my stories

Sounds

2008-11-10T21:57:00.002+08:00

Hmmm
Awww
Mmmm
Wheee
Heehee
Heer heer

aDe sounds

Yar
No
Maybee~
Oh

Untitled

2008-03-15T22:04:00.002+08:00

Once we watched a horror movie
You asked me if I was afraid
I just shook my head silently
Nothing can frighten me with you around
The only thing that can scare me now,
is to find you gone

***

(un)Granted

too late, you are gone
i should have never trusted a shooting star
unfulfilled wishes, empty promises
or maybe you were never mine to begin

that night, it was raining stars
we sat at the shoreline and made our wishes
i wished
for you to be always here beside me
for you to know that i loved you
for you to love me back
even just a little

but

i never said a thing
the stars were supposed to do their job
wishes were supposed to come true
you were supposed to know
because i was the one
(amongst the insignificant millions)
who made a wish
even though i never said a thing

***

A little piece of work
Of taking things for granted and granting wishes.

Random Rambles

2008-03-09T15:01:00.005+08:00

The dark of the blue blacks
pushed away
pushed out
to make space for the amber and orange
already spreading
from the center

And so, everything is washed away
the choppy sea, the slave ship
with the miserable slaves
away, now in the corner of the eye
soon out of the canvas
as we only see the
upcoming
sunlight

A new day
begins
as soon as we get to the sunlight

but is it sunrise?
or sundown?

Ok, this poem is basically a reaction to J.M.W. Turner's painting entitled 'Slave Ship'(1840). Turner is a painter that paints in the sublime style; he was also renowned for his oils and British watercolour landscape paintings. He can be said to be one of Britain's most famous and talented painters.

(ooh~the strangest things ade is learning and the random things it inspires her to write about) =D

Short Story VIII

2008-03-09T05:16:00.005+08:00

The last thing he saw was the heavy hook of the rusty old crane, swinging irritatingly in a pendulum motion, blocking his view of the azure evening skies. Maybe it was never right to show such hostility, even towards the inanimate crane, for even a crane can be revengeful. It snapped the cable holding the hook, letting it plummet towards him. It was over in a second and it didn't even hurt at all.

Gerry thought that he was a man of no regrets, that was before he died at least. Dead, his heart was empty, just like an unoccupied apartment of a girlfriend who migrated before you ever got to apologise. Empty but filled - with regret and a million other things left undone.

Everything was so fragile. In this world, nothing was certain and nothing was permanent. Not bloodlines, not kinship, not friendship, nor love.

Bloodlines and lineages - the selfish gene was supposed to rule over that, not us. We do not change nor do we benefit from Darwinism. We die, but the genetic information lives on, creating a better being who will eventually be replaced by yet another better one. However, even this highly fundamental powerful system is limited by the physical limits of Man, for the gene is ultimately like a parasite, thriving only if the host is able to survive. *Would the gene be able to grow if every living organism is dead? Would God exist if no Man believed in Him?*

Big thoughts and no actions, that was Gerry's problem. He spent too much time indulging himself in thoughts that had no value at all. The more things he thought about, the more distant he grew from the world. Gerry liked to blame things too. Was it that the world was indeed too fragile, or did he just make no effort to reinforce the scaffolds when the time came?

There was his family which he walked out on. His father and mother loved him genuinely and had his best interest at heart. He was stubborn as a bull (though it would be unfair to the bull to say that) and never listened to their advice. For 5 years, for 5 years since he had moved out, he had never spoken a single word to them, to these two people who are probably the only ones on Earth who will sacrificingly shower him with their love.

There were his friends which he was too proud to acknowledge. There was also a girl whom he thought she will be there for him until she was gone.

There were so many people he let down and it was no surprise (and entirely his fault) that no one turned up at his funeral. Not even his parents, for they had already left the world a couple of years ago due to extreme sadness and illness, to which Gerry still did not know by his death.

***

Life may appear to be fragile at times. But (quoting from Neil Gaiman) the brittle egg shell that contains a chick can support the weight of many humans when placed correctly and (my favourite) the heart, which is so easily shattered and broken has enough power to push blood through our body throughout one whole lifetime.

Everything has a side that can withstand the toughest of all difficulties and there is no space for excuses.

Live everyday like you know its your last, but start everyday thinking that you still have 24 hours to do what you can.

P.S. This story is NOT (completely) about me and I am NOT suicidal or anything. But the less detailed second last paragragh was deliberate, just in case anyone makes some obscure connection to themselves =P

Short Story VII

2008-03-07T21:06:00.004+08:00

He was a clay gnome.

Ever since his birth, he was incarcerated in this globular glass prison where he now resided, suffering the harshest castigations, probably from a crime he never knew he committed. Petrified and encased in clay, the smile which was fixated onto his face to veil the agonies he went through merely brought about more torment to his soul.

Every once in a while, the ground he was standing on would rumble and a pair of seraphic eyes would peer through the walls, sometimes accompanied by a heavenly genuine laughter. The presence of this angelic creature with her sincerest joy would touch him, but if she only knew that everytime she shook the ground and the countless snowflakes lifted off to fill his atmosphere, they fell back as hailstones, for they were ultimately ice despite their beauty. Each cold icy shrapnel would pepper his flesh and cut his skin.

Yet, he could only stand there and smile back.

***

This story is titled "Snowglobe"

Interlude IX

2008-02-26T18:46:00.002+08:00

Time Flies...
when I am happy
when I am sad
when you are there
when you are not there

Time just flies, for no reason, for no one

I laugh when I am happy
I cry when I am sad
I laugh and cry with you when you are there
I think of you when you are not

because I am not time, I am human

The only reason why Man spend their lives getting ahead is so that no one can see the tears roll down their cheeks. Yet it is obvious, with little puddles of water dotting the roads of everyone's lives, just that no one wants to admit the puddle is theirs.

Maybe I am thinking too much again. Maybe it just rained. =P

Short Story VI

2008-01-27T19:14:00.000+08:00

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.
=)

Interlude VIII

2008-01-27T04:41:00.000+08:00

Interlude VII

2008-01-23T20:54:00.000+08:00

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.

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 of ~~China~~ 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.

Short Story V

2008-01-22T23:26:00.000+08:00

The Hobo, His Hat and the Bright Pink Porsche

***

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.

Ade is shocked by how much crap she can churn out

2008-01-21T03:24:00.000+08:00

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. =)

Short Story IV

2008-01-21T00:36:00.000+08:00

~(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.

Short Story III

2008-01-19T23:33:00.000+08:00

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.

Interlude VI

2008-01-10T19:24:00.000+08:00

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.

Short Story II

2008-01-06T23:08:00.000+08:00

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.

Interlude V

2007-12-28T00:55:00.000+08:00

I set myself ablaze so I can be reborn again.

Sometimes, it takes a really hard fall to get a man back onto his feet and get his brain clicking right. It's going to hurt, real hard. It's going to make you numb, but the pain will still be felt. I would rather someone help stick the knife into me but it seems that I have to take the plunge myself.

Wake up, before anyone gets hurt.

Interlude IV

2007-12-28T00:03:00.000+08:00

Kbox.Settlers.Outing

Been flooding myself with outings recently and everyone's not too happy about it. Everyone's namely my parents and my wallet and my homework by the way.

It is actually good that there is time for me to go out and enjoy this week of my life, getting my mind off sadistic crazy nonsense inspired from being too antisocial these days. But I thinks its too much. I am not really myself now, spending so much money and time, neglecting my work.

Today was fun again. Spent 5 hours kboxing in a group of 4 so everyone had a lot of time to sing. We went Settler's Cafe after that, second time I went to a boardgaming cafe in 2 weeks, and there were different games compared to Minds' Cafe. Had a lot of good laughs, good jokes, poor dinner. The day ended with a poor wallet too.

Dunno, that was all, come to think of it. Happy times cost a lot but pass really quickly and you tend to forget them fast. Sad times comes to you free of charge and stay etched to your heart for eternity.

Darn, two more parties to go to and my wallet and homework are not allowing me to have fun.

Short Story I

2007-12-27T00:01:00.000+08:00

~Reserved~

I decided my bestselling novel wasn't going anywhere so after being inspired by a little event, I am back to short stories. Its in draft mode now, so I will publish it at a later date.

Interlude III

2007-12-26T23:34:00.000+08:00

MR.White.Christmas

There was a reunion with the secondary 2 guys. Felt really really good to be with them once again. A few days ago, when I was packing my room, I found the get HUGEE well card the class wrote to me when I was diagnosed with diabetes. The jokes, the nonsense, the well wishes inside the card warms me whenever I read it. It's touching to know that someone was there for you when you were down and out and dying even though you have never been close to some of them. It was really nice to see everyone again today.

Somehow, I think I need to say this - Besides everyone, there was also her. She looked stunning today. So much so that I didn't say much to her. As a matter of fact, there was nothing I said at all. Nothing. *Sniff* - but I think its wrong to talk about her like a thing I fancy, so this should be the last time you will see me write about her.

Interlude II

2007-12-20T23:40:00.000+08:00

Minds.Cafe.Reunion

The first break I had so far since the holidays came in. Went out with the camp people from last year. Its been so long since I've seen everyone, even those whom I spent 4 years of my life with. Makes me feel so distant, so separated from the world.

Overall, it was a fun affair, but joy comes when you overcome the unhappy bits of life and it will remind you of the unhappy bits.

I was kinda touched today. I got Christmas presents when I didn't expect any. And I didn't give any back in return, which made me feel guilty.

Kexin's card was a nice touching surprise and rekindled my belief in certain things which I thought was quixotic and were thus given up. Maybe little words of encouragement and support really work and people do appreciate them. The world is not as cold and heartless and unappreciative as I previously thought. Thanks for the card :D

This is the start of a series of celebratory events for Christmas and New Year. I am really looking forward to light up my really dead life.

Interlude I

2007-12-19T23:43:00.000+08:00

Even a self-proclaimed Jester can be weak. I am not sadistic, I do not get satisfaction from the downfall of others. I am not a sadistic Jester.

These holidays have been pretty amazing. I think its only during these two months of the year which I really get to observe people, make new friends, remake old friends and find out how true some people really are. I finally found out that its friends and people who keep me going. Either that or I have extreme split personality disorder =P

Either I become really sadistic and independent, just to prove to everyone I can do it. Or I find friends to push me on next year, which I believe I have found some. I really really hope its the latter that will happen.

Prologue

2007-12-19T23:33:00.000+08:00

The air hung cold and still in the night, shrouding the village in a blanket of darkness. Lifeless, everyone was long gone, with only the spirits left behind, tending their own graves, minding their own business.

A short distance from the village laid a crumbling ruin. A magnificent castle, in her days of glory a century ago, it is now nothing more than a pile of bricks and rubble. The royalty she used to housed and the prisoners she used to confine are now merely bones, picked clean by her most recent tenents, the vultures, who have left decades ago, to seek better luck elsewhere. Anywhere is better, than this ghost town.

In front of the castle laid a courtyard. Complementary to her backdrop, just like she did a century ago, she serves no more than to remind anyone who stumbles across this land that this place is dead. Broken walls made up the boundaries and the ground was barren. Even the hardiest of all weeds simply could not thrive in this miserable place of doom.

Something glistens in from the center of the courtyard as the moon peaks out from behind the clouds. Right in the middle of the courtyard were four statues in a circle, four memories, four clues that could ever suggest that humans once lived on these lands and prospered.

There was the Prince, smelted from the finest grades of bronze. Beneath his feet were a pile of books, also frozen in bronze, with inscriptions running through every inch of space available. The facial features of the Prince was still as striking and charming as ever, even after countless years of weathering.

Besides him stood the Queen, cast in pewter. Jewels were once set upon the hollowed out sockets and adorned her body. One would guess that thieves and looters have eventually claimed it on their own. Standing on a rostrum, she reigned over the other three statues. She was tall, slender and beautiful, a stunning sight to behold in her days.

A gilded figure with a huge round belly was next. It was not hard to guess that this was the Merchant. Scales in one hand and a book in the other, he was once an imposing character in the marketplace, yet today he stands next to the others, unmoving and dead.

The last figure was a bit perculiar. Cast in stone and sculptured roughly, it was the least decorated amongst the four. In one of his hands held a scepter and on top of his head was a long triangular hat. From the chipped off and weather face, one can visibly see a huge smile running through it. This was the statue of the Jester.

Though frozen in space and time, these characters each had a story of their own and when interwined, brought about both life and death to this village.

Preface

2007-12-19T23:30:00.000+08:00

I know the last post was a bit disturbing but rest assured I wont do that to anyone who reads this blog =P

Anyway, that little bit got me going a bit on my short-story-which-will-eventually-become-a-best-selling-novel so I will post the chapters here bit by bit.

This is a story of how knowledge, beauty, wit and a scientific mind can bring about life and prosperity and how hypocrisy, lust, greed and cunningness can destroy who we really are. This is just a way to pass time, and this story is for me and myself only.

The Court Jester

2007-12-19T23:18:00.000+08:00

Was inspired by someone to write a short story. It failed. In that process of writing, I came up with something which I found a bit freaky about myself. I likened my many faces to that of a court jester, now that's freaky...

...

7 Things That A Court Jester Does:

Keep a smile on your face at all times
(People think you are happy and nice to get along so they will want to be with you)
Tell jokes about yourself and be humorous
(Makes you more popular with everyone, make no enemies)
Play the Fool
(People think you are innocent and stupid so they confide in you or tell you too much)
Sell Information
(Play the traitor and sell information to others who are willing to pay for it)
Hurt Others
(Play the assassin and use your closeness with your target to harm them should others be willing to pay a price for it)
Be bad
(Be rude, be insensitive and people think you are only joking)
Play pranks on others
(Since you are witty, use it to hurt others)