mind's eye. I spent the better half of the day patching up the data wall around my corner of cyberspace, to prevent nosey folks from peering in; all these I accomplished through the use of a spatial sensing system which computed my actions in virtual space based on the position of my digits and other body parts in the real world. Despite my best efforts, I find that I still need to make rather frequent patches to the data wall, since it is of a common occurrence to have would be wannabes trying to break into folks private data space.
Being in the field for so long meant that one probably makes a fair number of enemies, mostly within the business itself. No decent data manipulator will ever not be targets of random attacks---their sheer power makes it enticing for the professional crooks to get at them.
Even after so long, I still prefer the feel of a keyboard, and not being too involved with the virtual space, so I just configured my rig to only track head and finger motions. While I must say that the current means of working is fine from a data manipulator's perspective, I still long for the simplier life, where dealing with data didn't mean a full scale enterprise like the one that I am doing now.
Who am I kidding anyway?
The revolution came subtly, like most widespread and successful ones. I could barely remembered the time where I had to peer into a computer monitor to see what I am doing. Now, all that I ever needed to do, was just to switch my glasses to projection mode, and everywhere that I looked, there will be a ghostly visage which shows the location that I am in in virtual space.
Information on my computer was displayed in a large and rather visual four dimensional data cube, with teleporting portals allowing me to access virtually the remaining spatial dimension that no one can ever visualise, even in their mind's eye. I spent the better half of the day patching up the data wall around my corner of cyberspace, to prevent nosey folks from peering in; all these I accomplished through the use of a spatial sensing system which computed my actions in virtual space based on the position of my digits and other body parts in the real world. Despite my best efforts, I find that I still need to make rather frequent patches to the data wall, since it is of a common occurrence to have would be wannabes trying to break into folks private data space.
Being in the field for so long meant that one probably makes a fair number of enemies, mostly within the business itself. No decent data manipulator will ever not be targets of random attacks---their sheer power makes it enticing for the professional crooks to get at them.
Even after so long, I still prefer the feel of a keyboard, and not being too involved with the virtual space, so I just configured my rig to only track head and finger motions. While I must say that the current means of working is fine from a data manipulator's perspective, I still long for the simplier life, where dealing with data didn't mean a full scale enterprise like the one that I am doing now.
Who am I kidding anyway?
Tuesday, 8 January 2008
Wind Song
So it has been a while since Sue last came by the vast grassy fields. Homework has been so heavy lately, and she found that it was getting harder to find time for her to come out. Money has always been a problem at home, and she has been working as an assistant at the nearby pet shop over the weekends.
Today was different. Sue's boss gave her a day off because even he felt that she had been working a little too hard and not having enough time for herself; after all, Sue was only a high school student, and shouldn't those times be the happiest times of one's life?
She ambulated across the green grassy field until she was near the central region, far away from the surrounding trees, far away from the people who walked around it. The air was fresh, and the wind blew in strange patternless rhythms.
This was the part that Sue loved the most, the song that the winds sang. It was a strange song, at times it was rather sweet, like when the wind was but a light breeze which shook the nearby trees, causing a slight rustling sound, yet at times it sounded regal, and aggressively so too, as it blew strongly across the field and beat into her face with the sound of a wolf howl.
Sue loved the song that the winds sang. It was a surreal kind of feeling, to be able to stand there in the middle of the field, feeling and listening to the patternless rhythms that the wind blew.
Yet, today was different. Sue could feel it in the air as she stood there at her favourite spot in the middle of the field after not doing so for so long. The wind song was somewhat melancholious, with a tone that she never seemed to have heard before. It was as though something was horribly wrong, yet she could not place her finger quite on it. Brushing off her misgivings, she stood there, and listened on, revelling in the coolness of the winds and enjoying the songs that they were singing.
As the sun slowly dipped towards the horizon, Sue felt the wind drop, and with great reluctance, decided to go back home. When she opened the door of her apartment, she found, to her sad surprise, that her cat had died on the floor.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 07 Jan 2008 17:51:57)
Today was different. Sue's boss gave her a day off because even he felt that she had been working a little too hard and not having enough time for herself; after all, Sue was only a high school student, and shouldn't those times be the happiest times of one's life?
She ambulated across the green grassy field until she was near the central region, far away from the surrounding trees, far away from the people who walked around it. The air was fresh, and the wind blew in strange patternless rhythms.
This was the part that Sue loved the most, the song that the winds sang. It was a strange song, at times it was rather sweet, like when the wind was but a light breeze which shook the nearby trees, causing a slight rustling sound, yet at times it sounded regal, and aggressively so too, as it blew strongly across the field and beat into her face with the sound of a wolf howl.
Sue loved the song that the winds sang. It was a surreal kind of feeling, to be able to stand there in the middle of the field, feeling and listening to the patternless rhythms that the wind blew.
Yet, today was different. Sue could feel it in the air as she stood there at her favourite spot in the middle of the field after not doing so for so long. The wind song was somewhat melancholious, with a tone that she never seemed to have heard before. It was as though something was horribly wrong, yet she could not place her finger quite on it. Brushing off her misgivings, she stood there, and listened on, revelling in the coolness of the winds and enjoying the songs that they were singing.
As the sun slowly dipped towards the horizon, Sue felt the wind drop, and with great reluctance, decided to go back home. When she opened the door of her apartment, she found, to her sad surprise, that her cat had died on the floor.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 07 Jan 2008 17:51:57)
Tuesday, 1 January 2008
Lorem Ipsum
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Donec ut dolor a pede tristique tempus. Vestibulum sed lacus non sapien interdum nonummy. Suspendisse quam. Suspendisse tortor justo, suscipit sed, aliquet ut, commodo ac, ligula. Aliquam cursus placerat lectus. Cras pulvinar mi dignissim sapien. Aliquam auctor, dui in laoreet ultricies, tellus sapien sollicitudin turpis, id lacinia sapien arcu eu odio. Donec vitae erat. Phasellus diam felis, sagittis non, egestas ac, commodo ut, ipsum. Phasellus aliquam. Pellentesque vitae justo. Ut ullamcorper lobortis ligula. In nulla orci, pulvinar vitae, ultricies quis, dignissim a, justo. Sed viverra iaculis metus. Aenean tortor elit, varius nec, tincidunt vel, dignissim ut, lectus. Nulla facilisi. Sed accumsan odio eget pede.
Pellentesque quam mi, aliquet faucibus, consectetuer a, facilisis sit amet, nulla. Vivamus dolor. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Morbi consequat tincidunt dolor. Ut pharetra, turpis in faucibus vestibulum, nisl urna bibendum justo, at auctor elit elit non tortor. Sed sagittis tortor in nibh. Praesent vitae libero ac mauris scelerisque tempus. Nullam eu ante eget turpis ullamcorper blandit. Morbi adipiscing nunc non leo. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Curabitur scelerisque. In mauris. Curabitur felis. Nulla gravida mollis metus. Donec a justo non ante lobortis tincidunt. Duis quis lorem non leo rutrum tristique. Cras pretium urna non nisi condimentum posuere. Proin tincidunt.
Vestibulum varius turpis ut purus. Nunc condimentum tristique magna. Ut purus turpis, imperdiet ut, blandit ac, tincidunt ut, sem. Nam dictum euismod quam. Fusce malesuada rutrum quam. Cras eget lectus. Donec eu turpis. Aliquam erat volutpat. Suspendisse potenti. Donec ut nisi. Duis in ante a velit posuere blandit. Nam mattis vulputate nulla. Nunc ut urna. Nam in nibh nec urna vulputate venenatis. Etiam orci. Fusce eu nibh ac diam pulvinar consequat. Proin nibh elit, bibendum a, lobortis eget, scelerisque nec, lacus.
Fusce imperdiet, nibh a iaculis gravida, purus turpis sollicitudin leo, sed faucibus neque nisl eu quam. Proin augue. Ut pharetra pharetra massa. Sed vehicula. Morbi nisl. Sed et purus a risus sollicitudin molestie. Donec scelerisque urna quis tellus. Donec non leo. Aliquam erat volutpat. Duis id odio eu ligula rutrum nonummy. Vivamus sed ante in augue ultrices ultricies.
Vivamus urna purus, rutrum sit amet, lacinia volutpat, iaculis in, elit. Suspendisse sollicitudin lectus at ipsum. Cras ipsum. Nunc quis lorem sed metus vehicula placerat. Nam tincidunt, arcu nec porta commodo, eros elit molestie lacus, sollicitudin accumsan lacus dui ut urna. Nam et risus in nisl posuere commodo. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla tempus nisi non felis condimentum gravida. Phasellus eget dolor. In dictum eros nec dui. Sed tristique pretium nunc.
Generated 5 paragraphs, 444 words, 2996 bytes of Lorem Ipsum
Pellentesque quam mi, aliquet faucibus, consectetuer a, facilisis sit amet, nulla. Vivamus dolor. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Morbi consequat tincidunt dolor. Ut pharetra, turpis in faucibus vestibulum, nisl urna bibendum justo, at auctor elit elit non tortor. Sed sagittis tortor in nibh. Praesent vitae libero ac mauris scelerisque tempus. Nullam eu ante eget turpis ullamcorper blandit. Morbi adipiscing nunc non leo. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Curabitur scelerisque. In mauris. Curabitur felis. Nulla gravida mollis metus. Donec a justo non ante lobortis tincidunt. Duis quis lorem non leo rutrum tristique. Cras pretium urna non nisi condimentum posuere. Proin tincidunt.
Vestibulum varius turpis ut purus. Nunc condimentum tristique magna. Ut purus turpis, imperdiet ut, blandit ac, tincidunt ut, sem. Nam dictum euismod quam. Fusce malesuada rutrum quam. Cras eget lectus. Donec eu turpis. Aliquam erat volutpat. Suspendisse potenti. Donec ut nisi. Duis in ante a velit posuere blandit. Nam mattis vulputate nulla. Nunc ut urna. Nam in nibh nec urna vulputate venenatis. Etiam orci. Fusce eu nibh ac diam pulvinar consequat. Proin nibh elit, bibendum a, lobortis eget, scelerisque nec, lacus.
Fusce imperdiet, nibh a iaculis gravida, purus turpis sollicitudin leo, sed faucibus neque nisl eu quam. Proin augue. Ut pharetra pharetra massa. Sed vehicula. Morbi nisl. Sed et purus a risus sollicitudin molestie. Donec scelerisque urna quis tellus. Donec non leo. Aliquam erat volutpat. Duis id odio eu ligula rutrum nonummy. Vivamus sed ante in augue ultrices ultricies.
Vivamus urna purus, rutrum sit amet, lacinia volutpat, iaculis in, elit. Suspendisse sollicitudin lectus at ipsum. Cras ipsum. Nunc quis lorem sed metus vehicula placerat. Nam tincidunt, arcu nec porta commodo, eros elit molestie lacus, sollicitudin accumsan lacus dui ut urna. Nam et risus in nisl posuere commodo. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla tempus nisi non felis condimentum gravida. Phasellus eget dolor. In dictum eros nec dui. Sed tristique pretium nunc.
Generated 5 paragraphs, 444 words, 2996 bytes of Lorem Ipsum
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