``No, no, no, and for the last time, NO!'' Lance bellowed at Randal, who looked at him with pleading eyes.
``But it means so much to me to play the lead for this opening piece!''
``You haven't reached the necessary level. And this piece is a real killer, if you haven't realised yet. That's why we are letting Jim handle it. You'll get the next time if you improve more. And that's final; stop annoying me!'' Lance said with an air of finality before walking away in a huff.
Randal stood there alone in the corridor, his head lowered. There was a much deeper reason behind his want of playing the lead for the opening piece---Aileen was going to be a part of the audience. The two of them had been corresponding on and off for the past couple of years, and she finally had the opportunity to come to New York to pay him a visit and listen to his performance at the philharmonic, and he desperately wanted to impress her.
Now there was little chance. The next concert that they were putting up after this one was nearly two months later, and by then, she would have returned to Chicago, an opportunity lost just like that.
But Lance had a point. Even though Randal was still part of the first flutes, he was still technically the newbie of the group. He was talented---one had to have talent to play in the philharmonic---but among equals, there was always the one who was first, and that was the principal player. There was nothing wrong with the way that Lance had arranged for things to happen; if anything, it was Randal's own enthusiasm to impress that made him temporarily blind to such an obvious fact.
Randal shrugged and fought back the tears in his eyes as he made his way to the sectional and pick up where he left off before looking for Lance.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-06-30 20:56:42)
Monday, 30 June 2014
Sunday, 29 June 2014
Home Design
Eurydice starred at the catalogue that Edwin had passed to her for her perusal and she looked at it in pure amazement and confusion. There were just too many possibilities, and as she looked at each item, her initial concept for their new home started to fall apart.
``Hey sweetie, focus, will you? You're having that glazed look on your face again,'' Edwin said gently.
``But I can't help myself Edwin. I didn't realise that during the general sale, things were just THAT cheap. That made the possibilities much more for us! And I'm starting to wonder if my original design was too conservative.''
Edwin sighed. He loved Eurydice to bits, but he knew that at times she could be rather insecure, especially with regards to interior design, the new direction that she was trying to go to from her original specialisation of industrial design that she had a diploma in. To her, it felt similar yet each had idioms that were hard to conform to, but to Edwin they were the same and he felt that she never gave herself enough credit for the talent that she had. It didn't seem like much to her, of course, but Edwin knew better. He had actually helped her put together her portfolio and had a couple of friends who were in the industry vet her work, and they came to the conclusion that she was actually talented instead of whatever she thought she was. But he could never convince her on his own. He couldn't tell her that some of the industry heavy weights had already seen her work before either.
But this was for none of those. This was for their first home together. Home, not house, not apartment. A home. It was something more... intimate. Their home.
``Sweetie, let's just stick with your original design? No sense getting flustered like this, right? We had already agreed to your design, and we should just go for it. Instead of paying full price, we get a bigger discount, and we can use the amount saved for other things that the apartment needs that we didn't have the budget for before, yes?''
``I suppose you're right,'' Eurydice said as she sighed in resignation. All the possibilities slowly faded away into the background, leaving behind only the original concept that she had to begin with. She marked out the pieces of furniture in the catalogue and the two of them spent the next hour traipsing all over the place identifying the items and collecting them for payment and final delivery to their new apartment.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-06-29 22:41:21)
``Hey sweetie, focus, will you? You're having that glazed look on your face again,'' Edwin said gently.
``But I can't help myself Edwin. I didn't realise that during the general sale, things were just THAT cheap. That made the possibilities much more for us! And I'm starting to wonder if my original design was too conservative.''
Edwin sighed. He loved Eurydice to bits, but he knew that at times she could be rather insecure, especially with regards to interior design, the new direction that she was trying to go to from her original specialisation of industrial design that she had a diploma in. To her, it felt similar yet each had idioms that were hard to conform to, but to Edwin they were the same and he felt that she never gave herself enough credit for the talent that she had. It didn't seem like much to her, of course, but Edwin knew better. He had actually helped her put together her portfolio and had a couple of friends who were in the industry vet her work, and they came to the conclusion that she was actually talented instead of whatever she thought she was. But he could never convince her on his own. He couldn't tell her that some of the industry heavy weights had already seen her work before either.
But this was for none of those. This was for their first home together. Home, not house, not apartment. A home. It was something more... intimate. Their home.
``Sweetie, let's just stick with your original design? No sense getting flustered like this, right? We had already agreed to your design, and we should just go for it. Instead of paying full price, we get a bigger discount, and we can use the amount saved for other things that the apartment needs that we didn't have the budget for before, yes?''
``I suppose you're right,'' Eurydice said as she sighed in resignation. All the possibilities slowly faded away into the background, leaving behind only the original concept that she had to begin with. She marked out the pieces of furniture in the catalogue and the two of them spent the next hour traipsing all over the place identifying the items and collecting them for payment and final delivery to their new apartment.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-06-29 22:41:21)
Saturday, 28 June 2014
Elizabeth: Part XXII
(Story begins here.)
The late afternoon sun imparted a slightly different feel to the manor. The rays entered through the ample windows that overlook the grand stairs, giving it a warm orange glow that was rather soothing in nature. The air was still, but that was to be expected given that there were no specialised ventilation systems installed, yet at the same time, the stillness itself had not gotten to the point of it being stale. Anton was attributed it to the rather high ceiling of the manor---the ceiling was roughly two stories up at the grand hall---but he could not confirm if his theory was true. And there was still no reason for him to pursue that line of thought anyway. But the warmth of the light through the windows cast over the stairs---that was what drew him to the manor in the first place. He was given a quick tour of the grounds when the board of trustees invited him to be a master of the manor, and it was roughly at this time of the day when he first set foot into the house itself. He was struck by the subtle beauty of it all, and that made the idea of being the master of such a lovely place all the more enticing.
Of course, now that he knew that the previous masters of the manor had perished under mysterious circumstances with the housekeeper (and his father!) left largely intact, he started to second-guess if his choice was a wise one indeed. Anton gently pushed that thought to the back of his mind as he climbed up the stairs back to his room to prepare for the dinner appointment with the Crawfords. Given all that he had done so far, a little distraction from yet another group of neighbours that he had not met sounded like a splendid idea.
Roughly twenty minutes later, Anton had successfully showered and changed into the dinner jacket that the housekeeper had laid out for him as promised. The sun was still hovering low on the horizon, but was not completely sedate enough to go down just yet. There was still some time to go before the dinner at six, and so Anton made his way back to the study and picked up a couple of books from the less suspicious looking sections of the library and sat down behind the table and started reading one of them.
(Story continues here.)
The late afternoon sun imparted a slightly different feel to the manor. The rays entered through the ample windows that overlook the grand stairs, giving it a warm orange glow that was rather soothing in nature. The air was still, but that was to be expected given that there were no specialised ventilation systems installed, yet at the same time, the stillness itself had not gotten to the point of it being stale. Anton was attributed it to the rather high ceiling of the manor---the ceiling was roughly two stories up at the grand hall---but he could not confirm if his theory was true. And there was still no reason for him to pursue that line of thought anyway. But the warmth of the light through the windows cast over the stairs---that was what drew him to the manor in the first place. He was given a quick tour of the grounds when the board of trustees invited him to be a master of the manor, and it was roughly at this time of the day when he first set foot into the house itself. He was struck by the subtle beauty of it all, and that made the idea of being the master of such a lovely place all the more enticing.
Of course, now that he knew that the previous masters of the manor had perished under mysterious circumstances with the housekeeper (and his father!) left largely intact, he started to second-guess if his choice was a wise one indeed. Anton gently pushed that thought to the back of his mind as he climbed up the stairs back to his room to prepare for the dinner appointment with the Crawfords. Given all that he had done so far, a little distraction from yet another group of neighbours that he had not met sounded like a splendid idea.
Roughly twenty minutes later, Anton had successfully showered and changed into the dinner jacket that the housekeeper had laid out for him as promised. The sun was still hovering low on the horizon, but was not completely sedate enough to go down just yet. There was still some time to go before the dinner at six, and so Anton made his way back to the study and picked up a couple of books from the less suspicious looking sections of the library and sat down behind the table and started reading one of them.
(Story continues here.)
Friday, 27 June 2014
Elizabeth: Part XXI
(Story begins here.)
Time passed quickly as Anton made his way through the simple path of the woods, taking in as much of the comforting temperate environment as much as he could while trying to keep his mind away from everything else. There was no obvious way of resolving the mystery that he was facing, and everything was contingent on as much research that he can unearth about the whole matter. Given the urgency of it all, the sooner he could do it, the better.
Without realising the time, Anton had subconsciously picked a path through the woods that eventually led out of itself on the other side, leading to yet another path that would eventually head back towards the manor. It was just as well for at that point was roughly the time in which Mr Higgins was about to send someone out to get Anton back---it was indeed approaching four, and the dinner appointment with the Crawfords were happening soon enough. The housekeeper smiled quietly to himself when he espied the master through the rear windows overlooking the field to the woods. That was one less item he needed to worry about as he scurried about preparing the dining room for the dinner party as his wife worked on the food.
Anton made his way back to the house via the main door to find that the housekeeper was already there, waiting for him.
``Master Anton, may I suggest that you take a shower before our guests arrive? The water has been prepared, and I have laid out your dinner jacket and the assorted attire on your bed. The food is in preparation and the dining room has been prepared. Is there anything else that you might want, master?''
`I'd totally want you to spill your guts and tell me just what was really going on here,' thought Anton to himself as he replied in the negative of needing more assistance from the housekeeper after thanking him for all the preparation work done. Anton folded up the umbrella that he had been using the whole early afternoon and placed it back into the ceramic stand next to the front door, nodding once again at the housekeeper before re-entering the house.
(Story continues here.)
Time passed quickly as Anton made his way through the simple path of the woods, taking in as much of the comforting temperate environment as much as he could while trying to keep his mind away from everything else. There was no obvious way of resolving the mystery that he was facing, and everything was contingent on as much research that he can unearth about the whole matter. Given the urgency of it all, the sooner he could do it, the better.
Without realising the time, Anton had subconsciously picked a path through the woods that eventually led out of itself on the other side, leading to yet another path that would eventually head back towards the manor. It was just as well for at that point was roughly the time in which Mr Higgins was about to send someone out to get Anton back---it was indeed approaching four, and the dinner appointment with the Crawfords were happening soon enough. The housekeeper smiled quietly to himself when he espied the master through the rear windows overlooking the field to the woods. That was one less item he needed to worry about as he scurried about preparing the dining room for the dinner party as his wife worked on the food.
Anton made his way back to the house via the main door to find that the housekeeper was already there, waiting for him.
``Master Anton, may I suggest that you take a shower before our guests arrive? The water has been prepared, and I have laid out your dinner jacket and the assorted attire on your bed. The food is in preparation and the dining room has been prepared. Is there anything else that you might want, master?''
`I'd totally want you to spill your guts and tell me just what was really going on here,' thought Anton to himself as he replied in the negative of needing more assistance from the housekeeper after thanking him for all the preparation work done. Anton folded up the umbrella that he had been using the whole early afternoon and placed it back into the ceramic stand next to the front door, nodding once again at the housekeeper before re-entering the house.
(Story continues here.)
Thursday, 26 June 2014
Elizabeth: Part XX
(Story begins here.)
The plan that began as something viable started to quickly lose its lustre the more he thought about it. He did not have to do any work of any sort other than keep house at the manor, which made the need for a satellite-based Internet connection something that was very hard to justify. That in itself is already the biggest stumbling block of the whole matter. Moreover, even if he could get a satellite connection to the Internet, there was no guarantee that he could easily obtain line-of-sight with the dish kept indoors---he had no idea how large those were also, which added to the overall difficulty. That made his plan of direct communication trying to say the least.
As he walked in the woods, Anton kept on thinking over and over again ways and means of overcoming the problems that he had been seeing. Outside communication was clearly of paramount importance; it seemed that the reasons why the other previous masters of the manor had what appeared to be unlucky endings was likely because they did not have outside communications access, which meant a severe limitation of the ability for fact-finding, and more importantly, access to reuly objective bystanders who could never be a part of any charade. Anton started to wonder to himself if anyone had attempted to leave the county on a trip in a bid to get outside access---it sounded like something that could have been considered and done even during the time when the Internet was not the predominant means of communication. He made a mental note to look that up among the journals to study the outcomes of that particular endeavour.
The more he thought of it, the more it felt like something was terribly amiss. The biggest question on Anton's mind was not the nature of Elizabeth---she could be a real ghost or some kind of optical illusion, it did not matter to him---but the nature of the entire situation that he was placed in, or rather, the intended outcome. Was it to be that he be left alive but humiliated in some manner, embarassed perhaps, or was he to be killed off the way the rest of the masters of the manor allegedly went through? The final outcome was probably the strongest factor behind the time pressure that Anton was facing, and it was the question that he knew would be near impossible to get an answer for. He could probably try to beat the housekeeper for an answer, but somehow he knew that he would get nothing at best and incur the collective wrath of the county folk at worst. But to be on the safe side, Anton decided to make the assumption that there was indeed a real threat to his life and safety, and as he made his way to the centre of the woods he made the decision to find a way to leave the county and get some outside research done as well as to keep in contact with his friends to get more support.
(Story continues here.)
The plan that began as something viable started to quickly lose its lustre the more he thought about it. He did not have to do any work of any sort other than keep house at the manor, which made the need for a satellite-based Internet connection something that was very hard to justify. That in itself is already the biggest stumbling block of the whole matter. Moreover, even if he could get a satellite connection to the Internet, there was no guarantee that he could easily obtain line-of-sight with the dish kept indoors---he had no idea how large those were also, which added to the overall difficulty. That made his plan of direct communication trying to say the least.
As he walked in the woods, Anton kept on thinking over and over again ways and means of overcoming the problems that he had been seeing. Outside communication was clearly of paramount importance; it seemed that the reasons why the other previous masters of the manor had what appeared to be unlucky endings was likely because they did not have outside communications access, which meant a severe limitation of the ability for fact-finding, and more importantly, access to reuly objective bystanders who could never be a part of any charade. Anton started to wonder to himself if anyone had attempted to leave the county on a trip in a bid to get outside access---it sounded like something that could have been considered and done even during the time when the Internet was not the predominant means of communication. He made a mental note to look that up among the journals to study the outcomes of that particular endeavour.
The more he thought of it, the more it felt like something was terribly amiss. The biggest question on Anton's mind was not the nature of Elizabeth---she could be a real ghost or some kind of optical illusion, it did not matter to him---but the nature of the entire situation that he was placed in, or rather, the intended outcome. Was it to be that he be left alive but humiliated in some manner, embarassed perhaps, or was he to be killed off the way the rest of the masters of the manor allegedly went through? The final outcome was probably the strongest factor behind the time pressure that Anton was facing, and it was the question that he knew would be near impossible to get an answer for. He could probably try to beat the housekeeper for an answer, but somehow he knew that he would get nothing at best and incur the collective wrath of the county folk at worst. But to be on the safe side, Anton decided to make the assumption that there was indeed a real threat to his life and safety, and as he made his way to the centre of the woods he made the decision to find a way to leave the county and get some outside research done as well as to keep in contact with his friends to get more support.
(Story continues here.)
Wednesday, 25 June 2014
Failed Observation
Lucius looked about him, his eyes darting left and right rapidly. There was no real danger to him for all it's worth, but it was just something that he had developed a long time ago while he was still with 987. It was impossible to walk along the streets then without actually paying that much attention---987 was at a war with the Red Knives, and there had been many brothers from both sides who had died from varios confrontations. As one of the sergeants, he was a prime target for the men-at-arms for the Red Knives, and so he did his best to stay out of the way.
But that was the past. A truce had been negotiated by the two Bosses, with the territories partitioned carefully and boundaries defined clearly. Word had been passed down to the very lowest footmen of the two organisations, but Lucius knew better. The Bosses may say one thing and demand that their underlings follow, but it was rare that everyone would actually be that obedient; there was a reason they were all in the whole shadow organisation structure in the first place. Already there had been talk from Lucius' men that some of the Red Knives have been spotted to be loitering on 987's territory. Respecting the truce, the 987 members did not do anything except keep watch on the interlopers, while the Red Knives seemed to be content at rattling their sabres, albeit cautiously.
Lucius had thought of reporting it up to his lieutenant, but thought better of it. It was only three people who were in the way, and they were not doing anything particularly aggressive other than merely trespassing. Reporting up was likely to cause his lieutenant to initialise some kind of action to capture the interlopers---his lieutenant was a particularly vicious and ambitious man, and Lucius feared for his immediate superior's recklessness. There had been stories of his lieutenant's exploits that were whispered among the rank and file of 987, and it was also rumoured that the reason why he was still there was that there was a very strong connection between him and the Boss, and that the latter had bailed him out on occasion before from the more serious consequences.
One thing was sure though, his lieutenant managed to get results, something that even the Boss greatly admired.
Lucius looked both ways of the road before crossing it. His well-honed observation skills failed him when he most needed it when the three reported interlopers suddenly dragged him into a nearby alley and stabbed him repeatedly with knives.
``Red Knives, motherfucker!''---that was the last that Lucius heard before passing out.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-06-26 17:41:45)
But that was the past. A truce had been negotiated by the two Bosses, with the territories partitioned carefully and boundaries defined clearly. Word had been passed down to the very lowest footmen of the two organisations, but Lucius knew better. The Bosses may say one thing and demand that their underlings follow, but it was rare that everyone would actually be that obedient; there was a reason they were all in the whole shadow organisation structure in the first place. Already there had been talk from Lucius' men that some of the Red Knives have been spotted to be loitering on 987's territory. Respecting the truce, the 987 members did not do anything except keep watch on the interlopers, while the Red Knives seemed to be content at rattling their sabres, albeit cautiously.
Lucius had thought of reporting it up to his lieutenant, but thought better of it. It was only three people who were in the way, and they were not doing anything particularly aggressive other than merely trespassing. Reporting up was likely to cause his lieutenant to initialise some kind of action to capture the interlopers---his lieutenant was a particularly vicious and ambitious man, and Lucius feared for his immediate superior's recklessness. There had been stories of his lieutenant's exploits that were whispered among the rank and file of 987, and it was also rumoured that the reason why he was still there was that there was a very strong connection between him and the Boss, and that the latter had bailed him out on occasion before from the more serious consequences.
One thing was sure though, his lieutenant managed to get results, something that even the Boss greatly admired.
Lucius looked both ways of the road before crossing it. His well-honed observation skills failed him when he most needed it when the three reported interlopers suddenly dragged him into a nearby alley and stabbed him repeatedly with knives.
``Red Knives, motherfucker!''---that was the last that Lucius heard before passing out.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-06-26 17:41:45)
Tuesday, 24 June 2014
Monday, 23 June 2014
Sunday, 22 June 2014
Saturday, 21 June 2014
Soliloquy of the Marginalised
I... I cannot stand living like this any more!
No... I don't mean suicide. Of course I don't mean suicide---suicide is not for the likes of me. It is for cowards and people who have really no other alternative for living on and prospering that they decided to apply the Final Solution. I... have not gotten to that stage, not yet anyway, and probably not very likely that I will ever be in that stage.
But I should stop changing the subject, shouldn't I?
I am nearing thirty, just another couple of years more actually. My parents are very old, and they are already hinting that they wanted to play with their grandchildren. They started with pressuring me to find a wife and then giving them some grandchildren. But now, they have relaxed the requirement to just getting them grandchildren some how and that they weren't picky as to the ``how'' part. I had jokingly asked if I could just get a kid from a one-night stand and they looked seriously back at me, unblinkingly for a whole minute before nodding their heads slowly at that prospect. That got me scared. That got me really scared because frankly, I don't know if I can even grant them their wish through a one-night stand.
I'm gay.
I had always known about that ever since puberty hit and I found myself getting aroused by virile looking young men in those body-building magazines instead of the waif-like models that adorned all the others. But it wasn't something to talk about to anyone---no one cared about sexuality then. No one, not even the sex education instructor that the school hired from an outside agency. To them, there was only one kind of sexuality---heterosexuality.
Maybe I was too headstrong then as I am now, or maybe I just didn't know any better. But I never really bought into that crap. Or rather, it could just be that I was distracted by other things to avoid having to deal with my sexuality head on. Studies, preparing for competitions, these all took up almost all the rest of the time that I ever had. Dating of any gender was not something that crossed my mind, and I nearly forgot about the past and my orientation until I went to the US to study for my college degree.
The environment was radically different. Some people talked about sex freely, as though it were like any topic that you and I would just talk about in public, like the weather or politics. Okay, maybe not politics here, but in the US they are passionate about the two dominating political parties and have a tendency to engage in ``debate'' about how their favourite political particy compared to the other one. Sometimes sparks flew about, but that was to be expected.
I wasn't expecting the whole issue of me finding guys sexually arousing and females less so to reawaken in me, especially not in college after a near ascetic existence from whence I came from. Without going through the sordid details, let's just say that I have managed to confirm with myself that I was actually gay and not some repressed heterosexual who had kept the repression on due to a lack of viable environmental support.
But I don't live in the US, and that has nothing to do with why I can't stand living like this any more. Well, I lied; it has some relationship with why I can't stand living like this still, but it was more as providing the backdrop in which my latent preferences were revealed upon me, and the sudden realisation of how my kind cannot exist from whence I come from.
You see, from where I come from, being gay is illegal.
They don't even try to do the subtle thing of banning same-sex unions, or even argue from the moral and conservative viewpoint. They just made it illegal, labelling a specific preference as being inadmissible by the law. If there was a need for an example for thoughtcrime, this would be it.
No one else knows I'm gay, not my friends, and definitely not my parents. For me, it's relatively easy to keep up the charade; I just live an ascetic existence no different from the times when I was still studying, except this time I merely replace my studies and extra-curricular activities with work instead. And thankfully for me, I had none of the stereotypical flamboyant behaviour of gay people (where the hell did they get that kind of impression in the first place?), and so it was easier to pass as being like a regular Joe instead of one half of Brokeback Mountain.
But I am starting to feel the unspoken pressure of conforming with the heteronormative terms of the society that I'm in. My parents with their no-so-subtle pressure on wanting grandchildren was a big clue. The kind of gossip that some of my acquaintances spread around when they discovered that the dates that they had tried to set me up with failed quite miserably with the girl on the date saying things to the effect of me just being indifferent to her. Even my boss started to drop hints about possible dismissal for having a homosexual preference through some oblique reference during a group meeting---don't ask me how he did it, just know that it was done.
Sometimes I wonder, is it really all that illegal to pursue one's dreams and follow one's heart? It's not like homosexuality could ``spread''---unless of course they are afraid that the moment being gay is made legal, a slippery slope would ensue and cause a re-quilting of the social fabric, causing them to be marginalised instead. I don't know. I don't care enough about it either. All I want to do is to figure out how to avoid the grandchildren question from my parents.
Perhaps they might understand and accept me for who I really am.
No... I don't mean suicide. Of course I don't mean suicide---suicide is not for the likes of me. It is for cowards and people who have really no other alternative for living on and prospering that they decided to apply the Final Solution. I... have not gotten to that stage, not yet anyway, and probably not very likely that I will ever be in that stage.
But I should stop changing the subject, shouldn't I?
I am nearing thirty, just another couple of years more actually. My parents are very old, and they are already hinting that they wanted to play with their grandchildren. They started with pressuring me to find a wife and then giving them some grandchildren. But now, they have relaxed the requirement to just getting them grandchildren some how and that they weren't picky as to the ``how'' part. I had jokingly asked if I could just get a kid from a one-night stand and they looked seriously back at me, unblinkingly for a whole minute before nodding their heads slowly at that prospect. That got me scared. That got me really scared because frankly, I don't know if I can even grant them their wish through a one-night stand.
I'm gay.
I had always known about that ever since puberty hit and I found myself getting aroused by virile looking young men in those body-building magazines instead of the waif-like models that adorned all the others. But it wasn't something to talk about to anyone---no one cared about sexuality then. No one, not even the sex education instructor that the school hired from an outside agency. To them, there was only one kind of sexuality---heterosexuality.
Maybe I was too headstrong then as I am now, or maybe I just didn't know any better. But I never really bought into that crap. Or rather, it could just be that I was distracted by other things to avoid having to deal with my sexuality head on. Studies, preparing for competitions, these all took up almost all the rest of the time that I ever had. Dating of any gender was not something that crossed my mind, and I nearly forgot about the past and my orientation until I went to the US to study for my college degree.
The environment was radically different. Some people talked about sex freely, as though it were like any topic that you and I would just talk about in public, like the weather or politics. Okay, maybe not politics here, but in the US they are passionate about the two dominating political parties and have a tendency to engage in ``debate'' about how their favourite political particy compared to the other one. Sometimes sparks flew about, but that was to be expected.
I wasn't expecting the whole issue of me finding guys sexually arousing and females less so to reawaken in me, especially not in college after a near ascetic existence from whence I came from. Without going through the sordid details, let's just say that I have managed to confirm with myself that I was actually gay and not some repressed heterosexual who had kept the repression on due to a lack of viable environmental support.
But I don't live in the US, and that has nothing to do with why I can't stand living like this any more. Well, I lied; it has some relationship with why I can't stand living like this still, but it was more as providing the backdrop in which my latent preferences were revealed upon me, and the sudden realisation of how my kind cannot exist from whence I come from.
You see, from where I come from, being gay is illegal.
They don't even try to do the subtle thing of banning same-sex unions, or even argue from the moral and conservative viewpoint. They just made it illegal, labelling a specific preference as being inadmissible by the law. If there was a need for an example for thoughtcrime, this would be it.
No one else knows I'm gay, not my friends, and definitely not my parents. For me, it's relatively easy to keep up the charade; I just live an ascetic existence no different from the times when I was still studying, except this time I merely replace my studies and extra-curricular activities with work instead. And thankfully for me, I had none of the stereotypical flamboyant behaviour of gay people (where the hell did they get that kind of impression in the first place?), and so it was easier to pass as being like a regular Joe instead of one half of Brokeback Mountain.
But I am starting to feel the unspoken pressure of conforming with the heteronormative terms of the society that I'm in. My parents with their no-so-subtle pressure on wanting grandchildren was a big clue. The kind of gossip that some of my acquaintances spread around when they discovered that the dates that they had tried to set me up with failed quite miserably with the girl on the date saying things to the effect of me just being indifferent to her. Even my boss started to drop hints about possible dismissal for having a homosexual preference through some oblique reference during a group meeting---don't ask me how he did it, just know that it was done.
Sometimes I wonder, is it really all that illegal to pursue one's dreams and follow one's heart? It's not like homosexuality could ``spread''---unless of course they are afraid that the moment being gay is made legal, a slippery slope would ensue and cause a re-quilting of the social fabric, causing them to be marginalised instead. I don't know. I don't care enough about it either. All I want to do is to figure out how to avoid the grandchildren question from my parents.
Perhaps they might understand and accept me for who I really am.
Friday, 20 June 2014
Elizabeth: Part XIX
(Story begins here.)
To call the grounds immediately outside of the manor as ``beautiful'' was an understatement. There was more to it than mere beauty---the patio itself led to a gravel road that wound outwards towards the the main slip road that led to the manors in the county. The gravel road itself was flanked by a well-kept lawn that a gardner came to tend to once every week. There was a strong sense of orderliness and neatness that made the immediate surroundings of the front of the manor convey a sense of tranquility among the rustic land. The gravel road itself was a holdover from the old days where horse carriages and buggies were the norm; now it saw the company of various light country cars instead. The strange thing though was that the manor itself did not have any cars on hand---all there were was a small stable of two or three horses that the groom would take good care of. All business to be conducted away from the manor generally entailed horse rides out through the county, which generally meant that the effective range was roughly twenty miles for a day trip. It was possible to order a cab to go farther out, but it involved a trip down to the county's cab company, on horseback no less, in order to place the order. Once again the trustees' demand of maintaining traditional customs had come into effect.
Anton stood at the doorway and sniffed the air. It had a certain freshness about it, despite the fact that it was already the start of the afternoon. It was a good thing though that the sky was slightly overcast since it provided the shade necessary to make a walk out on the grounds of the manor more comfortable. Glancing at the gravel road in front of him, Anton was reminded by the distinct lack of transportation options, something that he had once dismissed as mere anachronism on the part of the board of trustees, but now seen as a not-so-subtle attempt at enforcing the environment necessary for the ``closed circle'' syndrome. He shrugged to himself unconsciously before checking on his actions---he wasn't sure if the housekeeper was acutally keeping an eye out on him from somewhere within the manor itself. Not wanting to run the risk of excessive sunlight or rain, Anton grabbed an umbrella from the ceramic stand next to the front door and opened it up before walking out of the patio and down the gravel road until he came to a paved path that veered off to the left.
The path was paved with red bricks and was a recent addition to the estate. It was previously a muddy trail that led off towards the small woods past the stables that was to the rear of the house, but was finally paved over with bricks by one of the more recent masters of the manor because he couldn't stand getting his loafers dirtied each time he wanted to take a whalk. It was on this path that Anton found himself on now as he walked slowly along it. He was still near the house itself, and did not dare to talk to himself out loud to help him reason through his thought processes. He walked on quietly, following the path till he was past the stables and fast towards the open field which came before the woods themselves.
Roughly a hundred metres away from the house, Anton started to talk to himself out loud, reasoning about his possible courses of action. It was clear that the hardest thing to do was to get communication out somehow. While the county, as a whole, was quite rustic in nature due to its out-of-the-wayness in the country, modern communication amenities were still available, albeit in very limited places. There were few cellphone towers, and those that were present tended to be nearer the main road in town rather than out in the country, and the only form of Internet access was the satellite kind. Anton started wondering if it were possible for him to get satellite Internet set up on the manor. He could ask for it to be set up such that it did not destroy the outwardly rustic charm by having the dish indoors in the study or even his room, and it provided him with the ability to actually communicate outside of the county and even outside of the country, where some of his friends were. He was sure that money was not a problem, considering the allowance the he was given by the board of trustees, leaving the only problem to that of logistics.
Anton thought about the reasons to justify the ruse as he made his way half way through the field and towards the woods. By now, the manor was quite far away, and anyone who was observing him could see him only as a vaguely human-shaped figure, and was very unlikely to actually hear him. Nevertheless, Anton still kept his voice down low as he thought and rethought through his plan.
(Story continues here.)
To call the grounds immediately outside of the manor as ``beautiful'' was an understatement. There was more to it than mere beauty---the patio itself led to a gravel road that wound outwards towards the the main slip road that led to the manors in the county. The gravel road itself was flanked by a well-kept lawn that a gardner came to tend to once every week. There was a strong sense of orderliness and neatness that made the immediate surroundings of the front of the manor convey a sense of tranquility among the rustic land. The gravel road itself was a holdover from the old days where horse carriages and buggies were the norm; now it saw the company of various light country cars instead. The strange thing though was that the manor itself did not have any cars on hand---all there were was a small stable of two or three horses that the groom would take good care of. All business to be conducted away from the manor generally entailed horse rides out through the county, which generally meant that the effective range was roughly twenty miles for a day trip. It was possible to order a cab to go farther out, but it involved a trip down to the county's cab company, on horseback no less, in order to place the order. Once again the trustees' demand of maintaining traditional customs had come into effect.
Anton stood at the doorway and sniffed the air. It had a certain freshness about it, despite the fact that it was already the start of the afternoon. It was a good thing though that the sky was slightly overcast since it provided the shade necessary to make a walk out on the grounds of the manor more comfortable. Glancing at the gravel road in front of him, Anton was reminded by the distinct lack of transportation options, something that he had once dismissed as mere anachronism on the part of the board of trustees, but now seen as a not-so-subtle attempt at enforcing the environment necessary for the ``closed circle'' syndrome. He shrugged to himself unconsciously before checking on his actions---he wasn't sure if the housekeeper was acutally keeping an eye out on him from somewhere within the manor itself. Not wanting to run the risk of excessive sunlight or rain, Anton grabbed an umbrella from the ceramic stand next to the front door and opened it up before walking out of the patio and down the gravel road until he came to a paved path that veered off to the left.
The path was paved with red bricks and was a recent addition to the estate. It was previously a muddy trail that led off towards the small woods past the stables that was to the rear of the house, but was finally paved over with bricks by one of the more recent masters of the manor because he couldn't stand getting his loafers dirtied each time he wanted to take a whalk. It was on this path that Anton found himself on now as he walked slowly along it. He was still near the house itself, and did not dare to talk to himself out loud to help him reason through his thought processes. He walked on quietly, following the path till he was past the stables and fast towards the open field which came before the woods themselves.
Roughly a hundred metres away from the house, Anton started to talk to himself out loud, reasoning about his possible courses of action. It was clear that the hardest thing to do was to get communication out somehow. While the county, as a whole, was quite rustic in nature due to its out-of-the-wayness in the country, modern communication amenities were still available, albeit in very limited places. There were few cellphone towers, and those that were present tended to be nearer the main road in town rather than out in the country, and the only form of Internet access was the satellite kind. Anton started wondering if it were possible for him to get satellite Internet set up on the manor. He could ask for it to be set up such that it did not destroy the outwardly rustic charm by having the dish indoors in the study or even his room, and it provided him with the ability to actually communicate outside of the county and even outside of the country, where some of his friends were. He was sure that money was not a problem, considering the allowance the he was given by the board of trustees, leaving the only problem to that of logistics.
Anton thought about the reasons to justify the ruse as he made his way half way through the field and towards the woods. By now, the manor was quite far away, and anyone who was observing him could see him only as a vaguely human-shaped figure, and was very unlikely to actually hear him. Nevertheless, Anton still kept his voice down low as he thought and rethought through his plan.
(Story continues here.)
Thursday, 19 June 2014
Elizabeth: Part XVIII
(Story begins here.)
Anton stood up from his partially reclining and gently patted on his belly. If the housekeeper was suspicious of anything, he remained emotionless and channelled nothing whatsoever, merely bowing before helping Anton by moving the chair farther back to make it much easier for him to stand up more completely and turn towards the exit of the dining room. Anton took a few tentative steps towards the exit before pivotting around and said to the housekeeper, ``Mr Higgins, I am going to take a short walk on the grounds to allow the lunch to settle in. I think I will be back before the dinner appointment with the Crawfords, but in the off chance that I am not back by four, will you come out and look for me to inform me of the time? I think it is a lovely day out and I don't wish to wear a watch for a little jaunt.''
The housekeeper took another small bow and replied in the affirmative. The situation thus controlled, Anton marched quickly out of the dining room and re-entered the grand hall, where the grand staircase took centre stage. The floor of the grand hall was tiled with marble, something that one of the earlier masters of the manor had done as a form of renovation over a previous version of the house that no one seemed to have remembered. There were few gas lamps on that floor; most of the illumination, at least for the day, were provided by the tall windows that opened up on the second floor that allowed the sunlight to simply stream straight down. Night time was a wholly different affair---only the light of a gibbous or full moon was enough to provide any form of illumination, the gas lamps used only during winter where the nights were the longest and the darkest throughout the year.
But Anton wasn't that interested in the interior decoration of the place. For one, he had stayed there long enough that they no longer held any special meaning to him, and for two, he needed to go somewhere out of the immediate region of control of the housekeeper to do even more thinking. That last bout of thinking that he did was a good start, in his opinion, but it was not a clearly hashed out plan by any measure. There were details to think about, consequences to consider, and people that he needed to figure out how to get in contact with without incurring any additional life-threatening suspicions. Anton crossed the grand hall and stepped to the main doors leading out to the front patio, and opened them wide.
(Story continues here.)
Anton stood up from his partially reclining and gently patted on his belly. If the housekeeper was suspicious of anything, he remained emotionless and channelled nothing whatsoever, merely bowing before helping Anton by moving the chair farther back to make it much easier for him to stand up more completely and turn towards the exit of the dining room. Anton took a few tentative steps towards the exit before pivotting around and said to the housekeeper, ``Mr Higgins, I am going to take a short walk on the grounds to allow the lunch to settle in. I think I will be back before the dinner appointment with the Crawfords, but in the off chance that I am not back by four, will you come out and look for me to inform me of the time? I think it is a lovely day out and I don't wish to wear a watch for a little jaunt.''
The housekeeper took another small bow and replied in the affirmative. The situation thus controlled, Anton marched quickly out of the dining room and re-entered the grand hall, where the grand staircase took centre stage. The floor of the grand hall was tiled with marble, something that one of the earlier masters of the manor had done as a form of renovation over a previous version of the house that no one seemed to have remembered. There were few gas lamps on that floor; most of the illumination, at least for the day, were provided by the tall windows that opened up on the second floor that allowed the sunlight to simply stream straight down. Night time was a wholly different affair---only the light of a gibbous or full moon was enough to provide any form of illumination, the gas lamps used only during winter where the nights were the longest and the darkest throughout the year.
But Anton wasn't that interested in the interior decoration of the place. For one, he had stayed there long enough that they no longer held any special meaning to him, and for two, he needed to go somewhere out of the immediate region of control of the housekeeper to do even more thinking. That last bout of thinking that he did was a good start, in his opinion, but it was not a clearly hashed out plan by any measure. There were details to think about, consequences to consider, and people that he needed to figure out how to get in contact with without incurring any additional life-threatening suspicions. Anton crossed the grand hall and stepped to the main doors leading out to the front patio, and opened them wide.
(Story continues here.)
Wednesday, 18 June 2014
Wielder of Words
Lucille sat at her computer, typing away furiously. It was nearing eleven at night, but she was still in the office, working away at the article. There was no way to walk away---how could she walk away from something as important as the scoop she had about how the government was literally cheating its citizens of its hard-earned pay through the myriad of tax schemes that, on the surface, appear to be favouring the poor with the low rates but in reality was more taxing on them in the long run?
It wasn't the first time she was involved in something like that. In the business, Lucille was known to be a rather efficient wielder of words, a no-nonsense journalist who went all out to get at the most hardened facts and to bring it out to the general public in a manner that was as accessible as it was sensational. It wasn't flowery prose either. Pithy text that was readable by the Average Joe---that had been her motto for the past decade as an investigative journalist.
But she had made some enemies along the way, most of them not willing to take her head on for fear of the charge of infringing upon her journalistic integrity---all her points had hard evidence backing them, and a few of those who tried had soon discovered just what kind of a rabbit hole they had found themselves in. This story was going to be no different.
Lucille wiped the sweat of her brow. She had been processing her facts the whole day, and had been typing for the past hour. At that time of the night, the office miraculously doesn't have its air-conditioning on, which made it all the more ridiculous considering that many of the journalists were still in the office at that time working on the stories that were due in a day's time to be included in the weekly periodical. She cursed softly under her breath at the heat, but soldiered on doggedly.
She knew that if she didn't write that article, no one else would. Those who honed the art of wielding words the way she did were fast thinning out due to the insane amounts of effort needed to get to the point and avoid the obstacles that often surround them. Many had either retired or switch jobs once they had been burnt, but she kept on.
She was the best there was at what she did.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-06-19 21:04:18)
It wasn't the first time she was involved in something like that. In the business, Lucille was known to be a rather efficient wielder of words, a no-nonsense journalist who went all out to get at the most hardened facts and to bring it out to the general public in a manner that was as accessible as it was sensational. It wasn't flowery prose either. Pithy text that was readable by the Average Joe---that had been her motto for the past decade as an investigative journalist.
But she had made some enemies along the way, most of them not willing to take her head on for fear of the charge of infringing upon her journalistic integrity---all her points had hard evidence backing them, and a few of those who tried had soon discovered just what kind of a rabbit hole they had found themselves in. This story was going to be no different.
Lucille wiped the sweat of her brow. She had been processing her facts the whole day, and had been typing for the past hour. At that time of the night, the office miraculously doesn't have its air-conditioning on, which made it all the more ridiculous considering that many of the journalists were still in the office at that time working on the stories that were due in a day's time to be included in the weekly periodical. She cursed softly under her breath at the heat, but soldiered on doggedly.
She knew that if she didn't write that article, no one else would. Those who honed the art of wielding words the way she did were fast thinning out due to the insane amounts of effort needed to get to the point and avoid the obstacles that often surround them. Many had either retired or switch jobs once they had been burnt, but she kept on.
She was the best there was at what she did.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-06-19 21:04:18)
Tuesday, 17 June 2014
Elizabeth: Part XVII
(Story begins here.)
Anton threw open the dining room door and stepped in boldly, possibly trying to signal to himself that it was time to cast aside all the thoughts that he had been nursing till then. The housekeeper was particularly sharp, and Anton was sure that he would accidentally telegraph his doubts on everything that was presented to him had he still kept all the thoughts in his mind. In the dining room, Mr Higgins stood next to the same head of the long table, waiting for him. When he saw Anton entering with such gusto, Mr Higgins gave a slight bow and said simply ``Welcome, Master Anton. Your lunch is ready and will be served shortly.''
Anton took his place at the head of the table, realising for the umpteenth time how empty it felt when there were no visitors of any sort who were there to dine with him. He started to think about inviting his own friends from outside of the county to come over as guests, but quickly arrested himself when he realised that his thoughts could be betraying him at that moment, though his worries were all in vain because the housekeeper had taken leave of the dining room to enter the kitchen to obtain the victuals that were prepared for the luncheon. That was the main difference between breakfast and the other two meals; the first one was always prepared and spread out on the table even before Anton entered, some kind of informal gesture since breakfast was taken to be a kind of private meal, whereas lunch and dinner always began with an empty table and Mr Higgins bringing in each course of the meal one by one, removing the plates and cutlery only when that particular course is already done. In the beginning of it all, Anton felt that the practice was weird beyond comprehension, particularly since the same procedure was followed even when he did not have any guests joining him for a meal. He had brought it up to Mr Higgins before, but the latter simply gave a bow and said that regulations and traditions were to be obeyed and that there would be no deviations to it, unless of course if the board of trustees were to send their approval, something that was nearly impossible to obtain considering that Anton had no clue where nor who the board of trustees were.
The housekeeper kept up his duty of bringing in food and taking away empty plates throughout the entire luncheon, and it was nearly one when the meal itself was over and done with. By that time, Anton felt so satiated that he could think of nothing except to go out for a walk about the manor's grounds as a way of working off the food that he had eaten.
(Story continues here.)
Anton threw open the dining room door and stepped in boldly, possibly trying to signal to himself that it was time to cast aside all the thoughts that he had been nursing till then. The housekeeper was particularly sharp, and Anton was sure that he would accidentally telegraph his doubts on everything that was presented to him had he still kept all the thoughts in his mind. In the dining room, Mr Higgins stood next to the same head of the long table, waiting for him. When he saw Anton entering with such gusto, Mr Higgins gave a slight bow and said simply ``Welcome, Master Anton. Your lunch is ready and will be served shortly.''
Anton took his place at the head of the table, realising for the umpteenth time how empty it felt when there were no visitors of any sort who were there to dine with him. He started to think about inviting his own friends from outside of the county to come over as guests, but quickly arrested himself when he realised that his thoughts could be betraying him at that moment, though his worries were all in vain because the housekeeper had taken leave of the dining room to enter the kitchen to obtain the victuals that were prepared for the luncheon. That was the main difference between breakfast and the other two meals; the first one was always prepared and spread out on the table even before Anton entered, some kind of informal gesture since breakfast was taken to be a kind of private meal, whereas lunch and dinner always began with an empty table and Mr Higgins bringing in each course of the meal one by one, removing the plates and cutlery only when that particular course is already done. In the beginning of it all, Anton felt that the practice was weird beyond comprehension, particularly since the same procedure was followed even when he did not have any guests joining him for a meal. He had brought it up to Mr Higgins before, but the latter simply gave a bow and said that regulations and traditions were to be obeyed and that there would be no deviations to it, unless of course if the board of trustees were to send their approval, something that was nearly impossible to obtain considering that Anton had no clue where nor who the board of trustees were.
The housekeeper kept up his duty of bringing in food and taking away empty plates throughout the entire luncheon, and it was nearly one when the meal itself was over and done with. By that time, Anton felt so satiated that he could think of nothing except to go out for a walk about the manor's grounds as a way of working off the food that he had eaten.
(Story continues here.)
Monday, 16 June 2014
Elizabeth: Part XVI
(Story begins here.)
The approach from the study back to the dining room was fraught with lots of disturbingly deep thoughts. At the back of his mind, Anton could not easily dismiss the little bit of information that he had just read up on, especially the exhortation to distrust the words of the housekeeper. Each step he took forward increased the amount of skepticism he had for the advice, and even more doubts at just how lethal the entire affair surrounding Elizabeth was. The whole story sounded like an instance of the ``closed circle'' syndrome, a self-reinforcing echoing chamber when the participants in the entire affair are isolated from everyone else who might have provided a more rational and objective perspective. The key elements seemed to be in place---the isolated mansion, the unassuming housekeeper and his wife, the relatively quiet neighbourhood, the expansive grounds, the apparent wealthiness of the masters who seemed to be drawn from a pool of people that only a mysterious board of trustees know about, and last of all the mysterious board of trustees who, for one reason or another, are the key orchestrating force in populating the manor in the first place.
As he walked down the stairs, Anton started to wonder if the entire affair were merely an elaborate prank that was being played upon whoever the master of the manor was at that point in time, and that no one was actually killed or dead, and that all the previous masters, if they had actually existed, contributed their bit to the prank run by the board of trustees by leaving behind a trove of false documents that the next unfortunate victim would naturally read up and take as gospel truth, thus setting himself up for the eventual punchline. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed plausible, but then he realised immediately that there was no way of proving it while he was still in the mansion, and if it were truly an elaborate prank, he may never find proof to the contrary should he remain in the county itself, since it was exceedingly likely that the board of trustees, whoever they were, had the entire county in on the prank. That would also easily explain the large number of visitations from the various people in the county; a means of formally identifying the next official victim.
It then came upon Anton that the only way to test out that theory was to seek records from outside of the county itself. But which establishment should he go to? The ways of official reporting were beyond what Anton knew---he was never really much of a bureaucrat himself before becoming the master of the manor. Perhaps he could look up some of his solicitor friends from back in the day to see if they can give him a hand in solving this mystery. But a problem remained: he had to do it all without causing any form of suspicion. He would have to visit his friend outside of the county, and preferably alone. Anton spent the last few steps crossing the grand lobby towards the dining room rethinking his next course of action and making a note of it.
(Story continues here.)
The approach from the study back to the dining room was fraught with lots of disturbingly deep thoughts. At the back of his mind, Anton could not easily dismiss the little bit of information that he had just read up on, especially the exhortation to distrust the words of the housekeeper. Each step he took forward increased the amount of skepticism he had for the advice, and even more doubts at just how lethal the entire affair surrounding Elizabeth was. The whole story sounded like an instance of the ``closed circle'' syndrome, a self-reinforcing echoing chamber when the participants in the entire affair are isolated from everyone else who might have provided a more rational and objective perspective. The key elements seemed to be in place---the isolated mansion, the unassuming housekeeper and his wife, the relatively quiet neighbourhood, the expansive grounds, the apparent wealthiness of the masters who seemed to be drawn from a pool of people that only a mysterious board of trustees know about, and last of all the mysterious board of trustees who, for one reason or another, are the key orchestrating force in populating the manor in the first place.
As he walked down the stairs, Anton started to wonder if the entire affair were merely an elaborate prank that was being played upon whoever the master of the manor was at that point in time, and that no one was actually killed or dead, and that all the previous masters, if they had actually existed, contributed their bit to the prank run by the board of trustees by leaving behind a trove of false documents that the next unfortunate victim would naturally read up and take as gospel truth, thus setting himself up for the eventual punchline. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed plausible, but then he realised immediately that there was no way of proving it while he was still in the mansion, and if it were truly an elaborate prank, he may never find proof to the contrary should he remain in the county itself, since it was exceedingly likely that the board of trustees, whoever they were, had the entire county in on the prank. That would also easily explain the large number of visitations from the various people in the county; a means of formally identifying the next official victim.
It then came upon Anton that the only way to test out that theory was to seek records from outside of the county itself. But which establishment should he go to? The ways of official reporting were beyond what Anton knew---he was never really much of a bureaucrat himself before becoming the master of the manor. Perhaps he could look up some of his solicitor friends from back in the day to see if they can give him a hand in solving this mystery. But a problem remained: he had to do it all without causing any form of suspicion. He would have to visit his friend outside of the county, and preferably alone. Anton spent the last few steps crossing the grand lobby towards the dining room rethinking his next course of action and making a note of it.
(Story continues here.)
Sunday, 15 June 2014
Mandy
I knew that she was going to be trouble the moment I laid eyes on her. There was just this thing about broads of that sort that one eventually learnt to notice---the tell-tale walk, the hip swivel, the immaculately cultured attire, the hourglass figure, the red lips, coiffed hair, flirty eyes---the whole works. But there was no easy way to just walk away from that too, especially if they were directing all their wiles on you; to do so would be, to put in the mildest possible terms, impolite, and would likely incur the collective wrath of the entire male population that happened to be within line of sight of the entire transpiration of the contact event.
Now, you might think that I'm just trying to cover up for myself, but that's not true. I am merely stating facts.
I was sitting at the bar on my own, minding my own business, keeping busy with a gin and tonic that I got Ricky the barkeep to get me. No ice, of course, the bloody thing would have destroyed the wonderfully subtle flavour that made that particular cocktail my favourite over the myriad that Ricky churns out for everyone else on any particular night. I sat there, nursing that drink, hunched over it at the barstool trying to think about the day's events when I sensed a slightly different presence near me. No one ever sits near me, and such a presence was more than a mere surprise. There was a subtle floral fragance about it, jasmine perhaps, that suggested that the space invader was of female origins. Not really wanting any company, male or female, I turned around to give the interloper a good what-for.
To my surprise, what greeted me was this brunette with a nicely tied up hair in a black business skirt-suit that covered the white blouse of ruffles. Her face had a soft feel about it, and her lips were striking red, and she had glasses on, which did little to hide the fact that she had long eyelashes wiping away on that thing from behind. She gave me the coyest of all looks and asked me if she could join me. I was about to reject her when I suddenly sensed the combined stares of jealousy and white-knighthood emanating from the nebulous ends of the entire bar. Begrudgingly, I nodded my head and went back to nursing my drink, hoping that I had given a clear signal of what I had thought of about her ``company''.
She seemed unfazed and just climbed atop of the bar stool immmediately next to mine, her light perfume wafting over towards me seemingly trying to intoxicate me. I felt annoyed, but was finding it hard to impossible to demonstrate it---I didn't want to cause trouble for Ricky. God only knows the massive over-reactions I would get from the white-knights in the inscrutable crowd for saying anything even remotely insolent to the woman who was now seated next to me despite having nearly the rest of the bar free.
She ordered a single malt from Ricky, who replied in his usual jovial manner. I carefully sipped on the gin and tonic in front of me. I could feel an additional pair of eyes scanning me from top to toe, and didn't have to guess hard on who it was who was doing it. That scrutiny was starting to get on my nerves. I turned around and looked at her dead in the eye.
She proved quicker to the draw and disarmed me with an exuberant ``Hi!'' and a heart-melting smile. I had not seen anyone male or female having that kind of expression in a long time, ever since I had broken up with my girlfriend of three years just six months ago. I found myself heating up from god knows what and I mumbled back a quiet ``hi'' in reply, the initial gruffness I had mostly gone.
``I'm Mandy! I heard that you're here every night during the week. Is it true?''
I was momentarily stunned by her audacity. To jump into such an introduction from being complete strangers was nothing short of pure audacity for sure. I took another look at her and grunted out a ``yes'' in reply. I gulped down the last of my gin and tonic and signalled to Ricky that I was done for the night and that he should add the drink to my tab. Just as I was about to get off the bar stool to go, I felt my left arm grabbed by two slim but firm hands, one of which was gently pushing it towards something that was initially firm but turned out to be soft. In that moment of confusion, I was suddenly aware that Mandy had grabbed hold of my arm and hugged it towards her breasts.
``Oh, why are you leaving so soon? We were just about to get acquainted with each other! Ricky, bring me another gin and tonic for this gentleman right here.'' Ricky nodded with a wry grin as he set her single malt whisky in front of her and proceeded to make yet another gin and tonic for me.
I didn't know what to do. The realisation that I was actually touching her breasts through the layers of the business skirt-suit had thrown my rationality out of calibration, and I found myself suddenly within the easy controls of Mandy. I also realised that I was in no position to extricate myself at that point, since any movement I take that is against what Mandy wanted had a high chance of eliciting some scream that can easily send me to a very dark place in the proverbial hell---there was nothing that one really say and do in public defense when one was in a compromising situation such as the one I was in at the moment. I sighed and readjusted myself on the bar stool, after which she slipped one of her arms away from mine while keeping the other still entwined. It was at this moment that I finally rediscovered my voice.
``Mandy, I'm sure you have better people to hang out with than me, especially since I don't even know who you are. Will you please tell me why you have made me stay on here beyond what I wanted to do?''
``Oh Samuel... I have heard much about you, and frankly, I think that we ought to be soul mates. I had been observing you for the past fortnight, coming in different outfits and manners and just watching when you come in, what you did and when you left. It's only tonight that I've decided that it was finally the right time to approach you and introduce myself.''
``Soul mates?'' I replied with more than just confusion. ``I hardly even know you, miss, so in what manner of a soul mate are you talking about?''
``Oh you don't need to be coy with me, Samuel. I know how you are.'' And with that, she suddenly withdrew her other arm from mine and undid the bun that was holding up her hair. The bun unravelled and her hair flowed off it like a fountain, bouncing gently into lightly wavy tresses that landed on her shoulders. Her new look with the hair framing her already soft glasses-wearing face and red lips made her look at least twice as alluring as compared to before, the authoritarian look replaced with one that highlighted the untold charms of a modern woman who knew when to work hard, and when to have fun.
Something in my mind told me to just drop everything and run as far away as I could, and maybe arrange with Ricky to settle the tab at some point in the future, never returning if possible. But there was something about her that appealled to the side of me that still yearned the intimacy that I once shared with a special someone up to six months ago. Needless to say, my loins were aching at what I was looking at.
I looked away from her gleaming eyes, glad that Ricky had thoughtfully placed the completed gin and tonic in front of me. I picked it up and studied it as intently as I could, trying my best to ignore the woman next to me, and to ignore the stupid ideas that my aroused loins were begging me to follow.
``Are you... shy?'' That boldness again. It was so weird to be on the receiving end of the flirt, but I was starting to warm up to her advances, though I was still trying my best to be as indifferent as I could.
``No I'm not.'' I took the entire gin and tonic in one shot. ``Miss, you are very lovely, that I give you credit for. I think I know what you want, but I don't think I can deliver what I think you want. I have no idea what you have heard about me, but I really can't stay for another drink. Thank you for this, and I will make a move now.'' I gave her a light bow and hastily made for the exit, the hair on my back raised from all the scornful looks that I was receiving from everyone else.
I made my way through the exit without any harm and paused next to a lamp post to clear my head. That was the oddest encounter I had in a long while, and wasn't sure what to make of it. I was glad to have gotten rid of her for now, and with that in mind, started walking towards the taxi stand, only to find her standing there, alone, waiting for what I was hoping to be the taxi. Except I was wrong.
``Samuel... why'd you run away from me?''
``Mandy... I hardly even know you...'' I replied as I made my way to the taxi queue.
The next thing I knew, her hands were around my neck, and mine were around her waist, and we were giving each other rapid and hard kisses, right there at the taxi stand.
Over head, a solitary crow sat on the window sill and watched us.
Now, you might think that I'm just trying to cover up for myself, but that's not true. I am merely stating facts.
I was sitting at the bar on my own, minding my own business, keeping busy with a gin and tonic that I got Ricky the barkeep to get me. No ice, of course, the bloody thing would have destroyed the wonderfully subtle flavour that made that particular cocktail my favourite over the myriad that Ricky churns out for everyone else on any particular night. I sat there, nursing that drink, hunched over it at the barstool trying to think about the day's events when I sensed a slightly different presence near me. No one ever sits near me, and such a presence was more than a mere surprise. There was a subtle floral fragance about it, jasmine perhaps, that suggested that the space invader was of female origins. Not really wanting any company, male or female, I turned around to give the interloper a good what-for.
To my surprise, what greeted me was this brunette with a nicely tied up hair in a black business skirt-suit that covered the white blouse of ruffles. Her face had a soft feel about it, and her lips were striking red, and she had glasses on, which did little to hide the fact that she had long eyelashes wiping away on that thing from behind. She gave me the coyest of all looks and asked me if she could join me. I was about to reject her when I suddenly sensed the combined stares of jealousy and white-knighthood emanating from the nebulous ends of the entire bar. Begrudgingly, I nodded my head and went back to nursing my drink, hoping that I had given a clear signal of what I had thought of about her ``company''.
She seemed unfazed and just climbed atop of the bar stool immmediately next to mine, her light perfume wafting over towards me seemingly trying to intoxicate me. I felt annoyed, but was finding it hard to impossible to demonstrate it---I didn't want to cause trouble for Ricky. God only knows the massive over-reactions I would get from the white-knights in the inscrutable crowd for saying anything even remotely insolent to the woman who was now seated next to me despite having nearly the rest of the bar free.
She ordered a single malt from Ricky, who replied in his usual jovial manner. I carefully sipped on the gin and tonic in front of me. I could feel an additional pair of eyes scanning me from top to toe, and didn't have to guess hard on who it was who was doing it. That scrutiny was starting to get on my nerves. I turned around and looked at her dead in the eye.
She proved quicker to the draw and disarmed me with an exuberant ``Hi!'' and a heart-melting smile. I had not seen anyone male or female having that kind of expression in a long time, ever since I had broken up with my girlfriend of three years just six months ago. I found myself heating up from god knows what and I mumbled back a quiet ``hi'' in reply, the initial gruffness I had mostly gone.
``I'm Mandy! I heard that you're here every night during the week. Is it true?''
I was momentarily stunned by her audacity. To jump into such an introduction from being complete strangers was nothing short of pure audacity for sure. I took another look at her and grunted out a ``yes'' in reply. I gulped down the last of my gin and tonic and signalled to Ricky that I was done for the night and that he should add the drink to my tab. Just as I was about to get off the bar stool to go, I felt my left arm grabbed by two slim but firm hands, one of which was gently pushing it towards something that was initially firm but turned out to be soft. In that moment of confusion, I was suddenly aware that Mandy had grabbed hold of my arm and hugged it towards her breasts.
``Oh, why are you leaving so soon? We were just about to get acquainted with each other! Ricky, bring me another gin and tonic for this gentleman right here.'' Ricky nodded with a wry grin as he set her single malt whisky in front of her and proceeded to make yet another gin and tonic for me.
I didn't know what to do. The realisation that I was actually touching her breasts through the layers of the business skirt-suit had thrown my rationality out of calibration, and I found myself suddenly within the easy controls of Mandy. I also realised that I was in no position to extricate myself at that point, since any movement I take that is against what Mandy wanted had a high chance of eliciting some scream that can easily send me to a very dark place in the proverbial hell---there was nothing that one really say and do in public defense when one was in a compromising situation such as the one I was in at the moment. I sighed and readjusted myself on the bar stool, after which she slipped one of her arms away from mine while keeping the other still entwined. It was at this moment that I finally rediscovered my voice.
``Mandy, I'm sure you have better people to hang out with than me, especially since I don't even know who you are. Will you please tell me why you have made me stay on here beyond what I wanted to do?''
``Oh Samuel... I have heard much about you, and frankly, I think that we ought to be soul mates. I had been observing you for the past fortnight, coming in different outfits and manners and just watching when you come in, what you did and when you left. It's only tonight that I've decided that it was finally the right time to approach you and introduce myself.''
``Soul mates?'' I replied with more than just confusion. ``I hardly even know you, miss, so in what manner of a soul mate are you talking about?''
``Oh you don't need to be coy with me, Samuel. I know how you are.'' And with that, she suddenly withdrew her other arm from mine and undid the bun that was holding up her hair. The bun unravelled and her hair flowed off it like a fountain, bouncing gently into lightly wavy tresses that landed on her shoulders. Her new look with the hair framing her already soft glasses-wearing face and red lips made her look at least twice as alluring as compared to before, the authoritarian look replaced with one that highlighted the untold charms of a modern woman who knew when to work hard, and when to have fun.
Something in my mind told me to just drop everything and run as far away as I could, and maybe arrange with Ricky to settle the tab at some point in the future, never returning if possible. But there was something about her that appealled to the side of me that still yearned the intimacy that I once shared with a special someone up to six months ago. Needless to say, my loins were aching at what I was looking at.
I looked away from her gleaming eyes, glad that Ricky had thoughtfully placed the completed gin and tonic in front of me. I picked it up and studied it as intently as I could, trying my best to ignore the woman next to me, and to ignore the stupid ideas that my aroused loins were begging me to follow.
``Are you... shy?'' That boldness again. It was so weird to be on the receiving end of the flirt, but I was starting to warm up to her advances, though I was still trying my best to be as indifferent as I could.
``No I'm not.'' I took the entire gin and tonic in one shot. ``Miss, you are very lovely, that I give you credit for. I think I know what you want, but I don't think I can deliver what I think you want. I have no idea what you have heard about me, but I really can't stay for another drink. Thank you for this, and I will make a move now.'' I gave her a light bow and hastily made for the exit, the hair on my back raised from all the scornful looks that I was receiving from everyone else.
I made my way through the exit without any harm and paused next to a lamp post to clear my head. That was the oddest encounter I had in a long while, and wasn't sure what to make of it. I was glad to have gotten rid of her for now, and with that in mind, started walking towards the taxi stand, only to find her standing there, alone, waiting for what I was hoping to be the taxi. Except I was wrong.
``Samuel... why'd you run away from me?''
``Mandy... I hardly even know you...'' I replied as I made my way to the taxi queue.
The next thing I knew, her hands were around my neck, and mine were around her waist, and we were giving each other rapid and hard kisses, right there at the taxi stand.
Over head, a solitary crow sat on the window sill and watched us.
Saturday, 14 June 2014
A Set-up?
Elle looked about her, trying to find the lock box that contained the controls to the security system that was designed around ``The Lotus''. Her contractor had given her a bump key and she was told in the briefing that the oil painting was going to be heavily guarded not with physical human guards, but with electronic ones. She had said that it wouldn't be a problem and that she would be able to bypass it, but was quickly rebuffed by the contractor that it was sheer stupidity to think so, given the significance that ``The Lotus'' has.
Elle was told that the box that the bump key opened was the main panel of the security system, and that it was possible to deactivate all the relevant systems guarding ``The Lotus'' that way. The only missing piece of information was just where this box is located in the entire museum.
Elle had started with a straightforward strategy: start from where the painting was located and do a search in increasing radii. It hadn't been going well at all, considering that she had already spent the last half an hour looking for the box. She was glad that the cameras had already been disabled a week earlier, each replaced with a looped version of the ``all clear'' corridors and what-not. Thankfully, it was some other guy who specialised in surveillance systems.
Elle wondered to herself about the reasons why their elite ``hacker'' could disable camera sub-systems to replace footage and yet couldn't find where the system override box was?
Just as she was about to give up for the day, she espied a small power box that she hadn't noticed before, located inconspicuously next to a power supply socket. She walked up to it and started to wonder if it was such a good idea to follow her orders to the letter. The entire set of arrangement sounded like a good way to assign blame on to someone, and to pin that blame so hard that there was nothing he/she could do.
The old question reared itself again, and Elle crouched next to the power box, wondering which course of action was the best.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-06-14 01:15:35)
Elle was told that the box that the bump key opened was the main panel of the security system, and that it was possible to deactivate all the relevant systems guarding ``The Lotus'' that way. The only missing piece of information was just where this box is located in the entire museum.
Elle had started with a straightforward strategy: start from where the painting was located and do a search in increasing radii. It hadn't been going well at all, considering that she had already spent the last half an hour looking for the box. She was glad that the cameras had already been disabled a week earlier, each replaced with a looped version of the ``all clear'' corridors and what-not. Thankfully, it was some other guy who specialised in surveillance systems.
Elle wondered to herself about the reasons why their elite ``hacker'' could disable camera sub-systems to replace footage and yet couldn't find where the system override box was?
Just as she was about to give up for the day, she espied a small power box that she hadn't noticed before, located inconspicuously next to a power supply socket. She walked up to it and started to wonder if it was such a good idea to follow her orders to the letter. The entire set of arrangement sounded like a good way to assign blame on to someone, and to pin that blame so hard that there was nothing he/she could do.
The old question reared itself again, and Elle crouched next to the power box, wondering which course of action was the best.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-06-14 01:15:35)
Friday, 13 June 2014
The Lotus
``The Lotus''. Elle looked at the oil painting in awe. It was the last known work of Xu Jiangxi, the reclusive painter whose known works were highly sought after by the Chinese central government due to the strong portrayal of loyalty and patriotism despite the use of nothing more than simple imagery brought to life by the vividness of the oil medium. But Elle cared nothing of that sort---the awesome she felt had nothing to do with the intangible qualities that the central government had claimed. It was more to do with the way Jiangxi juxtaposed the colours, the brush strokes and even the amount of paint layered atop each other that gave it a sense of realism beyond the mere view of just a pretty picture.
``The Lotus'' wasn't a large piece; almost none of Jiangxi's pieces were large, despite them using oil as the main patining medium. It was a very specialised skill, to make use of regular and tiny brush sizes with oil paints to provide the same sort of quality that larger oil paintings had. But the size of the painting mattered to Elle for only one reason---it made it easy for her to conceal the painting. She was currently in the Carnegie Art Museum, staring at ``The Lotus'' from her point on the ground outside of the regular opening hours of the museum. The Chinese central government had been adamant in getting the painting back, and have exhausted all diplomatic means, but to no avail.
That was when a Chinese agent contacted Elle and offering her the job of bringing ``The Lotus'' back to China.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-06-13 23:59:52)
``The Lotus'' wasn't a large piece; almost none of Jiangxi's pieces were large, despite them using oil as the main patining medium. It was a very specialised skill, to make use of regular and tiny brush sizes with oil paints to provide the same sort of quality that larger oil paintings had. But the size of the painting mattered to Elle for only one reason---it made it easy for her to conceal the painting. She was currently in the Carnegie Art Museum, staring at ``The Lotus'' from her point on the ground outside of the regular opening hours of the museum. The Chinese central government had been adamant in getting the painting back, and have exhausted all diplomatic means, but to no avail.
That was when a Chinese agent contacted Elle and offering her the job of bringing ``The Lotus'' back to China.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-06-13 23:59:52)
Thursday, 12 June 2014
Anshin
``Ah, but you could've looked for me earlier!'' Anshin the trickster god said as he hopped about, looking as distracted as he could. In front of him, Ju-liang looked on at him with an air of desperation.
``But it is always so hard to look for you! All those tricks, all those riddles. I can't really try to do anything about those each time I needed to look for you; they drive me insane! Also, I didn't think that this little problem was big enough to need your help...''
``You have a spine, that's good!'' Anshin said as he gave Ju-liang a stout slap in the back, which caused the latter to wince a little. ``But see what happens when things go bad; you need me once again, and this time, the `little problem' that you referred to is no longer little and will end up taking more of my effort and time to deal with it. Does that seem fair to you?''
``Cut! What the bloody hell is the ruckus about---it's ruining the damn shot!'' Director Han growled as he looked over behind his shoulder. Junhao and Liangyu got out of character and stood there, first staring at each other then at Director Han. Junhao gave a shrug; there had been many distructive distractions like this one over all the filming sessions thus far. He stood next to his co-star and watched from their positions on set at the unfolding melodrama that was real life.
``I have warned you, you no-good executive producer whatever! You must perform some rites to appease the Trickster God himself so that you can have a smoother filming schedule. It is the very nature for Anshin to quietly take poetic revenge on those who dared to slight him, even if they were trying to portray hiself in a non-cheesy sort of way!''
``Look here mister,'' Xinlong replied as he walked next to the casually dressed medium, ``there has been no incidents so far. The only incidents that are affecting our filming is your consistent barging in to get us to follow some kind of superstitious mumbo-jumbo that we don't even believe in in the first place! Now if you'll just follow me quietly so as to leave the set...''
``No! You are an ignorant fool! You all are ignorant fools! Anshin is generally a peaceable god, but he is still also a Trickster God. He can get petty at times, especially when it seems as though respect for him were to be decreased.''
``Look, I don't want to have to restate things to you again. We are making a drama series on Anshin to show his good side; why would he ever be malicious against us?''
``Because he is a Trickster God,'' Director Han boomed some six feet away from the other two men. Xinlong stood in silence when he saw Director Han---it was clear that the latter was in a foul mood, his ambience for a critical scene destroyed utterly by the new incursion. ``Look, `Reverend' Tim Oh, I don't really care if you are a 'reverend', I don't even care if you were the pope, but this is starting to get rather tiresome. Xinlong, why are you even allowing this incursion to begin with?''
``But it is always so hard to look for you! All those tricks, all those riddles. I can't really try to do anything about those each time I needed to look for you; they drive me insane! Also, I didn't think that this little problem was big enough to need your help...''
``You have a spine, that's good!'' Anshin said as he gave Ju-liang a stout slap in the back, which caused the latter to wince a little. ``But see what happens when things go bad; you need me once again, and this time, the `little problem' that you referred to is no longer little and will end up taking more of my effort and time to deal with it. Does that seem fair to you?''
``Cut! What the bloody hell is the ruckus about---it's ruining the damn shot!'' Director Han growled as he looked over behind his shoulder. Junhao and Liangyu got out of character and stood there, first staring at each other then at Director Han. Junhao gave a shrug; there had been many distructive distractions like this one over all the filming sessions thus far. He stood next to his co-star and watched from their positions on set at the unfolding melodrama that was real life.
``I have warned you, you no-good executive producer whatever! You must perform some rites to appease the Trickster God himself so that you can have a smoother filming schedule. It is the very nature for Anshin to quietly take poetic revenge on those who dared to slight him, even if they were trying to portray hiself in a non-cheesy sort of way!''
``Look here mister,'' Xinlong replied as he walked next to the casually dressed medium, ``there has been no incidents so far. The only incidents that are affecting our filming is your consistent barging in to get us to follow some kind of superstitious mumbo-jumbo that we don't even believe in in the first place! Now if you'll just follow me quietly so as to leave the set...''
``No! You are an ignorant fool! You all are ignorant fools! Anshin is generally a peaceable god, but he is still also a Trickster God. He can get petty at times, especially when it seems as though respect for him were to be decreased.''
``Look, I don't want to have to restate things to you again. We are making a drama series on Anshin to show his good side; why would he ever be malicious against us?''
``Because he is a Trickster God,'' Director Han boomed some six feet away from the other two men. Xinlong stood in silence when he saw Director Han---it was clear that the latter was in a foul mood, his ambience for a critical scene destroyed utterly by the new incursion. ``Look, `Reverend' Tim Oh, I don't really care if you are a 'reverend', I don't even care if you were the pope, but this is starting to get rather tiresome. Xinlong, why are you even allowing this incursion to begin with?''
Wednesday, 11 June 2014
Elizabeth: Part XV
(Story begins here.)
Anton heaved a sigh of relief when he heard the reassuring click sounds of the catches in the doors interlocking in place. He was fairly certain that the housekeeper had already figured out what he was doing, especially since it was clear that the latter had already known enough about the books that were in the library, considering how quickly he could discover that Anton was ``reading'' the Holy Bible from a mere glance. Once that realisation hit in, Anton could feel himself sinking deeper into his shoes, as though there were incontrovertible evidence that he was indeed ignoring the permonitionary nature of the ivory card and was doing exactly against what was advised. But in the back of his mind, he felt as though there was still some level of hope left. While Mr Higgins had, with high probability, figured out just what Anton was doing, he did not actually make any attempt to demonstrate his knowledge on the matter, and more importantly, did not seem to give way any of the usual reactions from someone to clean up one's reputation. Of course that could just be false hope, and that Mr Higgins' indifference was indeed one of the many aspects that he was lying.
Anton groaned softly to himself. There was little to be done then except to make his way down for lunch---his presence had been confirmed and he would be playing into the housekeeper's trap if he had done anything other than turning up, if there was a trap to begin with. There was that little bit of doubt at the other back of Anton's mind as he tried to weigh the evidence for and against the veracity of the note. From Reginald Archibald's account, it discounted him being the author of the card. It was wholly possible that his immediate predecessor was the author, but that was not easy to tell other than to follow the paper trail back through the journals, a handy piece of work that Anton was certain to take a profoundly long time to complete, time that he did not know if he had. Pushing the thoughts aside, Anton started to glance about the room to see if there was any easy way of hiding the journal. The best place he could think of was to return the journal to where he had found it---it had the advantage of not leaving anything immediately incriminating within ease of reach thus strengthening his story of studying the biblical verses, and the added benefit of hiding it in plain sight to facilitate ease of retrieval. He stood up from behind the desk and slipped ou the book from beneath the Holy Bible and walked to the shelf that he had gotten it from, and gingerly pushed it back into its original position among the other journals.
Satisfied with the provisional safety, Anton dusted himself down and straightened out his attire before exiting the study.
(Story continues here.)
Anton heaved a sigh of relief when he heard the reassuring click sounds of the catches in the doors interlocking in place. He was fairly certain that the housekeeper had already figured out what he was doing, especially since it was clear that the latter had already known enough about the books that were in the library, considering how quickly he could discover that Anton was ``reading'' the Holy Bible from a mere glance. Once that realisation hit in, Anton could feel himself sinking deeper into his shoes, as though there were incontrovertible evidence that he was indeed ignoring the permonitionary nature of the ivory card and was doing exactly against what was advised. But in the back of his mind, he felt as though there was still some level of hope left. While Mr Higgins had, with high probability, figured out just what Anton was doing, he did not actually make any attempt to demonstrate his knowledge on the matter, and more importantly, did not seem to give way any of the usual reactions from someone to clean up one's reputation. Of course that could just be false hope, and that Mr Higgins' indifference was indeed one of the many aspects that he was lying.
Anton groaned softly to himself. There was little to be done then except to make his way down for lunch---his presence had been confirmed and he would be playing into the housekeeper's trap if he had done anything other than turning up, if there was a trap to begin with. There was that little bit of doubt at the other back of Anton's mind as he tried to weigh the evidence for and against the veracity of the note. From Reginald Archibald's account, it discounted him being the author of the card. It was wholly possible that his immediate predecessor was the author, but that was not easy to tell other than to follow the paper trail back through the journals, a handy piece of work that Anton was certain to take a profoundly long time to complete, time that he did not know if he had. Pushing the thoughts aside, Anton started to glance about the room to see if there was any easy way of hiding the journal. The best place he could think of was to return the journal to where he had found it---it had the advantage of not leaving anything immediately incriminating within ease of reach thus strengthening his story of studying the biblical verses, and the added benefit of hiding it in plain sight to facilitate ease of retrieval. He stood up from behind the desk and slipped ou the book from beneath the Holy Bible and walked to the shelf that he had gotten it from, and gingerly pushed it back into its original position among the other journals.
Satisfied with the provisional safety, Anton dusted himself down and straightened out his attire before exiting the study.
(Story continues here.)
Tuesday, 10 June 2014
Monday, 9 June 2014
Sunday, 8 June 2014
Saturday, 7 June 2014
Friday, 6 June 2014
Monologue
I can tolerate this no longer. It has been too long, far too long since the last time that I had gone out with anyone. It's not like I'm some kind of pervert or lascivious fellow, but a man has got his wants, his needs. I've been celibate for too long to the point I've forgotten just how beguiling it is the female can be, and how alluring she can make herself become if she knows that you want something from her, something that is hard to get from anyone else, that little thing called intimacy. And it doesn't even have to be penetrative sex, just a close bare body massage of some sort, the way her fingers rub through the muscular knots of the shoulders, the way her skin and flesh gently give way to the softest of touch.
I know it is sounding like a rant. I cannot help it. I met that woman. Her. She looked a lot like my ex, sounded almost the same, and if I hadn't known better I would have seriously had to consider that the crazy bitch that was my ex had a twin, or was somehow planning some kind of revenge against me for dumping her crazy ass because she was nuts enough to stalk me with the intention of maiming me.
That's right, I swore of going out with anyone because of a psycho-bitch of an ex. But I don't want to talk about that now, I want to talk about this woman I met. She was a looker, talks real fine too, smart and witty, full of zest, hidden tiger. I didn't make the first move---she did. Pounced on me, almost literally, during that one night that we were out in the park enjoying the muggy weather that the tropics had to offer. I had to push her off me reluctantly; I couldn't bring myself to do anything with her, not right then anyway. I apologised to her, and somehow, she said something to the effect of being understanding. And now when I'm finally back home and sitting down in front of the television set that was not turned on, I suddenly realised just what the hell I did.
I had probably blown it. It had been so long since I got together with a woman, and this time, she actually wanted it and was aggressive enough to go for it. And what did I do? I acted like a pussy, just pushing her aside, as though I were so afraid of a little intimacy.
But now, I think I straightened out my mind. Time to give her a call and see how things go. It can't get any worse, right?
I know it is sounding like a rant. I cannot help it. I met that woman. Her. She looked a lot like my ex, sounded almost the same, and if I hadn't known better I would have seriously had to consider that the crazy bitch that was my ex had a twin, or was somehow planning some kind of revenge against me for dumping her crazy ass because she was nuts enough to stalk me with the intention of maiming me.
That's right, I swore of going out with anyone because of a psycho-bitch of an ex. But I don't want to talk about that now, I want to talk about this woman I met. She was a looker, talks real fine too, smart and witty, full of zest, hidden tiger. I didn't make the first move---she did. Pounced on me, almost literally, during that one night that we were out in the park enjoying the muggy weather that the tropics had to offer. I had to push her off me reluctantly; I couldn't bring myself to do anything with her, not right then anyway. I apologised to her, and somehow, she said something to the effect of being understanding. And now when I'm finally back home and sitting down in front of the television set that was not turned on, I suddenly realised just what the hell I did.
I had probably blown it. It had been so long since I got together with a woman, and this time, she actually wanted it and was aggressive enough to go for it. And what did I do? I acted like a pussy, just pushing her aside, as though I were so afraid of a little intimacy.
But now, I think I straightened out my mind. Time to give her a call and see how things go. It can't get any worse, right?
Thursday, 5 June 2014
Clubbing: Part V
(Story begins here.)
Isaac looked at Moe once again, his hungover brain slowly making sense of what was going on. Moe was telling him, in his sort of way, that he was going to give him some slack, and would be willing to corroborate with his statement by not trying to actively hinder or assist in the investigation. He nodded his head at Moe at the final understanding, as he uncapped the brandy and took a swig from it. The liquid fire burned as it gushed down his oesophagus, but in its wake it left a warm almost reassuring glow. When it finally settled down in his stomach, Isaac could feel as though his migraine had slipped off away, and that his mind was starting to process things more normally.
``Well?'' Moe said, eyeballing Isaac with an air of expectation. ``What's your next step, Isaac?''
Isaac frowned a little as he tried to get his brain to think of the alternatives. There was something quite off in the narrative that Moe had told him, but he didn't quite get it. At least not at first. After a few more seconds of grinding through what he heard, he finally got it.
``Moe, where did they find the body?''
``Thought you'd never ask,'' Moe grinned as he took the bottle of brandy from Isaac and took a swig of it himself. ``I see you are starting to come back to the world of the less stupid. Welcome back. Anyway, the answer to your question. She was found about three blocks north of here, in a dumpster that was in the alleyway about a block after that `fusion' Irish pizza/pub place. Dumpster's a pretty standard one, unlocked, and that's why she could fit in. If you are thinking of heading out there right this instance, well, I wouldn't if I were you. That's where the cops are swarming right about now.''
``Yes Moe, I'm not that stupid...''
``Hell, how the fuck would I know?'' Moe said as he shrugged his shoulders. ``Drunk idiots always do idiotic things, no matter how smart they were before getting drunk.''
Isaac ignored that dig and thought a little more. The seconds passed on by slowly, their passage unemotionally tracked by the loud ticking of the analogue wall clock hanging just at the wall that backed Moe's work chair. Then it hit him---he hadn't actually figured out who the girl was.
``Moe, something isn't right. You didn't tell me how the girl looks like.''
``The girl they found? Shit man, I thought you knew. Well, platinum blonde-like, great tits, was wearing some kind of black sleeveless number. White girl, lips with really red lip-stick. Heels I think? Can't remember the colour since I never really got to stare beyond her lovely ass and legs, the very things that were causing almost every other straight man within a twenty feet radius want to approach her for a dance, something that you were somehow trying to fend off with your aggressionn or something.''
Isaac frowned again, and he found that his headache was fast returning. There was no way that he could remember all these things, yet somehow he knew that knowing what they were could be a matter between life and death.
``You got a piece of paper and a pen for me to take notes, Moe?'' Isaac asked as he massaged his temples.
``Yeah, of course,'' Moe replied, grabbing the legal pad from the table and a random plastic Bic ball-point pen and chucked both of them to Isaac. ``Here, write them all down before you forget.''
(Story continues here.
Isaac looked at Moe once again, his hungover brain slowly making sense of what was going on. Moe was telling him, in his sort of way, that he was going to give him some slack, and would be willing to corroborate with his statement by not trying to actively hinder or assist in the investigation. He nodded his head at Moe at the final understanding, as he uncapped the brandy and took a swig from it. The liquid fire burned as it gushed down his oesophagus, but in its wake it left a warm almost reassuring glow. When it finally settled down in his stomach, Isaac could feel as though his migraine had slipped off away, and that his mind was starting to process things more normally.
``Well?'' Moe said, eyeballing Isaac with an air of expectation. ``What's your next step, Isaac?''
Isaac frowned a little as he tried to get his brain to think of the alternatives. There was something quite off in the narrative that Moe had told him, but he didn't quite get it. At least not at first. After a few more seconds of grinding through what he heard, he finally got it.
``Moe, where did they find the body?''
``Thought you'd never ask,'' Moe grinned as he took the bottle of brandy from Isaac and took a swig of it himself. ``I see you are starting to come back to the world of the less stupid. Welcome back. Anyway, the answer to your question. She was found about three blocks north of here, in a dumpster that was in the alleyway about a block after that `fusion' Irish pizza/pub place. Dumpster's a pretty standard one, unlocked, and that's why she could fit in. If you are thinking of heading out there right this instance, well, I wouldn't if I were you. That's where the cops are swarming right about now.''
``Yes Moe, I'm not that stupid...''
``Hell, how the fuck would I know?'' Moe said as he shrugged his shoulders. ``Drunk idiots always do idiotic things, no matter how smart they were before getting drunk.''
Isaac ignored that dig and thought a little more. The seconds passed on by slowly, their passage unemotionally tracked by the loud ticking of the analogue wall clock hanging just at the wall that backed Moe's work chair. Then it hit him---he hadn't actually figured out who the girl was.
``Moe, something isn't right. You didn't tell me how the girl looks like.''
``The girl they found? Shit man, I thought you knew. Well, platinum blonde-like, great tits, was wearing some kind of black sleeveless number. White girl, lips with really red lip-stick. Heels I think? Can't remember the colour since I never really got to stare beyond her lovely ass and legs, the very things that were causing almost every other straight man within a twenty feet radius want to approach her for a dance, something that you were somehow trying to fend off with your aggressionn or something.''
Isaac frowned again, and he found that his headache was fast returning. There was no way that he could remember all these things, yet somehow he knew that knowing what they were could be a matter between life and death.
``You got a piece of paper and a pen for me to take notes, Moe?'' Isaac asked as he massaged his temples.
``Yeah, of course,'' Moe replied, grabbing the legal pad from the table and a random plastic Bic ball-point pen and chucked both of them to Isaac. ``Here, write them all down before you forget.''
(Story continues here.
Wednesday, 4 June 2014
Red Taped
``And that, was just stupid,'' Julian grumbled as he pushed the trolley full of equipment into the goods elevator. Next to him, Cindy was trotting along, nodding quietly in agreement with him. It was a rather silly occurrence that defied normal understanding. They had both headed out into the industrial zone earlier with the trolley full of sensors and interface cards, fully intending to set it all up according to the plan that their department head had passed to them nearly a week ago. But when they got there and as they were setting up the equipment, various heavy trucks drove past them, covering them with fine dust that were kicked up by the large heavily treaded wheels. And to add insult to injury, the duty manager had charged at them with two armed security personnel who claimed that they didn't have any clearance to be there, despite having all the paperwork done.
There was nothing else to be done except to return. Fighting with armed anything was just a losing proposition; might as well wait for the bureaucracy to come and and ``save the day'' instead.
And because of that dust-up, the two of them were literally covered with dirt from top to toe.
``At least there are now showering facilities,'' Cindy said as she held the elevator door open for Julian to push the trolley in slowly.
``Yeah, but what's the damn point?'' Julian replied, annoyed still. ``It was still a wasted morning. Not to mention that there is only one bloody unisex shower room on our floor.'' Julian grimaced as the elevator doors closed. ``Tell you what, you go shower first while I stow away the equipment in the lab. When you're done, go talk to the department head about what happened.''
``Me?''
``Yeah, you,'' Julian said, his annoyance getting plainer by the moment. ``I'm too damn irate to not make an ass of myself. Besides, we all know that you're his favourite team member.''
Cindy was silent. The conversation had started to turn awkward. The two of them looked at the glowing lights above, watching the display increase from one integer to the next. At the seventeenth floor, the elevator stopped and the doors opened. Cindy stepped out quickly and held the door open for Julian, who pulled the trolley out gingerly, trying his hardest to not cause the small pile of equipment to fall all over. When he was successfully out of the elevator, he turned around and looked at Cindy.
``You go on first. I've got it all handled here.''
``Okay,'' Cindy replied as she made her way to the shower room that was behind the elevator shafts, near where the service lobby was located.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 05-Jun-2014 23:22:36)
There was nothing else to be done except to return. Fighting with armed anything was just a losing proposition; might as well wait for the bureaucracy to come and and ``save the day'' instead.
And because of that dust-up, the two of them were literally covered with dirt from top to toe.
``At least there are now showering facilities,'' Cindy said as she held the elevator door open for Julian to push the trolley in slowly.
``Yeah, but what's the damn point?'' Julian replied, annoyed still. ``It was still a wasted morning. Not to mention that there is only one bloody unisex shower room on our floor.'' Julian grimaced as the elevator doors closed. ``Tell you what, you go shower first while I stow away the equipment in the lab. When you're done, go talk to the department head about what happened.''
``Me?''
``Yeah, you,'' Julian said, his annoyance getting plainer by the moment. ``I'm too damn irate to not make an ass of myself. Besides, we all know that you're his favourite team member.''
Cindy was silent. The conversation had started to turn awkward. The two of them looked at the glowing lights above, watching the display increase from one integer to the next. At the seventeenth floor, the elevator stopped and the doors opened. Cindy stepped out quickly and held the door open for Julian, who pulled the trolley out gingerly, trying his hardest to not cause the small pile of equipment to fall all over. When he was successfully out of the elevator, he turned around and looked at Cindy.
``You go on first. I've got it all handled here.''
``Okay,'' Cindy replied as she made her way to the shower room that was behind the elevator shafts, near where the service lobby was located.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 05-Jun-2014 23:22:36)
Tuesday, 3 June 2014
Rain-time Bus Waiting
Eliza felt miserable, sitting at the bus stop, watching the rain falling non-stop from the sky. The wind was howling at the same time, which meant that whatever paltry cover the bus stop provided degraded from barely useful to nearly useless as the rain flew in through the sides, bypassing the roof, and smacking into her from one side. Her pastel floral sun dress was showing the tell-tale signs of starting to be soaked through, with the cream pastel turning into a yellowish gray at the parts where the rain drops had managed to evade the roof and the tiny umbrella that she was using to shield herself from the onslaught of the horizontal rain. She was glad that she hadn't given in to her impulse of wearing something daring underneath; at the rate in which the rain was pelting her, she would soon be providing a fancy show to any who were still crazy enough to be outdoors had she worn what she intended to wear before settling for something more sensible.
The rain came down mercilessly, and the wind decided to change its direction just for the hell of it. The tiny umbrella creaked under the change in wind direction, but Eliza managed to keep it from reversing itself by quickly moving it against the wind once more. This time round, the wind was blowing in rain along the long-side of the bus stop, which meant that there were fewer rain drops that were actually hitting Eliza. Along the road next to the bus stop, dare-devil drivers were still speeding along the roads as though they were racing drivers, with those nearer the divider actually driving through the puddles fast enough to cause a fantastic spray of water over the divider and on to the other side of the road. For that, Eliza was glad that bus stops were always located next to the slowest lanes of the road. However, she had seen drivers on that lane who did almost the exact same reckless and thoughtless thing and caused pedestrians to be drenched in odious road puddle splashes. She had been lucky so far, always close enough to observe the poor clueless pedestrian getting soaked to the skin, but far enough to be just out of the way of the offending driver's actions. But being at a bus stop had its distinct disadvantages of immobility, with the added effect of amplification through the redirection of the most energetic splashes by the roof back down to the ground. Eliza prayed silently that she would remain lucky and not have to deal with that.
The bus was taking a long time to arrive. She glanced at her watch to verify her gut feeling, and developed mixed feelings when she saw that she was correct and realised that the bus was indeed taking a long time to arrive. It was not exactly normal, but not altogether unexpected---the bus itself had a relatively high frequency for its route through the various neighbourhoods in the housing precinct, but it was prone to experiencing delays from choke points at different parts of the route, where a glut of commuters would board from roughly the same vicinity before alighting almost all at once at the same bus stop, roughly three to five stops later. This happened for at least two other parts of the leg to the bus stop that Eliza was on, and she had planned her time to coincide with the most likely arriving time of the bus that would guarantee her timeliness to work. Yet it was still getting late. Eliza started to wonder if something else had happened to the bus. There had been rare occasions where the bus itself experienced a break-down condition, causing a delay of at least twenty minutes, which was roughly the time for the next bus to actually arrive, after taking extra time to handle the added commuter load from the evacuation of the earlier bus.
As she kept on thinking and fighting against the rain, a familiar sight came along the bend in the road. It was the bus! Excitedly, Eliza flagged for it. The bus slowed down and stopped within the marked area and opened its doors. Eliza took a quick leap from the covered canopy of the bus stop and cleared the gap on to the bus, folding up her umbrella as she did so. The doors closed and she was soon on her way.
The rain came down mercilessly, and the wind decided to change its direction just for the hell of it. The tiny umbrella creaked under the change in wind direction, but Eliza managed to keep it from reversing itself by quickly moving it against the wind once more. This time round, the wind was blowing in rain along the long-side of the bus stop, which meant that there were fewer rain drops that were actually hitting Eliza. Along the road next to the bus stop, dare-devil drivers were still speeding along the roads as though they were racing drivers, with those nearer the divider actually driving through the puddles fast enough to cause a fantastic spray of water over the divider and on to the other side of the road. For that, Eliza was glad that bus stops were always located next to the slowest lanes of the road. However, she had seen drivers on that lane who did almost the exact same reckless and thoughtless thing and caused pedestrians to be drenched in odious road puddle splashes. She had been lucky so far, always close enough to observe the poor clueless pedestrian getting soaked to the skin, but far enough to be just out of the way of the offending driver's actions. But being at a bus stop had its distinct disadvantages of immobility, with the added effect of amplification through the redirection of the most energetic splashes by the roof back down to the ground. Eliza prayed silently that she would remain lucky and not have to deal with that.
The bus was taking a long time to arrive. She glanced at her watch to verify her gut feeling, and developed mixed feelings when she saw that she was correct and realised that the bus was indeed taking a long time to arrive. It was not exactly normal, but not altogether unexpected---the bus itself had a relatively high frequency for its route through the various neighbourhoods in the housing precinct, but it was prone to experiencing delays from choke points at different parts of the route, where a glut of commuters would board from roughly the same vicinity before alighting almost all at once at the same bus stop, roughly three to five stops later. This happened for at least two other parts of the leg to the bus stop that Eliza was on, and she had planned her time to coincide with the most likely arriving time of the bus that would guarantee her timeliness to work. Yet it was still getting late. Eliza started to wonder if something else had happened to the bus. There had been rare occasions where the bus itself experienced a break-down condition, causing a delay of at least twenty minutes, which was roughly the time for the next bus to actually arrive, after taking extra time to handle the added commuter load from the evacuation of the earlier bus.
As she kept on thinking and fighting against the rain, a familiar sight came along the bend in the road. It was the bus! Excitedly, Eliza flagged for it. The bus slowed down and stopped within the marked area and opened its doors. Eliza took a quick leap from the covered canopy of the bus stop and cleared the gap on to the bus, folding up her umbrella as she did so. The doors closed and she was soon on her way.
Monday, 2 June 2014
Elizabeth: Part XIV
(Story begins here.)
Anton's reading was interrupted at the moment by three quick raps on the door, the hallmark of Mr Higgins' polite attempt at requesting entry. Anton hastily moved the Holy Bible on top of the journal, and quickly shoved the card below everything from his side of the table, hoping that there was no overt signs of him reading anything but the Holy Bible. With a more permanent cover complete, he raised his voice and replied ``Come in!''
The heavy door of the study was pushed open slowly, and in the middle of the door frame stood the housekeeper, dressed in his full livery as always. There was something slightly odd about his face that Anton could not quite place his hands on, but for that moment, he was willing to let it slide. The disruption was untimely and he wanted the housekeeper out of the study as soon as he could, especially since he had been warned by the mysterious card that the housekeeper lies about Elizabeth. If the oddness of the face was anything peculiar, Mr Higgins did not show it for longer than that fraction of a second as he stepped into the study on a couple of deliberate steps and gave a bow.
``Master Anton, your lunch is ready to be served in the dining room. Would you like to have it now?''
``What? At ten? Are you being serious?'' Anton replied sounding incredulous.
``Master Anton, the time now is nearer to noon than to ten. I see that you have been reading the Scripture; perhaps your intense concentration has made the time pass seem to pass faster than it is. Nevertheless, would you be having your lunch served now or later?''
Anton looked at the housekeeper in the eyes, trying to see if he could detect that faint oddness that was present just moments before. All that he got back was a rather dry and bemused look, sedate even, the waiting face of someone who serves. He wondered if the housekeeper had suspected more than he had been revealing, possibly through the veiled threat of knowing more than he said through the rather overt reference to the fact that he could see that the Holy
Bible was the book that was opened on the desk in front of Anton. A sudden cold chill ran down Anton's spine when he thought of the possibilities that the same housekeeper having experience seeing other masters of the manor doing a similar action during their time when they were alive. That was not a good thought to Anton; he had not expected that he would have to defend himself that early in the entire affair. Realising that he was probably staying silent for a tad too long, Anton made a quick decision and replied.
``I think I will have it now, thank you.''
``Excellent!'' the housekeeper replied, obviously delighted at the choice of Anton. ``I shall set up your place at the dining room forthwith and await your arrival. Today's lunch is a succulent lamb shank that Mrs Higgins had managed to get from the butcher's earlier today, nicely roasted to a soft texture. I am very sure that you will enjoy it much, Master Anton.''
``I... see. How about the dinner preparations, Mr Higgins, the one with the Crawfords?''
``Mrs Higgins is preparing beef brisket and a number of other dishes that will be ready for the appointment at six this evening. It will be well prepared; Mrs Higgins never fails to prepare a meal good enough for Master Anton's guests.'' And with that, the housekeeper gave yet another bow, and backed out of the room before silently shutting the study doors in front of him.
(Story continues here.)
Anton's reading was interrupted at the moment by three quick raps on the door, the hallmark of Mr Higgins' polite attempt at requesting entry. Anton hastily moved the Holy Bible on top of the journal, and quickly shoved the card below everything from his side of the table, hoping that there was no overt signs of him reading anything but the Holy Bible. With a more permanent cover complete, he raised his voice and replied ``Come in!''
The heavy door of the study was pushed open slowly, and in the middle of the door frame stood the housekeeper, dressed in his full livery as always. There was something slightly odd about his face that Anton could not quite place his hands on, but for that moment, he was willing to let it slide. The disruption was untimely and he wanted the housekeeper out of the study as soon as he could, especially since he had been warned by the mysterious card that the housekeeper lies about Elizabeth. If the oddness of the face was anything peculiar, Mr Higgins did not show it for longer than that fraction of a second as he stepped into the study on a couple of deliberate steps and gave a bow.
``Master Anton, your lunch is ready to be served in the dining room. Would you like to have it now?''
``What? At ten? Are you being serious?'' Anton replied sounding incredulous.
``Master Anton, the time now is nearer to noon than to ten. I see that you have been reading the Scripture; perhaps your intense concentration has made the time pass seem to pass faster than it is. Nevertheless, would you be having your lunch served now or later?''
Anton looked at the housekeeper in the eyes, trying to see if he could detect that faint oddness that was present just moments before. All that he got back was a rather dry and bemused look, sedate even, the waiting face of someone who serves. He wondered if the housekeeper had suspected more than he had been revealing, possibly through the veiled threat of knowing more than he said through the rather overt reference to the fact that he could see that the Holy
Bible was the book that was opened on the desk in front of Anton. A sudden cold chill ran down Anton's spine when he thought of the possibilities that the same housekeeper having experience seeing other masters of the manor doing a similar action during their time when they were alive. That was not a good thought to Anton; he had not expected that he would have to defend himself that early in the entire affair. Realising that he was probably staying silent for a tad too long, Anton made a quick decision and replied.
``I think I will have it now, thank you.''
``Excellent!'' the housekeeper replied, obviously delighted at the choice of Anton. ``I shall set up your place at the dining room forthwith and await your arrival. Today's lunch is a succulent lamb shank that Mrs Higgins had managed to get from the butcher's earlier today, nicely roasted to a soft texture. I am very sure that you will enjoy it much, Master Anton.''
``I... see. How about the dinner preparations, Mr Higgins, the one with the Crawfords?''
``Mrs Higgins is preparing beef brisket and a number of other dishes that will be ready for the appointment at six this evening. It will be well prepared; Mrs Higgins never fails to prepare a meal good enough for Master Anton's guests.'' And with that, the housekeeper gave yet another bow, and backed out of the room before silently shutting the study doors in front of him.
(Story continues here.)
Sunday, 1 June 2014
Hill Defense
Eric, Thomas and Timothy were deep in their foxholes, staring out into clearing, their rifles held close and raised, aimed in front of them. It was the third day of the siege of the hill that they were on, and things were getting dicey. There had been scattered attempts by the enemy in charging up the hill, but so far, they had managed to repel them quite effectively. But ammunition was running low, and more importantly, water itself was starting to be scarce. The hill itself wasn't exactly a fortified position; it was at best a small observation outpost due to its slightly superior height advantage.
The jungles of malaya were full of water, from the dew that gathered during the dawn and the various fruits and plants. But actual potable water was hard to come by, especially for the hill. The nearest river or stream was nearly a hundred metres away from where the trio were located, and was deep in territory controlled by the enemy. There was simply no easy way of getting hold on such sources of water. The waging of a guerilla-styled defense was hard at times. The three of them were acting as static posts, the first line of defense, the one that will get overrun eventually without fail. It was already day three. They were sure that the next day's assault on their positions would be the last one if there was no relief in sight.
Eric looked at Thomas from across his foxhole, signalling him to ask if he had any water available. Thomas signalled back: not really. Timothy was in the front of the two in his own foxhole, not taking part in the signalling discussions, and manning the portable machine gun that was in front of him, resting on its bipod. His fellow machine gunner had been killed just a few days before they had dug in to this position, but it was alright because of the dug-in---he could easily manipulate the weapon himself.
A sudden rustling made the three of them forget their thirst temporarily, their adrenaline pumping. Eric looked in the general direction of the sound and thought he detected a scout from the enemy trying to determine the dug out positions. He signalled Thomas: possibly an artillery spotter. It was just about the right tactics anyway, the three-day delay being enough to reposition artillery to support the hill assault.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 01-Jun-2014 20:28:25)
The jungles of malaya were full of water, from the dew that gathered during the dawn and the various fruits and plants. But actual potable water was hard to come by, especially for the hill. The nearest river or stream was nearly a hundred metres away from where the trio were located, and was deep in territory controlled by the enemy. There was simply no easy way of getting hold on such sources of water. The waging of a guerilla-styled defense was hard at times. The three of them were acting as static posts, the first line of defense, the one that will get overrun eventually without fail. It was already day three. They were sure that the next day's assault on their positions would be the last one if there was no relief in sight.
Eric looked at Thomas from across his foxhole, signalling him to ask if he had any water available. Thomas signalled back: not really. Timothy was in the front of the two in his own foxhole, not taking part in the signalling discussions, and manning the portable machine gun that was in front of him, resting on its bipod. His fellow machine gunner had been killed just a few days before they had dug in to this position, but it was alright because of the dug-in---he could easily manipulate the weapon himself.
A sudden rustling made the three of them forget their thirst temporarily, their adrenaline pumping. Eric looked in the general direction of the sound and thought he detected a scout from the enemy trying to determine the dug out positions. He signalled Thomas: possibly an artillery spotter. It was just about the right tactics anyway, the three-day delay being enough to reposition artillery to support the hill assault.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 01-Jun-2014 20:28:25)
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