Liubo looked at the carton that was just deposited on his door step by the delivery person just a short moment ago with great anticipation. It was a dream come true to him---it was the one thing that he had saved nearly six months for, and it was finally here after waiting anxiously for the delivery web portal to display its slow progress from Shenzhen, where these things often came from.
The carton itself was roughly a cube with sides of around forty centimetres all around. It was sized in such a way that a relatively strong person could probably lift it in a type of bear hug, but the shape of the box was deceptive in the mass that was contained within.
Eagerly, Liubo read the airway bill that was stuck on the top of the carton, despite already knowing what it was---that the delivery person had to use a trolley to move it around was a big hint. The sender field had the clearly printed text of ``Shenzhen Molecular Printing Company'' on it, and the contents had four line items, the first of which stated ``Molecular Printing Device (small): 1pcs'', the second was ``Molecular Printing Gel, Organic: 1kg'', the third was ``Molecular Printing Gel, Base Metals: 500g'', and the last was ``Molecular Printing Gel, Precious Metals: 5g''.
And on it was another important field: ``Net weight: 30kg''.
Liubo closed the main door to his apartment and bolted it, before carefully dragging the carton across the living room towards his work room. It was a small apartment, only two bedrooms, a living room, a small kitchen, and a single shower-toilet. It was definitely not a large living space, but it was something that Liubo was proud of as he had bought it under his own name as an unmarried adult from the government. The housing policy was something of a sticky point for him, but now that he had reached the age threshold to own his own apartment under the lease-hold scheme, he was somewhat satisfied.
The living room was spartan, and had a clear path that led from the main door to his work room. In stark contrast, the work room was a cornucopia of controlled chaos, where every available wall had a rack or a shelf set up with various tools and projects in different states of assembly/disassembly, while every floor space that was not immediately contributing to the basic movement path was co-opted as additional storage for even more tools and projects.
Liubo dragged the carton up to the centre of the room and looked at the table space that he had set aside a week ago on one side of his main work bench. The new device, the Molecular Printing Device (or just the molecular printer) was going to be the centre piece of his latest set of experimentation. On the opposite side of the same table sat the forlorn plastic filament based 3D printer that he had owned for nearly ten years. It was the state-of-the-art when he had first purchased it, and as time went on, he used it to assemble parts that could be used to upgrade it. But fundamentally, that 3D printer could not overcome a fundamental problem: it was based on physical processes only, which limited the precision to something that was at the high sub-millimetre scale. But for finer objects at the nanometre scale, it was basically impossible to improve upon the 3D printing technology to get that far.
Liubo pulled his utility blade from his work bench and carefully sliced open the carton at the packing tape seals and carefully opened up the flaps. Immediately greeting him were the small tightly sealed cannisters that contained the three different printing gels---the largest was the organic printing gel, the middle sized one was the base metals printing gel, and the last was the precious metals printing gel. He carefully removed each cannister from the packing, pausing each time to marvel at their composition, and the fact that he was literally holding them in his hand, before setting them aside. The cannisters of printing gel were useless unless the molecular printing device itself were assembled.
Below the cannisters was a layer of molded expanded polystyrene that helped with packing the materials snugly. Liubo gingerly removed the molded styrofoam, being careful not because of its fragility, but that it made the most horrific shrieking sound when it was in friction with other surfaces. With the layer of packing styrofoam removed, he looked into the carton and paused at the majesty of the most complicated device that one could own in the home without spending a king's ransom on.
(Story continues here.)
Wednesday, 5 February 2020
Sunday, 25 October 2015
The Guru
I do not wish this upon anyone. Not normally. It is the most cursed of all curses that I know, and it has been said that he who has been afflicted by it will die.
I mean, they all will die when afflicted by curses or not, but before the death, he will suffer a fate worse than a fate worse than death. That was what I was told by my guru as he was telling me the dark side of our faith, the one side that gurus do not always tell their followers unless they are fated to be gurus themselves.
There was always a need for the gurus to provide for new gurus in the future. Such has been how things were, such will be how things will be.
I am now a guru. Not by my choice since it involves the notion of fate, which I barely have limited control over, but I'm not bitter about it at all. Being a guru has its perks -- all the respect that the people give me due to the perceived power that I have over them -- but it also has its downsides; when the people are in trouble, it is my duty to be there to help them, whether I like it or not.
Even if it means that I have to cause the death of whoever or whatever it is that is threatening the people.
That man was a foreigner. White skinned, aquiline nose. Different from the rather tanned skin and muted features we have. He came with a small group of his own people. Said he wanted to trade. We did our best to work with them -- they had some interesting herbs that the people have not seen before but they weren't completely alien to me because of the knowledge my guru passed to me.
How he knew, I'll never know.
The herbs were useful. Not addictive like opium which we use sometimes to help heal over the inner fuzz in the head, but having a similar effect. They needed some food. They said they had run out of stores when their boat capsized and needed some food to help them tide over.
Our chief was cordial. He talked with them via gestures and gutturals that both sides seemed to have a common understanding over, with the help of our elders. An agreement seemed to have come about.
But that man, that white skinned aquiline nosed man, he turned. He suddenly whipped out a metal thing that looked like some kind of blowpipe, except that it had a wooden stock on it. Aimed it at our chief.
There was no time to react. I heard that the accompanying foreign peoples also pulled something similar and threatened everyone present. A young warrior was shocked and angered and leapt onto one of them with a dagger drawn. A loud bang was heard and the warrior was suddenly bleeding. But he was brave. He didn't back down -- he slashed and stabbed furiously at his target.
The rest of the foreigners seemed shocked at the warrior. The loud bang drew more warriors in, and seeing their fellow comrade hurt and attacking, they got berserked and attacked.
Our chief was quickly pushed to the ground by some of the elders and warriors, while the white skinned foreigners were making a retreat, with our warriors charging at them. Ever so often one of them would fire at us with their version of the blowpipe and some of the warriors were forced to retreat from their wounds. Our own blowpipers did their best to poison the retreating men, but they managed to only get one or two of them in the necks. The rest were wearing materials that couldn't be breached by our poison needles.
I was told only much later about the whole event. Our chief said that the leader of that band of foreigners must be cursed with our strongest curse as revenge for his duplicity. I listened calmly to our chief the way a guru should, and got more descriptions of the person.
I understood the situation. I assured our chief that it will be done.
He thanked me and left my hut.
------
A few days later, our scouts reported finding the remains of a white skinned man, horribly maimed and in pieces, with parts of his red flesh covered in weird green and purple ooze. The one part that was more or less intact was his aquiline nose.
I mean, they all will die when afflicted by curses or not, but before the death, he will suffer a fate worse than a fate worse than death. That was what I was told by my guru as he was telling me the dark side of our faith, the one side that gurus do not always tell their followers unless they are fated to be gurus themselves.
There was always a need for the gurus to provide for new gurus in the future. Such has been how things were, such will be how things will be.
I am now a guru. Not by my choice since it involves the notion of fate, which I barely have limited control over, but I'm not bitter about it at all. Being a guru has its perks -- all the respect that the people give me due to the perceived power that I have over them -- but it also has its downsides; when the people are in trouble, it is my duty to be there to help them, whether I like it or not.
Even if it means that I have to cause the death of whoever or whatever it is that is threatening the people.
That man was a foreigner. White skinned, aquiline nose. Different from the rather tanned skin and muted features we have. He came with a small group of his own people. Said he wanted to trade. We did our best to work with them -- they had some interesting herbs that the people have not seen before but they weren't completely alien to me because of the knowledge my guru passed to me.
How he knew, I'll never know.
The herbs were useful. Not addictive like opium which we use sometimes to help heal over the inner fuzz in the head, but having a similar effect. They needed some food. They said they had run out of stores when their boat capsized and needed some food to help them tide over.
Our chief was cordial. He talked with them via gestures and gutturals that both sides seemed to have a common understanding over, with the help of our elders. An agreement seemed to have come about.
But that man, that white skinned aquiline nosed man, he turned. He suddenly whipped out a metal thing that looked like some kind of blowpipe, except that it had a wooden stock on it. Aimed it at our chief.
There was no time to react. I heard that the accompanying foreign peoples also pulled something similar and threatened everyone present. A young warrior was shocked and angered and leapt onto one of them with a dagger drawn. A loud bang was heard and the warrior was suddenly bleeding. But he was brave. He didn't back down -- he slashed and stabbed furiously at his target.
The rest of the foreigners seemed shocked at the warrior. The loud bang drew more warriors in, and seeing their fellow comrade hurt and attacking, they got berserked and attacked.
Our chief was quickly pushed to the ground by some of the elders and warriors, while the white skinned foreigners were making a retreat, with our warriors charging at them. Ever so often one of them would fire at us with their version of the blowpipe and some of the warriors were forced to retreat from their wounds. Our own blowpipers did their best to poison the retreating men, but they managed to only get one or two of them in the necks. The rest were wearing materials that couldn't be breached by our poison needles.
I was told only much later about the whole event. Our chief said that the leader of that band of foreigners must be cursed with our strongest curse as revenge for his duplicity. I listened calmly to our chief the way a guru should, and got more descriptions of the person.
I understood the situation. I assured our chief that it will be done.
He thanked me and left my hut.
------
A few days later, our scouts reported finding the remains of a white skinned man, horribly maimed and in pieces, with parts of his red flesh covered in weird green and purple ooze. The one part that was more or less intact was his aquiline nose.
Sunday, 9 August 2015
Hold on to your love
A tear escaped from the corner of Xing's eye as he gazed upon the faded polaroid he held in front of him underneath the solitary desk lamp that provided all the illumination in the room.
Three of them---Xing, Katy and Karen. K²X, they had called themselves. A picture taken back in the late eighties at one of the gigs they had just played at. He played keyboard. Katy was on the guitar and provided vocals, while Karen was the drummer. It was a bar that a mutual friend owned. They were performing there as a group for the first time, despite having jammed with each other for a while before that. There were some minor equipment set up issues, but those were quickly resolved. Everything went well. They played a fixed set, then took some requests here and there from the patrons. Everyone had a wonderful time. Then the polaroid was taken.
Xing rubbed his thumb gently over the faded smiling face of Katy and felt emotions welling up in him again.
Ten years.
It had been ten years since that polaroid.
Katy was the best vocalist that Xing had ever heard sing. Her voice spanned different genres as K²X experimented to find their sound. Power ballads, progressive rock, even metal screams---Katy could deliver them all. On the guitar, she wasn't as impressive, but was still of acceptable quality.
Xing and Katy, they had a thing for each other. Each knew the other, but neither would make the first move. Karen was pissed sometimes, but she understood the delicate balance required to keep K²X together. Three was an unstable number---prone to shifting sides with a majority oppressing a minority.
Karen was a first rate drummer who was mostly self-taught. In another life, she was an unassuming researcher working at one of the many branches of the national lab. It was her idea for the K²X---she had been friends with Katy and Xing separately for a while before thinking of introducing everyone together to jam.
Ten years...
Xing held the polaroid tightly in his hand, his tears flowing freely now, his other hand resting on the legs that would never move on their own again.
It was horrific. He couldn't remember exactly what happened, except for a sharp and persistent pain and fainting from it. When he next came to, he was already lying on a bed in the ward of a hospital, with police officers attempting to take his statement. He was loopy from the sedatives, and it was only much later when he learnt that he was not going to walk ever again.
He asked for Katy, then Karen, but no one would tell him what had happened to them. He screamed, he pleaded, he yelled, he cried, but to no avail. The doctors tranquilised him as much as they could, citing his need of rest, while the policemen would lounge about, always eager to interview him, but never having the medical clearance to.
Ten years.
Xing thought time would heal the wounds he had in his psyche, but it didn't help at all. He hadn't wanted to look at that last polaroid of K²X, but felt guided by an invisible hand to do so. Now that he had looked at it again, he couldn't help but feel the same strange sense of loss that he once felt a long, long time ago.
Xing placed the polaroid on the silver ash tray that he had in front of him, already half-filled with the legacy of many burnt out cigarette butts. He whipped out a lighter from his shirt pocket and struck the flint with a smooth motion, aiming the flame at the corner of the polaroid.
The relic of a time past caught the flame and burnt itself up into a crisp, its ashes falling silently into the ash tray.
Three of them---Xing, Katy and Karen. K²X, they had called themselves. A picture taken back in the late eighties at one of the gigs they had just played at. He played keyboard. Katy was on the guitar and provided vocals, while Karen was the drummer. It was a bar that a mutual friend owned. They were performing there as a group for the first time, despite having jammed with each other for a while before that. There were some minor equipment set up issues, but those were quickly resolved. Everything went well. They played a fixed set, then took some requests here and there from the patrons. Everyone had a wonderful time. Then the polaroid was taken.
Xing rubbed his thumb gently over the faded smiling face of Katy and felt emotions welling up in him again.
Ten years.
It had been ten years since that polaroid.
Katy was the best vocalist that Xing had ever heard sing. Her voice spanned different genres as K²X experimented to find their sound. Power ballads, progressive rock, even metal screams---Katy could deliver them all. On the guitar, she wasn't as impressive, but was still of acceptable quality.
Xing and Katy, they had a thing for each other. Each knew the other, but neither would make the first move. Karen was pissed sometimes, but she understood the delicate balance required to keep K²X together. Three was an unstable number---prone to shifting sides with a majority oppressing a minority.
Karen was a first rate drummer who was mostly self-taught. In another life, she was an unassuming researcher working at one of the many branches of the national lab. It was her idea for the K²X---she had been friends with Katy and Xing separately for a while before thinking of introducing everyone together to jam.
Ten years...
Xing held the polaroid tightly in his hand, his tears flowing freely now, his other hand resting on the legs that would never move on their own again.
It was horrific. He couldn't remember exactly what happened, except for a sharp and persistent pain and fainting from it. When he next came to, he was already lying on a bed in the ward of a hospital, with police officers attempting to take his statement. He was loopy from the sedatives, and it was only much later when he learnt that he was not going to walk ever again.
He asked for Katy, then Karen, but no one would tell him what had happened to them. He screamed, he pleaded, he yelled, he cried, but to no avail. The doctors tranquilised him as much as they could, citing his need of rest, while the policemen would lounge about, always eager to interview him, but never having the medical clearance to.
Ten years.
Xing thought time would heal the wounds he had in his psyche, but it didn't help at all. He hadn't wanted to look at that last polaroid of K²X, but felt guided by an invisible hand to do so. Now that he had looked at it again, he couldn't help but feel the same strange sense of loss that he once felt a long, long time ago.
Xing placed the polaroid on the silver ash tray that he had in front of him, already half-filled with the legacy of many burnt out cigarette butts. He whipped out a lighter from his shirt pocket and struck the flint with a smooth motion, aiming the flame at the corner of the polaroid.
The relic of a time past caught the flame and burnt itself up into a crisp, its ashes falling silently into the ash tray.
Friday, 27 February 2015
Waiting...
Aaron leant against the lamp post, its cone of light illuminating him even as it kept his face in a shadow. It was late, for sure. No, he corrected himself, he was early and she was late. He looked at his watch again in irritation. They were supposed to have met up at eight, and yet it was almost nine. He couldn't understand the tardiness of some people, and she was definitely a chronic case of the procrastinating.
Damnit, Aaron thought as he slammed a hammerfist into the lamp post. The blow travelled along the vertical extent and shook the lamp shade above ever so gently, making his shadows dance in the gently oscillating light. He knew he shouldn't have trusted her words when she told him earlier in the day at school to meet up at eight---it was just too good to be true. But he liked her, and he was very sure she knew it too, and that was why he was now standing underneath a lamp post, loitering, and looking completely silly just slamming his fists randomly into the post itself to vent out the annoyance.
As he mulled for the umpteenth time on whether to just call it a night, he heard the pitter-patter of running feet. Small running feet. He looked up in the direction of the sound, and saw a silhouette in a knee-lengthed dress running towards him. It ran through the next nearest cone of light and he saw immediately that it was Janet dressed in a yellow sun-dress and running madly towards him, her long tresses flying about her wildly.
``Hey,'' Janet said as she rested on the arm that had braced herself on the same lamp post that Aaron was once leaning against. ``Sorry for being late. Uncle dropped by and wasn't about to leave on time due to that game of bridge. They were one short, and so I had to stay around and play with them. I tried calling your house, but your mother said you had already gone.''
``Geez Jane, catch your breath,'' Aaron replied, glad that his idiotic wait was finally over. ``Well anyway, you got to me in time. I'd left in another ten minutes. I knew that women tended to be `fashionably late', but this was just too ridiculous.''
Janet caught her breath and stood up straight once again, her hand unconsciously pushing off her hair past her shoulders. Aaron tried his best not to gape, but it was just too hard---Janet looked absolutely delightful in the sun-dress, with it hugging her figure tightly yet comfortably which, against the play of light and dark, seemed all the more exciting than he could remember. He forgot his annoyance and immediately slipped an arm into Janet's.
Damnit, Aaron thought as he slammed a hammerfist into the lamp post. The blow travelled along the vertical extent and shook the lamp shade above ever so gently, making his shadows dance in the gently oscillating light. He knew he shouldn't have trusted her words when she told him earlier in the day at school to meet up at eight---it was just too good to be true. But he liked her, and he was very sure she knew it too, and that was why he was now standing underneath a lamp post, loitering, and looking completely silly just slamming his fists randomly into the post itself to vent out the annoyance.
As he mulled for the umpteenth time on whether to just call it a night, he heard the pitter-patter of running feet. Small running feet. He looked up in the direction of the sound, and saw a silhouette in a knee-lengthed dress running towards him. It ran through the next nearest cone of light and he saw immediately that it was Janet dressed in a yellow sun-dress and running madly towards him, her long tresses flying about her wildly.
``Hey,'' Janet said as she rested on the arm that had braced herself on the same lamp post that Aaron was once leaning against. ``Sorry for being late. Uncle dropped by and wasn't about to leave on time due to that game of bridge. They were one short, and so I had to stay around and play with them. I tried calling your house, but your mother said you had already gone.''
``Geez Jane, catch your breath,'' Aaron replied, glad that his idiotic wait was finally over. ``Well anyway, you got to me in time. I'd left in another ten minutes. I knew that women tended to be `fashionably late', but this was just too ridiculous.''
Janet caught her breath and stood up straight once again, her hand unconsciously pushing off her hair past her shoulders. Aaron tried his best not to gape, but it was just too hard---Janet looked absolutely delightful in the sun-dress, with it hugging her figure tightly yet comfortably which, against the play of light and dark, seemed all the more exciting than he could remember. He forgot his annoyance and immediately slipped an arm into Janet's.
Saturday, 13 December 2014
Beth
I knew that I should've stayed at home. But nooo, I had to leave the comfort of my rental apartment just to meet up with the girl that I thought was interested in me. I don't even want to name names here, it'll do no one any good.
Fine, let's just call her Beth.
No it's not short for anything. I'm not even going to say if it's even remotely close to her real name since that's irrelevant. Thing is, Beth and I met at the library that afternoon. I was looking up some old books to borrow and read to pass the boring weekend that was coming up, and she was this chick that suddenly came up to me and most literally bumped into me. I looked up from the book I was browsing in annoyance, and was greeted with a bespectacled brunette with hair that dangled just slightly past her white shirt-covered breasts.
``Oh sorry!'' She said first, breaking the silence of the library and before I could gather my wits from being cutingly assaulted by her. ``I wasn't seeing where I was going.''
``That's alright,'' I replied and was about to look back into my book when I found a pair of well-kept hands suddenly pusing that book downwards from me. ``Hey---''
``Shhh... it's the library. No need to shout. You look like a decent sort of person. Are you free this weekend?''
``Wha, what? What's up with this weekend? Are you trying to ask me out? Hell, I don't even know you!''
``Hush...'' she hissed, ``didn't I just tell you not to shout? Fine sorry. Let me start over. I'm Beth, and there's this party thing at my sorority that is going on this weekend. Thing is, it's a social party event thing that we are doing to encourage people outside of the Greek organisations to meet up with us and well socialise. You look like you might not be from a fraternity. So... are you free to come with me to this party thing?''
I squinted my eyes and looked at her beyond the simple framing of her hair about her face. In particular, I was looking straight into her eyes, trying to detect any sort of bullshit that was behind the words that she just said. I wasn't actually trying to be cynical, but things like that never happened in real life, and there was just something fishy about this entire... encounter. All I saw was just a pair of eyes that seemed to be twinkling for no discernible reason, and I was hoping to myself that it wasn't mischief I was seeing.
``I was about to get some books to read at home when you bumped into me...''
``So that means you'll come then? That's great! Meet me at the cross junction between Green and Washington at six tomorrow and we'll head off to the sorority house. It's a date then!'' She turned and started to walk off.
``Wait, hold on! Which sorority are you from again?''
``Omega Delta Kappa. See you tomorrow!''
I stood there and watched her leave the stacks, my brain highly confused. There was something about her that turned me on in a way that defied reasoning, but at the back of my mind, I felt that something just wasn't right. No matter though, the date had been promised, and it would be bad if I didn't show up, right?
But she didn't even ask for my name! How could she pin the blame of my non-appearance on me?
But then again, she'd probably figured out that the library was a place I was most likely to be visiting and could just stake it out and hunt me down for my no-show, if she were really that diabolical. Was she?
I scratched my head in confusion and tossed the whole mess to the back of my head as I walked towards the check-out counter with my book in tow.
------
The weekend came altogether too fast, and the clock was reading five o'clock when I looked at it groggily. Actually that was a lie. I was up reading the book till late, and decided to sleep in during the morning with the shades down low on my windows. That explained why I was up at the unholy hour of five in the evening in a state that is best used to describe zombies.
Then I remembered the accidental date and bolted upright.
Eh, should I even go for that shady-sounding business? I mean, she did mention the sorority she was from right? Omega Sigma... Kappa or something. I should probably check it out to see if it were a real sorority; those Greek organisations have so many weird and hard-to-understand acronyms that it's impossible to tell if any particular three-letter thing is indeed a fraternity or sorority. But what should I check it with? My laptop's on the fritz and is at the technician's for repair, while my cellphone didn't have a data plan to go with it. And my room mate would never let me touch his computers, not since last time when I accidentally wiped out a hard drive.
So... should I turn up?
One part of my mind, the prefrontal cortex perhaps, was screaming at me to ignore the invitation and stay at home: `Nothing good could ever come out of the meeting with that unknown girl!' it tried to warn me. But another part of my mind, the primal part maybe, was like `Oh yeah baby that's a hot chick that just asked you out! Think of the kinky stuff she might want you to do with her!'. It was like a fight among the Titans, and in the end, curiousity got the better of me and I decided to meet up at the given time at the given place.
That's the reason I'm using and I'm sticking with that. It has nothing to do with what primal brain said. I swear.
At six o'clock then I found myself waiting at the crosswalk between Green and Washington, a rather busy part of the circling road on campus. Students were hustling about, some walking from the dormitory quad towards the campus recreation centre, while others were passing through from the nearby neighbourhood of rental apartments, same sort of place that I was staying. I stood next to the traffic light and waited impatiently.
I wondered if Beth would turn up. Part of me wished she would, while the other was highly skeptical. I waited for fifteen minutes. It was a boring fifteen minutes. At the end of that time period, I cursed softly under my breath for being played a fool and was about to turn around to walk back to my apartment when I saw a brunette running across the road towards me. She was wearing glasses and had longish hair that was billowing out from the self-made breeze from the run as the lights blinked green before turning amber. She made it across the road and stopped just beside me as the light turned to red in her direction.
``Yay, you're here,'' I said in an unenthusiastic voice. ``I was about to return home too.''
``Baaah...'' she replied, trying to catch her breath, her bosoms heaving slightly as she snatched in mouthfuls of air. ``Hold on... lemme catch my breath first. I should really do more work outs...''
I was inclined to agree with her. While she was running, I could see how tightly her denim jeans were clinging to her legs and thighs as her buttoned up shirt held on to dear life to wrap itself around her contours. She was no fatty, but she did look like it would help her to lose a little bit of the chub. But in a sense, she looked cute. Endearing even.
``Okay... hi again!'' Beth said cheerfully in a more normal tone of voice. ``Sorry for keeping you waiting. There were some last minute things we needed to do back at the House because one of the sisters was down with a cold and couldn't execute her duty.''
``Execute?''
``Yeah, okay, `do'. Same thing. She was supposed to pick up some stuff from the post office but didn't do so being sick and all, and it wasn't until much later that we realised it was gotten.''
``Oh? What was it?'' I asked, curious. It was all starting to sound even more shady now then when I was thinking about it alone in my room.
``Oh don't worry about it, it's been settled.'' Sidestepped. I cursed silently. ``Shall we go?''
``Sure... except I have no idea where the house of Omega Sigma Kappa is.''
``It's Omega Delta Kappa! Geez, I can't believe that you can't remember something as simple as this.'' Beth was dragging me by the elbows as this point to follow where she was going.
``I'm not that conversant with Greek organisations. Besides, I don't even know you! You just grabbed me somehow yesterday by `accident' or something. I have no idea why I'm even following you now!''
``Pfft... because you find me cute! Admit it, am I not cute?'' Beth said, stopping suddenly and whipping herself about, and stared at me through her glasses, with her long brunette hair framing her soft fair face, with a pout that would put any hot-blooded male's knees to failure.
``Uhhh...''
``See? I told you so! Now come along now. It's a five-minute walk only if we walk faster.'' She turned around and continued to drag me along.
I found us walking along the peripheries of the campus after the initial quick cut through, and were moving past the fraternities' quad where most of the fraternities and sororities were located. That started to fill me with some discomfort. It seemed that the Omega Delta Kappa sorority was one of the few off-campus sororities, which meant that if there was to be any monkey business, there would be no one who could come and save me.
Wait. Why did I suddenly think about this `monkey business'? Was there really something ominous coming up?
``Thinking about something?'' Beth asked as she led on. ``Two minutes to go and we'll be there!''
``Well, not really...'' I said.
``Huh, someone's getting all defensive huh... I'm sure you find this all quite confusing at this point. I guess you're thinking, why am I being dragged about by this cute girl to a sorority party? Because it is our motto to make friends and to help people make friends!''
``You could... always get other people too...''
``Oh we could! But we know that you're not very social. We have been observing you, and a whole bunch of others who are just as unsocial as you. Let's just say it's not a random occurrence that you bumped into me!''
``Well technically, you're the one who bumped into me...''
``Pfft... details details details. Anyway, we're here!'' Beth declared with a grin on her face.
And that's the last thing I remembered because at that point, I was brained in the head and lost consciousness.
------
When I woke up, I found myself back in my apartment, lying on my bed, with a headache that felt terrible. I groaned and rolled out of bed, and held my head in between my hands. Just what the hell happened, I had no clue.
Maybe I was knocked out.
A brown envelope caught my eye. I didn't remember having any brown envelopes lying around in my room. Confused and curious, I picked it up and was mildly surprised to see my name on it. I ripped it open and a stack of photographs fell to the ground. They were all coloured photographs and they had me in it.
Except... they weren't very nice pictures.
It seemed like I was being put through a lot of rather... compromising positions, with women dressed in all manner of dominatrix outfits. Among the photographs was a small note which was handwritten. Disgusted, I picked up the note to read it. It was from Beth.
``Hi! Hope you enjoyed the party as much as we had! Sorry we had to knock you out before hand. Here're some photographs for your memory! =)
``Love, Beth
``PS: If you try to out us, I will guarantee that this pictures will be all over the internet.''
The headache raged through my brain. I knew that I should've stayed at home. But nooo, I had to leave the comfort of my rental apartment just to meet up with the girl that I thought was interested in me.
Fine, let's just call her Beth.
No it's not short for anything. I'm not even going to say if it's even remotely close to her real name since that's irrelevant. Thing is, Beth and I met at the library that afternoon. I was looking up some old books to borrow and read to pass the boring weekend that was coming up, and she was this chick that suddenly came up to me and most literally bumped into me. I looked up from the book I was browsing in annoyance, and was greeted with a bespectacled brunette with hair that dangled just slightly past her white shirt-covered breasts.
``Oh sorry!'' She said first, breaking the silence of the library and before I could gather my wits from being cutingly assaulted by her. ``I wasn't seeing where I was going.''
``That's alright,'' I replied and was about to look back into my book when I found a pair of well-kept hands suddenly pusing that book downwards from me. ``Hey---''
``Shhh... it's the library. No need to shout. You look like a decent sort of person. Are you free this weekend?''
``Wha, what? What's up with this weekend? Are you trying to ask me out? Hell, I don't even know you!''
``Hush...'' she hissed, ``didn't I just tell you not to shout? Fine sorry. Let me start over. I'm Beth, and there's this party thing at my sorority that is going on this weekend. Thing is, it's a social party event thing that we are doing to encourage people outside of the Greek organisations to meet up with us and well socialise. You look like you might not be from a fraternity. So... are you free to come with me to this party thing?''
I squinted my eyes and looked at her beyond the simple framing of her hair about her face. In particular, I was looking straight into her eyes, trying to detect any sort of bullshit that was behind the words that she just said. I wasn't actually trying to be cynical, but things like that never happened in real life, and there was just something fishy about this entire... encounter. All I saw was just a pair of eyes that seemed to be twinkling for no discernible reason, and I was hoping to myself that it wasn't mischief I was seeing.
``I was about to get some books to read at home when you bumped into me...''
``So that means you'll come then? That's great! Meet me at the cross junction between Green and Washington at six tomorrow and we'll head off to the sorority house. It's a date then!'' She turned and started to walk off.
``Wait, hold on! Which sorority are you from again?''
``Omega Delta Kappa. See you tomorrow!''
I stood there and watched her leave the stacks, my brain highly confused. There was something about her that turned me on in a way that defied reasoning, but at the back of my mind, I felt that something just wasn't right. No matter though, the date had been promised, and it would be bad if I didn't show up, right?
But she didn't even ask for my name! How could she pin the blame of my non-appearance on me?
But then again, she'd probably figured out that the library was a place I was most likely to be visiting and could just stake it out and hunt me down for my no-show, if she were really that diabolical. Was she?
I scratched my head in confusion and tossed the whole mess to the back of my head as I walked towards the check-out counter with my book in tow.
------
The weekend came altogether too fast, and the clock was reading five o'clock when I looked at it groggily. Actually that was a lie. I was up reading the book till late, and decided to sleep in during the morning with the shades down low on my windows. That explained why I was up at the unholy hour of five in the evening in a state that is best used to describe zombies.
Then I remembered the accidental date and bolted upright.
Eh, should I even go for that shady-sounding business? I mean, she did mention the sorority she was from right? Omega Sigma... Kappa or something. I should probably check it out to see if it were a real sorority; those Greek organisations have so many weird and hard-to-understand acronyms that it's impossible to tell if any particular three-letter thing is indeed a fraternity or sorority. But what should I check it with? My laptop's on the fritz and is at the technician's for repair, while my cellphone didn't have a data plan to go with it. And my room mate would never let me touch his computers, not since last time when I accidentally wiped out a hard drive.
So... should I turn up?
One part of my mind, the prefrontal cortex perhaps, was screaming at me to ignore the invitation and stay at home: `Nothing good could ever come out of the meeting with that unknown girl!' it tried to warn me. But another part of my mind, the primal part maybe, was like `Oh yeah baby that's a hot chick that just asked you out! Think of the kinky stuff she might want you to do with her!'. It was like a fight among the Titans, and in the end, curiousity got the better of me and I decided to meet up at the given time at the given place.
That's the reason I'm using and I'm sticking with that. It has nothing to do with what primal brain said. I swear.
At six o'clock then I found myself waiting at the crosswalk between Green and Washington, a rather busy part of the circling road on campus. Students were hustling about, some walking from the dormitory quad towards the campus recreation centre, while others were passing through from the nearby neighbourhood of rental apartments, same sort of place that I was staying. I stood next to the traffic light and waited impatiently.
I wondered if Beth would turn up. Part of me wished she would, while the other was highly skeptical. I waited for fifteen minutes. It was a boring fifteen minutes. At the end of that time period, I cursed softly under my breath for being played a fool and was about to turn around to walk back to my apartment when I saw a brunette running across the road towards me. She was wearing glasses and had longish hair that was billowing out from the self-made breeze from the run as the lights blinked green before turning amber. She made it across the road and stopped just beside me as the light turned to red in her direction.
``Yay, you're here,'' I said in an unenthusiastic voice. ``I was about to return home too.''
``Baaah...'' she replied, trying to catch her breath, her bosoms heaving slightly as she snatched in mouthfuls of air. ``Hold on... lemme catch my breath first. I should really do more work outs...''
I was inclined to agree with her. While she was running, I could see how tightly her denim jeans were clinging to her legs and thighs as her buttoned up shirt held on to dear life to wrap itself around her contours. She was no fatty, but she did look like it would help her to lose a little bit of the chub. But in a sense, she looked cute. Endearing even.
``Okay... hi again!'' Beth said cheerfully in a more normal tone of voice. ``Sorry for keeping you waiting. There were some last minute things we needed to do back at the House because one of the sisters was down with a cold and couldn't execute her duty.''
``Execute?''
``Yeah, okay, `do'. Same thing. She was supposed to pick up some stuff from the post office but didn't do so being sick and all, and it wasn't until much later that we realised it was gotten.''
``Oh? What was it?'' I asked, curious. It was all starting to sound even more shady now then when I was thinking about it alone in my room.
``Oh don't worry about it, it's been settled.'' Sidestepped. I cursed silently. ``Shall we go?''
``Sure... except I have no idea where the house of Omega Sigma Kappa is.''
``It's Omega Delta Kappa! Geez, I can't believe that you can't remember something as simple as this.'' Beth was dragging me by the elbows as this point to follow where she was going.
``I'm not that conversant with Greek organisations. Besides, I don't even know you! You just grabbed me somehow yesterday by `accident' or something. I have no idea why I'm even following you now!''
``Pfft... because you find me cute! Admit it, am I not cute?'' Beth said, stopping suddenly and whipping herself about, and stared at me through her glasses, with her long brunette hair framing her soft fair face, with a pout that would put any hot-blooded male's knees to failure.
``Uhhh...''
``See? I told you so! Now come along now. It's a five-minute walk only if we walk faster.'' She turned around and continued to drag me along.
I found us walking along the peripheries of the campus after the initial quick cut through, and were moving past the fraternities' quad where most of the fraternities and sororities were located. That started to fill me with some discomfort. It seemed that the Omega Delta Kappa sorority was one of the few off-campus sororities, which meant that if there was to be any monkey business, there would be no one who could come and save me.
Wait. Why did I suddenly think about this `monkey business'? Was there really something ominous coming up?
``Thinking about something?'' Beth asked as she led on. ``Two minutes to go and we'll be there!''
``Well, not really...'' I said.
``Huh, someone's getting all defensive huh... I'm sure you find this all quite confusing at this point. I guess you're thinking, why am I being dragged about by this cute girl to a sorority party? Because it is our motto to make friends and to help people make friends!''
``You could... always get other people too...''
``Oh we could! But we know that you're not very social. We have been observing you, and a whole bunch of others who are just as unsocial as you. Let's just say it's not a random occurrence that you bumped into me!''
``Well technically, you're the one who bumped into me...''
``Pfft... details details details. Anyway, we're here!'' Beth declared with a grin on her face.
And that's the last thing I remembered because at that point, I was brained in the head and lost consciousness.
------
When I woke up, I found myself back in my apartment, lying on my bed, with a headache that felt terrible. I groaned and rolled out of bed, and held my head in between my hands. Just what the hell happened, I had no clue.
Maybe I was knocked out.
A brown envelope caught my eye. I didn't remember having any brown envelopes lying around in my room. Confused and curious, I picked it up and was mildly surprised to see my name on it. I ripped it open and a stack of photographs fell to the ground. They were all coloured photographs and they had me in it.
Except... they weren't very nice pictures.
It seemed like I was being put through a lot of rather... compromising positions, with women dressed in all manner of dominatrix outfits. Among the photographs was a small note which was handwritten. Disgusted, I picked up the note to read it. It was from Beth.
``Hi! Hope you enjoyed the party as much as we had! Sorry we had to knock you out before hand. Here're some photographs for your memory! =)
``Love, Beth
``PS: If you try to out us, I will guarantee that this pictures will be all over the internet.''
The headache raged through my brain. I knew that I should've stayed at home. But nooo, I had to leave the comfort of my rental apartment just to meet up with the girl that I thought was interested in me.
Tuesday, 7 October 2014
A House
The silence of the room baffled him to no end.
It wasn't completely unexpected -- no it wasn't at all. He had gone in to the house fully aware of its rather... bizarre qualities. It was nothing like the stuff he had read from the Navidson Record, for sure, since there wasn't anything particularly odd about the dimensions that he could see, but there was just something unsettling about the place.
For one, it was the only single storey house among an entire neighbourhood of high-rise apartments. A colonial-styled bungalow in the middle of a small field surrounded by homogeneous post-modern industrially designed high rise apartments whose sole criteria was the ever increasing human density over all others. Rumour has it that it was a haunted house, that somehow, despite all the large number of people surrounding it, no one actually managed to see what goes on inside the house itself.
No one could see anyone come in or out, yet strange sounds seemed to emanate from within. Guttural and harsh, those sounds were. Some thought they were the sound of wild beasts, but it was not possible since the nearest forest was a good five miles away with even more battery cage-like human dwellings.
He lived nearby. He heard those noises. He was curious. He was egged on by his friends who lived nearby too. He took up the dare.
And now he was in the living room of the house. And it was silent.
Granted, he wasn't dumb or crazy enough to investigate the house when night fell. It was during the day, slightly after noon. The hustle and bustle of the neighbourhood provided much of the ambient sound that he was used to listening. His friends had dared him, and had followed him to the outskirts of the house, in full view of anyone in the neighbourhood who bothered enough to stand around and watch them.
Standing outside, they could hear the usual human cacophony. But he, on the inside, could only hear a strange silence, even though the door was still open and was facing the hawker centre serving out lunch.
Unnerving.
He could see his friends peering in. In a desperate attempt to break the silence, he shouted at his friends.
But he found that despite his exertions, there seemed to be no sound.
He got afraid, wondering if he had gone deaf. Panicking, he turned towards the open door and ran out of the house.
As sunlight streamed on his face, the ambient sound that he was missing gradually came back to him.
They huddled around him, curious at what he found. He answered, and was surprised to hear his voice. They said that once he stepped through the door, he sort of vanished. They could see the interior of the room as it was lit by the lights through the windows from the door, but there was a stillness in it that made them feel uncomfortable. They feared for him, but no one could decide who was to go in and look for him.
He told them that he could see out of the door, but could hear nothing from where he was in the living room.
They all looked at each other with gazes of discomfort. Behind them, the door of the house slammed itself and they ran off as fast as they could away from the house.
It wasn't completely unexpected -- no it wasn't at all. He had gone in to the house fully aware of its rather... bizarre qualities. It was nothing like the stuff he had read from the Navidson Record, for sure, since there wasn't anything particularly odd about the dimensions that he could see, but there was just something unsettling about the place.
For one, it was the only single storey house among an entire neighbourhood of high-rise apartments. A colonial-styled bungalow in the middle of a small field surrounded by homogeneous post-modern industrially designed high rise apartments whose sole criteria was the ever increasing human density over all others. Rumour has it that it was a haunted house, that somehow, despite all the large number of people surrounding it, no one actually managed to see what goes on inside the house itself.
No one could see anyone come in or out, yet strange sounds seemed to emanate from within. Guttural and harsh, those sounds were. Some thought they were the sound of wild beasts, but it was not possible since the nearest forest was a good five miles away with even more battery cage-like human dwellings.
He lived nearby. He heard those noises. He was curious. He was egged on by his friends who lived nearby too. He took up the dare.
And now he was in the living room of the house. And it was silent.
Granted, he wasn't dumb or crazy enough to investigate the house when night fell. It was during the day, slightly after noon. The hustle and bustle of the neighbourhood provided much of the ambient sound that he was used to listening. His friends had dared him, and had followed him to the outskirts of the house, in full view of anyone in the neighbourhood who bothered enough to stand around and watch them.
Standing outside, they could hear the usual human cacophony. But he, on the inside, could only hear a strange silence, even though the door was still open and was facing the hawker centre serving out lunch.
Unnerving.
He could see his friends peering in. In a desperate attempt to break the silence, he shouted at his friends.
But he found that despite his exertions, there seemed to be no sound.
He got afraid, wondering if he had gone deaf. Panicking, he turned towards the open door and ran out of the house.
As sunlight streamed on his face, the ambient sound that he was missing gradually came back to him.
They huddled around him, curious at what he found. He answered, and was surprised to hear his voice. They said that once he stepped through the door, he sort of vanished. They could see the interior of the room as it was lit by the lights through the windows from the door, but there was a stillness in it that made them feel uncomfortable. They feared for him, but no one could decide who was to go in and look for him.
He told them that he could see out of the door, but could hear nothing from where he was in the living room.
They all looked at each other with gazes of discomfort. Behind them, the door of the house slammed itself and they ran off as fast as they could away from the house.
Thursday, 11 September 2014
Networking
``And that, my friends, is the reason why we manufacture the circuit board using the three-dimensional printer,'' Peter said somewhat pompously as he sipped on his flute of champagne. Around him gathered a small throng of technology enthusiasts who were partly there to bask in his glory and partly to get some exposure to him as a part of the networking process that the college's career counselling group hosted that particular afternoon.
Eileen was one of the crowd listening to Peter's banter about how his start-up was undercutting major manufacturers on printed circuit boards for specialised runs and gaining a rather niched market. The manner in which it was done was fascinating, but she could not shake away the discomfort over the pompousness of Peter himself. There was something obnoxious about him that she could not quite place, and unlike her peers who were looking on at him googly-eyed, she saw no need for any form of obeisance or flattery.
As though reading her mind, Peter suddenly turned his attention away from his fawning fans and looked at her directly. ``Hi, you there? What's your name? You seem rather thoughtful over my story, is there something that you would like to ask?''
Eileen could feel her face slowly warming up as the adulatory eyes of the fans of Peter collectively gazed upon her. Mustering up her courage, Eileen stood straight and looked back at them.
She blurted ``I like how your business plan works out using the latest in additive manufacturing, but must you sound like a jerk while you were working on it?''
There was a sudden hushed silence that fell upon the group. The gazes of adulation from her being lucky enough to be singled out by Peter transformed quickly into gazes of disbelief and disgust, as though her questions had profaned their idol and saviour in a way where there was no way of sanctifying it ever again. Eileen realised her faux pas and could feel that blush growing ever more radiantly throughout her.
But Peter merely chuckled as he sipped from his flute of champagne.
``Gutsy question. You are right in your observation that I sound like a jerk while working on the whole concept in my start-up. The truth is, I had to be a jerk just to get things moving. The one thing that successful start-ups never tell you is the sheer amount of barriers both social and political that are in the way of the pursuit of a new line of business. The many regulatory commissions that I had to convince to provide with a permit to run an additive manufacturing lab in a gazetted light industry zone, the various occupational health related inspections with respect to the plastic fibres from the PCBs, and of course, the need to actually talk to investors to get the seed funding.
``I didn't want to be a jerk,'' Peter continued as he eyed Eileen. ``But when I started acting like one, things started to move smoothly for the company. And because of that, it has sort of become my public persona.''
``I like your style,'' Peter said after a short while. ``Would you like to consider working for me once you have graduated?''
Eileen was one of the crowd listening to Peter's banter about how his start-up was undercutting major manufacturers on printed circuit boards for specialised runs and gaining a rather niched market. The manner in which it was done was fascinating, but she could not shake away the discomfort over the pompousness of Peter himself. There was something obnoxious about him that she could not quite place, and unlike her peers who were looking on at him googly-eyed, she saw no need for any form of obeisance or flattery.
As though reading her mind, Peter suddenly turned his attention away from his fawning fans and looked at her directly. ``Hi, you there? What's your name? You seem rather thoughtful over my story, is there something that you would like to ask?''
Eileen could feel her face slowly warming up as the adulatory eyes of the fans of Peter collectively gazed upon her. Mustering up her courage, Eileen stood straight and looked back at them.
She blurted ``I like how your business plan works out using the latest in additive manufacturing, but must you sound like a jerk while you were working on it?''
There was a sudden hushed silence that fell upon the group. The gazes of adulation from her being lucky enough to be singled out by Peter transformed quickly into gazes of disbelief and disgust, as though her questions had profaned their idol and saviour in a way where there was no way of sanctifying it ever again. Eileen realised her faux pas and could feel that blush growing ever more radiantly throughout her.
But Peter merely chuckled as he sipped from his flute of champagne.
``Gutsy question. You are right in your observation that I sound like a jerk while working on the whole concept in my start-up. The truth is, I had to be a jerk just to get things moving. The one thing that successful start-ups never tell you is the sheer amount of barriers both social and political that are in the way of the pursuit of a new line of business. The many regulatory commissions that I had to convince to provide with a permit to run an additive manufacturing lab in a gazetted light industry zone, the various occupational health related inspections with respect to the plastic fibres from the PCBs, and of course, the need to actually talk to investors to get the seed funding.
``I didn't want to be a jerk,'' Peter continued as he eyed Eileen. ``But when I started acting like one, things started to move smoothly for the company. And because of that, it has sort of become my public persona.''
``I like your style,'' Peter said after a short while. ``Would you like to consider working for me once you have graduated?''
Tuesday, 19 August 2014
Darkness
It got dark, figurative and literal. Hard to run away from, really. Natural order of things. With light comes darkness; the yin to the yang. Darkness itself being the norm; light, the incursor.
Ends justify darkness; they nurture it, they grow it. Beginnings destroy part of it, but it never goes away; it always returns.
It always returns.
Ends justify darkness; they nurture it, they grow it. Beginnings destroy part of it, but it never goes away; it always returns.
It always returns.
Monday, 18 August 2014
Her Children
``Come on kids, dinner is served!'' Eliza called from the kitchen. Above her, the pitter-patter sound of four feet scrambling across the wooden floor boards was followed by the soft thuds of their owners charging down the stairs to the best of their abilities. Eliza smiled to herself. It was the life that she had imagined she would live, to be married with her beau from high school and to have two lovely children, Aileen, an auburn-haired girl of six, and Chad, her fraternal twin. She did not quite imagine that she would carry twins, let alone fraternal ones too, but she did have the thought of having a boy and a girl at some point. That they came together was a blessing.
The two rambunctious children ran the remaining short distance from the stairs that led to the main hallway into the kitchen, appearing at the doorway at almost the same time, jostling each other as they playfully fought to get into the kitchen first. It was an old game, one that Eliza was not really fond of due to the rough nature, but she had since given up on trying to convince them to mend their ways. Besides, the twins were evenly matched physically, and so there was never a clear danger of one accidentally hurting the other, and their childish naivete was an ironic entertainment for her.
``Stop pushing each other and come in like civilised children,'' Eliza said for the umpteenth time as she slopped a goop of steamed peas onto each plate. Dinner was a simple affair most of the time, some stir-fried chicken, a scallion omelette, and the peas, together with some mashed potato. Eliza was not much of a cook herself, but ever since she had brought the twins to the world, she had tried her best to improve her cooking while making the food as healthy and as interesting as she could. Her experience in cooking before her pregnancy was limited to making instant noodles with a pot of hot water, a skill learnt during her college days while living in the dormitories.
The twins grinned at each other while seemingly heeding their mother's exhortations and gave themselves one last playful shove before sitting themselves around the kitchen table where their plates were. Eliza had set the table for four---Simon was about to come back soon from work. It was rather unusual though, for him to be this late. Often he would be back before six, but he had called in to tell her that something cropped up on the office that needed some looking into, and that he would be back as close to six as he could.
Eliza looked at the clock unconsciously. It was a quarter past six. She debated if she should give him a call at the office to confirm if he was still going to be back in time, but quickly decided against it. It was not as though there were something urgent that needed his attention, and she knew just how important his work was at the office that even a small distraction could be disastrous.
There was a loud crash, followed quickly by another, and Eliza was forced to snap out of her day dream. She turned to look at the source of the crashes.
Aileen was lying prone, her face smashed up into the plate of food. Eliza shrieked in shock and went over to Aileen, moving her face from the plate of food and leaning her back on the chair, trying to see what had happened. Aileen's stained face showed no response, her eyes staring back at Eliza motionless. Frightened, Eliza released her grip from Aileen, who promptly fell back into the plate of food. She then turned her eyes towards Chad.
Chad was not in his seat. Eliza looked about and saw that Chad had fallen off his chair somehow. But like Aileen, there was a mysterious silence; no screams of pain, no cries of discomfort. But unlike Aileen, Chad had fallen into pieces, with his limbs cracked open as though made of some hard plastic, the gears and springs within showing themselves as bits and pieces of broken cogs were strewn all over the floor, some even rolling away.
The sight was too much to bear for Eliza, for she screamed bloody murder and swooned just as a heavy set of boots came into the house.
Eliza found herself in a hospital, feeling heavily sedated. In between consciousness and unconsciousness, she could swear she heard Simon talking to himself. All that she could remember was his repeating words of sorry, that he should have come back early and keep them wound up, that he was running the risk of them losing power while he was away. What he meant by that, she never knew, since she slowly slipped off into a long sleep that she would not awake from.
The two rambunctious children ran the remaining short distance from the stairs that led to the main hallway into the kitchen, appearing at the doorway at almost the same time, jostling each other as they playfully fought to get into the kitchen first. It was an old game, one that Eliza was not really fond of due to the rough nature, but she had since given up on trying to convince them to mend their ways. Besides, the twins were evenly matched physically, and so there was never a clear danger of one accidentally hurting the other, and their childish naivete was an ironic entertainment for her.
``Stop pushing each other and come in like civilised children,'' Eliza said for the umpteenth time as she slopped a goop of steamed peas onto each plate. Dinner was a simple affair most of the time, some stir-fried chicken, a scallion omelette, and the peas, together with some mashed potato. Eliza was not much of a cook herself, but ever since she had brought the twins to the world, she had tried her best to improve her cooking while making the food as healthy and as interesting as she could. Her experience in cooking before her pregnancy was limited to making instant noodles with a pot of hot water, a skill learnt during her college days while living in the dormitories.
The twins grinned at each other while seemingly heeding their mother's exhortations and gave themselves one last playful shove before sitting themselves around the kitchen table where their plates were. Eliza had set the table for four---Simon was about to come back soon from work. It was rather unusual though, for him to be this late. Often he would be back before six, but he had called in to tell her that something cropped up on the office that needed some looking into, and that he would be back as close to six as he could.
Eliza looked at the clock unconsciously. It was a quarter past six. She debated if she should give him a call at the office to confirm if he was still going to be back in time, but quickly decided against it. It was not as though there were something urgent that needed his attention, and she knew just how important his work was at the office that even a small distraction could be disastrous.
There was a loud crash, followed quickly by another, and Eliza was forced to snap out of her day dream. She turned to look at the source of the crashes.
Aileen was lying prone, her face smashed up into the plate of food. Eliza shrieked in shock and went over to Aileen, moving her face from the plate of food and leaning her back on the chair, trying to see what had happened. Aileen's stained face showed no response, her eyes staring back at Eliza motionless. Frightened, Eliza released her grip from Aileen, who promptly fell back into the plate of food. She then turned her eyes towards Chad.
Chad was not in his seat. Eliza looked about and saw that Chad had fallen off his chair somehow. But like Aileen, there was a mysterious silence; no screams of pain, no cries of discomfort. But unlike Aileen, Chad had fallen into pieces, with his limbs cracked open as though made of some hard plastic, the gears and springs within showing themselves as bits and pieces of broken cogs were strewn all over the floor, some even rolling away.
The sight was too much to bear for Eliza, for she screamed bloody murder and swooned just as a heavy set of boots came into the house.
Eliza found herself in a hospital, feeling heavily sedated. In between consciousness and unconsciousness, she could swear she heard Simon talking to himself. All that she could remember was his repeating words of sorry, that he should have come back early and keep them wound up, that he was running the risk of them losing power while he was away. What he meant by that, she never knew, since she slowly slipped off into a long sleep that she would not awake from.
Sunday, 17 August 2014
It Was Supposed To Be A Love Story: Part 3
(Story begins here.)
Six months. It was merely six months after his graduation that he moved out to Mountain View to work at one of the many technology companies in the region when he received the email. His jaw hit the ground when he saw its contents.
``Dear Mike, I'm sorry. I know you made lots of big plans with me about our future, about how we will live together after I've graduated and start our lives together as a couple. I didn't want to remind you of this earlier because you were so happy then, what with your graduation and the getting of that dream job of yours, but I will remind you now: I am not the sort who would settle down. I still love you very much, but I cannot see myself living the life of a wedded wife; I just can't. It probably doesn't help that while you were gone, I got lonely, and went back to some of the parties that the fraternities were hosting, and kissed a guy there. No, we didn't sleep together, but I thought I should let you know. I'm sorry, but you clearly want me as a wife, but I cannot live that way.
``Let's break up now before you get even more hurt. Once more, I'm sorry it turned out that way.
``Love, Irene.''
It was supposed to be a love story. That was what Mike kept trying to remind himself each time he was alone in his apartment and looking at the few photographs that he had of him and Irene. A love story. But it did not turn out that way after all.
Mike took one look at the remaining whiskey in his glass and finished it all in one gulp before lying on his hands on the table and sobbed silently to himself.
Six months. It was merely six months after his graduation that he moved out to Mountain View to work at one of the many technology companies in the region when he received the email. His jaw hit the ground when he saw its contents.
``Dear Mike, I'm sorry. I know you made lots of big plans with me about our future, about how we will live together after I've graduated and start our lives together as a couple. I didn't want to remind you of this earlier because you were so happy then, what with your graduation and the getting of that dream job of yours, but I will remind you now: I am not the sort who would settle down. I still love you very much, but I cannot see myself living the life of a wedded wife; I just can't. It probably doesn't help that while you were gone, I got lonely, and went back to some of the parties that the fraternities were hosting, and kissed a guy there. No, we didn't sleep together, but I thought I should let you know. I'm sorry, but you clearly want me as a wife, but I cannot live that way.
``Let's break up now before you get even more hurt. Once more, I'm sorry it turned out that way.
``Love, Irene.''
It was supposed to be a love story. That was what Mike kept trying to remind himself each time he was alone in his apartment and looking at the few photographs that he had of him and Irene. A love story. But it did not turn out that way after all.
Mike took one look at the remaining whiskey in his glass and finished it all in one gulp before lying on his hands on the table and sobbed silently to himself.
Saturday, 16 August 2014
It Was Supposed To Be A Love Story: Part 2
(Story begins here.)
Mike sat there in his apartment, staring at that photograph of all the guests at the housewarming party, the very first time that he met Irene, his eyes all bloodshot from his insomnia. He took the bottle of whiskey and poured out another glass and took a large gulp from it, the alcoholic fire burning its way down his gullet before settling into a warm flame that radiated from within his empty stomach. Three days. It had been three days since Irene had walked out of his life. It was supposed to be a love story, he kept telling himself, and he stared at the photograph in his hand one last time before discarding it and picking up the next one in the sequence.
It was a picture of his graduation. They had gone out for nearly three years by then. Mike was a graduating senior, while she was a rising senior, both still in the same degree. Irene's mother died during that period from cancer, but Mike was there beside her, which helped to ameliorate the pain. There was a change in the course requirements for the degree during Irene's junior year, but they weathered through it all. She cut back on her partying when the two of them started getting all serious, while he never really left far from his shell of comfort---all he did was to invite her to join him in his shell. The year of his graduation, they started to talk about plans. Big plans. Plans regarding what was to happen during the year that he was working and she was still finishing up her degree. Plans regarding what happened after that. Serious plans, important plans. Plans that Mike thought they had agreed on.
Mike stared hard at the graduation picture, it portrayed a certain naïveté towards the future, smiles that seemed to come from the deep happiness from within, eyes that twinkle with nothing short of love and happiness. Eyes that now seem to him to be showing nothing short of deceit and duplicity. Disgusted, he tossed the photograph aside and took another large gulp from his whiskey.
(Story continues here.)
Mike sat there in his apartment, staring at that photograph of all the guests at the housewarming party, the very first time that he met Irene, his eyes all bloodshot from his insomnia. He took the bottle of whiskey and poured out another glass and took a large gulp from it, the alcoholic fire burning its way down his gullet before settling into a warm flame that radiated from within his empty stomach. Three days. It had been three days since Irene had walked out of his life. It was supposed to be a love story, he kept telling himself, and he stared at the photograph in his hand one last time before discarding it and picking up the next one in the sequence.
It was a picture of his graduation. They had gone out for nearly three years by then. Mike was a graduating senior, while she was a rising senior, both still in the same degree. Irene's mother died during that period from cancer, but Mike was there beside her, which helped to ameliorate the pain. There was a change in the course requirements for the degree during Irene's junior year, but they weathered through it all. She cut back on her partying when the two of them started getting all serious, while he never really left far from his shell of comfort---all he did was to invite her to join him in his shell. The year of his graduation, they started to talk about plans. Big plans. Plans regarding what was to happen during the year that he was working and she was still finishing up her degree. Plans regarding what happened after that. Serious plans, important plans. Plans that Mike thought they had agreed on.
Mike stared hard at the graduation picture, it portrayed a certain naïveté towards the future, smiles that seemed to come from the deep happiness from within, eyes that twinkle with nothing short of love and happiness. Eyes that now seem to him to be showing nothing short of deceit and duplicity. Disgusted, he tossed the photograph aside and took another large gulp from his whiskey.
(Story continues here.)
Friday, 15 August 2014
It Was Supposed To Be A Love Story: Part 1
It was supposed to be a love story. That was what Mike kept trying to remind himself each time he was alone in his apartment and looking at the few photographs that he had of him and Irene. A love story. They met in college while both were pursuing degrees in computer science, he a sophomore, she a freshman. Some might even claim it to be a match made in heaven, for their quirks matched each other nearly perfectly. Of the two he was the more quiet, an introvert some might even say, while she was the one who was more out-going, always going out to parties, concerts, meeting new people, making new friends. He did not like parties at all, preferring a more scholarly existence while during college. They had met at a mutual friend's housewarming, a coincidence more than anything else. It being a housewarming, he found it sufficient of an excuse to leave the house to attend it even though the social aspect scared him, while she was still trying to learn her way around campus during that first semester and was naturally drawn to a party where there was at least one person she knew.
They met, and they started talking almost immediately, as though some unknown attractive force had taken over them and brought them close together. As the party heated up, the two of them found themselves moving away to quieter corners of the house and continued their chat, up to and until the party was over. Their mutual friend had taken a glimpse of where the two of them were when the party was concluded, but decided against asking them to leave, seeing that Mike was at least enjoying himself with the company of another, something that was a rare sight. Years later, when Mike asked her why she did not throw the both of them out of the house at the end of the party, she would simply reply that it was not the right thing to do then.
They chat through the night, sitting in the foyer under the lights. It was fall, and the weather was cool enough to lull the summer bugs into a slumber, leaving them to hover about farther away from the dangling lights. It was only when they saw the glint of the sun's rays that they realised how long they had been talking with each other. Mike did not know what possessed him that day, but he mustered the courage to ask her out for coffee some time. Irene, with her usual friendly self, readily agreed, though she blushed a little, as though she had already known what was coming up even before Mike knew where it was all heading.
(Story continues here.)
They met, and they started talking almost immediately, as though some unknown attractive force had taken over them and brought them close together. As the party heated up, the two of them found themselves moving away to quieter corners of the house and continued their chat, up to and until the party was over. Their mutual friend had taken a glimpse of where the two of them were when the party was concluded, but decided against asking them to leave, seeing that Mike was at least enjoying himself with the company of another, something that was a rare sight. Years later, when Mike asked her why she did not throw the both of them out of the house at the end of the party, she would simply reply that it was not the right thing to do then.
They chat through the night, sitting in the foyer under the lights. It was fall, and the weather was cool enough to lull the summer bugs into a slumber, leaving them to hover about farther away from the dangling lights. It was only when they saw the glint of the sun's rays that they realised how long they had been talking with each other. Mike did not know what possessed him that day, but he mustered the courage to ask her out for coffee some time. Irene, with her usual friendly self, readily agreed, though she blushed a little, as though she had already known what was coming up even before Mike knew where it was all heading.
(Story continues here.)
Thursday, 14 August 2014
He Learnt Silence
Know that the silence often conveys more information than anything that one could possibly hope to hear come out of another's mouth. It is one of the harder lessons that one could learn as an adult operating in the modern world. And it sure took Samuel quite a many misstep before he could finally learn this elegant method of eliciting previously unknown facts that could be used to illuminate various matters.
But as always, I jump the gun and start from the end. I apologise.
Samuel had been in and out of many relationships with the largest variety of women that one could ever dream up. Free-spirited hippy-like females, mainstream conservatives, and even dominatrices, he had approached them all at one point or another to date them. Yet at the end of the day, they all had dumped him. At first, his ego felt slightly bruised, but he managed to delude himself into thinking that there was clearly nothing wrong with him, and everything wrong with whichever woman it was who dumped him that time.
But Samuel was not a dumb man. After the umpteenth rejection, he started to notice patterns that appear. To him, it was a startling revelation. To us, it's also a startling revelation, for there are few who are sufficiently self-aware to reach the point where they can confidentally inspect themselves thoroughly and dispassionately to discover just what kind of flaws they have---hardly anyone attempts to look for the good points because their ego runs off effectively from their own [aggrandised notion of] self-worth and goodness. Samuel's insight was simple: he simply talked too much and never truly had the chance to sit down and actually listen to what she had to say.
In other words, he was trying to hard to impress that he was missing all the important signs and signals that she was trying to tell him, intentionally or otherwise.
Knowing the problem was half the solution, but actually changing his habits to solve the problem itself was an altogether different exercise. He began with small steps, like any sensible person, and slowly intensified it to the point where he could carefully and constructively insert silences to give her enough space to talk more about herself. The efforts were slowly showing their intended outcome, for soon each of his relationships were starting to last a little longer before they terminated. To his surprise, he found that it was no longer always the case where he was the dumped---by keeping silent, he managed to discover character kinks that he knew he was unwilling to live with and be the one who dumped.
He met a nice girl who went out with him for a good two years before they both decided to live together as husband and wife, and the last I heard, they are still married with each other nearly fifteen years on.
But as always, I jump the gun and start from the end. I apologise.
Samuel had been in and out of many relationships with the largest variety of women that one could ever dream up. Free-spirited hippy-like females, mainstream conservatives, and even dominatrices, he had approached them all at one point or another to date them. Yet at the end of the day, they all had dumped him. At first, his ego felt slightly bruised, but he managed to delude himself into thinking that there was clearly nothing wrong with him, and everything wrong with whichever woman it was who dumped him that time.
But Samuel was not a dumb man. After the umpteenth rejection, he started to notice patterns that appear. To him, it was a startling revelation. To us, it's also a startling revelation, for there are few who are sufficiently self-aware to reach the point where they can confidentally inspect themselves thoroughly and dispassionately to discover just what kind of flaws they have---hardly anyone attempts to look for the good points because their ego runs off effectively from their own [aggrandised notion of] self-worth and goodness. Samuel's insight was simple: he simply talked too much and never truly had the chance to sit down and actually listen to what she had to say.
In other words, he was trying to hard to impress that he was missing all the important signs and signals that she was trying to tell him, intentionally or otherwise.
Knowing the problem was half the solution, but actually changing his habits to solve the problem itself was an altogether different exercise. He began with small steps, like any sensible person, and slowly intensified it to the point where he could carefully and constructively insert silences to give her enough space to talk more about herself. The efforts were slowly showing their intended outcome, for soon each of his relationships were starting to last a little longer before they terminated. To his surprise, he found that it was no longer always the case where he was the dumped---by keeping silent, he managed to discover character kinks that he knew he was unwilling to live with and be the one who dumped.
He met a nice girl who went out with him for a good two years before they both decided to live together as husband and wife, and the last I heard, they are still married with each other nearly fifteen years on.
Wednesday, 13 August 2014
Love?
Anton sighed as he looked upon Eurydice, her horn-rimmed glasses staring back at him with the most uncompromising of faces. She wasn't unlikeable, he knew because he had a no-so-secret crush on her, but there were moments where her demeanour would change on whim and give her the dour expression that was her default. She wasn't easily amused either, outwardly, but he knew that there were ways to get beyond her high standards to elicit that elusive chuckle from Eurydice.
``What is it now?'' Eurydice finally said, breaking the silence, an air of annoyance clearly conveyed through the quivering of her lips and her folded arms. ``Do you have something to tell me or are you just going to stand there and stare away at me?''
Anton sighed once more and mustered whatever was left of his courage. Asking Eurydice out was already a hard enough thing without having to undergo what he was about to do.
``Eurydice, I love you. I love you very much. Will you go out with me?''
Eurydice's face was a mask of dispassion. It was hard to tell if she was considering the statement made or if she was merely waiting for more words from Anton.
A minute of uncomfortable silence passed. Anton looked on at Eurydice desperately, feeling the heat that was slowly spreading from his face to elsewhere, the type of heat more commonly associated with pure embarrassment while Eurydice still looked at him without batting an eyelid. He wasn't sure if she was actually secretly revelling in his discomfort or was struggling to find the right words to reply. It seemed certain to him though that the answer wasn't going to be something that he wanted.
``Love. Love is just a symbol given to a series of biochemical reactions that occur within your body. Unfortunately for you, I do not have the same set of biochemical reactions, and even if I had, I do not tend to symbolise it as Love. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, but what you speak of is an impossibility. You think that you love me, but really, I don't love you. You are probably better off associating that symbolic feeling with someone else. I have dated enough to know that your kind don't last long in any relationship involving the likes of me. I wish you good luck, and if there is nothing else, I would like to leave now.''
Anton's jaw dropped in disbelief as Eurydice tarried for a while waiting for him to say something. Noting that nothing else was going to happen, she turned around and left, leaving Anton still standing there in shock and delayed sadness.
``What is it now?'' Eurydice finally said, breaking the silence, an air of annoyance clearly conveyed through the quivering of her lips and her folded arms. ``Do you have something to tell me or are you just going to stand there and stare away at me?''
Anton sighed once more and mustered whatever was left of his courage. Asking Eurydice out was already a hard enough thing without having to undergo what he was about to do.
``Eurydice, I love you. I love you very much. Will you go out with me?''
Eurydice's face was a mask of dispassion. It was hard to tell if she was considering the statement made or if she was merely waiting for more words from Anton.
A minute of uncomfortable silence passed. Anton looked on at Eurydice desperately, feeling the heat that was slowly spreading from his face to elsewhere, the type of heat more commonly associated with pure embarrassment while Eurydice still looked at him without batting an eyelid. He wasn't sure if she was actually secretly revelling in his discomfort or was struggling to find the right words to reply. It seemed certain to him though that the answer wasn't going to be something that he wanted.
``Love. Love is just a symbol given to a series of biochemical reactions that occur within your body. Unfortunately for you, I do not have the same set of biochemical reactions, and even if I had, I do not tend to symbolise it as Love. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, but what you speak of is an impossibility. You think that you love me, but really, I don't love you. You are probably better off associating that symbolic feeling with someone else. I have dated enough to know that your kind don't last long in any relationship involving the likes of me. I wish you good luck, and if there is nothing else, I would like to leave now.''
Anton's jaw dropped in disbelief as Eurydice tarried for a while waiting for him to say something. Noting that nothing else was going to happen, she turned around and left, leaving Anton still standing there in shock and delayed sadness.
Tuesday, 12 August 2014
Monday, 11 August 2014
Sunday, 10 August 2014
Saturday, 9 August 2014
Friday, 8 August 2014
Thursday, 7 August 2014
Factory Talk
``Fascinating...'' Vladimir muttered to himself. ``There seems to be a correlation...''
``What correlation are you referring to?'' Anastacia asked curiously as she looked at the supervisor. It was yet another day at the factory where they were building the various parts of the panzer tanks that were needed on the war front, and there had been some issues relating to the quality of the output leading to Vladimir having to come down for his own inspection.
Anastacia was afraid of the supervisor, not because the latter was actually brutal (many of the supervisors were), but there was a flare in his eyes that seemed to suggest that he had some kind of supernatural experience, the kind of thing that was more likely to be observed in an old crone than in a thirty-something balding male. The look of a Baba Yaga, if the rumours were to be believed.
That he made the comment of correlation was not to be dismissed easily either.
``The House of Uranus is now presiding, and our glorious Tsar has decided to order a winter-based attack upon our enemies. It seems that this is not exactly the best time to launch an offensive, which explains why the quality of the tanks are suffering so much despite our best efforts to control the quality of the iron ore that is used to smelt into the sheet iron.''
Anastacia stared at Vladimir, terrified. The exact words that she wasn't looking forward to hearing, and he had said it all. It was discomforting. But the supervisor seemed to be distracted at the realisation to actually notice that she was there.
``Should I continue work then?'' Anastacia asked, desperate to get out of the way of Vladimir.
He seemed to be brought back to reality at that point and looked hard at Anastacia. She cringed from the scrutiny and could feel herself trying her hardest to avert the stare without appearing disrespectful. He was, after all, a supervisor and had various ranks and privileges over her. He could cost her her job at the very least, and perhaps her life at the very worst.
``Tell me, Anastacia,'' Vladimir began, scaring her with his knowledge of her name, ``do you believe in fate?''
``Fate, sir?'' Anastacia replied in a stammering manner. ``Why would you talk about fate?''
``It just seems so apt,'' Vladimir replied distractedly.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-08-07 16:47:39)
``What correlation are you referring to?'' Anastacia asked curiously as she looked at the supervisor. It was yet another day at the factory where they were building the various parts of the panzer tanks that were needed on the war front, and there had been some issues relating to the quality of the output leading to Vladimir having to come down for his own inspection.
Anastacia was afraid of the supervisor, not because the latter was actually brutal (many of the supervisors were), but there was a flare in his eyes that seemed to suggest that he had some kind of supernatural experience, the kind of thing that was more likely to be observed in an old crone than in a thirty-something balding male. The look of a Baba Yaga, if the rumours were to be believed.
That he made the comment of correlation was not to be dismissed easily either.
``The House of Uranus is now presiding, and our glorious Tsar has decided to order a winter-based attack upon our enemies. It seems that this is not exactly the best time to launch an offensive, which explains why the quality of the tanks are suffering so much despite our best efforts to control the quality of the iron ore that is used to smelt into the sheet iron.''
Anastacia stared at Vladimir, terrified. The exact words that she wasn't looking forward to hearing, and he had said it all. It was discomforting. But the supervisor seemed to be distracted at the realisation to actually notice that she was there.
``Should I continue work then?'' Anastacia asked, desperate to get out of the way of Vladimir.
He seemed to be brought back to reality at that point and looked hard at Anastacia. She cringed from the scrutiny and could feel herself trying her hardest to avert the stare without appearing disrespectful. He was, after all, a supervisor and had various ranks and privileges over her. He could cost her her job at the very least, and perhaps her life at the very worst.
``Tell me, Anastacia,'' Vladimir began, scaring her with his knowledge of her name, ``do you believe in fate?''
``Fate, sir?'' Anastacia replied in a stammering manner. ``Why would you talk about fate?''
``It just seems so apt,'' Vladimir replied distractedly.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-08-07 16:47:39)
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