Halloween

Nope, this is not a short story.

But I may write something for tomorrow though. We'll see how it goes. It's been a while since I last wrote a proper short story (well the last proper one I had to delete, and you all know why). I'm thinking of a ghost story...

But anyways.

Isn't it kind of chilly in here? Hold on, I'll close the window...

That's better.

You know what, actually I don't know what to say here. I'm having some problems (which I think most of you would know, but I would be grateful if you don't discuss it here), and I've been kind of stressed out for the last few weeks.

Been trying to quit smoking too. Ain't THAT something. I figured that if I can't take care of myself, how am I going to take care of others?

(Last remainder: please do not discuss "that" here, guys)

So ok, I haven't really quit. I just went and cut down on the consumption. After the exam is over, I will try my best to really quit. This time I'm dead serious.

Or am I?

It depends on the circumstances, I guess.

So yeah, this is just one of those random rants.

Been a long while since I've done it, right? Yep, too long...

Well, I bid you

Good night.

Sleep tight.

Prelude, 24 - 10 - 2008

I'm going to write a really long short story.

But before I do, and before I post it (in all probability, next month), I want you to do some brain exercise, and ponder upon some facts that I'm going to use in the upcoming short story.

It's about the Devil.

In both Christianity and Islam, the Devil plays a very prominent role in the history of the universe. On example would be Genesis: The Devil was the one who seduced Eve, and in turn, Adam. In Christianity, The Devil was the one who persuaded Judas to betray Jesus.

Ok, so you get my point: The Devil is the ultimate antagonist in a thick novel called "Life".

But now think about this.

If God didn't want The Devil to seduce Adam and Eve, he would have done something about it, right? God is omnipotent, after all. He's Almighty. He could have just smite The Devil and be done with it. But why not?

If God wanted Jesus to become the King of all mankind, not just the King of the Jews (which he ended up becoming one, albeit unofficially), he would have prevented The Devil from seducing Judas (which then lead to the crucifixion). He has the power to do so, no doubt. But why not?

Here's my thought on the matter. The Devil is actually not altogether evil. He was just created to be evil. Think about it. If The Devil is created by God, and he is supposed to be cunning and smart beyond belief, then he must be smart enough to know that God can erase his existence with just "a flick of the finger," so to say. What kind of a creature as smart as him (and he is supposed to be the second most powerful being in the Universe) would go against God's will then, if he knows that the consequences are dire?

Well he's "going against God's will" because he knows that he is allowed to do so. In fact, that's what he is created for. In this sense, The Devil is perhaps a being that loves God more than anyone else; the "unsung hero", if you will.

Now this is what you should ponder about: if The Devil did not exist, what would you think the world will be? Better, or worse? What do you think would happen if The Devil did not seduce Judas? What would happen to Christianity?

Think about it, and tell me.

Good night,

Sleep

Tight.

Interlude, 24 - 10 - 2008

So there you are, some short stories that I posted in between the interludes. Let's look at them one by one.

"Red" is already explained in the warning section. I was mildly displeased by the sexual violence, but I really think it can be worse. Moving on.

"Sestina of a lover" is a sestina. One girl who read it said that it could be better, and I couldn't agree more. I suppose I was not accustomed to a sestina's strict format, and used the wrong words to make one. That particular girl also asked me why my stories are always morbid, and always involve death.

I think I can answer this one. You know a lot of people says that if there is one thing that connects one human being to the next, that thing would be love.

I respectfully disagree. It's not love, but it's death that connects us all. That's the part of my stories that I think most people can relate to (if not the only thing that most people can relate to). So there you go.

And for your information, I am not a psycho-killer.

Moving on.

"Playwrite" is a really fun piece to write. I think it sounds really nice when you read it out loud, because the words somehow rhymes. Somehow. This post has the advantage of being true, in the sense that playwrights have that ability to betray the audience's trust (telling a secret through a story) without no restrictions whatsoever. I really like this one. Moving on.

"The Day The Angels Died" is inspired by Neil Gaiman's "The Day The Saucers Came" (I am eternally indebted to Mr. Gaiman's work). I tried to make it funny, but instead it turned into yet another dark fiction. I think I will get back to this one, make it better. The concept is really funny, I think. Angels are replaced by demons. What are the odds? Moving on.

The untitled post that I removed from this blog is about how writers can get their stories. They're utter non-sense, and I think the message that I was trying to get across is that stories can come from anywhere. You just have to look, or listen, carefully. Moving on.

"The Boy, The Heart, She" is a really weird one. At first it was supposed to be a proper short story, but when I looked through it I thought that using the same word for every section of the story looks really neat. And it does. This is also my most personal post. I think you can relate to this too.

So for those who read my stories, thank you for taking the time. For those who provided input and comments, thank you to you too. We'll see what other crazy shit I can come up with. Until then,

Good night,

Sleep

Tight.

Midnight Theater, 23 - 10 - 2008

The Boy, The Heart, She

The boy listened.
The boy listened to his heart,
The boy heard Bump-bump-bump.
The boy touched his chest.
The boy is hurting,
The boy is hurting inside.
The boy is hollow and empty.
The boy is lonely.

The heart is aching.
The heart is screaming,
The heart is going Bump-bump-bump.
The heart is crying, look you can see red teardrops…
The heart is beating against the boy’s chest.
The heart is hurting
Inside.
The heart, the hook went through the heart
The heart is tugged, the heart is pulled
The heart must go.

She smiled,
She smiled that perfect smile of hers, as –
She said he will find a better one.

The boy listened,
The boy fell in love again,
The boy fell in love with her every time –
The boy sees her.
The boy looked at her, as –
The boy is told that –
The boy will find a better one.

She is leaving, but are you sure? Yes, I am. Perhaps.
She is leaving, with that perfect smile,
She said she loved him
She thought she meant it? The answer is –
She thought she did. Perhaps.
She turns her back to him
She takes a step

The boy hugged her from behind –
The boy hugged her without moving a finger
The boy hugged her silhouette, her myth, her shadow
The boy says, I’m sorry, I’m sorry
The boy says, forgive me, forgive me
The boy says –

She will find a better one
She listened to him
She heard, he said –
She will find a better heart
She sees, but she sees, that –

The boy is lying through his teeth.
The boy is hurting,
The boy shed dry tears
The boy feels hollow as –

The heart left his chest.
The heart took its baggage
The heart took a visa card from his wallet
The heart left his chest, dragged by that hook
The heart is dragged, by that abominable hook, and left –

The boy hollow

But the hurting is no more.

He put his fist in his empty chest cavity and spread out his hand, listen, you can hear his fingers beating against the wall, going Bump-bump-bump.

She spread her wings, his heart dangling hopelessly on her heels.

Midnight Theater, 20 - 10 - 2008

The Day The Angels Died


The angels are dead.

It happened so suddenly, that nobody really knew what
happened to them. One day they just die. Falling down from the seven heavens,
like birds with broken wings.

Their dead faces were so beautiful; you won’t be able to
tell their gender just by looking at it.

Nobody knew what happened to them; none save for Him, and to
nobody did He speak of it.

There was Michael, proud and hard. There was Uriel, young
and stern. There was Gabriel, magnificent and grand. There was Raphael and Raziel
and Zephekiel. There were millions of angels none could name. All of them were
dead; their bodies sprawled across the road, on the ceiling, in the river, in
the sea.

We wept, and we mourned for the loss. We put their flawless
beautiful bodies in crystal casks, and we decorated them with roses and
diamonds and gold.

For a while we were lost. We did not know what to do. Some
went mad, some committed suicide, and some repented.

And then we realized that without the angels, nobody would
sound the trumpet that would signify the end of time. There would be no end to
this world we know. There would be no more angels who record our deed. And then
the preachers and pastors said that the angels are paying for our sins. Just
like The Messiah did.

There would always be
someone who would pay for our sins, they said. After all, we are the lambs of God. And He loves us the most, out of
all His creations.

Therefore sin all you
want.

Salvation is here.

And so we sinned. We committed all seven sins of the world, and
then some. Parents were eating their babies. Children were having sex at the
age you would not even dare imagine. Countries were raided. Women were raped.
The swastika emblem was raised once
more. Scientists started using human beings as their guinea pigs. Almost all of
the animals are extinct.

The angels were dead, but we got by.

It went on for awhile. You would probably think that this
was truly Hell on Earth. But you would be sorely mistaken.

As a matter of fact, it was quite the opposite. It was
Heaven.

And then the demons came. One day the ground split in half,
and out they came from the depths of the Inferno. Evil djinns with black
turbans, succubus and incubus, lesser demons with bodies of animals, ghosts and
tortured souls, Beelzebub and vampires emerged from the crevice, laughing.

And leading them was Satan, powerful and charismatic. He
held the Sword of God in his right hand and the Spear of Destiny in his left
hand.

Lucifer proclaimed that he was on a mission on behalf of His
name. The demons from the underworld were to take the place of the dead angels.
The Sword and The Spear was the proof that he was sent by Him. All this while
the demons and devils stood behind him, laughing and making a racket such that
you have never heard of your entire life.

Why He sent the demons and Satan to replace the angels, we
never know.

For a while we lived with the demons. They would eat our
babies, rape our women, destroy our houses, and wage war amongst themselves.

The preachers and pastors would say these are only trials, my sons and daughters. God has a reason for
everything that He does. The Son will come and quicken us from this torment,
and once again pay for our sins. Have faith.

Paradise

beckons to those who believe.

And so we waited, and prayed. But that day never came. No
one sent our prayers, which was accompanied with tears of blood and sweat, to
Him. We wept and cried, we forsook the sins, and we repented. Nobody paid for
our sins.

That day never came.

We are human being, however. We learned to adapt. Under that
blood-red sky, standing on ruined Earth, where no animals exists, and demons
and all the evil of the world ran a mock, we learned to adapt.

It was Hell, to be sure.

But we got by.

Midnight Theater, 18-10-2008

Playwrite

So, good people amongst the fray,

Give me a stage,

and I will give you a play,

of love and the colour gray,

and you will all fall prey

to your eternal dismay,

when your trust my words betray,

and the truth will be laid bare

through my magic, my word play.

So, good people amongst the fray,

Give me a stage

and I will give you a play

of life and the colour gray.

Midnight Theater, 17 - 10 - 2008

Sestina of a Lover


Hearken to me, my sweet, my love,
My reason, my heart, my life.
You have ceased to visit my grave,
on the blazing heat of day,
And at night, when it is dark.
Wherefore all the promises that you gave me, with your kiss?

Yes, I do remember the way you kiss.
Our feelings were as stars, as a pillar of love
So tall, glimmering in the dark.
Alas, my rose, I was given too short a life,
Robbed of the right to see the light of day.
And now I am all alone in my grave.

And it is so lonely here, in my grave.
Not even the breeze laid his kiss.
And the sun no longer warms my being, in the day.
No, not anymore, my pet, my love.
Maggots and flies, insects, crawling here, so full of life.
Sometimes I find myself eating them in the dark.

I would repeat your name, in the dark
To erase this loneliness, so grave,
Eating away at my heart, not that I am still alive.
They lie, people. No angel came and gave me a kiss.
No light shone on me, the Lord did not give me his love.
And so I count every second, night and day

Waiting for you, how I wait for that day!
Your body will illumine me, here in the dark.
Ah, but I grow impatient, this love
Cannot wait no longer. I will be out of my grave
Waiting in the shadows beside you, steal your kisses.
I am dead, that can be mended, I will take your life.

It is a fickle thing, life.
Twist your head, maybe during the day.
I miss you, I miss your kisses
I will kiss you tonight, somewhere in the dark.
Look, I have even made you a grave
Besides mine, so we can, to our whim, make love.

Delight, rejoice, our kiss will give us life.
Heaven is like unto our love, a pitch black Eden, so dark.
And the days will go by, here in our grave.

Midnight Theater, 17 - 10 - 2008

*warning! contains sexual violence! read the previous post (Warning!) before you read this one! you have been warned!*


I have a story for you

Listen closely


RED


The Wolf waited patiently.

The girl wore that same attire as the days before. With a red scarf covering her mouth, and a red hooded cloak, the girl looked gorgeous.

And delicious.

The Wolf gulped back his saliva.

Its figure concealed by the thick bushes, it watched the girl, as always as she walked merrily to her Grandma's house.

It waited until the girl they called Red was out of sight.

The Wolf waited patiently. It had all the time in the world.

********

The girl stopped. The sensation that she was being followed grew stronger with every step she took.

She looked around.

The night was unusually cold, and the only light came from the full moon and the stars.

She spotted nothing.

Save for a moving figure in the thick bushes under an old oak tree. The clumps of it were big enough to cover a man, but she saw no reason why anyone would be hiding in it.

That, and it was almost midnight.

After making sure that nobody was actually following her (why would anybody follow a girl in the middle of the night? She thought), she continued walking towards her dear grandmother's house.

*********

The old woman was alone in her gloomy old house. She always was alone. Her husband died a long time ago, and although she got over the grief of losing her one true love, she sometimes wondered what it would be like to be sitting near the fire place with him then.

She added dry woods to the fire.

For the past 10 years, her only entertainment was her little grand daughter. Once a week she would bring home-made cookies, flowers, and sometimes she brought her friends along (to the dismay of the old woman, as she disliked the noise). Red was what they called her at the village.

The old woman was the one who gave Red the red scarf, and the red cloak. It was Red's 9th birthday. The old woman sewed them herself.

A cold wind hit the window.

She shivered.

**********

The Wolf perceived a pattern.

Every week, the girl would bring flowers (which, to its nose, smelt like cow piss) and cookies (it got the chance to take a bite when the girl dropped one cookie along the way. To its tongue, it tasted like a rotten deer) to an old women who lived just outside of the forest.

To be more precise, she always goes on Fridays.

It chuckled lightly at the girl's simplicity. A simpleton, she is. She goes at night, and she always had that mixed emotion of delight and fright on her face.

She goes out without her parents knowing it, it growled to itself.

Its stomach rumbled.

Soon.

***********

Sarah shifted on her bed. She dreamt of a plain full of cockroaches (evidently she hated the lot). She stomped and screamed and panicked.

The plain twisted, and it was no more.

She stood on top of a hill, looking down at the chasm below. Behind her was her husband, his face pale and distorted.

And then he pushed her.

She closed her eyes as she fell down (as peculiar as it may sound).

And when she opened it, she saw her.

She was in that same room 20 years ago, a room in a house at the edge of the forest. A woman sat on a wooden rocking chair, her eyes fixed on Sarah.

Sarah saw that the woman was wearing nothing underneath her night gown.

Reality struck her on the face.

"God, no. Not you again."

The woman signaled with her hand for Sarah to come near her.

Waves of fear fell heavily on Sarah’s mind.

It was that night that she saw in full light of the moon about her own mother. How the woman convinced her to keep her mouth shut, how she harshly took off Sarah’s clothes. How she….

Sarah woke up with a scream.

***********

Red knocked on the door two times, excited about the prospect of seeing her grandma's big and warm smile. She knocked again.

She heard heavy steps approaching the door.

The door swung open, and there stood the Grandma. She was wearing the same night gown she wore 20 years ago, on that faithful (delightful) night. She smiled heartily to Red.

"I was getting worried, honey. I thought you might never make it today."

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

The wolf had followed Red. It moved silently, covered by the darkness of the forest. It thought of taking her to its den when she was knocking on the door, while nobody's looking.

Again, it chuckled at the thought.

Silly me, it thought. No body would be stupid enough to walk outside of their houses at night, especially at the edge of the forest. Not with me around.

But fortunately, the girl was stupid enough.

The only reason why it didn't eat the old woman up till then was because, well, she was old.

To its tongue, old humans taste like a fly-invested sheep corpse.

It thought better of the situation.

Patience is a virtue, my friend, it growled as it patted its belly.

***********

Red's Father tried his best to comfort his wife.

"It's just a dream, honey. No need to be afraid. I'm here."

He stroked her hair as he held her tight. She was sweating, and her breath was short.

Some wife I have, he said to himself.

If it hadn't for her wealth, he wouldn't be acting like a good husband for the past 9 years. He wouldn't even think of having a child with her.

It all came down to the gold he would receive.

He took a good look at his wife.

She was quite beautiful, in fact, if it were not for the constant look of fear in her eyes. At times, when they made love, she would cry. Her body would tremble, and she would cover her face with both of her hand.

Choking back tears as if he was violating her.

The things he did to get some money.

She had blue eyes, a skin white as snow, and lips as red as blood. Her figure was slender, with curves almost no woman in the village can match.

Her hair was black, and wavy. It flowed in the wind, fine as silk.

And she was as fragile as a wooden stick.

His thought wandered. He imagined Yvonne, his mistress. She was perhaps not as beautiful as Red's Mother, and she was not as innocent.

But she was a flame. She burnt his heart to ashes with passion and desire. Her eyes defeat even the sun's ray. She warms his heart to boiling hot.

Sarah doesn't need to know about her.

She doesn't need to know.

**********

Red watched intently at her grandmother as the old women prepared some tea. She noticed that her grandma looked livelier, happier, and perhaps even younger.

Grandma looked so beautiful today. I wonder what the occasion is, she thought. That night gown, she never wore it before.

It was made of the finest silk, a material uncommon to the people at the village due to its inhuman price.

"Grandma, why are you wearing that night gown tonight? It's cold." She said to Grandma.

Grandma smiled as she poured the tea to a cup.

"So that I may appreciate the cold wind, my dear."

Red thought about the answer for a minute.

I guess when I grow older, I'll be able to appreciate the cold wind too, she muttered.

***********

"I'm the luckiest woman on earth," said Sarah, "to have such a caring husband as you."

She calmed down after a while, thanks to her husband. He kept ensuring her that it was only a dream. He kept holding her tight. He kept saying that he loves her.

She loved him to death.

"And I'm the luckiest man in the universe," he said, "to have you as my wife."

He kissed her gently, ever so lightly.

"I'll go and fetch some water for you, honey."

He got out of the bed, put on his trousers, and walked away.

I am the luckiest woman on earth, she thought.

He doesn't need to know about the dream. Or about the truth. Both of them were the truth, anyway.

He doesn't need to know.

He came back with a glassful of water. She took two big gulps. Her husband watched as she drank the water.

"What's wrong, my dear?" she asked.

She thought she saw a thin smile appeared on his face.

He raised his hand and caressed her hair. She loved it when he does that. It made her feel secure.

"Nothing is wrong, love. I'll go check on our daughter," he said.

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

The Wolf wondered.

This was the first time that it saw the old woman wearing that night gown. It looked ugly as sin on her, of course.

But it couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t the first time the old woman wore that gown.

When?

It had been living for hundreds of years, feeding on human children all the time. Some adults have had the honor to fill its belly too, but mostly it's human children.

They taste better, more tender, their bones soft, and their brain succulent.

Their eyes would pop under the pressure of its teeth with a satisfying sound, unlike an adult’s eyes.

It licked its lips.

No, it thought. My head controls my stomach.

And so, as it had done before, it waited.

Patiently.

***********

Sarah couldn't be more worried before.

Her husband looked everywhere for Red in the village. There was no sign of her.

Her window was open, and the gate was unlocked. No sign of burglary or robbery (or any kind of a struggle, in that sense), which kills the possibility of her being kidnapped while Sarah was dreaming about her mother.

She was crying on his shoulder when he said, "I'll go look for her at The Border."

She raised her head at the crazy suggestion.

"You know how dangerous The Border is, love! Besides, what would she be doing in that God forsaken place?"

Her husband stood there, silent as the night.

"She went to see her Grandma."

He let go of her. She took several steps back, aghast.

Her eyes widened. Her throat seemed narrower the more she tried to breathe.

"That's right, Sarah, she went to see her Grandma, the woman who did terrible things to you in your dreams. Your mother."

"How... Did... You..." She gasped for air. She made a wheezing sound with every breath.

Confused, she saw an evil grin on her husband's face.

"How did I know? I was the one who arranged it. I've kept watch over your family, Sarah. I've kept watch over your family's gold, too. Your father, who found The Gold at the End of The Rainbow, couldn't keep it concealed for long.

“You see, I used to live at the edge of the forest. Long before your people came and gave it that silly name - what was it? - The Border."

Her vision blurred. She saw a glimpse of fangs from her husband's grin.

"I'm one of them, Sarah."

And at that, no quicker than it took to tell it, he turned into a wolf.

"As you may have figured by now, your drink was poisoned. It makes a hole in your lung, quite literally. You will die, Sarah. Horribly, I dare imagine." The wolf growled.

Tears filled Sarah's eyes. The event on that cold night flashed in front of her eyes.

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

Sarah fought as hard as she could. Her mother tightened her grip on Sarah's wrist as she ripped Sarah's clothes.

"Don't worry, Sarah, I won't hurt you," her mother said as she slapped Sarah on the cheek.

Sarah screamed at the top of her voice. She knew it was useless. Nobody lived at The Border except for her family. Not after what the villagers discovered of the things that lurked inside the forest.

Still, she screamed.

Apparently, her frantic wails roused the anger of her mother even more. She finished ripping Sarah's clothes, showing her undeveloped breasts and her slender figure.

She began licking Sarah's body.

Sarah screamed again. Her mother. Down on her knees. Holding Sarah's wrists in one hand, and molested her with the other.

It's too overwhelming.

Suddenly her mother stopped. She picked up a blunt wooden stick with a rounded end with her free hand. Her grip on Sarah's wrists was maddeningly painful.

Sarah felt her legs were spread apart.

A moment later, a pain shot up between her legs. She felt blood trickled down on her thighs. She cried in pain.

"Mother, stop! I'm your daughter, stop!" She fought hard to free her wrist from her mother's clutch to no avail.

Her mother withdrew the stick. She paused, looking down on Sarah's face.

Sarah saw something dreadful in her eyes. Passion? Madness? Desire?

Love?

Then her mother shoved the stick again with greater force.

Sarah arched her back in pain. She cried until she felt that all the air from her lungs was gone.

And thus it continues until Sarah's body went limp. She gave up hope. This was not her mother. This was a monster, born out of loneliness and greed.

Her mother stopped shoving the stick. She wiped the blood with her night gown, all this while her hand was holding Sarah's purple wrist.

Her mother tied her to a chair.

And then she started beating Sarah with the same stick. The stick was not thick, and it stung Sarah up to the point that she threw up on the floor, unable to handle the pain any longer.

A wolf's howl she heard.

The mother kept beating Sarah, her eyes burning with lust. Sarah's vision began to blur.

Before she finally passed out, she saw a figure looking inside the house from the window. She thought she saw a pair of yellow eyes.

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

The only thing she remembered afterward was that the village people had found her lying on the ground, naked and bruised all over.

What happened to her mother, she didn't know.

As she stared at the wolf that was once her husband, she knew that she was staring at the same eyes that she saw that night.

She couldn't speak. Her breath left her.

"I was the one who saved you from your drunken mother. I scratched her a bit, and took you to the village. Since I killed your father, the Ownership of The Gold is now at your hand. I could've killed you right there on the spot, along with your bitch of a mother.”

“But I needed a spell to transfer the Ownership to me."

She recalled the talk her father once had with her mother. They were arguing about who should be granted the Ownership.

So, he gave her the Ownership. No wonder her mother tried to kill her (slowly and painfully, she imagined).

"Your purpose is served. When you die, the Ownership will go to either your mother or daughter. Makes no difference to me," the wolf said.

Can a wolf grin?

She fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Her eyes were wide open.

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

It watched as Sarah fell to the floor. It watched as she took a final futile attempt to breathe. The poison was working well.

It approached the now dead body.

There she was, as beautiful as any woman could ever be. Her silky hair, her blood red lips, her blue eyes.

And the look of fear on her face.

"I suppose it’s useless to say ‘rest in piece,’ eh?" It growled.

It set foot towards The Border. The Gold at the End of the Rainbow was waiting, calling out its long-forgotten name.

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

"Grandma, why are your eyes so red? Where are your glasses?" Red asked Grandma.

"I'm not wearing my glasses so that I can see you better, honey," Grandma answered. She sipped at the hot tea.

Red was satisfied with this answer. She too, sipped the tea from the ceramic glass.

She heard her Grandma sighing.

"Why are you sighing, Grandma?" she asked again.

"I'm sighing because you look so much like your mother, honey."

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

The wolf made a move.

It had waited too long. It approached the house, peeking through the window to see what the humans were doing.

It was surprised to find the child lying down on the floor with no clothes on. Gone were the scarf and the cloak so associated with her name.

The old woman was kneeling on top of her, her eyes burning red. To the wolf's disgust, she was drooling.

The wolf thought for a while. A battered human child tasted no better than a dead old woman.

So it leapt.

It broke the window.

The old woman, startled, let go of her grip on Red's wrists.

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



Red wondered. She was told by Grandma that they were going to play an old game invented by her Grandpa. The condition was, she had to take off her clothes.

"Lay down on your back, honey. We'll start soon," Grandma said. She took out a thin wooden stick. Its end was rounded.

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

The wolf started with the old woman first. She swung her pathetic wooden stick around.

Like it would make a difference, it said to itself.

It swung its enormous paw. The claw shredded the skin and flesh on the old woman's hand. The old woman cried in pain.

The wolf continued swinging its paw. It made sure that it shredded her wind pipe minimally, so that she would only lose her voice. It was, so to say, annoying.

When it was finished, the old woman was drowning in her own blood. Her insides were sprawled across the floor. The old woman spazzed.

Something caught the wolf's eyes. The old woman's clothes were shredded to pieces. On her back, however, was a scar.

It immediately noticed that the scar (three long gashes across her back) was made by one of her kin.

I could care less, it thought.

It slapped the old woman's head. A sickening 'crack' was heard.

It turned to the child.

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

"Yvonne!"

The wolf that-was-Sarah's-husband stopped Yvonne as she raised her paw to kill Red.

"Edmond? What are you doing here?" Yvonne growled. She lowered her paw.

And at that, she turned into a woman.

One look at Yvonne and every man on earth can tell that she's everything that they've ever desired. It wasn’t because of her slim figure, her perfectly rounded breast, her straight shoulder length brunette hair, nor was it because of her seductive lips.

The reason would be because of her eyes.

It burned like fire, it chilled like ice, it warmed like a spring wind, and it is, simply put, other worldly.

It was framed perfectly on her face. Her nose was slightly pointed, and her face was a bit rounded.

(In modern phrase, it may or may not, be called a cute face)

Her skin was brown, a look that hinted a soft touch of the sun.

"Have you taken care of the woman?" she asked. Her voice was light, a melody unlike anything that exists under the sun.

The other wolf nodded slightly, a grin of satisfaction appeared as it recalled Sarah's frightened face.

Yvonne smiled.

The wolf turned to a trembling Red.

"Don't worry, honey. It's me, your father."

Red stopped crying instantly.

"Father?"

"Yes, it's me, honey." the wolf added.

Red took a good look at it.

"How come you're so short, Father?"

The wolf flinched. Guilt?

"So that I may run faster to safe you, honey."

Red nodded.

"How come you have a lot of hair?"

Guilt is not the answer. Paternal love, maybe?

"So that I can keep myself warm during the night, honey."

Again, Red nodded.

"Then how come your teeth are so sharp?"

The wolf paused. No. No hesitation. The Gold. Yvonne. It approached Red.

"So that I may chew you so finely, my daughter!"

Its allegedly sharp teeth made short work of Red.

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

Yvonne watched as the love of her life (which, to us human, is a long time indeed) chewed down the girl. He bit her neck first, so that the girl died instantly.

Paternal love? She asked herself.

After Red was finely chewed, it turned into a human.

Edmond was a handsome man. His curly hair was jet-black, and it contrasted his pale skin. His jaw was firm.

And, like Yvonne, he had a pair of unreasonably beautiful eyes.

"My love, the spell is ready." Yvonne said to him.

"I know."

Edmond licked his lips. He didn't know that his own daughter would taste that good.

"Begin, then." He said.

Yvonne drew a circle, and in it she wrote (or drew) runes from a forgotten past. She drew them with the old woman's blood.

And then she chanted.

A brilliant blue pillar of light rose from the corpse of the old woman. The pillar shrunk into a blue orb.

It floats in the air for a while, before it flew towards Edmond.

Edmond raised his hand. The orb disappeared as he grasped it.

"The contract is finished. Edmond my love, you're now the sole possessor of The Gold."

They hugged each other. They kissed, passionately (so passionate that the gods looked jealously on them).

The silver dagger went straight through her heart. She died instantly.

Edmond smiled. His teeth still red with blood.

"Indeed, Yvonne. I'm the sole possessor of The Gold."

He became a wolf. It thought for a moment.

And its smile widened.

"I've always wondered how my kin tastes like."

Warning!

The next post is going to be a story I made up during my A Level days. It was the first story I completed, and posted on the net (it's still up in my Friendster blog). It's my version of the famous children story, Red Riding Hood.

But it is in no way a children's story. You may think of me as a sick bastard, a sex maniac, and a rapist after you read this. I know I scared myself. But let's look at it objectively, and treat it like how it's supposed to be treated.

A short story.

This is the last warning. If you're under 18, go back and just read my older posts. If you can't take sexual violence, go back (I don't wanna hear people complaining about it, because I'm against sexual violence too). I'm being dead-fucking-serious here. Two of my friends who read the story told me that I'm a sick bastard. That's how bad it is.

Ok, ready?

The next post, and also the first Midnight Theater story I wrote, is going to be called "Red". It was inspired by the Red Riding Hood, and whoever the original writer was, I am eternally indebted to you.

Here goes nothin'.

Interlude, 16 - 10 - 2008

I can't believe I wrote that story. Poet, I mean. The latest addition to the Midnight Theater. It's not even a story, it's utter gibberish.

But then again, most of my stories are.

I mean, "a mead; a contract of love, concocted from lavender, roses, mistletoes, and the blood of a crow"?

I'm telling ya, random thoughts.

But to hell with all this. I like it. Maybe that's just because I wrote it. Maybe because I get to tell the truth with lies again. Just like what I did with Visage of Lies.

"While it may not be the most pleasant, or the best story you’ve ever heard in your life, but it has the singular advantage of being absolutely true. There is no lesson to be taken away from it, and there is no heart warming ending to it; but it is a true story, nonetheless."

And that's the God-honest truth. But that's also a lie. Because the story is completely made up. It didn't happen in real life.

But it's the goddamn truth.

Confused yet? I know I am. Ah well.

We'll continue this conversation some other time, shall we?

Until then, Good night.

Sleep

Tight.

Midnight Theater, 16 - 10 - 2008

Poet

Man

Here’s a toast to you –

A mead; a contract of love, concocted from lavender,

roses,

mistletoes,

and the blood of a crow –

my Hera,

my Aphrodite,

my Athena,

My Goddess.

Woman

Hera’s a bitch, a possessive insecure woman

Aphrodite’s beauty is beyond comparison; but that is all there is to it

Athena is a stubborn woman; a mule. A stone.

And I am no Goddess.

Man

You are the four seasons, then.

As warm as a summer breeze,

As beautiful as the colour of spring,

As mesmerizing as the falling leaves of autumn

And as hypnotizing as the snow of winter

Woman

A summer breeze dries my skin,

The colour of spring hurts my eyes,

The falling leaves is a nuisance,

And winter is cold.

Man

Well then, in the absence of

A better way to describe what you are

To me,

I will say, nay, I say it now,

With the weight of my heart on its back;

You are,

My love, my life.

And these words I convey to you,

For you make me feel

Like I want to be

A better man.

Woman

But that word is so beautiful.

For you – in the absence of

A better way to describe what you are –

Are my spring, my autumn, my summer,

And my winter.

You are

My love, my life

A better man you will be, aye

But a different man you will not.

Because I love you

Just the way you are,

My poet.

Poet

Then allow your most humble alleged poet

To give you my greatest gift.

It may not be much,

But it is the best this man can do.

Allow me to tell you a story, love.

A love story.

Listen closely.

Spit it Out!

Man, I'm so pissed today I can kill someone. But I have a better cure.

A dose of Slipknot does the trick. Here's the lyric to one of their song, Spit it Out. If you just, like me, had a bad day, try and listen to them. (SIC) stuff. Here goes.

Spit It Out

Since you never gave a damn in the first place,
Maybe it's time you had the tables turned
'Cause in the interest of all involved I got the problem solved
And the verdict is guilty...

...MAN NEARLY KILLED ME
Steppin' where you fear to tread
Stop, drop and roll
You were dead from the git-go!
Big mouthfucker, stupid cocksucker
are you're scared of me now? Then you're dumber than I thought
Always is, and never was
Foundation made of piss and vinegar
Step to me, I'll smear ya
Think I fear ya? Bullshit!
Just another dumb punk chompin' at this tit
Is there any way to break through the noise?
Was it something that I said that got you bent?
Gotta be that way if you want it
Sanity, literal profanity hit me!


Spit it out
All you wanna do is drag me down
All I wanna do is stamp you out (x2)

Maybe it's the way you gotta spread a lotta rumor fodder
Keepin' all your little spies and leaving when you realize
Step up, fairy
I guess it's time to bury your ass with the chrome
Straight to the dome
You heard me right, bitch, I didn't stutter
And if you know what's good, just shut up and beg, brother
Backstab - don't you know who you're dissin'?
Side swipe,we know the Ass that your kissin'
Bigity-biggidy bitch boy, halfway hauser
Don't hear shit cuz It keeps gettin' louder
Come on, and get a face full 'o tatic
Lipping off hard, going home in a basket
You got no pull, no power, no nothin
Now you start shit?
Well, ain't that something?
Payoffs don't protect, and you can hide if you want
But I'll find you, comin' up behind you!

Spit it out
All you wanna do is drag me down
All I wanna do is stamp you out (x2)

'Bout time I set this record straight
All the needlenose punchin' is making me irate
Sick o' my bitchin' fallin' on deaf ears
Where you gonna be in the next five years?
The crew and all the fools, and all the politix
Get your lips ready, gonna gag, gonna make you sick
You got dick when they passed out that good stuff
BAM!
Are you sick of me?
Good enough, had enough!

Fuck me! I'm all out of enemies! (x8)

Spit it out
All you wanna do is drag me down
All I wanna do is stamp you out (x2)

Spit! (x4)
Spit... it out!

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

Man, ain't THAT a kick in the ass. Move along now. Mind your head.

Good night

Sleep tight.

I'm posting... I can't believe it.... Wow...

You know, I really don't have much to tell you about my life. Seriously, if I were to write down every single thing that's happening in my days, it would probably sound like this: Wake up, eat, smoke, shit, eat, smoke, internet, smoke, lepak, smoke, sleep. Clean, rinse, repeat.

Not until recently, at least.

So here's what's weird: if you are a close friend of mine, you know that I have a really, really short attention span. As in seriously, agonizingly short. That's why my short stories are, well, short. So are my relationships (I don't know if that's relevant or not). That is also the case with my studies, sadly. Ever seen me studying for more than 1 hour straight? If you have, that is not me, that's my twin brother. No, I don't have a brother.

The point is, it's really hard for me to focus on one thing at a time, let alone several things at once (a sorry excuse for a Monash student).

Until recently.

So I'm taking part in the Monash Performing Arts Club (you can call it MPAC if you want) Year End Production (YEP, for short. That makes it MPAC YEP. Don't look at me, I didn't invent that name). And yours truly - who am I kidding? - I wrote the script. No, I should say, I am writing the script, as of this post. Terrible thing, them writer's block.

But first thing first. The concept of the story is not mine. True, I'm writing the script, and true that the script is being used right now, but the concept is not mine. It's Ivan's. Well, I made some (sick) adjustments myself, but the concept is his. Moving along.

Now, the most awesome part of this whole thing is that I hadn't quit. Surprise, surprise. Didn't know that I'm a quitter? News flash kids. Why did you think I chose BioMed instead of Med? But no, seriously. I haven't been this serious about anything my whole life. Usually when I am given a responsibility, I'd much rather get it done as fast as possible (short attention span folks. It kills). But not this time, no sir.

Why? Well, first of all, the cast members seems to like the story. A lot. So far. I feel appreciated, you know? Can't let them down.

Secondly, we are charging RM 10 for the ticket. In my book, that is a lot of money. For the first time I'm writing junks not only for myself, but for people who are paying to get entertained. Quitting means putting a target mark on my head.

Lastly, I fucking love doing this. Seriously. All the pressure, all the stress, all the deleted Word documents, does not even come close to hampering the joy I felt when the cast members actually acted out my script. My script, ladies and gentleman. And it turned out to be an awesome thing, indeed. I swear I almost felt like crying when they first acted out the scenes (the first three scenes, if you want to be specific about it). It was like unto a work of art. I almost felt like quitting smoking. Almost. That's saying a lot.

So having said that, I am not really all that when it comes to writing, even more so when it comes to acting (yes, I will be acting. In one scene. Like, a cameo), but I think I can say with a certain degree of confidence that this is going to be awesome. It's going to be a gas.

I'm having a ball, people. And I would appreciate it if you would come and check it out. The play is called Visage of Lies. The title is created by Jeevan, not me. It will be held in Monash University. If you're not a student, you can always pretend that you are and come anyways. It's going to be held on Friday, 10th of October, 7.30 pm to 10.00 pm. There's gonna be some dancing scenes, a sword fight, and a making out scene. I'd say that's rather cool. If you want to know the details, go here.

And another thing; this is a heads-up for those who actually read my short stories. I am going to write the story of the play in short story form, chapter by chapter, after the event (and exams). We'll see how it's going to be.

Right. I think that's about it. Back to the scripts.

Good night,

Sleep tight.