Sally walked into the darkened room, her heart beating uncontrollably. She was sure that this wasn't the place that she was supposed to be, but at that point in time, there was little that she can do. It is hard to ignore the plaintive cries of help of a lover over the cellphone, let alone one whom she was almost willing to be married to.
She hesitated a little as she left the light from the corridor and stood at the doorway, that twilight position between light and darkness, reminiscent of her current position. In her right hand, she clutched her Gucci handbag tightly, knowing full well that its contents were the sole reason why she even dragged herself to this out-of-the-way hotel.
``Stop right there. Do you have the goods?''
``Y-y-yes! Yes! They are here! Where is Tom? I want to see Tom!''
``Rest assured, he is here. Hey, your bitch wants to see you, so here's a little something for her, eh?''
A bestial roar of pain echoed from within the darkness, which chilled Sally to the bone.
``Stop it! I told you I have the goods! Don't harm him anymore!'' Sally cried out and made a move forwards into the darkness.
``STAY RIGHT THERE! Move no further or the next sound lover-boy here makes will be his last. Close the door behind you!'' The menacing voice continued.
``But... there will be no light...'' Sally stammered.
``Why would I care? You want your lover? Then do as I say!''
Sullenly with all her senses to full alert, Sally felt for the door with her left hand behind her, always keeping herself looking forwards into the darkness, just in case there was a surprise attack when she turned around. Finally finding the door, she gently shut it with a slight click.
``Toss that handbag over!''
``But... everything of mine is in there!''
``Shut it and toss it over!''
In the dark, Sally couldn't discern where the sound came from, but not wanting to offend, she blindly tossed her handbag forward, only to find a heavy body slamming into her from the side. She fell with the body on top of her.
``Tom?'' A muffled yes was the only reply she heard.
``How are you?'' Sally said as she fumbled for the gag that was binding his mouth. Searching for things like that were hard in the dark.
``I'm fine darling... I'm sorry I had to get you involved in this... this is the last consignment of drugs that I am doing for Gerald the Merciless... he said that I'd be free after this last heist...''
``Oh Tom...''
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 28 Oct 2009 19:49:50)
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
A Tool and The Television
``Step up to the counter good sir!''
``Why would I be bothered with the likes of you again?''
``Ah, you don't understand much, do you good sir? This is the best multi-tool that money can buy, being able to provide a blade that never needs sharpening, and a screwdriver that will never be twisted out of shape. Take a look at this fine blade! It comes in three different sizes too! At the low low price of one hundred dollars, you can now have this exquisite multi-tool...''
``Yes, yes, I see what you are showing. But I'm a mere office worker---why would there ever be a need for me to use a multi-tool like that? Wouldn't that just be a fleecing of my money?''
``Glad you asked! The answer is no, since you can use this multi-tool in ANY and I do mean ANY circumstance, in those little moments that you need to screw in a screw tighter or even to open that bag of chips that you so desperately want to eat...''
``Jimmy, what are you doing now?''
``Huh mum? I'm just watching the television... it's one of those `infomercials' that is showing and there's nothing on.''
``Well, if there's nothing on, why are you still watching it? You should be cleaning your room---I've been asking you do to do that for ages already.''
``Yeah, yeah, I will do that soon. Darn, I've already missed most of what the informercial is saying...''
Tom munched on his chips as he was watching the sitcom that was on. In spite of all the hype, he found it very monotonous, with too much dialogue and having a lack of character development of any sort. It was infuriating---a Saturday night and all the television programmes sucked that much.
`At least this one sucked less than that silly quiz show on the other channel,' he thought to himself as he pushed another handful of chips between his already munching teeth. He had thought of calling Sally out earlier, but decided at the last minute not to because he was still afraid that she wouldn't be interested in actually going out to have a dinner with him.
Tom's cellphone rang. Grunting, he fumbled his way from the couch to find it, and in his haste pushed the remote control down to the ground. With a ridiculous sounding pop, the remote fall neatly into two while the volume of the television soared.
Cursing under his breath, Tom finally found his phone and stabbed the call accept button, only to find that he was a little too late. Muttering more unspeakables, he picked up the two pieces of his remote from the ground and retrieved a multi-tool from the side of his couch and screwed the two halves together, before hitting the volume key to bring the volume down to a more manageable level.
``Jimmy! Your room! Now!''
``Yes mum! I heard you...'' Jimmy said grudgingly as he peeled himself off the television and headed upstairs to his room.
``Don't forget the new bag of mothballs!''
``Yes yes! Stop being such a nag!''
``What did you say? I can't hear you!''
``Nothing mum!''
Jimmy reached out for his multi-tool on his writing desk and extended the medium knife blade to cut an opening in the bag of mothballs that he picked up from the alcove near the stairs he was climbing.
``So, good sir, would you be interested in buying this multi-tool?''
``Well, I suppose it can be useful some times... but I think that a hundred dollars is rather steep.''
``Alright, tell you what. I will offer it to you for eighty, and no less! Eighty for this wonderful piece of engineering to ease your life?''
``Well... I suppose I can use a nice multi-tool for eighty...''
``Thank you good sir! Here's your multi-tool. Nice doing business with you!''
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 27 Oct 2009 19:26:35)
``Why would I be bothered with the likes of you again?''
``Ah, you don't understand much, do you good sir? This is the best multi-tool that money can buy, being able to provide a blade that never needs sharpening, and a screwdriver that will never be twisted out of shape. Take a look at this fine blade! It comes in three different sizes too! At the low low price of one hundred dollars, you can now have this exquisite multi-tool...''
``Yes, yes, I see what you are showing. But I'm a mere office worker---why would there ever be a need for me to use a multi-tool like that? Wouldn't that just be a fleecing of my money?''
``Glad you asked! The answer is no, since you can use this multi-tool in ANY and I do mean ANY circumstance, in those little moments that you need to screw in a screw tighter or even to open that bag of chips that you so desperately want to eat...''
``Jimmy, what are you doing now?''
``Huh mum? I'm just watching the television... it's one of those `infomercials' that is showing and there's nothing on.''
``Well, if there's nothing on, why are you still watching it? You should be cleaning your room---I've been asking you do to do that for ages already.''
``Yeah, yeah, I will do that soon. Darn, I've already missed most of what the informercial is saying...''
Tom munched on his chips as he was watching the sitcom that was on. In spite of all the hype, he found it very monotonous, with too much dialogue and having a lack of character development of any sort. It was infuriating---a Saturday night and all the television programmes sucked that much.
`At least this one sucked less than that silly quiz show on the other channel,' he thought to himself as he pushed another handful of chips between his already munching teeth. He had thought of calling Sally out earlier, but decided at the last minute not to because he was still afraid that she wouldn't be interested in actually going out to have a dinner with him.
Tom's cellphone rang. Grunting, he fumbled his way from the couch to find it, and in his haste pushed the remote control down to the ground. With a ridiculous sounding pop, the remote fall neatly into two while the volume of the television soared.
Cursing under his breath, Tom finally found his phone and stabbed the call accept button, only to find that he was a little too late. Muttering more unspeakables, he picked up the two pieces of his remote from the ground and retrieved a multi-tool from the side of his couch and screwed the two halves together, before hitting the volume key to bring the volume down to a more manageable level.
``Jimmy! Your room! Now!''
``Yes mum! I heard you...'' Jimmy said grudgingly as he peeled himself off the television and headed upstairs to his room.
``Don't forget the new bag of mothballs!''
``Yes yes! Stop being such a nag!''
``What did you say? I can't hear you!''
``Nothing mum!''
Jimmy reached out for his multi-tool on his writing desk and extended the medium knife blade to cut an opening in the bag of mothballs that he picked up from the alcove near the stairs he was climbing.
``So, good sir, would you be interested in buying this multi-tool?''
``Well, I suppose it can be useful some times... but I think that a hundred dollars is rather steep.''
``Alright, tell you what. I will offer it to you for eighty, and no less! Eighty for this wonderful piece of engineering to ease your life?''
``Well... I suppose I can use a nice multi-tool for eighty...''
``Thank you good sir! Here's your multi-tool. Nice doing business with you!''
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 27 Oct 2009 19:26:35)
Wednesday, 14 October 2009
City of the Loveless
This is a city of the loveless, where people fornicate freely according to the principles of free love, but in reality, there is no mutual understanding nor communication---all that they partake in with each other is wild, abandoned sex.
I walk through this city, alone of course, and watch the debauchery that is underway. Hookers peddling their wares along the street corners, pimps strutting their stuff, and even those cutesy-looking couples are nothing more than a young kid acting punk-like with his arm around the itty-bitty waist of the waif-like girl, who wore shorts so tiny that they left nothing to the imagination even after revealing two long and rather pale thin legs.
Turning round the corner, I boarded the subway with the intention to go home, but found my way blocked by a throng of bloodlusted people---they have survived a day of gruelling work and have been worked up to the point that they were ready to fight and grapple with anything that seems to be annoying them even remotely. Staying clear from this mob, I gave a small sigh and turned back to the main street---I should be able to reach home eventually by walking, but I don't really like this city of the loveless.
I wonder to myself, where has all the love gone? Could it be that the city was always loveless? Or, upon application of Occam's Razor, I am the loveless one walking through a vibrant city, with my visions tainted by my inability to appreciate the love. It might be possible that the hookers and pimps I saw were just normal people doing their things, while the flirtatious couples that pass me by are more than just lustful juveniles wanting to do each other, and that throng of bloodlusted people might just be tired office workers who are glad to be going home finally.
I sit along the edge of the road, deep in thought.
I walk through this city, alone of course, and watch the debauchery that is underway. Hookers peddling their wares along the street corners, pimps strutting their stuff, and even those cutesy-looking couples are nothing more than a young kid acting punk-like with his arm around the itty-bitty waist of the waif-like girl, who wore shorts so tiny that they left nothing to the imagination even after revealing two long and rather pale thin legs.
Turning round the corner, I boarded the subway with the intention to go home, but found my way blocked by a throng of bloodlusted people---they have survived a day of gruelling work and have been worked up to the point that they were ready to fight and grapple with anything that seems to be annoying them even remotely. Staying clear from this mob, I gave a small sigh and turned back to the main street---I should be able to reach home eventually by walking, but I don't really like this city of the loveless.
I wonder to myself, where has all the love gone? Could it be that the city was always loveless? Or, upon application of Occam's Razor, I am the loveless one walking through a vibrant city, with my visions tainted by my inability to appreciate the love. It might be possible that the hookers and pimps I saw were just normal people doing their things, while the flirtatious couples that pass me by are more than just lustful juveniles wanting to do each other, and that throng of bloodlusted people might just be tired office workers who are glad to be going home finally.
I sit along the edge of the road, deep in thought.
Saturday, 3 October 2009
Summer Day
It is a hot summer day---not simply the kind of heat that causes its patrons to unwittingly scour their vision for umbrage, no. It is the kind of heat you swim in. It is so hot and so humid that you feel smothered, and not by the sweat or humidity, but by the heat itself. It begins to feel as though heat itself were a palpable substance. And it is on such a day that I sit in front of my computer, working on what I think is due on Monday, while glancing out of my window into the vibrant summer imagery that occurs just 20 feet away from my window.
Girls walking about in their floral summer dresses sporting shades, standing next to the cool dude in his bermudas and leaning on his silver car, talking ever so casually amongst themselves, seemingly preparing for a much needed road trip out to where the seas meet the lands in soft embrace as the waves carefully lap upon the shores. Near the tree just outside my window, some students lie about lazily atop their bellies on a makeshift mat upon the soft lush grass, with their books spread in front of them. Just 10 feet away from these studious students were a couple both lying on their backs with their hands beneath their heads, looking upwards at the cloudless sky in a relaxed mood, whispering sweet nothings to each other, far from the earshot of anyone nearby.
And I sit in my room, swimming in the heat, suffering from the migraine that often plagues me when it gets too hot even to think. A most terrible affair, if you ask me, since the effects of the three fans blowing at full power in my general direction have done little to alleviate the obvious discomfort that I was facing. My vision somewhat impaired by both the dripping beads of perspiration that have gathered on my brow and the wavering refraction of the light from the heat, I struggle to work on my homework, whilst trying to fight away the pangs of procrastination. Outside, the activity beckons me, almost like a flirty mistress, wanting me to enjoy the heat out there where the walls do not trap it, where there are grassy fields to expend all that energy, so that I can finally collapse in exhaustion and nap with glee.
But I resist, for the homework is long and unyielding, and there is much to be done. Annoyed at the distractions, I released the rolled up blinds to the windows, and immediately regretted doing that, since the released blinds hid the distractions from me, but trapped all the excessive heat that was already in the room. Cursing under my breath, I rolled up the blinds once again, and managed to snub my toe on a piece of furniture that happened to be in the way. Grimacing from the pain, I finished up the task at hand and hobbled back to my seat behind my desk, and proceeded to work more on my assignment.
By now, a group of people both male and female have taken up position outside my window in that secret garden-field and are enjoying a game of frisbee. Muttering incoherently under by breath, I swore one last time and packed my computer, intending to find somewhere that I could work peacefully without distracting myself so much.
(Originally from X-peri Mental Writings, now defunct. First published 25 Apr 2009 12:57:00)
Girls walking about in their floral summer dresses sporting shades, standing next to the cool dude in his bermudas and leaning on his silver car, talking ever so casually amongst themselves, seemingly preparing for a much needed road trip out to where the seas meet the lands in soft embrace as the waves carefully lap upon the shores. Near the tree just outside my window, some students lie about lazily atop their bellies on a makeshift mat upon the soft lush grass, with their books spread in front of them. Just 10 feet away from these studious students were a couple both lying on their backs with their hands beneath their heads, looking upwards at the cloudless sky in a relaxed mood, whispering sweet nothings to each other, far from the earshot of anyone nearby.
And I sit in my room, swimming in the heat, suffering from the migraine that often plagues me when it gets too hot even to think. A most terrible affair, if you ask me, since the effects of the three fans blowing at full power in my general direction have done little to alleviate the obvious discomfort that I was facing. My vision somewhat impaired by both the dripping beads of perspiration that have gathered on my brow and the wavering refraction of the light from the heat, I struggle to work on my homework, whilst trying to fight away the pangs of procrastination. Outside, the activity beckons me, almost like a flirty mistress, wanting me to enjoy the heat out there where the walls do not trap it, where there are grassy fields to expend all that energy, so that I can finally collapse in exhaustion and nap with glee.
But I resist, for the homework is long and unyielding, and there is much to be done. Annoyed at the distractions, I released the rolled up blinds to the windows, and immediately regretted doing that, since the released blinds hid the distractions from me, but trapped all the excessive heat that was already in the room. Cursing under my breath, I rolled up the blinds once again, and managed to snub my toe on a piece of furniture that happened to be in the way. Grimacing from the pain, I finished up the task at hand and hobbled back to my seat behind my desk, and proceeded to work more on my assignment.
By now, a group of people both male and female have taken up position outside my window in that secret garden-field and are enjoying a game of frisbee. Muttering incoherently under by breath, I swore one last time and packed my computer, intending to find somewhere that I could work peacefully without distracting myself so much.
(Originally from X-peri Mental Writings, now defunct. First published 25 Apr 2009 12:57:00)
My Eyes and Yours
I want to talk to you more with my eyes than with my tongue, because my tongue is so confused, so faltering, too human. They told me the eyes are the window to the soul, but I've found that they are the sort of windows with a rusted latch, and I can't quite climb out anymore. That is, till the day that we sat down and gazed deep into each other's eyes. Your deep soulful eyes were like the antirust to the rusted latch of mine, and I found more about myself through your eyes than through my own.
I have to admit it. I have fallen so deeply in love with you. I have looked deep into many people's eyes, and to be honest, yours emitted a strange twinkling and fire that I never truly saw in anyone else's. I can never forget that fire, no matter how far we may be from each other physically. You have unlatched my rusty soul windows, and now they remain open only for you and you alone. Each time that I gaze deep into your eyes, I find that I have lost my usual surly self, and have reached a strange state of calmness and fiery passion, the only kind that you alone can ignite within me.
The words, the words that I never knew how to say, they radiated from my eyes to yours. At least, I think that they did---I can never be too sure, really. But each time I look at you, and into your beautiful green eyes, I find myself there, together with you, with nothing separating us. It is a magical moment that no one else can truly comprehend---it is our little secret meeting place.
Windows with a rusted latch, fixed and opened to the intercourse amongst the lovers. You helped me climb out of my shell, and I have slowly learnt the meaning to love and to be loved.
Ida dear, I love you.
(Originally from X-peri Mental Writings, now defunct. First published 21 Dec 2008 21:37:00)
I have to admit it. I have fallen so deeply in love with you. I have looked deep into many people's eyes, and to be honest, yours emitted a strange twinkling and fire that I never truly saw in anyone else's. I can never forget that fire, no matter how far we may be from each other physically. You have unlatched my rusty soul windows, and now they remain open only for you and you alone. Each time that I gaze deep into your eyes, I find that I have lost my usual surly self, and have reached a strange state of calmness and fiery passion, the only kind that you alone can ignite within me.
The words, the words that I never knew how to say, they radiated from my eyes to yours. At least, I think that they did---I can never be too sure, really. But each time I look at you, and into your beautiful green eyes, I find myself there, together with you, with nothing separating us. It is a magical moment that no one else can truly comprehend---it is our little secret meeting place.
Windows with a rusted latch, fixed and opened to the intercourse amongst the lovers. You helped me climb out of my shell, and I have slowly learnt the meaning to love and to be loved.
Ida dear, I love you.
(Originally from X-peri Mental Writings, now defunct. First published 21 Dec 2008 21:37:00)
Monologue
I am considering contracting a horrible disease tomorrow. I was thinking maybe Polio; is Polio contagious? It just won’t work if I don’t actually catch it; it is so unromantic to be afflicted by a disease that has lain dormant in oneself for a long time. It is as if one were hiding something. Truly, a genetic disease seems simply dishonest---but a caught disease, oh there is revelry. And it's so much more attractive, isn't it? The gothic moonlit face of the consumption; the saucy blush of scarlet fever. That is romance. But best---there is a marvelous story in the catching.
But of course, like all marvellous stories, there needs some setting. Indeed a setting of some sort that brings out the intricacies and the romance of it all. Should I catch it from a stranger, or should I catch it from a lover? Oh poor me! All these choices! What ought I to do? Which should I pick? Maybe I should have a most terrific fall, and in the fall, I hit the ground slowly but surely, and scrap myself on a horrible piece of nail which just happened to have the remnants of scarlet fever. No, no, no, these all seems a little too convenient; there has to be something better.
Or I can take a little trip down to one of those Asian countries, maybe like a place in Hong Kong, where they had the recent SARS outbreak. What animal transmitted that again? Oh right, civet cats. Aren't they sweet darlings, those civet cats? No wait, civet cats are not cats; what's wrong with me now? Oh bother, bother me---I'm not longer thinking too straight here.
Could it be, that I'm already having a horrible disease now? But that's hardly fair! I wanted to contract a horrible disease tomorrow, not now, so what's going on? My marbles, where are my marbles? I knew that they were supposed to be here somewhere; where are they now?
(Originally from X-peri Mental Writings, now defunct. First published 14 Jul 2008 04:25:00)
But of course, like all marvellous stories, there needs some setting. Indeed a setting of some sort that brings out the intricacies and the romance of it all. Should I catch it from a stranger, or should I catch it from a lover? Oh poor me! All these choices! What ought I to do? Which should I pick? Maybe I should have a most terrific fall, and in the fall, I hit the ground slowly but surely, and scrap myself on a horrible piece of nail which just happened to have the remnants of scarlet fever. No, no, no, these all seems a little too convenient; there has to be something better.
Or I can take a little trip down to one of those Asian countries, maybe like a place in Hong Kong, where they had the recent SARS outbreak. What animal transmitted that again? Oh right, civet cats. Aren't they sweet darlings, those civet cats? No wait, civet cats are not cats; what's wrong with me now? Oh bother, bother me---I'm not longer thinking too straight here.
Could it be, that I'm already having a horrible disease now? But that's hardly fair! I wanted to contract a horrible disease tomorrow, not now, so what's going on? My marbles, where are my marbles? I knew that they were supposed to be here somewhere; where are they now?
(Originally from X-peri Mental Writings, now defunct. First published 14 Jul 2008 04:25:00)
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