Solitaire, Solitaire
Let's play Solitaire the whole day long
And pretend nothing can go wrong
Solitaire, Solitaire
Of preening Queens and grinning Jacks
Frowning Kings set red a'black
The sixes and sevens and nines and tens
Lining up in an elaborate masterplan
Ah! Solitaire
A red here, a black there
Fill up the spaces with the aces
Float about with no reason or rhyme
Deal again if you're wrong first time
Yes! I made it, the final card
Bouncing spades, dancing hearts
Whisker away the world, nary a care
Ah! Solitaire
Sigh...I think the world needs to play more Solitaire.
"Oi! Very free ah, playing Solitaire? No need to do work?"
Writer's Note: And Merry Belated Christmas to all!
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Aku Sebatang Pensel: The Epilogue-ing
"Is he...dead?"
"Think so."
"Truly, wooly, googley, fully dead?"
"Looks like it."
A teetering breeze picked up the wood shavings and scattered them across the floor, past the giant Basket Of Wasted Paper, out to the sidewalk where humans would uneventfully trample them into nothingness.
"All right," Mr. Blackpen murmured. "Let's pray that's the last we ever see of him."
A collective paper-clip nod ensued.
"Pity there's nothing left." A heavily Cellophane-taped Scissors growled. "Would've liked nothing more than snipping his squealing head off."
"Now, now," Liquid Paper chided. "You should really learn to erase the mistakes of the past."
"Bah. Coming from you, I wouldn't be surprised."
Sharpener was an inconsolable mess. Not even Tissue Paper could dry her tears. "I am sorry, Pencil. I really, really did not want to do it a second time."
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Thirty Seeam bent over to pat her. "After all, he asked you to do it himself. In case he survived the first sharpening, remember?"
She nodded, pausing to blow her nose. "What happened to his best friend? That Pakistani eraser."
Uneasy glances darted around. At last Mr. Blackpen spoke.
"He was never right since Pencil died. We tried telling him that Pencil had become Little Pencil, but he wouldn't listen, and kept drawing him closer to his past. Eventually..."
"He had to die." Scissors said bluntly, resulting in one pun too many.
"I understand."
No one said anything for a couple of minutes. One by one, the stationeries slunk away, back to their comfy little worlds where pencils were meant for writing as erasers were not.
Thirty Seeam and Mr. Blackpen gazed at each other with a hint of regret, trailing behind the muted crowd. Snorting, Scissors shook his head, fuming inside that Pencil was being painted a victim.
Sobbing softly by the depressed evening rays, Sharpener choked out some lingering graphite residue and unfolded Little Pencil's final note:
To the Little Pencils of the world:
Seek truth. Fight the good fight. Eventually the truth might suck like a broken nib. But I found it anyway.
And for that, my end shall now be so much more meaningful. I have done the most a pencil could dream of doing.
My darling Miss Sharpener, who gave me the greatest joy and sadness of my short life...thank you. By the time you read this, I am only but sawdust. Take my story. Tell it to the world. You don't need a pencil. For I have heard of the magical things those human machines can do. You know, the ones they sit and stare at all day long, bouncing fingers off them. Yes. Tell my story there. To all the Little Pencils out there.
Ah...such peace I've never known. Till we meet again, farewell.
THE END
"Think so."
"Truly, wooly, googley, fully dead?"
"Looks like it."
A teetering breeze picked up the wood shavings and scattered them across the floor, past the giant Basket Of Wasted Paper, out to the sidewalk where humans would uneventfully trample them into nothingness.
"All right," Mr. Blackpen murmured. "Let's pray that's the last we ever see of him."
A collective paper-clip nod ensued.
"Pity there's nothing left." A heavily Cellophane-taped Scissors growled. "Would've liked nothing more than snipping his squealing head off."
"Now, now," Liquid Paper chided. "You should really learn to erase the mistakes of the past."
"Bah. Coming from you, I wouldn't be surprised."
Sharpener was an inconsolable mess. Not even Tissue Paper could dry her tears. "I am sorry, Pencil. I really, really did not want to do it a second time."
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Thirty Seeam bent over to pat her. "After all, he asked you to do it himself. In case he survived the first sharpening, remember?"
She nodded, pausing to blow her nose. "What happened to his best friend? That Pakistani eraser."
Uneasy glances darted around. At last Mr. Blackpen spoke.
"He was never right since Pencil died. We tried telling him that Pencil had become Little Pencil, but he wouldn't listen, and kept drawing him closer to his past. Eventually..."
"He had to die." Scissors said bluntly, resulting in one pun too many.
"I understand."
No one said anything for a couple of minutes. One by one, the stationeries slunk away, back to their comfy little worlds where pencils were meant for writing as erasers were not.
Thirty Seeam and Mr. Blackpen gazed at each other with a hint of regret, trailing behind the muted crowd. Snorting, Scissors shook his head, fuming inside that Pencil was being painted a victim.
Sobbing softly by the depressed evening rays, Sharpener choked out some lingering graphite residue and unfolded Little Pencil's final note:
To the Little Pencils of the world:
Seek truth. Fight the good fight. Eventually the truth might suck like a broken nib. But I found it anyway.
And for that, my end shall now be so much more meaningful. I have done the most a pencil could dream of doing.
My darling Miss Sharpener, who gave me the greatest joy and sadness of my short life...thank you. By the time you read this, I am only but sawdust. Take my story. Tell it to the world. You don't need a pencil. For I have heard of the magical things those human machines can do. You know, the ones they sit and stare at all day long, bouncing fingers off them. Yes. Tell my story there. To all the Little Pencils out there.
Ah...such peace I've never known. Till we meet again, farewell.
THE END
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Special October Feature, Though It's December: Aku Sebatang Pensel (Part 5 of 5)
1 day short of 3 weeks, and here we ride again! Sorry for leaving y'all high and dry...
Was caught up in the annual dizzy-ness of VBS (Vacation Bible School), and I just realised this is the first year I'm truly getting involved in helping out. As opposed to conveniently 'dropping by' for lunch, snigger snigger.
And what sheer joy it was! There's something about kids that brings out the...erm, kid in all of us. Wait, that doesn't make much sense...
Also got the chance to help Inter class out in their Graduation Day presentation. Tough work it was, as midway through we realised we might've given the kids more than they could chew. But they puffed up their chests, went ahead, and gave us one heck of a musical drama! We'll have to let time tell, but I'm guessing it'll be one for the VBS-ages.
In classic appreciation speech style, it would've never been possible without the help of some extremely talented scriptwriters, directors, composers and chereographers. You know who you are, wink wink.
Now. Let's. Get. Back. To. More. Pressing. Issues.
Final part of Aku Sebatang Pensel, and Little Pencil's life hangs perilously in the balance. Am now realising what a bone-headed decision it was to write the story in both BM and English. It was supposed to actually be a play on those classic "Aku Sebuah (Inanimate Object)" Karangans, but eventually the plot didn't need the gimmick.
We'll likely be looking at a Part 6-cum-epilogue as well, to tie things up. But ENOUGH! It's not always about meeeee. On with the story!
Aku Sebatang Pensel: The (Supposed) Grand Finale
Little Pencil stirred. Was he dead?
Apparently not, according to the cold cement floor.
He stood himself up. Scissors lay a foot away from him, a mashed-up mess; the fall must've hurt him more than it did Little Pencil.
None of the other stationery were in sight. Some leap that was.
Little Pencil rolled himself along the floor, mostly in a daze. Some part of him wished he hadn't survived the fall.
There was nothing left now for him to do. Sure, there was the whole discovering-the-true-identity-of-his-father business, but he no longer wanted to do anything. No sir, he was happy to just curl up and die.
Maybe not curl up, for he was straight as a pencil could be, but something to that effect.
So time passed...
*****
He didn't know how long he lay there. Weeks, maybe. Days, probably. A very very long time, definitely.
"Finally I have found you."
Little Pencil squinted from the glare. Was he imagining things?
A round mirror-fronted sharpener stood over him, real as real could be.
"I am the final one. There shall be no need for others. All you seek to know, I know."
Little Pencil's graphite heart skipped a beat. He had no idea who this sharpener was, or where he came from, but he sensed answers coming.
"You have done well, my child. All your efforts shall not be in vain. Come, come beside me." she patted the floor.
He obeyed, mesmerised by this angel. Here she appeared from nowhere, promising rest for his wearied soul, peace for his troubled mind, some semblance of sanity in a land turned topsy-turvy mad.
"I heard the rest. They were wrong. Your father is not a murderer. He was a mere tool. Look at this."
She passed him a moth-eaten clipping from those humongous sheets humans read every morning. Trembling, he read:
17th Dec - Police have yet to ascertain the motives behind the apparent suicide of K. Sundimaniam, 47 yesterday.
Sundimaniam was found dead in his house yesterday with 24 stab wounds all over his body. The wounds were believed to be self-inflicted with a small, sharp object.
The police have not ruled out foul play, including Sundimaniam's alleged involvement with a ritualistic cult.
"Sundi was a deeply religious man." says a neighbour who wishes to be identified only as Choo. "He enjoyed talking about gods, deities and other spiritual beings."
"He visited my stationery shop just before he died." says another neighbour, Kee. "If I had known this was going to happen, I would not have let him leave."
The article ended abruptly. Little Pencil gawked at Sharpener in total disbelief.
"My father was the small, sharp object."
Sharpener nodded solemnly.
"So...this was what made the others call my father a murderer."
"You are right. But you must see, he was never at all an evil soul. I knew him myself."
"Then you must tell me," Little Pencil sniffed back a tear. "Is he still alive? If he is, where is he?"
"Yes, he is still alive. As long as you live, so does he. For he lives within you."
"Don't give me that philosophical crap! WHERE IS HE?"
Sharpener sighed. Walked to him. And sighed again, longer this time.
"After your father escaped the crime scene, he came back deeply stained. The others knew what he had done, and alienated him. In the end, heartbroken and out of hope, he came to me."
Akhirnya aku membuat keputusan. Aku akan mengasah diriku.
Translation: At last I made up my mind - I would sharpen myself.
Little Pencil tried to swallow, but came unstuck. "It-it...doesn't...make...sense."
Suddenly he remembered. Everything became all so clear, so in-his-face that had he not gone limp, he could've kicked himself for not seeing the truth much earlier. The same way one feels after searching high and low for the car keys in his hands. Multiplied by a thousand.
"Finally you remember." Sharpener smiled sadly.
"No...no..."
"Little Pencil...you are your father."
"NOOOOOOOOO!!!"
(NOT) THE END.
Was caught up in the annual dizzy-ness of VBS (Vacation Bible School), and I just realised this is the first year I'm truly getting involved in helping out. As opposed to conveniently 'dropping by' for lunch, snigger snigger.
And what sheer joy it was! There's something about kids that brings out the...erm, kid in all of us. Wait, that doesn't make much sense...
Also got the chance to help Inter class out in their Graduation Day presentation. Tough work it was, as midway through we realised we might've given the kids more than they could chew. But they puffed up their chests, went ahead, and gave us one heck of a musical drama! We'll have to let time tell, but I'm guessing it'll be one for the VBS-ages.
In classic appreciation speech style, it would've never been possible without the help of some extremely talented scriptwriters, directors, composers and chereographers. You know who you are, wink wink.
Now. Let's. Get. Back. To. More. Pressing. Issues.
Final part of Aku Sebatang Pensel, and Little Pencil's life hangs perilously in the balance. Am now realising what a bone-headed decision it was to write the story in both BM and English. It was supposed to actually be a play on those classic "Aku Sebuah (Inanimate Object)" Karangans, but eventually the plot didn't need the gimmick.
We'll likely be looking at a Part 6-cum-epilogue as well, to tie things up. But ENOUGH! It's not always about meeeee. On with the story!
Aku Sebatang Pensel: The (Supposed) Grand Finale
Little Pencil stirred. Was he dead?
Apparently not, according to the cold cement floor.
He stood himself up. Scissors lay a foot away from him, a mashed-up mess; the fall must've hurt him more than it did Little Pencil.
None of the other stationery were in sight. Some leap that was.
Little Pencil rolled himself along the floor, mostly in a daze. Some part of him wished he hadn't survived the fall.
There was nothing left now for him to do. Sure, there was the whole discovering-the-true-identity-of-his-father business, but he no longer wanted to do anything. No sir, he was happy to just curl up and die.
Maybe not curl up, for he was straight as a pencil could be, but something to that effect.
So time passed...
*****
He didn't know how long he lay there. Weeks, maybe. Days, probably. A very very long time, definitely.
"Finally I have found you."
Little Pencil squinted from the glare. Was he imagining things?
A round mirror-fronted sharpener stood over him, real as real could be.
"I am the final one. There shall be no need for others. All you seek to know, I know."
Little Pencil's graphite heart skipped a beat. He had no idea who this sharpener was, or where he came from, but he sensed answers coming.
"You have done well, my child. All your efforts shall not be in vain. Come, come beside me." she patted the floor.
He obeyed, mesmerised by this angel. Here she appeared from nowhere, promising rest for his wearied soul, peace for his troubled mind, some semblance of sanity in a land turned topsy-turvy mad.
"I heard the rest. They were wrong. Your father is not a murderer. He was a mere tool. Look at this."
She passed him a moth-eaten clipping from those humongous sheets humans read every morning. Trembling, he read:
17th Dec - Police have yet to ascertain the motives behind the apparent suicide of K. Sundimaniam, 47 yesterday.
Sundimaniam was found dead in his house yesterday with 24 stab wounds all over his body. The wounds were believed to be self-inflicted with a small, sharp object.
The police have not ruled out foul play, including Sundimaniam's alleged involvement with a ritualistic cult.
"Sundi was a deeply religious man." says a neighbour who wishes to be identified only as Choo. "He enjoyed talking about gods, deities and other spiritual beings."
"He visited my stationery shop just before he died." says another neighbour, Kee. "If I had known this was going to happen, I would not have let him leave."
The article ended abruptly. Little Pencil gawked at Sharpener in total disbelief.
"My father was the small, sharp object."
Sharpener nodded solemnly.
"So...this was what made the others call my father a murderer."
"You are right. But you must see, he was never at all an evil soul. I knew him myself."
"Then you must tell me," Little Pencil sniffed back a tear. "Is he still alive? If he is, where is he?"
"Yes, he is still alive. As long as you live, so does he. For he lives within you."
"Don't give me that philosophical crap! WHERE IS HE?"
Sharpener sighed. Walked to him. And sighed again, longer this time.
"After your father escaped the crime scene, he came back deeply stained. The others knew what he had done, and alienated him. In the end, heartbroken and out of hope, he came to me."
Akhirnya aku membuat keputusan. Aku akan mengasah diriku.
Translation: At last I made up my mind - I would sharpen myself.
Little Pencil tried to swallow, but came unstuck. "It-it...doesn't...make...sense."
Suddenly he remembered. Everything became all so clear, so in-his-face that had he not gone limp, he could've kicked himself for not seeing the truth much earlier. The same way one feels after searching high and low for the car keys in his hands. Multiplied by a thousand.
"Finally you remember." Sharpener smiled sadly.
"No...no..."
"Little Pencil...you are your father."
"NOOOOOOOOO!!!"
(NOT) THE END.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Special October Feature, Though It's November: Aku Sebatang Pensel (Part 4 of 5)
Darn! It still made no sense. This was the final part of the story, and something in between was missing.
Pada malam itu...tamatlah riwayat aku sebagai sebatang pensel.
Translation: That night...my life as a pencil ended.
Why would his father want to kill himself? What did he do that made him so...for lack of a better word, suicidal?
He rolled back and forth the sliding glass case to pass time. Stupid Pakistani eraser, dying at such a bad time...now he was left with all the right questions, and none of the answers.
Suddenly a tall figure shadowed him. Thirty Seeam.
He smiled uneasily. "You better stop, kid. Let's get it done with quick."
Little Pencil backed away. "Get what done with quick?"
"Look behind you."
Little Pencil spun around to face Mr. Blackpen flanked by an assortment of colour pencils, pens, erasers, Liquid Paper, paintbrushes and what-nots. And that dreadful Scissors.
"The others and myself have talked it through," Mr. Blackpen stepped forward. "And we have decided that you're too dangerous to be kept alive."
"Too dangerous to be kept alive?! So you're going to kill me, I suppose?"
Scissors snipped devilishly. "Incisely."
A team of fancy paper clips swiftly surrounded Little Pencil to make sure he couldn't escape. Thirty Seeam stooped over and sighed. "I'm sorry it had to end this way. Really. Especially after what happened to you father."
"At least tell me why. I need to know."
"It's simple," Mr. Blackpen said grimly. "We're getting rid of you, because...there's a great chance you'll become like your father when you're older."
"And that would be...?"
"A murderer."
"What?! You're kidding, right?"
"A murderer." High Lighter nodded.
"A murderer!" The A4 papers chimed in.
"Your father is a murderer!"
"Murderer!"
"MURDERER!"
"Son of a murderer!"
Little Pencil felt himself going dizzy. The rabid crowd kept heckling him, taunting him, swirling around till his eyes and ears hurt.
Scissors loomed over, and knocked him down with a quick swipe . "Time for your final cut." Its blades sliced through the air with a wicked gleam.
Little Pencil lay paralysed. This strange emotion starting swelling from his graphite core, something new. It wasn't fear; he felt that on his first day here. Neither was it sadness; that came when he heard about his father.
Akhirnya aku membuat keputusan. Aku akan mengasah diriku.
Translation: At last I made up my mind - I would sharpen myself.
He stared, and stared again at Scissor's metal blades. Suddenly he couldn't stop shaking. A sickening feeling of wanting to avenge his father rushed to his head. And the murderer - the true murderer - was standing right in front.
"I HATE YOU!" Little Pencil yelled. "GAHHHHH!"
Like a pencil possessed, he sprang up and tackled Scissors straight in the eye. The last thing he saw was Scissors' unblinking eyes, as they both plunged off the glass case.
"He's mad! He's MAD!" someone screamed.
"They're gonna die!"
Pada malam itu...tamatlah riwayat aku sebagai sebatang pensel.
Translation: That night...my life as a pencil ended.
Why would his father want to kill himself? What did he do that made him so...for lack of a better word, suicidal?
He rolled back and forth the sliding glass case to pass time. Stupid Pakistani eraser, dying at such a bad time...now he was left with all the right questions, and none of the answers.
Suddenly a tall figure shadowed him. Thirty Seeam.
He smiled uneasily. "You better stop, kid. Let's get it done with quick."
Little Pencil backed away. "Get what done with quick?"
"Look behind you."
Little Pencil spun around to face Mr. Blackpen flanked by an assortment of colour pencils, pens, erasers, Liquid Paper, paintbrushes and what-nots. And that dreadful Scissors.
"The others and myself have talked it through," Mr. Blackpen stepped forward. "And we have decided that you're too dangerous to be kept alive."
"Too dangerous to be kept alive?! So you're going to kill me, I suppose?"
Scissors snipped devilishly. "Incisely."
A team of fancy paper clips swiftly surrounded Little Pencil to make sure he couldn't escape. Thirty Seeam stooped over and sighed. "I'm sorry it had to end this way. Really. Especially after what happened to you father."
"At least tell me why. I need to know."
"It's simple," Mr. Blackpen said grimly. "We're getting rid of you, because...there's a great chance you'll become like your father when you're older."
"And that would be...?"
"A murderer."
"What?! You're kidding, right?"
"A murderer." High Lighter nodded.
"A murderer!" The A4 papers chimed in.
"Your father is a murderer!"
"Murderer!"
"MURDERER!"
"Son of a murderer!"
Little Pencil felt himself going dizzy. The rabid crowd kept heckling him, taunting him, swirling around till his eyes and ears hurt.
Scissors loomed over, and knocked him down with a quick swipe . "Time for your final cut." Its blades sliced through the air with a wicked gleam.
Little Pencil lay paralysed. This strange emotion starting swelling from his graphite core, something new. It wasn't fear; he felt that on his first day here. Neither was it sadness; that came when he heard about his father.
Akhirnya aku membuat keputusan. Aku akan mengasah diriku.
Translation: At last I made up my mind - I would sharpen myself.
He stared, and stared again at Scissor's metal blades. Suddenly he couldn't stop shaking. A sickening feeling of wanting to avenge his father rushed to his head. And the murderer - the true murderer - was standing right in front.
"I HATE YOU!" Little Pencil yelled. "GAHHHHH!"
Like a pencil possessed, he sprang up and tackled Scissors straight in the eye. The last thing he saw was Scissors' unblinking eyes, as they both plunged off the glass case.
"He's mad! He's MAD!" someone screamed.
"They're gonna die!"
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Special October Feature, Though It's November: Aku Sebatang Pensel (Part 3 of 5)
"Someone bought him last night. And now he's gone. Which part of that don't you understand?"
Little Pencil squinted at Thirty Seeam. Something didn't seem right here. The Pakistani eraser had disappeared, just like that.
"He was still around when the shop closed," he said. "Besides, why would anyone want to buy him, instead of the new erasers?"
"Maybe the shopkeeper took it for himself," Mr. Blackpen appeared. "Maybe it was some homesick Pakistani guy. And maybe you're asking too much."
Little Pencil glared fiercely and walked away. "If you're not going to give me answers, I'll find my own."
*****
Little Pencil paced up and down, restless from the heat of the night. A dog outside was barking at the shophouse next door, which was strange because it had been abandoned for weeks.
He dragged himself up a ledge, eager to check things out.
Too dark to see. He tried going closer, when a scratchy voice caught his hears.
"I-is...that...you?"
Abruptly he looked down and gasped in horror. Wedged between the wall and shelf was the Pakistani eraser, on his last legs. His body was almost severed in half.
"Eraser! Who did this to you?"
"T-they tried...tried to silence m-me. They g-got...Scissors...to c-cut me up."
"Here." He handed him another note. "It...it's the last one."
Little Pencil unfolded it and scanned through quickly. His father's handwriting, all right. But this one was in very bad shape to read.
"He...he was a good pencil...I-I knew him...no matter what the others say...he never m-meant to do it."
"A-and...he's still alive. Still...here. Find him! Then...I can die...in...peace."
He exhaled one final time. And died.
*****
Sepejam mata, babak ngeri itu berulang. Terasa diriku kotor benar. Sungguhpun tidak berniat, hakikatnya aku yang telah melakukan. Sampai bilapun aku kena menanggung dosa.
Alat-alat tulis lain pun mula meminggirku. Pedih hatiku melihat mereka menyebar khabar angin dan melempar ejekan.
Akhirnya aku membuat keputusan. Aku akan mengasah diriku.
Ya, pasti itulah jalan penyelesaian. Tiada erti lagi aku terus berada di sini.
Pada malam itu...tamatlah riwayat aku sebagai sebatang pensel.
Translation: Each time I closed my eyes, the hideous scene replayed itself. I felt so dirty. Though it wasn't my intention, I was the the one who did it. I would bear this guilty truth all my life.
The other stationeries started to distance themselves. It pained me to see them tease and gossip about me.
At last I made up my mind - I would sharpen myself.
Yes. That had to be the only way out. It made no more sense for me to be here.
That night...my life as a pencil ended.
Little Pencil squinted at Thirty Seeam. Something didn't seem right here. The Pakistani eraser had disappeared, just like that.
"He was still around when the shop closed," he said. "Besides, why would anyone want to buy him, instead of the new erasers?"
"Maybe the shopkeeper took it for himself," Mr. Blackpen appeared. "Maybe it was some homesick Pakistani guy. And maybe you're asking too much."
Little Pencil glared fiercely and walked away. "If you're not going to give me answers, I'll find my own."
*****
Little Pencil paced up and down, restless from the heat of the night. A dog outside was barking at the shophouse next door, which was strange because it had been abandoned for weeks.
He dragged himself up a ledge, eager to check things out.
Too dark to see. He tried going closer, when a scratchy voice caught his hears.
"I-is...that...you?"
Abruptly he looked down and gasped in horror. Wedged between the wall and shelf was the Pakistani eraser, on his last legs. His body was almost severed in half.
"Eraser! Who did this to you?"
"T-they tried...tried to silence m-me. They g-got...Scissors...to c-cut me up."
"Here." He handed him another note. "It...it's the last one."
Little Pencil unfolded it and scanned through quickly. His father's handwriting, all right. But this one was in very bad shape to read.
"He...he was a good pencil...I-I knew him...no matter what the others say...he never m-meant to do it."
"A-and...he's still alive. Still...here. Find him! Then...I can die...in...peace."
He exhaled one final time. And died.
*****
Sepejam mata, babak ngeri itu berulang. Terasa diriku kotor benar. Sungguhpun tidak berniat, hakikatnya aku yang telah melakukan. Sampai bilapun aku kena menanggung dosa.
Alat-alat tulis lain pun mula meminggirku. Pedih hatiku melihat mereka menyebar khabar angin dan melempar ejekan.
Akhirnya aku membuat keputusan. Aku akan mengasah diriku.
Ya, pasti itulah jalan penyelesaian. Tiada erti lagi aku terus berada di sini.
Pada malam itu...tamatlah riwayat aku sebagai sebatang pensel.
Translation: Each time I closed my eyes, the hideous scene replayed itself. I felt so dirty. Though it wasn't my intention, I was the the one who did it. I would bear this guilty truth all my life.
The other stationeries started to distance themselves. It pained me to see them tease and gossip about me.
At last I made up my mind - I would sharpen myself.
Yes. That had to be the only way out. It made no more sense for me to be here.
That night...my life as a pencil ended.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Wah Veli Sked Ah
Just to share...something funny I found in last Friday's The Star.
Not like it was meant to be funny, but just...
Enjoy!
Not like it was meant to be funny, but just...
Enjoy!
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Little Furry Rainbow
He died beneath the mango tree he loved
Beside chirping sparrows, passing bikes
A gentle smile for his three favourite balls
The still of the morning air
He could not have asked for a moment more.
Tuesday morning, my dog died. We had it for almost two years.
I must say, it's the most personal death I've experienced. I'm blessed - and young, some might say - to have never attended a friend's or relative's funeral. It's funny how much this has affected me. I never imagined breaking down and crying twice.
The hardest part was breaking the news to my sister. She was the most emotionally attached to the dog. It was still alive - though unusually quiet like it had been for days - before she left for work. Soon after that, my mom watched its head droop down. By the time my dad came, it only had a few final breaths left in it.
"It's dead." She woke me up.
This feeling of death, of fear, of dread...you try to rationalise everything, but you can't. The dog lay cold, beneath the mango tree it always watched the neighbourhood from.
I touched it. Its belly no longer thudded with warmth. Cold. Hard.
I remembered the first time we had it. It was the ugliest dog you'd ever seen - skinny, scraggy, and unsure. When we took it for a walk, all the other dogs snapped their teeth at it.
But slowly, it won over our hearts, even my animal-disliking mom's. It never failed to bring a smile to our faces when we caught her or my dad talking to the dog.
And of course, none of our friends ever understood which part of the dog was appealing. For boy, did it bark at strangers. But it always stayed a family secret - behind that rabid, annoying mongrel was the gentlest and most heart-warming creature possible.
It's been a difficult couple of days. But everything's gonna be all right. Farewell - if I may quote my sister - to our "little furry rainbow".
Beside chirping sparrows, passing bikes
A gentle smile for his three favourite balls
The still of the morning air
He could not have asked for a moment more.
Tuesday morning, my dog died. We had it for almost two years.
I must say, it's the most personal death I've experienced. I'm blessed - and young, some might say - to have never attended a friend's or relative's funeral. It's funny how much this has affected me. I never imagined breaking down and crying twice.
The hardest part was breaking the news to my sister. She was the most emotionally attached to the dog. It was still alive - though unusually quiet like it had been for days - before she left for work. Soon after that, my mom watched its head droop down. By the time my dad came, it only had a few final breaths left in it.
"It's dead." She woke me up.
This feeling of death, of fear, of dread...you try to rationalise everything, but you can't. The dog lay cold, beneath the mango tree it always watched the neighbourhood from.
I touched it. Its belly no longer thudded with warmth. Cold. Hard.
I remembered the first time we had it. It was the ugliest dog you'd ever seen - skinny, scraggy, and unsure. When we took it for a walk, all the other dogs snapped their teeth at it.
But slowly, it won over our hearts, even my animal-disliking mom's. It never failed to bring a smile to our faces when we caught her or my dad talking to the dog.
And of course, none of our friends ever understood which part of the dog was appealing. For boy, did it bark at strangers. But it always stayed a family secret - behind that rabid, annoying mongrel was the gentlest and most heart-warming creature possible.
It's been a difficult couple of days. But everything's gonna be all right. Farewell - if I may quote my sister - to our "little furry rainbow".
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Special October Feature: Aku Sebatang Pensel (Part 2 of 5)
"You know my father?"
"Of course. Quite good friends, we were."
"Why did he write this?"
The Pakistani eraser stared at Little Pencil's note. "You could call it a warning. To the future generations of pencils."
Little Pencil frowned. This eraser was speaking like a character out of The Da Stationeri Code.
"Your father is not dead yet, you know. I saw him last month. But he wasn't the same as before, not at all. And I don't think he ever will be. Not after that man bought him."
Little Pencil's mouth went round as a mirrored sharpener. His father was not dead yet. "Where is he now?"
"I don't know. They haven't caught him yet."
"Caught him? For what?"
The eraser glanced left and right nervously. "Come here. I'll show you."
Little Pencil followed him to a disused glass case. "Here," he nudged out a sheet from the edges. "The second part of your father's note."
Akhirnya sampai juga kami ke kedai buku. Ah! Memang ceria suasana di situ, seperti yang aku jangkakan. Ramai alat tulis lain disusun rapi mengalu-alukan kedatangan kami.
Tidak beberapa lama kemudian, kawan-kawanku mula pergi satu demi satu. Setiap kali pelanggan melangkah masuk, kami tahu salah satu kawan akan berpisah. Masing-masing berdoa di lubuk hati yang bukannya dipilih.
Namun, tiba juga giliranku akhirnya. Suatu petang, seorang lelaki bermisai hitam masuk. Dia menoleh ke arahku.
"Pensel kasi satu." ujarnya dengan kasar.
Tuan kedai mengangguk dan terus memetikku dari kelompok pensel. Lelaki tersebut menghulurkan wang kepadanya dan meninggalkan kedai denganku.
Aku mempunyai tuan baru.
Translation: At last we reached the stationery shop. Just like I expected, it was a barrel of fun. The neatly arranged stationery welcomed us cosily.
Soon after that, my friends started leaving one after another. Every time a customer stepped in, we knew someone was going home with him. We all silently prayed it wouldn't be us.
Alas, my turn eventually came. One evening, a moustached man entered. He looked my way.
"Gimme a pencil." he said gruffly.
Mr. Shopkeeper nodded and plucked me out from the cluster of pencils. Just like that, the man paid for me and left.
I had a new master.
The note ended.
"It...it's still not complete."
"Well, yes. There is...oh, no! Go away! Go away! He's here!"
Little Pencil swiftly rolled underneath the glass case. Just in time to see a towering black pen step up to Eraser.
"What are you doing here?" he narrowed his eyes at him.
"What else? Keeping the place clean, as usual."
"Some of the others told me you were talking to that new pencil. I hope they were wrong."
"Bah. Of course they are."
"Good. The last thing we need is for him to start researching his father."
"Of course. Quite good friends, we were."
"Why did he write this?"
The Pakistani eraser stared at Little Pencil's note. "You could call it a warning. To the future generations of pencils."
Little Pencil frowned. This eraser was speaking like a character out of The Da Stationeri Code.
"Your father is not dead yet, you know. I saw him last month. But he wasn't the same as before, not at all. And I don't think he ever will be. Not after that man bought him."
Little Pencil's mouth went round as a mirrored sharpener. His father was not dead yet. "Where is he now?"
"I don't know. They haven't caught him yet."
"Caught him? For what?"
The eraser glanced left and right nervously. "Come here. I'll show you."
Little Pencil followed him to a disused glass case. "Here," he nudged out a sheet from the edges. "The second part of your father's note."
Akhirnya sampai juga kami ke kedai buku. Ah! Memang ceria suasana di situ, seperti yang aku jangkakan. Ramai alat tulis lain disusun rapi mengalu-alukan kedatangan kami.
Tidak beberapa lama kemudian, kawan-kawanku mula pergi satu demi satu. Setiap kali pelanggan melangkah masuk, kami tahu salah satu kawan akan berpisah. Masing-masing berdoa di lubuk hati yang bukannya dipilih.
Namun, tiba juga giliranku akhirnya. Suatu petang, seorang lelaki bermisai hitam masuk. Dia menoleh ke arahku.
"Pensel kasi satu." ujarnya dengan kasar.
Tuan kedai mengangguk dan terus memetikku dari kelompok pensel. Lelaki tersebut menghulurkan wang kepadanya dan meninggalkan kedai denganku.
Aku mempunyai tuan baru.
Translation: At last we reached the stationery shop. Just like I expected, it was a barrel of fun. The neatly arranged stationery welcomed us cosily.
Soon after that, my friends started leaving one after another. Every time a customer stepped in, we knew someone was going home with him. We all silently prayed it wouldn't be us.
Alas, my turn eventually came. One evening, a moustached man entered. He looked my way.
"Gimme a pencil." he said gruffly.
Mr. Shopkeeper nodded and plucked me out from the cluster of pencils. Just like that, the man paid for me and left.
I had a new master.
The note ended.
"It...it's still not complete."
"Well, yes. There is...oh, no! Go away! Go away! He's here!"
Little Pencil swiftly rolled underneath the glass case. Just in time to see a towering black pen step up to Eraser.
"What are you doing here?" he narrowed his eyes at him.
"What else? Keeping the place clean, as usual."
"Some of the others told me you were talking to that new pencil. I hope they were wrong."
"Bah. Of course they are."
"Good. The last thing we need is for him to start researching his father."
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Special October Feature: Aku Sebatang Pensel (Part1 of 5)
Aku sebatang pensel. Aku dilahirkan di sebuah kilang membuat pensel di Gombak.
Sebaik sahaja aku siap dipasang mesin, aku dimasukkan ke dalam sebuah kotak bersama kawan-kawanku. Sempit betul keadaan di dalam; nyaris aku terpengsan dihimpit pensel lain.
Dua tiga hari kemudian, dirasaku kotak itu dipunggah masuk lori. Kata kawanku, kami akan dihantar ke kedai alat tulis. Terenjut-enjut aku sepanjang perjalanan. Hati pula resah berpikir suasana dan kawan baru kelak.
Translation: I am a pencil. I was born in a humble pencil factory in Gombak.
There's nothing much to speak of my origins. I rolled off the assembly into a big box with scores of pencil friends. It wasn't a very comfy box either; I almost got steamrolled.
Couple or so days later, I felt the box being lifted into a lorry. We're going to the stationery shop, said my friend. For me, there was no sitting still all the way. My mind raced restlessly, picturing what lay ahead.
Little Pencil sighed softly. He folded, then unfolded the yellowed sheet in his hands and read it again for the umpteenth time. As though he might come across some previously unseen detail.
Of course he didn't.
Little Pencil, all two weeks of him - which would make him twenty in human years - had been searching for his father's identity his whole life. Since day one in Kee's Stationery Shop, the others had been awkwardly silent around him. And he knew it had something to do with who his father was.
*****
"So," Thirty Seeam the plastic ruler stared at him with unblinking eyes. "You are Pencil's son."
"Yes, sir."
"I didn't know he had a son." Scissors quipped sharply.
"Yeah, well...here I am."
"Hmph." Thirty Seeam grunted. "You better stay out of trouble, kid."
"Will try to." He was starting to feel a wee bit uncomfortable.
"Okay, show's over. Everyone scram." Thirty Seeam barked. The others scurried back to their clusters, murmuring something.
"And by the way," Thirty Seeam handed him a sheet before turning to leave. "Your father asked me to pass this to you."
"Oh."
"Excuse me, sir!" Little Pencil called out to him.
"What?"
"Who was my father, really?"
Thirty Seeam frowned at him like a bug in his soup. "Welcome to the shop, kid."
*****
That was how Little Pencil ended up with the note he'd been reading over and over. He knew it was his father's handwriting, written way before he even existed. But why did he write it?
He sensed a story unravelling. One he was determined to get to the bottom of.
"Your soul is troubled."
He whirled around. It was a dirty old eraser emblazoned with a Pakistani flag.
"You cannot comprehend that." he pointed to the note. "For it is incomplete."
"How do you know?"
"Because...I was there when your father wrote it."
Sebaik sahaja aku siap dipasang mesin, aku dimasukkan ke dalam sebuah kotak bersama kawan-kawanku. Sempit betul keadaan di dalam; nyaris aku terpengsan dihimpit pensel lain.
Dua tiga hari kemudian, dirasaku kotak itu dipunggah masuk lori. Kata kawanku, kami akan dihantar ke kedai alat tulis. Terenjut-enjut aku sepanjang perjalanan. Hati pula resah berpikir suasana dan kawan baru kelak.
Translation: I am a pencil. I was born in a humble pencil factory in Gombak.
There's nothing much to speak of my origins. I rolled off the assembly into a big box with scores of pencil friends. It wasn't a very comfy box either; I almost got steamrolled.
Couple or so days later, I felt the box being lifted into a lorry. We're going to the stationery shop, said my friend. For me, there was no sitting still all the way. My mind raced restlessly, picturing what lay ahead.
Little Pencil sighed softly. He folded, then unfolded the yellowed sheet in his hands and read it again for the umpteenth time. As though he might come across some previously unseen detail.
Of course he didn't.
Little Pencil, all two weeks of him - which would make him twenty in human years - had been searching for his father's identity his whole life. Since day one in Kee's Stationery Shop, the others had been awkwardly silent around him. And he knew it had something to do with who his father was.
*****
"So," Thirty Seeam the plastic ruler stared at him with unblinking eyes. "You are Pencil's son."
"Yes, sir."
"I didn't know he had a son." Scissors quipped sharply.
"Yeah, well...here I am."
"Hmph." Thirty Seeam grunted. "You better stay out of trouble, kid."
"Will try to." He was starting to feel a wee bit uncomfortable.
"Okay, show's over. Everyone scram." Thirty Seeam barked. The others scurried back to their clusters, murmuring something.
"And by the way," Thirty Seeam handed him a sheet before turning to leave. "Your father asked me to pass this to you."
"Oh."
"Excuse me, sir!" Little Pencil called out to him.
"What?"
"Who was my father, really?"
Thirty Seeam frowned at him like a bug in his soup. "Welcome to the shop, kid."
*****
That was how Little Pencil ended up with the note he'd been reading over and over. He knew it was his father's handwriting, written way before he even existed. But why did he write it?
He sensed a story unravelling. One he was determined to get to the bottom of.
"Your soul is troubled."
He whirled around. It was a dirty old eraser emblazoned with a Pakistani flag.
"You cannot comprehend that." he pointed to the note. "For it is incomplete."
"How do you know?"
"Because...I was there when your father wrote it."
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Introducing...The Special October Feature
Heeeeya there peoples, it's been some week.
Tuesday in the office, I almost died. No kidding. Was having diarrhoea and fever, and they just would not turn down the air-con. Between half-freezing to death and needing to go to the toilet a dozen times but feeling "inappropriate", I still can't believe I made it through 10 hours of that Auschwitz.
And if you've noticed, it turned October two weeks ago. And October is *supposed* to be a special month for Twisted Tales. Yeah, our baby boy's coming to two and *ahem* yeah...*ahem*. October. Yeah. I hear lots of people are born in that month. Ahem.
ANYWAY!
Had been planning for months ahead to re-run last year's "Ten Things I Love About You" - you know, make it a yearly affair. But, nahhh...it seemed quite a lazy cut-and-paste solution. Not to mention self-glorifying.
(Okay, okay, so I admit it! The real reason I ran that last year was so that I could re-bask in my own glory and make you guys re-worship the ground I walk on. Happy?!)
Sheesh.
Then...hmm. Back to the papan melukis.
Okay! Why not do a 5-parter miniseries? A short story that MUST end in 5 parts. No long-drawn sagas or characters, blah blah blah. Good ol' fashioned fun for the family.
Interesting!
Easy to conceive. A nightmare to actually put down on paper. For most of last week - and the week before that - I was scratching my head real hard for a wickedly good story. One which would get you hooked from start. It's just 5 parts you know, you can't go all "A long, long, time ago..."
Anyway, here're some ideas I scribbled down:
1) Guy works in petrol station. One day he sees a beautiful girl pumping petrol and falls in love with her. Alas, she drives off. Then, he...er...er...something lah.
2) Guy works in petrol station (don't ask me). One day he finds out the washroom is actually a magical portal that leads to another petrol station in another dimension. Then, he...er...er...enters the portal kua.
3) Little girl likes cats. One day she wakes up and finds her favourite cat missing. She then embarks on a magical journey to rescue her kitty from the clutches of the evil...um...Taxi Driver.
4) Guy rears a cat in his house. He does all sorts of illegal stuff in his house. Cat watches and learns. Over time, cat becomes underground mafia boss.
5) There's this magical jar of vanishing cream. And you have, like, people fighting over it. Until they realise they can't actually see the cream. Because it vanished.
I was still recovering from my fever, OKAY. STOP ROLLING YOUR EYES, YOU.
So what to do, what to do? All these ho-hum plots, and already October was dee-dee-dumming by.
Enter Friday the 13th. (cue theme from Ju On. Or The Phone. Or Ghost Train. Whatever works for you.)
It would require no less a twisted mind. Only a mind so deliciously seedy, so unabashedly corrupted could've given me such an idea.
What can I say? This upcoming story has got me all worked up, all ready to sharpen my pencils and write again. Finally!
And curiously enough, it's titled Aku Sebatang Pensel. Stay tuned, y'all.
Tuesday in the office, I almost died. No kidding. Was having diarrhoea and fever, and they just would not turn down the air-con. Between half-freezing to death and needing to go to the toilet a dozen times but feeling "inappropriate", I still can't believe I made it through 10 hours of that Auschwitz.
And if you've noticed, it turned October two weeks ago. And October is *supposed* to be a special month for Twisted Tales. Yeah, our baby boy's coming to two and *ahem* yeah...*ahem*. October. Yeah. I hear lots of people are born in that month. Ahem.
ANYWAY!
Had been planning for months ahead to re-run last year's "Ten Things I Love About You" - you know, make it a yearly affair. But, nahhh...it seemed quite a lazy cut-and-paste solution. Not to mention self-glorifying.
(Okay, okay, so I admit it! The real reason I ran that last year was so that I could re-bask in my own glory and make you guys re-worship the ground I walk on. Happy?!)
Sheesh.
Then...hmm. Back to the papan melukis.
Okay! Why not do a 5-parter miniseries? A short story that MUST end in 5 parts. No long-drawn sagas or characters, blah blah blah. Good ol' fashioned fun for the family.
Interesting!
Easy to conceive. A nightmare to actually put down on paper. For most of last week - and the week before that - I was scratching my head real hard for a wickedly good story. One which would get you hooked from start. It's just 5 parts you know, you can't go all "A long, long, time ago..."
Anyway, here're some ideas I scribbled down:
1) Guy works in petrol station. One day he sees a beautiful girl pumping petrol and falls in love with her. Alas, she drives off. Then, he...er...er...something lah.
2) Guy works in petrol station (don't ask me). One day he finds out the washroom is actually a magical portal that leads to another petrol station in another dimension. Then, he...er...er...enters the portal kua.
3) Little girl likes cats. One day she wakes up and finds her favourite cat missing. She then embarks on a magical journey to rescue her kitty from the clutches of the evil...um...Taxi Driver.
4) Guy rears a cat in his house. He does all sorts of illegal stuff in his house. Cat watches and learns. Over time, cat becomes underground mafia boss.
5) There's this magical jar of vanishing cream. And you have, like, people fighting over it. Until they realise they can't actually see the cream. Because it vanished.
I was still recovering from my fever, OKAY. STOP ROLLING YOUR EYES, YOU.
So what to do, what to do? All these ho-hum plots, and already October was dee-dee-dumming by.
Enter Friday the 13th. (cue theme from Ju On. Or The Phone. Or Ghost Train. Whatever works for you.)
It would require no less a twisted mind. Only a mind so deliciously seedy, so unabashedly corrupted could've given me such an idea.
What can I say? This upcoming story has got me all worked up, all ready to sharpen my pencils and write again. Finally!
And curiously enough, it's titled Aku Sebatang Pensel. Stay tuned, y'all.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Rock Paper Scissors
Yeah, Rock Paper Scissors...as in the gweiloh version of One Two Jus (or One Two Som, or Bao Jin Dap, or Ji Gu Pak, depending on your upbringing). We used it for deciding everything, from who the hantu would be to who got the allegedly biggest karipap, remember?
Recently I stumbled upon this site www.worldrps.com. Yyyyeah, you got it...RPS stands for Rock Paper Scissors. And you have a World RPS Society that has "served the needs of decision makers since 1918". Not to mention a (get this)...World Rock Paper Scissors Championship coming up in November in Toronto, Canada!
AGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
Itsagameofplainluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluck
To my utter horror, the third most reliable information source on the Internet, Youtube revealed that this abomination of an event IS indeed real and has been going on for years. The website even features strategies and "gambit play" which actually make sense. Eat your hearts out, chess players!
"Contrary to what you might think RPS is not simply a game of luck or chance. While it is true that from a mathematical perspective the 'optimum' strategy is to play randomly, it still is not a winning strategy for two reasons. First, 'optimum' in this case means you should win, lose and draw an equal number of times (hardly a winning strategy over the long term). Second, Humans, try as they might, are terrible at trying to be random, in fact often humans in trying to approximate randomness become quite predictable. So knowing that there is always something motivating your opponent's actions, there are a couple of tricks and techniques that you can use to tip the balance in your favour."
See?! It. Actually. Makes. Sense!
"Rock paper scissors is not just a game of luck. At its core, rock paper scissors is all about conflict resolution. You use it decide who gets the last piece of pizza, who drives etc. Yeah, it's all about resolving conflicts in a peacful way, and making the world a better place, man."
- Some 2005 World RPS Championship finalist on the Youtube video I watched.
Say. It. Isn't. So.
Next you know, RPS becomes so massively popular that all the young people find it cool. Just because. Then it becomes an international sport. And you have your mafias and bookies backing it financially. Then they amass a small army. And voila! They take over the world. Before you know it, everything's being decided by One Two Jus...oops, I mean RPS.
Presidents are elected by a best two-of-three. Traffic lights? Try traffic RPS instead.
You won't need criminal courts any more. Nothing a friendly game of lat ta li lat ta li tam pung (three-way RPS) can't solve.
Judge: Mr. A, 20 witnesses saw you rob the bank. Your fingerprints, toeprints, tongueprints, and leopard prints were all over the crime scene. What do you say?
Mr. A: I challenge thee to a game of Lat Ta Li Lat Ta Li Tam Pung!
Lawyer: Objection!
Judge: Overruled! Show your hand at "Pung".
Lawyer: What?! You mean there's a chance I'LL get sentenced?!
Judge: ...tam pung! 20 years, you.
Think of the possibilities! Every bad decision you ever made in your life could be traced back to that single flick of rock, paper or scissors!
Son, don't repeat the mistakes I made. Every day of my life I regret stabbing that man with a pair of scissors 20 years ago. It seemed my destiny then.
I won't repeat your mistakes, Dad. RPS has shown me clearly my destiny. And it involves crushing people with rocks.
BWAHAHAHAHAHA!
Of course that could never happen.
Not unless they get reeeeeal lucky, that is!
Recently I stumbled upon this site www.worldrps.com. Yyyyeah, you got it...RPS stands for Rock Paper Scissors. And you have a World RPS Society that has "served the needs of decision makers since 1918". Not to mention a (get this)...World Rock Paper Scissors Championship coming up in November in Toronto, Canada!
AGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
Itsagameofplainluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluck
To my utter horror, the third most reliable information source on the Internet, Youtube revealed that this abomination of an event IS indeed real and has been going on for years. The website even features strategies and "gambit play" which actually make sense. Eat your hearts out, chess players!
"Contrary to what you might think RPS is not simply a game of luck or chance. While it is true that from a mathematical perspective the 'optimum' strategy is to play randomly, it still is not a winning strategy for two reasons. First, 'optimum' in this case means you should win, lose and draw an equal number of times (hardly a winning strategy over the long term). Second, Humans, try as they might, are terrible at trying to be random, in fact often humans in trying to approximate randomness become quite predictable. So knowing that there is always something motivating your opponent's actions, there are a couple of tricks and techniques that you can use to tip the balance in your favour."
See?! It. Actually. Makes. Sense!
"Rock paper scissors is not just a game of luck. At its core, rock paper scissors is all about conflict resolution. You use it decide who gets the last piece of pizza, who drives etc. Yeah, it's all about resolving conflicts in a peacful way, and making the world a better place, man."
- Some 2005 World RPS Championship finalist on the Youtube video I watched.
Say. It. Isn't. So.
Next you know, RPS becomes so massively popular that all the young people find it cool. Just because. Then it becomes an international sport. And you have your mafias and bookies backing it financially. Then they amass a small army. And voila! They take over the world. Before you know it, everything's being decided by One Two Jus...oops, I mean RPS.
Presidents are elected by a best two-of-three. Traffic lights? Try traffic RPS instead.
You won't need criminal courts any more. Nothing a friendly game of lat ta li lat ta li tam pung (three-way RPS) can't solve.
Judge: Mr. A, 20 witnesses saw you rob the bank. Your fingerprints, toeprints, tongueprints, and leopard prints were all over the crime scene. What do you say?
Mr. A: I challenge thee to a game of Lat Ta Li Lat Ta Li Tam Pung!
Lawyer: Objection!
Judge: Overruled! Show your hand at "Pung".
Lawyer: What?! You mean there's a chance I'LL get sentenced?!
Judge: ...tam pung! 20 years, you.
Think of the possibilities! Every bad decision you ever made in your life could be traced back to that single flick of rock, paper or scissors!
Son, don't repeat the mistakes I made. Every day of my life I regret stabbing that man with a pair of scissors 20 years ago. It seemed my destiny then.
I won't repeat your mistakes, Dad. RPS has shown me clearly my destiny. And it involves crushing people with rocks.
BWAHAHAHAHAHA!
Of course that could never happen.
Not unless they get reeeeeal lucky, that is!
Monday, September 25, 2006
"Today I Shall Write"
I woke up today, away from last night
A sun dazzling, a day beckoning
The little voice said inside
"Today I shall write."
"But wait," another murmur opined
"What difference could it make?
The world would go on fine
Even if you wrote today."
"They still would work nine to five
Sleep from night till morn
Waiting all their lives for nothing
Then die for others to mourn."
"The fighting ones would still fight
The rest cry on in vain
People grow ill, they grow sad
They lose hope, they become bad."
"Really, all has been heard and read
They know everything before it's said
Life already is set in its ways
And thus leads on, days into days."
"So I ask again, what difference could it make?
Even if you wrote today."
I listened, nodded, smiled
Indeed, what difference could it make?
My rose-tinted glasses have long dulled
My mind sagged, clumsy, lulled
Trembling I picked the pen
And it became clear as a crystal sea
Gently I wrote the voice away
And that made all the difference...for me.
A sun dazzling, a day beckoning
The little voice said inside
"Today I shall write."
"But wait," another murmur opined
"What difference could it make?
The world would go on fine
Even if you wrote today."
"They still would work nine to five
Sleep from night till morn
Waiting all their lives for nothing
Then die for others to mourn."
"The fighting ones would still fight
The rest cry on in vain
People grow ill, they grow sad
They lose hope, they become bad."
"Really, all has been heard and read
They know everything before it's said
Life already is set in its ways
And thus leads on, days into days."
"So I ask again, what difference could it make?
Even if you wrote today."
I listened, nodded, smiled
Indeed, what difference could it make?
My rose-tinted glasses have long dulled
My mind sagged, clumsy, lulled
Trembling I picked the pen
And it became clear as a crystal sea
Gently I wrote the voice away
And that made all the difference...for me.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
So You Think You Know Malaysian Traffic?
Every morning, God looks down from his heavenly throne upon the streets of Kuala Muddy. Little black dots zip along their designated paths; sometimes going exceedingly fast in a zig-zag manner, sometimes so stupefyingly slow that other dots zig-zag around them.
When enough of these dots come together at the same time, they begin to move slowly, and eventually stop. Then all try to move at the same time, but strangely none manage to. Some extraordinary dots go to paths they shouldn't go, and encounter white dots that stop them.
However, the most exciting part of this adorable dance is when two (or more) dots make contact with each other. Both dots freeze in place and produce a chemical reaction that slows down surrounding dots. Apparently, the scent is also highly attractive to white dots.
So, you think you know Malaysian traffic? Maybe you do. But knowing it and playing it are as different as a Malaysian signboard that leads to Pusat Bandaraya and another Malaysian signboard that leads to Pusat Bandaraya. Er...that is, they're both different. You get what I mean.
Forget those Undang classes you took - if you haven't forgotten them already - and sit back for the REAL hows and whys of Malaysian traffic!
WEAPO...UH, TRANSPORT OF CHOICE:
Motorcycle: The noblest, most selfless warriors you'll ever see on the roads. Modern day equivalents of Japanese kamikaze pilots, every motorcyclist kisses his family goodbye before a journey and doesn't expect to return.
Also apparently immune to traffic lights and most other laws of the road.
Car: Most common vehicle. Can be found roaming plentifully along the highways and byways; too plentifully some would say. Unlike most other vehicles, however, cars can be modified beyond recognition. Cars are divided to 4 main categories:
Small - Kancils, Kelisas, Myvis, Savvys etc. Able to park in gaps between bad teeth and beneath door cracks. Seating capacity: 7
Medium - Wiras, Wajas, Sagas etc. Along with small cars, they constitute 90% of Malaysian traffic. Or at least that's what it feels like lah. Seating capacity: 6
Large - Hondas, Toyotas, BMWs etc. Including vans. Always gets the right of way over small and medium cars, unless of course if it's a Polis Diraja Malaysia Waja. Seating capacity: 5
Super - Rambominis (I might've gotten the spelling wrong) and other sport race-y cars with unpronounceable names. Big on noise, big on accessories, big on speed. Low on opportunities, unfortunately. You can sense the desperation when they go at turbo blast just to beat you to...the next traffic light. Seating capacity: 1
Taxi: Mercenaries for hire. Though they come under the medium car category, their privilege to right of way is equal to Large cars. Nobody knows why.
Another quirk of the taxi, if you've been in one before, is the strange *BzztbzztPuchongJayakeTamanConnaughtPuchongJayakeTamanConnaught
bzztbzztBukitJalilkeSunwayCondoBukitJalilkeSunwayCondobzztbzzt* female voice you hear. Legend has it that though all taxi drivers know this lady and abide by her, none have ever seen her face.
Polis Diraja Malaysia Waja: The distinctive navy blue and white never fail to right all the wrongs of the chaotic Malaysian traffic. As though by magic, when a Polis Waja passes other vehicles start going ridiculously slow. Signal lights flash uncontrollably, horns (of both kinds) turn into smiles and queue-cutters sucked to the back of the line. Bersih cekap amanah.
Ambulance: If any vehicle can claim to have a following, it's this guy. Another testament to the caring nature of Malaysians; where else in the world would you get dozens of well-wishers trailing a sick stranger all the way to the hospital? And you thought Moses parting the Red Sea was a miracle.
Lorry: A dreaded sight. Why? Because when you get stuck behind a lorry, that's the only sight you'll see. And it doesn't help that most lorries are either dangerous (carrying logs, crates) or morbid as heck (hanging dead pigs, live chickens stuffed into clothes drawers).
Trailer: A lorry on steroids. No dead pigs, at least.
Bus: Utterly agonising to follow behind. 10 times more agonising to wait for. They emit black clouds of toxic gas. They always cause traffic jams and accidents. And when you go on their lanes, you get fined heavily. Could there be any more evil vehicle in history?!
SPECIAL SKILLS - SOME LEGAL, SOME NOT QUITE, AND SOME JUST PLAIN RUDE.
The Horn: Oooold school. Your clearest means of audio communication with the outside world. Used properly, the horn can convey a variety of messages:
One short horn:
"Eh stupid, watch where you're going lah."
"Eh stupid, green light already ah."
One medium-length horn:
"OI STUPID! Driving with your backside izzit?!"
"OI STUPID! Green light already ah, and I'm in a hurry."
One long horn:
"OOI!! STUPID!!! WANT TO DIE IZZIT??! NAHHH!!!" (switch to visual communication)
"OOI!! STUPID!!! Eventhough your engine died at a green light and it's none of your fault, I still feel like driving over your incompetent feet."
Two short horns:
"Hey, I'm here at your house...come out now."
Two medium-length horns:
"I'm too cheap to call you. Come out NOW!"
Two long horns:
"I'm an idiot."
Quick succession of short horns:
"I'm speeding, and I don't have the required skill to switch lanes. So get out of my way!"
Quick succession of medium-length horns:
"My idiot kid is playing with the horn."
Quick succession of long horns:
"I'm getting married. Just so you would know."
The Flash: Pretty much similar to the horn, but it's way cooler. Unlike the loud and provocative horn which you can brush away as the work of an idiot, the flash inflicts subtle trauma onto the mind of the flashee. It slowly eats away at your conscience for days, as you wonder in anguish what made you deserve The Flash. Eventually, you decay into a hollow shell of disexistence and everlasting misery.
Also great for making hesitant drivers take turnings.
The Rev: Vroom, vroom. Amazing how a couple of unnecessary accelerator presses can speak into the hearts of two men of honour. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, their burning eyes make an eternal vow to fight till the other is vanquished. Unless the poor guy really was revving because water got into his engine.
The Signal: Obsolete since 1996. Pretty useful for scoring in your driving exam, though.
The Double Signal: The second most powerful force in Malaysian traffic. With these two blinking lights alone, you can:
a) Indicate a left turn
b) Indicate a right turn
c) Indicate a still-undecided turn
d) Move at half speed
e) Stop in the middle of the road
f) Avoid summonses ("bang, kereta rosak lah")
g) Double your headlight power
h) Make it easier for your friends' cars to trail you
i) In extreme cases, park your car (refer to e)
j) Indicate emergencies (the proper usage lah)
And, finally...
THE MOST POWERFUL FORCE IN MALAYSIAN TRAFFIC (YES, EVEN MORE POWERFUL THAN THE DOUBLE SIGNAL)
The Passenger: As soon as he gets in a waiting car, the Double Signal is...destroyed. And the car is free to go. Unbelievable.
When enough of these dots come together at the same time, they begin to move slowly, and eventually stop. Then all try to move at the same time, but strangely none manage to. Some extraordinary dots go to paths they shouldn't go, and encounter white dots that stop them.
However, the most exciting part of this adorable dance is when two (or more) dots make contact with each other. Both dots freeze in place and produce a chemical reaction that slows down surrounding dots. Apparently, the scent is also highly attractive to white dots.
So, you think you know Malaysian traffic? Maybe you do. But knowing it and playing it are as different as a Malaysian signboard that leads to Pusat Bandaraya and another Malaysian signboard that leads to Pusat Bandaraya. Er...that is, they're both different. You get what I mean.
Forget those Undang classes you took - if you haven't forgotten them already - and sit back for the REAL hows and whys of Malaysian traffic!
WEAPO...UH, TRANSPORT OF CHOICE:
Motorcycle: The noblest, most selfless warriors you'll ever see on the roads. Modern day equivalents of Japanese kamikaze pilots, every motorcyclist kisses his family goodbye before a journey and doesn't expect to return.
Also apparently immune to traffic lights and most other laws of the road.
Car: Most common vehicle. Can be found roaming plentifully along the highways and byways; too plentifully some would say. Unlike most other vehicles, however, cars can be modified beyond recognition. Cars are divided to 4 main categories:
Small - Kancils, Kelisas, Myvis, Savvys etc. Able to park in gaps between bad teeth and beneath door cracks. Seating capacity: 7
Medium - Wiras, Wajas, Sagas etc. Along with small cars, they constitute 90% of Malaysian traffic. Or at least that's what it feels like lah. Seating capacity: 6
Large - Hondas, Toyotas, BMWs etc. Including vans. Always gets the right of way over small and medium cars, unless of course if it's a Polis Diraja Malaysia Waja. Seating capacity: 5
Super - Rambominis (I might've gotten the spelling wrong) and other sport race-y cars with unpronounceable names. Big on noise, big on accessories, big on speed. Low on opportunities, unfortunately. You can sense the desperation when they go at turbo blast just to beat you to...the next traffic light. Seating capacity: 1
Taxi: Mercenaries for hire. Though they come under the medium car category, their privilege to right of way is equal to Large cars. Nobody knows why.
Another quirk of the taxi, if you've been in one before, is the strange *BzztbzztPuchongJayakeTamanConnaughtPuchongJayakeTamanConnaught
bzztbzztBukitJalilkeSunwayCondoBukitJalilkeSunwayCondobzztbzzt* female voice you hear. Legend has it that though all taxi drivers know this lady and abide by her, none have ever seen her face.
Polis Diraja Malaysia Waja: The distinctive navy blue and white never fail to right all the wrongs of the chaotic Malaysian traffic. As though by magic, when a Polis Waja passes other vehicles start going ridiculously slow. Signal lights flash uncontrollably, horns (of both kinds) turn into smiles and queue-cutters sucked to the back of the line. Bersih cekap amanah.
Ambulance: If any vehicle can claim to have a following, it's this guy. Another testament to the caring nature of Malaysians; where else in the world would you get dozens of well-wishers trailing a sick stranger all the way to the hospital? And you thought Moses parting the Red Sea was a miracle.
Lorry: A dreaded sight. Why? Because when you get stuck behind a lorry, that's the only sight you'll see. And it doesn't help that most lorries are either dangerous (carrying logs, crates) or morbid as heck (hanging dead pigs, live chickens stuffed into clothes drawers).
Trailer: A lorry on steroids. No dead pigs, at least.
Bus: Utterly agonising to follow behind. 10 times more agonising to wait for. They emit black clouds of toxic gas. They always cause traffic jams and accidents. And when you go on their lanes, you get fined heavily. Could there be any more evil vehicle in history?!
SPECIAL SKILLS - SOME LEGAL, SOME NOT QUITE, AND SOME JUST PLAIN RUDE.
The Horn: Oooold school. Your clearest means of audio communication with the outside world. Used properly, the horn can convey a variety of messages:
One short horn:
"Eh stupid, watch where you're going lah."
"Eh stupid, green light already ah."
One medium-length horn:
"OI STUPID! Driving with your backside izzit?!"
"OI STUPID! Green light already ah, and I'm in a hurry."
One long horn:
"OOI!! STUPID!!! WANT TO DIE IZZIT??! NAHHH!!!" (switch to visual communication)
"OOI!! STUPID!!! Eventhough your engine died at a green light and it's none of your fault, I still feel like driving over your incompetent feet."
Two short horns:
"Hey, I'm here at your house...come out now."
Two medium-length horns:
"I'm too cheap to call you. Come out NOW!"
Two long horns:
"I'm an idiot."
Quick succession of short horns:
"I'm speeding, and I don't have the required skill to switch lanes. So get out of my way!"
Quick succession of medium-length horns:
"My idiot kid is playing with the horn."
Quick succession of long horns:
"I'm getting married. Just so you would know."
The Flash: Pretty much similar to the horn, but it's way cooler. Unlike the loud and provocative horn which you can brush away as the work of an idiot, the flash inflicts subtle trauma onto the mind of the flashee. It slowly eats away at your conscience for days, as you wonder in anguish what made you deserve The Flash. Eventually, you decay into a hollow shell of disexistence and everlasting misery.
Also great for making hesitant drivers take turnings.
The Rev: Vroom, vroom. Amazing how a couple of unnecessary accelerator presses can speak into the hearts of two men of honour. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, their burning eyes make an eternal vow to fight till the other is vanquished. Unless the poor guy really was revving because water got into his engine.
The Signal: Obsolete since 1996. Pretty useful for scoring in your driving exam, though.
The Double Signal: The second most powerful force in Malaysian traffic. With these two blinking lights alone, you can:
a) Indicate a left turn
b) Indicate a right turn
c) Indicate a still-undecided turn
d) Move at half speed
e) Stop in the middle of the road
f) Avoid summonses ("bang, kereta rosak lah")
g) Double your headlight power
h) Make it easier for your friends' cars to trail you
i) In extreme cases, park your car (refer to e)
j) Indicate emergencies (the proper usage lah)
And, finally...
THE MOST POWERFUL FORCE IN MALAYSIAN TRAFFIC (YES, EVEN MORE POWERFUL THAN THE DOUBLE SIGNAL)
The Passenger: As soon as he gets in a waiting car, the Double Signal is...destroyed. And the car is free to go. Unbelievable.
Monday, August 28, 2006
It's In Your Hands...Not!
And the countdown has begun! With Merdeka up on Thursday and compulsary leave on Friday, the following three days of work are nothing more than obstacles to bypass. Ah, yes...indeed life is all about having something to look forward to.
But... before that! A cracker of a blog post you ab-sho-lutely MUST READ. It's not from me, but it is someone I know. Simply one of the most hilariously dead-on ad reviews I've ever come across. Ta-da.
Be warned, though: you're gonna need some degree of understanding of conversational Bahasa (the Gila-Gila sort) to read. Paham?
But... before that! A cracker of a blog post you ab-sho-lutely MUST READ. It's not from me, but it is someone I know. Simply one of the most hilariously dead-on ad reviews I've ever come across. Ta-da.
Be warned, though: you're gonna need some degree of understanding of conversational Bahasa (the Gila-Gila sort) to read. Paham?
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Writer's Block (yep, a good ol'-fashioned one)
"You mean...a Writer's Block, as in, a Writer's Block?"
Yep.
"No soppy poems?"
Nope.
"No ridiculously far-fetched direct sales yarns?"
Nah. Not for now.
"No Starlight Cinema escapades?"
Hmm...just a little, just a little. But still it's a good ol'-fashioned Writer's Block!
The sort which, a quick run-through the archives tell me, we haven't had in three months!
WHEE~!
Kicking things off...in a twist worthy of a Twisted Tale, I found myself at Starlight Cinema again last night, watching X-Men 3, courtesy of free passes from Noel (Apparently that guy has heaps of them lying around). And I wasn't late this time!
Would love to do another event rundown for ya, but why bother? Not when Zhi Yong has already written this possibly-hilarious bit.
Next! Should have posted this last Friday when I first found out, but...
MY AD'S IN PRINT! IN MASS-PRODUCED, COMMERCIALLY AVAILABLE PRINT!
Details, you ask? It's a freelance job from 95 Percent which I didn't get paid for...worked with Bala on it. Client's MPH and Perdana Leadership Foundation, they want to get the public to submit funny stories for A Collection Of Malaysian Anecdotes.
Well...there should be a JPEG of the ad here for you to click on, but being the self-praising jerk I am, I'm gonna have to ask you fork out RM8 for this month's issue of the MPH newsletter-cum-magazine "Quill". And kindly turn to page 39. Muahahahaha.
(And in another twist worthy of a Special Edition Twisted Tale, Beatrice actually forwarded the ad to me on Saturday, asking if I was interested to submit stories! =p)
Final item for the day: I haven't been updating the story for a full month. And coincidentially - or not - reader response has increased quite a fair bit. Okay, quite a lot. OKAY, there now is reader response.
Which proves my lingering suspicion that there are people who drop by every now and then...they just get "tuned out" by the episodic stories.
I find it tedious myself, having to sustain interest in the same story for months and months. And if I can't even enjoy it myself...
Fact is, it's becoming increasingly harder to both blog and tell episodic stories. Blogging involves jotting down random thoughts, poems, one-off stories etc that come to mind from nowhere. Episodic stories need to regularly be "immersed in". Otherwise the feeling is simply gone.
I've always known that Twisted Tales won't be able to retain the same formula forever. Heck, there shouldn't even be a formula. After close to 2 years, perhaps a revamp is due. Tonight, my pillows shall be stacked up high, my eyes on every inch of the ceiling, and my mind restless...
Zat'zall, folks!
Yep.
"No soppy poems?"
Nope.
"No ridiculously far-fetched direct sales yarns?"
Nah. Not for now.
"No Starlight Cinema escapades?"
Hmm...just a little, just a little. But still it's a good ol'-fashioned Writer's Block!
The sort which, a quick run-through the archives tell me, we haven't had in three months!
WHEE~!
Kicking things off...in a twist worthy of a Twisted Tale, I found myself at Starlight Cinema again last night, watching X-Men 3, courtesy of free passes from Noel (Apparently that guy has heaps of them lying around). And I wasn't late this time!
Would love to do another event rundown for ya, but why bother? Not when Zhi Yong has already written this possibly-hilarious bit.
Next! Should have posted this last Friday when I first found out, but...
MY AD'S IN PRINT! IN MASS-PRODUCED, COMMERCIALLY AVAILABLE PRINT!
Details, you ask? It's a freelance job from 95 Percent which I didn't get paid for...worked with Bala on it. Client's MPH and Perdana Leadership Foundation, they want to get the public to submit funny stories for A Collection Of Malaysian Anecdotes.
Well...there should be a JPEG of the ad here for you to click on, but being the self-praising jerk I am, I'm gonna have to ask you fork out RM8 for this month's issue of the MPH newsletter-cum-magazine "Quill". And kindly turn to page 39. Muahahahaha.
(And in another twist worthy of a Special Edition Twisted Tale, Beatrice actually forwarded the ad to me on Saturday, asking if I was interested to submit stories! =p)
Final item for the day: I haven't been updating the story for a full month. And coincidentially - or not - reader response has increased quite a fair bit. Okay, quite a lot. OKAY, there now is reader response.
Which proves my lingering suspicion that there are people who drop by every now and then...they just get "tuned out" by the episodic stories.
I find it tedious myself, having to sustain interest in the same story for months and months. And if I can't even enjoy it myself...
Fact is, it's becoming increasingly harder to both blog and tell episodic stories. Blogging involves jotting down random thoughts, poems, one-off stories etc that come to mind from nowhere. Episodic stories need to regularly be "immersed in". Otherwise the feeling is simply gone.
I've always known that Twisted Tales won't be able to retain the same formula forever. Heck, there shouldn't even be a formula. After close to 2 years, perhaps a revamp is due. Tonight, my pillows shall be stacked up high, my eyes on every inch of the ceiling, and my mind restless...
Zat'zall, folks!
Thursday, August 10, 2006
V For Vorst Movie Ever
Or rather, vorst movie experience ever.
Here's my story: Since my sister brought home the schedule last month, I had been waiting to catch Starlight Cinema. You know, that big outdoor cinema thing they have once a year.
So we scanned the schedule, and decided the best movie to catch would be V For Vendetta, screening 8pm, 9th of July. It also happened to be a movie I was dying to watch, as I missed it when it was first shown in the cinemas.
The plan was set. On the day itself - yesterday - my sister was to come to Mid Valley after work, and then we would go together. Only problem - she wanted to take the commuter train, while I thought we should drive.
"It's going to be jammed at this hour." she said.
Oh-kay. So that's how we wound up in a commuter train. It was 7.30 pm then, I think. OK-lah, not too late mah.
Of course, just as I was thanking God for having remembered the tickets, and imagining the dreadful consequences if I hadn't...we found out. That we were in the wrong train.
Scramble, scramble, panic, panic. Never mind lah, miss the first 10 minutes only. We got down at the Salak South station at 7.45pm. Come on now, train to Sentul!
"Harap maaf sekalian, keretapi ke Sentul jam 7.15 telah dibatalkan. Segala kesulitan amat dikesali."
ARGH! CONSPIRACY! Though I wasn't too sure how, or if, the 7.15 train mattered. Either way, we sat and waited. It finally arrived at 8.05 pm.
End of story? I wish!
Apparently we had to change trains at KL Sentral. More waiting.
You know those giant digital clocks they have at the KTM stations? The ones which you're forced to stare at while you wait. They make life seem so cheap. The numbers keep changing excitedly, but nothing else does. You mentally countdown to the next minute. Then it comes. Countdown to the next. It comes. It passes. Before you know it, you grow numb to the concept of time. The time could go backwards, and you wouldn't notice.
8.30 pm. And I could have sworn I was still having an Oreo McFlurry at Mid Valley 10 minutes ago. Man, if I ever get a 20 year prison sentence, I'm surely taking one of those clocks with me.
And the place. Is so dark. And depressing. A perfect place. For an evil bug mutant to kidnap a hapless soul. Like in the movie Mimic.
Eventually, I don't know when, the train came. Off to Sentul, Sentul...
Sentul at last. 9 pm. But horrors! The "short walk to the grounds" promised by the website turned out to be un-walk-able (too far). Good thing we managed to grab hold of a taxi craftily parked just outside the commuter station.
"Haha, you want to walk in here, have to walk till tomorrow lah boss." The Punjabi driver tilted his head jovially at me. Yeah, thanks for reminding.
But...who cares?! Cos at last we reached...STARLIGHT CINEMA!! It probably was almost 9.30 pm.
The ticket guy was so nice, he didn't have the heart to collect our tickets. "The movie's ending, man...it's okay, keep those tickets for another time."
So we smiled, thanked him, and happily kept our tickets marked "STARLIGHT CINEMA - ADMITS ONE. 8 pm, 9th July 2006". Yay?
No complaints on the event itself, really. It was a big grass field with a giant screen where the movie plays. The viewers bring their own towels or mats to sit on, none of the Americanised sit-in-car affair I was half-expecting. Apparently a lovey-dovey couple who thought they'd gotten the most behind seats weren't too pleased when we plopped ourselves down behind them.
"Darling...you said no one would be able to see us!"
"How the heck would I know that people would be coming in 1 and a half hour late?!"
OK, OK, I should be focusing on the movie. Haha.
Watching only the last 40 minutes of a movie like V For Vendetta is like having ice cream for dinner. It's appetising and sweet, sure, but...tak rasa ler. Slash. Boom. Climax. Yeah.
End of movie, and we called the same taxi to pick us up (He kindly gave us his namecard, because you need to walk a long way out to get a taxi). Back to KL Sentral, where we had to endure another loooong wait for the last train of the night back to Mid Valley.
As I reached home well after 11 pm, I couldn't help feeling a little "Bah. That's it?". In the truest sense of the phrase, the night had passed by like a dream.
But like they say in the movies...it's the journey that matters, no?
Here's my story: Since my sister brought home the schedule last month, I had been waiting to catch Starlight Cinema. You know, that big outdoor cinema thing they have once a year.
So we scanned the schedule, and decided the best movie to catch would be V For Vendetta, screening 8pm, 9th of July. It also happened to be a movie I was dying to watch, as I missed it when it was first shown in the cinemas.
The plan was set. On the day itself - yesterday - my sister was to come to Mid Valley after work, and then we would go together. Only problem - she wanted to take the commuter train, while I thought we should drive.
"It's going to be jammed at this hour." she said.
Oh-kay. So that's how we wound up in a commuter train. It was 7.30 pm then, I think. OK-lah, not too late mah.
Of course, just as I was thanking God for having remembered the tickets, and imagining the dreadful consequences if I hadn't...we found out. That we were in the wrong train.
Scramble, scramble, panic, panic. Never mind lah, miss the first 10 minutes only. We got down at the Salak South station at 7.45pm. Come on now, train to Sentul!
"Harap maaf sekalian, keretapi ke Sentul jam 7.15 telah dibatalkan. Segala kesulitan amat dikesali."
ARGH! CONSPIRACY! Though I wasn't too sure how, or if, the 7.15 train mattered. Either way, we sat and waited. It finally arrived at 8.05 pm.
End of story? I wish!
Apparently we had to change trains at KL Sentral. More waiting.
You know those giant digital clocks they have at the KTM stations? The ones which you're forced to stare at while you wait. They make life seem so cheap. The numbers keep changing excitedly, but nothing else does. You mentally countdown to the next minute. Then it comes. Countdown to the next. It comes. It passes. Before you know it, you grow numb to the concept of time. The time could go backwards, and you wouldn't notice.
8.30 pm. And I could have sworn I was still having an Oreo McFlurry at Mid Valley 10 minutes ago. Man, if I ever get a 20 year prison sentence, I'm surely taking one of those clocks with me.
And the place. Is so dark. And depressing. A perfect place. For an evil bug mutant to kidnap a hapless soul. Like in the movie Mimic.
Eventually, I don't know when, the train came. Off to Sentul, Sentul...
Sentul at last. 9 pm. But horrors! The "short walk to the grounds" promised by the website turned out to be un-walk-able (too far). Good thing we managed to grab hold of a taxi craftily parked just outside the commuter station.
"Haha, you want to walk in here, have to walk till tomorrow lah boss." The Punjabi driver tilted his head jovially at me. Yeah, thanks for reminding.
But...who cares?! Cos at last we reached...STARLIGHT CINEMA!! It probably was almost 9.30 pm.
The ticket guy was so nice, he didn't have the heart to collect our tickets. "The movie's ending, man...it's okay, keep those tickets for another time."
So we smiled, thanked him, and happily kept our tickets marked "STARLIGHT CINEMA - ADMITS ONE. 8 pm, 9th July 2006". Yay?
No complaints on the event itself, really. It was a big grass field with a giant screen where the movie plays. The viewers bring their own towels or mats to sit on, none of the Americanised sit-in-car affair I was half-expecting. Apparently a lovey-dovey couple who thought they'd gotten the most behind seats weren't too pleased when we plopped ourselves down behind them.
"Darling...you said no one would be able to see us!"
"How the heck would I know that people would be coming in 1 and a half hour late?!"
OK, OK, I should be focusing on the movie. Haha.
Watching only the last 40 minutes of a movie like V For Vendetta is like having ice cream for dinner. It's appetising and sweet, sure, but...tak rasa ler. Slash. Boom. Climax. Yeah.
End of movie, and we called the same taxi to pick us up (He kindly gave us his namecard, because you need to walk a long way out to get a taxi). Back to KL Sentral, where we had to endure another loooong wait for the last train of the night back to Mid Valley.
As I reached home well after 11 pm, I couldn't help feeling a little "Bah. That's it?". In the truest sense of the phrase, the night had passed by like a dream.
But like they say in the movies...it's the journey that matters, no?
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Press Releases Should Be Written This Way
Wahahahahhahaha. Pardon me, but I really can't help myself.
It was another slooooow Wednesday (which I believe is strongly underrated as the worst day of the week) in office, and I was supposed to be writing a press release. The product? Some about-to-be-launched cooking spray. Yippee.
The brief? "Highlight its convenience and versatility". Double yippee.
So I started tapping, tapping away on the keyboard...
And what started off as an uninspired headline and first few lines turned into THIS. Directly copied and pasted, enjoy! =D
Sunlico Cooking Spray Is The Best Sh*t That Ever Existed
Sunlico cooking oil recently launched cooking spray. This spray is targeted for busy people with no time. (As opposed to busy people WITH time?)
"Pouring oil the conventional way can be messy, especially if you're in a rush," says the Head Honcho of Sunlico as he reads from a prepared script. "But Sunlico TM Cooking Spray is much more convenient."
"The TM doesn't need to be read, sir." His assistant corrects him.
"Well, sor-ray. Anyway, like I was saying..."
"With Sunlico Cooking Spray, one quick spray is all it takes. The oil is spread evenly, ensuring your food is well-cooked to perfection."
The press applauds.
"Now that we've got that out of the way," he continues, naughty glint in the eye. "Let's talk about the REAL reason this spray exists."
"I-I would strongly advice against that, sir." His assistant stammers.
"Hush, you," he pushes her aside. "Now...consider yourselves fortunate. And check THESE out!"
Rip! Off comes his shirt to reveal a set of well-toned abs.
A collective hush sweeps through the room.
"Ever had trouble oiling yourself up...REAL...GOODDD...?" He strikes a pose. "Especially in those...you know, hard-to-reach spots?"
His assistant buries her head in her hands.
"Ooh yeah...light and easy...easy and light...Sun-li-co!" He prances around, whiffing a spray or two under his armpits. "WHO'S DA MAN NOW, HUH?"
A bewildered member of the press takes a snapshot, trembling. Then another. And another. Before they know it, the entire room is snapping away excitedly.
Wahahahahhahaha. I'm gonna be so dead if someone from office sees this.
It was another slooooow Wednesday (which I believe is strongly underrated as the worst day of the week) in office, and I was supposed to be writing a press release. The product? Some about-to-be-launched cooking spray. Yippee.
The brief? "Highlight its convenience and versatility". Double yippee.
So I started tapping, tapping away on the keyboard...
And what started off as an uninspired headline and first few lines turned into THIS. Directly copied and pasted, enjoy! =D
Sunlico Cooking Spray Is The Best Sh*t That Ever Existed
Sunlico cooking oil recently launched cooking spray. This spray is targeted for busy people with no time. (As opposed to busy people WITH time?)
"Pouring oil the conventional way can be messy, especially if you're in a rush," says the Head Honcho of Sunlico as he reads from a prepared script. "But Sunlico TM Cooking Spray is much more convenient."
"The TM doesn't need to be read, sir." His assistant corrects him.
"Well, sor-ray. Anyway, like I was saying..."
"With Sunlico Cooking Spray, one quick spray is all it takes. The oil is spread evenly, ensuring your food is well-cooked to perfection."
The press applauds.
"Now that we've got that out of the way," he continues, naughty glint in the eye. "Let's talk about the REAL reason this spray exists."
"I-I would strongly advice against that, sir." His assistant stammers.
"Hush, you," he pushes her aside. "Now...consider yourselves fortunate. And check THESE out!"
Rip! Off comes his shirt to reveal a set of well-toned abs.
A collective hush sweeps through the room.
"Ever had trouble oiling yourself up...REAL...GOODDD...?" He strikes a pose. "Especially in those...you know, hard-to-reach spots?"
His assistant buries her head in her hands.
"Ooh yeah...light and easy...easy and light...Sun-li-co!" He prances around, whiffing a spray or two under his armpits. "WHO'S DA MAN NOW, HUH?"
A bewildered member of the press takes a snapshot, trembling. Then another. And another. Before they know it, the entire room is snapping away excitedly.
Wahahahahhahaha. I'm gonna be so dead if someone from office sees this.
Writer's Block Presents...So You Think You Know Direct Sales? (Part 2)
Confession time: I broke up this feature to two parts because:
1) It wound up much longer than I expected.
2) I had been spending almost two weeks writing it with whatever little time I could squeeze in between breaks in office. And a three-week absence can be pretty damaging to my prospects of Blog Of The Year.
So anyway, here's the thrilling conclusion to So You Think You Know Direct Sales?:
Scene 4: The Meeting
(You see him and take a seat)
X: Hey! How are you?
You: I'm fine, I'm fine.
Didn't you ask me that yesterday, dum-dum?
X: Heh, good to hear that. I'm fine myself.
(Some exchange of pleasantries and ordering of drinks later)
X: So...what're you doing now? Working, or studying?
Here it comes! He's gonna try convert me now!
You: I'm still studying...
X: Ah, I see...
Begonebegonebegonebegonebegone.
X: Hey man, why so tense? Just wanted to meet you up for some friendly conversation, that's all.
You: Huh? For real?
X: Yeah! What were you thinking?
You: Oh, well...it's really really dumb...but I had this teeny weeny shadow of a thought that you might be...
X: Trying to get you to join direct sales?
You: Errr...yeah.
X: Hahaha, what a thought! Why, you're afraid of direct sales?
You: Kinda.
X: Oh, puh-leez!
(Mamak dude brings drinks to table)
X: You know, that day I was having lunch with a colleague. We were talking about work, when all of a sudden he started talking to me about direct sales!
You: Seriously! How did he start?
X: Haha, it was real funny! He started asking me, "Have you given any thought to your future?"
You: Hah! And what did you say?
X: Nothing! I just continued eating!
(He laughs. You try to laugh.)
X: Oh, man...I can still remember the look on his face...it was so funny.
You: I bet it was.
Okay. Only one quarter of the glass left, and I'm ready to leave. Maybe I will get out unscathed after all.
X: But, seriously...have you given any thought to your future?
You: Erm...what do you mean?
X: Like, what are you going to do after you graduate?
You: ...Work?
X: And then? Continue working till you're 55?
You: I don't know...never gave much thought to stuff like these.
X: If you're not going to think about it now, then when?
(You take a sip from your glass)
X: But fear not, it's still not too late! There still is hope for your future...your future...your future...
That voice...it's making me...sleepy...
X: You must do it for your future...your future...your future...
Must...not...listen...
X: Millions have joined...and you're next...you're next...you're next...
You: I am next...I am next...I am next...
I am next...I am next...I am next...
X: Now sign it...sign it...sign it...
You: Yes...my Lord...yes...my Lord...yes...my Lord...
(Suddenly!)
Blond spiky-haired skinny guy who slouches funnily when he walks:
LengchaiDVDVCDngammou?
X: Har? Meh si?
(You snap out of your daze)
You: W-what's going on here? What's this pen and form doing in my hands?
Blond spiky-haired skinny guy who slouches funnily when he walks: Wah! Dilect sell ah! Dilect sell ah!
X: NYARGHHHH! Curses! You've ruined...everything!
You: So you ARE a direct sales member! And to think I almost fell into your trap!
(He grabs his hidden briefcase and flees)
X: Today belongs to you...but tomorrow shall always be MINE!!! NYAH HAHAHAHAHA!
(Mysteriously vanishes)
You: Phew. I'll bet I haven't seen the last of him yet.
Blond spiky-haired skinny guy who slouches funnily when he walks: Yaloh, yaloh.
You: Hey, thanks for helping me out there. What's your name?
Blond spiky-haired skinny guy who slouches funnily when he walks: Pipper call me Varentino.
You: Varentino. Cool.
Varentino: Hee hee hee.
You: Wanna have a drink? In return for, you know, what you did.
Varentino: OK.
(You both sit down and order drinks)
Varentino: Ei...so VCD you ngam or not?
1) It wound up much longer than I expected.
2) I had been spending almost two weeks writing it with whatever little time I could squeeze in between breaks in office. And a three-week absence can be pretty damaging to my prospects of Blog Of The Year.
So anyway, here's the thrilling conclusion to So You Think You Know Direct Sales?:
Scene 4: The Meeting
(You see him and take a seat)
X: Hey! How are you?
You: I'm fine, I'm fine.
Didn't you ask me that yesterday, dum-dum?
X: Heh, good to hear that. I'm fine myself.
(Some exchange of pleasantries and ordering of drinks later)
X: So...what're you doing now? Working, or studying?
Here it comes! He's gonna try convert me now!
You: I'm still studying...
X: Ah, I see...
Begonebegonebegonebegonebegone.
X: Hey man, why so tense? Just wanted to meet you up for some friendly conversation, that's all.
You: Huh? For real?
X: Yeah! What were you thinking?
You: Oh, well...it's really really dumb...but I had this teeny weeny shadow of a thought that you might be...
X: Trying to get you to join direct sales?
You: Errr...yeah.
X: Hahaha, what a thought! Why, you're afraid of direct sales?
You: Kinda.
X: Oh, puh-leez!
(Mamak dude brings drinks to table)
X: You know, that day I was having lunch with a colleague. We were talking about work, when all of a sudden he started talking to me about direct sales!
You: Seriously! How did he start?
X: Haha, it was real funny! He started asking me, "Have you given any thought to your future?"
You: Hah! And what did you say?
X: Nothing! I just continued eating!
(He laughs. You try to laugh.)
X: Oh, man...I can still remember the look on his face...it was so funny.
You: I bet it was.
Okay. Only one quarter of the glass left, and I'm ready to leave. Maybe I will get out unscathed after all.
X: But, seriously...have you given any thought to your future?
You: Erm...what do you mean?
X: Like, what are you going to do after you graduate?
You: ...Work?
X: And then? Continue working till you're 55?
You: I don't know...never gave much thought to stuff like these.
X: If you're not going to think about it now, then when?
(You take a sip from your glass)
X: But fear not, it's still not too late! There still is hope for your future...your future...your future...
That voice...it's making me...sleepy...
X: You must do it for your future...your future...your future...
Must...not...listen...
X: Millions have joined...and you're next...you're next...you're next...
You: I am next...I am next...I am next...
I am next...I am next...I am next...
X: Now sign it...sign it...sign it...
You: Yes...my Lord...yes...my Lord...yes...my Lord...
(Suddenly!)
Blond spiky-haired skinny guy who slouches funnily when he walks:
LengchaiDVDVCDngammou?
X: Har? Meh si?
(You snap out of your daze)
You: W-what's going on here? What's this pen and form doing in my hands?
Blond spiky-haired skinny guy who slouches funnily when he walks: Wah! Dilect sell ah! Dilect sell ah!
X: NYARGHHHH! Curses! You've ruined...everything!
You: So you ARE a direct sales member! And to think I almost fell into your trap!
(He grabs his hidden briefcase and flees)
X: Today belongs to you...but tomorrow shall always be MINE!!! NYAH HAHAHAHAHA!
(Mysteriously vanishes)
You: Phew. I'll bet I haven't seen the last of him yet.
Blond spiky-haired skinny guy who slouches funnily when he walks: Yaloh, yaloh.
You: Hey, thanks for helping me out there. What's your name?
Blond spiky-haired skinny guy who slouches funnily when he walks: Pipper call me Varentino.
You: Varentino. Cool.
Varentino: Hee hee hee.
You: Wanna have a drink? In return for, you know, what you did.
Varentino: OK.
(You both sit down and order drinks)
Varentino: Ei...so VCD you ngam or not?
Friday, August 04, 2006
Writer's Block Presents...So You Think You Know Direct Sales? (Part 1)
Direct sales. The mere mention conjures images A through Z. Some have visions of grandeur and everlasting prosperity, while the rest of us less ambitious mortals scurry away to the nearest grandmother's birthday. Never in the history of mankind has the long-lost friend been treated with such fear and suspicion.
So you think you know all there is to know about direct sales? That's what all those suckas nodding their heads while stifling yawns at the mamak thought too.
Picking up from January's hit So You Think You Know MSN? (which, by the way, you can access by clicking here), today's is a must-read for the gullible eager beavers. Read it through and arm yourself well...you never know if the guy beside is waiting to sell you a jar of miracle cream!
Scene 1: The Call
(Phone rings)
You: Err...hello?
What you're really thinking: What the heck is he doing calling me?!
X: Hi! Long time no see! How are you?
You: Fine...
Can we end the call now?
X: I'm fine too!
You: Yeah...
Who asked you?!
X: Hey, we should meet up some time to catch up!
You: Uh...sure.
Maybe sometime in the 24th century.
X: How about next Thursday? Say, 8.30pm?
You: Hmm...don't think so. I'm kinda busy next week.
Actually, I'm kinda busy this entire century.
X: How about tomorrow night, then?
You: Erm...I'll see how it goes. I'll call you.
And my phone will conveniently run out of credit tomorrow.
X: Okay! I'll be waiting for your call!
You: Sure. Bye.
X: Buh-bye!
The Rundown: First things first. Learn how to spot a direct sales suspect from miles away. They usually consist of friends you're not too close to, or not too fond of.
A dead giveaway is the over-professional tone of voice and supposed enthusiasm. And! They'll always have very precise times for meeting up. (Seriously, who sets exact times for meeting up before the day itself?)
The Remedy: If you're the no-nonsense type, tell him off rightaway and say that you're not interested in meeting up. Hearts will be broken. Unless if you're made of softer stuff...just postpone the meeting indefinitely. Of course, "indefinitely" usually doesn't last long...
Scene 2: The Following Night
(Phone rings while you're at a movie)
You: H...hello?
AGHHHH!
X: Hello! Are you there?
You: Yah...
No moron, this is a voice mail.
X: So, are you free tonight?
You: Erm...not really...
X: Whatcha doing now?
You: Watching a movie.
Though I really wish I was bashing your thick skull wide open.
X: Ohh...so that means you're not free, right?
You: I guess so.
Nah, actually I can watch a movie while doing the marcarena and driving with one hand knitting socks to put over my feet which are pedicuring one another.
X: I'll call you again later, then.
You: OK. Bye.
Would it be evil for me to wish death upon you before my movie ends?
X: Buh-bye!
The Rundown:
The 2nd call usually comes at a least expected and appropriate time. Often, it is an invitation for you to reject him rudely. Bear in mind, though, that this would leave you at a disadvantage if he calls again. Who could bear rejecting the same person 3 times? So be wise...which each rejection, HIS POWER GROWS STRONGER YET. Rrrrite.
The Remedy:
Make it sound as though he caught you at a really bad time. Hushed whispers and short sentences are a good idea. If you're afraid that he'll call back at a bad time again, offer to call him instead. Of course, this requires a fair bit of phone credit - which most of us can't afford to spare on people like them.
Scene 3: After The Movie
(You call him back)
X: Hello!
You: Yeah, so what's up?
X: Oh, you mean when I called you just now?
You: Yeah.
That was so stupid I didn't need to insult you.
X: It's no big deal. Just wanted to ask if you're free for mamak later.
Talk about no big deal.
You: Mmmm...okay.
Let's just get it over and done with.
X: Great! The place near my house then.
You: Ok. Sure.
Great. Enemy territory.
X: Bye! I'll be waiting for you.
You: Erm...you wanna invite anyone else?
X: Nah, it's okay. Just us both.
Bleargh. Couldn't you have said that in a less gay way?
You: Okay, I'll see you then. Bye.
X: Buh-bye!
Lord, be my shepherd.
The Rundown: Best described as the "now or never" stage. Or maybe "now or bugged forever". It's getting harder and harder for him to take no for an answer. So spare the dance and meet up - the sooner, the better. 'Cause if you drag it longer, he's gonna go seeking advice and all. And then no force humanity has ever known shall be able to stop him.
The Remedy: Spare that little bit of phone credit and arrange the meeting on your terms. Steer clear of quiet, lonely places with no television to distract you. You're gonna need all the help you can get to come out of this unharmed.
Coming Up Next...Part 2: The Meeting! Is he, or is he not?!
So you think you know all there is to know about direct sales? That's what all those suckas nodding their heads while stifling yawns at the mamak thought too.
Picking up from January's hit So You Think You Know MSN? (which, by the way, you can access by clicking here), today's is a must-read for the gullible eager beavers. Read it through and arm yourself well...you never know if the guy beside is waiting to sell you a jar of miracle cream!
Scene 1: The Call
(Phone rings)
You: Err...hello?
What you're really thinking: What the heck is he doing calling me?!
X: Hi! Long time no see! How are you?
You: Fine...
Can we end the call now?
X: I'm fine too!
You: Yeah...
Who asked you?!
X: Hey, we should meet up some time to catch up!
You: Uh...sure.
Maybe sometime in the 24th century.
X: How about next Thursday? Say, 8.30pm?
You: Hmm...don't think so. I'm kinda busy next week.
Actually, I'm kinda busy this entire century.
X: How about tomorrow night, then?
You: Erm...I'll see how it goes. I'll call you.
And my phone will conveniently run out of credit tomorrow.
X: Okay! I'll be waiting for your call!
You: Sure. Bye.
X: Buh-bye!
The Rundown: First things first. Learn how to spot a direct sales suspect from miles away. They usually consist of friends you're not too close to, or not too fond of.
A dead giveaway is the over-professional tone of voice and supposed enthusiasm. And! They'll always have very precise times for meeting up. (Seriously, who sets exact times for meeting up before the day itself?)
The Remedy: If you're the no-nonsense type, tell him off rightaway and say that you're not interested in meeting up. Hearts will be broken. Unless if you're made of softer stuff...just postpone the meeting indefinitely. Of course, "indefinitely" usually doesn't last long...
Scene 2: The Following Night
(Phone rings while you're at a movie)
You: H...hello?
AGHHHH!
X: Hello! Are you there?
You: Yah...
No moron, this is a voice mail.
X: So, are you free tonight?
You: Erm...not really...
X: Whatcha doing now?
You: Watching a movie.
Though I really wish I was bashing your thick skull wide open.
X: Ohh...so that means you're not free, right?
You: I guess so.
Nah, actually I can watch a movie while doing the marcarena and driving with one hand knitting socks to put over my feet which are pedicuring one another.
X: I'll call you again later, then.
You: OK. Bye.
Would it be evil for me to wish death upon you before my movie ends?
X: Buh-bye!
The Rundown:
The 2nd call usually comes at a least expected and appropriate time. Often, it is an invitation for you to reject him rudely. Bear in mind, though, that this would leave you at a disadvantage if he calls again. Who could bear rejecting the same person 3 times? So be wise...which each rejection, HIS POWER GROWS STRONGER YET. Rrrrite.
The Remedy:
Make it sound as though he caught you at a really bad time. Hushed whispers and short sentences are a good idea. If you're afraid that he'll call back at a bad time again, offer to call him instead. Of course, this requires a fair bit of phone credit - which most of us can't afford to spare on people like them.
Scene 3: After The Movie
(You call him back)
X: Hello!
You: Yeah, so what's up?
X: Oh, you mean when I called you just now?
You: Yeah.
That was so stupid I didn't need to insult you.
X: It's no big deal. Just wanted to ask if you're free for mamak later.
Talk about no big deal.
You: Mmmm...okay.
Let's just get it over and done with.
X: Great! The place near my house then.
You: Ok. Sure.
Great. Enemy territory.
X: Bye! I'll be waiting for you.
You: Erm...you wanna invite anyone else?
X: Nah, it's okay. Just us both.
Bleargh. Couldn't you have said that in a less gay way?
You: Okay, I'll see you then. Bye.
X: Buh-bye!
Lord, be my shepherd.
The Rundown: Best described as the "now or never" stage. Or maybe "now or bugged forever". It's getting harder and harder for him to take no for an answer. So spare the dance and meet up - the sooner, the better. 'Cause if you drag it longer, he's gonna go seeking advice and all. And then no force humanity has ever known shall be able to stop him.
The Remedy: Spare that little bit of phone credit and arrange the meeting on your terms. Steer clear of quiet, lonely places with no television to distract you. You're gonna need all the help you can get to come out of this unharmed.
Coming Up Next...Part 2: The Meeting! Is he, or is he not?!
Monday, July 17, 2006
Chapter 23: "AutoArchive"
I feel a huge, huge burden lifted off my shoulders. On Friday night, I was dead tired with a half-cooked TU Treasure Hunt to prepare for Saturday, an MPH "Malaysian Anecdotes" freelance from 95 Percent (and trust me, it really is a FREElance), and a design job for my sister's company which had been going on for months, with unfavourable response on their side. To make things worse, I left in the office a magazine I'd bought for scanning images, meaning I couldn't work on my sister's job over the weekend.
But praise the Lord! The treasure hunt came off pretty well, much better than it would've if the rain hadn't made us cancel it in April. See, I told you He knew what He was doing.
The MPH project turned out to be a big worry over nothing after all, as it was a one-off thing that did indeed add a great piece to my portfolio. And leaving the magazine in office made sure I didn't waste time TRYING to do two things at the same time, as I'm always apt to. Gonna be working hard on it tonight, instead!
So once again, praise the Lord!
But praise the Lord! The treasure hunt came off pretty well, much better than it would've if the rain hadn't made us cancel it in April. See, I told you He knew what He was doing.
The MPH project turned out to be a big worry over nothing after all, as it was a one-off thing that did indeed add a great piece to my portfolio. And leaving the magazine in office made sure I didn't waste time TRYING to do two things at the same time, as I'm always apt to. Gonna be working hard on it tonight, instead!
So once again, praise the Lord!
Archiver crept up to us like a cat ready to pounce, his arms shimmering blue. "You must understand. There is only one permissible outcome."
"Watch out for his hands. Delete is our only way out." U Cut himself again.
"Huh? What? Hey!" I hated it when he spoke in riddles! I didn't even know what this Archive spell would do.
"You cannot fool me twice," Archiver hissed. "The moment you Paste yourself, I shall finish you off."
"As for you, Garrick," he turned his bloodshot eyes at me. "Be removed from Blogspot...FOREVER!"
I watched in amazement as his two hands split themselves into dozens other hands. They encircled my head, reaching for me and backing away repeatedly.
"Be on your toes. One of the hands will reach for you, Delete it as quickly as you can." U's voice whispered to me. He was beside me after all!
"What happens if he Archives me?"
"You get removed to the past, or something like that. It's bad, period."
Suddenly one of the hands came for my left. I caught it quick enough and shot a Delete ray at it. The other hands flew back into Archiver, who was clutching his right hand in pain.
"Not fast enough," U reappeared. "You were too busy expecting me to strike, weren't you?"
"Indeed I was," he winced. "I now know that I need to do the extraordinary, if I shall defeat you."
Archiver clasped his hands so tightly that he made them bleed on purpose. The blood glowed blue and covered his entire body.
"All the unspeakable powers I have ever beheld," he stepped forward, hands still clasped. "Lie in these two hands."
"What's that?" I nudged U.
"Beats me. But if you ask me, I'd guess it's a more dangerous version of Archive."
"Indeed," Archiver rasped. "Today, you shall fall prey to AutoArchive."
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Chapter 22: "Archive"
Heh, more topsy-turvy days at work. Found myself with enough time to comb through the entire Starcraft trilogy on Wikipedia, but - due to a still inexplicable last-minute complication - had to stay back till 12.30am last night to rework a campaign.
Anyway, have you guys played the absolutely hilarious Zidane headbutt game? Go check it out, it's my little contribution to brighten your day! Oh, and this as well...
Ah. The crown prince of the Rebellion. It has been a while.
U spat. "Another of your dirty tricks, Ivan? Tricking Garrick to Climax City where you can finish him off easily on your own terms."
"You speak too much," Archiver picked himself up, bloodshot eyes burning into U. "Let me shut you up for good."
Speak for yourself, old man. I am not done speaking to my former Antagonist yet.
"How pitiful," U declared boldly. "The ruler of Blogspot refuses to fight his Chosen One fairly. The Writer we defeated was wicked to the bone, but at least he had an ounce of pride."
The shadows burned slightly brighter, then dimmed again. Archiver. Ki...I mean, destroy them both. And find me the girl.
"Two at once? How you flatter me, my Lord." he grinned. "It shall be done."
Hm. We shall see.
The stifling darkness lifted itself from the hall, presumably to show He had departed.
"You, and you," Archiver pointed at us one by one, as if counting heads. "Against poor old me. I pray that I shall survive this battle."
"Careful," I whispered to U. "I fought him for a while just now. He had some power that prevented me from attacking him."
"Archive."
"Huh?"
"He Archived himself. Shifted his physical self into the past. Then quickly unArchived to attack you. I've heard of it before."
We froze momentarily. "That's it. He's Saving the scene."
"Apparently you know all my tricks." Archiver said. "But still you shall perish!"
U leapt forward and swung his sword at him. Archiver caught it easily in one hand, and raised the other. As he was about to bring it down to U's head, U Cut himself.
Seeing Archiver caught by surprise, I sensed a chance. I went for him, Shifting slightly, and aimed my staff at his head.
At the precise moment he turned to block, U reappeared at his feet. A split second of confusion later, Archiver fell to our attacks.
"Way to go!" U picked up his sword and slapped me on the back.
"Wait. He's going to Load the scene."
Right away, I couldn't move. But half a second later everything went back to normal. Only that this time, nothing changed. We still stood where we were.
"He won't dare. Not after what happened the other time. If he lets us go again, someone won't be too pleased."
"Clever. Very clever." Archiver stroked the blood on his lips. "I do believe I have never been in a battle which I cannot Load."
"It is time for the old dog to show you a new trick." he forced a blue glow from his hands, spreading to the arms.
"He Archived himself again?"
"Not that simple." U swallowed. "He's trying to Archive us as well."
Anyway, have you guys played the absolutely hilarious Zidane headbutt game? Go check it out, it's my little contribution to brighten your day! Oh, and this as well...
Ah. The crown prince of the Rebellion. It has been a while.
U spat. "Another of your dirty tricks, Ivan? Tricking Garrick to Climax City where you can finish him off easily on your own terms."
"You speak too much," Archiver picked himself up, bloodshot eyes burning into U. "Let me shut you up for good."
Speak for yourself, old man. I am not done speaking to my former Antagonist yet.
"How pitiful," U declared boldly. "The ruler of Blogspot refuses to fight his Chosen One fairly. The Writer we defeated was wicked to the bone, but at least he had an ounce of pride."
The shadows burned slightly brighter, then dimmed again. Archiver. Ki...I mean, destroy them both. And find me the girl.
"Two at once? How you flatter me, my Lord." he grinned. "It shall be done."
Hm. We shall see.
The stifling darkness lifted itself from the hall, presumably to show He had departed.
"You, and you," Archiver pointed at us one by one, as if counting heads. "Against poor old me. I pray that I shall survive this battle."
"Careful," I whispered to U. "I fought him for a while just now. He had some power that prevented me from attacking him."
"Archive."
"Huh?"
"He Archived himself. Shifted his physical self into the past. Then quickly unArchived to attack you. I've heard of it before."
We froze momentarily. "That's it. He's Saving the scene."
"Apparently you know all my tricks." Archiver said. "But still you shall perish!"
U leapt forward and swung his sword at him. Archiver caught it easily in one hand, and raised the other. As he was about to bring it down to U's head, U Cut himself.
Seeing Archiver caught by surprise, I sensed a chance. I went for him, Shifting slightly, and aimed my staff at his head.
At the precise moment he turned to block, U reappeared at his feet. A split second of confusion later, Archiver fell to our attacks.
"Way to go!" U picked up his sword and slapped me on the back.
"Wait. He's going to Load the scene."
Right away, I couldn't move. But half a second later everything went back to normal. Only that this time, nothing changed. We still stood where we were.
"He won't dare. Not after what happened the other time. If he lets us go again, someone won't be too pleased."
"Clever. Very clever." Archiver stroked the blood on his lips. "I do believe I have never been in a battle which I cannot Load."
"It is time for the old dog to show you a new trick." he forced a blue glow from his hands, spreading to the arms.
"He Archived himself again?"
"Not that simple." U swallowed. "He's trying to Archive us as well."
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Chapter 21: "Kill"
Had a rather difficult week in office. I can't thank God enough for Friday, but...sigh, I hate the thought that Monday is just two days away. Will it ever end?!
As is becoming more frequent lately, I took another looong trip down memory lane last night. It lasted till 4am this time. And I don't think I've ever felt older when I woke up the next morning-slash-afternoon.
Nostalgia. What a big word.
Darn. Now Archiver was going to fight me instead.
"It has been nice knowing you, child," he said. "But the day dictates that you exist no more."
He exhaled noisily. "Your move first."
I peered to the sides and back of the hall. The shadows, growing in number each passing minute, hid any escape routes from my sight.
I had to fight him.
"Well then," The staff U gave me appeared in my hands. "Here I come!"
I charged at him. He watched calmly, not flinching a muscle. Just before I reached him with my staff...
"Shift!"
Yes! He would've never expected that. I soared higher this time, almost twenty feet. I checked again. Still he stood there.
"YAHHH!" I shot for his head like a rocket.
And he never moved at all.
The staff swung at the back of his head. And went through it.
"Heh." he smirked. "Fool."
Before I had time to react, his fist swiped my cheek. I tumbled to the ground, metallic taste of blood on my lips.
"Another of your tricks, huh?" I spat.
"A trick, you say? How rude of you."
He strode over to me. "And now." His left arm raised and emitted a blue glow. "Your story shall end."
No, Archiver. His voice floated over our heads. I said KILL him.
"K...kill him?"
Yes. Destroy him. Annihilate him. Not "write him out of the story" like some feeble predecessors would do.
"But, my Lord, he remains a part of Blogspot history. The futures need to hear of his story."
What history? The only history that exists, as far as I am concerned, is that of my coming to power. And the only future is that of my staying in power. Now kill him, I said.
Archiver looked at me and trembled. "I...I cannot. It goes against my nature."
Pow! His unseen hand smacked Archiver to the ground. Sigh. Must I do everything myself?
Give me a body, old man.
"Y-Yes, my Lord."
Archiver clasped his hands together and held them out at the voice. The dark shadows swirled from the corners, pressing collectively into a ball. A faint reddish ray started streaking through the center of the ball.
Ah. Sure feels good to be one of you lesser beings again.
Suddenly Archiver cried out and fell. The ball fizzed for a moment before disappearing with a soft pop.
WHAT?
A distinct form shaped next to Archiver. Lifting his sword, he stared at me with mock anxiety. "You're not dead yet, are you?"
"U?"
As is becoming more frequent lately, I took another looong trip down memory lane last night. It lasted till 4am this time. And I don't think I've ever felt older when I woke up the next morning-slash-afternoon.
Nostalgia. What a big word.
Darn. Now Archiver was going to fight me instead.
"It has been nice knowing you, child," he said. "But the day dictates that you exist no more."
He exhaled noisily. "Your move first."
I peered to the sides and back of the hall. The shadows, growing in number each passing minute, hid any escape routes from my sight.
I had to fight him.
"Well then," The staff U gave me appeared in my hands. "Here I come!"
I charged at him. He watched calmly, not flinching a muscle. Just before I reached him with my staff...
"Shift!"
Yes! He would've never expected that. I soared higher this time, almost twenty feet. I checked again. Still he stood there.
"YAHHH!" I shot for his head like a rocket.
And he never moved at all.
The staff swung at the back of his head. And went through it.
"Heh." he smirked. "Fool."
Before I had time to react, his fist swiped my cheek. I tumbled to the ground, metallic taste of blood on my lips.
"Another of your tricks, huh?" I spat.
"A trick, you say? How rude of you."
He strode over to me. "And now." His left arm raised and emitted a blue glow. "Your story shall end."
No, Archiver. His voice floated over our heads. I said KILL him.
"K...kill him?"
Yes. Destroy him. Annihilate him. Not "write him out of the story" like some feeble predecessors would do.
"But, my Lord, he remains a part of Blogspot history. The futures need to hear of his story."
What history? The only history that exists, as far as I am concerned, is that of my coming to power. And the only future is that of my staying in power. Now kill him, I said.
Archiver looked at me and trembled. "I...I cannot. It goes against my nature."
Pow! His unseen hand smacked Archiver to the ground. Sigh. Must I do everything myself?
Give me a body, old man.
"Y-Yes, my Lord."
Archiver clasped his hands together and held them out at the voice. The dark shadows swirled from the corners, pressing collectively into a ball. A faint reddish ray started streaking through the center of the ball.
Ah. Sure feels good to be one of you lesser beings again.
Suddenly Archiver cried out and fell. The ball fizzed for a moment before disappearing with a soft pop.
WHAT?
A distinct form shaped next to Archiver. Lifting his sword, he stared at me with mock anxiety. "You're not dead yet, are you?"
"U?"
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Chapter 20: "No"
Hey people...thanks for all the comments of late! No matter how much I tell myself that blogging is for personal fulfillment, getting feedback from readers IS the satisfaction equivalent of a chilly Oreo McFlurry. Mmmmm...
And, no...A Poem For My Blog was never an indication that I would quit blogging (or "slogging", which is what all the cool people say) for the "real world". It was more an I-miss-you thing, plus a guilt trip down memory lane.
Was at 95 Percent last night to watch the next batch of graduates go through their presentations. And...ouch. I mean, like seriously...ouch. Let's just say the judges had their Tongues of Nastiness on steroids. So much so that by the end of the night, the best we could hope for was a comment that didn't make you shift uncomfortably, wondering if it was okay to say that. Not that I blame them actually, some of the work was even skimpier than, than...ah, you pick your analogy.
But that aside, the cool thing was getting to meet Rae again! First time since the March graduation, I think. Heh...there's simply something about that dude that makes me want to be the best advertising person who ever lived. His passion...it's like, contagious! And that's, like...cool!
"Then tell me," I said. "Where are U and Linnie?"
He chuckled softly. They are not around.
"What?"
We are the only ones here, fool.
I glared fiercely at Archiver. "You gave me your word."
He stared back blankly. "I-I was told that they were here."
Now, now, do not blame him, my dear Garrick. It was all my doing.
Arhiver looked down, somewhat ashamed.
"So what are you going to do with me now, huh?" I balled up my fists, ready to fight.
Heh. You do realise that I could smite you to dust without sweat.
"You never know. You could be underestimating me."
You speak with confidence. And indeed, your confidence is warranted. After all, it truly takes someone special to master the power of Delete, more so in the spontaneous heat of battle. You are no less a prodigy in the one true form of offence than I was.
I am? I thought in amazement.
I watched your battle with Phocadis, you know. And it reminds me of the first time I fought as well. Was it against you, Archiver?
"No, my Lord," Archiver replied grimly. "It was against U."
Hah! Now I remember. You were next after him. And I kicked both your teeth down your throats.
Archiver smiled meekly.
Sigh...Blogspot was so much more exciting then. Nothing ever happens around here these days.
He sighed again, much more delibarately.
Now, Garrick! If you will not join me, then I request one final favour from you. Take me to where - what is her name - Linnie is.
I shook my head. "No."
Come on, now. Do not be such a selfish prod. Just hand her to me, and you are free to oppose me all you want.
"No deal."
Then, His voice flared in rage, you are of no more use to me.
Archiver! Make sure he does not leave this place alive.
"Gladly." Archiver flashed a lopsided grin, and flexed his fingers.
And, no...A Poem For My Blog was never an indication that I would quit blogging (or "slogging", which is what all the cool people say) for the "real world". It was more an I-miss-you thing, plus a guilt trip down memory lane.
Was at 95 Percent last night to watch the next batch of graduates go through their presentations. And...ouch. I mean, like seriously...ouch. Let's just say the judges had their Tongues of Nastiness on steroids. So much so that by the end of the night, the best we could hope for was a comment that didn't make you shift uncomfortably, wondering if it was okay to say that. Not that I blame them actually, some of the work was even skimpier than, than...ah, you pick your analogy.
But that aside, the cool thing was getting to meet Rae again! First time since the March graduation, I think. Heh...there's simply something about that dude that makes me want to be the best advertising person who ever lived. His passion...it's like, contagious! And that's, like...cool!
"Then tell me," I said. "Where are U and Linnie?"
He chuckled softly. They are not around.
"What?"
We are the only ones here, fool.
I glared fiercely at Archiver. "You gave me your word."
He stared back blankly. "I-I was told that they were here."
Now, now, do not blame him, my dear Garrick. It was all my doing.
Arhiver looked down, somewhat ashamed.
"So what are you going to do with me now, huh?" I balled up my fists, ready to fight.
Heh. You do realise that I could smite you to dust without sweat.
"You never know. You could be underestimating me."
You speak with confidence. And indeed, your confidence is warranted. After all, it truly takes someone special to master the power of Delete, more so in the spontaneous heat of battle. You are no less a prodigy in the one true form of offence than I was.
I am? I thought in amazement.
I watched your battle with Phocadis, you know. And it reminds me of the first time I fought as well. Was it against you, Archiver?
"No, my Lord," Archiver replied grimly. "It was against U."
Hah! Now I remember. You were next after him. And I kicked both your teeth down your throats.
Archiver smiled meekly.
Sigh...Blogspot was so much more exciting then. Nothing ever happens around here these days.
He sighed again, much more delibarately.
Now, Garrick! If you will not join me, then I request one final favour from you. Take me to where - what is her name - Linnie is.
I shook my head. "No."
Come on, now. Do not be such a selfish prod. Just hand her to me, and you are free to oppose me all you want.
"No deal."
Then, His voice flared in rage, you are of no more use to me.
Archiver! Make sure he does not leave this place alive.
"Gladly." Archiver flashed a lopsided grin, and flexed his fingers.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Writer's Block: A Poem For My Blog
Dear friend, hello
How much do I miss you
Catching the falling stars
Watching passing cars
It seems like yesterday
Here we were by the flowers of May
The butterflies danced with the bees
As we lay talking 'neath our lilac tree
Of cendol stories and paper frogs
To secret rooms and evil blogs
The laughing girl and her mirror
Then we interviewed one another
Our friends always dropped by
Remember? The thrilling "hey"s and "hi"s
You had so much to say, we had so much to hear
Simple words that brought a smile, a tear
Borrowing time, chasing stupidity
The perfect couple riding the LRT
Callers seeking MSN advice round the clock
Even when you had writer's block
I never forgot the desperate ghosts
Do you see the girl with her friend so close?
Oh look, the Sunday of fools in love
And the waves crashing to His lap above
It feels like you've always been here
Every thought, every sight, you are near
But things change - yes they do - too quickly
We no longer dance barefoot by the sea
I'm grown up now, I think
A stolen wink is a wink
What else can I tell you?
Nothing is still new
Too many days have passed through our shore
But a thousand years would matter no more
I do miss you terribly, friend
But...is this all a pretend?
How much do I miss you
Catching the falling stars
Watching passing cars
It seems like yesterday
Here we were by the flowers of May
The butterflies danced with the bees
As we lay talking 'neath our lilac tree
Of cendol stories and paper frogs
To secret rooms and evil blogs
The laughing girl and her mirror
Then we interviewed one another
Our friends always dropped by
Remember? The thrilling "hey"s and "hi"s
You had so much to say, we had so much to hear
Simple words that brought a smile, a tear
Borrowing time, chasing stupidity
The perfect couple riding the LRT
Callers seeking MSN advice round the clock
Even when you had writer's block
I never forgot the desperate ghosts
Do you see the girl with her friend so close?
Oh look, the Sunday of fools in love
And the waves crashing to His lap above
It feels like you've always been here
Every thought, every sight, you are near
But things change - yes they do - too quickly
We no longer dance barefoot by the sea
I'm grown up now, I think
A stolen wink is a wink
What else can I tell you?
Nothing is still new
Too many days have passed through our shore
But a thousand years would matter no more
I do miss you terribly, friend
But...is this all a pretend?
Monday, June 12, 2006
Chapter 19: "Considered"
Garrick, you and I need to make blogging great once more. Strike down all pretenders and change our world, the way only blogging can. And it starts with the birth of the Masterblog. What do you think?
"What do I think? I think you're delusional."
Ah. Explain.
"No one ever said blogging was supposed to take over the world. It is, above all, a symbol of self-expression. And if you're going to change that by allowing only a selected few write, I'll be the first to stop you."
Self-expression? Bah, that you leave for diaries. Blogs are supposed to benefit the reader more than the writer. Why else would they have readers in the first place?
"If you think people read blogs for 'benefit', then you're wrong again. Blogs are simply the face of the writer, with the volume turned up. If you like what you read, you stay on. And if you don't, you move on. You think too much."
And what do you pitiful bloggers have to show for years of personal gratification? Nothing, nothing, NOTHING! The world is still as rotten as ever since Blogspot was born. And all because no one had the guts to take the power out of the hands of those trash writers and put them in ours. Call me a dreamer, but blogging does not have to be in the pit it is now. I can take us to the highest heights Blogspot - no, the world itself - has ever seen, beyond anything the past Hes could dare imagine!
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Archiver shifting uncomfortably.
"Then you're even more insane than I thought. Good luck, and goodbye." I got up to walk away.
But you see, Garrick, you are destined to play some part in this, an unseen force made me get back on my hurting knees. As the Chosen One, you either join my cause or go against it. I was thinking we make it easier this time and work as a team. No unnecessary bloodshed. You decide.
"Your tricks won't work against me."
Consider it war, then.
"Considered."
"What do I think? I think you're delusional."
Ah. Explain.
"No one ever said blogging was supposed to take over the world. It is, above all, a symbol of self-expression. And if you're going to change that by allowing only a selected few write, I'll be the first to stop you."
Self-expression? Bah, that you leave for diaries. Blogs are supposed to benefit the reader more than the writer. Why else would they have readers in the first place?
"If you think people read blogs for 'benefit', then you're wrong again. Blogs are simply the face of the writer, with the volume turned up. If you like what you read, you stay on. And if you don't, you move on. You think too much."
And what do you pitiful bloggers have to show for years of personal gratification? Nothing, nothing, NOTHING! The world is still as rotten as ever since Blogspot was born. And all because no one had the guts to take the power out of the hands of those trash writers and put them in ours. Call me a dreamer, but blogging does not have to be in the pit it is now. I can take us to the highest heights Blogspot - no, the world itself - has ever seen, beyond anything the past Hes could dare imagine!
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Archiver shifting uncomfortably.
"Then you're even more insane than I thought. Good luck, and goodbye." I got up to walk away.
But you see, Garrick, you are destined to play some part in this, an unseen force made me get back on my hurting knees. As the Chosen One, you either join my cause or go against it. I was thinking we make it easier this time and work as a team. No unnecessary bloodshed. You decide.
"Your tricks won't work against me."
Consider it war, then.
"Considered."
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Chapter 18: "Meeting"
The sun was rapidly vanishing as we walked down the streets of Climax City. Squares hovered by the sides of the streets, stacking atop one another to form bigger squares, before disintegrating back into tiny squares that reminded me of pixels.
Long red shadows draped over us. Archiver plodded slowly, methodically, an awestruck grin permanent on his face. "Amazing," A flutter of squares flew above our heads. "So many, many years and the stories remain as breathtaking."
We went up a gentle slope leading to a vast brick hall. At the far end sat a towering silhouette, partly concealed by the shadows.
Was it Him?
"Indeed it is," Archiver said in a hushed whisper. "Now, bow." He made me get to my knees.
The silhoutte got up. Garrick. I heard him speak in my head, the way a passing thought would.
Do you know why you are here?
I tried to look up, but an unseen force kept my head lowered.
"Where are my friends?"
They are not your purpose for being here. A means, but not the purpose.
"Show them to me. Now."
You play by my rules now. Your friends will have to wait. I need to speak to you now.
I tried to catch a glimpse of him, but it was getting too dark.
You are here because I allowed you to. From the moment you clicked on that site of blogspot.blogspot.com to this meeting here, all has been planned by me.
I saw in you the same zeal I have for righting all the wrongs in blogging. The same disdain at how something once highly regarded could have been so utterly bastardised time and time again.
"You mean those so-called mediocre blogs?"
Mediocre? More like degrading.
When blogging first began, the world stood still in wonderment. Here was something so personal and life-changing, and accessible to all. The common man on the street could share his thoughts and stories to the world.
Everyone said that blogs would someday rule the world. They would shape the civilisation of the 21st century and slowly phase out all other methods of communication.
But just as the common man made blogging so unique, so too did he destroy it. We watched in horror as blogs became synonymous with mainstream stupidity and irrelevancy. The insightful reads gave way to giggly schoolgirls and ranting lunatics no one understood. And the more such disgraceful writers populated the web, the good writers either stopped blogging or shied away.
Before we knew it, blogging's moment in the sun had passed. It had been nothing more than a fad, a boy band, a way you wore your cap.
Long red shadows draped over us. Archiver plodded slowly, methodically, an awestruck grin permanent on his face. "Amazing," A flutter of squares flew above our heads. "So many, many years and the stories remain as breathtaking."
We went up a gentle slope leading to a vast brick hall. At the far end sat a towering silhouette, partly concealed by the shadows.
Was it Him?
"Indeed it is," Archiver said in a hushed whisper. "Now, bow." He made me get to my knees.
The silhoutte got up. Garrick. I heard him speak in my head, the way a passing thought would.
Do you know why you are here?
I tried to look up, but an unseen force kept my head lowered.
"Where are my friends?"
They are not your purpose for being here. A means, but not the purpose.
"Show them to me. Now."
You play by my rules now. Your friends will have to wait. I need to speak to you now.
I tried to catch a glimpse of him, but it was getting too dark.
You are here because I allowed you to. From the moment you clicked on that site of blogspot.blogspot.com to this meeting here, all has been planned by me.
I saw in you the same zeal I have for righting all the wrongs in blogging. The same disdain at how something once highly regarded could have been so utterly bastardised time and time again.
"You mean those so-called mediocre blogs?"
Mediocre? More like degrading.
When blogging first began, the world stood still in wonderment. Here was something so personal and life-changing, and accessible to all. The common man on the street could share his thoughts and stories to the world.
Everyone said that blogs would someday rule the world. They would shape the civilisation of the 21st century and slowly phase out all other methods of communication.
But just as the common man made blogging so unique, so too did he destroy it. We watched in horror as blogs became synonymous with mainstream stupidity and irrelevancy. The insightful reads gave way to giggly schoolgirls and ranting lunatics no one understood. And the more such disgraceful writers populated the web, the good writers either stopped blogging or shied away.
Before we knew it, blogging's moment in the sun had passed. It had been nothing more than a fad, a boy band, a way you wore your cap.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Chapter 17: "Enter"
Was at MPH after work yesterday, and I'm still shopping for a good book to splurge my salary on! Here lies the eternal dilemma: those blasted paperbacks all cost almost the same, be they thick or thin. When I want to buy a thin one, it doesn't seem worth the price...but when I want to buy a thick one, I know I'll end up not reading it. Arghh!
But anyway, I started on The Alchemist there, which seems pretty excellent so far. Looking forward to continue if lunchtime and after-work schedules allow. Methinks I'll end up finishing the book entirely in MPH. Which leaves me still searching for a book to buy. =p
The sun lay lower now. We had been walking for three hours straight, pausing only for an occassional five-minute breather. Strangely though, my throat didn't feel the least bit dry.
Every once a while, Archiver would talk about the supposedly fabled past of Blogspot - the great masters he had served, the wonders he had seen them do, and the like. Curiously enough, I observed, he would never talk about himself. Everything he said revolved only around Blogspot and the Hims.
"Archiver," I asked him once as we sat to watch more abandoned Blogs. "Where did you come from? How did you end up here in Blogspot?"
He lifted his eyes to the seamless sky and pondered. "That is a long story, I suppose."
A long silence ensued.
"Come, come," at last he got up. "Keep moving. We have taken long enough already."
Shrugging to myself, I got to my feet and trudged faithfully behind.
Finally, as the sky was about to throw on a coat of orange, we arrived at a sullen iron gate. There was nothing at all noteworthy about this, except for the two piercing words emblazoned across it: CLIMAX CITY.
"Attttt last," Archiver took in the air like it smelled of cherries. "I am back home."
Homely was have been the last word I would choose to describe the place. The sun's rays seemed to shy away from the winding brick paths beyond the gate. Following it, my eyes spied upon a cacophony of buildings with a solitary tower standing tall.
"Ah. Here He comes."
Out of nowhere, a red flash shot out of the ground. It streaked across the gate, leaving a trail as it went. The trail formed words which read:
You have taken long enough.
"Forgive me, my Lord." Archiver bowed his head. "I still am recovering from the battle and cannot travel fast enough."
The words appeared again. Pathetic.
This is the Garrick? The flash circled my head.
"Indeed he is."
What about Phocadis?
"Defeated by him."
Good.
The iron gates creaked noisily, making me half-expect them to burst out of their hinges, before being opened by unseen hands. A rush of unusually cold air greeted me.
Enter. Your friends are inside.
But anyway, I started on The Alchemist there, which seems pretty excellent so far. Looking forward to continue if lunchtime and after-work schedules allow. Methinks I'll end up finishing the book entirely in MPH. Which leaves me still searching for a book to buy. =p
The sun lay lower now. We had been walking for three hours straight, pausing only for an occassional five-minute breather. Strangely though, my throat didn't feel the least bit dry.
Every once a while, Archiver would talk about the supposedly fabled past of Blogspot - the great masters he had served, the wonders he had seen them do, and the like. Curiously enough, I observed, he would never talk about himself. Everything he said revolved only around Blogspot and the Hims.
"Archiver," I asked him once as we sat to watch more abandoned Blogs. "Where did you come from? How did you end up here in Blogspot?"
He lifted his eyes to the seamless sky and pondered. "That is a long story, I suppose."
A long silence ensued.
"Come, come," at last he got up. "Keep moving. We have taken long enough already."
Shrugging to myself, I got to my feet and trudged faithfully behind.
Finally, as the sky was about to throw on a coat of orange, we arrived at a sullen iron gate. There was nothing at all noteworthy about this, except for the two piercing words emblazoned across it: CLIMAX CITY.
"Attttt last," Archiver took in the air like it smelled of cherries. "I am back home."
Homely was have been the last word I would choose to describe the place. The sun's rays seemed to shy away from the winding brick paths beyond the gate. Following it, my eyes spied upon a cacophony of buildings with a solitary tower standing tall.
"Ah. Here He comes."
Out of nowhere, a red flash shot out of the ground. It streaked across the gate, leaving a trail as it went. The trail formed words which read:
You have taken long enough.
"Forgive me, my Lord." Archiver bowed his head. "I still am recovering from the battle and cannot travel fast enough."
The words appeared again. Pathetic.
This is the Garrick? The flash circled my head.
"Indeed he is."
What about Phocadis?
"Defeated by him."
Good.
The iron gates creaked noisily, making me half-expect them to burst out of their hinges, before being opened by unseen hands. A rush of unusually cold air greeted me.
Enter. Your friends are inside.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Chapter 16: "Abandoned"
Been posting far too little of late. And I don't find myself dreaming about stories all the time anymore, like I once did. Maybe it's work. Maybe it's growing up. Wonder what this means for my Twisted Tales I've lovingly nurtured for almost two years now.
"Ah," Archiver scooped up the soil in his hands. "Drier. We are almost there."
We had been walking for almost a full hour in the steadily rising sun. Strangely, he had not spoken even once to me apart from pointing out directions.
"This way." he gestured around a brick column.
Next to the opposing columns, I noticed some shadowy figures drifting in and out. They took on all forms and sizes; some towering over me, some nothing more than paper-thin wisps. I even went through one or two and didn't notice till they reemerged behind me, seemingly displeased.
Inexplicably, an air of gloom hung over the place. Not a single smile was to be seen.
"They all are abandoned Blogs," Archiver explained. "Blogs started enthusiastically by their owners, only to then be discarded in favour of more...exciting pursuits." he made an inverted comma with his fingers. "Now here they lie, forgotten beings not knowing what to do with their lives."
"How sad."
"Sad indeed," he turned up his nose at a filthy dwarf-like creature. "Which is why His Masterblog must come into place."
I surveyed the scene once more. "But how will that help? People would still abandon their blogs anyway."
"If you want to ensure that these pitiful beings never need to suffer such fates," Another ragged creature limped past us. "We must ensure that they never were born in the first place."
"But you would also kill the good blogs. The ones with truly passionate owners."
"A minority they are, I assure you," he scoffed. "If we continue with our old ways, Blogspot shall shrivel like a rose without water. He would never let that happen. I would never let that happen."
"And I would never let your plans be carried out as well."
"Oh, really. Why, if you do not mind me asking?"
"I simply don't feel comfortable having some wacko and his sidekick telling me which blogs are good enough and which aren't."
"Heh heh heh heh heh," he laughed his trademark way. "You take to sound advice as much as a rooster to water."
I kept quiet.
"Hurry along now. We must not keep Him waiting."
"Ah," Archiver scooped up the soil in his hands. "Drier. We are almost there."
We had been walking for almost a full hour in the steadily rising sun. Strangely, he had not spoken even once to me apart from pointing out directions.
"This way." he gestured around a brick column.
Next to the opposing columns, I noticed some shadowy figures drifting in and out. They took on all forms and sizes; some towering over me, some nothing more than paper-thin wisps. I even went through one or two and didn't notice till they reemerged behind me, seemingly displeased.
Inexplicably, an air of gloom hung over the place. Not a single smile was to be seen.
"They all are abandoned Blogs," Archiver explained. "Blogs started enthusiastically by their owners, only to then be discarded in favour of more...exciting pursuits." he made an inverted comma with his fingers. "Now here they lie, forgotten beings not knowing what to do with their lives."
"How sad."
"Sad indeed," he turned up his nose at a filthy dwarf-like creature. "Which is why His Masterblog must come into place."
I surveyed the scene once more. "But how will that help? People would still abandon their blogs anyway."
"If you want to ensure that these pitiful beings never need to suffer such fates," Another ragged creature limped past us. "We must ensure that they never were born in the first place."
"But you would also kill the good blogs. The ones with truly passionate owners."
"A minority they are, I assure you," he scoffed. "If we continue with our old ways, Blogspot shall shrivel like a rose without water. He would never let that happen. I would never let that happen."
"And I would never let your plans be carried out as well."
"Oh, really. Why, if you do not mind me asking?"
"I simply don't feel comfortable having some wacko and his sidekick telling me which blogs are good enough and which aren't."
"Heh heh heh heh heh," he laughed his trademark way. "You take to sound advice as much as a rooster to water."
I kept quiet.
"Hurry along now. We must not keep Him waiting."
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Chapter 15: "Going"
Had an accidental drinktea session till 2am last nite, after a discussion in Sunway. Yawn. Absolutely no regrets, though. =)
Climax City. Archiver had mentioned that name before, when he first brought me into Blogspot. What significance did it bear?
"Yes, Climax City," his squinty eyes grew round. "Do not be afraid, Garrick. It was meant to be your home."
My home?
"Hmph," Old Lady Melly snorted. "I thought that place burnt down ten years ago."Archiver turned to her with a cold glare. "Old Lady Melly. That is what they now call you, no?"
She stared back fiercely, not saying a word.
"What a far cry from the whimpering girl I once knew. You were an Antagonist yourself, if I recall."
"What is it with you Antagonists? We seem to be running into a lot of your kind these days."
"I hope you are not relating me to U," she snapped. "I have no desire to be part of any crazed rebellion."
"Really."
The two continued locking eyes for a full minute. What past animosity did they share, I wondered.
"Then I ask you again, Garrick," Archiver shifted his focus to me. "Will you follow me to Climax City?"
"What have you done to U and Linnie?"
"Nothing, I assure you. We have them all safely locked up, awaiting your rescue."
I narrowed my eyes at him. Somehow this all seemed like a trap.
"What's in store for me at Climax City?" I asked.
"Oh, you are fearful this is all a trap. Heh heh heh heh heh."
"He only wants to talk to you. I give you my word as the sole Archiver of this land. That is all that shall happen."
I looked back helplessly at Old Lady Melly. Her face stayed stoic as before.
There didn't seem to be any other choice for me. "Take me there."
"Very, very excellent," Archiver clasped his hands in glee. "And you, Old Lady Melly?"
"I would sooner die." She spat and left in a huff.
"My, my. How cruel time can be on one's manners." Archiver shook his head. "So, it is you and me then. Follow me."
I took one last glance at Old Lady Melly storming back to her hut, sighed, and readied myself for a most uncomfortable journey.
Climax City. Archiver had mentioned that name before, when he first brought me into Blogspot. What significance did it bear?
"Yes, Climax City," his squinty eyes grew round. "Do not be afraid, Garrick. It was meant to be your home."
My home?
"Hmph," Old Lady Melly snorted. "I thought that place burnt down ten years ago."Archiver turned to her with a cold glare. "Old Lady Melly. That is what they now call you, no?"
She stared back fiercely, not saying a word.
"What a far cry from the whimpering girl I once knew. You were an Antagonist yourself, if I recall."
"What is it with you Antagonists? We seem to be running into a lot of your kind these days."
"I hope you are not relating me to U," she snapped. "I have no desire to be part of any crazed rebellion."
"Really."
The two continued locking eyes for a full minute. What past animosity did they share, I wondered.
"Then I ask you again, Garrick," Archiver shifted his focus to me. "Will you follow me to Climax City?"
"What have you done to U and Linnie?"
"Nothing, I assure you. We have them all safely locked up, awaiting your rescue."
I narrowed my eyes at him. Somehow this all seemed like a trap.
"What's in store for me at Climax City?" I asked.
"Oh, you are fearful this is all a trap. Heh heh heh heh heh."
"He only wants to talk to you. I give you my word as the sole Archiver of this land. That is all that shall happen."
I looked back helplessly at Old Lady Melly. Her face stayed stoic as before.
There didn't seem to be any other choice for me. "Take me there."
"Very, very excellent," Archiver clasped his hands in glee. "And you, Old Lady Melly?"
"I would sooner die." She spat and left in a huff.
"My, my. How cruel time can be on one's manners." Archiver shook his head. "So, it is you and me then. Follow me."
I took one last glance at Old Lady Melly storming back to her hut, sighed, and readied myself for a most uncomfortable journey.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Writer's Block
Why, hey...it's seriously been a long time since I posted. A good ten days, actually.
But no prizes for guessing what I've been up to blogwise in the meantime!
See, see, how pretty my new blog skin is! I've been tinkering away bit by bit every day in the office...and you bet your foot that I'm proud with it! I even managed to twiddle the blah-blah-blah HTML scripts to include post titles. Yeah, I didn't notice at first that this skin was designed without titles. Not until it was too late and all set up, at least!
And then there's this little matter of the banner. Of course I'll change it to a more Twisted Tales-esque one, but I'm really, really too pressed for time to create a new one. Most probably it'll be a tweaked version of the old Bobo one. I'm still very much in love with it.
Speaking of which, I'm also clueless what to do with the old skin. It seems okay at the moment to retain it for the "Desserts, Anyone?" side, no? Not expecting it to last, though...all the world's a sucker for this idea of consistency.
Hmm...that's pretty much all I have to say for today, I guess. Lol, this seems to be more a long preamble than a properly qualified Writer's Block.
No worries though, your piping dish of a new-look Twisted Tales coming soon!
But no prizes for guessing what I've been up to blogwise in the meantime!
See, see, how pretty my new blog skin is! I've been tinkering away bit by bit every day in the office...and you bet your foot that I'm proud with it! I even managed to twiddle the blah-blah-blah HTML scripts to include post titles. Yeah, I didn't notice at first that this skin was designed without titles. Not until it was too late and all set up, at least!
And then there's this little matter of the banner. Of course I'll change it to a more Twisted Tales-esque one, but I'm really, really too pressed for time to create a new one. Most probably it'll be a tweaked version of the old Bobo one. I'm still very much in love with it.
Speaking of which, I'm also clueless what to do with the old skin. It seems okay at the moment to retain it for the "Desserts, Anyone?" side, no? Not expecting it to last, though...all the world's a sucker for this idea of consistency.
Hmm...that's pretty much all I have to say for today, I guess. Lol, this seems to be more a long preamble than a properly qualified Writer's Block.
No worries though, your piping dish of a new-look Twisted Tales coming soon!
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Writer's Block: Waves
Hellos again all around! Was at the Sunday School Teachers' Retreat at Bayu Beach Resort this past Saturday, Sunday, and Labour Day. And a very, very welcome getaway it was, because I think I would've gone bonkers if it had been another regular Monday blues routine.
Now, what would a retreat be if I didn't come away from it renewed and refreshed, with a soul-stirring piece to spare? This piece came to me when we were asked to take a quiet stroll along the beach with God. I wasn't overly keen on it at first, since the stroll was supposed to last almost an hour, and well, it seemed intimidating to have to "reflect" and "meditate" and "pray" for so long! More so when my brain seemed to have shut down since Day One of the retreat.
But amazingly, that proved to be the best part of it all. When one doesn't think too much or try too hard, God gets His time to speak. So what if I was just admiring the scenery or having a regular walk on the beach? God was very much beside me, and all I had to do was soak in His presence.
Well then...just as I was content not to learn anything from this - the way you don't set out to gain knowledge from a movie outing with friends - whoosh! Today's Writer's Block came out of nowhere. Was it God speaking to me? Or maybe just my creative juices working overtime?
Nyahhh...it doesn't matter. Seriously.
Enjoy!
"Come to me, child," He called. "Let your worries wash upon my shore."
Nah, it's okay. I'm starting to get the hang of it.
As to mock me, an inappropriately big wave drenched my cheeks. The salty water ran down my face the way egg would on a fool.
Here I was, sitting in the sea face back, playing a little game. I would entrench myself firmly into the sand and wait for the waves to come. The moment they did, and splash! I would try my best not to let the waves move me. It seemed a piece of cake at first, but quickly the waves resolved to beat me.
All the while, He watched from the shore with a smile, one that veered between amused and intrigued and sad. "Take my hand, child. Cast all your cares on me."
No worries! I'm even beginning to enjoy it.
True enough, the rocking feeling each time the waves pushed and rushed back was becoming quite a thrill. I pursed my lips and braced for the next wave. It was a big one!
Whoosh! I must've moved at least a foot.
Hey, hey, this is fun. Tiring, but fun.
Splosh! I made sure I didn't get swept away so far this time. Actually I cheated a little by moving towards the waves.
He sighed and watched on from the shore.
Splash!
Finally, all worn out from the rocking back and forth, I got up and stretched my half-cramped legs to the shore.
"Nice to have you here," He beamed.
My face flushed slightly. "My pleasure, really. Sorry to keep you waiting for so long."
"It's okay. What matters is that you're here."
We sat feet first to the ocean, basking in the cheerful sun. The frolicking waves reached for my feet, always just touching, sweeping the sand beneath my feet back with them. The little waves then crept back in line, making way for a big wave that was all out and ready to hit the shore. And when that big wave was done - and turning into a little one in the process - another one stepped to the front of the cascading blue queue, eager to see how it would fare.
On and on this mesmerising scene went, never once allowing my eyes to wander off. Where do the waves start queuing up? I wondered as I gazed into the borderless bright sea. Further than any sailboat my eyes could clamber and sail on, for sure.
"It doesn't matter, my child." His grey eyes twinkled. "They all are a big beautiful picture, you see."
A big beautiful picture.
When I was sitting in the sea fighting the waves, that was all they appeared to be - incessant, bothersome waves. Just like the many problems we face in life.
"You don't always need me to get through difficulties," He said to me. "Many people overcome the troubles in their lives by themselves, or help from others. You don't always need me."
"But then you would be missing out on this." He showed me the sea and the melody of its waves lapping ashore. "The big beautiful picture."
"You still would get wet at times - whoops!" We jumped out of the way, albeit a little too late, as a bigger-than-usual wave came. "But now you see the beauty of each wave, the care I took to craft each one so that it would someday embrace you."
I gazed in awe at the orange sun dipping slowly into the unending ocean, hardly bothering a single note of the song of the waves. Never had I felt smaller, yet more significant.
Now, what would a retreat be if I didn't come away from it renewed and refreshed, with a soul-stirring piece to spare? This piece came to me when we were asked to take a quiet stroll along the beach with God. I wasn't overly keen on it at first, since the stroll was supposed to last almost an hour, and well, it seemed intimidating to have to "reflect" and "meditate" and "pray" for so long! More so when my brain seemed to have shut down since Day One of the retreat.
But amazingly, that proved to be the best part of it all. When one doesn't think too much or try too hard, God gets His time to speak. So what if I was just admiring the scenery or having a regular walk on the beach? God was very much beside me, and all I had to do was soak in His presence.
Well then...just as I was content not to learn anything from this - the way you don't set out to gain knowledge from a movie outing with friends - whoosh! Today's Writer's Block came out of nowhere. Was it God speaking to me? Or maybe just my creative juices working overtime?
Nyahhh...it doesn't matter. Seriously.
Enjoy!
"Come to me, child," He called. "Let your worries wash upon my shore."
Nah, it's okay. I'm starting to get the hang of it.
As to mock me, an inappropriately big wave drenched my cheeks. The salty water ran down my face the way egg would on a fool.
Here I was, sitting in the sea face back, playing a little game. I would entrench myself firmly into the sand and wait for the waves to come. The moment they did, and splash! I would try my best not to let the waves move me. It seemed a piece of cake at first, but quickly the waves resolved to beat me.
All the while, He watched from the shore with a smile, one that veered between amused and intrigued and sad. "Take my hand, child. Cast all your cares on me."
No worries! I'm even beginning to enjoy it.
True enough, the rocking feeling each time the waves pushed and rushed back was becoming quite a thrill. I pursed my lips and braced for the next wave. It was a big one!
Whoosh! I must've moved at least a foot.
Hey, hey, this is fun. Tiring, but fun.
Splosh! I made sure I didn't get swept away so far this time. Actually I cheated a little by moving towards the waves.
He sighed and watched on from the shore.
Splash!
Finally, all worn out from the rocking back and forth, I got up and stretched my half-cramped legs to the shore.
"Nice to have you here," He beamed.
My face flushed slightly. "My pleasure, really. Sorry to keep you waiting for so long."
"It's okay. What matters is that you're here."
We sat feet first to the ocean, basking in the cheerful sun. The frolicking waves reached for my feet, always just touching, sweeping the sand beneath my feet back with them. The little waves then crept back in line, making way for a big wave that was all out and ready to hit the shore. And when that big wave was done - and turning into a little one in the process - another one stepped to the front of the cascading blue queue, eager to see how it would fare.
On and on this mesmerising scene went, never once allowing my eyes to wander off. Where do the waves start queuing up? I wondered as I gazed into the borderless bright sea. Further than any sailboat my eyes could clamber and sail on, for sure.
"It doesn't matter, my child." His grey eyes twinkled. "They all are a big beautiful picture, you see."
A big beautiful picture.
When I was sitting in the sea fighting the waves, that was all they appeared to be - incessant, bothersome waves. Just like the many problems we face in life.
"You don't always need me to get through difficulties," He said to me. "Many people overcome the troubles in their lives by themselves, or help from others. You don't always need me."
"But then you would be missing out on this." He showed me the sea and the melody of its waves lapping ashore. "The big beautiful picture."
"You still would get wet at times - whoops!" We jumped out of the way, albeit a little too late, as a bigger-than-usual wave came. "But now you see the beauty of each wave, the care I took to craft each one so that it would someday embrace you."
I gazed in awe at the orange sun dipping slowly into the unending ocean, hardly bothering a single note of the song of the waves. Never had I felt smaller, yet more significant.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Chapter 14: "Unexpected"
6th post in 8 days!
Anyway, be prepared for the long-overdue new Twisted Tales skin soon! Already set my eye on one, just need to add some personal touches and trek through the treacherous jungle of HTML scripts, and...voila!
I shuddered and froze, waiting for the death blow to strike. Now.
And he froze as well.
Huh?
"Delete, you fool!" she yelled at me. "What are you waiting for?"
She had managed to cast a Freeze Frame on him! I didn't need any further prmopting. Down went the button in my mind at once, creating a glowing blue spark in my hands.
Zap! It crackled and snapped to life, then burst out of my hands, streaking all the way through Phocadis' body. His eyes bulged wildly, as though wanting to zap me with a ray of their own, before going white.
Then he crumbled into a heap of dust.
I gaped at the heap, then back at my own hands. Did I really do that?
I did. Whatever this Delete thing was, it sure was powerful as heck.
"You defeated him. Well done, Chosen One." Old Lady Melly half-nodded, and turned to leave.
"Hey...wait! You, erm...you saved me. Thanks."
"Just returning the favour." She didn't even look at me.
"Why, why, why! What is the matter indeed, all the long faces?"
That voice! What in the world was he doing here?
"What in the world am I doing here?" Archiver stepped out from behind a huge boulder I didn't recall being there. "Oh, believe me, I have much reason for being here."
"You better not be up to no good," I glared at him. "Or else."
He smiled dryly. "Much as I would love to teach you a thing or two for siding with the enemy, I am not here to fight."
"That was some fight you just fought," he applauded sarcastically. "Most befitting of the one He has set apart. You will prove to be a worthy servant in time."
"Worthy servant my foot! The only thing I'm doing is bringing down your boss and His evil plans."
"Heh heh heh heh heh. How passionate our friend has become. You have yet to realise the truly excellent things He can do with His powers."
"W-what do you mean?"
"While you were away, our men found your cave hideout and took U and the girl to Him."
"And if you do not want bad things to happen to them," A grin spread across his face. "Follow me to Climax City."
Anyway, be prepared for the long-overdue new Twisted Tales skin soon! Already set my eye on one, just need to add some personal touches and trek through the treacherous jungle of HTML scripts, and...voila!
I shuddered and froze, waiting for the death blow to strike. Now.
And he froze as well.
Huh?
"Delete, you fool!" she yelled at me. "What are you waiting for?"
She had managed to cast a Freeze Frame on him! I didn't need any further prmopting. Down went the button in my mind at once, creating a glowing blue spark in my hands.
Zap! It crackled and snapped to life, then burst out of my hands, streaking all the way through Phocadis' body. His eyes bulged wildly, as though wanting to zap me with a ray of their own, before going white.
Then he crumbled into a heap of dust.
I gaped at the heap, then back at my own hands. Did I really do that?
I did. Whatever this Delete thing was, it sure was powerful as heck.
"You defeated him. Well done, Chosen One." Old Lady Melly half-nodded, and turned to leave.
"Hey...wait! You, erm...you saved me. Thanks."
"Just returning the favour." She didn't even look at me.
"Why, why, why! What is the matter indeed, all the long faces?"
That voice! What in the world was he doing here?
"What in the world am I doing here?" Archiver stepped out from behind a huge boulder I didn't recall being there. "Oh, believe me, I have much reason for being here."
"You better not be up to no good," I glared at him. "Or else."
He smiled dryly. "Much as I would love to teach you a thing or two for siding with the enemy, I am not here to fight."
"That was some fight you just fought," he applauded sarcastically. "Most befitting of the one He has set apart. You will prove to be a worthy servant in time."
"Worthy servant my foot! The only thing I'm doing is bringing down your boss and His evil plans."
"Heh heh heh heh heh. How passionate our friend has become. You have yet to realise the truly excellent things He can do with His powers."
"W-what do you mean?"
"While you were away, our men found your cave hideout and took U and the girl to Him."
"And if you do not want bad things to happen to them," A grin spread across his face. "Follow me to Climax City."
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