(Story begins here.)
The day that Tiffany was let off from the company, she and he had a large argument. He accused her of deliberately trying to jeopardise their lifestyle by hiding her quitting with the lies of the company letting her off due to Tricia, while she was too upset at being treated like that by the company that she had put in a lot of effort to help run to think rationally about what he was saying to her about her and ended up lashing out at him.
That night, he made her sleep in the living room on the couch. But by the next morning, cooler heads prevailed and they sat down and started to talk through the whole event like responsible adults, discussing their next steps.
First, Tiffany was to take full-time care of Tricia. They had argued and debated about this for nearly an hour before coming to the conclusion that Tiffany was to stay home. The same problem of having to take leave on short notice was going to keep re-surfacing as long as Tricia was still a toddler. Maybe later when things were more stabilised that Tiffany's job will be rediscussed.
Second, the nanny had to go. Tiffany dismissed the nanny, who expressed a little regret at being unable to continue to look after Tricia. With Tiffany being at home full-time, there was no need for an additional nanny. Besides, the take-home pay was now much less than before because Tiffany was out of a job---having a nanny would place additional strain to the home finances.
Those were the two main steps that they were going to take. On the one hand, Tiffany was glad to spend more time with Tricia, looking after her every need, both the good and the bad, but on the other hand, it was a substantial income loss that they were taking on. Thankfully, Tricia was a perfectly normal child, something that Tiffany keeps remind herself each time; things could have been worse had Tricia be affected by common childhood afflictions like asthma or allergies.
(Story contines here.)
Friday, 31 January 2014
Thursday, 30 January 2014
Distracted Keying
Lena looked about here furtively. It was not exactly illegal for her to be here, but it was definitely not some place that she wanted to be seen. Especially since the contents of the chest were rather... awkward, to say the least.
She held the key in her hand. It had taken her a long while to source for it. It was silly, she had possessed the chest for a long while now, but it never occurred to her to open it up. She couldn't even tell why. It was just one of the things that she didn't think of doing.
But the key. It took some effort to get hold of it. Her boyfriend had innocently asked her about the chest. She had remembered vaguely what was contained within it, after all, she was present when the things were placed in it. But she didn't hold on to the key.
He had suggested that she prise open the chest with a crowbar, but she remembered that it was not a good idea at some level. She had explained to him that the chest itself was made of some kind of really hard material whose exact composition she wasn't privy of, and the chest itself was machined to such tolerances that finding a chink large enough to support a crowbar was neigh impossible.
Besides, she had the key now. After scouring the Internet. She remembered that when she was present that a duplicate key was to be held in escrow on a semi-secret account on the Internet. She had forgotten about it, mostly. Until of course when her boyfriend piqued her curiousity and stirred up some deep memory of the importance of the contents in the chest.
The key. It was oddly shaped. It looked like an ordinary skeleton key, but it was no ordinary skeleton key. It was more hi-tech looking than a skeleton key. It was also made of the same material that the chest was made of; that made it easy to determine if the key she got was the real deal.
As far as she could remember, the key had an extra dimension that was not easily perceived.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 30-Jan-2014 20:40:23)
She held the key in her hand. It had taken her a long while to source for it. It was silly, she had possessed the chest for a long while now, but it never occurred to her to open it up. She couldn't even tell why. It was just one of the things that she didn't think of doing.
But the key. It took some effort to get hold of it. Her boyfriend had innocently asked her about the chest. She had remembered vaguely what was contained within it, after all, she was present when the things were placed in it. But she didn't hold on to the key.
He had suggested that she prise open the chest with a crowbar, but she remembered that it was not a good idea at some level. She had explained to him that the chest itself was made of some kind of really hard material whose exact composition she wasn't privy of, and the chest itself was machined to such tolerances that finding a chink large enough to support a crowbar was neigh impossible.
Besides, she had the key now. After scouring the Internet. She remembered that when she was present that a duplicate key was to be held in escrow on a semi-secret account on the Internet. She had forgotten about it, mostly. Until of course when her boyfriend piqued her curiousity and stirred up some deep memory of the importance of the contents in the chest.
The key. It was oddly shaped. It looked like an ordinary skeleton key, but it was no ordinary skeleton key. It was more hi-tech looking than a skeleton key. It was also made of the same material that the chest was made of; that made it easy to determine if the key she got was the real deal.
As far as she could remember, the key had an extra dimension that was not easily perceived.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 30-Jan-2014 20:40:23)
Wednesday, 29 January 2014
I'm So Pretty!
``Hey Min, you remembered that time?'' Tae asked as she looked at him.
``Which time?'' Min replied with a look of puzzlement on his face.
``That time... when you were three, I was five, Ma taking me out and you were left at home...''
``Oh god, no!'' Min said, his face blushing as he remembered what had happened.
Min had hopped in front of the mirror in glee. Mother had gone out, as Tae had said, taking her along to see the doctor because Tae had been vomitting a whole lot suddenly. Since it was in a rush, there was no baby-sitter to be found, and Mother made the decision to leave Min at home, alone. The doctor's was only downstairs, so it wasn't that big of a risk, or at least, that was what Mother thought. She had her hands full carrying Tae, and couldn't look out for Min at the same time.
No matter. Min had the apartment to himself. And that included that big mirror in Mother's room. He pranced about in front of it, making monkey faces at himself. Then, he saw that Mother's dresser drawer was ajar. Curious, he climbed up the seat in front of the dresser and pulled on the drawer. It moved easily enough and soon it was open.
Min peered into the drawer. It was full of the stuff that he had seen Mother take out to put on her face just before they headed out. A maroon-coloured stick caught his eye, and he fished it out of the drawer.
It was a weird looking box, squarish on each end, corners and edges all rounded, a single line of gold all around at roughly one third the length of the box. Min grabbed both ends and pulled hard. The box came apart and a luscious red coloured waxy substance in stick form was found.
Min got excited. He had seen this before. Mother used this to draw on her face to look pretty before heading out! Climbing off the seat, Min scampered back to the mirror, and with the stick of lip-stick in hand, started to draw all over his face while looking at himself in the mirror.
``Why'd you bring it up?'' Min said.
``Because when Ma and I got back from the doctor, I could remember her laughing her socks off from the ridiculous pattern you had painted your face using that lip-stick. A pity we didn't have a camera for that though.''
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 29-Jan-2014 21:48:35)
``Which time?'' Min replied with a look of puzzlement on his face.
``That time... when you were three, I was five, Ma taking me out and you were left at home...''
``Oh god, no!'' Min said, his face blushing as he remembered what had happened.
Min had hopped in front of the mirror in glee. Mother had gone out, as Tae had said, taking her along to see the doctor because Tae had been vomitting a whole lot suddenly. Since it was in a rush, there was no baby-sitter to be found, and Mother made the decision to leave Min at home, alone. The doctor's was only downstairs, so it wasn't that big of a risk, or at least, that was what Mother thought. She had her hands full carrying Tae, and couldn't look out for Min at the same time.
No matter. Min had the apartment to himself. And that included that big mirror in Mother's room. He pranced about in front of it, making monkey faces at himself. Then, he saw that Mother's dresser drawer was ajar. Curious, he climbed up the seat in front of the dresser and pulled on the drawer. It moved easily enough and soon it was open.
Min peered into the drawer. It was full of the stuff that he had seen Mother take out to put on her face just before they headed out. A maroon-coloured stick caught his eye, and he fished it out of the drawer.
It was a weird looking box, squarish on each end, corners and edges all rounded, a single line of gold all around at roughly one third the length of the box. Min grabbed both ends and pulled hard. The box came apart and a luscious red coloured waxy substance in stick form was found.
Min got excited. He had seen this before. Mother used this to draw on her face to look pretty before heading out! Climbing off the seat, Min scampered back to the mirror, and with the stick of lip-stick in hand, started to draw all over his face while looking at himself in the mirror.
``Why'd you bring it up?'' Min said.
``Because when Ma and I got back from the doctor, I could remember her laughing her socks off from the ridiculous pattern you had painted your face using that lip-stick. A pity we didn't have a camera for that though.''
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 29-Jan-2014 21:48:35)
Tuesday, 28 January 2014
Wordlessness
Eudice looked about her, trying to take in what was going on. She saw Philippe standing in front of the mirror, his hands fumbling about at the tie around his neck, switching glances between the mirror and the poor attempt at looking at the knot of the tie as he was doing it. She saw that he looked frustrated, as his hands kept knotting and unknotting the tie.
The once crisp silk tie had started to gain more than a few creases in it, most of it removable from a good ironing. Eudice shook her head and walked up to Philippe, who started to protest, but she just raised her index finger and touched him gently on the lips, calming his frustrated soul through the soulful look in her eyes. He saw her glance and started to calm down, a sense of mild resignation and ironic satisfaction glowing through him.
Eudice undid the entire mess that Philippe had done and straightened it out as much as she could, running the tie along her bare thigh as she had rested her leg on the foot stool next to him. She was getting dressed as well, and hadn't put her hosiery on yet, and so her milky white legs emerged sultrily through the opening of her knee-length skirt.
Philippe's iris dilated at the sight of her trying to smooth out the crinkles in his tie the way she did, and suddenly she seemed aware of what she had done and hastily dropped her leg down and looped the tie back around his neck, her face blushing crimson and trying her hardest to look at the tie that she was trying to make the proper Windsor knot in.
Philippe brought both his hands on top of hers, and with his right hand, gently touched her on the chin and softly lifted her face so that he could see her eyes. She tried to avert her gaze, but it was all in vain---she found herself looking at Philippe's eyes. Their sights locked thus, and she stopped fiddling with the tie.
That moment seemed to last an eternity as they spoke unspoken words between each other through that shared gaze. Her blushing faded, and in its stead was a gentle flush that signified a new found arousal and contentment. Philippe too found his mood improving tremendously.
Reality snapped them back in time, and without a word, Eudice finished up the Windsor knot and scurried off to put on her hosiery while Philippe slipped the now done tie under his just buttoned up collar.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 28-Jan-2014 23:32:46)
The once crisp silk tie had started to gain more than a few creases in it, most of it removable from a good ironing. Eudice shook her head and walked up to Philippe, who started to protest, but she just raised her index finger and touched him gently on the lips, calming his frustrated soul through the soulful look in her eyes. He saw her glance and started to calm down, a sense of mild resignation and ironic satisfaction glowing through him.
Eudice undid the entire mess that Philippe had done and straightened it out as much as she could, running the tie along her bare thigh as she had rested her leg on the foot stool next to him. She was getting dressed as well, and hadn't put her hosiery on yet, and so her milky white legs emerged sultrily through the opening of her knee-length skirt.
Philippe's iris dilated at the sight of her trying to smooth out the crinkles in his tie the way she did, and suddenly she seemed aware of what she had done and hastily dropped her leg down and looped the tie back around his neck, her face blushing crimson and trying her hardest to look at the tie that she was trying to make the proper Windsor knot in.
Philippe brought both his hands on top of hers, and with his right hand, gently touched her on the chin and softly lifted her face so that he could see her eyes. She tried to avert her gaze, but it was all in vain---she found herself looking at Philippe's eyes. Their sights locked thus, and she stopped fiddling with the tie.
That moment seemed to last an eternity as they spoke unspoken words between each other through that shared gaze. Her blushing faded, and in its stead was a gentle flush that signified a new found arousal and contentment. Philippe too found his mood improving tremendously.
Reality snapped them back in time, and without a word, Eudice finished up the Windsor knot and scurried off to put on her hosiery while Philippe slipped the now done tie under his just buttoned up collar.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 28-Jan-2014 23:32:46)
Monday, 27 January 2014
Where's Daddy?: Part I
``Mommy, when is Daddy coming home?''
``Never ask that question again, child,'' Tiffany said sternly to Tricia, her darling little five-year-old as she dressed her up for kindergarten. It was the third day of a rather acrimonious divorce, and Tiffany was in no mood to deal with these kinds of questions, not from Tricia her darling, the only bright thing in her seven years of marriage.
It all began like a fairy-tale, her finishing up college in her business major, and he finishing up law school. They met at a party held by a mutual friend, started hanging out, got close, got really close, and then got married. They lived in a house that they built together with some money from their parents, who blessed their marriage the way happy parents often do. He had a promising carrier at the law firm in Chicago, while she managed to land a job as a manager for a small franchise also in the city. Living in suburbia, with their own house and car---it was a dream.
Two years after they were married, Tiffany gave birth to Tricia. Tricia came to this world after some serious planning. He was twenty-seven, while she was nearly twenty-four when Tricia was born, and for a while, it was good. Life was hectic, but they managed somehow with a nanny to help look after the toddler when neither parent was home.
A bundle of joy. That was what Tricia was, unless she was pooping or crying or running a fever the way toddlers often did. All these while, Tiffany would be the one who took care of little precious Tricia, while he kept time at his work to make up for the slight loss of income from Tiffany scaling back on her work and responsibilities to come back early to take care of their growing child. Firms in those days were less family friendly, and so each time Tiffany had to take time off to take care of Tricia with the nanny whenever the little one got ill, she had to consume her personal leave, and at times, even invoking her emergency leave. Needless to say, the firm was not pleased with one of their managers taking so much time off, and by the time Tricia was three, Tiffany had been let off from the franchise.
(Story continues here.)
``Never ask that question again, child,'' Tiffany said sternly to Tricia, her darling little five-year-old as she dressed her up for kindergarten. It was the third day of a rather acrimonious divorce, and Tiffany was in no mood to deal with these kinds of questions, not from Tricia her darling, the only bright thing in her seven years of marriage.
It all began like a fairy-tale, her finishing up college in her business major, and he finishing up law school. They met at a party held by a mutual friend, started hanging out, got close, got really close, and then got married. They lived in a house that they built together with some money from their parents, who blessed their marriage the way happy parents often do. He had a promising carrier at the law firm in Chicago, while she managed to land a job as a manager for a small franchise also in the city. Living in suburbia, with their own house and car---it was a dream.
Two years after they were married, Tiffany gave birth to Tricia. Tricia came to this world after some serious planning. He was twenty-seven, while she was nearly twenty-four when Tricia was born, and for a while, it was good. Life was hectic, but they managed somehow with a nanny to help look after the toddler when neither parent was home.
A bundle of joy. That was what Tricia was, unless she was pooping or crying or running a fever the way toddlers often did. All these while, Tiffany would be the one who took care of little precious Tricia, while he kept time at his work to make up for the slight loss of income from Tiffany scaling back on her work and responsibilities to come back early to take care of their growing child. Firms in those days were less family friendly, and so each time Tiffany had to take time off to take care of Tricia with the nanny whenever the little one got ill, she had to consume her personal leave, and at times, even invoking her emergency leave. Needless to say, the firm was not pleased with one of their managers taking so much time off, and by the time Tricia was three, Tiffany had been let off from the franchise.
(Story continues here.)
Sunday, 26 January 2014
Stuck
``Urgh... I can't move. This is getting stupid.'' Leo lay there on his mattress in the middle of his bedroom, not wanting to move. It has been a week since the snow storm hit, and he was starting to get desperate for food.
Nobody was expecting the snow storm. It was completely abnormal to have such a long-lived snow storm, even though it were the middle of winter. One moment everyone was still having their usual irreverence for the winter as yet a regular season, and the next moment, everyone started to panic about the meteorological report that the snow storm was part of a larger and more ominous weather conditoin.
Of course Leo was caught by surprise. Many of the people who lived in the small apartment were caught by surprise. Most of the tenants were students of the college nearby, and so they had the usual budget of a poor student, barely enough for rent, and just sufficient for a near daily allotment of instant ramen. The larder had, at best, two or three days worth of food, and even then, it was the tasteless stuff that came for cheap.
But it has been a week. A week of near constant pelting of snow. The first floor had been completely snowed in, and worse than that, supplies had run low. They were lucky that the water and gas pipes were still working and had not shattered yet from the cold, but there was no telling if any of them would go away any time soon the longer the weather condition held.
``So hungry... so damn hungry...'' Leo groaned. As a collective, the apartment denizens had pooled whatever food they had and shared it out two or three days ago, but there isn't much when you consider that most of those in the pool were the same poor starving student that Leo was.
Just how long was this snow storm going to last?
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 26-Jan-2014 11:29:52)
Nobody was expecting the snow storm. It was completely abnormal to have such a long-lived snow storm, even though it were the middle of winter. One moment everyone was still having their usual irreverence for the winter as yet a regular season, and the next moment, everyone started to panic about the meteorological report that the snow storm was part of a larger and more ominous weather conditoin.
Of course Leo was caught by surprise. Many of the people who lived in the small apartment were caught by surprise. Most of the tenants were students of the college nearby, and so they had the usual budget of a poor student, barely enough for rent, and just sufficient for a near daily allotment of instant ramen. The larder had, at best, two or three days worth of food, and even then, it was the tasteless stuff that came for cheap.
But it has been a week. A week of near constant pelting of snow. The first floor had been completely snowed in, and worse than that, supplies had run low. They were lucky that the water and gas pipes were still working and had not shattered yet from the cold, but there was no telling if any of them would go away any time soon the longer the weather condition held.
``So hungry... so damn hungry...'' Leo groaned. As a collective, the apartment denizens had pooled whatever food they had and shared it out two or three days ago, but there isn't much when you consider that most of those in the pool were the same poor starving student that Leo was.
Just how long was this snow storm going to last?
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 26-Jan-2014 11:29:52)
Saturday, 25 January 2014
Assemblage in the Cavern
Anton found himself in a cavern near the top of the mountain that was surrounded by the jungle. His memory was hazy, and he distinctly remembered entering the jungle a couple of days ago. Or was it nearly a week since he had entered the jungle? He could not remember.
He didn't even remember when he had made his way up the mountain and how he found this particular cavern. It was all so queer.
Anton scratched his head in confusion and looked about him. The cavern itself was more of a corridor upon deeper inspection, with torches lining alongside every twenty or so paces. It seemed to be occupied.
Having nothing to lose, Anton followed the corridor down until it opened up to a much larger cavern.
This one, in comparison, was gigantic. The ceiling was high above and unreachable, with only a single opening at the top where the sun beam shone straight through, creating an obvious pillar of light through the diffused dust that was present in the air.
But it wasn't the ceiling that was awesome.
In front of him, under the shaking lights of a few standing torches, Anton saw a roughly hewn up rock that seemed to be used as a stage. On it he could barely make out ten to twenty silhouettes. Of these, only the top half seemed to be moving, while the bottom half was still. He swore that he could hear some sound from their direction.
Anton walked closer up towards strange group of people. The distance between the corridor that Anton just left and the stage that he could barely make out was much farther than he thought, and he was glad that there were no obvious pitfalls in the path that he chosen. In fact, he was surprised that given the large extent of the cavern, that there were no faults in the ground at all.
When he got close enough, he could hear the sound much clearer. It was the sound of an orchestra tuning up; he could tell from the relatively familiar harmonic sounds that he had once heard from a travelling band that had been through his village.
But who would have an orchestra in a hovel like this? It all seemed otherworldly.
He crept up closer, careful to stay within the shadows as much as he could. The pillar of light was between him and the orchestra, when suddenly he noticed that the light had diverged from its original path. He looked up and tried to figure out how when he noticed that someone had moved two prisms into place, one to capture and redirect the light from the sun from the hole in the ceiling, the other to redirect the redirected light again towards the stage.
When that second prism was in position, Anton could see the people on the stage with startling clarity. They were all dressed in silken cloth with gilded hemlines on the sleeves, pants and skirt. And they seemed to be a modern orchestra, at least from our parlance, but to Anton, they just seemed so ethereal.
He stood there and gaped on, in awe at what he had seen.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 25-Jan-2014 23:53:55)
He didn't even remember when he had made his way up the mountain and how he found this particular cavern. It was all so queer.
Anton scratched his head in confusion and looked about him. The cavern itself was more of a corridor upon deeper inspection, with torches lining alongside every twenty or so paces. It seemed to be occupied.
Having nothing to lose, Anton followed the corridor down until it opened up to a much larger cavern.
This one, in comparison, was gigantic. The ceiling was high above and unreachable, with only a single opening at the top where the sun beam shone straight through, creating an obvious pillar of light through the diffused dust that was present in the air.
But it wasn't the ceiling that was awesome.
In front of him, under the shaking lights of a few standing torches, Anton saw a roughly hewn up rock that seemed to be used as a stage. On it he could barely make out ten to twenty silhouettes. Of these, only the top half seemed to be moving, while the bottom half was still. He swore that he could hear some sound from their direction.
Anton walked closer up towards strange group of people. The distance between the corridor that Anton just left and the stage that he could barely make out was much farther than he thought, and he was glad that there were no obvious pitfalls in the path that he chosen. In fact, he was surprised that given the large extent of the cavern, that there were no faults in the ground at all.
When he got close enough, he could hear the sound much clearer. It was the sound of an orchestra tuning up; he could tell from the relatively familiar harmonic sounds that he had once heard from a travelling band that had been through his village.
But who would have an orchestra in a hovel like this? It all seemed otherworldly.
He crept up closer, careful to stay within the shadows as much as he could. The pillar of light was between him and the orchestra, when suddenly he noticed that the light had diverged from its original path. He looked up and tried to figure out how when he noticed that someone had moved two prisms into place, one to capture and redirect the light from the sun from the hole in the ceiling, the other to redirect the redirected light again towards the stage.
When that second prism was in position, Anton could see the people on the stage with startling clarity. They were all dressed in silken cloth with gilded hemlines on the sleeves, pants and skirt. And they seemed to be a modern orchestra, at least from our parlance, but to Anton, they just seemed so ethereal.
He stood there and gaped on, in awe at what he had seen.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 25-Jan-2014 23:53:55)
Friday, 24 January 2014
Searching for Susan
``But I'm so thirsty!''
``Then you should have brought your own damn bottle, you water addict!'' Tina screeched at Sam, who was deliberately sticking his tongue out at her like a panting dog to demonstrate his utter requirement of water.
It had been a long and hot day. Tina and Sam were out in the jungle, looking for Anton who had been missing. Anton's wife had gone out after him, but they didn't hear from her either. The rest of the villagers got concerned and so they asked for volunteers to find out what had happened to the two of them. Tina volunteered, and Sam, for whatever reason, decided to tag along.
Except Sam loved drinking water. He loved drinking it so much that even during happy hours at the village pub, he would get nothing but water from the barkeep, who was very annoyed at him since that meant that the profit margins were extremely thin to non-existent with Sam.
Initially, Tina didn't want Sam to come along, knowing that his water addiction would become a liability in the jungle. But he pleaded and appealled to her, extolling the benefits of entering the jungle as a pair as opposed to the dangers of being alone. Against her instincts, she relented.
And now, in addition to finding the missing couple, they had the new problem of satiating Sam's water addiction.
It was not that he was dehydrating. He didn't pee at a much higher rate/volume as compared to the others either. He just loved drinking copious amounts of water. That was generally fine, except when leaving the village and entering the jungle where such sources of water was hard to come by.
Tina was adamant of not carrying a five-gallon jerry can of water just so that Sam could satisfy his cravings for water. That would slow them down a whole lot more than would be expected.
Naturally, she was annoyed when he started badgering her for more water, eating into her own personal supplies.
``But I've already finished my bottle!'' Sam complained as the two of them made their way through the paths.
``I didn't want you to come at all! But noooo, you said that you would be fine and handle your own water addiction by carrying enough water for yourself. Where had that promise gone?'' Tina replied exasperatedly, her eyes scanning the soft mud. Donkey tracks. That was the animal that Susan had gone into the jungle on. Still, Tina was feeling disturbed. If Susan was still on her beast of burden, why hadn't she returned yet?
``How was I to know that even bringing extra bottles was insufficient?'' Sam protested.
``Oh come on,'' Tina replied tiredly. ``It's you for goodness sake! You never have enough to drink even with the damn well next to you! What made you think that what you carried with you was enough to begin with?''
``I thought we could easily find water in the jungle in the form of pools and what not from the rain last night.''
``Yeah, right. What do you know about the damn jungle, Sam? At least I have been a tracker and walking about here. Goddamnit, I should've trusted my instincts and not get cowed into bringing you along.''
``But you love me, right?'' Sam replied, almost sweetly.
``That is not the point!''
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-01-24 12:40:10)
``Then you should have brought your own damn bottle, you water addict!'' Tina screeched at Sam, who was deliberately sticking his tongue out at her like a panting dog to demonstrate his utter requirement of water.
It had been a long and hot day. Tina and Sam were out in the jungle, looking for Anton who had been missing. Anton's wife had gone out after him, but they didn't hear from her either. The rest of the villagers got concerned and so they asked for volunteers to find out what had happened to the two of them. Tina volunteered, and Sam, for whatever reason, decided to tag along.
Except Sam loved drinking water. He loved drinking it so much that even during happy hours at the village pub, he would get nothing but water from the barkeep, who was very annoyed at him since that meant that the profit margins were extremely thin to non-existent with Sam.
Initially, Tina didn't want Sam to come along, knowing that his water addiction would become a liability in the jungle. But he pleaded and appealled to her, extolling the benefits of entering the jungle as a pair as opposed to the dangers of being alone. Against her instincts, she relented.
And now, in addition to finding the missing couple, they had the new problem of satiating Sam's water addiction.
It was not that he was dehydrating. He didn't pee at a much higher rate/volume as compared to the others either. He just loved drinking copious amounts of water. That was generally fine, except when leaving the village and entering the jungle where such sources of water was hard to come by.
Tina was adamant of not carrying a five-gallon jerry can of water just so that Sam could satisfy his cravings for water. That would slow them down a whole lot more than would be expected.
Naturally, she was annoyed when he started badgering her for more water, eating into her own personal supplies.
``But I've already finished my bottle!'' Sam complained as the two of them made their way through the paths.
``I didn't want you to come at all! But noooo, you said that you would be fine and handle your own water addiction by carrying enough water for yourself. Where had that promise gone?'' Tina replied exasperatedly, her eyes scanning the soft mud. Donkey tracks. That was the animal that Susan had gone into the jungle on. Still, Tina was feeling disturbed. If Susan was still on her beast of burden, why hadn't she returned yet?
``How was I to know that even bringing extra bottles was insufficient?'' Sam protested.
``Oh come on,'' Tina replied tiredly. ``It's you for goodness sake! You never have enough to drink even with the damn well next to you! What made you think that what you carried with you was enough to begin with?''
``I thought we could easily find water in the jungle in the form of pools and what not from the rain last night.''
``Yeah, right. What do you know about the damn jungle, Sam? At least I have been a tracker and walking about here. Goddamnit, I should've trusted my instincts and not get cowed into bringing you along.''
``But you love me, right?'' Sam replied, almost sweetly.
``That is not the point!''
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-01-24 12:40:10)
Thursday, 23 January 2014
Apartment Hunting
Timothy surveyed the renter's guide that he had obtained from the cafe. It was his third day in the city, and he was desperate to find an apartment to stay in. It wasn't so much as him not having a place to stay, but that he didn't feel at all comfortable imposing on his friend for so long given that he would be here for quite a while. His friend had been polite and said that he didn't mind, but Timothy was one of those people who did not like owing favours, especially big ones.
He sat at the table in the cafe, a cup of the cheapest brew available there to help justify his position. The renter's guide was fairly complete, and had the advantage of organising the apartments in two ways; first by price, and second by location. Timothy had a starting account of around ten thousand dollars in his bank, but that money was not going to last if he didn't manage to find a job soon enough. And so, a relatively cheap apartment would be more useful to him than pure material comfort.
He took a sip from his coffee, his eyes scanning the list. There were a couple of single room rentals that cost nearly three hundred a month, but they were severely limited in that they only had space for a bed and probably a dresser desk with nothing else. The next tier up was around four hundred a month and had a much larger room---bed, writing desk, enough floor space for a shelf or two, carpetted. Those seemed to be interesting enough that Timothy took out his pencil to mark them down. There were five of them available that were within that price range with those features.
Past that price point though, he was looking at full apartment rentals. Those differed from the room rentals in that easy unfettered access to the kitchen and refrigerator were implied, compared to the single room rentals that may either come from a single landlord letting out a room or a cooperative trying to defray their joint apartment rental cost. A quick glance revealed a couple of studio apartments being rented at the rate of nearly six hundred a month, an amount that Timothy felt to be not tenable for him, especially since he hasn't found a job yet. There was a minimum tenancy of one year, and he needed the mobility that the single room rentals could provide.
With that in mind, Timothy finished up his coffee and started to plan his apartment visits.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-01-23 17:14:29)
He sat at the table in the cafe, a cup of the cheapest brew available there to help justify his position. The renter's guide was fairly complete, and had the advantage of organising the apartments in two ways; first by price, and second by location. Timothy had a starting account of around ten thousand dollars in his bank, but that money was not going to last if he didn't manage to find a job soon enough. And so, a relatively cheap apartment would be more useful to him than pure material comfort.
He took a sip from his coffee, his eyes scanning the list. There were a couple of single room rentals that cost nearly three hundred a month, but they were severely limited in that they only had space for a bed and probably a dresser desk with nothing else. The next tier up was around four hundred a month and had a much larger room---bed, writing desk, enough floor space for a shelf or two, carpetted. Those seemed to be interesting enough that Timothy took out his pencil to mark them down. There were five of them available that were within that price range with those features.
Past that price point though, he was looking at full apartment rentals. Those differed from the room rentals in that easy unfettered access to the kitchen and refrigerator were implied, compared to the single room rentals that may either come from a single landlord letting out a room or a cooperative trying to defray their joint apartment rental cost. A quick glance revealed a couple of studio apartments being rented at the rate of nearly six hundred a month, an amount that Timothy felt to be not tenable for him, especially since he hasn't found a job yet. There was a minimum tenancy of one year, and he needed the mobility that the single room rentals could provide.
With that in mind, Timothy finished up his coffee and started to plan his apartment visits.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-01-23 17:14:29)
Wednesday, 22 January 2014
Sword of the Stars
Taro stood facing Ken, defiant, katana drawn and to the side. His eyes glared with the intensity of a thousand suns as he stared deep into Ken's soul, attempting to find the latter's weakness.
Ken was no pushover. He too had his sword drawn, raised to the right side of his face, both hands holding the hilt, right near the guard, left near the pommel. He met Taro's fiery glare with an icy one of his own, emanating waves of righteous calm as he steeled himself in anticipation; it was not his nature to be the first to strike.
Between them, slightly offset from their direct line of attack, a singular blade was standing upright in the ground, hilt up, tip sunken into the soft earth in the most inelegant way possible. The legendary sword of the stars, a katana forged by the late descendent of Masamune and once wielded by Musashi, made out of meteorite iron and cobalt, stronger and keener than Damascus steel.
The One True Sword.
Ken had found it first in an unmarked tomb through serendipity, but as a Gaijin, he could not safely bring the sword away from where he found it. He had engaged Taro to help him with the matter. But Taro was greedy---once he realised what it was, he wanted it for himself.
Men of honour, it all boiled down to this duel for the rightful owner.
Ken stood still, his sword still raised, anticipating and waiting. He knew that Taro's age meant that the latter had the greater speed. But letting him strike first gave him enough time to react, and he was banking on Taro's hot-headedness to effect it.
Not sensing the trap laid for him, Taro gave a loud ki-ai and charged forward with his katana.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 22-Jan-2014 23:51:13)
Ken was no pushover. He too had his sword drawn, raised to the right side of his face, both hands holding the hilt, right near the guard, left near the pommel. He met Taro's fiery glare with an icy one of his own, emanating waves of righteous calm as he steeled himself in anticipation; it was not his nature to be the first to strike.
Between them, slightly offset from their direct line of attack, a singular blade was standing upright in the ground, hilt up, tip sunken into the soft earth in the most inelegant way possible. The legendary sword of the stars, a katana forged by the late descendent of Masamune and once wielded by Musashi, made out of meteorite iron and cobalt, stronger and keener than Damascus steel.
The One True Sword.
Ken had found it first in an unmarked tomb through serendipity, but as a Gaijin, he could not safely bring the sword away from where he found it. He had engaged Taro to help him with the matter. But Taro was greedy---once he realised what it was, he wanted it for himself.
Men of honour, it all boiled down to this duel for the rightful owner.
Ken stood still, his sword still raised, anticipating and waiting. He knew that Taro's age meant that the latter had the greater speed. But letting him strike first gave him enough time to react, and he was banking on Taro's hot-headedness to effect it.
Not sensing the trap laid for him, Taro gave a loud ki-ai and charged forward with his katana.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 22-Jan-2014 23:51:13)
Tuesday, 21 January 2014
Hotel Room
I stepped gingerly into the room, casting my glance instinctively. You only need to be mugged once in your life while walking through a darkened room through the door to know that you should always be aware of your surroundings. Apart from the obvious darkness, it was inky black throughout, nothing out of the ordinary.
I quickly shut the door behind me and heard the familiar click as the door locked itself from the outside. I flicked the light switch and squinted a little as the bright overhead lights came on and cast their unforgiving brightness upon the contents of the room.
It was as I expected from a quiet motel, a simple room with a bed, a dresser, a table, a couple of chairs, and a bathroom to the side. The bed was made, thank goodness, and the curtains were closed. I stood away from the curtains as much as I could---already I felt vulnerable having the lights so bright and my silhouette easily viewed by anyone outside without me having the chance to make sure I was safe.
I hugged the walls of the room towards the bathroom to keep it a look-see. The last time I was mugged, it was from someone who had hidden himself in the bathroom, one of the places that I so happened to not have to go to before I turned in for the night, a mistake that cost me quite a bit of money and anguish in the end. The bathroom door was closed---not a good sign. I took a deep breath and braced myself as I gripped the door knob firmly with both hands, give it a quick twist before pushing hard on the door.
The door swung inwards, creaking slightly. The light of the room did not make its way into the bath room, and I waited impatiently for a few seconds to try and detect any movement from within. Seeing none, I reached over and flicked the light switch that was next to this door. The fluorescent light overhead flickered alive and illuminated the bath room. The shower curtains were drawn; the bath tub was empty. And there was no one sitting at the toilet bowl itself. Safe; for now.
One last place to look: the dresser. It was one of those walk-in cabinet type of dressers, and only because it was cheaper to have one of these built into the building than to have to allow destructible furniture to be put in. I stepped away from the bath room and made my way to the dresser, again careful to stay as close to the walls as possible. The door to the dresser was ajar, not a good sign.
With my heart in my mouth, I swung open that door as quickly as I could. Apart from a couple of abandoned hangers, there was nothing else in there.
I started to breathe a little easier. I guess it will be a good night tonight.
I quickly shut the door behind me and heard the familiar click as the door locked itself from the outside. I flicked the light switch and squinted a little as the bright overhead lights came on and cast their unforgiving brightness upon the contents of the room.
It was as I expected from a quiet motel, a simple room with a bed, a dresser, a table, a couple of chairs, and a bathroom to the side. The bed was made, thank goodness, and the curtains were closed. I stood away from the curtains as much as I could---already I felt vulnerable having the lights so bright and my silhouette easily viewed by anyone outside without me having the chance to make sure I was safe.
I hugged the walls of the room towards the bathroom to keep it a look-see. The last time I was mugged, it was from someone who had hidden himself in the bathroom, one of the places that I so happened to not have to go to before I turned in for the night, a mistake that cost me quite a bit of money and anguish in the end. The bathroom door was closed---not a good sign. I took a deep breath and braced myself as I gripped the door knob firmly with both hands, give it a quick twist before pushing hard on the door.
The door swung inwards, creaking slightly. The light of the room did not make its way into the bath room, and I waited impatiently for a few seconds to try and detect any movement from within. Seeing none, I reached over and flicked the light switch that was next to this door. The fluorescent light overhead flickered alive and illuminated the bath room. The shower curtains were drawn; the bath tub was empty. And there was no one sitting at the toilet bowl itself. Safe; for now.
One last place to look: the dresser. It was one of those walk-in cabinet type of dressers, and only because it was cheaper to have one of these built into the building than to have to allow destructible furniture to be put in. I stepped away from the bath room and made my way to the dresser, again careful to stay as close to the walls as possible. The door to the dresser was ajar, not a good sign.
With my heart in my mouth, I swung open that door as quickly as I could. Apart from a couple of abandoned hangers, there was nothing else in there.
I started to breathe a little easier. I guess it will be a good night tonight.
Monday, 20 January 2014
Priorities
Kian Seng stood up from his desk and stretched himself out, extending his hands high into the air as much as possible, and giving himself a good stretch. He had been at work for the last thirteen hours, and it was nearing the evening. If he had his way, he would be working even more, but the office management was adamant that all staff had to leave the office by seven o'clock in the evening; that was when the entire building would go into lock down mode, with the air-conditioning and lights switched off, and the doors electronically locked. He had undergone such a situation before, and didn't like the outcome. The office at night was stuffy despite the general coolness of the darkness, and perspiration had a way of just clinging on without ever letting go.
He completed his stretch and locked the screen to his computer and made his way to the subway station that was just outside the office complex. Like all the other late leavers, Kian Seng had already stuffed his ears up with his ear buds that were hooked to his cell phone which doubled up as his portable media player. He tapped his contact-less fare card at the turnstile and made his way on to the subway platform with Tristania blasting through his ears. Soon, his train arrived and he hopped on to it, oblivious to the world and held his ground in the rocking train as the doors closed and the subway moved off. Some thirty minutes later, Kian Seng was already back at his apartment.
He kicked off his shoes and pulled off his socks as he closed the main door with his butt, after which he unbuttoned his sleeved shirt and went to the bathroom to take a shower. Dinner was a microwave quick meal that he had stocked up just the weekend before, and as he ate, he started to boot up and log into his desktop computer.
While the office management had a hard lock down in place, there was still a work around for those who simply had to get work done. The company servers were not shut down, and those who had private network access to the machines could still do some work from the relative comfort of their homes. Kian Seng's team was facing a hard deadline for a big project, and he had no choice but to keep such non-stop working hours for the past month just to keep up. Living alone had its advantages, among which was the freedom to wear whatever one was comfortable with to do work remotely. Kian Seng sat at his desktop computer dressed in nothing more than a pair of boxers that he had put on after the shower. The evening air was humid and stagnant, and the apartment did not have any form of air-conditioning whatsoever. No matter though, he was comfortable the way he was.
He kept on typing on his computer, working for two hours without stopping. Then his cell phone rang. Ignoring it, he kept on typing out line after line of code. But the phone kept ringing. Irate, he stopped his work and picked up the call.
``Kian Seng here. Who's calling?''
``It's Tian Xing,'' a soft female voice replied on the other end.
``Oh sis? What's this about?''
``Mum's in hospital.'' Tian Xing sounded as though she had been crying on the other end. Though her sentences were short, they were barely audible.
``You have to speak up. Did you say that mum's in the hospital? What happened to her?''
``She hurt herself bad when she fell off the ladder while cleaning up the house during spring cleaning, when none of us were home.''
``Okay,'' Kian Seng replied as he rested the cell phone on his shoulder and began typing anew. ``What do you want me to do? I have a project deadline that is coming up this Friday. I can't leave or anything.''
``You're a terrible person!'' Tian Xing shrieked through the phone. ``Your mum fell and hurt herself bad enough to be hospitalised and before I can even say anything you're telling me you can't even be bothered to come visit her? What kind of son are you?''
``You shut up!'' Kian Seng roared through the phone. ``You're just a little brat still going through college. What do you know about the real world and the need to make money to make ends meet? Don't you dare lecture me on things like this, you ingrate! Who do you think is the one sponsoring your education!''
``Well, I can't be bothered with you!'' Tian Xing replied in a cold yell. ``I didn't want to call you, but mum insisted I do so. You do what you deem fit!'' And with that, Tian Xing slammed the phone down.
Kian Seng heard the line cut off, the end-of-call beep repeating itself at regular intervals. He dropped the phone down on to his lap skilfully before picking it up and putting it on the table.
He paused for a moment to contemplate the exchange, before shrugging and going back to his work.
He completed his stretch and locked the screen to his computer and made his way to the subway station that was just outside the office complex. Like all the other late leavers, Kian Seng had already stuffed his ears up with his ear buds that were hooked to his cell phone which doubled up as his portable media player. He tapped his contact-less fare card at the turnstile and made his way on to the subway platform with Tristania blasting through his ears. Soon, his train arrived and he hopped on to it, oblivious to the world and held his ground in the rocking train as the doors closed and the subway moved off. Some thirty minutes later, Kian Seng was already back at his apartment.
He kicked off his shoes and pulled off his socks as he closed the main door with his butt, after which he unbuttoned his sleeved shirt and went to the bathroom to take a shower. Dinner was a microwave quick meal that he had stocked up just the weekend before, and as he ate, he started to boot up and log into his desktop computer.
While the office management had a hard lock down in place, there was still a work around for those who simply had to get work done. The company servers were not shut down, and those who had private network access to the machines could still do some work from the relative comfort of their homes. Kian Seng's team was facing a hard deadline for a big project, and he had no choice but to keep such non-stop working hours for the past month just to keep up. Living alone had its advantages, among which was the freedom to wear whatever one was comfortable with to do work remotely. Kian Seng sat at his desktop computer dressed in nothing more than a pair of boxers that he had put on after the shower. The evening air was humid and stagnant, and the apartment did not have any form of air-conditioning whatsoever. No matter though, he was comfortable the way he was.
He kept on typing on his computer, working for two hours without stopping. Then his cell phone rang. Ignoring it, he kept on typing out line after line of code. But the phone kept ringing. Irate, he stopped his work and picked up the call.
``Kian Seng here. Who's calling?''
``It's Tian Xing,'' a soft female voice replied on the other end.
``Oh sis? What's this about?''
``Mum's in hospital.'' Tian Xing sounded as though she had been crying on the other end. Though her sentences were short, they were barely audible.
``You have to speak up. Did you say that mum's in the hospital? What happened to her?''
``She hurt herself bad when she fell off the ladder while cleaning up the house during spring cleaning, when none of us were home.''
``Okay,'' Kian Seng replied as he rested the cell phone on his shoulder and began typing anew. ``What do you want me to do? I have a project deadline that is coming up this Friday. I can't leave or anything.''
``You're a terrible person!'' Tian Xing shrieked through the phone. ``Your mum fell and hurt herself bad enough to be hospitalised and before I can even say anything you're telling me you can't even be bothered to come visit her? What kind of son are you?''
``You shut up!'' Kian Seng roared through the phone. ``You're just a little brat still going through college. What do you know about the real world and the need to make money to make ends meet? Don't you dare lecture me on things like this, you ingrate! Who do you think is the one sponsoring your education!''
``Well, I can't be bothered with you!'' Tian Xing replied in a cold yell. ``I didn't want to call you, but mum insisted I do so. You do what you deem fit!'' And with that, Tian Xing slammed the phone down.
Kian Seng heard the line cut off, the end-of-call beep repeating itself at regular intervals. He dropped the phone down on to his lap skilfully before picking it up and putting it on the table.
He paused for a moment to contemplate the exchange, before shrugging and going back to his work.
Sunday, 19 January 2014
Looking for Anton
``Oh where are you Anton?'' Susan cried as she rode along the path in the forest on her donkey. ``Why did you ever decide to take the advice of that stranger and go on the perilous journey through the jungle? It's not as though you were someone who was used to jungle walking in the first place!''
But there was no reply except for the rustling of the leaves in the upper boughs of the trees that make the canopy. It has been two months since Anton had made his trip into the jungle, gripping his brand new walking stick. Susan had begged him not to go, saying that she had a premonition that it will not end up well, but Anton was adamant. He reacted like a man possessed, one who had lost most of his faculties of reason, as though some deeper or higher power had taken over his very being. He ignored her calls and pleas for him to stay. He said that it was his destiny or something ludicrous to her ears, and remembering about what he had said before he left made Susan shed a tear or two.
The donkey made its way slowly along the path. Originally she didn't want to take the donkey along, but her neighbours suggested that she did so given her relatively frail nature. Actually, some of them had volunteered to help her search for Anton, but she wouldn't hear anything about it. Anton was hers, and so she would be the one to find him. Not anyone else.
Suddenly the donkey stopped and brayed out loud. Susan clutched the reigns to maintain her balance. The animal started to walk backwards tentatively, skittish about something. Ahead, Susan strained her eyes, but she did not see anything of note.
What did the donkey see that she didn't? And where was Anton?
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 19-Jan-2014 13:17:45)
But there was no reply except for the rustling of the leaves in the upper boughs of the trees that make the canopy. It has been two months since Anton had made his trip into the jungle, gripping his brand new walking stick. Susan had begged him not to go, saying that she had a premonition that it will not end up well, but Anton was adamant. He reacted like a man possessed, one who had lost most of his faculties of reason, as though some deeper or higher power had taken over his very being. He ignored her calls and pleas for him to stay. He said that it was his destiny or something ludicrous to her ears, and remembering about what he had said before he left made Susan shed a tear or two.
The donkey made its way slowly along the path. Originally she didn't want to take the donkey along, but her neighbours suggested that she did so given her relatively frail nature. Actually, some of them had volunteered to help her search for Anton, but she wouldn't hear anything about it. Anton was hers, and so she would be the one to find him. Not anyone else.
Suddenly the donkey stopped and brayed out loud. Susan clutched the reigns to maintain her balance. The animal started to walk backwards tentatively, skittish about something. Ahead, Susan strained her eyes, but she did not see anything of note.
What did the donkey see that she didn't? And where was Anton?
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 19-Jan-2014 13:17:45)
Saturday, 18 January 2014
The Device: Part II
(Story begins here.)
``So this part of the entrance is straightforward,'' Tom said as he led the way on. ``There is nothing odd about this. Regular entrance to the observation tower.''
``Okay...''
``Now we walk along the spiral slope. If you recall, this thing runs around the exterior of the cylindrical structures, hugging it, and leading to the top of the observation tower,'' Tom said as he started to walk on to the slope, slowing himself down a little to wait for Sally. Sally's back wasn't really that good to begin with, and having to walk up the slope meant that she had to bend forwards at an odd angle to ensure that she doesn't tip over backwards. That had a tendency to slow her down a lot.
``No need to patronise me Tom,'' Sally said as she carefully took steps up the slope. ``You know full well that I've been here before on other occasions.''
``Yes, but please forgive me. Force of habit. I have to explain this to the people who got me to study this. They told me that I needed to get an engineer to come along to help verify that this device does... what I had suggested it could do.''
``But there is almost no field of engineering that can explain what you are suggesting. Unless you want to talk about the fringe stuff that no one really cares about,'' Sally said as she continued taking small steps up the slope.
``That's not the intention, I think,'' Tom replied, a couple of paces ahead of her. ``I think they just wanted to make sure that someone who was well-known to be a hard scientist was present to make sure that I didn't screw anything up by being the anthropologist I am.''
``That's just cruel,'' Sally said.
Tom remain silent. It was one of those moments that made him realise why he and Sally couldn't be together as lovers. She was too straightforward. Tom wanted someone straightforward, yes, but he also wanted someone who was empathetic enough to know when being straightforward and blunt was more harmful than not. Sally seemed to have sensed his inner thoughts and didn't press for any more conversation.
The minutes passed slowly as the two of them made their way up the circular slope. By the time they were at the top of the observation tower, they had already circumnavigated the structure for three whole revolutions.
``I can't believe it's this breath-taking,'' Sally finally said, breaking the silence. She was reminded of that magical date that she and Tom had a long time ago where they would make their way up the observation tower during the middle of the night just to look far and beyond and watch the twinkling of the stars which were almost eclipsed by the yellow street lamps of roads in the industrial park far ahead and below them. Head lights of cars zoomed past them along the roads, and the wind of the night blew gently at times and strongly at others, keeping a pseudo-random rhythm that was at once haunting and exciting. But memories were just that, memories, and Sally made a mental note to ignore what nostalgia threw up at her.
``Yeah, good location for an observation tower,'' Tom mumbled as he moved away from the peripheries and towards a cordoned off area. Beyond the tape was a door that seemed to open into the store room or control room of some sort. Tom pulled out a regular looking key from his pocket and pushed it into the key hole in the door.
``I'll take it that this is not the key that the national parks authority gave you?''
``Of course it isn't,'' Tom replied with a tone of mild annoyance. ``This is just the regular key to our work area where we catalogue the things that we observe of this structure.''
``And you keep the key in there?''
``Yes, in a matter of speaking,'' Tom replied after unlocking the door and opening it by the knob. Inside was a tinge of inky blackness. Tom walked on and flicked a switch near the side of the door, and the dark room was illuminated by the flickering fluorescent light before it held itself in a steady glow. Sally ducked the tape and followed Tom into the room.
The work room was quite bare except for a table, a chair and a shelf. Apart from the fluorescent lamp above, there were no other sources of illumination as the room itself seemed to be walled-in on all sides. On the table were papers strewn about, both architectural blue prints and hand-written loose leaf paper were present. In a corner was the waste bin, and there were many crumpled balls of paper there, witnesses of frustrating periods. But on the shelf, Sally saw something a little extraordinary. It was a small cube of concrete, or at least, that was what it looked like, roughly three inches long on each side. It stood out strongly because it was the only thing on the shelf that had that height, and for some reason, it seemed to be reflecting the light above specularly.
`Could this be the key that Tom was talking about?' Sally thought to herself as she stood quietly by to wait for Tom to make his move.
``If you are wondering if that is the key, you are partially right. This thing on the shelf is technically half of the key.''
``Half? So where's the other half and how it combines together?''
``I have the other half, and no, it doesn't quite combine in the way that you would normally associate with things being `combined','' Tom replied, fishing out a strange looking object from his pocket.
It had the shape of a cockroach.
(Story continues here.)
``So this part of the entrance is straightforward,'' Tom said as he led the way on. ``There is nothing odd about this. Regular entrance to the observation tower.''
``Okay...''
``Now we walk along the spiral slope. If you recall, this thing runs around the exterior of the cylindrical structures, hugging it, and leading to the top of the observation tower,'' Tom said as he started to walk on to the slope, slowing himself down a little to wait for Sally. Sally's back wasn't really that good to begin with, and having to walk up the slope meant that she had to bend forwards at an odd angle to ensure that she doesn't tip over backwards. That had a tendency to slow her down a lot.
``No need to patronise me Tom,'' Sally said as she carefully took steps up the slope. ``You know full well that I've been here before on other occasions.''
``Yes, but please forgive me. Force of habit. I have to explain this to the people who got me to study this. They told me that I needed to get an engineer to come along to help verify that this device does... what I had suggested it could do.''
``But there is almost no field of engineering that can explain what you are suggesting. Unless you want to talk about the fringe stuff that no one really cares about,'' Sally said as she continued taking small steps up the slope.
``That's not the intention, I think,'' Tom replied, a couple of paces ahead of her. ``I think they just wanted to make sure that someone who was well-known to be a hard scientist was present to make sure that I didn't screw anything up by being the anthropologist I am.''
``That's just cruel,'' Sally said.
Tom remain silent. It was one of those moments that made him realise why he and Sally couldn't be together as lovers. She was too straightforward. Tom wanted someone straightforward, yes, but he also wanted someone who was empathetic enough to know when being straightforward and blunt was more harmful than not. Sally seemed to have sensed his inner thoughts and didn't press for any more conversation.
The minutes passed slowly as the two of them made their way up the circular slope. By the time they were at the top of the observation tower, they had already circumnavigated the structure for three whole revolutions.
``I can't believe it's this breath-taking,'' Sally finally said, breaking the silence. She was reminded of that magical date that she and Tom had a long time ago where they would make their way up the observation tower during the middle of the night just to look far and beyond and watch the twinkling of the stars which were almost eclipsed by the yellow street lamps of roads in the industrial park far ahead and below them. Head lights of cars zoomed past them along the roads, and the wind of the night blew gently at times and strongly at others, keeping a pseudo-random rhythm that was at once haunting and exciting. But memories were just that, memories, and Sally made a mental note to ignore what nostalgia threw up at her.
``Yeah, good location for an observation tower,'' Tom mumbled as he moved away from the peripheries and towards a cordoned off area. Beyond the tape was a door that seemed to open into the store room or control room of some sort. Tom pulled out a regular looking key from his pocket and pushed it into the key hole in the door.
``I'll take it that this is not the key that the national parks authority gave you?''
``Of course it isn't,'' Tom replied with a tone of mild annoyance. ``This is just the regular key to our work area where we catalogue the things that we observe of this structure.''
``And you keep the key in there?''
``Yes, in a matter of speaking,'' Tom replied after unlocking the door and opening it by the knob. Inside was a tinge of inky blackness. Tom walked on and flicked a switch near the side of the door, and the dark room was illuminated by the flickering fluorescent light before it held itself in a steady glow. Sally ducked the tape and followed Tom into the room.
The work room was quite bare except for a table, a chair and a shelf. Apart from the fluorescent lamp above, there were no other sources of illumination as the room itself seemed to be walled-in on all sides. On the table were papers strewn about, both architectural blue prints and hand-written loose leaf paper were present. In a corner was the waste bin, and there were many crumpled balls of paper there, witnesses of frustrating periods. But on the shelf, Sally saw something a little extraordinary. It was a small cube of concrete, or at least, that was what it looked like, roughly three inches long on each side. It stood out strongly because it was the only thing on the shelf that had that height, and for some reason, it seemed to be reflecting the light above specularly.
`Could this be the key that Tom was talking about?' Sally thought to herself as she stood quietly by to wait for Tom to make his move.
``If you are wondering if that is the key, you are partially right. This thing on the shelf is technically half of the key.''
``Half? So where's the other half and how it combines together?''
``I have the other half, and no, it doesn't quite combine in the way that you would normally associate with things being `combined','' Tom replied, fishing out a strange looking object from his pocket.
It had the shape of a cockroach.
(Story continues here.)
Friday, 17 January 2014
Jungle Walk
Anton gripped his walking stick tight as he navigated through the dense undergrowth. It was more than he had bargained for. The beginning of the jungle walk started off innocently enough, with obviously visible dirt trails to follow, clearings to help him take his bearings, and enough canopy cover to provide comfort from the hot sun beating upon his head above.
But then, it started to rain. And as he continued along, following the instructions on the map that he was given, Anton found himself deviating strongly away from the well-worn trails and bashing into virgin jungle, where the dense undergrowth hid tangles of roots, snakes and other animals that were there.
And soft muddy soil that would suck in whatever landed on it. That was the reason for the walking stick. It was not something that he would normally carry about, but before embarking on this journey, he was strongly recommended to bring along a stick just in case.
He was glad that he did after all.
The rain made the already terrible terrain just that bit more insidious, with the red mud hiding ever so maliciously beneath the grasses and undergrowth bushes that were there. Already he had nearly lost his boot when he had accidentally landed on a patch of soft red mud with his full weight in it, without having first tested the solidity of the ground with the walking stick. That alone took him around ten minutes just to get out, complicated by the fact that he somehow managed to get his other foot entangled on to some vines that were creeping along the ground. After that one incident, Anton was starting to more conscientiously apply the walking stick to the grounds in front of him before he let himself send his entire body weight forward.
He wanted to turn back. But he had gone too far in, and the only way out was through the other side. There was really no point in trying to turn back now, partly because the instructions only worked in one direction, and given the decreased visibility from the rain that had been pelting down for hours, it was even more dangerous to attempt to back track.
He wanted to look for cover, but there was little to be found. Each involved having to climb moss-infested trees, which was made more slippery by the rain. So all he could do was move onwards.
Soon he found himself at a clearing of some sort, with a cluster of huts on the other side. That was his objective, the reason why he even came out here in the first place. But the clearing was in the way. It wasn't full of short grass, if anything, it looked like a foreboding bog of some sort. The group of huts were only a hundred metres or so away, but they seem even further. Gritting his teeth and clutching his walking stick, Anton started forward gingerly once again.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-01-17 19:49:20)
But then, it started to rain. And as he continued along, following the instructions on the map that he was given, Anton found himself deviating strongly away from the well-worn trails and bashing into virgin jungle, where the dense undergrowth hid tangles of roots, snakes and other animals that were there.
And soft muddy soil that would suck in whatever landed on it. That was the reason for the walking stick. It was not something that he would normally carry about, but before embarking on this journey, he was strongly recommended to bring along a stick just in case.
He was glad that he did after all.
The rain made the already terrible terrain just that bit more insidious, with the red mud hiding ever so maliciously beneath the grasses and undergrowth bushes that were there. Already he had nearly lost his boot when he had accidentally landed on a patch of soft red mud with his full weight in it, without having first tested the solidity of the ground with the walking stick. That alone took him around ten minutes just to get out, complicated by the fact that he somehow managed to get his other foot entangled on to some vines that were creeping along the ground. After that one incident, Anton was starting to more conscientiously apply the walking stick to the grounds in front of him before he let himself send his entire body weight forward.
He wanted to turn back. But he had gone too far in, and the only way out was through the other side. There was really no point in trying to turn back now, partly because the instructions only worked in one direction, and given the decreased visibility from the rain that had been pelting down for hours, it was even more dangerous to attempt to back track.
He wanted to look for cover, but there was little to be found. Each involved having to climb moss-infested trees, which was made more slippery by the rain. So all he could do was move onwards.
Soon he found himself at a clearing of some sort, with a cluster of huts on the other side. That was his objective, the reason why he even came out here in the first place. But the clearing was in the way. It wasn't full of short grass, if anything, it looked like a foreboding bog of some sort. The group of huts were only a hundred metres or so away, but they seem even further. Gritting his teeth and clutching his walking stick, Anton started forward gingerly once again.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-01-17 19:49:20)
Thursday, 16 January 2014
That Tunic...
Artemis raised his aegis and cast a dispelling spell. The bolt of spell ricochetted around the passageway and struck the gnomish wizard right in the nose. The sphere of invulnerability was completely nullified by the spell and David raised a fist in pleasure.
``Yes!'' He cried out loud. ``I can't believe that the new costume we picked up actually helps Artemis to cast that dispelling spell accurately.''
``I cannot believe it,'' Mary replied from her computer opposite of him. ``Why the hell did you manage to pick up that blessed tunic? I thought it was supposed to be dropped only on my end?''
``Well this is the latest patch of the game. I think they made it such that twice as much loot drops in a multiplayer context, and everyone can now pick up anything.''
``That's a stupid system,'' Mary said as she clicked on her screen to guide her avatar towards the gnomish wizard to strike blows at it.
David shrugged. Artemis dropped his aegis and charged in with staff in hand to help Mary's Athena, who was already thwacking away at the gnomish wizard with her short sword. For a wizard, it seemed to have too many hit points -- even with Artemis striking away at it, it still took nearly twenty to thirty blows before the gnomish wizard was felled. And it wasn't even a boss character either.
``Is it me or did they screw up the balance again?'' Mary asked as she clicked on the gnomish wizard's corpse to loot it. ``Sweet, rare short sword!'' She clicked on it to pick it up and equip it on Athena. The latter's right arm was now holding a short sword that was glowing blue.
``Lucky...'' David said. ``But I think my blessed tunic is better.''
``Only if you are a squishy magic user! Plate armour for the win!'' Mary laughed. ``Next floor!''
Artemis and Athena walked past the now looted gnomish wizard corpse and made their way to the blackness that was the entrance to the stairs to the next floor of the dungeon, or as David put it, ``loading zone exit''. The images on the screens paused for a while before revealing yet another new level, with Artemis and Athena starting at roughly the same place.
The new dungeon featured different tiles from the previous one. The one they just went through had a stony appearance, as though some masonry work had been done to build the dungeon. But in this next one, the default tiles seemed to suggest a slightly more natural cave setting, with dirt and coal pillars everywhere.
``I don't think you should use fire spells here, David. I've got a funny feeling that you might set the place on fire.''
``No worries, I don't have any fire spells prepared. It should be fine.''
Artemis raised his aegis and led the way, with Athena close behind. The aegis was a side effect of the blessed tunic, and according to the statistics page for equipment, granted a bonus to defense that was higher than the plate armour that Athena was wearing. The caveat was, of course, that the aegis effect only lasted for thirty seconds. It also amplified the success chance for spells, which explained why the dispel spell worked well.
Out of the blue, a lightning bolt hit Artemis and struck down the aegis in one shot. A ring of fire centred on Artemis grew outwards and lit the coal pillars on fire. Both Artemis and Athena started taking lots of damage as David and Mary clicked desperately to get their respective avatars out of the area. But they were not close enough to any exit, and so both Artemis and Athena died and had to respawn back in the town.
``Dude! David! What the hell! I thought I told you no fire spells!''
``I didn't cast that! Didn't you see that there was a lightning bolt that hit me?''
``Yeah, but all it did was to knock out the aegis---'' Mary was suddenly silent.
``How the hell can we get a cursed blessed tunic in this game?'' David suddenly said out loud.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-01-16 17:29:14)
``Yes!'' He cried out loud. ``I can't believe that the new costume we picked up actually helps Artemis to cast that dispelling spell accurately.''
``I cannot believe it,'' Mary replied from her computer opposite of him. ``Why the hell did you manage to pick up that blessed tunic? I thought it was supposed to be dropped only on my end?''
``Well this is the latest patch of the game. I think they made it such that twice as much loot drops in a multiplayer context, and everyone can now pick up anything.''
``That's a stupid system,'' Mary said as she clicked on her screen to guide her avatar towards the gnomish wizard to strike blows at it.
David shrugged. Artemis dropped his aegis and charged in with staff in hand to help Mary's Athena, who was already thwacking away at the gnomish wizard with her short sword. For a wizard, it seemed to have too many hit points -- even with Artemis striking away at it, it still took nearly twenty to thirty blows before the gnomish wizard was felled. And it wasn't even a boss character either.
``Is it me or did they screw up the balance again?'' Mary asked as she clicked on the gnomish wizard's corpse to loot it. ``Sweet, rare short sword!'' She clicked on it to pick it up and equip it on Athena. The latter's right arm was now holding a short sword that was glowing blue.
``Lucky...'' David said. ``But I think my blessed tunic is better.''
``Only if you are a squishy magic user! Plate armour for the win!'' Mary laughed. ``Next floor!''
Artemis and Athena walked past the now looted gnomish wizard corpse and made their way to the blackness that was the entrance to the stairs to the next floor of the dungeon, or as David put it, ``loading zone exit''. The images on the screens paused for a while before revealing yet another new level, with Artemis and Athena starting at roughly the same place.
The new dungeon featured different tiles from the previous one. The one they just went through had a stony appearance, as though some masonry work had been done to build the dungeon. But in this next one, the default tiles seemed to suggest a slightly more natural cave setting, with dirt and coal pillars everywhere.
``I don't think you should use fire spells here, David. I've got a funny feeling that you might set the place on fire.''
``No worries, I don't have any fire spells prepared. It should be fine.''
Artemis raised his aegis and led the way, with Athena close behind. The aegis was a side effect of the blessed tunic, and according to the statistics page for equipment, granted a bonus to defense that was higher than the plate armour that Athena was wearing. The caveat was, of course, that the aegis effect only lasted for thirty seconds. It also amplified the success chance for spells, which explained why the dispel spell worked well.
Out of the blue, a lightning bolt hit Artemis and struck down the aegis in one shot. A ring of fire centred on Artemis grew outwards and lit the coal pillars on fire. Both Artemis and Athena started taking lots of damage as David and Mary clicked desperately to get their respective avatars out of the area. But they were not close enough to any exit, and so both Artemis and Athena died and had to respawn back in the town.
``Dude! David! What the hell! I thought I told you no fire spells!''
``I didn't cast that! Didn't you see that there was a lightning bolt that hit me?''
``Yeah, but all it did was to knock out the aegis---'' Mary was suddenly silent.
``How the hell can we get a cursed blessed tunic in this game?'' David suddenly said out loud.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-01-16 17:29:14)
Wednesday, 15 January 2014
Testimony
Hi I'm Elle. I work at the local grocery store nearby ever day as a cashier. I like to read during my free time, and find knitting to be really fun.
No I'm not Elle. I lied. I'm a compulsive liar. I'm really Elsie. I work at the local video rental store, one of the few that is left, prefer playing video games and watching the TV than to do any knitting. In fact, I actually hate knitting a lot.
Lies! I am not Elsie nor Elle. I'm Eileen. I don't work at the grocery store nor the video rental store (who the hell still has that running these days anyway) but at a local secretarial group. I spend my time typing up documents from the pool of small companies that hire us, and handle phone calls for one of the companies as and when those come in. I prefer just chilling at home and listening to music instead of reading or playing video games or even knitting. Urgh. Knitting is so boring.
No no no! All of you shut up! I am Elle. That day when I was coming home from my work at the grocery store, I saw this guy standing in front of another guy who was looking really really scared. I think the first guy wore some kind of coat and it looked like he was intimidating the other one. It was hard to tell because it was in an alley that was near the main road. I walked quickly away because I got scared.
Quit hogging the limelight Elle! I'd rather be the one to talk about this. I'm Elsie, by the way, and I was about to go to work at the video rental store when I passed by the grocery store that Elle works at and saw a man in a tan trench coat standing with legs apart, and his shoulders squared. I couldn't tell what was happening, but it was very suspicious. I've always walked past that alley on the way to work, and have always been wary of it due to the distinct lack of light that shines into it. A bit like that horror film setting where it is night time, the clouds are out hiding the moon, and then the rain comes on and someone just standing there, all silhouette and scary looking.
Elsie, you are spouting your silly video nonsense again, if it can be called a video. Frankly, you are more unbearable than some of the clients I had to deal with while being on the phone with some of them. Anyway, I was going to work as well when I passed by the alley. I saw a man who looked as though he was trying to defend himself -- he seemed rather scared for some reason. He wasn't tall, maybe five feet three at the most? He wore a regular black sports jacket, because you know, cold-ish weather and all. I could only see him from the back. I don't know about anything else.
Eileen dear, if your information is so scant, why don't you just keep quiet and leave the poor detective alone? It's not as though what you are saying is going to be effective anyway. Anyhow, as I walked on from the grocery store, I suddenly saw the man raise his arm and swung it downwards towards the other man. It looked like it could've been a punch or a stab, but I really cannot tell.
Ha! And you dare tell Eileen off. You are seriously too cocky, Elle. The man in tan, he was the one who lifted his arm high and slammed it down. I caught a glimpse of a reflection when his hand was held high, so I think it was probably a knife of some sort. There was a loud cry, but I didn't stay around enough to see what happened.
Elsie, if you too only saw part of the action, why are you talking so haughtily as though you knew exactly what was going on? The poor man in the black jacket fell when something shiny or metal hit him in the shoulder. He yelled a bit, probably in pain, but it wasn't clear if he was hurt or not. By that time, I had already scampered off towards the office.
The detective nodded as he took down the rambling testimony of the woman.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-01-15 17:46:31)
No I'm not Elle. I lied. I'm a compulsive liar. I'm really Elsie. I work at the local video rental store, one of the few that is left, prefer playing video games and watching the TV than to do any knitting. In fact, I actually hate knitting a lot.
Lies! I am not Elsie nor Elle. I'm Eileen. I don't work at the grocery store nor the video rental store (who the hell still has that running these days anyway) but at a local secretarial group. I spend my time typing up documents from the pool of small companies that hire us, and handle phone calls for one of the companies as and when those come in. I prefer just chilling at home and listening to music instead of reading or playing video games or even knitting. Urgh. Knitting is so boring.
No no no! All of you shut up! I am Elle. That day when I was coming home from my work at the grocery store, I saw this guy standing in front of another guy who was looking really really scared. I think the first guy wore some kind of coat and it looked like he was intimidating the other one. It was hard to tell because it was in an alley that was near the main road. I walked quickly away because I got scared.
Quit hogging the limelight Elle! I'd rather be the one to talk about this. I'm Elsie, by the way, and I was about to go to work at the video rental store when I passed by the grocery store that Elle works at and saw a man in a tan trench coat standing with legs apart, and his shoulders squared. I couldn't tell what was happening, but it was very suspicious. I've always walked past that alley on the way to work, and have always been wary of it due to the distinct lack of light that shines into it. A bit like that horror film setting where it is night time, the clouds are out hiding the moon, and then the rain comes on and someone just standing there, all silhouette and scary looking.
Elsie, you are spouting your silly video nonsense again, if it can be called a video. Frankly, you are more unbearable than some of the clients I had to deal with while being on the phone with some of them. Anyway, I was going to work as well when I passed by the alley. I saw a man who looked as though he was trying to defend himself -- he seemed rather scared for some reason. He wasn't tall, maybe five feet three at the most? He wore a regular black sports jacket, because you know, cold-ish weather and all. I could only see him from the back. I don't know about anything else.
Eileen dear, if your information is so scant, why don't you just keep quiet and leave the poor detective alone? It's not as though what you are saying is going to be effective anyway. Anyhow, as I walked on from the grocery store, I suddenly saw the man raise his arm and swung it downwards towards the other man. It looked like it could've been a punch or a stab, but I really cannot tell.
Ha! And you dare tell Eileen off. You are seriously too cocky, Elle. The man in tan, he was the one who lifted his arm high and slammed it down. I caught a glimpse of a reflection when his hand was held high, so I think it was probably a knife of some sort. There was a loud cry, but I didn't stay around enough to see what happened.
Elsie, if you too only saw part of the action, why are you talking so haughtily as though you knew exactly what was going on? The poor man in the black jacket fell when something shiny or metal hit him in the shoulder. He yelled a bit, probably in pain, but it wasn't clear if he was hurt or not. By that time, I had already scampered off towards the office.
The detective nodded as he took down the rambling testimony of the woman.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-01-15 17:46:31)
Tuesday, 14 January 2014
My Eyes: Part IV
(Story begins here.)
To my surprise, everything seemed to go back to normal. Or rather, back to the original state in which I had once seen them. I could feel my heart racing, my head suddenly feeling very light. There was something rather strange going on, and I haven't the foggiest clue what it was. I reached for the door once again, and found that I wasn't hallucinating earlier---the door did not have a knob.
``Why are you trying to run away?'' Uncle San said with a quizzical voice. ``Why are you acting so confused?''
``Junhao, calm down,'' Shumei suddenly said. ``I know what you are experiencing.''
``Lies!'' I shouted. ``Utter bullshit and lies! What the hell is going on here? Why did you bring me to this weird place? And what is Uncle San exactly? Why is there no way of leaving this shop?''
Uncle San made a move that was too quick to see, and suddenly he was already next to me, despite being behind the counter earlier. He held out his hand and rested it heavily on the top of my head with his palm. He mumbled a few words under his breath, words that I did not manage to catch, and I slowly felt a tingling sensation that was moving from my body upwards from my spine up to the crown of my head. I could feel my panic subsiding, my breathing normalised and my heart rate slowing back down. Then, he stopped, raised his hand from my head and brought it back to his side, chuckling a little to himself.
With the new-found sense of calm, I started to look about me once more. Shumei was still standing there, somewhat emotionless once again, while Uncle San had walked back to his original position behind the counter. I walked forward towards Uncle San, stealing a glance at Shumei, who was still standing there and looking onward with little affect. I started to wonder if it was her that I heard who told me to calm down.
``Well Junhao, let's start this all over, shall we? I am San Chin-Fong, but most people call me `Uncle San'. You are in my shop, and I know what is wrong with you and why you had that sudden reaction.''
``What did you do to Shumei?'' I demanded, emboldened by his relatively meek-looking demeanour.
``Shumei? I didn't do anything to her. It's a side effect of this place and what you are experiencing. She had called me earlier today to inform me that you were acting as though your Eyes had finally opened, and I told her to bring you over as soon as she could before you started to hurt yourself from the things that you have seen.'' Uncle San paused for a moment and cleared his throat. ``Besides, Shumei is one of my agents.''
``Agents? What do you mean?''
``Shumei is a member of our sect since young. Her parents are also a part of the sect. We go around looking for people who have opened Eyes and try to help them deal with the consequences of having their Eyes opened. Not all members have opened Eyes though. Shumei is one of those who doesn't have her Eyes opened, but she has seen enough people who have that she can tell if someone is undergoing the steps that causes their Eyes to open.''
``Then why is she standing there like that?''
``Like I said,'' Uncle San replied. ``It's a side effect of this place.''
``And just what is this place?'' I asked.
(Story continues here.)
To my surprise, everything seemed to go back to normal. Or rather, back to the original state in which I had once seen them. I could feel my heart racing, my head suddenly feeling very light. There was something rather strange going on, and I haven't the foggiest clue what it was. I reached for the door once again, and found that I wasn't hallucinating earlier---the door did not have a knob.
``Why are you trying to run away?'' Uncle San said with a quizzical voice. ``Why are you acting so confused?''
``Junhao, calm down,'' Shumei suddenly said. ``I know what you are experiencing.''
``Lies!'' I shouted. ``Utter bullshit and lies! What the hell is going on here? Why did you bring me to this weird place? And what is Uncle San exactly? Why is there no way of leaving this shop?''
Uncle San made a move that was too quick to see, and suddenly he was already next to me, despite being behind the counter earlier. He held out his hand and rested it heavily on the top of my head with his palm. He mumbled a few words under his breath, words that I did not manage to catch, and I slowly felt a tingling sensation that was moving from my body upwards from my spine up to the crown of my head. I could feel my panic subsiding, my breathing normalised and my heart rate slowing back down. Then, he stopped, raised his hand from my head and brought it back to his side, chuckling a little to himself.
With the new-found sense of calm, I started to look about me once more. Shumei was still standing there, somewhat emotionless once again, while Uncle San had walked back to his original position behind the counter. I walked forward towards Uncle San, stealing a glance at Shumei, who was still standing there and looking onward with little affect. I started to wonder if it was her that I heard who told me to calm down.
``Well Junhao, let's start this all over, shall we? I am San Chin-Fong, but most people call me `Uncle San'. You are in my shop, and I know what is wrong with you and why you had that sudden reaction.''
``What did you do to Shumei?'' I demanded, emboldened by his relatively meek-looking demeanour.
``Shumei? I didn't do anything to her. It's a side effect of this place and what you are experiencing. She had called me earlier today to inform me that you were acting as though your Eyes had finally opened, and I told her to bring you over as soon as she could before you started to hurt yourself from the things that you have seen.'' Uncle San paused for a moment and cleared his throat. ``Besides, Shumei is one of my agents.''
``Agents? What do you mean?''
``Shumei is a member of our sect since young. Her parents are also a part of the sect. We go around looking for people who have opened Eyes and try to help them deal with the consequences of having their Eyes opened. Not all members have opened Eyes though. Shumei is one of those who doesn't have her Eyes opened, but she has seen enough people who have that she can tell if someone is undergoing the steps that causes their Eyes to open.''
``Then why is she standing there like that?''
``Like I said,'' Uncle San replied. ``It's a side effect of this place.''
``And just what is this place?'' I asked.
(Story continues here.)
Monday, 13 January 2014
Pilgrimage of Penance
Samuel took one deliberate step forward and paused, and then he took another one forward before pausing. Each step taken was slow, deliberate, calculated. In his clasped hands was a rosary necklace, and his thumbs kept moving one bead after another as he took each step, his pace and rhythm unaffected.
He had been walking like this for the last six hours, from the dawn of first light till now, roughly the middle of the day. Beads of sweat had gathered along his clean shaven head and dripped off to the sides from the edge of his eye brows. His was chanting non-stop under his breath; if one stepped closer they would hear the mantra that he was repeating to himself over and over.
The midday sun beat upon him, heating up his body. Perspiration soaked through his saffron robes, the attire of those in his order.
It was a pilgrimage of penance. To walk for nine and forty days at the given pace, from sun up to sun down, stopping to rest only where his feet land at the end of the day, eating only what the charitable passers-by were willing to give.
In another life, he had been a very successful banker. He made a killing during the early 2000s, but when the 2008 came about, the accounts and hedge funds under his charge lost nearly sixty percent of their value from the massive financial collapse. He was a part of the problem then, for he had constantly pushed the very financial products that caused the fall in the first place. For a while, he managed to get away with only a small penalty through the loss of his job, but as the days went by, his unemployment and guilt got to him.
And that was when he joined the order. The head abbot suggested he take the pilgrimage of penance first before becoming a full-fledged member.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 13-Jan-2014 21:06:10)
He had been walking like this for the last six hours, from the dawn of first light till now, roughly the middle of the day. Beads of sweat had gathered along his clean shaven head and dripped off to the sides from the edge of his eye brows. His was chanting non-stop under his breath; if one stepped closer they would hear the mantra that he was repeating to himself over and over.
The midday sun beat upon him, heating up his body. Perspiration soaked through his saffron robes, the attire of those in his order.
It was a pilgrimage of penance. To walk for nine and forty days at the given pace, from sun up to sun down, stopping to rest only where his feet land at the end of the day, eating only what the charitable passers-by were willing to give.
In another life, he had been a very successful banker. He made a killing during the early 2000s, but when the 2008 came about, the accounts and hedge funds under his charge lost nearly sixty percent of their value from the massive financial collapse. He was a part of the problem then, for he had constantly pushed the very financial products that caused the fall in the first place. For a while, he managed to get away with only a small penalty through the loss of his job, but as the days went by, his unemployment and guilt got to him.
And that was when he joined the order. The head abbot suggested he take the pilgrimage of penance first before becoming a full-fledged member.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 13-Jan-2014 21:06:10)
Sunday, 12 January 2014
Aileen
Aileen held the cigarette holder in her hand, Hepburn styled, and took a smoke out of it. It was one of those long nights where no one was actually out prowling the streets and looking for love. Already she was about a month over due for her rent, and her pimp wasn't making things easy with his threats to disfigure her for not bringing in as much money as the other girls.
But there was little choice in the matter. It was just a bad month, what with the cold winters and all. Asking a working girl on the streets to make as much during winter as in fall was just bordering on the impossible. She could change her pimp, but he was known to hurt others really bad if he discovered that his girls were stolen and taken over by others.
Aileen wasn't ugly. She looked skinny, like that Ally McBeal character on the TV. She had to wear fishnet stockings and a short mini-skirt to work the streets, but thankfully, her pimp wasn't that evil to demand that she wear only a tube top---she had a faux mink coat on to keep warm. Standing along the street corner and smoking on her cigarette the way a 1950s woman would gave her a certain classiness that was hard to find among the other street walkers.
A car pulled up, and the driver slowed down while rolling his window down. He gawked at Aileen. She could feel his lecherous eyes tracing her black heels up her fishnet covered legs up to her short black mini-skirt and up to her faux mink coat, mentally undressing her along the way. Despite being in the business for nearly two years now, the initial encounter with a client always creeped her out. It was at that moment that she felt the most demeaned, like as though she were a hunk of meat hung out for public scrutiny and examination.
The driver whistled at her and gesticulated. Aileen pulled the cigarette away from her and walked towards him, her legs moving one in front of the other in a straight line, with her hips swaying seductively. When she arrived at the window, she bent over while keeping her legs straight, sticking her hips into the air and bringing her face close to his, while exposing some of her cleavage through the hanging top opening of her faux mink coat.
She blew some of the menthol smoke from her cigarette into the driver's face, and he gave a smile of approval.
``What're you doing for?''
``Twenty a blow, thirty a massage, fifty for the full package and one hundred for the GFE,'' Aileen rattled off from memory. ``You pay for wherever you take me, and I have protection.''
``I like those numbers,'' he replied as he winked at her. ``Get in the car and let's go somewhere fun.''
Aileen stood back up and removed the cigarette stub from the holder and dropped it onto the ground, extinguished it with the foot of her heels, before walking over to the passenger side of the car and letting herself in.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 12-Jan-2014 16:08:42)
But there was little choice in the matter. It was just a bad month, what with the cold winters and all. Asking a working girl on the streets to make as much during winter as in fall was just bordering on the impossible. She could change her pimp, but he was known to hurt others really bad if he discovered that his girls were stolen and taken over by others.
Aileen wasn't ugly. She looked skinny, like that Ally McBeal character on the TV. She had to wear fishnet stockings and a short mini-skirt to work the streets, but thankfully, her pimp wasn't that evil to demand that she wear only a tube top---she had a faux mink coat on to keep warm. Standing along the street corner and smoking on her cigarette the way a 1950s woman would gave her a certain classiness that was hard to find among the other street walkers.
A car pulled up, and the driver slowed down while rolling his window down. He gawked at Aileen. She could feel his lecherous eyes tracing her black heels up her fishnet covered legs up to her short black mini-skirt and up to her faux mink coat, mentally undressing her along the way. Despite being in the business for nearly two years now, the initial encounter with a client always creeped her out. It was at that moment that she felt the most demeaned, like as though she were a hunk of meat hung out for public scrutiny and examination.
The driver whistled at her and gesticulated. Aileen pulled the cigarette away from her and walked towards him, her legs moving one in front of the other in a straight line, with her hips swaying seductively. When she arrived at the window, she bent over while keeping her legs straight, sticking her hips into the air and bringing her face close to his, while exposing some of her cleavage through the hanging top opening of her faux mink coat.
She blew some of the menthol smoke from her cigarette into the driver's face, and he gave a smile of approval.
``What're you doing for?''
``Twenty a blow, thirty a massage, fifty for the full package and one hundred for the GFE,'' Aileen rattled off from memory. ``You pay for wherever you take me, and I have protection.''
``I like those numbers,'' he replied as he winked at her. ``Get in the car and let's go somewhere fun.''
Aileen stood back up and removed the cigarette stub from the holder and dropped it onto the ground, extinguished it with the foot of her heels, before walking over to the passenger side of the car and letting herself in.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 12-Jan-2014 16:08:42)
Saturday, 11 January 2014
Intel
Susan crouched along the side of the wall, frozen in place, her eyes darting left and right, straining to find the source of that cough. There wasn't supposed to be anyone there -- that was the whole purpose of the intel briefing that she had just hours before she had been injected into the compound. But that cough, it was proof, proof that there was something contrary to what they had initially believed.
She waited quietly for a couple more minutes, starting to be well aware of the slow rhythmic beating of her own heart. Very few things ever fazed Susan -- calm and collected was one of the characteristics that she had that made her an ideal candidate for the dark art of clandestine operations. That there was a cough was only an indication that someone was near, and even then, it was just one of the many possibilities that they had gone through in the briefing earlier. She was an executioner -- one who follows the plans that were made by those above her. Sometimes if the intel wasn't good, like this one, they would also give her the mandate to operate semi-independently, but for the most part, they did all the thinking, while she did all the leg work.
There it was again. Two coughs. Susan quickly estimated the direction and distance from which it came. It sounded like it could have been from two different people, but that was highly unlikely; no one coordinates coughs that way. She estimated a distance of roughly fifty yards, and just around the corner of the wall that she was currently taking cover at. Not good. This would rule out the easier route into the compound. She hugged close to the wall and slowly moved her left eye beyond the wall's perimeter to glance out at the direction she estimated. Against the moonlight, she made out two silhouettes. Another improbable situation had occurred. She ducked back into her corner and weighed her options.
Intel said that there was no one else going to be there, yet there were two guards. What else that she was given was wrong? Silently, she ducked back further along the wall, and started to scale it silently in the dark. At least some elevation would give her a little more insight on just what she was up to and help her complete the mission.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 11-Jan-2014 23:49:07)
She waited quietly for a couple more minutes, starting to be well aware of the slow rhythmic beating of her own heart. Very few things ever fazed Susan -- calm and collected was one of the characteristics that she had that made her an ideal candidate for the dark art of clandestine operations. That there was a cough was only an indication that someone was near, and even then, it was just one of the many possibilities that they had gone through in the briefing earlier. She was an executioner -- one who follows the plans that were made by those above her. Sometimes if the intel wasn't good, like this one, they would also give her the mandate to operate semi-independently, but for the most part, they did all the thinking, while she did all the leg work.
There it was again. Two coughs. Susan quickly estimated the direction and distance from which it came. It sounded like it could have been from two different people, but that was highly unlikely; no one coordinates coughs that way. She estimated a distance of roughly fifty yards, and just around the corner of the wall that she was currently taking cover at. Not good. This would rule out the easier route into the compound. She hugged close to the wall and slowly moved her left eye beyond the wall's perimeter to glance out at the direction she estimated. Against the moonlight, she made out two silhouettes. Another improbable situation had occurred. She ducked back into her corner and weighed her options.
Intel said that there was no one else going to be there, yet there were two guards. What else that she was given was wrong? Silently, she ducked back further along the wall, and started to scale it silently in the dark. At least some elevation would give her a little more insight on just what she was up to and help her complete the mission.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 11-Jan-2014 23:49:07)
Friday, 10 January 2014
The Three of Us
Jun Hao took yet another small step forward, his left hand advancing his walking stick by the length of one foot-step. Walking was starting to get hard, and he was really about to give up trying to take walks in the evenings given the increasing difficulty to get his legs to work well at his age. They have said that he was lucky to be living so long, but he thought that it was a curse to be living in a body that was slowly falling apart at its seams.
But his grandson would hear nothing of it.
It was his grandson who convinced his son to get a walking stick for him. His grandson went with his son to the store downstairs and spent some time picking the style of the walking stick. It was originally supposed to be something out of aluminium, which his son favoured due to its light weight and strenght, but his grandson was adamant that Ah Gong should have a nice solid wooden one. Kid said that seemed more appropriate for Ah Gong because ``it looked like it was a part of natural world''.
Jun Hao took another step forward and advanced his walking stick once more. It would take him around twenty minutes to walk from his son's apartment block to the school to pick up his grandson given his walking speed, and it would of course take another twenty or so minutes to walk back. He sighed. His son was in agreement with him to stay at home more rest up due to his advanced age. But his grandson overruled them all; he had countered that since ``Ah Pa doesn't come back to work in time, he didn't want to stay in school to wait for Ah Pa and would rather Ah Gong come and pick him up''. His daugher-in-law had divorced his son after giving birth to his grandson -- she had cited ``irreconciliable differences'' as the reason for the divorce. He shook his head. Kids these days, they never seem to try and fix their own marriages, always trying to find the easy way out. The last he heard, she had already gone on to date another man, someone richer than his son, and was probably about to get married for the second time, if rumours were to be believed.
He took another step forwardd and advanced his walking stick. Three generations under one roof -- his grandson, his son, and he. And now, his walking was starting to get bad. The walking stick was helping a little, but for how long? How long more to go before he would become yet another burden for his son?
Jun Hao thought to himself as he walked on slowly with his wooden walking stick towards his grandson's school.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 11-Jan-2014 00:04:58)
But his grandson would hear nothing of it.
It was his grandson who convinced his son to get a walking stick for him. His grandson went with his son to the store downstairs and spent some time picking the style of the walking stick. It was originally supposed to be something out of aluminium, which his son favoured due to its light weight and strenght, but his grandson was adamant that Ah Gong should have a nice solid wooden one. Kid said that seemed more appropriate for Ah Gong because ``it looked like it was a part of natural world''.
Jun Hao took another step forward and advanced his walking stick once more. It would take him around twenty minutes to walk from his son's apartment block to the school to pick up his grandson given his walking speed, and it would of course take another twenty or so minutes to walk back. He sighed. His son was in agreement with him to stay at home more rest up due to his advanced age. But his grandson overruled them all; he had countered that since ``Ah Pa doesn't come back to work in time, he didn't want to stay in school to wait for Ah Pa and would rather Ah Gong come and pick him up''. His daugher-in-law had divorced his son after giving birth to his grandson -- she had cited ``irreconciliable differences'' as the reason for the divorce. He shook his head. Kids these days, they never seem to try and fix their own marriages, always trying to find the easy way out. The last he heard, she had already gone on to date another man, someone richer than his son, and was probably about to get married for the second time, if rumours were to be believed.
He took another step forwardd and advanced his walking stick. Three generations under one roof -- his grandson, his son, and he. And now, his walking was starting to get bad. The walking stick was helping a little, but for how long? How long more to go before he would become yet another burden for his son?
Jun Hao thought to himself as he walked on slowly with his wooden walking stick towards his grandson's school.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 11-Jan-2014 00:04:58)
Thursday, 9 January 2014
The Password
Esther lay on the ground in a pool of her blood. The bullet had hit her in the stomach and exited from her back, missing her spine. But the damage was already done. Her intestines were bleeding profusely, and she was struggling to keep the exsanguination by applying whatever little strength she had in her hands to add pressure. Her gun man had left, satisfied that she would never get up again, confident that no one would find her alive to get the information that she stole, and miserly reminiscing the money that he saved from not having to fire another bullet through her head to confirm the kill.
`I must not die this quickly,' Esther thought to herself as she took in measured breaths to calm herself down. That helped her keep a smoother blood flow and gave her a rhythm that ebbed and flowed with the pain from all the internal damage and blood loss.
`Bloody amateur,' she continued to think, keeping her mind away from her current situation as much as possible.
`Who the hell doesn't confirm the kill? I just hope that Thomas would make his way here soon enough.' She took in a couple more breaths. Already she was starting to feel light-headed, a sure sign that the blood loss was getting dangerously close to knocking her out completely. `Damnit Thomas, where the hell are you?'
As if in reply to her plea, she heard a set of familiar foot steps that grew increasingly closer. `Thomas!' she thought to herself.
``Oh my god, Esther! Who did this to you!'' A frantic male voice accosted her as strong hands started stroking her face before leaving it in confusion as their owner realised that there was a bullet hole. Thomas saw Esther trying to stem the blood loss with her ever-weakening grip and immediately clamped one hand on top of hers. The added pressure changed the steady state a little and Esther coughed.
``No no no... don't die!'' Thomas cried as he fumbled his phone to call the paramedics.
``Thomas, no, I will die,'' Esther replied weakly. ``But there's one thing you must know. Sly Sam...''
``Stop talking love,'' Thomas cut her off. ``Save your strength.'' She ignored him and continued.
``Sly Sam's data files are on the server, and the password is... I love you...''
``NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~!'' Thomas let out a feral cry.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 09-Jan-2014 22:43:39)
`I must not die this quickly,' Esther thought to herself as she took in measured breaths to calm herself down. That helped her keep a smoother blood flow and gave her a rhythm that ebbed and flowed with the pain from all the internal damage and blood loss.
`Bloody amateur,' she continued to think, keeping her mind away from her current situation as much as possible.
`Who the hell doesn't confirm the kill? I just hope that Thomas would make his way here soon enough.' She took in a couple more breaths. Already she was starting to feel light-headed, a sure sign that the blood loss was getting dangerously close to knocking her out completely. `Damnit Thomas, where the hell are you?'
As if in reply to her plea, she heard a set of familiar foot steps that grew increasingly closer. `Thomas!' she thought to herself.
``Oh my god, Esther! Who did this to you!'' A frantic male voice accosted her as strong hands started stroking her face before leaving it in confusion as their owner realised that there was a bullet hole. Thomas saw Esther trying to stem the blood loss with her ever-weakening grip and immediately clamped one hand on top of hers. The added pressure changed the steady state a little and Esther coughed.
``No no no... don't die!'' Thomas cried as he fumbled his phone to call the paramedics.
``Thomas, no, I will die,'' Esther replied weakly. ``But there's one thing you must know. Sly Sam...''
``Stop talking love,'' Thomas cut her off. ``Save your strength.'' She ignored him and continued.
``Sly Sam's data files are on the server, and the password is... I love you...''
``NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~!'' Thomas let out a feral cry.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 09-Jan-2014 22:43:39)
Wednesday, 8 January 2014
``Friends''
Jill pounded away at the door. Bam! Bam! Bam! But there was no response. Why would there be? Wasn't it the only entrance to the room that she had unwittingly entered as part of a ``prank'' that her ``friends'' had got her involved with?
She leant on the door and slid down, dejected but still mentally alert. She wasn't about to give up -- there was no reason to. She surveyed her surroundings.
It was clear that the room had been meticulously prepared. Cold grey concrete all around, bare, a single small cross-barred reinforced glass window set high in the wall was the only source of illumination. In one corner, a metal framed single bed with a foam mattress on top with no sheets. In the opposite corner, a hybrid stainless steel latrine sink, welded into the ground, with a single roll of toilet paper sitting on top.
Her top had been brutally ripped off, exposing her naked breasts. There were a few bruises here and there from the struggle that she had tried to put up, but being over-powered by that many ``friends'', there was little that she could do. It was of little comfort that she was still in her jeans. Her phone had been removed from her, and her high heeled shoes were forcibly removed as well when she was thrashing about.
Then she remembered.
In one of the long side pockets of her jeans were a torsion wrench and a pick. She had been to the maker's fairre just the day before in the same pair of jeans, and didn't send it for washing yet. Her hopes up, she quickly turned about to re-examine the door.
It was a heavy wooden door with a brass door knob that had a key hole in it. It was clear that it was meant to be locked from the outside because of the key hole. But the locking mechanism was designed for internal doors only -- there were no other indications on the key hole that it was ever meant to be installed on the main door.
Jill felt her hopes rising. She removed the torsion wrench and pick from her pocket and slowly slid both of them into the lock. It would take a while, but she knew that she had learnt something from the fairre.
She was definitely not about to find out what that bed was for, nor what her ``friends'' had in store for her.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 08-Jan-2014 22:51:03)
She leant on the door and slid down, dejected but still mentally alert. She wasn't about to give up -- there was no reason to. She surveyed her surroundings.
It was clear that the room had been meticulously prepared. Cold grey concrete all around, bare, a single small cross-barred reinforced glass window set high in the wall was the only source of illumination. In one corner, a metal framed single bed with a foam mattress on top with no sheets. In the opposite corner, a hybrid stainless steel latrine sink, welded into the ground, with a single roll of toilet paper sitting on top.
Her top had been brutally ripped off, exposing her naked breasts. There were a few bruises here and there from the struggle that she had tried to put up, but being over-powered by that many ``friends'', there was little that she could do. It was of little comfort that she was still in her jeans. Her phone had been removed from her, and her high heeled shoes were forcibly removed as well when she was thrashing about.
Then she remembered.
In one of the long side pockets of her jeans were a torsion wrench and a pick. She had been to the maker's fairre just the day before in the same pair of jeans, and didn't send it for washing yet. Her hopes up, she quickly turned about to re-examine the door.
It was a heavy wooden door with a brass door knob that had a key hole in it. It was clear that it was meant to be locked from the outside because of the key hole. But the locking mechanism was designed for internal doors only -- there were no other indications on the key hole that it was ever meant to be installed on the main door.
Jill felt her hopes rising. She removed the torsion wrench and pick from her pocket and slowly slid both of them into the lock. It would take a while, but she knew that she had learnt something from the fairre.
She was definitely not about to find out what that bed was for, nor what her ``friends'' had in store for her.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 08-Jan-2014 22:51:03)
Tuesday, 7 January 2014
My Eyes: Part III
(Story begins here.)
I stepped back, partly in confusion, partly in anger. Things were not going well at all; I have no idea what the deal was, and this Uncle San and Shumei were acting weirder than I would have thought. I blinked my eyes.
The room, formerly dull with the grey cabinets and counter, suddenly presented itself in an amazingly fierce colour of red. ``Uncle San'' himself was a major source of the fiery red colour, his entire silhouette encompassing the sort of red that one would associate with that of a flame. Shumei was standing near him, and despite the fact that she was relatively dark in colour compared to the red emitted throughout the room, I could see that the red aura of ``Uncle San'' had engulfed her.
I kept on backing up, while looking around frantically. The counter and cabinets had shapes of red that reminded me of various curios that one might find in some kind of god-shop, except that some of them had shapes that were more akin to idols and skulls, rather than the more regular joss sticks and incense. I could almost see ``Uncle San'' smiling at my confusion and fear through the shades of red that was present, with Shumei standing next to him, nearly emotionless.
The red that was emanating from the interiors of the cabinets and counter seemed to be flowing and increasing in their reach, until tendrils seemed to reach out from them and snake towards me. I continued to back up, my fear increasing, my anger abating, until I hit the door from which I had entered. I turned around and tried to open the door, but found to my horror that I could not find the handle nor the knob. I couldn't remember if the door had a knob or handle in the first place -- it was Shumei who led me into the shop in the first place. Panicking a little, I turned around once more to face the snaking red, with the closest already trying to wrap its tendrils around my foot.
I screeched in horror and jumped up, blinking my eyes.
(Story continues here.)
I stepped back, partly in confusion, partly in anger. Things were not going well at all; I have no idea what the deal was, and this Uncle San and Shumei were acting weirder than I would have thought. I blinked my eyes.
The room, formerly dull with the grey cabinets and counter, suddenly presented itself in an amazingly fierce colour of red. ``Uncle San'' himself was a major source of the fiery red colour, his entire silhouette encompassing the sort of red that one would associate with that of a flame. Shumei was standing near him, and despite the fact that she was relatively dark in colour compared to the red emitted throughout the room, I could see that the red aura of ``Uncle San'' had engulfed her.
I kept on backing up, while looking around frantically. The counter and cabinets had shapes of red that reminded me of various curios that one might find in some kind of god-shop, except that some of them had shapes that were more akin to idols and skulls, rather than the more regular joss sticks and incense. I could almost see ``Uncle San'' smiling at my confusion and fear through the shades of red that was present, with Shumei standing next to him, nearly emotionless.
The red that was emanating from the interiors of the cabinets and counter seemed to be flowing and increasing in their reach, until tendrils seemed to reach out from them and snake towards me. I continued to back up, my fear increasing, my anger abating, until I hit the door from which I had entered. I turned around and tried to open the door, but found to my horror that I could not find the handle nor the knob. I couldn't remember if the door had a knob or handle in the first place -- it was Shumei who led me into the shop in the first place. Panicking a little, I turned around once more to face the snaking red, with the closest already trying to wrap its tendrils around my foot.
I screeched in horror and jumped up, blinking my eyes.
(Story continues here.)
Monday, 6 January 2014
Too Far
Tim sat there on the ground, his eyes smarting from the pain. Ah Seng stood there in front of him, fists raised, his lips locked in a smirk.
Tim could feel the blood dripping from his eye lids from the cut sustained when his glasses was cracked by the punch. The lenses had cracked, and the pices had sliced fairly deep into his eyelid.
``You bastard! I told you to give me your lunch money, but nooo, you had to be the tough guy, eh?'' Ah Seng gloated. ``See what happens?''
Tim could feel the pain coming on as tears streamed and mixed with the blood.
``I... need my glasses...''
``Go to hell!'' Ah Seng shouted before giving the seated Tim a firm kick in the stomach before strutting off like a bantam cock.
Tim felt the acute pain from the kick and picked up the lens pieces from the ground. The frame was dented out of shape from the punch, and his high degree glass lenses were ruined. He picked up the frame from the ground and tried to stare at it through his injured eyes. He hugged his knees together as he realised that without those glasses, he was effectively blind.
He cursed Ah Seng under his breath. This was the second time that year that his glasses were ruined by the bully. The last time he had his glasses thus damaged, he got into a lot of trouble with his parents. They were not from a rich family; life was hard but tolerable. He was the first child that they had managed to send to school -- his two other brothers never really had the opportunity to. But all that reading and studying probably contributed to his gradual increase in myopia, and the cost of the glasses was extremely high compared to what they could afford.
He got hell from them just to replace the first pair of glasses. Now he didn't know how to approach them to replace this second one.
Ah Seng had gone too far. It's time for a payback. But first, Tim had to cross a burning bridge.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 06-Jan-2014 23:42:50)
Tim could feel the blood dripping from his eye lids from the cut sustained when his glasses was cracked by the punch. The lenses had cracked, and the pices had sliced fairly deep into his eyelid.
``You bastard! I told you to give me your lunch money, but nooo, you had to be the tough guy, eh?'' Ah Seng gloated. ``See what happens?''
Tim could feel the pain coming on as tears streamed and mixed with the blood.
``I... need my glasses...''
``Go to hell!'' Ah Seng shouted before giving the seated Tim a firm kick in the stomach before strutting off like a bantam cock.
Tim felt the acute pain from the kick and picked up the lens pieces from the ground. The frame was dented out of shape from the punch, and his high degree glass lenses were ruined. He picked up the frame from the ground and tried to stare at it through his injured eyes. He hugged his knees together as he realised that without those glasses, he was effectively blind.
He cursed Ah Seng under his breath. This was the second time that year that his glasses were ruined by the bully. The last time he had his glasses thus damaged, he got into a lot of trouble with his parents. They were not from a rich family; life was hard but tolerable. He was the first child that they had managed to send to school -- his two other brothers never really had the opportunity to. But all that reading and studying probably contributed to his gradual increase in myopia, and the cost of the glasses was extremely high compared to what they could afford.
He got hell from them just to replace the first pair of glasses. Now he didn't know how to approach them to replace this second one.
Ah Seng had gone too far. It's time for a payback. But first, Tim had to cross a burning bridge.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 06-Jan-2014 23:42:50)
Sunday, 5 January 2014
Walking...
I walk, alone, along the path that lay before me. The sky was a sickening blue, the kind of colour that I didn't really enjoy because it reminded me of a time that was impossible to get at, a time of peace, happiness and comfort. There was none of this to be had.
I keep on walking. The sun beat down upon my head as ruthlessly as it can possibly be, while the wind howled against my face in as harsh a manner as it could. Each step that I take feels leaden. Dead. A strong sense of discomfort that was incongruous with the paradoxical weather.
I walk on. I have to walk on. Behind me I could hear the pitter-patter foot-steps of those who are in pursuit of me. My pursuers sounded like they were in a hurry, but they never managed to catch up, even as I take my heavy steps forward at a walking pace. It didn't sound possible. No, it was just not possible. No wait. It is possible. Under one and only one circumstance.
I am dreaming. I have to be. Otherwise it will make no sense.
Realising that I am dreaming, the sky transmogrified itself. The sun no longer beat upon my brow, the wind no longer blasted through my skin as though it weren't there. The same footsteps that I had been taking suddenly feel less heavy. But the heart, my heart, I can still feel the heaviness there.
No.
I cannot be dreaming, can I? This walk, I have to take this walk. From where I was to where I will be. I cannot avoid it. Perpetual pursuers aside. I cannot stop. I cannot return. This is real -- is it not the dirt that I feel between my toes as I take each deliberate step forward?
From afar, I can hear the increased hurriedness that my pursuers had. There was an unmistakeable sound. No way to mistake it, ever. But I still just keep walking. No other way about it.
I have to continue the trip. I have to make it to where I had to go. It doesn't matter if they catch up with me -- they can't catch up with me. I need to be at my destination, no matter the cost.
Especially if I am truly dreaming.
If I can't even reach my goal in my dream, how am I supposed to reach it in real life?
I stuck my hands deep into my pockets and kept my head low. The sun became relentless once more, and the wind continued its merciless cut through me. Far behind me, the pursuers were still chasing, but they never sounded any closer than they were just a short moment before.
It is going to be a long way left. I hope I can reach it before I wake up.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 05-Jan-2014 21:59:00)
I keep on walking. The sun beat down upon my head as ruthlessly as it can possibly be, while the wind howled against my face in as harsh a manner as it could. Each step that I take feels leaden. Dead. A strong sense of discomfort that was incongruous with the paradoxical weather.
I walk on. I have to walk on. Behind me I could hear the pitter-patter foot-steps of those who are in pursuit of me. My pursuers sounded like they were in a hurry, but they never managed to catch up, even as I take my heavy steps forward at a walking pace. It didn't sound possible. No, it was just not possible. No wait. It is possible. Under one and only one circumstance.
I am dreaming. I have to be. Otherwise it will make no sense.
Realising that I am dreaming, the sky transmogrified itself. The sun no longer beat upon my brow, the wind no longer blasted through my skin as though it weren't there. The same footsteps that I had been taking suddenly feel less heavy. But the heart, my heart, I can still feel the heaviness there.
No.
I cannot be dreaming, can I? This walk, I have to take this walk. From where I was to where I will be. I cannot avoid it. Perpetual pursuers aside. I cannot stop. I cannot return. This is real -- is it not the dirt that I feel between my toes as I take each deliberate step forward?
From afar, I can hear the increased hurriedness that my pursuers had. There was an unmistakeable sound. No way to mistake it, ever. But I still just keep walking. No other way about it.
I have to continue the trip. I have to make it to where I had to go. It doesn't matter if they catch up with me -- they can't catch up with me. I need to be at my destination, no matter the cost.
Especially if I am truly dreaming.
If I can't even reach my goal in my dream, how am I supposed to reach it in real life?
I stuck my hands deep into my pockets and kept my head low. The sun became relentless once more, and the wind continued its merciless cut through me. Far behind me, the pursuers were still chasing, but they never sounded any closer than they were just a short moment before.
It is going to be a long way left. I hope I can reach it before I wake up.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 05-Jan-2014 21:59:00)
Saturday, 4 January 2014
Crossroads
Joel stood there at the crossroads and thought to himself as he watched the sun's rays wafting through the trees that were growing on that one side of the road. It was not of his choice to be here, but there was just something he had to be sure of, something that he needed to confirm.
Before her death, his grandmother had summoned him to her and said to him. ``Joel, reach into that drawer over there next to my bed.'' He followed her orders and opened up the drawer of the dresser. There was a leather bound book in there. The cover was old and worn, showing its age very clearly, but other than that, it was surprisingly well kept. ``Pick up that book, Joel.''
``Yes grandma,'' he had said and picked the book up and handed it to her. His grandmother touched the cover, and he could almost see her eyes glowing somewhat lovingly for a fleeting moment before returning to its quiet demeanour. ``Take this diary of your grandfather's and read up on what we had gone through. You may wish to travel to some of the places mentioned to check on the things that he had written. I was there when it all happened, but I never saw the need to revisit old haunts. Perhaps you might find it an interesting exercise in discovering your heritage.''
That happened around two months ago.
Joel had read the diary. It was a well-kept journal chronicling the times of the second World War. His grandfather was one of the British infantrymen who was part of the defense of Malaya against the Japanese, while his grandmother was one of the local girls who ended up marrying to his British-born grandfather. The diary was written in a clean cursive that was characteristic of that era, small and clean. Paper was hard to come by, and leather bound paper was an even rarer luxury.
There were a coupld of rather disturbing yet interesting things that were written in the journal. The moment he saw them, Joel knew what his grandmother meant when she suggested that he might be interested in taking a little travel here and there to check up on the locations that were talked about.
He had spent the last two months travelling all over modern peninsular Malaysia, the scion of the old Malaya that was torn asunder by the atrocities that was the Japanese occupation. And in each of the five or so places that he had gone, he managed to correlate what he saw with what was written.
And now, he was at the final location hinted in the journal. A crossroad of two rather ancient paths that criss-crossed the peninsula.
Buried beneath one corner was supposedly the body of a man that his grandfather had to kill in order to survive.
Buried beneath the opposite corner was supposedly a cache of valuables that his grandparents had before the war came and made it all impossible to move on.
He stood at the crossroads and carried on thinking.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 04-Jan-2014 21:00:06)
Before her death, his grandmother had summoned him to her and said to him. ``Joel, reach into that drawer over there next to my bed.'' He followed her orders and opened up the drawer of the dresser. There was a leather bound book in there. The cover was old and worn, showing its age very clearly, but other than that, it was surprisingly well kept. ``Pick up that book, Joel.''
``Yes grandma,'' he had said and picked the book up and handed it to her. His grandmother touched the cover, and he could almost see her eyes glowing somewhat lovingly for a fleeting moment before returning to its quiet demeanour. ``Take this diary of your grandfather's and read up on what we had gone through. You may wish to travel to some of the places mentioned to check on the things that he had written. I was there when it all happened, but I never saw the need to revisit old haunts. Perhaps you might find it an interesting exercise in discovering your heritage.''
That happened around two months ago.
Joel had read the diary. It was a well-kept journal chronicling the times of the second World War. His grandfather was one of the British infantrymen who was part of the defense of Malaya against the Japanese, while his grandmother was one of the local girls who ended up marrying to his British-born grandfather. The diary was written in a clean cursive that was characteristic of that era, small and clean. Paper was hard to come by, and leather bound paper was an even rarer luxury.
There were a coupld of rather disturbing yet interesting things that were written in the journal. The moment he saw them, Joel knew what his grandmother meant when she suggested that he might be interested in taking a little travel here and there to check up on the locations that were talked about.
He had spent the last two months travelling all over modern peninsular Malaysia, the scion of the old Malaya that was torn asunder by the atrocities that was the Japanese occupation. And in each of the five or so places that he had gone, he managed to correlate what he saw with what was written.
And now, he was at the final location hinted in the journal. A crossroad of two rather ancient paths that criss-crossed the peninsula.
Buried beneath one corner was supposedly the body of a man that his grandfather had to kill in order to survive.
Buried beneath the opposite corner was supposedly a cache of valuables that his grandparents had before the war came and made it all impossible to move on.
He stood at the crossroads and carried on thinking.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 04-Jan-2014 21:00:06)
Friday, 3 January 2014
Two Steps Forward, One Step Back
He took one step forward, stopped, looked about, and took two steps back. He paused again, his head sticking out like a tortoise out of its shell, and glanced about, before taking two steps forward. Then, one step ahead from the position he began, he start the ritual again.
He didn't walk like that on all places. It was only on grounds that were checked like a chessboard. There was something that seemed compelling to him to partake in the rather odd walking method whenever tiled floors were concerned. And they had to be checked tiled floors, not just regular square tiles tessellated, but arranged with the familiar dark-and-light alternate texture.
He didn't care if they stared at him while he was walking like that in the mall. That particular series of moves had saved his life once, and somehow that became ingrained in his psyche as a type of obsession that took on a compulsive role.
It was a long time ago, roughly when he was merely a lad of three. His parents, they took him out to an amusement park once. It was one of those fancy semi-permanent amusement parks that featured rides and stations that were there all year round, opening when the weather was not too cold and wet. It was his first time there when the incident occurred.
There was this maze/puzzle sort of game that one could take part in. There were mirrors, and some harmless booby traps that basically ejected those who fell into them out of the game room safely on to the bouncy mats below. And of course the ground was marked in a checked scheme to help folks figure out the relative positions of everything. Every month, the configuration of the puzzle was changed, thus ensuring novelty and encouraging children to visit the amusement park more often.
What wasn't said that a rather sadistic operator had taken over the puzzle during the time that he visited, and had reconfigured the maze to be far more deadly. In those days, the supervision was very lax, and so no one noticed that the puzzle was made to be life-threatening. It just so happened that he happened to be the first person to play the puzzle since the reconfiguration from the sadistic operator.
Three-year-old him cried as his parents waved at him and cajoled him to enter the puzzle on his own. He had bumbled his way through the puzzle as best as he could, but when he took that step forward, he heard a click. Scared, he retreated twice, only to hear another click. At that point, the tile that he had stepped on that clicked suddenly glowed red, and he just made a mad dash forward, succeeding in moving back on to the square. Seeing that it wasn't going to go well, he moved forward by another tile and the glowing went away. He then charged forward as much as he could.
Some other kid followed behind him, and was promptly hurt by the fall through the trap of the formerly glowing tile. There were knife edges along the sides that sliced deep into the flesh of the falling kid, and through the frantic screams, the sliced up ball of flesh landed on the mat.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 03-Jan-2014 22:52:27)
He didn't walk like that on all places. It was only on grounds that were checked like a chessboard. There was something that seemed compelling to him to partake in the rather odd walking method whenever tiled floors were concerned. And they had to be checked tiled floors, not just regular square tiles tessellated, but arranged with the familiar dark-and-light alternate texture.
He didn't care if they stared at him while he was walking like that in the mall. That particular series of moves had saved his life once, and somehow that became ingrained in his psyche as a type of obsession that took on a compulsive role.
It was a long time ago, roughly when he was merely a lad of three. His parents, they took him out to an amusement park once. It was one of those fancy semi-permanent amusement parks that featured rides and stations that were there all year round, opening when the weather was not too cold and wet. It was his first time there when the incident occurred.
There was this maze/puzzle sort of game that one could take part in. There were mirrors, and some harmless booby traps that basically ejected those who fell into them out of the game room safely on to the bouncy mats below. And of course the ground was marked in a checked scheme to help folks figure out the relative positions of everything. Every month, the configuration of the puzzle was changed, thus ensuring novelty and encouraging children to visit the amusement park more often.
What wasn't said that a rather sadistic operator had taken over the puzzle during the time that he visited, and had reconfigured the maze to be far more deadly. In those days, the supervision was very lax, and so no one noticed that the puzzle was made to be life-threatening. It just so happened that he happened to be the first person to play the puzzle since the reconfiguration from the sadistic operator.
Three-year-old him cried as his parents waved at him and cajoled him to enter the puzzle on his own. He had bumbled his way through the puzzle as best as he could, but when he took that step forward, he heard a click. Scared, he retreated twice, only to hear another click. At that point, the tile that he had stepped on that clicked suddenly glowed red, and he just made a mad dash forward, succeeding in moving back on to the square. Seeing that it wasn't going to go well, he moved forward by another tile and the glowing went away. He then charged forward as much as he could.
Some other kid followed behind him, and was promptly hurt by the fall through the trap of the formerly glowing tile. There were knife edges along the sides that sliced deep into the flesh of the falling kid, and through the frantic screams, the sliced up ball of flesh landed on the mat.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 03-Jan-2014 22:52:27)
Thursday, 2 January 2014
Information Longs to be Free
The night was silent. Sandy sat there alone in the dark, the soft glow from her screen reflecting on her spectacle lenses. Rows of text scroll by as she digested all the information that was passing through.
IRC. The network of the modern day equivalent of the Gods. Talking with people she would probably never meet in person this life time. All meeting and chatting here, united under one cause.
Freedom.
The situation was dire. Information clamp down was rampant. Already some of their brethren had fallen prey to the over-broad powers that their respective governments had granted themselves to overcome what they had perceived to be the anarchic tide.
Except it was the age of Information, where freedom featured strongly. Freedom of Information.
Sandy sighed. They were having a rather animated debate over IRC with regards to the latest findings of the celebrated whistle blower, Edward Snowden. Some denounced his deeds, saying that obtaining such vital information through the way he did was trickery, illegal and morally reprehensive and therefore cause them to lose the higher ground.
Others said that it didn't matter how he got the information; the information stood for itself, and if Snowden did not get it out the way he did, someone else might have. Or the NSA would have accidentally leaked itself. Secrets are hard to keep, and big ones are even harder.
Sandy lurked online. She was a founding member of the group that was currently chatting on the channel, but she kept most of her thoughts to herself. They were mostly on the right track. She would have defended both sides the way they did. But she wouldn't do so. Not on IRC. No.
Her way was more subtle. Let the Snowden's of the era work their social engineering magic to expose the misdeeds of the power grab. Let them debate all they want about the ethical outcomes of such endeavours.
She was in it for the long run. Playing the long con.
Already she had her tendrils in the many state intelligence agencies. Agents. Computer agents. Little pieces of software that run hidden on the mainframes and servers that populate the digital landscape. They sit there, quiet. Waiting. Unseen.
Sandy smiled to herself as she watched the more vocal participants on the channel lambasting one of the arguments another had posed. IRC was nothing. Their debate was nothing. There was no debate.
Freedom.
Information longs to be free. And Sandy has set up enough exit points that when the time arrives, she will be the one who liberates it all.
Everything is in place. Everyone is just acting their roles as puppets in the whole show.
She was the puppet master. She held all the strings. Metaphorical strings. But her computer was key. Without her computer, nothing would happen. Nothing could happen.
She was smart enough to squirrel away back up machines all over the planet that can be obtained if and when her main machine was compromised. Not if, when. She knew that she would be long gone, locked up, before it would all begin.
She was prepared. She smiled.
Information longs to be free.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 02-Jan-2014 22:05:58)
IRC. The network of the modern day equivalent of the Gods. Talking with people she would probably never meet in person this life time. All meeting and chatting here, united under one cause.
Freedom.
The situation was dire. Information clamp down was rampant. Already some of their brethren had fallen prey to the over-broad powers that their respective governments had granted themselves to overcome what they had perceived to be the anarchic tide.
Except it was the age of Information, where freedom featured strongly. Freedom of Information.
Sandy sighed. They were having a rather animated debate over IRC with regards to the latest findings of the celebrated whistle blower, Edward Snowden. Some denounced his deeds, saying that obtaining such vital information through the way he did was trickery, illegal and morally reprehensive and therefore cause them to lose the higher ground.
Others said that it didn't matter how he got the information; the information stood for itself, and if Snowden did not get it out the way he did, someone else might have. Or the NSA would have accidentally leaked itself. Secrets are hard to keep, and big ones are even harder.
Sandy lurked online. She was a founding member of the group that was currently chatting on the channel, but she kept most of her thoughts to herself. They were mostly on the right track. She would have defended both sides the way they did. But she wouldn't do so. Not on IRC. No.
Her way was more subtle. Let the Snowden's of the era work their social engineering magic to expose the misdeeds of the power grab. Let them debate all they want about the ethical outcomes of such endeavours.
She was in it for the long run. Playing the long con.
Already she had her tendrils in the many state intelligence agencies. Agents. Computer agents. Little pieces of software that run hidden on the mainframes and servers that populate the digital landscape. They sit there, quiet. Waiting. Unseen.
Sandy smiled to herself as she watched the more vocal participants on the channel lambasting one of the arguments another had posed. IRC was nothing. Their debate was nothing. There was no debate.
Freedom.
Information longs to be free. And Sandy has set up enough exit points that when the time arrives, she will be the one who liberates it all.
Everything is in place. Everyone is just acting their roles as puppets in the whole show.
She was the puppet master. She held all the strings. Metaphorical strings. But her computer was key. Without her computer, nothing would happen. Nothing could happen.
She was smart enough to squirrel away back up machines all over the planet that can be obtained if and when her main machine was compromised. Not if, when. She knew that she would be long gone, locked up, before it would all begin.
She was prepared. She smiled.
Information longs to be free.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 02-Jan-2014 22:05:58)
Wednesday, 1 January 2014
Odd Accident
Simone sat in the waiting room, her arms crossed, her eyes darting from person to person, beads of sweat forming along her furrowed forehead and dripping off to the side with a silent ``plop''.
She didn't escape unscathed. Minor abrasions here and there, a sprain in her shoulder and mild whiplash from the sudden braking of the car. For all purposes, she was fine and she knew it.
Tom was less lucky.
They were driving along the new highway, with Simone as the driver and Tom sitting shotgun. The signs on the highway were fairly cryptic, and she was trying her best to navigate her way through while keeping an eye on the road. It was a relatively quiet drive, no problems right there. That is, until they reached viaduct.
That car came from no where. Simone was driving at a steady eighty kilometres an hour, the standard speed for the highway. The offending car was on the ramp through the viaduct, speeding, and tried to merge into the lane that Simone was on. It didn't slow down; it was speeding up. Simone's eyes registered the problem and her reflex was to slow down as fast as she could, jamming the brakes hard and pulling up her hand brake. But the offending car's driver was acting weird. Instead of keeping his acceleration going to overtake Simone, he slowed down a little, seemingly timing himself to cause a collision.
Simone's car stopped hard, and the car that filtered in smashed into the passenger side, crushing it deep. Tom was initially sleeping when the sudden deceleration from Simone's braking woke him up, and the collision shook him to full alert, just in time to register the excruciating pain that had started in his lower extremities. The impact caused Simone to jerk uncontrollably from her seat, restrained by the seat belt, incurring some abrasions and a whiplash. She was shocked but alert. She glanced over to look at Tom. It wasn't good -- his legs were pinned by the crushed vehicle.
She turned herself slowly to look at the other car. The driver was no where in sight. She saw that the passenger door was open, and a man of short stature was running down the viaduct ramp. As the rescue team came to extricate Tom, and the police came to ask her questions, she realised that the driver had manipulated the car from the passenger side to cause the serious collision since the police couldn't find any body on the driver side of the offending car that was crushed beyond repair.
Simone sat there in the waiting room, glancing from person to person. Tom had been in the operating theatre for quite a while now, and it was not certain if they could save his legs. She hoped to herself that he would be fine, and that they would learn who it was who tried to cause them such grievous hurt.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 01-Jan-2014 15:11:59)
She didn't escape unscathed. Minor abrasions here and there, a sprain in her shoulder and mild whiplash from the sudden braking of the car. For all purposes, she was fine and she knew it.
Tom was less lucky.
They were driving along the new highway, with Simone as the driver and Tom sitting shotgun. The signs on the highway were fairly cryptic, and she was trying her best to navigate her way through while keeping an eye on the road. It was a relatively quiet drive, no problems right there. That is, until they reached viaduct.
That car came from no where. Simone was driving at a steady eighty kilometres an hour, the standard speed for the highway. The offending car was on the ramp through the viaduct, speeding, and tried to merge into the lane that Simone was on. It didn't slow down; it was speeding up. Simone's eyes registered the problem and her reflex was to slow down as fast as she could, jamming the brakes hard and pulling up her hand brake. But the offending car's driver was acting weird. Instead of keeping his acceleration going to overtake Simone, he slowed down a little, seemingly timing himself to cause a collision.
Simone's car stopped hard, and the car that filtered in smashed into the passenger side, crushing it deep. Tom was initially sleeping when the sudden deceleration from Simone's braking woke him up, and the collision shook him to full alert, just in time to register the excruciating pain that had started in his lower extremities. The impact caused Simone to jerk uncontrollably from her seat, restrained by the seat belt, incurring some abrasions and a whiplash. She was shocked but alert. She glanced over to look at Tom. It wasn't good -- his legs were pinned by the crushed vehicle.
She turned herself slowly to look at the other car. The driver was no where in sight. She saw that the passenger door was open, and a man of short stature was running down the viaduct ramp. As the rescue team came to extricate Tom, and the police came to ask her questions, she realised that the driver had manipulated the car from the passenger side to cause the serious collision since the police couldn't find any body on the driver side of the offending car that was crushed beyond repair.
Simone sat there in the waiting room, glancing from person to person. Tom had been in the operating theatre for quite a while now, and it was not certain if they could save his legs. She hoped to herself that he would be fine, and that they would learn who it was who tried to cause them such grievous hurt.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 01-Jan-2014 15:11:59)
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