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: Poor Thing by Alam

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

Story: Poor Thing by Alam

Name: Alam Shah
Pen name: Alam
Title of Story: Poor Thing
Genre: General
Summary: Journey, contemplation, poetry, etc.



It was the year 2015, the month of August. I don’t think the need to specify a date and on exactly what day this occurred would matter. By this, I am referring to the way I feel because I endure these feelings quite often. I was headed home that evening; my objective was to head home in the fastest, most convenient way. All that was on my mind was weariness and a longing for leisurely activity.

What came to mind was a wide, clean cozy bed that came with a set of warm pillows awaiting my body weight. Just the thought of it brought out a sense of pleasure in my mind followed by desire. This was the perfect time to snap back to reality I uttered in my thoughts. I disliked fantasizing about something that isn’t within my grasp. When the mind thinks about something nice, it starts to keep on thinking about it and soon enough the heart follows suits and you have this strong desire building up in you. Day after day the demand to make them realize strengthens and suddenly upon realizing that you were asking for too much and that you’re not able to possess that something the heart immediately starts to sink and in process starts to eat you up.

Coming back to reality, I thought of my hardened mattress and the unshapely pillows that were in my possession. This time it wasn’t comfort that I felt but a sense of familiarity and longing-ness. It serves its purpose that much I can vouch for, if you’re not too picky that is. But I am going to get rid of them anyway due to their unruliness from failing to live up to my expectations of providing constant comfort and also due to its old age and unattractiveness. Yes, I can be cold-blooded like that.

I was currently standing in the subway waiting for the train to arrive, the one I’ve been commuting on almost everyday for the past 5 years, twice a day. I stood there alone with the familiar faces that await the train with me everyday. We all had something in common though; neither of us were interested in wanting to intermingle or to develop a friendship. I was an unhappy individual, so it would only be fair to assume the rest of the people who follows my work pattern and my routine should feel the exact same.

“At least you have a job”, “Hey, it pays man, so quit whining and man up!”, “There are certain things that a man has to do whether he likes it or not, men were destined for such things”. These are some of the things my friends say with good intentions of course and probably to prevent me from going on dreading on the subject. I am a slave for money, a materialist. But then again, who isn’t? I would say that I have not enough wisdom in me to brave myself to not be dependant on it as an excuse. But yes, just as you’re thinking, it is a subjective matter.

The main factor that keeps me going is the ones I see everyday. The homeless people sitting, practically living in the subway. I think to myself that I cannot compare to them.

Dissimilar from what I am, I don’t see their need to impress anyone with good clothing, good manners, and a good job or even about the slightest inclination on what others might think of them. Its either the thought of surviving overwhelms and conquers all the other feelings or they’ve reached a level so low that they do not anymore care about what or how others look at them.

Of course what I am saying is nonsensical; these people are far away from home without any inkling near them. Living in a complete foreign place without having to feel shame and without anyone knowing their past… I am certain if they were to meet their parents, relatives or friends their human side will come out, starting by a feeling of queasiness and then the face starts to redden, almost instantaneously their pride begins to hurt and their thoughts showered by ill and troubled ones, flashbacks and things of the past comes in play and finally leaves them with a feeling of a long discomfort, of regret and disgrace.

Train stations were everywhere these days, as trains were most widely and commonly used. A few busy ones like the one I am standing in are opened 24 hours a day. The people of today have adopted the train system as their main means of transportation.

It wasn’t a surprise or a bad thing for people not to own a car too. Moreover people who owned a car were considered just for show, inefficient and impractical.

Though, we all knew that the issue of oil shortage would one day be significant and end up in producing lesser and lesser till it doesn’t anymore. Anyways, before that could even take place, a group of alliance went out of their heads and bombarded the many oil plantations in existence. It was very intricately planned. they targeted the ones that were the biggest producers and the most important ones.

It was a chaotic moment. The oil sites were so deeply and badly damaged. After a few weeks they announced that the oil sources were completely wiped out. We completely ran out of oil, we have no more oil.

When it was first announced people began to panic, it felt as if it was the end of the world. The economy plummeted to the lowest, everywhere. People started acting crazy, suicidal cases were common everywhere, governments were overthrown, poverty became a wide disaster and as predicted, Wars erupted but they didn’t last long because war needed fuel, oil or gas whatever you want to call it.

Thankfully enough, it only lasted a couple of years. Particularly, in times of desperation and in need people do their best to change their fate. More importantly they show their human side and work together with each other. People managed to come up with a dozen other technologies that didn’t require oil.

And the oil people managed to dig out oil from the damaged ones.. they eventually managed to find new oil pones Just enough to go by with the production but it was never the same.

Jumping back to the present, I think to myself that when my train comes, I’ll take a smaller train that will drop me right in front of the place I was living in. however, this too was just a dream. In reality I still had to walk close to a kilometer to reach home. I see it as dreadful exercising.

Amidst the crowd I found an empty seat. There was a huge fan pointed towards my direction. I felt relaxed and just when I started enjoying and starting to feel comfy, the train arrived. I am now standing with a few hundred more people who are probably on their way home. Most of them are familiar faces and was at their familiar places. There was this cute girl that I used to see everyday, now I see her everyday with her partner. I stopped seeing her.

Since cars were no longer the best way for traveling, and there were no real means to separate and differentiate each other financially and in society, hence they created a way where one would be able to do so and at the same time make more money out of it. They came up with different compartments, one for the rich and the upper middle class, one for the middle class and another for the lower class. And for the really wealthy, they had their own trains and their own tracks to move on.

The journey took exactly 25 minutes, right on time I said to myself, oblivious to the time. This particular stop was a busy one, it was an attraction to street performers, and homeless people but no longer snatch thieves. Ever since the new law of cutting the thieves finger every time they get caught was authorized, snatch thieves had to find a different way to satisfy their needs…………………

I got down, together with the masses. I looked at my watch and it was still earlier than usual. I walked slowly passing one performer after another.

The bright neon lights made me feel safe and reassured. Which brings me to thinking about something that bothered me for quite some time, Imagine a place where you’re so used to and feel comfortable being in and suddenly the lights go off and the comfort and the security turns into fear and obscurity. Why when the place is the same but without the presence of light is able to manipulate peoples feeling towards that place? Not being able to see and to familiarize one self with their surroundings creates uneasiness and insecurity. This makes me come to the conclusion that one who can’t see is in darkness, one who is in darkness

As I walked out the station, the sky was already dark, the wind was cold and the air was a mixture of smells. I could see the huge sky scrapers ahead of me. It was a painful sight, sore to my eyes, I am and will always be a nature person but ironically I prefer and rather live in cities. Only thing is, I despise the rapid growth of buildings whose land was once filled with trees and of course the pollution that ruins the smell in the air.

I walked on looking at the performers doing their thing. Some singing and playing the guitar, some with different instruments like the drums, flute and even the didgeridoo. I waved at some of the performers busy with their performances; the ones that noticed either nodded their heads or waved back in acknowledgement.

Knowing what I wanted, I went directly to my favorite performer. A middle aged guy, with shoulder length hair, loose clothes and pleasant when he smiled, He was sitting down on the pavement with a cloth of sort as his cover as he sat there writing something. I stood right in front of him and he looked up at me and with a jolt of recognition, he said, “hey! You came at the right time! I was just done with my new poem.” He said smiling. His voice was deep and it felt as if his cheerfulness didn’t go ‘hand in hand’ with his groggy voice. This man was a poet, most of the time I didn’t understand what he was trying to convey. But at other times, it was simple and easy to comprehend.

Together with me was another guy. He was dressed the same as me, working attire. Only thing is his clothes appeared more neat and exclusive. His hair was the same length as mine but somewhat slicker, his skin color fairer and his feature better and sharper. He was also slightly taller. I was slightly taken a back and caught myself staring at him, he noticed me, smiled and said, “hello” I greeted him back and quickly turned my attention to the poet. He was standing, with his sketch book in his left hand. He started:

“Our true birthplace is when we first lay an intelligent gaze on ourselves.”

He looked at me nodded as if asking whether I understood. I nodded back as if answering to his question. Upon looking at that he continued,

“White, blue, gray and black,
Thus the alteration from young to old,”

He then looked at us and said, “Okay?” Amused, we replied back, “okay”

“I shall start my poem now he said in a deeper tone” I assumed he was getting serious. He started with his hands in the air and he moved it as he spoke…

“Why give us existence,
When there’s no significance,
Why give us logic,
When life itself is illogical
Why put evil in us,
And expect something pure from it,
Why give us needs,
When you don’t give us the ability to procure it,
Why instill desire in us,
When desires are destroyers,
Why give us power and then corrupt us,
And expect us to be humble and incorruptible,
Why give us mind to think,
When the answer is faith,
Why give us choices,
When you don’t expect us to make them
Why give us fantasy,
When what is reality
Why create knowledge,
When knowledge can misguide
Why create humans,
When they turn out an atheist, agnostic and a deist
Why give us intelligence,
When stupidity can always reign
Why let me wonder, think and ponder,
When there is no answer
What are these if not a test?
Why if not to show the difference between the seeing and the blind
Why if not this life is a prison for the believer.
What if this life does not belong to us?
What if, there is no ‘I’ as one but ‘us’ as one?”

He looked exhausted; obviously it was tiring for him. There were only two of us, but he recited as if there were hundreds before him. His wild hand movements although captivating and strengthen and weighed emotions to his performances had to be tiring. He sat down on the piece of cloth.

I wanted to ask him a few questions but I found myself hesitating as usual. However to my annoyance, the guy beside me beat me to it before I could, “So basically you’re saying that we shouldn’t live our lives not for ourselves but for others?” I corrected him, “no, not for others, but for the creator.” The other guy looked at me as I shifted my gaze and spoke again, “Right?” looking at the poet, seeking confirmation.

The poet looked at us nodded at me but said, “It was just a poem, and it’s up to you how you perceive it as long as it affects you positively.” He smiled a little.

“True.” the other guy said sarcastically, he then added, “a homeless, who sells his own poems and quotes to make his living giving advices on life heh” he said grinning widely. “See you guys later” he said cynically and walked away.

I didn’t have the energy to get worked up over what he said. The poet was looking at me now. I started to feel uneasy, I quickly said, “So how do one become selfless and you know…meek?” He said with his deep voice, “since you asked, dare you cut your ties with the world, Give away everything that you possess and only have with you your essential necessities?” he stopped talking. I looked scared and uncertain. I think, judging from my reaction. He added, “Unless you’re able to have no sense of inclination on your material wealth, you’re allowed to own them.”

“Oh, that’s quite heavy isn’t it?” I said jokingly. But I didn’t hear any laughter, the poet just kept on staring at me. This time I quickly looked at my watch and almost mumbled. “I am going to be late, I have to go now.” I bought a sticker of a quotation and one of poetic books from him, and bid my farewell.

My thoughts were now back on a clean cozy bed that came with a set of warm pillows awaiting my body weight. Just the thought of it brought out a sense of pleasure in my mind followed by desire.

©Alam2008
...Read more

Poetry: Drops by Sharmini

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

Poetry: Drops by Sharmini

Name: Sharmini
Pen name: James Dean
Title of Poetry: Drops
Genre: General
Summary: Ever thought there was more to each drop of water from a leaky tap? It keeps dripping and bugs u. That's life and it bites but it's what we have to live through right?


The water drips,
The one continuous motion,
The timing between each,
Perfect,
And then with a turn,
It stops,
Everything it was sure of,
Is now gone,
No regard or the rhythm,
The sounds that were one,
Is the sound that is gone.

©Sharmini2008
...Read more

Story: Terey: Right of Law by Alin

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

Story: Terey: Right of Law by Alin

Name: Alin
Pen name: Catanna
Title of Story: Terey: Right of Law
Genre: Fantasy, Experimental
Summary:Hey Ah Bune! This came to me the other day. This is actually quite experimental, cause it's the first few steps. Try to comment, kays?

It's just a story about a girl trying to enter a city ^_^ This wouldn't be the first time i try to rationalize laws. It's just one of the takes i have with it. Enjoy~



Story: Terey: Right of Law

It was the silence that almost killed her. The absence of everything, the absence of nothing. The faded, the missing and the gone.

Nothing.

She would not miss this chance, Terey thought through gritted teeth.

Her eyes lifted to view the towering man. He was only tall because she lacked the years he had weathered. However, to pounce upon his age would be the wrong mindset to start this odd form of negotiation with. She had to be taken seriously and nothing speaks louder than the determination of brawns.

Her hand touched the hilt of the dagger at her waist then, glanced at the sword on the table. Which to choose?

The sword stood almost as tall as she. Would it be wise to risk her skill in an attempt to win respect?

Her small hands were capable of handling the dagger. It has been in her service for as long as her grip tightened enough on its hilt. The sword was only a manner of courtesy given by a merchant. She supposed he had been amused and gave a simple, black sheathed curved blade in response to a child.

Her training with the sword was limited. She had yet to wield the blade without tipping her balance beyond her form of control. However, the sword would impress them more. Especially when it drags further than their expectation.

She was fortunate. They were men who, perhaps much like the merchant, seemed amused by her actions. A child wishing to penetrate the territory of these hoodlums; her actions are nothing more than a joke. Therefore, their expectation were among the negative regions though her mind singled those who hovered over none. They would watch her carefully, knowing she meant her verbal recitation of her intentions.

One followed her movements as she unsheathed the dagger. His eyes traced the gleaming blade, sloped lines sealed into razor sharp point ingrained into the steel. Then, she felt his eyes slide along the guard, to the weathered piece of leather wrapped around the hilt. Her fingers curled comfortably in ridges worn by usage. His eyes lifted to meet hers, careful calculation in orbs shaded by darkness. Yet, no other was written upon his face, though calm, it definitely was not.

Here’s a dangerous one, she thought knowing his observation drew closer to her capabilities.

These men only wished for control. Allowing one such as her into their city was not the wisest. She was not of the ordinary. Control can only be maintained once a sense of normalcy is established. They had created a world for men and women beyond these walls to live within their constructed form of rule. She, though a child she was, would challenge a Utopia already deemed perfect by these men who do not wish to see the world beyond. To grant her access might incite matters, which they wish not raised.

Therefore, she understood the grounds of mettle she was to be tested in. She was fortunate enough to have chanced upon this bunch rather than the grim, proper, machine-like souls who guarded the other gate.

However, looking at a majority of the crowd, she knew the original reason to be witless. Most of these were men who wished for a slight bout of fun to cap a tiresome watch. They were all coiled much too tightly against a foe they do not understand. The law, they viewed, became simply ‘The Law’ and demanded no form of explanation. Along the lines of its formation, as generation after generation passed, the common actions to abide within this system became the only life of normalcy they knew.

Presently, these men who stood before her, knows nothing of why she was forbidden to enter the city. That failure will result in her gaining admittance in the end. Therefore, that man in this group of five who now followed her very move carefully was a threat.

Well, she would attempt damage control later. Four out of five might be enough. She simply prayed it would not resort to a battle of brains. That, she knew she lay at a great disadvantage.

Her fingers tightened around the dagger, feeling its familiar weight resting on her palm. The steel spanned an inch larger than her hand, yet otherwise, control was still hers.

The man who had insisted he was her foe bounced on his feet to warm his body. He was no big brute of a man, if she was to be fair. Mass was well-distributed throughout his frame without any particular area being preferable. In other words, he was well-rounded in the battle arena, speed, strength and power being of equal value.

She looked into his eyes, goading him for an attack. If he was one with impatience, he would take the bait. He sneered.

“Come here, girly.”

Terey abandoned her position, rushing towards him with wanton care for direction. Her charge landed her in the grip of his hands, where he pushed against the force of her coming. She propelled backwards, loosing her footing and sliding along the forest path until she rested to a stop. The dagger cradled gently by her hands.

Laughter echoed. “Go on, little girl. Try a second time,” cried one.

“Be nice, Perce. We can’t deal with a dead girl,” cautioned another.

The third simply laughed.

Her mind was clear, knowing full well her actions. It would not matter if the motion was repeated once more.

Terey immediately bounced to the balls of her feet and began another charge only to have herself thrown in the opposite direction. Her arms ached where he had grabbed her. However, it was a dull pain. She could live with it. She lifted the dagger before her and rushed.

At the third try, she found herself lifted and the ground rushing much too quickly towards her face. In an instant, she twisted, greeting the ground with an armful of hand before pushing against it. The force of the man’s throw ebbed from his fingers, giving her the opportunity to free herself from his grip and fall into a roll. Her feet braced on the ground, the rest of her body fluidly uncurled into place.

Now she would see.

He was bored. The initial sense of fun had faded with her determination.

Terey pulled her body to calmness.

“Allow me into the city,” she repeated firmly.

Their eyes, now glazed with boredom allowed two forms of action. Either she had whittled their patience to nothingness and would be granted access or she would simply be brushed off. She looked at the last man. He returned her gaze.

“Allow me into the city,” she said once more.

His was the deciding vote.

She could have played this by another hand. Allow herself to be completely beaten and still proceed to stand an exhibit her resolve. To fight and completely dominate the opponent. If these were men of pride, the first would have granted her access. Humility, and it would have been the second. Yet, these were men who do not bear any malice towards her. They were neither, for they are equal of both.

It was a gamble to attempt this way, but, as she rushed, she saw the man studying her with care. He wished to know the reason for her actions, that was for sure.

Terey wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. It came away clean. No part of her was too torn up to bleed. She was whole, though bruises nonetheless spotted her arms and legs with one forming at her side.

She’ll be fine.

“I say let her in,” finally the man answered. His voice was softer than she expected, melodious for one trotting as a soldier in arms. Calculation was absent, only calmness and that awareness towards his surroundings.

What a fascinating man, Terey thought amused.

The others merely shrugged.

“Thank you!” she squealed, allowing the exuberance of her childhood to shine through. She rushed forward and withdrew her sword, beaming with happiness before rushing off in an unknown direction.

Well, she would consider it unknown. As long as her being found itself within the city walls, she had no qualms with the direction or the specific destination. It was only a few steps before she realize company shadowed her movements.

Terey smiled. She knew who it was.

Now, to fight or not to fight?

Another part of her mind coolly noted, later. The city first.

Now that she was on her way, Terey allowed her mind to drift towards the instruction given. It was a simple statement: get into the city; a place so heavily guarded even a child was placed under scrutiny before entering the land. In such circumstances, it was to no surprise she was sent on this task.

However, her teacher, Raiyu had elaborated no further. He had only asked her to enter this fort.

Terey was unfamiliar to the workings of politics, she had to admit. Rather, it was to her preference for a forest to be explored or to search for sweets or something of the least complicated nature rather than an attempt to pierce the thoughts and play with an opponent. She found such activities mundane. She knew her place.

Perhaps it might be the limited understanding she has towards human emotions. She understood anger, fear, fury. She knew happiness, deceit, betrayal. She acknowledges the existence of love and familiarity. She knows doubts. However, when it came to reading her opponents in an attempt to manipulate their emotions, she could only do as much. Her situation with the guards would have been diffused by Raiyu with ease.

He would have entered the grounds without the need to brandish a sword, or to be in pursuit.

Terey sighed. She had much to learn about tact. Charm, she had. As much as a girl of four might, anyway but that sheer penetration of the human mind was something she was incapable of for the moment though she envied those who managed with ease knowing the emotions of those surrounding.

Her feet stepped into the darkness of a silhouette. She looked upwards, seeing the leaning tower hovering to cast a shadow onto the ground. With a great leap, she covered half of the structure, arms full of iron as she braced herself for another jump. The other landed her fully on the roof and she surveyed the sleeping town she was now caged within.

The point she had picked was not the highest. Before daylight sheds the mystery of night, it might be wise for her to seek it, yet not now. She wished to take a moment to calm her heart.

She was arguing with the sash by her waist to accept the sword when she heard the soft sound of feet landing on thatched roof. Terey turned and saw the man from before. He moved fast. Faster than one should in chain mail.

Forgetting about the sash, Terey curled her hand around the sheath and crossed her arms, looking at the man before her. If he moves in a way that grates her instincts, she would draw the sword.

“Who are you?” she asked bluntly.

He looked at her, surprised.

“Funny, that question was mine,” he said easily.

She shifted her weight, giving the look of one dealing with incompetence. Terey knew from experience when received from a child, the result was not at all welcoming. Often it would incite a reaction from Raiyu, though the degree varied upon subject.

She was baiting the devil within him.

And here I thought I hated manipulation, Terey thought.

However, to argue with herself, she would say this is a battle of sorts. The reaction is dependent on the action and much like in a game of chess, she had made the first move.

Still he gave no reply. It fanned her fury though the fire did not raged upon danger.

“I know who you are. You trained once with the Hidden,” she spoke, not realizing the words until they left her mouth. Out in the open, she found she believed them. None other can thread with such ease on uneven ground save those who had toiled for it since birth.

Chance still preyed far from the conclusion, yet, it was impossible to think he had found the way of stealth himself. She had seen the placement of those feet before upon training with her teacher. Rather, they were similar to her own as she had not mastered certain techniques to its precision.

“Oh really?” he asked, the easiness neither trebled nor wavered. “How can that be?”

Terey saw him.

His manner of speaking, the way he stood from his crossed arms to the slight drop of his shoulders and the lidded eyes, peering at her beneath eyelids of caution and the way in which he held himself smaller, grace imbued in every sinew. It was the mannerisms by which a hidden race regarded themselves. It was the way caution was practiced when looking out into the world, fear the absent threat from without. It was the careful way he spoke, melodious yet not overpowering. He was careful to shave his existence into nothing but the slightest of a mark. If she were to look at him carefully, it was not fully him she saw, but the history of what he was.

It was also the way he regarded her with care. None other in this part of the world would even assume a child to be of a threat. He would have to come from somewhere. He would have to come from the outside.

However, for his explanation, she has nothing. What her eyes had taken was deemed as material. They were not the reason he sought after because it was what can be seen. It is common to discard what the eyes accept especially if the eyes are used daily. On the other hand, she was only four. Her observations were doubted by even her, as the world deemed the young to be a foolhardy bunch. She did not understand what she sees.

For his reason, Terey only answered with a shrug. Her instincts had tied him closely with the Hidden and to her, that was enough.

He laughed, an easy laugh that rolled from the pits of his gut. Terey merely looked, unwilling to act the eager child once more. She attempted to harden her muscles and force them in a ready state of action. However, they insisted this man in her company was not of a threat.

She almost cursed when he stopped, eyes looking upon her.

“I am of the Hidden once,” he said. “But I believe the most important information here, little girl is that I am the one you have come to kill.”

Then, he grinned baring canines that gleamed in the moonlight. “Fighter.”

©Alin2008
...Read more

Story: Raven's Last Flight by Jaspreet

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

Story: Raven's Last Flight by Jaspreet

Name: Jaspreet
Pen name: -
Title of Story: Raven's Last Flight
Genre: General
Summary: The instantaneous thoughts of a soldier his battle moves from a skirmish, to a fight for his life against his trusted aircraft who had never let anyone down. He might simply be the first.



Story: Raven's Last Flight

As we dropped altitude and closed in on the beachhead, the Spectre groaned as Cowboy banked hard to the left. The call sign suited him well. He always wore an old straw farm hat, and those non-issue chrome plated sunglasses. I could never figure out how he got away with having them. He was always smiling, and he was the best pilot I had ever known.

Tommy the crows nest operator tapped me on the shoulder, and as I turned, I noticed a screen shot of the area we had just passed. He shouted to me over the roar of the cannons.

"Do you recognize this geographic?"

"Yea we just flew by it," I called back to him.

"First CAV is about to get a rude awakening down there. We got Cubans flanking from the left, looks to be 30 or 40 men. The CAV's pinned down hard right now, and the Cubans are closing fast. When we make the next pass, paint the mark."

"Got it," I shouted.

"Remember, we are gonna be in close proximity to the big red one, so make sure you don't hose the whole place down."

"Give me a shout when we reach the mark," I said. I was exhausted from strafing the area with the chain gun. The vibration of the ship melded together with the constant side-to-side motion from the 105 mm howitzer, and the cannon fire could wear a man out in no time. Not to mention that god-awful hole at my feet, a result of the last burst of flak. It was making a horrible sucking sound now, as if it wanted to take my very soul.

Tommy motioned me again and said, "Here goes, sport. Be ready."

I blinked to clear my eyes and peered into the sights of the gun. The ground movement looked like a group of tiny ants marching in unison. It seemed as if they were going to make a single mass movement towards the first CAV. I didn't think they had a clue as to what was in store for them.

Tommy shouted "FIRE!" and I squeezed the trigger. Every seventh round was a tracer, but the Vulcan fires so quickly all you can see is a single arch of red light from its barrel. The frantic movement on the beach instantly stopped.

Tommy said, "You got 'em all man! No movement on FLIR!"

I felt a momentary sickness wash over me. Yes, I knew what they had planned to do. I couldn't let them massacre our people on the ground. My only thoughts were I had just done to them what they had wanted to do to us. I had to forget it. Clear my mind for now.

The Spectre shuddered hard from a violent blast of flak, and the aircraft waffled wildly from side to side. The tail rudder had been hit but the damage was minimal, and the ship slowly regained its posture.

The VOX radio channel crackled, and I heard cowboy tell the control aircraft we were heading to a higher altitude to re fuel. We started to climb and the AC130 moaned loudly. I wondered how much more we could take once we returned to the beach.

The Raven was a late 60's model, and I had no Idea how much combat repair she had undergone during Vietnam. I knew the fuel cells were still weeping from the botched repair at Hulbert Field, and I worried she might split her tanks at any moment.

Silence filled the ship as we rose above the 3000-foot mark. The looks of the faces on board were varied at best. The cannon operators were sweeping shells up, laughing, and joking. Tommy surveyed his information and went over charts with his usual conviction. Tipper, the loadmaster seemed nervous as he looked at various hard mounting points and checked the landing gear. I did some light maintenance on the Vulcan as I crossed myself, thankful I was still alive.

VOX crackled again as the KC135 tanker operator urged Cowboy to hold the Raven as still as possible to avoid a collision. It was plain to see this was not as easy as it sounded. The tail section must have been damaged worse I thought. After some harrowing moments, the connector was uncoupled, and we pulled away.

The Raven banked right and started her descent. If anyone had told me that I would be here 3 days ago, I would have laughed aloud, but it was real, and we were in the thick of it all.

Tipper's voice shattered the silence. "Are you alright Ark?"

"Yea buddy," I said. "I'm just trying to rest a moment and re group before we head back into the storm."

"Ok brother" he said. It looks as if this ol' girl has seen better days."

"What do you mean, Tipper?" I said.

"I think the Raven is damaged worse than any of us realize." he said. "We're leaking hydraulic fluid from the main and secondary cylinders, and I noticed a lot of slack in the tail rudder control wires."

"Thing is Tipper, This bird has never let us down unless you count the fuel cell repairs at Hulbert." I said. "I'm sure if we were in any kind of real trouble, Cowboy would find a nice soft place to set her down."

Tipper smiled and shook his head.

"No place to soft land here, kid." He said.

He headed off towards the rear of the Raven, and left me alone with my thoughts. I hoped he wasn't right, but he always was on this sort of thing. There was no way we could set down on the runway at Salinas. The Cubans still had ground control, and it might be hours or even days before anyone could land there. With all the ordinance we had dropped in that area, it might be damaged so bad that it was impossible to land on the island.

We dropped altitude again and Cowboy circled to the right. I checked the Vulcan and loaded a fresh volley of ammo into the breach. Everyone seemed anxious to get back, and I was worried about the lack of ground support since we had left to refuel. With only two spectre's circling the island, the "Crow" was the only one there at the moment. Sure, one spectre could do a lot of damage, but two were guaranteed to keep the wolves at bay.

We dropped the last few hundred feet and started to circle the island again. Immediately the flak burst and anti aircraft fire lit up the sky all over again. The next few hours seemed to race past as we continued to try to keep the enemy off the backs of our troops on the ground. We took several hits, but managed to stayed air born.

Suddenly I heard ground control's radio message to Cowboy.

"Areca to Raven" the controller said. "The runway is clear for you to land."

I waited for the reply from Cowboy, but there was only silence from the cockpit.

"Areca to Raven" The controller called again. "Do you copy? The runway is clear."

Again, the mic was silent. A million things went through my mind at that moment.

Did Cowboy not hear the radio transmission? Could everyone be dead in the cockpit? What was going on?

I unbuckled my harness and tapped Tommy on the shoulder. "I'm going up topside." I said.

Tommy looked around and said, "Hope everyone's alive up there"

I climbed the crew ladder slowly not knowing what I might find. If they were all dead, we were in a world of trouble. We all had a few hours of flight simulation, in the event that we had to limp home without a pilot but I prayed none of us would have to find ourselves in that position.

I looked around the cabin bulkhead, not wanting to see what I might find. As I looked I was thankful to see them all alive. The co pilot and Cowboy were having trouble controlling the plane and the navigator was frantically pouring over his charts trying to find the right approach to set the Raven down.

Cowboy looked back and saw me standing there, scowling.

"Why the sour look, Ark?" he asked in his usual unconcerned way.

"What the hell is going on up here, Cowboy?" I shouted.

"I ain't gonna lie to you," he said. "We are in a world of shit right now. The outside starboard engine is about to give out, and we've got major prop damage on the rest of them."

I could see that they were doing all they could to try and steer the Raven, but it looked like a loosing battle. We had too much damage, and there was no way we could stay in the air much longer.

At that moment, the engine died, and the prop feathered to a halt. As I looked out the starboard window, I could see the engine smoking lightly. Cowboy hit the extinguisher switch and the smoke dissipated into the slipstream. The prop on the engine was bent and chewed up, as if a huge dog had used it like a chew toy.

"You had better get strapped in back there, Ark." Cowboy said. "We are gonna try and set this big bitch down at Salinas."

I made my way back down the crew ladder and Tommy was standing there waiting for me. I didn't want to tell him or the others, but there was no turning back now.

"What's going on up there?" he asked.

"I gotta tell everyone." I said. "Listen to your headset"

"Listen up guys!" I said as I keyed the mic. "We're done up here. We've lost an engine, and we got major prop and control damage. Everyone needs to secure there weapons and strap in. Looks like we are gonna have to brace for impact at Salinas."

Jack, the new kid that operated the 105mm howitzer, said, "Crash? Damn man you got any good news to tell us?"

"Sorry kid" I said, that's all I got for the moment.

"I didn't sign up for this shit!" he whined.

I secured the Vulcan and buckled myself into the jump seat. I could not believe this was happening. Yesterday I was at Hulbert field happy as hell, and now I was going to crash into some god forsaken Caribbean runway and die in a thousand pieces. I thought about all the things I would miss. I could not believe I wouldn't live to see my son being born. All of this was just too much. I knew Cowboy would do everything he could to set the Raven down in one piece, and freaking out now wouldn't do me any good.

I though about what Para Rescue had done for me. It had taken a small town kid with no real direction, and turned him into a good man. I had learned so much about myself in the last few years, and I was proud to have been a part of all this. If I died and never got to see my son, I hoped someone would survive to tell him that I had tried to make a difference in people's lives. Tell him his dad had died doing what he loved. I hoped he would know that I loved him more than anything and that I had given my life freely so that he could live in peace.

We started our descent towards Salinas's airport. The ground control operator told us that the runway was clear, but that wasn't the case. The sky lit up around us as we rolled into position for the landing. I knew they were doing all they could down there to help us get down in one piece.

"Hold on to your asses!" Tipper cried out. "I can't get the rear landing gear all the way down. This shit is gonna hurt!"

The Raven slammed down hard onto the tarmac. The impact jammed me upwards towards the ceiling, but the jump seat straps held fast. I felt as if I was being compressed into a small box. Cowboy threw the turbo props into full reverse, and the sound was deafening. [At that moment, the nose gear gave way, and the Raven pitched downward towards the ground, the nose gear tore into the asphalt and shook the ship violently.]

"This is it." I thought. "Once the sparks from the gear start hitting those leaky wings, we will burst into flames."

Thankfully, this never happened. The Raven had slowed a bit, but not enough to make a complete stop on the runway. We missed the last stop markers, and plowed into the sand breakers at the end of the runway. The Raven continued along, and the jungle was closing fast in the cabin windows. To this day, I don't know how he did it, but Cowboy pulled up just short of the tree line. The AC130 ground to a screaming halt, and he killed the ships power and switched to auxiliary. The Raven would never fly again.

Cowboy called out "Report in! Is everyone alright back there?"

Everyone had survived the crash, maybe a little banged up, but OK. The emergency lights and warning signals made the inside of the Raven look like a Christmas tree. Cowboy killed all the alarms, and we all got ready to exit the plane.

"There's a lot of gunplay going on out there." Tipper said. "Everyone get their flak jackets on and be ready to run for shelter. Get your game plan ready before I lower the rear hatch!"

Small arms fire was hitting the side of the Raven. We all huddled into the tail section.

Bill, the other howitzer operator was an old veteran to this sort of thing. He looked at me and said, "You want to make it out of here alive?"

"Is that a trick question?" I said

Don't be a smart ass boy!" he said. When the hatch opens, I'm gonna flank right with grazing fire, and Tippers gonna flank left. All of you need to stay low and head straight out the back of the plane. Intelligence told us there is a bunker that we control about sixteen to twenty yards right behind us."

Jack said, "Hey old man, I can fend for myself. I'm gonna run to the left and take cover behind those sheds we saw coming in."

You'll never make it there, kid." Bill said. "You'll get shot before you get ten feet."

"I'll take my chances." Jack said.

"Suit yourself!" Bill said.

"Ark you run as fast as you can towards that bunker," Bill said. "If you do what I tell you, then you'll make it there. We can't loose our only medic."

"You don't have to tell me twice!" I Said. "I got you the first time."

Tipper hit the release mechanism on the tail bulkhead, and the door hydraulics started to whine. This is it, I thought.

All the training and hard work had come down to this moment. I had never been so scared, yet so alive in my life. There was no time left to contemplate any of this. It was time to go. I said a silent prayer as light streamed into the cabin. The bi fold doors opened even wider.

"God, please let me make it home alive."

©Jaspreet2008
...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