Chemistry

Flawless.

It's the only word that fits.

When you talk, I swear I am sucked in, and I am unsure if it is chemistry or charisma I should blame.

On the safe side, perhaps charisma.

It pulls me away from the drop and back to solid ground, for it helps me think of "you" and not of "us".

Faithless Falling Flower

Why? Because it's just sitting here dammit. 

My writing has taken a turn lately. Well lately being starting late August, and unfortunately it's dried up again.

It's a lot more personal, a lot more raw and emotional than it used to be.

Which is always good.

************************************

You say that your favourite flower was the sunflower. When I laugh lightly and ask why, you say sadly with your eyes that it reminds you of your mother. 

 You were a troublesome kid. Or at least your father tells you. Your relatives used to agree and tut in unison while your mother tried to make you sit straight as you squirmed uncomfortably on the chair, tugging at the pretty lace they put on you. They called you the mischievous one you tell me and I can't help but smile. You still are.

Childhood is a paradox for you. That particular shade of nostalgia surrounds it, because you know, it's childhood, yet it's dirty. Dirty with the sounds of beatings and shoutings; punishments of mirrors, lectures of fidelity and the like. You were happy, but it doesn't make you happy to know now. It's all tinged for you, with the hintings of the invisible, hidden motives and meanings, and hidden powers threatening to encroach on your life. 

 Hidden strings that you still have to try to bat away. It's a childhood that you still long for though, because it didn't slip away through the years. She died didn't she? The childhood you, somewhere amidst the death, the confusion, the tenderness and the lack of it. Maybe it was when everyone became a lot nicer out of sympathy, and never stopped. Maybe it was the way no one spoke a word of Chinese again. Maybe it was when your father, tried to pick himself up and uprooted the family to another land with another woman. 

 If that wasn't it, maybe it was where you lost your first kiss, to someone who didn't treasure it as much as you did. Or maybe it was when you realised you didn't care that much about it anyway. Maybe it was when you darkly gave yourself to someone who everyone blamed, and refused to believe that it was your fault at all. It was gone by the time you found yourself alone in your room, day after day, writing powerful missives of hurt to no one in particular. Mutilated when your father, always so strong, broke down and tried to find in you a confidante, because maybe to him, you reminded him of her too much. All before you were fifteen.

You call her stupid. The earlier you. It does puzzle me because when I see a father burst into the bathroom and find his little girl sitting there with a dull metal blade, it's not stupidity I see. 

And that's the thing I guess you're looking for, that time far away where you were once, as your mother wrote in a diary you attacked voraciously, "not very bright". Before the flows of hurt came and swept everything away. And maybe, they still linger around. I've seen the flash of hurt in your eyes when nothing you do is ever enough. I see that same flash in the eyes of the girl who struggled to master her ABCs by the age of 1 while her mother threatened and administered beatings. But you still miss her. 

 I guess in the same way, it's what I look back on too. You don't really understand, but maybe you will like this. I choose to look back to the time before everything was swept away, when there still is a you in the present. A time where you say, and not where you have said. 

 That's why my favourite flower is the sunflower, it reminds me of you.

It's been a trying few months for me. Not really writing wise. But things have been happening that really took my mind off everything.

Still. I wrote for a period again before when and for a short while after I attended a writer's camp.

I've been digging for the pieces for awhile and I've finally found the one I wanted to post here.

I've been dabbling a little into poetry writing, which many of you might be aware I am rubbish at. But who knows, I may get better.

Don't expect anything much in the meantime.

Anyhow. Here it is.

I never knew I could write with prompts before, but I was forced to during the camp and it didn't turn out so bad.

**************************************

They stared awkwardly out at him from the photo. It was obvious that they were all trying to smile. Out of the five, only three were successful, and out of the three, only two seemed to smile with ease.

The photo was set in Sepia, though naturally the age of sepia had long passed. Perhaps they were a young strapping bunch of musicians, chasing their another record deal, or their first. Failing and fading into obscurity with no impression but the one he had rescued from the studio floor. They sat, or stood; a rock band without instruments.

He coughed as the dust within the old musty place got into his throat, stirring up more swirls of matter that rose up from the ancient amplifiers and once completely soundproof walls. The studio was his now, and would be where dreams would be grown, and made. Some of them, as the photo reminded him, only like fruit growing from a tree to an immense size, ultimately falling to the ground and bursting, with even the seeds being eaten by the disrespectful wild.

Why the photo had been left behind by the previous owners he did not know. Probably simply forgotten in the clutter and chaos that must have marked the previous end. He straightened and pinned it up next to his treasured autographed poster of the Beatles that dominated the far wall. Maybe this time, some seeds would remain.

***********************

It's short, sorry.

I wish I could find the photo, it really is quite quaint.

I don't recognise the band, I assumed they must have been. 3 middle aged nerdy looking white guys, one 30+ chinese/japanese dude and perched on the couch that dominated the photo, an unmistakably japanese girl who couldn't have been more than twenty at max, giving an innocent smile.

Hmmmm.

Prom?

Caley watched the clock as she chatted with her friends. Only a few minutes left to lunch, she still hadn’t gone to her locker to grab her books for her next class. Her friends were talking about prom again. It seemed that was all anyone talked about at school this week.

“Hey, I’m going to go to my locker and get my books.” Caley said quickly as she hurried to the door. “I don’t want to be late again.” She raised her eyebrows at her friends.

They smiled at her and returned to their conversations. She hastily strode to the door. Upon reaching the door, she realized she was stuck in the door jam. Everyone was either trying to get in or out. Once out the door, Caley found that she was still stuck behind Damon. She struggled to get past him but couldn’t.

All of a sudden, the entire men’s acapella group appeared down the hallway. They began singing something as they paraded down the hall. She noticed John was leading them again as she made quick eye contact with him. So typical, they’re probably advertising again… Caley shrugged and resumed her futile attempts to get past Damon. They continued singing in perfect harmony, adding random dissonances. The hallway was crowded with people trying to see what was going on. As they drew closer to her lunchroom, she noticed that they were coming her way. Caley tried to get away as they came nearer.

Unexpectedly, they stopped in front of the door as John took the lead role and burst into trills. Damon stepped aside. It was then that Caley realized all eyes were on her. In shock, she backed away, into the wall. Blake cut them off; Caley noticed the added second as John stepped forward.

“Do you want to go to prom with me?” Her eyes grew wide as he held out his hand to her.

Unable to speak, she nodded her head and took his hand.

“Yeah…” Caley finally gasped when she had come to her senses.

John’s winning smile appeared as he stretched out his arms. Caley noticed Mia’s wide grin off to her side as she hugged John.

“Only if my dad says yes…” Caley whispered to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Obviously this is the previous installment to the series Clio is working on. She realizes this probably isn't her best work, but it pretty much is 100% true for those of you who are wondering. She still is no good at making plots up, so we'll see where this goes. By the way, her dad did say yes, no matter how grudgingly. Do let Clio know if you would like her to continue this series or stop where it is. Comment or post on the tagboard please. 

Twenty Questions

Caley chatted casually with her friends as her date danced with another girl. Her eyes flicked over to Mia and Damon dancing together. She smiled to herself, remembering how she had successfully set that up. Her eyes roaming the dance floor, Caley saw many couples dancing to a fast tempo song. Looking around more, she briefly caught Camille’s eye and winked at her. Camille grinned back at her and continued dancing with Jace.

“Caley… Caley.”

Caley’s head snapped back toward her friends as she heard her name, several times.

“What were you saying? Sorry, I was watching Camille and Jace.” Everyone smiled at the mention of the names.

“Oh, I was just asking how you're enjoying your night.” One of Caley’s friends smirked at her. Caley rolled her eyes at her friend just as the song ended.

“I’m having a wonderful time.” She responded, shooting her friend a look.

Just then, she felt a familiar tap on her shoulder. Caley whirled around, perhaps a little too quickly, and came face-to-face with her date. One of her favorite songs had begun and couples were pairing up for slow dance. John smiled lightly as he offered Caley his hand.

“Care to dance?”

Caley took his hand and they walked out onto the dance floor. Once there, she placed her hands daintily around his neck as he placed his around her waist. Gazing into his eyes, she marveled at their greenish blue hue once again. A silent moment passed as they both searched for a conversation started.

“Hey, I have an idea,” Caley pronounced, “Let’s play twenty questions, or something like that.”

“Sure, that sounds good. You go first.”

“Let’s see, are you having a good time tonight?” Caley started with a simple question, so she hoped.

“Definitely! This is great! Are you?” Caley nodded as they swayed slowly to the music.

“Okay, I have a serious question. Why me?” John looked quizzically at her. “Why’d you ask me?” John pondered for a minute, trying to come up with the best response.

“You're one of my best friends, I knew we’d have a good time together. And…” John melodious voice trailed off, meanwhile taking on his more serious tone of voice.

“Oh…” Caley mused over the answer. She wondered what it meant and why John didn’t finish his thought. The next few seconds felt like a lifetime as the long moment elapsed.

“Well, there’s another thing, but…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clio apologizes profusely for not writing in a long time, she has been busy and had no inspiration whatsoever. However, recently, some crazy occurrences have given her something to work with. This installment isn't much, but she hopes to continue this series soon. The series is out of order as well. She will compile and finish it all. See if you can find which post this matches with.

Didn't make a sound

My heart is stuck.

Let's go back to the years before.

**************************************************

Back then we had to earn our keep. I was only seventeen, and at the time, it wasn't too old an age to work. An education had to be earned, and earn it I did. My mother found me some employment in the city, a twenty minutes walk from my old village in the countryside; near enough, yet it was a different world from the one I grew up in.

In the village we had five households, sixty three people, and their names I could recite for you even today, though the place where it used to stand is graced by a road intersection and the forlorn privilege of perching myself on that very spot and looking around in nostalgic silence has been long taken from me.

You have to understand what it must have been like, a lanky wide-eyed country boy standing in the noisy rice shop as about fifty sweaty men bustled about with their rice sacks, struggling to listen to the instructions being shouted at me in Hokkien by the towkay. He shouted because there was no other way to be heard, not that I could hear him anyway, one moment I was peering into the dim mass of frenetically moving people, next thing I knew, a piece of paper with an address scrawled on it was thrust into my hand and I was shown the exit with a rice bag over my shoulder.

And so I set off on my journey across the cramped and foreign land. The city wasn't too big, but the roads certainly took some getting used to. The way people clustered themselves along the narrow walkways that lined the open streets, not walking straight down the middle like they always did in the countryside. No, the road was for the rich. The rich and their rickshaws and trishaws and the expensive Ford vehicles. The noise too, was something that kept at me, kept reminding me of the strangeness of the land.

I followed the directions the towkay had shouted at me with great difficulty, but after asking multiple strangers and flashing the address at them, I found myself in a cramped damp alley. For the first time in the town I heard silence; the occasional car engine echoed into that narrow space from what seemed an eternity away, and all was quiet save the dripping of water from the rooftops, forming themselves into shallow stagnant pools all around.

I made my way slowly down the alley, all too aware of the splashes my feet made in the puddles, doing my best to skip over them whenever I could, ignoring the load on my back. I was younger and stronger then you see. I came to a rusty plate in the wall. Number 17. The door next to it that served as the entrance into the building was broken, hanging off it's hinge, and I stepped in softly.

Everything on the inside was old too. The cobwebs were there in the corners if you looked, the sheets of calligraphy that hung on the walls, hinting at long gone opulence, were yellowed and stained. I was to go up to the second floor, and the wooden rotten stairs made no noise as I climbed upwards.

The door to the apartment, or room, or flat at 2B was red. At least it had been red once, now it was red, speckled with black, brown, white and brown where all the wood had come off in strips. I rapped on the door and I called out, the knock sounding unusually loud in the confined landing between the stairs and the door and it swung open almost immediately, as if I had been expected all along. Not simply expected, because I surely was, but as if I had been waited for.

The old man muttered as he let me in, pushing over pieces of junk on the floor to make way for me as I entered the room, I suppose he was scolding me for being late but I had been too busy staring at the glowing box in the corner of the dark room. That was the first time I had ever seen a television, the miracle picture machine and it's strange filtered way of delivering sounds. Distorted. Foreign.

"Ah Kim ah!" He bellowed at the top of his lungs, startling me. City folk are strange people. Nowadays they, you all I mean speak so fast. Back then, they would shout for nothing. The living room was cramped, almost claustrophobic, and he had a need to shout. But yes, for the first time I noticed the old woman who lay in a massive foreign chair facing the tv. Her eyes closed. She did not stir.

"The rice is finally here, we can eat soon." He brayed, ignorant to the fact that Ah Kim didn't quite seem to care. Or move actually. A chill started at the tip of my fingers.

He grabbed the rice bag from me, his sinewy limbs deceptively strong and clattered his way across the room. He stood by the chair and regarded her. "Ah Kim ah, are you cooking today?"

"No?"

He paused as I stood there in silence. I wondered if I should say something. But didn't.

The old man bustled off into the kitchen, swinging in the rice sack as he did. "Hang on, I'll get the money. You stay right there." A moment later, I heard a great crashing sound of pots and cymbals. "Just hang in a bit" he shouted.

I leaned over as the ringing faded into emptiness again. The old woman was still lying there, completely motionless. She wasn't breathing, and her leathery speckled skin was cold to the touch.

A sudden fanfare from the television startled me, and I jumped back as a man in a suit appeared on the screen to synthesised applause and the old man creaked back into the room, shuffling notes in his hand and peering at them with thick squarish glasses. The type that you see nowadays occasionally, in joke shops.

He looked up after counting the money and caught me staring at her. Rolling his eyes he said, "I know she's a little weird at times, excuse her." Flashing a look towards the chair he raised his voice again. "Ah Kim ah, this is the last time I'm cooking this week. I swear."

"She's been sitting there for days, lazy pig. Kim ah, please send our visitor off."

I backed out of that strange place with the money, leaving him behind by himself, only letting myself shed a tear once I was out of the building, out of the alley where he wouldn't hear me. That affection in his voice you see, was and is to this day the plainest purest love I've ever heard.

********************************************

I paid a lot of attention to the sounds I used in this story. I don't know why. I just did it halfway through and I played it up once I realised what I was doing. Don't know if you noticed.

As with a lot of my stories, I started with the ending, made a long start and somehow worked my way there. At the same time, the protagonist doesn't speak. He doesn't say something, not til years later. I didn't realise it until now.

I wonder what it could mean.

(;

And with that I've broken my four month long creative drought. Thank you all.

Just Maybe...

“Happy New Year!” Caley was greeted with the exclamations of her friends, “Are you glad to be back here? I sure am not.”

The New Year had come and gone, and Caley was back in school – New Year, blank slate, and a fresh start, exactly what she wanted.

Caley chatted with her friends for a few minutes, catching up on what they had done over their break. The first bell rang, indicating that she had only five minutes to being late. Not an auspicious start… Hurriedly going to her locker, Caley keyed in her combination and rummaged through her stuff to find the books she needed. Suddenly, she felt a tap on her left shoulder. Looking around, Caley did a 360° and found John standing to her right, smiling at her. She raised her eyebrows.

“Hey, how was your break? I have something for you.”

Caley looked inquisitively at John. “What is it?”

“A slightly delayed Christmas present.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clio knows she hasn't written in a long time. That is because she has not had any inspiration or time to. This is the first unfinished part to a new installment of stories. Thanks for reading.

Cinderella 2.0

And so Charming held out his hand and the horse-drawn carriage with which he was to carry his new bride away screeched to a halt.

"You imbecile, I distinctly remember telling you that you were to stop just before the ratty little cobblestones outside that run-down house!"

Without waiting for his snotty little driver to reply, he flicked his shoulder-length, perfectly-coiffed hair over his tailored shoulder piece and descended daintily onto the filthy streets of the district.

"Lay out your coat for me to walk on, my shoes are new today."

His aforementioned "imbecile driver" (otherwise known as Ivan) sighed mentally.

"Well, aren't they new every day..."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I meant to say, 'Right away, Sire'."

Ivan bent forward and mentally told him to shove off, all while smiling as pleasantly as he could and laying out his best coat on the floor. Charming tossed his hair again and strode across Ivan's coat, making sure to grind it further into the cobblestone dirt with each step. Flinging open the doors of the cottage dramatically, he stood arms akimbo, all the while smiling Charmingly™ at the astounded residents of the house.

And waited.

And waited.

After about three seconds, his patience had worn thin.

"IMBECILE, WHERE'S THE WIND?!"

"Right away, Sire."

The weary Ivan ran forward and fanned Charming furiously, causing his ridiculously unnecessary cape to flutter gorgeously in the "wind".

All natural handsomeness, you see.

And Charming was pleased.

Satisfied, he strode snobbishly along the dusty ground of the house, loudly declaring a desire to meet with the "fair maiden who was able to fit into the glass slippers".

An awkwardly beautiful young lady stepped forward, and Charming's heart fluttered like a teenager's. This was her. He'd know her anywhere.

Her shiny hair resembled spun gold, and her complexion was as fair as fresh cream. Her nose, delicate and adorable, provided a lovely balance to the unabashed fullness of her lightly flushed lips. He sighed appreciatively, eyes trailing down to her tiny waist. The tight bodice she wore accentuated her beautiful shapeliness delightfully, and he delighted at the perkiness of her ample bosom.

His tone softened almost immediately. "Beauty, whatever is your name?"

"Ella," she replied, too shy to meet his eye.

At this moment, Ivan came rushing in, glass slipper in hand.

"Sire..."

However, Ella looked up at the sudden intrusion, and Ivan caught her eye. Their breaths hitched simultaneously, and Ivan nearly dropped the shoe.

"Ivan, pass me the shoe," Charming declared pompously, annoyed at the constant eye contact between the two.

In a flash, Charming had slipped the glass shoe onto Ella's foot, and was making eyes at her. "Oh, my fair lady, your foot is truly a perfect fit. You must come back to my palace and be my lawful wedded wife!"

She blanched. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. I...can't. There is another man."

His heart sank. "Who, pray ask, is this man so unworthy of your honorable love?"

Bashfully, she sidled over to Ivan. This time, it was Charming's turn to go completely pale.

"Him?!"

Ivan shrugged. "Well, you could always fire me, Sire, I'm getting too old to work anyway."

Combined with Ella's torturingly pleading eyes, Charming couldn't help but give in.

"Very well."

Dejected, Charming turned around and left, leaving Ella and Ivan in privacy. Just as Ivan was about to carry Ella off into the romantic sunset, a booming voice spoke for the last time from the doorway.

"Just one kiss, though?"

"No, Sire."

Charming pouted. "Fine, then I want the shoe back."

Strategy #1056

She plops down beside me; I inwardly groan. Once again, she makes the unwise decision of starting a conversation when I am busy.

"Are you busy?"

I look sideways at her, raise an eyebrow, and continue writing, hoping the answer will be evident.

She stares at me expectantly and blinks.

Apparently not evident, then.

She abruptly decides my answer is taking too long to arrive, and continues anyway. "Do you like my hair?"

Not once do I take my eyes off my pencil, but I nod once curtly in a futile attempt to satisfy her vanity.

She frowns and tilts her head to the side. "Why do you never talk?"

My pencil stops moving on the sheet of paper. She is making me very cross.

"Are you shy?" she offers hopefully.

I place my pencil down and turn to face her. "Why do you never shut up?"

She gasps in an offended manner (causing a twisted sort of amusement to slice through me), and it appears to be effective, because she tosses her hair and leaves in a huff.

I mentally file my question away for future use.

03:00

*****************************************

Midnight in the city. He shifted in his seat on the back of the bus. His hands digging into the subtly grime covered pseudo cushions he sat upon, he stared out the window.

They said the city never sleeps, the unearthly orange glow of the streetlights confirmed it, forming a highway in the darkness where the shadows fled. Still, there was a quiet about the night and a strange way where every single sound made by the creaking vehicle which was carrying him onwards echoed out beneath the starless grey sky.

He found his body pressed slightly uncomfortably against the left window as the bus turned, off the highway and onto another long straight road. The lights were dimmer, the blackness closer and endless, broken only by the occasional hanging branch or overgrown leaf hanging out from behind its veil.

On and on the bus travelled, the seats swaying up and down in an almost rhythmic fashion, down that long winding road. Its two headlights forming two ovalish pools of brightness before the slow moving vehicle. A spot of brightness in a world of nothing. The darkness closed in on the bus, and so did time.

He awoke to find himself alone on the bus. He was the only passenger. Rubbing his bleary eyes he checked his watch. 3:00 a.m. He looked beyond the glass and saw the moon in the sky, but nothing else.

The moon. The road. The bus. The constant lights.

The bus no longer bobbed up and down, but he could feel the hum of the engine, and could see the streetlamps passing by. He looked through the windscreen of the bus and saw the road stretching out into forever, disappearing as the gloom swallowed it up, the edge of darkness never closer than it was before though the bus steadily travelled forwards.

It isn't, his mind whispered to him.

Something was definitely wrong, bus services didn't run at this time anyway, and though he had probably missed his stop, he was sure that he would have at least picked something familiar out in the landscape.

The landscape. There was none, none that he could see. Just the moon, the streetlamps and the road; the latter two long blended and blurred into insignificance, till they became as constant as the moon itself. Unchanging.

He rose unsurely from his seat, tottering as he stood more from uncertainty than the fresh tingling sensation of cramped limbs. Pushing past two empty seats and a pole, he paused halfway down the aisle, his footsteps sounding hollowly against the floor, dominating the relative silence of the bus.

"Hello...?" he called out to the bus driver hidden from his view and got no reply. He stood there, straining for any sound beyond the by now all too familiar. The engine kept humming as panic and fear slowly began to grow within him.

Hesitantly he took another step forward, and his foot impacted the floor like an anvil. His heart beat furiously in his chest, and he waited. Silence.

As he crept his way forward very soon he began to make out a figure hunched over the steering wheel. It didn't move, but only kept it's eyes forward, staring straight into the road ahead. He couldn't make anything out in the distance either.

He would've called out, but again his mind screamed at him that something was wrong. Even so, he found himself right behind it and reached out a hand. He stopped short of it's shoulder and paused. He stood there, almost as if in a trance, caught between his fear of what would happen, and struggling against his need to end his predicament. Suddenly it became very clear in his mind that his situation was certainly very out of the ordinary.

Uncertainty and trepidation blossomed into fear and full blown panic as he stumbled away. Away from that thing which he was certain was not human, as far away as he could. Back, back to where he had been, the seat at the back. He shivered as he settled back into the cramped space, sitting upright in his seat he watched the unchanging nothing beyond the window and the moon far and beyond, ever changing but still the same. And as the cold descended on him, he found his eyes tiring, the dread and gloom creeping up on him ever so slowly. He huddled up in his sweater, pulling the folds tighter around him.

Five minutes, ten minutes, an hour, it did not matter. His watch had stopped working at 3:01 a.m. and there was no one to tell him how much time had passed. The moon would not. The sun would not. He reached to scratch his back, but then realised that his arm could not move, and so he closed his eyes and went to sleep, surrendering to the dark even as he felt the chilling numbness spread throughout his limbs.

********************************

So I cheated, hah wrote this quite some time back.

Maybe it's because I haven't been writing for too long, but what came so easily to me and looked not very good seems a lot better I suppose.

I wrote this story after being inspired by a half remembered legend of a "twilight zone" where travellers on random highways in australia or malaysia ended up driving on a road that never ended.

My hero doesn't face his monster, partly because he isn't a hero. He's just a poor soul, like you or me. Sadly, most of us aren't hero material. Deal with it. :D

Mundane Horrors

This story is 90% true.

And my goodness did I encounter a lot of strange people on public transport that day.

If only it ended where the story did.

**********************************************

So our precocious hero once again found himself on his way to the bus stop, not knowing what horrors lay ahead of him.

As he would later find out, much.

Too much.

He slid past the slow-moving couple, the kind that you see, walk behind and curse at on every pavement and couldn't help but crack a wry smile when he saw the big bold words in electric blue font on the back of the guy's sports shirt :

Breast stroker

Tanjong Katong Swimming Club

He slid his way onto the bench at the stop, nestling himself tightly on the only available space in between the aunties and their huge bags of vegetables when his danger sense began to tingle.

Frowning, he looked up and saw nothing. The bus stop was crowded, but there was nothing interesting of note, no-one interesting of note. Then he noticed her. Stoned out expression, super thick plastic nerdy kiddy looking red glasses, messy hair and buck teeth. She plonked herself on the far end of the bench for all of two seconds.

Then she got up and stretched, as those super slim, super tanned fitness instructors in skimpy outfits tend to do on "fitness" channels where most of the audience had to be male, staring vapidly to the left, paying no attention whatsoever to the right, which incidentally, happened to be the direction the buses were all coming from.

In any case, she was harmless he thought. A little weird but harmless. That feeling soon changed when she stretched again, upwards this time, lifting her danky looking black top, which he suspected was the only reason why he could not see stains of uncontemplatable nature on it, to reveal her wrinkly pale stomach.

Just then, a bus pulled up; not his. He watched in horror as almost everyone in the stop promptly rose to their feet and queued up to get into the bus, leaving three people in the stop. Him, exercise lady, and an excessively pretty girl on his left, who seemed oblivious to the danger about to befall her.

Most honestly its not like he liked to stare at her and observe the unnatural colour of her belly, however if he was going to catch his bus, he would have to look to his right, and hopefully past her, and not at her.

Empty bus-stops however, rarely stay empty, much to the consternation of our now endangered hero. He could only watch and scream silently in his head as exercise lady, despite her heavy exertions, which now led her to point her head at the ceiling and gape like a fish trying to breathe air every ten seconds or so, seemed to develop a sense of civic consciousness and consideration for others, leading her to move in from the edge of the bench. Towards him.

As he moved closer to the left of the bench, inching ever so slightly away from exercise lady who seemed to take every inch just as he vacated it, he realised for the first time that he had a problem. Towering over the excessively pretty girl was a man who seemed to have sawn off both his arms and grafted two massive trucks in their places. She had a boyfriend.

Caught between the invisible boundaries that boyfriends place around their girlfriends and exercise lady's intimidating flab, our hero now had a life threatening decision to make.

It was at this moment that a bus zoomed into view. Instead of a number, the electronic display on the front obnoxiously proclaimed in block letters "GONG XI FA CAI"

Thinking quick, with lightning quick reflexes our hero leapt to his feet, congratulating himself on his easy escape. Not to be thwarted, exercise lady broke her stretch and strode forward with him.

Panic seized him, what was he to do? For a second his mind conjured up images of an hour long bus ride with the wrinkly expanses of exercise lady's stomach filling half his vision. He shivered and squeezed his eyes to rid himself of the ghastly vision.

Just as the side display of the bus displaying the number came into view, his drama training took over. Feigning disappointment, he paused delicately in his step and reversed his direction, resting lightly on the seat as exercise lady obliviously sauntered over to the entrance of the bus, not noticing the hordes of people scrambling to avoid her.

As he breathed a sigh of relief, he saw the hulking cyborg step onto the bus as well, he was the only one brave enough to stand directly behind exercise lady. Looking down, he realised he was within touching distance of the girl, who was tapping away at her phone in half-excitement, utterly ignoring his presence.

Double-score.

Gothic Story

Clio was told to write a gothic story in class on the spot and this is what she came up with. She doesn’t know if it’s any good, but her teacher did read it to the class… so it should be…

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The stranger leaned toward Isobel. He grinned, showing his not- so pearly whites. He reached into his pocket and took out a small knife, slightly smaller than a kitchen knife. Waving it under her nose, the stranger examined her. Already shaking uncontrollably, Isobel now began weeping with terror. He lifted her chin with his finger and placed the blade against her throat. She whimpered, likening to the sound a lost puppy makes. Curling a lock of her golden hair on his finger, he pulled her head backward.

“Please don’t hurt me!” Isobel pleaded with the stranger. “I’ll do anything you want.”

In one swift move, the stranger whipped his knife around and sliced that lock of hair.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook quite yet, love.” Sneering at Isobel, the stranger let go of her lock of hair, which drifted slowly to the grimy, dirty floor.

As Real As It Gets

Telling me to try harder is like telling me I can get to the moon if I drive my car fast enough.
My answer is still the same.
I'm not you. You have to be world-class socially awkward and unpopular to even begin to come close to how low on the food chain I am, kid...

---

She watched them as she sat among them. Occasionally a kind soul or two would attempt to open for her an easy way into the conversation, but each time she accepted their indirect offer, she found she had no common ground with anyone there, and the room would fall into an awkward silence for half a minute or so.

She soon gave up trying.

Glancing often at her watch, she counted the minutes till she could excuse herself politely.

When that time had come, she got up and left the table quietly. It wasn't hard, they were all preoccupied. Somehow, she was more glad than disappointed that the conversation didn't pause when she did so. At least it meant that she wouldn't have to face a group of people who were merely trying to politely fulfill their duty as "acquaintances".

When she had reached the door, she heard a voice call her name amongst the continuing conversation. She inwardly steeled herself and turned around, smiling in as convincing a manner as she could manage.

"What is it?"

He returned the smile with a particularly strange one of his own, which she assumed meant he had seen through her act already.

"What, leaving so soon?"

She'd planned on him asking this question. He was too nice to do anything else. "Yes, I have a headache," she said, meeting his gaze squarely, almost daring him to call her out on her bluff. She knew he wouldn't, though, he was too cordial for that.

He licked his lips, and she could see it in his eyes; he'd seen through the pathetic lie immediately. She expected nothing less of him. Her excuse wasn't even an excuse, really, it was just formality.

"Alright," he replied. "I hope you join us again soon," he added, as sincerely as he could.

She smiled warmly, as though she really meant to take him up on his offer, but the both of them knew she wouldn't. As she turned the doorknob and passed the doorway, he returned to the group, and she heard him make no mention of her departure.

As she took one last glance at the group before she left, she silently thanked him for letting her escape in peace.

Your Perfect Woman

If I ran a matchmaking agency, it'd go something like this...
Although I think I'd run out of business in the first day.
Actually I wrote this a while back because I was frustrated with the standards some guys have for women ("What, you mean you're not perfect too?!")...
Moral of the story being: If you want THE stereotypically perfect woman, you'll probably have to settle for a fake one.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He sits across the table from me, eyebrows knitted, evidently sick of searching all his life for The One and failing miserably. Oh, poor fellow.

I smile and open my laptop.

"Okay, so run me through your list of criteria," I begin, fingers poised over the keyboard.

He licks his lips. "She's got to be hot, obviously."

I begin typing. "Nothing new."

"Long hair, long legs, long eyelashes."

"Go on."

"But shorter than me, of course." A rather unsettling grin creeps onto his face. "Oh, and she's got to be a C cup at LEAST."

I purse my lips and mumble, "Wow, that's deep."

Unfortunately he hears me and glares at me, but he continues anyway. "And she has to have lots of stamina. You know what I mean."

I make a face behind the laptop.

Leaning back, he looks out the window. "I want her to be submissive. I can't stand a woman talking back to me."

"Of course, sir. I'm sure she's got to be the perfect woman."

He bends forward and looks me in the eye. "You gonna help me find a hot chick or not?"

"...Actually, I do have the perfect woman for you. Please excuse me for a couple of minutes."

He smirks cockily and puts his hands behind his head. "I'll be waiting right here."

---

I rap on the door five minutes later, holding a blow-up doll of epic proportions. Or maybe epic measurements. It doesn't matter.

He flings open the door and practically leaps on her. (Fortunately I step aside in time.)

"Ohoho she's real fine... WAIT."

I grin innocently. "Pardon me, sir, aren't you happy with our selection? She's perfect, you know."

"But she isn't real!" He squeezes her in a rather immodest place, almost as if to prove his point.

"Exactly. Always a pleasure to leave a customer satisfied, sir."

I smile politely and show him the bill.

Nothing

He walked on her right, a calculated distance between them, and they remained quiet throughout. She chanced a sideways glance at him, and he looked stiff, as though he'd much rather be elsewhere. The expression looked rather odd on his face, given how she'd become used to their chatting and laughing in the past.

Sighing almost inaudibly, she continued the awkward walk with him in silence, hoping they'd reach their destination soon.

Just then, a young boy of about six appeared out of nowhere, presumably running to play a game with his friends, and bumped rather roughly into his leg. Surprising her, he bent down and beamed warmly at the kid, telling the boy rather amiably to be careful. He told the boy to run off, but not before he gave the kid's shoulder a friendly pat.

She watched him calmly, and marveled at the sight. Now that's the boy I remember...

He looked up at her, almost as though he had forgotten the awkward silence earlier. "You're smiling to yourself. A penny for your thoughts?"

She shook her head lightly. "It's nothing."

You Again...

This is the first part of a story Clio is working on. She was wondering on a long car ride what it would be like to reignite an old friendship after a long time. It is inspired by a number of things.

1. A story of the way Clio's friend's parents reunited

2. Her friendship with some special friends who will remain anonymous (you know who you are)

3. A secret between her... and herself ;)

As usual, Clio thanks you for reading this, and she hopes you will continue on visiting The Three Muses. She is hoping to have a thanksgiving story up by tomorrow.

It had been years since she’d seen him. She couldn’t believe that they met in that way. How could she have gotten so lucky as to run into him that particular afternoon?

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She was merely walking past a Starbucks when she glanced through the window. Busy running errands, she barely paused to see who was inside the coffeehouse on that chilly fall afternoon. However, on that day, someone inside caught her eye. Halting abruptly in her steps, she turned to enter the shop.

A young man had his back turned against her, apparently waiting for his drink. She studied him briefly. He was lean, yet slightly muscular, and his dark hair was slightly messy, probably from the frosty wind blowing outside.

“Liam? Is that you?” She inquired of the young man who looked so liked a friend of hers in high school.

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Liam spun around, completely taken aback. Who was she who knew his name? He didn’t recognize her, not straight away at least. Upon examination, he identified the young woman who stood in front of him.

“Claire? Wow, it’s been ages.”

She smiled at him, instantly igniting their old friendship.

Snow White, kind of...

Richard - on his high horse as always - rode slowly and sexily down his usual route. He was getting bored of all his twenty-five wives in the palace, and he would have liked a bit of variety in his mundane life.

Just then, he stumbled across what appeared to be a funeral amidst a thicket of bushes. He would have snorted and continued on his way, if not for the fact that he had caught a glimpse of a particularly beautiful woman lying in the open casket.

He descended from his horse and walked over to the (gasp) vision of pure beauty lying there. Upon closer inspection, he realised there were seven midgets obscuring the view.

Proceeding to shove two of the oddly short men out of his way, he knelt beside the casket and caressed her silky black cropped curls. She looked so beautiful, being dead and all, and he couldn't help himself.

He felt a sudden stirring in his gut, and a strong necrophiliac urge overtook him. He bent down to press his lips upon hers, and the seven dwarves collectively inhaled sharply.

However, the moment his lips brushed hers, she sat up, coughing, and a slice of an apple fell from her mouth. He immediately stood up and looked her up and down for a few seconds.

Her eyes fluttered upon, and her gaze settled upon the tall, equally dark-haired prince. "Oh, darling, have you come to rescue me from the curse?"

He frowned, and the beautiful lady looked quite taken aback.

Drawing his sword, he proceeded to plunge it into her stomach. As she fell to the ground, lifeless, he caught her in his arms, and smiled dashingly.

"I like her better this way."

---

I'm sorry, that was so random.
For the life of me, I've never understood why any prince would kiss a dead woman.
Just saying...

The Lady in Red

He knew it was his last chance. Should he mess up this case, he would be dishonorably discharged from his unit. The detective strove to hear what the only pair in the bar was speaking about. While he was getting up and inching slowly toward the counter, his suspect caught his eye. The suspect shifted in his seat, blocking the investigators only opening into the couple's conversation. Rising, the detective stumbled to the bartender, pretending to be drunk.

“Another round for me,” he slurred, keeping his guise.

“Are you sure that's a good idea, sir?” The bartender asked, raising his eyebrow, “this is your fifth round.”

Still slurring his speech, the detective replied, “of course!” Nodding furiously, he stumbled blindly back to his seat.

While waiting for his drink, the detective looked around, observing his surroundings. It was winter. A cold, brisk wind blew in the street, making them unusually quiet for the average late night in 1928 Chicago. The bar was dark and empty. There were only three people in it, the detective, his suspect, and his beautiful companion. The detective glanced over at his suspect. The man was dressed well, his clothes pressed neatly and his maroon hat covering his eyes suspiciously. His companion was a gorgeous lady dressed in a crimson satin dress. Her silky, golden hair was curled fashionably. Although she appeared pretentious, snobbish and superficial, he tried really hard not to gape at her striking figure. Flicking his eyes back to the man, the detective noticed that he seemed rather nervous.

He noticed that the couple had been conversing in hushed tones for close to an hour now, occasionally stealing glances at the supposedly drunk detective. While waiting for the right moment, the detective reviewed his case in his head for the hundredth time. He was an undercover cop trying to discover the identity of the top criminal in Chicago. If he got lucky, he would even be able to arrest him. His suspect was said to be an expert in disguise. Studying the curious figure with the scarlet lady, he could understand why.

Suddenly, movement broke his train of thought. To his horror, the detective realized he had forgotten to continue his drunken stupor during his contemplation. The suspect whipped his hand out of his pocket and shot the detective in the side with a small 9mm pistol. Crumpling to the ground, the detective grabbed his side, desperately trying to slow the bleeding. An intense, stabbing pain shot through his body.

Several mysterious occurrences happened next. The lady in red, rather than running and screaming, rose to her full height and smirked at his collapsing figure. Glancing at her, the bartender, a young man in top form, turned away quickly and began minding an already very clean row of beer mugs. He appeared to be simply terrified of the scarlet lady.

“Hello, detective.” Signaling to her companion, she enunciated in a beautiful British accent. “Bring the poor man a seat.”

An epiphany struck the detective. The answer had been staring him in the face the entire time, literally. Whispering hoarsely, he forced the realization from his lips.

“You're it! You're the criminal I've been hunting for.” Her impeccable Queen's English made his New Jersey accent he had had since he was a little boy suddenly sounded harsh and grating to their ears.

“Now why would you say that, my dear detective?” Picking him up and dropping on a hard wooden stool, the detective’s original suspect placed his gun against the detective's back hostage style.

“I can’t let you go now that you know my little secret, can I?” The detective met her cold blue stare with an equally dark one.

“How did you do it? How did you fool so many people into believing these crimes were committed by someone else?”

“Elementary, my dear detective. I merely planted enough clues as to point it to someone else. As the police force has pointed out, I am a master of disguise. Besides, no one ever suspects a woman, especially a beautiful one. Now that I’ve answered all your questions, we’re done here.” She gestured to her bodyguard, as the detective guessed her companion was.

“Finish him off.”

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This is a story Clio wrote for school. She was to look at a picture (she would tell you what that picture was if she remembered) and write a story based on it. She wanted to try her hand at a mystery/detective story, and she dearly hopes you like it.

The 7th Day

EDIT: Note(foreword, whatever, blah, random things i have to say)

Yeah this is one of my longer stories and I am rather thankful that I managed to blast it out in one day(and a few hours) but I suppose it needs work and I should've done more with it before stashing it here in the euphoric sense of achievement I felt after completing it.

After reading it through I realised I really need to work on my punctuation. Its absolutely atrocious. Or maybe I just need a brilliant editor who will take the time to punctuate stuff for me properly. Right now I'm a little too scared of messing it up, (though actually the coherency is quite affected as of this moment) to do anything about the punctuation but I'll give it a fix sometime in the near future. I hope it didn't spoil the story for you!

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It had been one week since I got the news. I still hadn't gotten used to him being gone, and I wouldn't for a long while. Every now and then I think of him, and it hurts. Just like that, our perfect little world fell to pieces, and there was nothing I could do about it. We had finally been able to afford a place of our own after years of slogging away deep into the night. It was supposed to be the start, the first step on the road to our dreams and our happily ever after.

Life is cruel sometimes.

It was an accident as they like to call it. A horrific one, 11 cars piled up in the middle of the freeway. 17 injured, 3 dead. I never read the newspaper reports, and I couldn't step out of the house for three days, but I still remember the face of the police officer at the door, the icy fear that gripped my heart.

"Mrs Parker?" He said. "Sophie Parker?" He shifted hesitantly as I nodded, "I'm really sorry.."

The way my world plunged into darkness.

But I had to move on. Or at least try to. I brought Ally out to our backyard to play that day, she was only four and I hadn't and wouldn't and just couldn't tell her. Daddy was far away, I said. He wouldn't be coming back so soon, yes he still loves you very much. She said she understood and gave me a brilliant smile, and it took all my strength not to tear up as I returned the smile.

September 10th, it was to be her fourth, and her first without him. The first of many, but she wouldn't miss him that day I told myself. So I had decked her out in her favourite red dress and set her out with a new shiny set of sand tools in the sandpit in the backyard. The autumn wind bit at our heels that day but she didn't mind; and so I didn't either.

It was a beautiful day, the leaves were golden, and the slight haziness to the air just served to make the soon approaching sunset more picturesque. The wind picked up again, and the dead leaves stirred themselves once more, and soared through the air in a kaleidoscope of colour.

Just then a cloud went over the sun and something went wrong. The leaves fell to the floor, dead again, but the breeze kept blowing, no longer nourishing. No, it was a winter wind, powerful and vengeful seeking to claim and to take; the beauty of the autumn day spoiled and corrupted. A lone church bell tolled in the distance and I felt an icy panic grow within me. Ally didn't notice. The bell sounded again, bringing back memories of a different time. Memories, from a place so far past it seemed like another life.

Chinese bells, funeral bells.

The thought shook me, death was the last thing I wanted on my mind. But yet it was all around, the cold, the finality of it all. Suddenly it struck me of how alone we were. The yard seemed impossibly large, and the fences around it unnecessarily high. Like prison walls they loomed. And yet the yard grew ever more expansive. There was not a human to be heard. The bell tolled again, and once again my mind flew back to the time before and I heard the voice of my long dead grandmother speaking.

"The Chinese say that on the seventh day, the soul of the dead will return....to make a final visit"

Visions, pictures flashed through my mind.

"If you spread talcum powder on the floor and see footprint traces the next day, then you will know your loved one has found their way home......"

Ah Girl tonight you must sleep with us and don't touch the food on the altar. Tomorrow also don't touch. Don't go out of the room until we tell you to okay?

Wah wah come look, Ah Gong came back last night, and he took the oranges we left him...

A strange mood had settled about the place, and I struggled to deal with the inexplicable flood of pictures from my past. Suddenly I noticed the yard had grown deathly still. The loudest sound to be heard was my own breathing, followed by Ally's erratic scraping of the sand.

Just then I heard a distinct crunch behind me. Not loud but distinct, like a footstep. On the edge, I spun around but I found nothing there. Trying to calm myself down, I sat myself next to Ally, and took in the structure she was building. A tower, or lighthouse. I couldn't tell.

Crunch

I jerked myself to my feet and looked around in futility, taking in the sparse grass, and high wooden slats. The safety of the house a million miles away.

Crunch

"Ally."

She looked up.

"Go inside, its time for your dinner soon." I said, trying to keep my voice even, watching her as she slowly gathered up her toys.

"Just leave them dear, I'll get them for you."

She turned for a second and looked at me with her big brown eyes. Is everything alright Mommy? I gave her a reassuring smile, and her mind at ease, she ran the distance up the yard, slamming the screen door behind her as she scrambled up to her room.

Now it was just me. Me and the yard. I didn't know what I was looking for or what made me stay, but then the wind stopped just as the cloud moved away from the sun, pouring light down on me. It was then that he stepped behind me and drew me close, holding me against him with his hands around my waist.

"John.."

"Shh..." he whispered into my ear, "don't try to turn around."

I sighed as he stood there and breathed deeply, once again taking in his scent.

"They didn't lie to me did they John."

"No no," he said, sadness pervading his voice. "They didn't."

I cried; in his arms and he held me tighter, comforting me slowly with his soft words as I slowly made my way back from the hurt, the raw hurt.

"Sophie, I'm going to have to go now." He paused. "I'm sorry I couldn't take care of you like I said I would, I hope you'll forgive me."

I tried to speak but I choked as the words for the moment eluded me, emotion forming an insurmountable lump in my throat.

"Give Ally my love will you, I'll miss her."

I began to cry again, and he hugged me like he always used to once more, pressing something to my hand before letting go.

As soon as he released me I turned around but I was alone again, and he was gone forever. In my right hand was a white rose, whiter than the snow, pristine and perfect.

And I do believe, that the heart does go on.

No One

She walked into the room and, to her pleasant surprise, she saw a rich chocolate cake placed invitingly on the centre of the table. Eyes shining, she took in everyone standing around the table.

"Ricia! You're just in time! We went ahead and bought the cake without discussing it with you, hope you don't mind."

Mind? Why would she mind? She hadn't expected anyone to remember her birthday - it would be expected given their track record - and any cake was better than none.

She rushed excitedly to the table, pulling out an empty chair and the birthday song began.

"Happy birthday to you,"

I can't believe they remembered for once! This is the happiest day of my life!

"Happy birthday to you!"

Perhaps I still mean something to them.

"Happy birthday to Linus..."

Wait, what?

"Happy birthday to youuuuuuu!"

Linus, the new boy, beamed proudly, and pausing to make a wish under his breath, he blew the candles out quickly and cleanly. It was over as quickly as it had begun, and it took her mind a while to wrap itself around the matter.

Linus grabbed the knife and cut firmly into the cake, and she choked back a sob of disappointment. Reaching for the door, she thought up an excuse to leave the room.

Oh, hey, guys, just going to take a piss.

As she stepped out, she realized it wasn't necessary at all.

No one noticed she left.

Just Friends

The party was going great. Inside, people were dancing and hanging out by the food, as teenagers always do. Outside, a fire had been started and was burning merrily. Caitlyn sat down by the fire to warm her chilly fingers. This is exactly what I needed after this week, a good time out with friends, with no worries.

“Hey Dylan, how are you?” Caitlyn smiled at the smartly dressed kid next to her. She hadn’t really spoken to him in awhile. Their friend circles were vastly different, but he was a nice guy.

The one thing Caitlyn really liked about winter was the snow. The sparkling, beautiful, peaceful, and perfect snow always seemed to make her day. However, there was none. Today was just cold… miserably cold, bitterly cold. She shivered in her thin cardigan. Although she had taken a special care to dressing tonight, she forgot to take into account the freezing temperatures. Dressed in a sheer lilac blouse and blue jeans, her favorite pair of black boots, and a light cardigan, she felt free and happy… until she stepped outside.

“I’ve been pretty good. Not so good sometimes, but pretty good nonetheless. You know how it is.” Dylan grinned wryly at her, showing his pearly whites.

Caitlyn raised her eyebrows briefly, and then laughed aloud. “I suppose I should.” She took a moment to stare at the fire. The flames danced brightly, flickering amber. She shivered again. I wonder what’s going through his head…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dylan scrutinized Caitlyn for a moment. She looked prettier than usual. It was obvious she had dressed more carefully than usual. For what reason, Dylan could not possibly fathom.

“And how have you been, Caitlyn?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He had unintentionally, but all too obviously broken her train of thought. He watched her shiver so slightly but uncontrollably. He felt the sudden urge to remove his warm coat and give it to her; she looked so cold. I can’t do that; people will think I like her. So what’s stopping me? He pondered the thought for a second.

“I’ve been doing pretty well so far, school’s tough, but it always has been.” Caitlyn tried desperately to warm her hands in the fire. “Oh, it’s freezing.”

That’s it. I don’t care what people think.

Dylan peeled his thick, warm coat off and draped it over her shoulders. With a warm smile he said, “I’m not that cold, you need it more than I do.”

Caitlyn was completely taken aback. They were in public, in the middle of a group of their friends. What was Dylan thinking? But the coat was too inviting. She gripped both sides and drew it close to her.

“Thank you.”

Clio apologizes for not writing for a long time. However, she has been busy with school and all the other wonderful things life has to offer (although it is not very apparent in her stories, Clios does have some sense of humor). This story is not finished (unless the readers want it to end here). Do comment and tell Clio what you think. Thank you for visiting The Three Muses.

~ Clio

Again And Again

Why ask for help if you don't even want it from the person you're asking?

---

Where on earth was Joseph? He hadn't been himself these past few weeks, and he was starting to worry her.

After looking around for a bit, she saw him sitting at a table by himself, and went over. Tapping him on the shoulder, she asked him gently if he was alright.

He remained silent for a while, and when he finally spoke, it was to utter one simple sentence. "No one cares about me."

Her gaze fell onto his hands, which were folded crudely in his lap.

"No one at all?" she questioned softly.

What she said seemed to have struck a nerve, as he glared angrily up at her. "If anyone cared, do you think I'd be like this today?"

She met his stare with a sad one of her own.

He continued, "Does anyone care? Does anyone ever ask me why I'm like this?"

Just because I'm not her doesn't mean you have to take me for granted, she thought with a trace of weariness.

"Has anyone even noticed I never sit with them any more?"

I have. Doesn't that matter to you? She remained silent, even as she mentally answered her own question.

Obviously not.

Waiting For The Rain

This is a tribute piece that I wrote. A tribute to a local hero during World War 2. Who fought for what he believed in until the very end. Lt. Adnan Saidi's story was I guess one that we all know, something during Total defence day this year made me want to research a little deeper and this is the product of it I guess. Sometimes I wish there was a better way of remembering historical events instead of trying to drill it into children's heads here until they simply don't care anymore. I guess most of us already know his heroics, how his heavily outnumbered infantry company fought hard against Japanese troops, tanks artillery, and planes just to buy the British soldiers a bit more time to retreat. And they did.

*********************************************************************

He crouched there, in the middle of the dense forest, in his little muddy foxhole. He listened to the crickets. It was early morning now, and dawn wouldn't be too far away. He clutched his rifle to him tightly, it was the only thing he could hold on to for now, his companions were a distance away, in their own holes in the earth. Watching, waiting for any warning signs.

They had left last night. The white folk. Ran back to the city, unwilling to stay in the damp. We aren't going to die here they had said, not for nothing. He clenched his teeth at their cowardice, then slowly released his anger. Keep calm he thought, it would do no one well to dull your senses with rage.

He listened out, for any footsteps, as he breathed slowly. He heard the rustle of the leaves, and felt the wind blowing softly on his skin. This was once a peaceful village he thought. He had come here before, to enjoy the tranquility. To help out his aunt and cousins wash their laundry, along the gentle jungle stream. Now the huts stood empty, the people gone, and the peace gone with them. However, in this rare lull in the ceaseless bombing, he again found the forest quieting. The trees, unmoving and resolute.

The enemy had come like a raging hurricane, sweeping everything before them. Nothing had been able to hold them back. It was pointless to resist, he recalled the white folks words, as they scampered away. But he couldn't, this was where he had lived, and if so be it, it would be where he died. He thought of his children, they would be safe away from this place, he would miss them. It was Valentine's day today, he realized, and he hadn't had a chance to wish Sophia so, since she had left ever so reluctantly with the kids, her headscarf blowing in the wind, her silhouette, still framed in his mind.

He knew then, that he would never see her again, and it pained him to think of her grieving. But she would have to be strong, he knew that she was, it was why he loved her so. Just as she had to be strong, so did he. His men were counting on him to lead him, and he would not, could not fail them. Let them come, he thought. We will be ready. Nearby he heard a rooster crow, and he watched the forlorn sun creep its way over the horizon. He looked upon it anew, with a sense of wonder and fear.

A shout rang out from his comrades, ringing out and shattering the silence, and they ducked low as the shells began falling upon them, tearing up the soil and shaking the once immovable trees like thunder. He spotted a flash of khaki coming up the ridge, took aim and fired. The man fell, and never got up again. This was it, there was no turning back now. He stood tall and gave the rallying cry.

Biar putih tulang, jangan putih mata

Death before Dishonour.

Advertising

Inspired by a conversation I had recently...

---

She stepped out of the changing room and did a 360-degree turn. "So, Mother, what do you think of this skirt?"

Her mother's eyes bugged out of her head, and she exclaimed, "Mercy, Felicia! That skirt is entirely too tight!"

Felicia patted her bum and smiled at her reflection approvingly.

"This, Mother, is called advertising."

Starlight

This is the first story I've written in a long while. It's been a tough couple of months for me creative-wise. But hey, not bad.

This story kinda came out of nowhere, I just found some quiet and thought of a story and setting came to me first. The characters just took on forms of their own. I initially planned it to be a harsher darker encounter, with the female lead considering suicide and such, but when it didn't really write itself out that way initially, I didn't try to make it and I just went along with it.

This actually took me about slightly less than 3 days to write(as opposed to my usual 20 min story, don't judge! They call it flash fiction for a reason, not just cause of the length), partly cause I'm distracted, partly cause I didn't really know where it was going and got stuck at several points.

I guess that means its slightly disjointed and if some parts don't totally make sense then sorry!

Still, I hope you enjoy it.

It's a story about understanding, struggle and that little ray of hope that sometimes just manages to shine its way through I guess.

Enjoy.

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Victoria ran out of her front door, leaving it open, the swirling maelstrom of emotion following her out, leaving its twisted trail behind as she slammed open the door to the stairwell and pounded her way up blind. Never, again, she told herself. Never.

7th floor, 8th floor, 9th, 10th, circling, thrashing her way upwards through the sea of red until she finally burst through the door at the 20th storey, the sounds of the eternal city instantly washing over her as the night sky opened up above. She ran out of momentum a few steps away from the door, gasping for breath as the cool air hit her lungs, and stumbled over to the edge, staring at the blaring noise from the traffic below her.

"So what brings you up here young lady"

The casual drawl startled her; vulnerable and raw, she spun around tensely. It was a man, his face full of stubble, on a plastic deck chair, gleaming white in the dim brown that was the roof. He leaned back into his chair and after drawing a deep breath from his pipe, unleashed a foul smelling cloud of smoke from his pipe.

She didn't know what to say,

"Stuff...I guess"

"Always is," he said sighing, "nobody just ends up here. Unless cos you're me of course."

Victoria stood there in silence as he sank into a silent depression, the quiet surface giving no hint of the turmoil that must have been within. Quietly he intoned, "Look up into the sky."

She looked up, above the city lights and light haze, and saw stars. Stars upon stars upon stars, twinkling, dazzling, winking stars. She looked away for a moment and saw the man had gotten up, his face now pale in the moonlight.

"Beautiful ain't it." he whispered, not pausing from his look into the heavens.

His eyes took on a faraway look, and she turned her gaze back to the depths of the galaxies as he softly breathed,

"Star light, Star bright

The first star I see tonight,

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Have the wish I wish tonight"

Suddenly she felt dumb. What was she doing there anyway. Guilt and confusion washed through her as she backed away instinctively.

"I'm sorry." she said, realising who the real intruder was.

He broke and regarded the girl gently once more, and as Victoria stared into his eyes she saw an understanding there; the sense that the soul considering hers had known, had been and had moved on. Feeling self-conscious she looked away and saw him smile.

"You're alright kiddo," he chuckled to himself; seeing her confused face, he stilled his laughter. "Just realise you ain't alone, and find your own space you know what I mean?"

She sighed for the first time that night, his words sounding hollow to her; it wasn't that she didn't know, but realising that fact didn't make her problems any easier to deal with.

He smiled knowingly.

"Oh but Victoria, I do know."

"How did you know...."

He slipped off his trench coat as he unfolded his six foot wings, and shook them free as they shone, gleaming white under the light of the moon, taking on a ethereal glow, brilliance unlike anything she'd ever seen.

"Even angels have their problems, just remember; you ain't as alone as you think."

Weariness all gone, he tilted his head upwards, looking out into the sky.

"Someone's thinking of you, don't forget that."

And with that he was gone.

******************************************************

*While writing this song I thought of the Drifters song Up on the Roof. It was a song that featured somewhat frequently throughout my childhood. (1962 oh gosh) It might've partly helped to inspire this story, the mood is kinda different, but hey I think its a pretty good song. Give it a listen I guess.

If not then thats enough drivel for now!

:/

-Ian