Ryan

“…And the world wouldn’t be complete without you.”

***

She was dying.

No, not literally.

But she knew it. She saw it coming. There was nothing she could do to stop it.

He was her only chance for survival. He abandoned her. Not wanting to risk his life for her, he left her. She felt betrayed, but what could she do? She loved him, and she thought he loved her too.

Her heart was dying.

He told her it was some sort of celebration for a business achievement and when she asked more, he just brushed her off.

“It’s a guy thing. You wouldn’t understand, even if I told you.”

With that, they said no more.

She was there when he was with his friends, half drunk. He forgot his package. She brought it for him. She was right at the door, about to knock and enter.

“My gawd, did you really think I married her because I loved her? It’s just for the inheritance, my friend. Just for the inheritance.”

His voice still echoed in her head.

Just for the inheritance.

For three years, she kept lying to herself. She told herself that his lack of attention for her was not personal. That he was busy with his work and she should understand his constant absence from home. That his inattention and disregard towards her was due to working stress; the stress that many men would normally face at that time. It was a man’s obligation to provide for his family, because who knows what gossips may the neighbors conjure if he didn’t feed his family well.

She’d cry herself to sleep at night, sleeping on her side of her bed, waiting for him to come home. Whenever he came home late at night, he was usually drunk; she’d pretend to be asleep, quietly reminding herself that he was compelled to his situation, due to business matters.

***

Those dreams – no, more real than that; I think I’ve probably been warped into another dimension - have been bugging me.

It has been getting more and more intense lately, and just last night, she almost seemed like she was actually alive. No, more than that. It seemed like she was living in me, like she was me.

In those visions, I saw a lady. She was young and pretty, with a trail of poise and elegance. Well clothed and well fed, her eyes were radiant and her skin glowed like sparkling dew in the dawn. Her hair was neatly tied in a bun, like how they used to wear their hair in the times of old. Her dress was simple yet beautiful and flowing, well pressed and decorated with expensive, extravagant lace at the hems. It was not something anyone would usually wear in this time and day, though I wished I could be able to wear something like that.

Oh, if only I could.

Global warming has yet posed another disadvantage to us humans – not being able to wear dresses like those in the past, we the female species has taken advantage of this as an incentive to dress as skimpily as we can, all in the name of heat.

***

Maybe she knew all along that her husband did not love her; but she chose to live in denial, because sometimes it just seemed easier that way. She was so sick of her misfortunes that just this once, she wanted to believe that she had finally found her happily ever after ending.

Sometimes, people tend to get convinced by their own lies.

He did not mistreat her; on the contrary, he gave her everything she needed. She knew it, and she respected him for that. However, he did not love her. He protected her and provided her with everything she wanted, but he did it out of duty; he was merely abiding by the unwritten rules set by the society.

She loved him, but that was all.

From the very start, she should have known. The signs were obvious, never once did he tell her he loved her, and all his embraces seemed a tad too formal. But she chose to ignore them, naively telling herself that he would grow to love her one day.

On their wedding night, he attacked her like a wolf, ate her at every orifice available, and went right to bed after penetration.

In short, they did not make love; they merely fucked.

***

At times, I really wonder who she is.

In my dreams, she always seemed calm and composed. Yet, her eyes seemed to be covered by an invisible veil, like she was trying to hide a deep, dark secret. Like she was trying to conceal her sufferings (how did I know it was suffering that she was hiding, I am not sure) from the outside world.

She seems so lonely and sad.

I feel for her, yet on the other hand, I am glad that I am not like her. I have my parents who love me very much, my friends who are always by my side, and my dear Ryan, who adores me to bits.

Who is she?

***

“I love you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Don’t you love me too?”

“My wife, I have my honor and reputation to keep. You should know that.”

It hurt her that their conversations always ended up like that.

Are all women like this? Is it the fate of the female species to have to live in a loveless marriage for the rest of their lives, where their only responsibility is to uphold the honor of their husbands and provide them with heirs?

***

She’s getting more and more real, like she’s travelling towards me from another dimension. I don’t know what to do.

I told Ryan about her the other day but he shrugged it off, saying that it was probably because I was allowing my imagination to go wild again.

***

He married her just for the inheritance. He did not love her.

Her heart ached.

***

Ryan came into my life three years ago. We were in our final year of high school then. I attended an all-girls’ school, while he was in an all-boys’ school. The first time we met, we did not talk much. He was pretty much nerdy, and I did not think I wanted to be associated with anyone like that.

After graduation, I pretty much forgot about him, but fate brought allowed us to meet again at college. Being alone, I had no choice but to talk to him, because he was the only person I knew in college. We quickly became best friends and we began to do things together. We studied together, played together, watched movies together, and even frequented each others’ homes.

I developed a slight jealousy when I received news that he had a crush on another girl, and I then realized that I actually liked him.

Like a fairy tale story, we both fell in love, after realizing that he didn’t like that other girl after all. Our love for each other grew with each passing day, and up till now, we’re still happy together.

We’re going to celebrate our third anniversary together in four more days. Ryan said he’d bring me to the posh restaurant I have always wanted to go so badly, but never had the chance to.

***

She wanted him to love her. Maybe a little too badly, and that made her want to do something for him. Something which could make him fall madly in love with her and to make her his reason for living.

She knew exactly what to do.

***

I think Ryan’s right. I was probably imagining things.

Now the dreams are getting less and less vivid, presumably because I have been keeping myself busy thinking of what kind of gift to get Ryan for out anniversary.

***

She wanted their wedding anniversary to be as grand as possible. She would invite all his friends, and they would see just how lucky he was to have such a lovely wife.

She busied all her maids with cooking, and cleaning. She even had her favorite tailor make her the perfect dress, made of the finest silk and finished with a touch of glitter and lace. The dress was exactly how she pictured it; white and flowing, tightening at her breasts, where she knew her cleavage would be revealed by the right amount – not too little that nobody took a second glance, and not too much that men drooled all over her , but perfectly cupped so that everyone looked at her in envy - and she was proud of it, for how many women had full assets like hers?

She even invited a man gifted in carving, ordered a large chunk of ice, and gave the man the task of carving it into delicate angels with beautiful wings on the day itself.

On that grand day, she had five maids attend to her to make sure her primping was flawless. Her hair was done in a fashionable manner; not that her hair was not always already in fashion on normal occasions, but this time she did it far more pulchritudinous than ever.

She made sure the floor was well swept and mopped, except for the section where the ice was to be carved.

She gave the man very precise descriptions of how she wanted the ice carving to be, and she was especially particular about the shape of the angels’ wings; she wanted it feathery yet had sharp and pointy ends with some sticking out of place - she thought it would bring out the natural beauty of imperfection of the angels.
As she busied herself with the testing of food (she did not trust her maids’ taste buds and she would never rest until she had personally tasted every dish) she was again reminded of the mess the ice shavings would make on the floor, and she still did not know if she should sweep them up immediately, or wait for them to melt and then wipe it away.

Her marbled floor would make it very slippery if the ice melted, she knew.

She pushed the thought to the back of her mind. That could be dealt with later, she told herself.

At about six in the evening, guests began pouring in and she began to get anxious that the man had not finished with his ice carving yet, and began wondering if she made a mistake by giving him specific orders not to arrive to early. Most of the people began to linger around chatting with each other, while she anxiously waited for her husband to come back, silently praying that the ice carving would be finished by then.

An hour later, the ice shaving was finally done and at the same moment, her husband stepped in. He awed at her beauty, yet his sixth sense told him something was amiss.

***

Our little anniversary celebration went well. Ryan gave me the sweetest chocolates ever and he even had a violinist serenade us the whole time we were having our romantic candlelit dinner.

***

She gracefully received her husband, managed the attention of the guests, and proposed a toast.

After the meal, she invited her husband for a waltz to the song they were both familiar with – the one which first brought them together. Her eyes were filled with tears of joy as she snuggled her head into her husband’s shoulder, reliving the times when he still loved her.

“Why are you weeping, my wife? You’ll disgrace us in front of all my friends.”

She wiped away her tears, smiled at her husband, and said no more.

As the waltzed across the room, she led him nearer and nearer towards the ice carving; probably because she wanted him to notice the beauty of it.

She put her right foot over her left and carelessly tripped over her own dress. She would still have been able to save herself from a humiliating fall, if she was not wearing a dress made out of soft and extremely smooth silk, with such abundance of lace.

Her left foot slid across the hem of her dress, got caught in the lace at the hems, and she lost her balance. On instinct, she caught hold of her husband’s sleeve and pulled him down along with herself.

On the very fortunate event that the floor was not marble, the floor was not wet, and the ice carving was not there, the couple might still have been saved by fate.

That, however, was not the case.

The marble floor, wet with melted ice shavings, made her husband skid across the floor. His heavy body rammed right into the ice carving, where one of the out-of-placed angel’s wings pierced right through the centre of his abdomen.

She quickly jumped out of the way and escaped the fatality, unharmed.

***

The haunting visions of the lady have long left me, ever since the last time I saw her crying at a funeral, most presumably of someone close to her, by the way she wept so badly that she might as well have blinded herself.

Of course, it is nice to be able to lead a normal life again.

Something else is vexing me, though.

Ryan hasn’t been his normal self.

Lately, he has been losing his appetite, not eating for days on ends. His skin has become scaly and pale, and on occasions, I do not even dare to look at him because he reminds me of a corpse.

***

Thrown in with a few days of wailing and crocodile tears, she was soon known as the most beautiful widow in town.

The Eight Princesses

Once upon a time, there lived a great king who had eight beautiful daughters. The first born was able to turn cow dung into 24K gold. The second could change Nokia 3310 phones into iPhones. The third could produce sexy underwear out of rugs from unwanted dresses. The fourth laid chicken eggs. The fifth could read her own mind. The sixth could read other's mind, but not her own. The seventh could recite the value of pi, up to 43,502,388 decimal places. The youngest, however, owned all the abilities of her seven sisters. She was also the most beautiful among all her sisters.

Therefore, the king loved his youngest daughter the most.

The family was rich and lacking in nothing, because whenever they needed resources, they would use their abilities to feed themselves.

They owned a huge herd of cows, which were all very well fed. Their dung were collected each day, and sent to the first princess to be transformed into gold. They also had a warehouse full of unwanted Nokia 3310 phones, which the second daughter would diligently turn all of them into iPhones. Many old dresses were also collected, and a pile of sexy lingerie would magically appear every morning, in place of the old dresses. A room full of bedding was also prepared for the fifth daughter to lay her eggs. The fifth daughter could read her own mind so well that she never talked much to anyone else, so nobody really bothered about her. Because the sixth princess could read the minds of others, thus revealing all their secrets, she was locked away in the dungeon. It didn't help that she couldn't very well read her own mind, much to the annoyance of others. The seventh would stand in the streets, reciting over and over again the value of pi, for anyone who bothered to listen. 

The youngest daughter, however, was loved so much by her father that she was made supervisor over all her sisters. 

In due time, the king's wealth aroused the jealousy of many all around the world.

Apple company was also very pissed that the king kept selling iPhones at a very low price. 

So, the people of the world teamed up with Apple to attack the king and his family.

They killed all the cows in the world. Next, they destroyed all Nokia 3310 phones. Then, they destroyed all fabric so that the third princess could not produce anymore sexy lingerie. They also killed all the cocks so that the fourth princess was not able to have sex with them, thus she was unable to lay eggs. Since the fifth was of no threat to the people, she was numerously raped, because she was beautiful. The sixth was remained in the dungeon. The seventh princess was placed in a science exhibition, where she recited the pi for the rest of her life. They killed the youngest daughter, and made the king their slave.

Henceforth, nobody in the world ate beef, and everyone was clothed in paper. Slowly, all the chickens in the world died and everyone forgot how chickens tasted like. 

Of course, it would be much easier if the people actually killed the eight princesses off together with their father, but that idea just didn't cross their mind.

Such was the folly of the people of the world.

Since everyone in the world was wearing outfits made out of paper, trees began to diminish rapidly. Soon, wearing clothes became a crime and anyone caught covering their body with material of any sort was put to death.

Raping cases became more rampant, as it was generally easier to rape naked people.

Rape was soon deemed legal.

Before long, over 60% of the world's population was infected with HIV or AIDS.

And the people of the world lived happily ever after.

The end.

Emotions

One sheep. Two sheep. Three sheep. Four sheep. 

Five.

Six.

Seven.

It's no use. I can't sleep. I'm tired, but my eyes refuse to shut. 

Eight sheep. Nine sheep. 

Ten. 

Eleven.

Twelve.

Go to sleep, dammit!

Maybe I'll get myself a glass of water. I can't go to bed with a dry throat.

*gulp, gulp*

Now, back to bed.

Toss. Turn. Toss. Turn.

Damn. Maybe I'll go pee. I can't go to bed when my bladder isn't emptied of its contents.

Gosh. The bathroom seems scarier without the lights on. Should I turn on the lights? Nah... I'm way too lazy. I'll just pee, wash my hands and get out of here. Who needs the light for that? Besides, it'll be quick.

The mirror, huh. I see my reflection under the moonlight. Wow, the moon is so round tonight. I'm glad there's at least a small window to allow some light through. It wouldn't be very pleasant to pee in utter darkness.

My reflection. With my long, flowing hair, my reflection under minimal light reminds me of the evil homicidal spirits of young women, generally featured in most Japanese horror movies.

Why is it that all Japanese ghosts have to be female, complete with long, messy hair which covers approximately seventy-two point five six percent of their faces?

I scare myself silly every time I look at my own reflection in the dark.

Don't think. Just pee and get back to bed. Nothing's gonna happen.

Right?

I mean, it's just my own reflection. I'm getting paranoid. Probably due to my lack of sleep. 

Wait a minute. The girl in my mirror. I think I know her. I've seen her somewhere.

Think, think.

Hah. Of course I know her. She's my own reflection...

Isn't she?

Hey, what is that glistening on her face? Wow. My reflection's eyes are like two crystals, shimmering under the soft moonlight. The crystals are beginning to multiply. Now they're running down her cheeks in two symmetrical vertical lines. Wait. They seem to be some sort of liquid. Could it be... tears? Is she crying?

She is.

I seldom see people cry, nor do I find myself crying very often. Come to think of it, I think in my eighteen years of living, I can only recall myself crying on two occasions. The first, when my friends picked on me. That, of course, was the first and last time they ever did. I never did give them any chances to even talk to me ever since.

The second time I cried was when I fell in love. I thought love could overcome everything therefore, I gave him everything I had. My hopes, my dreams, my life. Everything I did, I did it for him. He became my reason for living. 

Then, he crushed me. He dumped me and left me aside. He moved on. I wondered what else I could live for. Wounded, I let my tears wash my deep cuts. I swore never to fall in love again. 

I never did believe in crying. I'm the sort of girl that would never cry, no matter what. I'd face all my hardships and tribulations with a strong heart. I believe that crying will never help solve any problems, therefore, it's no use to cry. Perhaps, because of that, people see me as one with a strong personality; and when they're around me, they, too, are influenced to hold back their tears. 

Perhaps - no, probably that's why, I seldom witness people cry. Because I do not cry myself. Generally, most people are not willing to allow someone who has never cried to witness them doing so.

The wonders of human nature.

So you could say that I'm finding it quite astonishing to see somebody crying right now. 

That girl in the mirror. Do I know her? 

No, I probably don't. 

Why is she crying?

Damn. I'm no good at situations like this. I can be a fun person to be with, but when it comes to seeing people cry, I don't know what to do, or what to say.

Maybe I should try talking to her. What should I say? I feel like an idiot. My mouth is open but no sound is coming out. Say something!

All of a sudden, I'm feeling for her. Is that what people call compassion? Ha, ha. Me, having compassion? Nobody would ever believe it, even if I said it.

But the truth is, I do feel for her. Is it pity? Sympathy? Or empathy?

I don't know. I'm not good at discerning my feelings. I feel, but ninety percent of the time, I'm not sure what I'm feeling.

All I know is, I feel for her. I want to comfort her. I want to giver her an assuring hug or even a light squeeze on the shoulder, telling her that everything will be okay. No matter what it is, it will be fine.

But I'm afraid to touch her. Somehow, I'm afraid that if I do, she'll back off. Disappear, even.

Hah. She's just a stranger. Who cares if she is crying? I don't even know her. Why should I even care for her?

I'm about to walk away when all of a sudden, she talks to me. Her voice was soft; barely a whisper. Almost inaudible.

"Don't go. Please. Don't you remember me?"

Huh? Do I know her? 

"I remember you."

Who the hell is she?

No, I definitely don't know her. But she says she remembers me. What does she mean? 

I want to speak, but I can't find my voice.

She continues talking.

"Don't you want to know why I am crying?"

I eye her curiously. Who the hell is she and why is she crying to me? Annoying bitch. She should just go home and cry to her mommy.

"I'm crying because of you."

What?

"I'm crying because of you. Don't you remember me?"

Stupid bitch comes right up to me, cries, and then blame me for it? For goodness' sake I don't even know her. 

She's walking towards me. I find my own feet advancing, too.

"Stop it!!!" I yell. 

Yikes.

Just a minute ago, I was dumbfounded. Where did this new strength of mine come from?

My heart is thumping against my chest. I hate her. Why won't she go away? Why is a stranger here, prodding into my memories? What is she trying to do? I don't even know her. 

Yet, I have to admit that just a minute ago, I felt for her. Most importantly, I feel a connection with her and somehow, it seems like I do know her. 

No. 

I don't know her. That bitch is invading my privacy. I hate her. She has to go.

"I don't care if you know me or not, and I sure as hell am not interested in knowing why you are crying. Just leave! NOW!"

She doesn't say a thing. Her tears continue flowing. 

Like two crystal clear streams flowing gracefully, they seem to be exploring the contours of her smooth cheeks. They end at the bottom of her chin, dripping onto the ground in small droplets, each containing a fragment of her sorrow.

"You really don't remember me?"

"No," I say through gritted teeth.

"And you really want me to leave?"

"Yes."

"Don't you want to know who I am?"

I look into her eyes. She's pleading; I'm sure of it. Her eyes are pleading for me to give her a chance. She want's me to know her. She's pleading for me to remember her.

A fraction of a second.

A moment of thought.

I remember now. I know who she is. Once a soul mate, now a stranger. 

I don't even remember how I discarded her; treated her like refuse.

"Yes, I remember you now."

"I'm glad you do," she whispers, as tears of happiness fill her eyes.

She vanishes. I'm left alone. My cheeks are moist. Her tears have now become mine.

In the hustle and bustle of life, I almost forgot her. But she came back for me. She returned me what I had left behind, because I felt that I was better off without it. She allowed me to feel again. She gave me what was essential to being human; to feel like human.

She gave me back my emotions.

She was me.

Jack and Jill (part 2)

Mummy, you may not understand what I'm doing, but I promise, I'm doing it all out of love. I just wanted to send you and Daddy to a happier place.

I'm coming, Mummy. I want to be in that happy place, too.

***

Up Jack got and home did trot,

As fast as he could caper

Ouch.

My head's spinning. It hurts. Hey, wait. My head isn't spinning. My surroundings are.

Oh. It's stopped. Now I can see better.

These white washed walls... Where am I? Am I dead? Is this heaven?

Gosh. Why does my situation remind me of the television dramas where the character awakens, sees white walls around him, and then proceeds to deduce that he is dead, only to find out later that he is actually in a hospital with a slutty nurse tending to him?

Ah... So I am in hospital. I see the slutty nurse.

Just kidding. She isn't slutty. At least she doesn't seem that way. 

I wonder if she is? I wouldn't mind some free sex.

Ouch. My head is hurting again. 

How did I end up here? I remember the water waves...

The sea...

I fell...

Then, what?

I can't remember.

Who am I? Shit. I can't even remember my own name. Hmm... I wonder how I look? Ah, there is a mirror over there. It doesn't seem like the nurse would approve of me getting out of bed, though. I guess I'll have to wait till she's gone. In the mean time, maybe I should talk to her.

"Hello, sir. You're finally awake. You were found on the sea shore two days ago and you were unconscious the entire time. I'm glad you're okay now."

"Unfortunately, I don't feel like I'm going to be okay. I can't remember a thing. How did I get here? What is my name?"

"Somebody found you lying by  the sea shore and brought you here. He's gone on some business and I don't think he'll be back anytime soon. He has already paid for your hospital bills, though. We couldn't find any identification on you, so unfortunately, we don't know who you are yet."

"Right. Doesn't help much if I don't know myself, does it?"

"Get some rest. I'm sure you'll feel much better soon."

Phew. She's finally out. Now, for the mirror.

Hmm. I don't look half as bad as I thought I would. 

Of course, feeling vain, I'd very much like to elaborate on my facial features, but I have much more important things on my mind right now. 

(Also partly because the writer has run out of good vocabulary and ideas.)

I want to go home. 

Where is my home? 

I think I can vaguely recall...

***

Jack stood in front of a deserted house, situated at the far east of a high-end housing area. How he got there, he didn't know. All he remembered was driving aimlessly for hours and hours in a stolen car, after sneaking out of the hospital. 

(No, the car wasn't stolen by Jack. It was stolen by some kidnappers, who abandoned the car after finishing their job. I know this sounds a little coincidental and unbelievable, but that's how fiction is. Live with it.)

Before he knew it, here he was, standing in front of the familiar abode. Why did he come here? His subconscious mind probably brought him here for some unresolved issues, he thought. 

Yes, you're here because we want to end this.

Huh??

Who said that?

Was it all in his mind, or did Jack hear a voice speak? Or was it just his own inner voice, freaking him out? 

Wait.

How could he be so sure that the voice was talking to him? Couldn't it be just one of the neighbours, talking among themselves?

But...

The voice was whispering. A soft, sinister whisper, dripping with malice. A covenant that his arrival would certainly end it. 

End what?

Jack was confused. 

It didn't help much that Jack's mind was clouding up.

"If somebody was whispering, I couldn't have heard it unless he or she were standing next to me. Since I don't see anyone around me I'd have to deduce that the voice came from afar, which means the only way I'd be able to hear it would be if the voice shouted."

"But it was a whisper."

"So where did it come from? Come to think of it, I don't even know the direction of the source of that voice. It was just... there. Did it come from inside of me? Did I say it myself but didn't realise it? Or was I just hearing things? Gosh, I must be going crazy. Talking to myself like that, I should stop it. I feel like a maniac."

Jack gingerly stepped into the threshold of the said house, and carefully observed it's interior. 

He felt strangely courageous and confident. He strode across the empty living room, towards the wooden stairs.

And went to bed and covered his head

In vinegar and brown paper.

His feet seemed to be on auto-pilot. They brought him up the flight of stairs, up to a bedroom, which held nothing but a tiny baby cot, by the window sill. The window was wide open and he felt the cool night breeze ruffling through his hair. He thought he'd seen the cot somewhere. As the first atoms of his finger tip came in contact with the somewhat rotting wood of the cot, a surge of chill shot through his body, making him turn rigid for just a tenth of a second. 

You're here. Now, we can end this.

An invisible force hit him with great impact, hurtling his body onto the cot. The rotting wood gave way and before he knew it, he found his waist pressed hard on the window sill with half his body already leaning out of the wide window. Wood splinters hit him everywhere but he didn't feel the pain. 

He was already soaring...

"I love you, Rodya..."

***

I love you too, Daddy. Don't worry, I'm bringing you to a better place. A place where you, Mummy, and I can be reunited again. We'll be a happy family.

***

Why did I not have sex with the slutty nurse before leaving the hospital?

Too bad she isn't in heaven yet.

Damn.

Jack and Jill (part 1)

Jack and Jill went up the hill, 

To fetch a pail of water.

I think the nursery rhyme is stupid. Plain stupid.

I mean, who on earth would want to climb up an entire hill, just for a pail of water, which, from my experience, wouldn't last for long anyway?

Sooner or later, someone would come along and knock it down, completely emptying the pail of its contents. Just for the fun of it.

At least that's what I'd do.

Mummy would, of course, be very, very angry at me...

Anyway, back to the matter of discussion.

Yes, I may only be an infant, but even I know that there is a much, much more convenient way of getting water.

Namely, by turning one of the protruding knobs on the walls of the Wet Room.

Mummy always gets water this way.

Why am I so certain about this?

I'd hear the water coming out of those deadly knobs every time she calls out one of her most loathsome sentences, "Honey, time for your bubble bath!" and I'd scamper away as fast as I can.

Other sentences include "Bed time!", "This food is yummy! Try some," and the most generally spoken "No".

Traumatic experiences are often permanently etched in our memories.

Another one of the unfortunate facts of life I've learned so far in my one year of living.

If you haven't noticed, I'm a smart baby.

I know things.

***

Jack met Jill.

They became best friends.

Fell in love.

Got married.

Had a baby.

Lived happily.

Not too sure about the 'ever after' part, though.

***

Maybe I know too much.

Too much for a baby, who, at the tender age of one, should be enjoying the bliss ignorance provides.

Shouldn't I be clambering around, exploring and experimenting with dangerous stunts while my parents yell at me in fright? Shouldn't I be sticking my wet fingers into socket holes and almost getting my nose burnt by candle lights?

Why is it that I'm so sure it's just some natural phenomena that causes my eyes to see a duplicate of myself when I look at one of the smooth (not to mention slippery at times; I found that out the hard way) walls of the Wet Room (although I'm not too sure of it's explanation)?

Of course, at other times, I'm just your typical inexperienced, carefree baby.

I do realise that I always digress.

It's becoming an annoying habit. I've noticed.

I know too much.

About life and how unpleasant it can be. About how it loses its meaning, and though it's obviously best not to live, people still strive to live longer, drowning themselves in the delusion that one day, their lives will magically turn out to be better. Perfect, even.

Why live, when we're all obviously better off being dead?

***

"Jack, we haven't had a decent vacation since our little Rodya was born. Why don't we bring him to the beach this weekend? He hasn't been there before; I'm sure he'll love it."

"That's a good idea. We'll have so much fun. Won't we, Rodya dear?"

***

Jack fell down and broke his crown

I have heard Mummy tell me many times that we human beings can't live without a substance called "Onxyjen". I'm not sure what it is, but I sure as hell know that our lungs can't take in any of those stuff underwater.

"Because we're not fishies," Mummy once said.

To which I rolled my eyes. I mean, "fishies"?

Gosh.

Why do adults treat me like I'm a baby?

Wait...

I am a baby.

*sigh*

I hate it when I digress.

***

"Here we are, Rodya! The beach! Isn't it just beautiful? While waiting for Mummy to get some ice-creams, why don't we wet ourselves in the water waves?"

"Wait... Rodya... What are you doing??"

"Ouch, Rodya, stop it..."

"Arrgh!! Help!!! Somebody, help!!!"

***

Rodya, my dear.
You look so cute when you're asleep.
Your light breath is a lullaby to my ears
And your scent a soothing elixir when I weep.

But I can't believe what I saw today
At the beach when you played with your dad.
I witnessed him being pulled away
Where the waves swallowed him, my dearest Jack.

I refuse to believe what I saw,
But what else to trust, if not my own senses?
Tell me, dear Rodya,
Was it really you who drowned your dad, despite his defenses?

Is it even possible that
A little infant as helpless as can be,
Killed his own parent like a sinister rat
And dumped the body in the deep blue sea?

I love you, Rodya and that's why,
I think I'm going insane.
Nobody would ever think of you as the bad guy
When you're so innocently sleeping here by the window pane.

Being widowed at such a young age,
To stand on my own feet, I know it takes courage.
Now that Jack is gone and we're alone,
I promise I'll take good care of you all on my own.

***

And Jill came tumbling after.

I've learned the hard way that everything, no matter how high up, will eventually fall to the ground. The higher the fall, the harder the 'ouch'.

Trust me, it's never a pleasant feeling to fall.

I love gravity.

***

"Rodya, get away from the window NOW!"

"You're gonna fall!!! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Rodya..."

"No, Rodya, stop! Stop!!!!"

Rodya... I'm your mother...

Why, Rodya? Why?

Birthdays,Ghosts, and Love.

I wrote this about two years ago. Enjoy.

The Common Thing between Birthdays, Ghosts and Love

Kat looked at the letter with scorn. “My dear Joanna, how silly you have been. I truly despise you,” Kat said. She crumpled the piece of paper and stomped on it. Then, she walked away into the dark, silent night.

I love mummy and daddy. Lately, they have been really nice to me. They play with me everyday and we always have so much fun together. Daddy does not go to work anymore. He says it is because he wants to stay at home and spend more time with the family.

Last week, we celebrated my eighth birthday. Mummy bought me a beautiful doll, the one I had always wanted. I was so happy. We did not invite anyone else to the party. We had fun playing musical chairs. Mummy played my favorite tune on our piano as daddy and I circled a stool. We would try to sit on the small seat when mummy stopped the tune. She would always stop it so abruptly that we always had to pause for awhile before grabbing the seat. After playing musical chairs, we dressed up my new doll. Mummy helped me to choose a pretty dress for my doll. I named her Carmelita. Mummy said she looked just like me. Daddy agreed too.

* * * *

“Yes dear, of course I remember Sophie’s birthday. I’m baking her birthday cake right now. What time are you fetching her from the kindergarten? Be sure to be back early so that we can celebrate her sixth birthday together. Bye.” Joanna smiled as she put down the receiver. She was so excited as if it were her own birthday. She hummed a tune as she sauntered back into the kitchen.

The melody brought back memories. It was Sophie’s favorite song. Joanna had hummed the same tune to Sophie whenever she rocked her to sleep. Since then, Sophie had always wanted her mother to hum the tune to her every time she went to bed. When Sophie felt down, Joanna would hum the tune to cheer her up.

The phone rang, snapping Joanna back to the present. She sighed as she wiped her hands on her apron and hurried to answer the phone before the answering machine did. “Mummy!” a voice squealed into the phone just as Joanna pressed the receiver onto her ear. She cringed and quickly pulled the receiver away from her ear.

“Happy birthday, honey. Why did you call?” Joanna asked. “Mummy, I just saw a beautiful doll on sale. Can you please buy it for me as a birthday present? Please?” Joanna was silent. She had seen the doll herself and she had planned to buy the doll for her daughter. Unfortunately, the doll had cost more than she could afford. After a little hesitation, Joanna agreed to buy the doll.

“Sophie will be so delighted when she sees this doll,” Joanna smiled to herself as she sat the doll on a mantelpiece. She stood back to admire it. It was then when she noticed it. The doll seemed to have charmed her. “Sophie, I will love you forever,” she crooned to the doll as she caressed it.

Joanna paced up and down. Sophie was supposed to be back hours ago. Joanna was getting vexed. She picked up the phone and dialed a number. She heard a voice. “Hello? Dear? Is that you?” Joanna asked. The voice kept repeating itself. It said, “I’m sorry. The number you had dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later. Thank you.”

* * * *

What is happening to me? It was only yesterday that you bought another doll for me but now it seems like I’m almost invisible to you. Mummy, don’t you love me? It hurts to see you ignoring me. Mummy, I will love you forever. I will never leave your side.

* * * *

“I’m sorry, Joanna. I know it’s hard for you add I wished that there was some way I could help,” said Kat, Joanna’s best friend. “I had the doll ready for her and I even baked a cake for her,” sobbed Joanna. “Why did she have to leave me all alone? Why?” Kat put her arm around Joanna affectionately. “Joanna, you are my best friend and I hate to see you so miserable and lost. Sophie is not totally gone. You must remember that she will always live in you forever, if you want her to.” Joanna smiled through her tears. She felt much better already.

* * * *

Today, a strange man approached mummy. I did not like that man. He talked in a weird and funny way. I persuaded mummy not to listen to that man but mummy turned a deaf ear to my cry. Maybe it was because I did not call her loud enough. I tried to raise my voice but I could not. It seemed like I had lost much of my strength. I felt so weak.

Mummy, please stop thinking of what the man said. It was nonsense. You told me never to trust strangers. I love you more than he does. Why are you even considering his advice? You do not know what trouble you are getting into. Please. I am very weak now and I need your help and support. Please, I do not want to die again. Why are you doing this to me?

No!! Don’t forget me! Don’t erase daddy and me from your life. It feels awful to be ignored and forgotten. The whole world has forgotten me. You are my only hope.

Mummy, if that is what you really want, I will not stop you. I just want you to know that despite all your faults, I will still love you. Daddy and I are waiting for your arrival. We know you will come soon. We are waiting.

* * * *

Kat looked around. The dampness of the atmosphere hung all around her. The click clack of her shoes echoed through the house. As she stepped into a small room, she took a deep breath to hold back her tears. She walked to a dressing table nearby and dusted the mirror with her handkerchief. Then, as gently, she pulled out a drawer under the table and took out the last monument. She opened it and read it wistfully:

Dear Sophie,

I never did forget you. You misunderstood me. It was only manners to listen to the man. He was supposed to be a psychologist. I did not really believe him. I only pretended to. I am sorry I made you so weak. I did hear your soft cries. I am sorry for neglecting you. Deep down, I loved you. Have you not heard that a mother’s love is the greatest of all? Sophie, I am weeping tears of regret, remorse and sadness as I write this. My heart aches to think that you are in such a critical condition. I am sorry I made you wait for so long. As Kat said, you will live in my heart forever, if only I wanted you to. I never meant to hurt you in anyway. I am coming, Sophie. You do not have to wait any longer. We will be a happy family once again. I am coming.

* * * *

Behind her, someone was watching. “How dare you insult my mother,” the shadow growled. “You will pay.”

Erotica

I miss him so much...

***

The swooshing of hair kept him awake. Excited.

Erotic.

***

I love him. Does he feel the same way about me?

I miss him. Why doesn't he visit me more often?

I miss the times when we cuddled each other to sleep. How we shared our breakfast in the mornings; sometimes skipping breakfast altogether to spend more time snuggling in bed.

Why? Why is it that he has left me for another? Are all males like that? Do they always only want new things? How is it that they are able to completely wipe off the happy memories they had?

He was the light of my life. My everything. My reason for living.

Now, he's gone. How can I ever live without him?

Nobody can ever, ever comprehend my feelings for him. No one can ever love a man as much as I loved him. I've begged him. I've tried multiple ways to please him. Why, oh, why doesn't he come back? I miss him so much...

So much...

***

"Oi, come help me at the attic lah!!! The things here damn dusty leh. The previous owner siao one. Keep so many useless things."

"Coming..."

"Hey, look at this!"

"Aiya, Kevin, don't look liao lah. Lets go for dinner first. Tomorrow only we continue unpacking."

"Wait... I think I see something..."

"Come on down!! I'm starving!"

"Something just moved leh! So freaky!"

"I don't care! Lets go."


***

I miss him. It's been so long. He promised me he'd be back. He'll keep his promise, won't he? He'll come back for me, won't he? One day, he'll eventually realise that I'm the only one for him...

Won't he?

***

"Rise and shine, darling! Lets start unpacking!"

"Mmph...??... Good morning Gloria..."

"Eh... You sick is it? Why your face so pale one? Last night tried to 'get you going' but you didn't respond..."

"Huh?? Oh, sorry... Maybe I was too tired lah."

"How about tonight?"

"We'll see..."

***

The swooshing of hair kept him awake. Excited.

Erotic.

***

What was that all about?

***

He swayed to the rhythm of his own groaning.

Damn, what the hell is going on?

The long, flowing hair... So smooth... So soft... The mere feeling of it on his skin sent tingles down his spine. He breathed in the sweet, erotic scent. Just a single sniff put him in nirvana.

The skin felt smooth. No, better. It was perfect. Who could ever ask for more?

He felt her exploring. Down, down, down her lips went. To his standing member...

Gosh, what is happening to me?

A split second, a moment of peak pleasure.

***

He's back. After years and years of waiting, he's finally back.

I knew he'd come.

***

"Eh, home come you spend so much time in the attic these days? I though you said you saw something freaky up there?"

"Huh...? Ah... No lah... Just unpacking stuff. Nothing important."

"By the way, dear, your performance last night was great. I love you."

"Oh... uh... thanks. I guess..."

***

That bitch!!!! He came back but he brought a bitch along with him!!! How could he??

***

The swooshing of hair kept him awake. Excited.

Erotic.

Shit. It's happening again.

His member, already familiarised with the situation, immediately perked up. It knew it's role, and it was eager to play it well.

The hair... The skin... The scent...

Her lips...

Shit. Stop it now.

Like a ritual, her lips had memorised it's route. It explored, expertly knowing where to linger, and when to move on.

He felt her tongue enter and twist around his.

And then, it went lower...

Lower...

Damn, I can't breathe. What's happening??!!?? Help!!!!

***

"Kevin, wake up!! Wake up!!!!"

***

KUALA ULU: After decades of endless debating, The Ministry of Housing and Local Government has finally announced the closing of an aging housing estate, following the mysterious deaths of a recently married couple. Kevin, aged 27, and his wife, Gloria, aged 25, were recently found dead in their new home at the northern, secluded area of Kuala Ulu.

Police has deemed this case homicide, but so far has found no proof of any intruders nor any signs of struggle between the couple.

***

I miss him so much...

When will he be back?

Nothing.

She looked at the abyss below her.

Ten million feet and counting.

How much longer could she hold on?

On the floating piece of...say...thing (nobody knows what it really was; it could be a piece of tile, some rocky surface, etc), she had been standing; holding on. It definitely didn't help much when that thing held only sufficient space for both her feet, and nothing else.

For a very, very, very long time, she had been there.

Not that time was a factor to her anymore.

How old was she now?

Twenty? A hundred? A thousand?

She couldn't remember.

Her youth remained, though.

Which was what bothered her most.

If only she could age.

She'd know how long it had been.

Most importantly, she'd die and be released of the curse brought unto her.

She recalled of the book she'd read some time before.

When her life was still normal.

What was normal anyway? Was she normal? Maybe this was how normal was supposed to be, and all the other wretched humans leading their so-called normal lives were merely illusions.

A very subjective thing, she thought.

And her mind drifted back to the book.

Notre Dame de Paris by Victor Hugo.

She remembered reading about a man, condemned to his death, saying to himself that if he had to live on a cliff side, a ledge, so narrow that it had only adequate space for his two feet, and he had to stay like this forever - for eternity, with eternal solitude, eternal darkness, and eternal storm all around him, it would be so much better to live than to die right now.

She recalled.

Book II, chapter 2.

Apparently, her memory was still as good as new.

How did she do that?

She didn't know.

There were many things which she wished she knew the answers to, but she had learned a long time ago that some things are best left unknown.

Curiosity kills the cat.

Since a moment ago, she had been thinking a lot.

Had she always been thinking like this?

Wasn't her mind usually kept empty, just staring into the emptiness of nothing?

She couldn't remember.

And yet, she could still recall the book she read years ago.

Or was it only for a few moments ago that she was left stranded like this on this...this...thing?

Panic overwhelmed her.

But...why?

Wasn't she used to this? Wasn't this normal to her?

She'd been standing like this for years...

Hadn't she?

Or was it all in her mind?

She didn't care anymore.

She'd had enough.

She closed her eyes.

Calmly, slowly, she dropped herself into the endless bottom.

Not knowing what beheld before her, she fell...

Moments later (or was it an eternity? She didn't know), she opened her eyes.

And saw.

Underneath her feet, was a...a...

Thing.

She looked around her.

Emptiness.

How long had she been there? How long had she been standing like this?

She couldn't remember.