Story: A Lonely Valentine's by Fadzlishah Johanabas Rosli

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 2.5 Malaysia License.

Story:Into the Rain by Fadzlishah Johanabas Rosli

Name: Fadzlishah Johanabas Rosli
Pen name: Fadzlishah Johanabas Rosli
Title of Story: A Lonely Valentine's
Genre: Fiction, General
Summary: What happens when your soulmate leaves you? Does time stand still? Or does it go on, leaving you behind with your guilt?

*This piece was originally written in 1997, and revised in 2002. I think it's due for another overhaul.

Ian plucked the last notes with his eyes closed. The whole room was silent except for the tune that floated from his guitar. The song he sang had been light, beautiful in its sadness. Even as the final note faded and died, the magic of his song lingered. Some clapped softly, unsure of what response to give, and some cried silently in their seats. All were touched by the message within his lyrics.

“Thank you,” he whispered without looking up. Ian stood and left his seat in the middle of the stage and headed straight for the bartender’s counter. The singer before him had received a hearty applause. He left the audience subdued. Pat, the owner of the bar walked into the spotlight as he always would after a performer had left the stage, but only a few people laughed when he made a joke before introducing the next singer.

Ian slid his guitar into its leather casing and leaned it carefully against the mahogany counter. “Joe, the usual.”

“Coming right up.” The bartender slung the stained cloth he was using to wipe the counter over his left shoulder and took out a bottle of beer. In a fluid motion that bespoke years of experience, he opened the cap and slid the bottle toward Ian. Not a single drop fell on the polished surface of the counter.

“One for me, Joe,” Pat called out from beside Ian. Behind him a woman was singing an original song. Another opened bottle of beer came sliding across the counter. “Thanks.” He lifted the bottle. To Ian, he whispered, “Such a show-off, ain’t he?”

Ian gave Pat a short glance and took a draft.

“The audience loved you, boyo. Look at them.” Pat noticed the other man not paying attention to his words. He gave Ian’s shoulder a slight nudge. “Really. Look at them.”

Ian glared at Pat before turning his head to look at the crowd. Even in the dimmed light he could make out a few women wiping their cheeks with tissue or tablecloth or their own sleeves. With a shrug, he turned back and took another draft.

“You could sing for real, you know. Make money like all them professional singers.”

Ian gave Pat a bored, flat stare and finished off the beer.

“Whatever, man. You bring the crowd in, so I don’t complain.” With that, Pat took his bottle, stood up and left Ian alone. He went to greet some patrons sitting at a nearby table and they laughed at something he said.

Just when Ian found the solitude he sought, a woman came by and sat beside him.

“Lovely night, isn’t it?” If the woman sought to initiate a conversation with him, it was one of the lamest line he had heard so far. He ordered another bottle of beer and stole a quick glance at this newcomer. She looked thirty-something, slightly prettier than most cheap hookers, but not someone you could single out in a crowded subway. Not like Sam. Ian took a long swig when a fresh bottle slid to his hand.

“I loved the song you sang. Beautiful voice.” She sounded like she was struggling for the right words to voice out. “I’m Kelly, by the way.” She offered her right hand, but Ian left it hanging without even a single glance. She withdrew her hand and grabbed her half-emptied glass.

Joe left his cloth on the counter and came to the rescue. “Kelly, right?”

The nervous woman forced a smile. “U-huh.”

“Look, let me refill your glass. It’s on the house. And sorry ‘bout my man Ian here. He’s always like this.”

Kelly waited just long enough for her glass to be filled before she left them.

“Thanks, man.” Ian lifted his bottle slightly.

“No sweat. Pity though. This one looked decent.”

“Whatever. I’m done for the night.” Ian finished off his beer and lifted his guitar.

“Right. See you tomorrow, man. But sing something lighter, okay. We’ll have a lot of couples wanting a little romance.” Joe resumed wiping the counter.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed, hollow and barely audible. Ian put on his jacket and quietly left the bar. Pat gave him a single wave to acknowledge his exit.

Winter wind blasted at him just as he opened the door, but Ian ignored the cold just as he had ignored the woman in the bar. His apartment was not far away, but home was not his destination just yet. He had somewhere else to be, someplace away from life. Ian walked the path he had been using every night since…that day, looking up only before crossing the few streets that separated the bar from the graveyard.

Not many people were up and about that night, and those few that lingered hid within the depths of long and thick jackets, their faces masked by shadows even as they passed the watchful glare of streetlights. It was the kind of night when people are not afraid to come up and mug you out in the open. And even if they do, no one would really care. Car honks pierced the air once in a while, and at a distance, sirens from patrol cars could be heard, slightly muffled and not completely out of place. It is the city, after all.

When Ian reached the graveyard, the gate was closed but not locked. Just as he touched its cold metal surface, the bell from the clock tower across the street tolled, long and deep, breaking the stillness of the night and canceling out every other sound. Ian looked at his wristwatch. Under the flickering light of a lamppost by the gate, he made out the two overlapped hands. Midnight. The bell struck again. Ian pushed the gate open. Its rusted hinges creaked so loud not even the bell could muffle it out. People like to say teeth-grinding noises like this one could wake the dead. If only the words were true.

The moon was his only source of light in the crowded graveyard, but it had been so long since he last stumbled on a tombstone. He had memorized the position of every marking stone along the route to a particular plot of land that meant the world to him. The bell continued its loud toll, but he wasn’t counting. Ian kept on walking at a leisurely pace, as if he belonged here. He had long ago noticed a certain stillness in the air, as if common breeze dared not touch the hallowed ground. Even the silhouette of the trees that dotted the scenery looked eerier. Once in a while he could make out vague scents of fresh flowers, probably laid there somewhere by visitors during the day. Everything looked, smelled and sounded different during the night than in daytime, but Ian was not that particular on small details. Even sudden sounds of broken twigs or ruffling of wings could not daunt him.

Ian stopped in front of a black marble tombstone. It was simple in design, a slab of polished Italian marble without a crucifix or statue to adorn it, but curved like an arch at the top. Its surface reflected the dim moonlight beautifully, and the gold plated plaque looked brand new even when it had already been there for so long. Ian had hired the caretaker to maintain the tombstone in its perfect condition, and the old man even kept the grass over the grave trimmed evenly. Ian squatted and traced his fingers on the words engraved on the plaque, but he had already committed every single letter and symbol into memory from the very first day he had the tombstone done.

Samantha Jane Watson-Green
18.3.1972 – 14.2.1997
She loved, was loved,
But God loves her more.

Sam.

His one true love.

His wife.

Ian slumped and leaned on the cold surface of the tombstone. He closed his eyes and wondered what life would be like if things had not turned out the way they did. His apartment would not be cold and empty. It would have been a home, a place he would have looked forward to go to every night. His bed would not be much too large for him, and he would have someone to wake up beside him every morning. Sam had loved to kiss the tip of his nose to wake him up, and he would brush his lips against hers to tell her he was awake. Ian stroked his nose lightly at the memory of those tender lips touching his skin. If Sam had not been so mercilessly robbed from him, he would be singing songs that celebrated her life, not hollow songs reminiscing in what was.

All of the sudden what Joe had said just now made sense. A night where couples want romance. It was already –

“Valentine’s.”

Ian had not heard that voice for exactly a year, but nothing could make him forget the light, tender whisper. Ever. If hearing it wasn’t impossible enough, nothing could prepare him for what he saw when he opened his eyes.

“Sam.”

Ian shot up and almost lost his balance. It was impossible, but here she was, standing before him, the love he had lost. Sam was wearing the one-piece sundress that Ian loved, a white sleeveless dress with loose skirt that reached her ankles. The small colorful flowers embroidered on the hem of the skirt looked wonderful, just as he remembered it. She looked so real, so alive, with a rosy hue on her smooth cheeks, and those green eyes that gazed deep to the very core of his soul, and lips so pink and tender he wanted so much to kiss her there and then. Her long auburn hair flowed as if caressed by a gentle wind even though the air around Ian was still.

“Sam.”

Ian still could not believe it. She even smelled wonderful. The fragrance of the perfume he had bought for her the last Christmas they had spent together filled his nostrils, bringing back memories he had forgotten.

“It’s been so long, love.” Sam smiled, but in its warmth Ian could sense a deep sadness. “I’ve wanted to hear that again for so long.”

His initial shock subdued, Ian acted instinctively. His fingers, still numb, reached for Sam’s cheeks and lingered there, savoring the smooth and gentle texture he remembered all too well. He closed his eyes and sought her lips, knowing she would reach for his. For the first time in a whole year, Ian felt complete again.

“You…don’t know…how…hard it’s been,” he whispered between gentle kisses. Ian couldn’t breathe right, his chest tight from renewed heartache. Suddenly he remembered the hell he had been through the first few months he spent in denial. “I wake up every morning hoping you’d be there.” Ian tilted Sam’s face upward to study her every feature. “But I always wake up alone.” He felt his chest tighten even more.

“Ian, I can’t stay.” Sam’s face was a conflict of guilt and sadness.

“I know. That’s what hurts me even more. This is not real but I don’t want to wake up. I don’t want to wake up alone again.”

“Ian, love, you know why I’m here.”

Ian wouldn’t let his eyes off Sam’s for fear she would disappear. He had lost her once, and once was more than enough.

“Look behind you. Please, for me.”

Ian felt the need in her voice and couldn’t let her down. Still holding Sam close, he turned around only to find it was no longer as dark as midnight should be. He wasn’t even at the cemetery anymore. The sun was a disk of white light above his head, staring at the world without warmth. They were standing at a broad street, with tall, dull buildings along the length of the avenue. There were many people about, all in their warm jackets. Cars and cabs completed the scene of a busy street. But everything was still, as if God had pressed the pause button. Birds with their wings stretched were suspended in mid-air; even plastic bags and paper blown by the wind were still and unmoving.

“Where are –” Ian knew he was supposed to remember this place, this particular scene, but he couldn’t quite recall what he was seeing. Until he spotted a sleek black Jag down the street. Then everything fell into place. His eyes darted around, looking for people he suspected would be there. Another Sam was across the street, wearing the same dress the one he held was wearing, and another version of him stood among a crowd of pedestrians not far from where he was standing. That other Ian had a single stalk of a large blooming red rose in his hand.

“This is where it happened!” Ian let go of Sam and suddenly everything came to life. A loud honk blasted in the air, the birds continued their hurried flight, and everybody seemed to talk all at the same time. The Sam across the street walked in Ian’s direction, and his other self waited while others crossed the street, waving his free hand to greet the woman he loved.

“No!”

Ian rushed across the street, wanting to prevent what he knew had happened. He couldn’t just stand and wait, and he had to do something. But the Jag sped through him like he was a ghost and everything else was real. A thump, a long pause, and a thud accompanied by a crack. Ian turned around and saw Sam lying on the street, a pool of blood starting to form under her still body. There was a split second of utter silence, followed by shouts of horror and a loud “Sam!” that drowned all other sounds. Ian could only stand still as he watched the other him sitting in the middle of the street cradling Sam in his blood-soaked arms. He was crying, calling out Sam’s name over and over again even though she couldn’t hear him anymore. A ring of spectators was forming around them, horrified look being the general expression. The rose lay forgotten not far from the pool of blood.

Everything disappeared and all was dark and quiet again, leaving Ian empty and devastated. Sam picked up the rose and walked closer to Ian, silent as words did not seem to belong right then.

“Why did you let me see all that again?” His words were barely audible.

“To make you see it wasn’t your fault.”

“But I should have been the one crossing the street.”

“Or the car shouldn’t have been there, or I should’ve looked before crossing. It was my time, Ian, and nothing could have prevented it. You have to let go.”

“I love you…so…much. I can’t…let you go.”

Sam caressed Ian’s cheek, soothing him and calming his shaking body. “Not me, love. The guilt. It was never your fault. I’ve been luckier than most people. I died in the arms of the man I loved. I didn’t feel pain, only your warmth as you held me. I felt your heartbeat, strong and fast, even as mine stopped. I should thank you, love, for leaving me nothing to regret about the life I lived.”

“Don’t leave me again, Sam.” Ian hugged her close and kissed her forehead.

Sam buried her face in Ian’s strong chest. “I’ll always be with you as long as you remember me.” It was all the promise she could give him.

But it was enough. “Then you’ll be with me till the day I die.”

Their kiss was long and tender, filled with years of love they didn’t have to voice out.

* * * * *

“Sonny. You alive?”

Ian awoke to the sharp jab of the butt end of a garden rake on his chest. After blinking a few moments to clear his head, he realized he had been sleeping with his back supported by the black marble tombstone. He rubbed his temple to ease what he felt like a hangover. When he opened his eyes, Ian saw the caretaker’s open hand in front of his face. He grabbed the old man’s scrawny arm and used it as a leverage to stand up. Ian felt something fell off his lap, and when he looked at the ground, he saw a stalk of deep red rose.

Ian couldn’t say for sure whether what happened that night was a dream from drinking too much, or everything had been real. With his guitar in one hand and the rose in the other, he walked out of the graveyard with a warm smile on his face. In his heart and in his mind, Sam would live forever.

©Fadzlishah Johanabas Rosli 2009
...Read more

Story: Into the Rain by Fadzlishah Johanabas Rosli

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 2.5 Malaysia License.

Story:Into the Rain by Fadzlishah Johanabas Rosli

Name: Fadzlishah Johanabas Rosli
Pen name: Fadzlishah Johanabas Rosli
Title of Story: Into the Rain
Genre: Romance, Fiction, General
Summary:What if when you finally figure out you should have held on, instead of letting go? May you already be too late?

*This short piece is just something to get my fingers moving. It may or may not be used for something big I have in progress.


Thunder rumbled overhead. Usually I would count the gap till lightning struck, but not this time. I was busy praying I wasn't too late.

I bounded up the narrow stairwell two steps at a time. I held on to the banister, fully aware of the filth and grime that were beginning to coat my palm with a thickening layer of slime. Not that I had much choice. Raindrops pelted at me like an endless wave of angry insects, limiting my vision and making my steps treacherous. I'd already lost count on the times I almost slipped. Above the din of the building storm, I could hear my heartbeat. I could even feel it in my fingertips.

Please. Don't let me be too late.

I lost track of how many floors I left behind me. My chest felt tight, my breaths came out ragged and hot, and my sides felt like someone was squeezing me hard, long nails burying deep. I was already panting, acrid-tasting raindrops making their way into my open mouth, but still I ran.

Wait for me.

I could barely make my way to the partially opened door when I reached the top landing. The small, dust-coated space was littered with broken and forgotten desks and chairs with missing legs, piled up looking like they would topple and bury me with the slightest sneeze. Even the rotting door leaned at a slight angle inward, its top hinge broken. I was never acrobatic, but determination helped me through the door. Into the rain. Lightning struck somewhere beyond my periphery vision, casting the sky with a sudden illumination before plunging me into near darkness again.

Please.

I'd been on this roof only once before, and even then it was one time too many. The big granite slabs were unsteady at some places. With piss-smelling hallways filled with maggot-laden garbage bags, I wouldn't expect the roof to be maintained with any more care and devotion. I promised myself then I would never come here again. Yet here I was, rubbing my eyes with my grime-free hand to clear the rain off my lashes.

Why must he pick this freaking place, of all places?

Shielding my eyes the best I could, I scanned my surroundings. People could play badminton and basketball up here, full court each, without getting into each other's way. If the footing wasn't this uneven, and if the edges weren't only secured with knee-high rusted railings. Other than a few other stairwell openings and the occasional vent pipes jutting out awkwardly, the roof was an open space. He was nowhere to be seen, and I was running out of time. Even without the blinding rain, twilight was fast approaching, and I wouldn't be able to see much anyway.

Where the hell is he?

I took out my phone, risking damaging it in this deluge. I had to try. I pressed the button 2 without even looking at the keypad, to speed-dial his number. I closed my eyes, and listened.

At first I thought I was imagining it. Then Damien Rice's song got louder there was no mistaking it. It came from the other stairwell. I flew toward the sound, praying hard I would find more than his mobile there.

I found him sitting against the wall, his arms hugging his drawn knees. He was looking down, chin resting between his knees. His eyes were partly hidden by his hair. He ignored the rain flowing from the plastered locks just as much as he ignored the clothes that clung onto his body. He was shivering, but I couldn't tell if it was from the cold. His mobile lay forgotten by his side, its screen glowing softly. The song stopped abruptly when I canceled the call.

My heart almost stopped.

"I told you not to use the song as your ringtone. What if I couldn't hear it?" Could he hear me above the chatter of my teeth?

He didn't look up. He didn't move one bit. His silence was loud.

"I was afraid you'd jump."

"I could have," he finally said, barely above a whisper. "I wanted to."

"Are you alright?" I took a step closer, my hands reaching out. I was shaking. But I did not feel the cold. He was here, in front of me. My heart reached out further than my tentative body could.

"I don't know if I could do this anymore, Rina." He looked up when he said my name. What I saw looking into his golden eyes, dark now without luster, broke my heart more than the words he told me when he left six days and three hours ago ever could. Where was the fire? Where was the life I loved to discover in those beautiful eyes? He bowed his head low and started rocking back and forth.

Where was the Adrian I had always known? Where was the anger, the confidence? Where was my Adrian?

"Everything I've done. Nothing. Gone." His shoulders sagged lower, boneless. Even his voice, his tone, was midnight.

I kneeled in front of him and reached for his face. I lifted his chin to face me. He did not resist. "Hey, I'm here, aren't I?"

He closed his eyes. "I don't have any strength left."

"Adrian," I whispered, each syllable of his name a song on my lips. I smoothed hair, dark with rain, from his eyes. "Let me in. If you refuse to see the light, let me in on the darkness. Let me be lost with you. Let me be your strength as you've been mine."

"You can't, Rina," he said. "Not after what I did to you."

"I love you, Adrian."

I hugged him close with all the strength I could muster. I would not let him go. Not this time. He was still at first, but then a miracle happened. He hugged me back.

The rain was heavier still, but I was far from cold. Adrian was a soul helplessly lost, and so was I. But we found each other again. If I was never sure of anything else in my life, this I knew to be true:

I love Adrian.

And he loves me back.

©Fadzlishah Johanabas Rosli 2009
...Read more

Story: Revelry Queen sees the Empty Tomb by Raina

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 2.5 Malaysia License.


Story: Revelry Queen sees the Empty Tomb by Raina

Name: Raina
Pen name: Ymber
Title of Story: Revelry Queen sees the Empty Tomb
Genre: Real Life, Fiction
Summary: Emptiness is a large part of our lives and most of the time what we do revolves around filling in that space.

City lights a-fading. That's how the view is from here. I watch as the thirsty faces seek to fill their hollow hearts and I see their hollow eyes bleed tears. Where would they seek solace for their lonely souls? The loud music causes an echo in the depth of their bodies. It scares a lot of them how quick this moment of slight pleasure that tingles their happy nerve will fade, and then they are left alone, hearing the echo of their own voices calling out for someone to hear them. My own heart turns and I feel it shrink to hide under my belly. It fears something real and raw.

I close my eyes as the music gains an auditory strength that shuts all things out. I retreat back to the space where no one can touch and I look around. Does love live within me?

See her run, she runs after love. But she runs not for love himself, she runs for the pleasure she may gain when she possess love. Love runs from her, for her pursuit of him is but artificial, she is unwilling to sacrifice for love himself. She is after his gifts. The pleasure, the romance, and when she exhausts the very well love himself is, she moves on. She sits in despair for she understands not, love must be obtained not for his gifts, love must be sought for the sake of himself. Love himself.

She closes her eyes as the music gains an auditory strength that shuts all things out. She is unable to retreat for she knows not how. Her heart has shut out all things good while shutting out all things bad. The calloused wounded entity in her chest cannot shout out its loneliest cries, the ones she screams silently in the darkest pain. It is heard not. Not by her, not by anyone. She continues to run, but she stands still. Motionless in motion.

I watch her light her fourth cigarette in such an urgency as if in it she would finally obtain a certain answer. I watch her kiss him with such an abandonment as if in him she would find a certain salvation. I watch her down her alcohol with such a thirst as if in it she would find a certain joy. I watch. I watch. I watch her give herself to him with such passion as if in it she would find a certain love. Love stands still watching.

I watch her light her fifth cigarette. Her hollow eyes searching around for something. Something is missing. She placed her palm on the face of him who lay beside her and sighed. His hand ran up and down her thighs as he sighed. The morning makes us see more clearly. The night of abandonment to each other had done less than fill the chasm within the each of them. The feel of another's skin on their naked bodies did nothing but make them feel completely used, they feel completely cheated for when morning came and as they looked at each other they only saw hollowness in the other. Nothing glorious such as love. Nothing sweet such as joy. Nothing fulfilling such as wholeness. And they thought the revelry was supposed to fill the deep chasm of emptiness.

I sighed a sigh that only can be sighed from a pain that is born so deep within my being. I watched. City lights a-fading. That's how the view is from here. I watch the thirsty faces seeking to fill their hollow hearts and see their hollow eyes bleed tears. I watch without them waiting. I stand about them waiting. I nudge them but that which concerns them blinds them and they heed me not. I am dying. Dying to tell them. Something is missing, she looks. She laughs. I touch her beautiful face and look at her eyes, and then wait until she turns to see me.

Of course something is missing.

I am outside of her.

©Raina2009
...Read more

Story: Dance of the Elements by Yin Khuan

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 2.5 Malaysia License.

Story: Dance of the Elements by Yin Khuan

Name: Yin Khuan
Pen name: Lady Lanyara Artemisan
Title of Story: Dance of the Elements
Genre: Fantasy, General
Summary: A man who has given up on the life that he leads finds freedom in the world of Mother Earth... Oneshot story. Sorry if my summary leaves much to be desired.



Story: Dance of the Elements

As I lay spread-eagle upon this empty clearing, I wonder what my life has been about. The endless struggle to live. Meaningless actions repeated since time untold. Those empty faces that showed nought but contempt and envy behind their masks of smiles. How nice to just stop thinking of the world around me. Ah what bliss this feeling is. The snow beneath my hands, the warmth of the winter sun. This mixed experience that opposes yet does not repel. It fills my empty mind with a myriad of feelings and overflows my senses. How wonderful this earth is!

How bright the star above my head shines. A faint sound floats to my hearing. A sweeping pour. A slight crackle. A gentle creaking. An unending whisper. The heat beats down on my face and my vision wavers. The sounds blend in my ear and is it music I hear? The rumbling pour becomes the steady footsteps of little feet dancing. The crackles gently evolve into laughter. The creaking vanishes, and there is song. The whisper raises pitch to become a whistling, then a piping tune. The tree branches that sway in the wind within the range of my vision turn to hands waving to a lively beat. Slender hands of young girls, strong muscled arms of able men, willowy limbs of elderly pairs. All moving in sync to the piping tune. Little feet step together in a sacred dance and voices lift up in song. Voices so clear and pure, untainted by the filth of the world.


Let this tortured soul find peace in rest.

Set free the spirit to fly with us.

Release this mind from the shackles of its wretched realm.

And we’ll claim back this empty shell, battered and bruised.

Be rid of all binds and find freedom at last.

Come join us in our sacred dance, this dance is just for you.

For there is celebration ahead!

A child has returned to us!

A child grown-up but pure once more.

Mother rejoices with the return.

For hark! Mother sheds tears for joy.

Her child has returned~!


It must be raining. Raindrops are falling for sure. For my eyes are wet and Man had long forgotten how to create tears. Man had long lost the ability to see. They have vision but they cannot see.

Let this tortured soul find peace in rest…

My mind feels heavy, my body exhausted. But it is a nice feeling. The steady steps of the dance have a hypnotic feel to it and the music washes over me like a cleansing breath.

Set free the spirit to fly with us…

That sounds nice. To be free and fly away. Maybe I’ll do that. Just spread out my wings and soar with the birds in flight.

Release this mind from the shackles of its wretched realm…

Flying away. Sounds like a dream. But a good dream nonetheless. Soaring in the blue sky overhead. Living as the birds do. Gliding in the wind without a care in the world. Ah what a happy sight below! Sylphs are playing of the pipes while the gnomes and dryads sing and dance in little circles around their homes. Salamanders are laughing at the sight and frolic merrily around. The undines are dancing a pretty pattern around a strange creature in the centre. I wonder why it looks familiar to me…

And we’ll claim back this empty shell, battered and bruised…

Oh well, they beckon me to join them! What fun! Perhaps I’ll play a little tune with the sylphs. They seem like a happy flighty bunch. Oh, the gnomes are moving that poor creature so the undines can dance some more. Odd thing that is. Oh! The dryads tell me it’s my body. Ah well, that hardly matters. They can do as they wish with it. No concern of mine. I just want to sing and fly free with the wind. And perhaps dance a little. A nice sylph said he’ll teach me the steps to the dance the undines are dancing. It’s our turn next. They do this once every time a child returns pure. How wonderful! It’s called the Dance of the Elements.

©YinKhuan2008
...Read more

Story: Evening Walk by Alin

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 2.5 Malaysia License.

Story: Evening Walk by Alin

Name: Alin
Pen name: Catanna
Title of Story: Evening Walk
Genre: Fiction, General
Summary: Something i wrote in the past. It's a little depressing though, i have to admit. Read it with your own interpretation in mind. Otherwise it won't have any meaning ^_^



Story: Evening Walk


I rose from my cross-legged position on the tiled floor. It used to be done in wood. Yet, of course, civilization, modernization or whatever we choose as the excuse for our competitive nature will probably stick its oar again. We might find ourselves with the marble floor, or if our budget allows, our floors might be fully carpeted in the near future. Then again, the carpet will only raise the already sweltering temperature.

I looked out the window as I folded my ‘telekung’ and ‘sejadah’, tucking them away. The world rolled before me. Not that I can see much of it anyway. With every tree that I see, I viewed hundreds more; dead. Their dry branches were reaching out to the sun.

Nonetheless, it would be a beautiful day for a walk, I sighed. I stepped out the front door and surveyed the world before me. Heat prickled my skin yet, it does not strike as harshly as the midday sun. Yet, what does it matter the time? The day is still hot. The evening air was fresh, or at least, as fresh as one might find in the city.

The sun was sinking far into the west. The view obscured by a wall of concrete though the delicate rays of the sun can be seen over the massive slabs of stone. As I said before, few trees were within sight. I could hear my neighbour screaming at her son. Her words splashed with a large dosage of mandarin. I think he wanted to play with his friends. Radio blasted down the street with some deejay gossiping about another star’s argument with her rival. Catfight. How fascinating. Another debated the alarmingly increasing numbers of homosexual partners flooding the streets. The tinkering sound coming from a construction site echoed on my left. There was no doubt what they were building; another highway to overlap with the already congested road running along civilian houses.

Sighing once again, I began the process of locking my door then proceeded to my gate. Even before the walk, sweat already pooled down my front.

Turning around a corner, I deftly avoided a speeding shuttlecock. The said object landed by my feet. Five boys came rambling down the street as I stooped to pick it up, dropping their own version of a five-man game of badminton.

“Kak!” they called. “Are you alright?” came yells of concern in Malay, the same emotion, written all over their faces. Their voice overlapping one another’s until it seemed like a group of goats bleating in hunger. I laughed in spite of myself.

“I’m alright, not that a single shuttlecock like this can hurt me anyway. You would do to be careful okay? It is not safe to play vigorously on the road. Especially not now, in the evening,” I replied in Malay patting one of the boys on the head. They were used to my antics.

“Yeah, yeah we know that. We are extremely careful in the morning, in the evening, even at night,” said one of the boys.

“Too bad it’s not the same during exams,” remarked another sarcastically. They burst out in laughter only to be interrupted by a call from one of the boy’s mother. The mentioned boy immediately detached himself from the group and ran towards his mother where a conversation in Tamil took place. I would know. I could hear their conversation as the mother was slightly hearing-impaired.

“Well, you can continue on with your game now,” I said, assuring them that I was alright.

“Okay, bye Kak! Have fun on your walk,” they said cheerfully over their shoulders as they walked back to the game site. I watched their retreating backs. Such harmless children.

This world, viewed through the eyes of a child. There are no enemies, only people who had lost their paths. There are no threats, only shadows. Does it hurt to view this world through the eyes of a child? We bravely plunge ourselves into the world of adulthood, leaving pieces and traces of our selves, basking in the glory of entering the ‘grown-up world’. And we take a step forward, and another.

Looking behind me, I see pieces of clothing littering that path; they are pieces of our pretence, the tuffs of hair we had lost; strands of faith, broken branches and dying greens; promises, honour, torn apart. Our hearts are hardened by the journey while our hands are guilty for countless sins. Was it worth it, to walk this far?

I am guilty, as much as you are. Yet, I watch my sins trailing past me, regret and remorse filling my heart to the brim only to be tipped over and washed into the drain.

Shaking my head trying to clear my thoughts, I moved forward. The scenery hardly changed. Save there was an odd house coloured bright pink in the corner. An excellent landmark it will make, much to the embarrassment of their neighbours. Yet, it was a bold colour, a statement in stone claiming their uniqueness. I am happy for them. Finally, after climbing a steep yet small hill I arrived at the park.

Pieces of broken beer bottles bordered a bench. Candy wrappers and discarded pages from newspapers flew with the breeze. What seemed like modern sculpture made of round plastic bags were piled on top of one another sat atop, under and around the rubbish bin. Yet, I could not bring myself to reach out and pick up the sharp pieces of glass glinting dangerously under the dying sun.

I sat on a bench, my heels crushing the pieces of glass. They are nothing, merely pieces of yesterday. At the corner of my eye, I could see the all-familiar no parking zone. As usual, one is always tempted to break the law. A bright yellow Kancil sat right next to the no parking sign. I noticed a policeman passing by. Quite odd to find one of them in this area, really. He caught sight of the vehicle and moved in to execute his job. Another man was making his way towards the car. He was a lean animal. His eyes were boring straight at the policeman daring, provoking. The policeman looked up, summons in hand. His hands shook a little at the aggravating glare. But it was a distinct shiver. One that I doubt Mr. Macho Guy could see. The car sped away after awhile. It was a wise move. Better your pride than your life.

Where does that leave us? I thought closing my eyes. Today’s headlines flooded my thoughts.

I do not dream of a world tomorrow. I dream of the world yesterday. I saw its foundation. I watched it crumble, torn apart by our very own hands. Yet, despite all that professed rural areas that desperately needed to be improved, it was a beautiful green world. I am merely thankful that our essence had not changed. Not that much at least. We are still human. Still capable of emotion. Still a candidate for hope.

From here, the five boys seemed like black dots. Another joined them. It was my neighbour. Thoughts still obscured and innocent, by ten they should be nice and ripe for the picking, their shade a dark grey. Much like the towering slabs of stone. Like the tar covering the earth. Like the emotion of the contaminated sky. By twelve, they would be burnt. The origins of the black soot covering them being the environment.

It amazes me how shallow we have become. How a squabble over a morsel of bread leads to the death of a friend. How hatred and pain, both human emotions sleep on the floor yet greed warms the bed for accommodation. How comfortable our grip on the hilt of a knife is compared to our honour.

Aah, I thought to myself. The Azan is rising, signalling the end of yet another day. I was comforted by the brief reminder of faith. It exists. Rising from the bench I took a step away, my feet grinding the bits of glass. Still, I dared not pick up the pieces.

©Alin2008
...Read more