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.

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.

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.

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!

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

The Cute One

She studied him from the back as they stepped on the bus not quite together. He wasn't exactly tall, or built like an athlete but he sure acted like it anyway. Her heels clicked hollowly against the floor as she spied a seat ahead. A seat.

He smiled wryly as he saw her head towards it and then stop, not willing to sit and let him play the macho tower of strength.

"Its alright, you can sit. I'm sure you must be quite tired," he quipped, knowing that it would make her feel like doing the opposite.

She shot a look at him over her shoulder. As if she was made out of glass, she thought, she could hold her own thank you very much. But she was wearing heels, and the temptation was too great so she sat down.

"Thank you, yes I am." she said, smiling sweetly back at him, sliding not so effortlessly into the seat, her heels clattering awkwardly against the floor. Oh she hated those things.

He looked at her for a while, that perfect smile still on his face, and looked away. She was sure he was laughing ever so slightly in his head.

They made small talk as the bus journeyed on its way forward, dancing and probing each other through their conversation, not once did he miss a beat, and he seemed unfazed and unconcerned by any stumble she made.

Just then an old lady got onto the bus, spotting her immediately she rose to give her seat away.

"You'll lose your balance," he told her, his eyes sparkling as he did. "someone else would've given up a seat, you needn't have."

Before she could retort the bus started up quickly again, and she found herself falling backwards. As everyone else on the bus except him swayed and grabbed the hand-grips tightly, he seized her hand smoothly and pulled her back onto her feet before she could fall.

Instead of issuing another effortlessly hopefully charming remark, as she regained her composure she instead saw him withdraw his hand quickly and look down to one side sheepishly, the picture of the suave, strong smooth-talker oddly incomplete.

Interesting, she thought.

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I usually base my characters off people and a few random ideas in my head. Interestingly I based both the characters in this story in part off myself.

I'm sorry if you found the characters attractive cause I definitely killed it off now.

Haha.

Don't Forget

When I say I'm bad at beginnings and endings I really mean it.

The following is kinda an example of a terrible starting.

Honestly, I have no idea how to improve it.

I'll title it later.

Get ready for a blast of emotion.

No more than the usual.

(;

Another night, another day of agony he thought. He stepped off the bus aimlessly, catching his foot on the sidewalk and nearly falling, almost comically to the floor beside the street lamp. It was late, he thought, under the glow of the light, very late.

Regaining his balance, he looked up and stumbled out of the bus stop. The days had been bad as of late, it was almost as if he was in a permanent stupor, like he was drunk, except he hated alcohol.

A figure loomed out of the gloom in front of him, coming suddenly yet not quite unexpectedly, like a dream creature materialising in a nightmare. The shape seemed startlingly familiar, and he paused. She stepped into the light and he stopped. She stopped too.

They both stood there for a while, in the silence. It all came back to them immediately, expectations, dreams, hopes, disappointment, anger, bitterness, all catching them in their powerful force, it was as if, as if no time had passed. But yet, things were different.

"Hey..." She offered uncertainly, her voice faltering as her brain failed to find something else to say.

"Go away." He said, almost mumbling and muttering it, he turned away, hurt on his face.

She took a half step forward and reached her arm out to him, searching for words for the moment, there were only two.

"I'm sorry..."

The words came hesitantly, but they came nonetheless. He struggled with the powerful emotions they triggered at him, unsure of how to proceed. He wanted to turn, hold her and never let go, but he wouldn't let himself, he couldn't.

She could see what he wanted, but also saw him fighting against it, and felt a tinge of regret spread within her.

"You didn't have to go."

He spoke slowly, but they hit her like bullets, so hard, so hurting, so true. It had been her, and he had borne more than anyone should have had to bear. She had her reasons, he had to see that. It had been hard on her too.

She watched as he stood there, hurting and angry in his conviction, she realized she couldn't hold herself back anymore, and flung her arms around him as he faced away from her. He stiffened momentarily and then felt his body instinctively relax. Right then, they remembered the happier times, the whispered ambitions, the forever they once had. Right then, they were them again, and once again, they managed to share forever.

Then he tore himself away from her, and looked at her in the face for the last time.

He was crying, she thought. She had never seen him do that before, not even when he thought she had gone forever. He was gone forever she realized, the wound had cut too deep. Too deep for her to heal, one that perhaps would only be fixed by another forever. A different one.

An icy chill gripped her heart as he said the words that she knew he would say. Don't say it, she silently begged, but as much as he didn't want to, he would.

"Goodbye." He said, finality in his voice. He managed to stride past her with all the willpower in his being before he choked up, and began to run, from her, from the past, to the future with no hope.

And it was her turn to feel that strange wetness on her face, blurring her vision, sticking to her glasses, ruining her make-up. She fumbled for a tissue, she had always been the stronger one, and dabbed at her eyes as she walked ahead to the bus stop and stared out at the night sky and the endless cars, endless possibilities that passed her by.

As they made their way away from each other, they both knew that the regrets would remain with them for a long time, that many other nights would be spent in despondency, pointless dreaming over what might have become. There was no going back for them they realized, and in a beautiful sad way, that was the last thought they ever shared.

All We Have Left

This is another interesting story of mine. I was supposedly heading somewhere, a very odd somewhere but I figured it was going to take me at least five pages to get there, and that it pretty okay enough on its own*. The last four paragraphs are newly written, so if there's any disjoint, then you know why.

I guess in some ways it's better off in it's original form. It's an open ending and all mysterious.

On another day I guess I would've just left it.

But heck.

Here it is anyway.

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

He coughed hard as he stumbled in the desert sun, brushing the mini sand storm brewing at his feet out of his eyes, shielding them at the same time from the blasting heat. Blasted heat, he corrected himself. He looked over to his left to see how she was doing, as usual, she was striding just a little ahead with no problem, he had no idea how she did it.

They had been at it for days. Days of trekking, looking to find a piece of civilization in the wasteland. The prospect of solitude was always daunting, but he took solace in the fact that he wasn't alone. There had still been people in the city, but at the thought of the city he felt a chill despite the scorching fireball above him.

A bird cry broke the sound of their rhythmic and his not so rhythmic trudging and snapping out of his reverie he brought his rifle to bear, scanning the horizon for danger but there was nothing. No people, no buildings, trees, or signs of life save the unidentifiable bird in the distance.

"Relax Joe, there's nothing around, I doubt it spread this far." She said casually, returning her own pistol to her holster as she did.

He grunted in reply, it didn't matter, it paid to be careful, but she knew that, and he knew that when danger came she was always the more cautious one. He cleared the sand out of his gun before slinging it back over his back and following after her. The pistol was probably a better option or even no gun at all, the sand got everywhere in the desert it did. It got into eyelids, nostrils, phones, bags and guns. His clothes had sand on them, in them, and when he licked his lips he could taste sand. Everywhere he looked he saw sand. He was sick to death of it, but there was nothing to be done about it. He spat a mouthful of sand out onto the sizzling floor and felt for his knife on his belt, a little something that wouldn't stop working cause of sand.

As the noon sun changed to evening sun, and the sky took on the softer hues of purple and orange, he spotted something in the distance.

"You see that Sheila? We aren't supposed to hit anything for another week."

She struggled with her parka as another gust of sand-filled wind started up, the white grains obscuring the screen of her hand-held device as she tried to read from it.

"We might've gone off course, let's head for it anyway."

She was at it again, making decisions for him, but he let her, it didn't matter as long as she didn't do anything stupid. But she wouldn't. So he followed as they neared the structure.

It was an old building, an imposing stone structure, the type that hadn't been built for a few centuries now. As they poked about it in sunset light the ground beneath their feet crumbled and they landed harmlessly in a pile of sand. Sloppy. His mind whispered, you're gonna get yourself killed if you keep this up.

He leapt to his feet as soon as he could and swept his flashlight across the dark. There was nothing. He looked behind and met her gaze, they both nodded silently. All clear.

Ruins, in the middle of the desert. He mused to himself as walked through the cavernous hallway slowly, rifle at the ready. Yes this building must have been a few centuries old at least. Before the meltdown, before everything changed.

"Sat nav shows that we didn't go off course, the maps say there's nothing here." She remarked, the blue glow of that confangled Apple construct reflecting off her face.

"There's more to this world than the maps, how far back do they go? I'd say this place has been gone for more than a century."

It was her turn to fall silent as she mused about the fall of technology. They had been forced to revert to the antique firearms since the melt-down, almost everything had stopped working in the same way. And so they had lived with it, and had done their best to cope. It wasn't as if things a hundred years back were primitive, just inferior in a few ways.

They rounded a corner to find yet another corridor. At the same time they both paused and noiselessly dove behind a fallen pillar. They looked at each other, did you hear that. Suddenly he heard the by now all-too familiar otherworldly cry as the first misshapen figure ran out into the dim light, taking five steps before it fell, it’s head violently exploded by a slug.

Sheila muttered a curse underneath her breath as she reloaded her pistol, placing another bullet in the magazine. Impossible…how did they get here.

He didn’t bother with a reply, his heart pounding furiously he fumbled with his goggles, clicking them on as his world turned to green. He saw first ten, then twenty, then hundreds of jerky figures running towards them. He grabbed her arm.

“Let’s go.”

{finish}

*the questionable ending I was heading to was of them spending the night in the complex, somehow, they would wake up and find a really old violin, and play it. Yeah. That was the original ending, no the supposed ending. Cool right. I gave it up.

Consideration

Hello everyone once again. This is a very odd story of mine that I wrote on a whim. It's set on a bus, like many of my other stories, though it's subtle you actually realise that's the reason the protagonist doesn't get up and entertain himself.

Yeah.

Its odd, as I said, very experimental and might not be very easy to read.

Still I hope it's entertaining enough for you to want to finish it. (;

Here it goes.

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

Hanzo was annoyed. He was tired, after a long dumb day. And now he was annoyed. Why was she taking such a long time to respond.

That was it. 5 minutes. No one neglected to reply to his smses for five minutes, and no one wanted to mess with him when he was tired and annoyed. He began planning the snarky sms he was about to send when someone who looked exactly like him shimmered into existence into the understandably empty seat beside him.

"Perhaps you shouldn't do it." He, or it said.

"Who the heck are you, I've never seen you before." Hanzo shot back.

"I am Consideration, I am here to advise you to perhaps think a little more about others."

"Thats nonsense, I don't need someone to come here and tell me to be a little nicer to other people."

"I am asking you to reconsider some of your actions nevertheless, or to actually consider some of them. "

Suddenly realization dawned upon Hanzo's face. He was fire, and this thing was...

"You, I recognize you now. You're not Consideration, you are Self-doubt. I see you all the time in him. You make him weak, I'm not going to submit to you."

"I am not, you have exceeded the bounds of normality and confidence. You have transcended into recklessness. It is only natural that Common Sense, has dictated that I be here to curb you."

"That is absolute rubbish. I can think for myself. I am not reckless!"

Consideration raised an eyebrow and crossed his legs.

"Well, that was rather impulsive and fiery response wasn't it? Come lets take a look for ourselves shall we, just today."

*Flashback*

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

Hanzo was angry. But cool as ice this time. Still. He was angry. He spat venom, not fire.

"And what exactly are you trying to achieve by saying that Archie? Can you tell me?"

"Well I'm making fun of you."

"Well I don't like it, and I don't see anyone around you laughing."

Archie, as usual shifted to immediate self-justification and wrote himself into eternal Hanzo damnation.

"Everyone does it."

Those three words would be remembered for a long time to come indeed by both of them. Hanzo made sure of that.

"So that makes it right huh Archie? You're such a great role model, after all I'm worthless, I don't matter. You know what we should all applaud you for that."

He looked vaguely sorry, but only vaguely. He didn't say anything and looked away, there was nothing to say. But it wasn't enough.

"We should build a monument, a statue of you somewhere, so that we can remember you Archie. Perhaps. " Hanzo paused for a second before continuing with a vengeance, only the table between them preventing him from grabbing his shirt and pulling him close.

"How tall do you want it to be? 30 meters? 100 meters? You know what? Maybe we should engrave your figure into the moon. "

He stopped then and let the acid of his words hang in the air.

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

"Not too far huh?" Consideration asked.

"Nonsense," Hanzo snorted, " You have to see the context. He's been ribbing at us for forever, if I hadn't done anything he would have continued to trample over the poor boy over and over again. He deserved every word."

He looked straight into Consideration's eyes and said slowly with venom. "My only regret was not continuing on. "

Consideration sighed and looked away.

"You're right I guess, but perhaps you could take a softer approach and work out an agreement with the boy, instead of stepping in and balkanizing all the massive scrapes he gets into. Prevention is better than cure."

"That's solely up to him, he doesn't like me. But I assure you I think about others as well. I do have consideration already. "

"Oh really?"

Hanzo smiled and pulled out a little figurine of his pocket.

"This is retrospection," he said, placing it on his palm.

"Why on earth is he so small!" said Consideration, notably outraged.

"Silence. Retrospection, speak!"

The figurine drew a tiny breath and spoke :

It is clear that the dealings with Archie were slightly overwrought and indeed venomous. However for the larger continuity of the survival of the self, it was imperative there and then to render the adversary incapable of providing any future harm. Any alternatives such as absolute kindness and gentle turn of opinion would prove to cause too much potential harm. Thus it was important to deal maximum damage there and then to decrease chances of self hurt in the future. Main Ruling 2 in the Respect And Considerations Act also states that one should treat individuals as with as much consideration as they treat you, Section 4 pertaining to Main Ruling 2 also clearly states that when no consideration is given, then no consideration is required to be given. It is clear that there has been no violation of the rules on this part and that the being Hanzo has been absolved of all guilt.

Hanzo smirked and shoved Retrospection back into his pocket.

"I told you so." He never lost an argument.

Consideration turned up his nose.

"Fine, but you should still reconsider your actions and not act on impulse. Like that text message. Learn Patience. " and with that he vanished before Hanzo could reply.

He never lost an argument either.

The Text

For those of you who don't know, I have the propensity for writing stories set in bus-stops or on the bus.

Why? Partly cause I take the bus a lot, and it's a rather interesting place, but that's for another post. The bus-stop serves merely as the setting in this case, and doesn't play too much of a role.

It's a romance story, enjoy.

The Text:

He stared at the phone screen.

Dammit. How should he phrase it.

He quickly typed out the first thing that came to his head as he walked towards the bus stop. It was stupid, simple and plain he thought. Instantly he deleted it and came up with a more carefully considered message.

Too rambling, his mind reminded him. He furrowed his brow, and after 5 minutes came up with yet another message.

Hmmm, nothing seriously wrong with it he thought, sitting down on the bench without looking. But…what if, she read that wrongly. No, it wasn't saying enough. No, it was perfectly fine, if he deleted it he wouldn't be able to come up with anything better. His fingers hovered over the send button, but he found lacked the gumption to press it.

He forced his thumb downwards and mentally cursed himself as his mind practically screamed at him to stop, and was just about to go for a third try when he heard the loud screeching brakes of the bus. He hurriedly got into the back of the queue and when he looked down, he found the screen black, idle.

Irritatedly, he jammed the centre button, bringing the screen back to life, and also to his utmost horror, activating the send option. He jammed the red button on his phone. But it was too late, the message had been sent.

He facepalmed as he got on the bus and pressed his head against the pole, ignoring the mass of people swarming around him and squashing him from all sides, holding his phone closely to his chest. I'm doomed he thought, that’s it, I've messed up. She's not going to say anything to that.

He rued the missed chance, the wasted opportunity, his stupidity. He grieved for his future, once so bright, now as ashen as his face looked to anyone else on the bus who bothered to look at him, which was very forlornly ashen indeed.

The bus jerked and his face was brought briefly away from the pole for an instant, before the force ensured that both face and pole were reunited, violently. He gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to cry out. It would not do to let everyone in the bus think there was something wrong with him too.

Oh this was all your fault he thought, who asked you to take that stupid advice, now you're dead and doomed to eternal misery and solitude. Oh woe is me, I should throw myse-

Just then his phone beeped.

He glanced down and his heart skipped a beat.

Game on buster, game on.

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

If you think it's interestingly real well that's cause it is, in the most part at least, naturally I fell to self parody.

If it isn't it means there's something wrong with the way I read my own stories.

As for who the unlucky girl is, let's just say it shall remain a secret.

Untitled

For my first piece on this blog I'll be showing you all an old piece I wrote.

It's not so much of a story, but a monologue, so pardon the "unconventional" typing.

It may not sound that great, but monologues aren't meant to simply be read, they are performed.

It's a piece that means a lot to me personally. It just started out as a rant, a general rant against the world and was originally found on my own personal blog.

It ended up being a rather eloquent (I think) anti-bullying piece despite my rather volatile emotional state at the time. I've edited it since to make it more of a monologue and since then a friend of mine I showed it to described it as emotionally charged and raw.

Yeah that's what I suppose I am. Enjoy.

Monologue (Untitled):

I hate this world. I hate the way people hate each other. I hate the killing. I hate the sarcastic insults. I hate the way people are left out. Left to rot. I hate the way we hate each other because people are different. Ever met one of those "different" people? Those who never fit in. Ever not talk to one of them? Ever called them names? Ever turn away when they turned to you, for anything. They see. They see everything. They may be different. But they see. They see the look in your eyes when they talk to you. They see your disgust and disdain. They see your contempt, for who they are as a person. It just takes one to plant that seed of doubt. Then all of a sudden, there are two. Then five. Ten. Faces. Taunting, mocking faces. They lose all sense of self. Hope.

They know and feel that they are unwanted. So what if you didn't really do that. So what.SO WHAT. If you've seen it happen, and let it happen. You caused it too. For all it takes, is that ray of light, to chase away all the shadows. But, it never comes. They falter, stumble in the realization, that not one person is willing to shine that light for them. To guide them out of the darkness.

Many fall. Some never get up. Most cry out. To their parents, to God, to anyone. To come save them. Most hear nothing but deafening silence. But it doesn’t last.

It never does.

They start to hear. Voices, from the deep, depths of the earth. From the wretched parts of the soul. They bat away those voices. For they call, for their minds, their hearts, their lives.

But not all manage to do so.

For the rest, they endure the voices. The faces. The suffocating darkness. And slowly waste away. Every day the pull gets stronger, the voices grow louder. The walk in the dark stretches longer and longer. There is no end point. No end to their torment. Can you truly say you aren’t one of the guilty ones? I felt the darkness. I stood at the brink of sanity. And nearly, nearly let myself fall.

I was one of the lucky ones, for I stumbled upon a mirror. That let me see the light within me. That was good enough as I made my way out of the dark. Yet upon leaving it, I never looked back for the others I knew there. I kept my own light from them. Him.

I swear I'll never do that again. Will you?

I still face the dark today. But it’s different now. I've seen this place in the light before. The shadows no longer have a sway on me as the light within me quashes those fears.

It only takes one.

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

There was a refrain that I put within my original post that I think though it didn't make it through the editing I need to include here.

Mich, you said you felt bad for not doing anything to help me back then. Don't. Cause you did. More than anyone else.