Short Story VI
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Another Hobo Story~
***
The Hobo and his hat
The Hobo was looking for a hat; not a cap, beanie, bonnet, fedora or helmet, but a Hobo Hat. THE Hobo Hat. I mean, what other hat, aside from a Hobo Hat, could the Hobo want?
Thus, the Hobo went on a Hobo Hat Hunt.
After a long enough search, the Hobo managed to find The Hobo Hat. It was The Hobo Hat instead of THE Hobo hat because it was of the wrong size and the wrong colour. After all, there was no use in wearing a Huge Hobo Hat if it covered the Hobo’s face. I mean, the hat is meant to compliment the Hobo, not hide the Hobo. You are meant to see both the Hobo and the Hat. That’s why it’s called Hobo Hat and not Hide the Hobo Hat. What’s the use if you can only see the Hobo Hat and not the Hobo?
And the colour of The Hobo Hat was just, wrong. It did not match the Hobo’s pink Ferrari-enough said.
So the Hobo continued his hunt.
Some shops didn’t carry Hobo Hats; most shops just didn’t have the kind of Hobo Hat the Hobo wanted.
But being a Hobo, the Hobo persisted. He felt that some day, some how, he would be able to find THE Hobo Hat. Being unable to find THE Hobo Hat even after he had been to half the shops in town merely fuelled the Hobo’s determination. Each failure did not deter the Hobo. Instead, the Hob was hit with the mad desire to find THE Hobo Hat-the Hobo would continue his hunt until he ran out of shops or dropped dead.
Then one day, he found it.
After ensuring that it fit and was the right colour, the Hobo hurriedly paid without looking at the price. The Hobo then hopped out happily with THE Hobo Hat on his head.
Sitting in his pink Ferrari, the Hobo closed his eyes, took a deep breath and prepared to admire his Hobo reflection. The Hobo thought, ‘Finally, finally, I found THE Hobo Hat! That means I am now no longer a humble Hobo, but a Hobo Hat Hobo! HA HA HA!’ after which he opened his eyes and waited for that magical moment to come as he stared at his reflection. He waited with anticipation and bated breath for the happiness, the hurrah and the hooray.
Nothing happened.
The Hobo peered at his reflection from his rearview mirror, then the wing mirror, and then the rearview mirror again. It was THE hat. The hat he had longed so much for, had searched high and low for. But suddenly it seemed to become just a hat. Suddenly, it didn’t look like THE Hobo Hat anymore. In fact, the hat seemed to make his head look… huge.
The Hobo wanted to speed off in his pink Ferrari to the next destination. But then the Hobo realised he had no more next destination as he had found his hat.
The Hobo was bored.
‘Hmm, what next, a Hobo Hermes Handbag? A heart-shaped Hobo Hairclip?’ thought the Hobo. He stepped on the accelerator, speeding away in search of something else he could do.
~
“Hello Hobo!” hollered Ade to the Hobo.
“Hello!” replied the Hobo.
=)
=) | Sunday, January 27, 2008 at 7:14 PM |
Interlude VIII
Gerald | at 4:41 AM |
Interlude VII
Blood ran in torrents, drenched was all the earth,
As Trojans and their alien helpers died.
Here were men lying quelled by bitter death
All up and down the city in their blood.
As Trojans and their alien helpers died.
Here were men lying quelled by bitter death
All up and down the city in their blood.
The epic war against Troy, where countless heroes were fell and even more commoners were slain, was waged after Paris of Troy stole Helen from her husband Menelaus, king of Sparta. For the love of a woman which he desired, Troy knowingly led many men to their doom. However, not only were there tales of follies told about this war, there were tales of courage, of brotherhood, of kinship.
The minuscule battle of wit and sarcasm that occurred on this blog a while ago pales in comparison to the Epic Trojan War but nonetheless, it told tales of love and jealousy, of righteousness and justice.
The first arrow was shot when brave Shida ofChina Singapore tried to be sarcastic towards who he thought was the evil dragon fair Ada of PeiPei-Land. Having spent too much time on his powerpoint presentation, his eyes failed him and the arrow flew past Atlantis, where little mermaid Ade was thinking whether she was ready to murder her prince. Alas, the arrow missed Ade and struck her sleeping prince firmly in the chest. Ade was shocked! In her anger, she broke the dagger she was holding in her hands into two and threw them as hard as she could. The blade pierced Shida through his arm and the handle hit Ada on her forehead. Ada was unhappy, so she started writing to the Atlantis government about killer litter and how people should be fined for not disposing of rubbish properly. Shida, on the other hand, decided that there was too much red tape in the bureaucracy and decided to return fire himself. The irony came when he found himself shouting "For Ada!!! (Make sures its an "a" and not an "e")" before he threw himself into battle. Just at the crucial moment, the invisible ancestral pentadactyl hand of Gerald came to the rescue and deleted the nightmare, pretending it never happened. He then rewrote it into a highly unbelievable folklore which may be remembered for years to come.
Anyway, Gerald's point is that this whole thing should not be taken too seriously, just like the above tale which aptly described the situation then. If there were any misunderstandings, I sincerely apologise openly on this blog.
Sorry Ade, though I think you understand already =)
Sorry Ada, there's nothing personal about the comments ok, just treat it as those "normal" comments we make about you everyday. I love you!
Sorry Shida, there's nothing personal either, I am in awe at your sarcasm too! What else can I say? I love you too? haha.
The minuscule battle of wit and sarcasm that occurred on this blog a while ago pales in comparison to the Epic Trojan War but nonetheless, it told tales of love and jealousy, of righteousness and justice.
The first arrow was shot when brave Shida of
Anyway, Gerald's point is that this whole thing should not be taken too seriously, just like the above tale which aptly described the situation then. If there were any misunderstandings, I sincerely apologise openly on this blog.
Sorry Ade, though I think you understand already =)
Sorry Ada, there's nothing personal about the comments ok, just treat it as those "normal" comments we make about you everyday. I love you!
Sorry Shida, there's nothing personal either, I am in awe at your sarcasm too! What else can I say? I love you too? haha.
Gerald | Wednesday, January 23, 2008 at 8:54 PM |
Short Story V
***
The deal was simple. For his Hat, The Hobo would be able to drive off in the Bright Pink Porsche parked along the side of the pavement.
Like most mortal men, he did not hesitate the slightest bit. The Hobo threw his Hat down onto the ground and snatched the keys from the hands of the man offering the deal. So anxious was The Hobo is sealing the deal that he never ever saw the face of the other party.
So begins the adventure of The Hobo on the roads and highways of the country. He sped across the town, dashed through traffic lights, feeling the adrenaline rush through him as he went faster and faster. It was the first time he has touched a Bright Pink Porsche and much less to say, the first time he has driven one. The feeling was great and he swore that he would be willing to die just for this experience.
What he said almost came true, for it was in his reverie of thoughts that the car swerved into oncoming traffic and it was only with sheer luck that he managed to turn the car back and away from that impending threat of doom. Nonetheless, he felt that he has just gotten the best deal of his life and more good luck was to come. Stopping at a gas station somewhere along the highway he was travelling on now, he got off to buy a bottle of beer to celebrate.
Time flew by quickly as he zoomed around the country, visiting places he has never been and enjoying his beer in the comfort of his newfound treasure occasionally. Soon, night has fallen. The Hobo was drunk and speeding down a certain dusty road like there's no tomorrow and this reckless action attracted the attention of the cop who usually has nothing better to do, hiding behind signboards, trying to find opportunities to arrest idiots like The Hobo. A quick check on his instruments made the cop very happy - The Hobo was speeding at 50mph over the speed limit and he was speeding in a stolen car.
Continuing the adventures of The Hobo came the chase by the cop. Drunk as The Hobo was, he knew he had to evade the cop chasing him, who was at the same time yelling out to him to stop for he was speeding and the car he was driving in was suspected to be stolen. The Hobo stepped on the accelerator with all his might but the car does not seem to be speeding up, and as a matter of fact, it was slowing down. A quick glance at the fuel gauge explained to him why. He needed to escape, he needed to run away, he needed to disappear. Without a second thought, he open the car door and dived out of the car, rolling down the slope beside the dusty road, rolling, rolling, rolling.
It was slightly before daybreak before The Hobo regained consciousness. He was alone, somewhere near the shoreline. There was a pier nearby and he walked towards it. As he walked, he thought.
How could there be such a perfect deal in life? There was no such thing as a free meal and even as a hobo, he knew that. People always expected something in return even when they offer that little bits of leftover that was not even fitting to serve to animals. Even those who request nothing in return seize the chance to gloat at him, to despise him. In that moment of greed, he had allowed himself to fall into a trap, to be the scapegoat of another person's wrongdoings.
But he could have escaped. Why did the car choose to run out of fuel at that time? Why did fate choose to toy with his life like that? Why did the cop have to notice him speeding? Why... Why... Why did he have so many people to blame? so many excuses for himself? So what if the above accusations never happened? He still chose his path himself - he chose to speed, he chose to accept the deal and he himself was incapable of even refuelling his own car. There's a Chinese saying that goes: "Don't wear a hat thats too big for your head" This was indeed very true, for he had chose to destroy himself by being a hobo already, what was there to be gained by the luxury he never bothered to work for?
Taking about hats, where was his hat? The hat was one of the few things that he actually worked for and one of those few things which stood by him and was useful all these year. He recalled how he helped someone shift furniture or something like that to be able to take that hat as a reward. At least he worked for it. Furthermore, the hat was his home, his shelter. It protected him from the sun, from the rain. It gave him protection, it gave him an identity too. Yet, he dumped it for something which was just material, something that has not emotional value to him, something which he cannot maintain, something which does not even exist now.
Leaning against the railings of the pier, he stared out into the open sea. The sun slowly burst out from the horizon and with it came the sirens of police cars. He slowly turned around. There were at least a dozen police men moving towards him. They cautioned him to not move and co-operate with them in the investigations of the stolen car. Suddenly, at the corner of his eyes, he glimpsed his hat floating on the murky grey waters of the sea. With equal enthusiasm in accepting the deal the previous day, he jumped over the railings. The policemen rushed up to the edge of the pier and all they saw was a calm sea, with nothing in sight.
Like most mortal men, he did not hesitate the slightest bit. The Hobo threw his Hat down onto the ground and snatched the keys from the hands of the man offering the deal. So anxious was The Hobo is sealing the deal that he never ever saw the face of the other party.
So begins the adventure of The Hobo on the roads and highways of the country. He sped across the town, dashed through traffic lights, feeling the adrenaline rush through him as he went faster and faster. It was the first time he has touched a Bright Pink Porsche and much less to say, the first time he has driven one. The feeling was great and he swore that he would be willing to die just for this experience.
What he said almost came true, for it was in his reverie of thoughts that the car swerved into oncoming traffic and it was only with sheer luck that he managed to turn the car back and away from that impending threat of doom. Nonetheless, he felt that he has just gotten the best deal of his life and more good luck was to come. Stopping at a gas station somewhere along the highway he was travelling on now, he got off to buy a bottle of beer to celebrate.
Time flew by quickly as he zoomed around the country, visiting places he has never been and enjoying his beer in the comfort of his newfound treasure occasionally. Soon, night has fallen. The Hobo was drunk and speeding down a certain dusty road like there's no tomorrow and this reckless action attracted the attention of the cop who usually has nothing better to do, hiding behind signboards, trying to find opportunities to arrest idiots like The Hobo. A quick check on his instruments made the cop very happy - The Hobo was speeding at 50mph over the speed limit and he was speeding in a stolen car.
Continuing the adventures of The Hobo came the chase by the cop. Drunk as The Hobo was, he knew he had to evade the cop chasing him, who was at the same time yelling out to him to stop for he was speeding and the car he was driving in was suspected to be stolen. The Hobo stepped on the accelerator with all his might but the car does not seem to be speeding up, and as a matter of fact, it was slowing down. A quick glance at the fuel gauge explained to him why. He needed to escape, he needed to run away, he needed to disappear. Without a second thought, he open the car door and dived out of the car, rolling down the slope beside the dusty road, rolling, rolling, rolling.
It was slightly before daybreak before The Hobo regained consciousness. He was alone, somewhere near the shoreline. There was a pier nearby and he walked towards it. As he walked, he thought.
How could there be such a perfect deal in life? There was no such thing as a free meal and even as a hobo, he knew that. People always expected something in return even when they offer that little bits of leftover that was not even fitting to serve to animals. Even those who request nothing in return seize the chance to gloat at him, to despise him. In that moment of greed, he had allowed himself to fall into a trap, to be the scapegoat of another person's wrongdoings.
But he could have escaped. Why did the car choose to run out of fuel at that time? Why did fate choose to toy with his life like that? Why did the cop have to notice him speeding? Why... Why... Why did he have so many people to blame? so many excuses for himself? So what if the above accusations never happened? He still chose his path himself - he chose to speed, he chose to accept the deal and he himself was incapable of even refuelling his own car. There's a Chinese saying that goes: "Don't wear a hat thats too big for your head" This was indeed very true, for he had chose to destroy himself by being a hobo already, what was there to be gained by the luxury he never bothered to work for?
Taking about hats, where was his hat? The hat was one of the few things that he actually worked for and one of those few things which stood by him and was useful all these year. He recalled how he helped someone shift furniture or something like that to be able to take that hat as a reward. At least he worked for it. Furthermore, the hat was his home, his shelter. It protected him from the sun, from the rain. It gave him protection, it gave him an identity too. Yet, he dumped it for something which was just material, something that has not emotional value to him, something which he cannot maintain, something which does not even exist now.
Leaning against the railings of the pier, he stared out into the open sea. The sun slowly burst out from the horizon and with it came the sirens of police cars. He slowly turned around. There were at least a dozen police men moving towards him. They cautioned him to not move and co-operate with them in the investigations of the stolen car. Suddenly, at the corner of his eyes, he glimpsed his hat floating on the murky grey waters of the sea. With equal enthusiasm in accepting the deal the previous day, he jumped over the railings. The policemen rushed up to the edge of the pier and all they saw was a calm sea, with nothing in sight.
Gerald | Tuesday, January 22, 2008 at 11:26 PM |
Ade is shocked by how much crap she can churn out
Ok, it was supposed to be a short story. WAS. Alas, I suppose our definition of short is quite different.
I'm sorry to flood your blog with such a long emo draggy story~>.< (told you my writing's lousy). Anyway, I hope it was at least mildly entertaining. =)
=) | Monday, January 21, 2008 at 3:24 AM |
Short Story IV
~(The) Intelligent Fool~
***
***
Romantic dreams; oh yes, she had them aplenty. But reality was, reality.
In order to be close to him, she knew she had given up so much. Yet, she realised she had so little to give him. And did he even want what little she offered? But she persisted, continued hoping, wishing, dreaming that someday, somehow, he would fall for her too.
Love reduces every one of us into fools-no matter who we are.
A fool that reduced herself, willingly, into a position of muted solitude.
A fool who wanted so much, yet, didn't dare to expect too much.
A fool that was constantly filled with doubt, who fretted about compatibility.
A fool that didn't want anything but him; but would not settle for anything less.
A fool that knew that love could not be forced.
Being a fool did not mean that she was not afraid of rejection. No, rejection petrified her. It merely meant that she deluded herself-even though she knew it was self delusion on her part. She continued living in her fantasy despite being aware of reality, trying her damnest to ignore the temptation to give up...
How much of a fool was she?
Oh, she knew she could be saved if she could just being herself to stab him. Alas, she was still not quite the fool. Undoubtely, she could have then returned to the sea; never to see land again if she wished. Slowly perhaps, the memory of him would become hazy, dissipating in her mind like pieces of broken coral. The pain in heart heart, dilluted by the aquamarine of the sea, would fade into a dull ache. She would learn to smile again, but can she live a life knowing that she killed him? Can she contemplate a life in which he was reduced to a mere memory, a mere forgotten memory? She was still not fool enough to want to lose all this. Was it too greedy to want to keep the memory of him forever fresh?
She did contemplate plunging the knife into his chest to get back at him for his rejection. She had raised the blade, came so close to stabbing...but what had he done wrong? If her mistake was falling for him, what was his? Does not reciprocating her feelings constitude as a sin? She was/might have been foolishly in love, but the fact was as clear to her as the light of the day.
My prince, her voice rang out in her head-do you know there are so many things I want to tell you? I was always so lonely until I met you. But i just realised how lonely I would be without you. Do you know my greatest wish is for you to be able to hear me say 'I love you'? I don't know why I fell for you. I'm tired. Tired of guessing how you feel, too scared to read too much into your words and actions...
A once in a lifetime meeting.
Can i just stay in your arms for this moment
and pretend you will never let go?
The fool in me would want it to last forever
but even foolishness has its limits.
Why then do I crave for something that I know is futile?
Do you know my prince that I want to let you go?
And I would, if I could.
If only I could bring myself to do so;
to stop clinging on to you, holding on to this dream,
this fantasy...
But I can't, not yet
I always wanted someone to love,
heart and soul.
And then I found you.
But I always assumed you would love me too
and that you were searching for me too.
She wanted to be able to cry. But all she felt was a strange sense of hollowness. Dazed, but yet surprisingly calm she was. Her grip on the blade loosened. The dagger clattered to the floor, its hilt hitting the ground with a dull thud. She stared at her prince-this was the first time she saw his sleeping countenance ; this was the last time she would ever see his face. Outside, the night was still, save the waves crashing against the shore.
Goodbye my prince, I will always miss you. I just hope that you will think of me occassionaly...But you'd probably forget about me in time to come, wouldn't you?
She closed her eyes and exhaled the breath she didn't know she was holding. Then she turned around and stepped out of the room. That was it. It was finally over.
The sun was almost rising when she reached the cliff overlooking the sea. This was where she first met him when she came on land, and this would be where she chose to leave. She sat herself on the edge. Her body on land as her toes just touched water. It was befitting to spend her last hour here-halfway in between land and sea. She realised she never really belonged to either place. Just like how she could never be the fool nor the intelligent one.
The sea breeze tossed her hair gently. She could feel the warmth of the sun's rays on her skin. She simply sat there. Passive; still; casting her gaze afar. Soon, it would be her time. The breeze picked up. Any time now...I wonder how is it like to turn into foam, she thought with a rueful smile.
Even at her last moment, she was unable to be oblivious.
=) | at 12:36 AM |
Short Story III
Another short story inspired by those competitions where you write short passages which must start and end with a phrase. Also inspired by WH's wonderful story of Medusa.
This story starts off with "It was love at first sight" and ends with "What a blissful ending"
***
It was love at first sight…
but he was a frog and she, an adder. Though there existed tales of love overcoming the greatest obstacles in life, it was the natural order than was being challenged. Nevertheless, he firmly believed in the former and took the chance to approach her. After all, her eyes were so mesmerizing, her slender figure so beautiful that it was impossible to resist.
What a fool he was, for how can one naively believe that love was able to surpass the natural order? Love could not change fate, for love was only a gear in the clockworks of life and nature. Love was merely a tool, entwined with the arts of seduction and trickery. He was weak and was caught by the trap of beauty; she was intelligent and used her charm to gain what she wanted.
He hopped up to her. Before he even managed to croak, a searing pain gashed across his throat and soon, all was numb. But yet, his last thoughts were still “It was such an honor to die for such beauty”.
What a blissful ending.
Gerald | Saturday, January 19, 2008 at 11:33 PM |
Interlude VI
I Started A Joke by Bee Gees
I started a joke, which started the whole world crying,
But I didnt see that the joke was on me, oh no.
I started to cry, which started the whole world laughing,
Oh, if I'd only seen that the joke was on me.
I looked at the skies, running my hands over my eyes,
And I fell out of bed, hurting my head from things that I'd said.
Till I finally died, which started the whole world living,
Oh, if I'd only seen that the joke was on me.
I looked at the skies, running my hands over my eyes,
And I fell out of bed, hurting my head from things that I'd said.
Till I finally died, which started the whole world living,
Oh, if I'd only seen that the joke was one me.
Gerald | Thursday, January 10, 2008 at 7:24 PM |
Short Story II
Sorry that this is a lousy piece of work, probably because I was happy when I wrote it. I particularly hated it but still, it is here.
***
Weapons.
The tired body of the prisoner slumped before his captors. They had generously presented him with a choice, a free-will decision to pick the method of punishment he preferred. But he picked wrongly.
Had he chosen the executioner with his axe, it would have been over in split second, yet he chose to preserve his life. Had he chosen the soldier with his flail and hot poker, he would only suffer from bruises and burn, yet he chose to cherish his physical body. He had to pick the jester, innocently spinning his scepter, with that sinister smile on his face.
His punishment began the moment he chose the jester. Letting his guard down against what he thought would be an easy opponent, he was putting himself in higher danger than ever. Words of false comfort penetrated deeper into his heart than any steel could. Just as he embraced those words, it was drawn out of him cruelly, shattering his heart into a million pieces. What he confided in the jester as his deepest secrets were made to sound worthless and unmeaningful as the wit of the jester manipulated and broke down each memory the prisoner held dearest. Every misdeed was amplified a thousand times to weigh him down with guilt and every moment of joy and achievement were shrunk till they were unrecognizable.
In the end, his soul was wrecked, his mind gave way and he was in a state worse than death.
Gerald | Sunday, January 6, 2008 at 11:08 PM |