The Reminiscences of a Fallen Angel; Part 8.

It's probably wrong to believe there can be any limit to the horror which the human mind can experience. On the contrary, it seems that some exponential effects begins to obtain as deeper and deeper falls. As little as we may like to admit it, human experiences tends, in a good many ways, to support the idea that when the nightmare grows black enough, horror spawns horror, that one coincidental evil begets other, often more deliberate, evils, until finally blackness seems to cover everything. And the most terrifying question of all maybe just how much horror the human mind can stand and still maintain a wakeful, staring unrelenting sanity. At some point, it all starts to become funny. That maybe the point at which sanity begins to save itself or to buckle and break down; to be met with death sending a greeting call in your face when you least expect it.

-Stephen King; The Pet Semetary.

-

This was what happened to Kyle, Barbara & their late father, Mr Tommy.

"Daddy, where'd Mommy go?"
"MOMMY? Where's Mommy? Who knows- who cares? Right now, kids, we're playing a little game. It's a good one. You'll win a dollar."
"A-a-a whole dollar?", the beautiful girl, stammered.
"Yeah yeah. Whichever of you stays there in front of the window the longest, wins. A whole dollar." Kyle just stood there silent, not daring to breathe a word, in case he got hit by Mr Tommy again.
"Really? What if we both stay in our places forever and ever?"
"Then you both win a dollar."
"But where's Mommy?"

Mr Tommy looked like a purple grape, a look on his face like as if he was about to hurl.

"LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING, BARBARA, YOUR MOTHER IS THE KIND OF PERSON WHO SAYS SHE'S SUPPORTIVE BUT REALLY WHEN IT COMES DOWN TO IT, SHE WAS A DIRTY SLUT." Tears rolled down her tiny, blue eyes. Big brother, Kyle, 7, muffled his voice in anger. Daddy took a swig from the bottle of beer.
"I spent what could have been every good moment if my life with that ungrateful and truly unpleasant woman. Every good moment of my life and the one time I really, really, really needed her. When I really, really needed her. Where'd she go? WHERE'D SHE GO KIDS!? WHERE'S MOMMY!? Well, she left Daddy all alone is where. She left Daddy all in this mess with nothing but you kids and a bunch of windows with no shades!"

A strong presence was sensed from behind but he couldn't turn around. His blood froze and he almost screamed. "Let's go, Tommy. Not in front of the kids." He forced himself to turn around, to be met with a tall, masculine man with a gun fixed with a silencer and the look of thirst and cold blood vengeance.

"Please..." Mr Tommy started sobbing like a baby.
"I had to! I had to get the job done, I just never knew it was your family I was going to clean and you to take it all. I never meant to!"

The man took him by Tommy's collar and dragged him all the way to the rooftop. Barbara and Kyle couldn't do anything but just just stare in awe. He pulled Tommy up to his feet, watched him sob pathetically and shoved him heavily to the ground. "Oof!"


"Maybe I should have done this in front of your kids. YOU would have."
"Please, Alan!"
"I should have shown them what a sniveling little worm their father really is. An image for them to take through life with them. Like the images you've given me. While I lay in the hospital, healing from the wounds you inflicted on me... Wondering why I no longer had children, why I no longer had a family."
"Have mercy, for heaven's sake!"


"Mercy is only for the living. To me you're left for dead, my man. I tried to wrap around my brain around why my life had ended and the hands of someone like you. I tried to understand why you are the way you are."
"I can... I can... Please..."
"And I figured it out. I know why man sins. Do you know why man sins?"
"W-why?"
"Because he wants to."
I was told that he had a clear cut shot. Kyle snuck up there to see everything.

He hoisted the gun out of his front pocket and pointed it to his temple.
"Not the face! Please... My kids, do it for my kids!"
"Face it is, my man."

Right in the face. I never knew someone would be cold enough to do that. Son of the devil.

The Reminiscences of a Fallen Angel; Part 7.

My husband, my halo over my head and the person who manages to keep me sane when the going gets tough with his touch. Being the realist that we both were, we made an agreement that no matter what happens to anyone of us, we'll mourn for each other and just move on.

Am I still in mourning or is this pure love? Not wanting to ever let go? His death brought out the best and worst in me. I admit that I can be clingy at times, especially when it comes to the matters of the heart. 3 years and counting. I'm still holding onto the very fragile memory of him. I do think about him from time to time and it brings tears to my eyes. Not being able to love another man. My heart yearns for another man like him.

The loss of my husband diminished my ability to feel real love and passion, like the very first time, expecting the earth to shake. Guess he was a charmer and boy, he shook my world.
-

After Oswald was done with his paperwork, I took a look of a profile of a little boy named Kyle. His daddy died. Gruesome death. Looking at the pictures made me skin crawl. This piece of paper, the very top pile, meaning the most important. I picked it up and scanned it through. 5pm, today, a meeting with Kyle and his little sister, Barbara.

I wonder what kind of horror they had to be put through. Poor things. Maybe... I'd adopt them. Kyle looks handsome, like Kirk Cobain! Barbara, blonde and what beautiful blue eyes! Father must have been a prick to leave them like this. I was thinking of taking them for the week, they need the help that they can get. Maybe to the park, buy them ice cream sundaes, some bread for the birdies. Yeah. I hope they will grant me to look after the kids for awhile. Poor kids.

The Reminiscences of a Fallen Angel; Part 6.

No one really knew who I was before I moved to New York. Laying low, having minimal friends, keeping friends close and the enemies closer was my main objective. You see, I always wasn't like this. I had friends, I had a family and the perfect paycheck. But after Pablo died, it changed... everything.

It left me empty and bitter. "Why does God have to take away my partner! Let God have his own partner! He can have his own partner!! Why did he to take my partner away from me!!?" I lost my temper at my colleagues causing me to lose my job as a fashion editor in the magazine firm I worked for. I stopped communicating with my family and friends. I stopped answering phone calls and voice messages. I wanted to disappear somewhere peaceful and get back to square one and start over. I was sick of these people hounding me.

Pablo and I were a very happy couple. We owned a reasonable 4 room apartment but with lavish furnishings. He liked living in a luxurious home. Who wouldn't? He has such great taste when it came to picturing the perfect nesting ground. The timber Venetians complemented the rich shades of mahogany in the parquet flooring. Ample seating space at the plush deep set lounge seats. Oil paintings in heavy gilt frames lined the hallway.

I still remember that day so clearly. I was hoping to get out of my car without getting wet by the rain. Gun-metal grey sky. As I hesitantly got out of the car, I said, "What the heck!" and dashed out of my car, my sodden shoes squelched with each clumsy step I took. The rain was hitting my back like thousands of hard berries blown from air guns. Oh great, just great. Now I have to wash my shoes, once again! This costed me one whole month paycheck's worth! I looked up to my right to find Mr Pablo sleeping soundly on the couch with his work clothes still on.

I looked at him with affection for a minute or two. He looked so serene when sleeping, lying there... Motionless. Taking off his necktie, I brushed against his neck to realise it was dead cold. Motionless... He didn't breathe. I couldn't do anything but just watch, thinking if he was really dead. The ambulance arrived 10 minutes later. He was pronounced dead at 10:14pm.

The Reminiscences of a Fallen Angel; Part 5.

"What brings you here so early to the den?"
"Oh, just the nagging thought of being alone at 4 in the morning and not being able to sleep is just sad. I'd rather be here in the office drinking coffee black and doing my endless stacks of paper work rather then facing the daunting task of cooking breakfast for the girlfriend," he wilted as he passed me my latte.

"I won't be the least bit surprised if your girlfriend was cheating on you, mate!"
"I don't know. I love being around her and all but I always hope my girlfriend isn't craving for sunny side ups when she wakes up. She always wants sunny side ups for breakfast. I always turn them into scrambled eggs instead!," he sniggered but with a hint of sadness in it.
"She pouts when I give her the scrambled eggs. I can't erase that expression in my head. It haunts me and makes me feel really guilty. Suckfest, real suckfest," he said shaking his head shamefully as if he had done something terribly wrong.

"Well, don't worry your little head about it," as I scruffled his hair, "Just practise making sunny side ups then, you'll get there." I took a sip from my latte when Oswald quipped, "Speaking of the devil, Jupiter, I got tickets for 2 to a play called 'What the Butler Saw'. It racked up some a couple of good reviews. Plus you need a little... bit of a male companion to accompany you. Or are you gay?! You haven't been in love for a very long time," he frowned slightly and look down at his paperwork embarrassingly.

A man like Oswald deserved a pretty girlfriend, at least an understanding one at that. Not some girlfriend who fusses over fucking scrambled eggs which I think is very absurd. "What I do with my love-life has absolutely nothing to do with you! Why don't you follow me to the play then? I don't have any male friends!," I grinned.

"The girlfriend wouldn't be too happy about this!"
"What she doesn't know wouldn't kill her right?" I playfully took his face in my hands and gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
"Now finish up those reports that needs to be on my desk by 12. It's a date then." I winked and walked away, feeling my face blushing ever so slightly. Not like his isn't blushing. He must look like a red lobster by now.

The Reminiscences of a Fallen Angel; Part 4.

"Alright, I didn't know what you wanted for dinner, so I got you a packet of friend rice and some stir-fried kai lan with oyster sauce. The one just down the street?," studying me carefully. "Yeah, sure sure. Thanks, Jo." After being submerged in the water for God knows how long, the strain was starting to show in my face. The air was bad from cigarette smoke, my cigarette smoke.

I pulled out the chair in front of me, sat down and took a good hard look at her. "Do I come across to you as someone who would drown herself in the tub?" I took a cigarette, lit it and inhaled deeply. "This is a billion times better then sex." "You should really try smoking, Jo. Doesn't kill." "When you see someone in a tub full of water, filled up to the brim, what would you say about that?," said Jo. " I would say that the person was doing some soul-searching?" "No. You were supposed to say, I'd think that person would be trying to kill herself."

"I'm sorry I made you worried and pissed. I won't try to kill myself again," trying to sound convincingly remorseful. "Try?" "Yeah, I'll try. Tomorrow, dinner's on me."

After that, everything went back to how it originally was. Jody forgot about the freak incident, me attempting to drown myself. Truth is, everything was not okay. Jody has the perfect job, perfect paycheck, perfect boyfriend, perfect friends. I was just another new, screwed up social worker, trying to save adults, children and teenagers alike from themselves, on day at a time. But the sad truth was, I couldn't. It was a losing battle. Somethings were just beyond my control.

The Reminiscences of a Fallen Angel; Part 3.

"Hey sister, go sister! Better get that dough sister!," my little sister sang happily as she skipped into the living room. I lived in a house of solitude, when my papa's around. No eating chicken nuggets, no screaming in the house, no this, no that. When he's off to work, the house comes to life, breaking into song and dance, greeting every song note and dance step as if if they were long lost lovers.

Aurora Jean is the talented younger sister of mine. At 4, papa bought her her very first keyboard. I, on the other hand, did not get a thing. I was feeling extremely sore from that, of course.

Being the eldest in the family has its pros and cons. Pro number 1. I get to watch movies that my parents watched on cable, especially the ones with making out scenes in them. My sister couldn't. Due to her age, at that time. "Haha! Too bad you can't watch it, brat. You know you're much too young. Maybe when you turn 12, you could. In the meantime, why don't you go play with your Barbie Dolls?," I mocked. "You just wait until I turn 12! I'll get to watch those movies with mama and papa! Who needs those dumb movies with yucky kissing in it? I just want to play! I just want to play..."

By the age of 12, she could play every piano song she heard by ear.

You could say in some points of my younger childhood days, I was overshadowed by Aurora's achievements. Con number 1. Competition. I was very competitive. Whatever Aurora did, I would match up to her. Or perform even better. This made Aurora very furious.

Knowing that I could actually keep up with her drove her to the point where she forced one of her school teachers to book her a space in her school auditorium so that she can hold her very own concert. Play. Play, play, and she played.

A concert at age 12. Me? 16. Okay, I thought I was already getting to old for the whole competition thing. We even fought to get our parent's affection. By then, I had better things to do in life. Like just running track. Such eager puppies we were. Eager puppies always aim to please.

Childish, I know.
-

The Reminiscences of a Fallen Angel; Part 2.

When I went to New York for a short holiday to get away from the busy and hectic lifestyle of being a editor-in-chief back home, I discovered a very nasty culture shock in the most unexpected situation.

I went to this bar, thinking I could strike lucky and meet a cute looking guy or even luckier, an Adonis. A tall, lanky but ravishing man came up to me and said, "Hey beautiful, do you do nails?' He put my drink down on the bar counter and walked off. I was seriously caught with my pants down for the first ime! I didn't know how I was supposed to react. So I just let out a stupid sounding snort and sat there for a good 5 minutes thinking what the hell just happened.

I didn't know what he meant until I ran into a group of half drunken girls and managed to pry out from them what the guy actually meant after having countless shots of tequila and lime. "He thinks you're a chinese or vietnamese, honey! You don't look like oneeeeee thoughh!," as this bitch's words were slurred. A term that most Americans use to stereotype Asians. Mostly the Chinese in particular, as most of their jobs were simply to do nails. Bloody men. Worst of all, I wasn't even near to Chinese at all. Hmm, maybe I do look like a Chinese, fuck!

Whoever that man was either used the slightest effort to try to get my number, that white men have no compassion whatsoever in commenting how nicely dressed a girl is or just needs glasses. Mean motherfucker needs lessons to good pick up lines and a pair of glasses.

I came to a conclusion that maybe America wasn't such a prejudiced country after all. Some men in the US just don't know how to flatter women. So, I made a quick decision on the spot. American men are totally bad-ass.

I wanted to move to America. And I did.
-

The Reminiscences of a Fallen Angel; Part 1.

I struggled to breathe. With my long, slender fingers clenched tightly to the side of the tub, I wished I never came into this world. "At least fighting to catch my last dying breath isn't as difficult as having to go through with the bullshit I have to put up with everyday," I said aloud as the water sipped in slowly to the sides of my mouth.

There was something very tranquil about the water- flowing into the large tub which was about to kill me in seconds. Right there and then, I thought, "Without him, I can still breathe. Without him, I will still be that same woman with a secret love for bad-ass chicks. Without him, I'm single and sad." My body was already floating in the overflowing tub. I set free of all my hurt, anger, guilt and worst of all, my emotions of betrayal I was feeling, the moment I let go of the tub.

Reaching out for the faucet to turn the water off, I caught a glimpse of what looks like my room-mate. "What the fuck are you doing in my bathtub!? I was just gone for a few minutes to go grab some food and you're back to your suicidal tendencies! Get outta here."

Her name is Jody. Whenever I'm around her, I always keep this in mind. Never mess with a lawyer. Especially this drop dead gorgeous one.

A true blue brunette, smarter than the rest of the other girls, with a wicked sense of humour and a no-nonsense attitude, which explains all the shouting. (Mood wings, non?) For now, I'll be safe in my own little haven- with no one to stop me from killing myself a thousand times and reviving myself over and over again. Who knows how long I have been in there. When your body is almost fully submerged in water, you see nothing and hear only silence. 'Wrinkly fingers, motherfucking eyesore.'

All I could muster was, 'It's a goddamn Sunday for crying out loud. Cut me some slack, will ya?'

My name is Jupiter Genevieve Dyson. I've lived in Singapore for the past 24 years and am living in Manhattan, New York. I go back to Singapore whenever the homesick signal alarms. Being far away from good food, good beer, friends and family is just sheer torture. God bless whoever invented the World Wide Web. I'm a firm believer in persevering for the bad guy because the grass is greener on the other side... Or so they say.

You may imagine me as someone dark, fair, blond or redheaded. My name causes a bit of a commotion when people first heard of me when I was about to set foot for my new job at a magazine firm. Caucasian? Nah. I'm not a white, neither am I a black. Or Jewish for the record. No pun intended.

I am actually an Asian.

A Japanese mixed to be precise. I have my papa's eyes and kindness and my mama's smile and nose. My papa is an Indian while my mama is a Japanese. I somehow take pride in my name the one given to me by my papa. My mama wanted to name me 'Kazumi' meaning harmony and beauty. Papa protested that it was too plain of a name for me. In my papa's eyes, I meant the world to him.

Papa is one of those egoistic Indian men who couldn't stand to see their daughter with a Japanese name and not be poked fun at by some racist Chinese chink. It made me stand out from the rest. It never made me feel small. I got bullied a lot in school, but that's all in the past now.

Jupiter was the Roman King of Gods. Genevieve, a feminine french name for a girl. I guess his love for the French culture and his interest in Roman History sparked a name such as mine. No matter how absurd it sounds, it had a ring to it and I loved it. Guess I was going to be the next Kimora Lee Simmons.

Jupiter Genevieve Dyson.
-

The Answer; Part 2.

28th March; 6:45pm


"Take Warren home," my wife said. "Keeping him here would bore him to death with our stacks of papers. Besides, Demi must be waiting," as she tied her hair into a high ponytail with 2 quick swifts of twirling her hair.


My wife, Georgia, who seemed as sexy and inviting to me at the moment as she ever had, who was the very reason I'd been thinking of green sweaters being slipped off and jeans unzipped, and corks popping out of bottles of wine all evening, my wife was sending me in this provocative, luscious, alluring woman in my life. My first love. And unrequited one at that.


Talk about sending a firecracker into the inferno. "Ok," I said and looked for my jacket. Then I muttered, "Don't say I didn't warn you." "What did you say?," asked Georgia. "Nothing," I replied as I went upstairs to wake little Warren up from his deep slumber.


-

29th March; 12: 11pm

"What was he like?" I repeated, killing a few more seconds of time. "Well, let's see. He was very popular in & out of school. A good basketball player. And he had one of those personalities that made people want be around him a lot. Like Fonzie." Warren listened somberly, nodding at each of my declarations. He liked what he heard. Especially the Fonzie remark. And it wasn't as if I was lying to him.


Andrew Ford, with his Bryan Adams good looks, was as popular as they came. That's how he managed to snag Demi Luke in the first place. He probably would have been popular even he wasn't selling weed on the streets of Trotte Avenue. And a couple of times I really had seen him shooting a few hoops with the boys at the high school basketball court. He has a good, sure aim and could dribble as though narcotics agent were hot on his heels.


"And he was very good-looking," I said, "just like you are." Come on McDonald's, come on McDonald's, come on McDonald's, I thought as Trotte Avenue's only traffic light blinked green and I was free to turn right and head for the milkshake. But Warren was not to be pacified with ice-cream and milk, not after asking those questions about his father. Late-father.


"Mom says he was a dreamer," Warren continued, more to himself than to me. " She's says he took off to Alaska like a leprechaun looking for a pot of gold. Mom says don't blame him, you can't expect more than that from a dreamer." I smiled. It would be so like Demi to give Warren the truth in by wrapping it in some nice, poetic gauze.

The Answer; Part 1.

25th March; 5:34pm.


"Let's walk, Scott," she said. "Like the old days. Remember how we used to dream of having our driver's licenses one day so we wouldn't walk?" A sweet spring evening fell in about us as we walked on, a fresh smell of leaves on the breeze.


"Warren never knew his dad," Demi said. I kept my eyes on the boy riding the bicycle ahead us. "He was less then a year old when Andrew went chasing some dream in Alaska. He doesn't keep in touch anymore. I don't think he ever really wanted a kid." I put my arm around her shoulder, to offer what comfort I could.


"You aren't going to say I told you so about Andrew?" Demi wanted to know. I shook my head. "Not just yet," I said. "I'm waiting for the perfect moment." She nudged me in the side. Just below my ribs. Demi's nudge. I wondered how many of them I received in my years of being her friend.


-


26th March; 1:45am.


That night Anne and I made love for the first time in weeks. It seemed our schedules at the office, our frantic jousting in the small-town rat race, kept us too tired to think about just anything at all.


"You know, Chris," she said, "it's okay that you still love Demi a little. I looked down at her, her face mottled with light coming in from the street, and I was thankful for the semi-darkness. Thankful that she couldn't see my face, my eyes. I was never good at lying. "What are you talking about?" I asked. Anne laughed.


"I'm talking about the crush you have on Demi," she said. I was shocked, and I told her so. "Whatever makes you think such a thing?" I wanted to know. This amused her further. She lifted her head and looked squarely at me. I could finally make out her eyes, there on her face, dark ovals before me.


"You're kidding, right?" Anne asked. I shook my head I was feeling as embarrassed as a teenager caught with his hands beneath the bedsheets. But this time, by my wife , instead of my mother. "Demi is my childhood friend," I said. "She and Ross both." "All I'm saying is that it's alright that you've got a crush on her," said Anne. "I think it's just natural. After all, I still have a crush on Freddy Polanski."


"I do not have a crush on Demi Luke," I insisted. I could feel my face and my neck burning just a bit and was thankful again for the cover of darkness. I kicked my toes under the blanket, loosening from its tight tuck. I hated a tight tuck. "I think it's sweet," said Anne. "That's all." "There's nothing for you to think sweet," I said again, this time with a bit too much anger.

I knew Anne was waiting for this sign: anger in me meant she had hit the nail on the head. "Damn blanket!" I added, and kicked at it again with my feet. Anne giggled triumphantly, then turned her back to me. With a quick jerk she pulled her share of the cover over to her side. I said nothing for a long time.

We lay side by side, Anne's steady breathing keeping up with a sweet rhythm next to me in the dark. I watched the passing trail of lights race cross the ceiling. Cars headed home from the late movie showing at the theater just across our street. When I was certain that Anne had fallen into the first comfortable stages of sleep I flicked my toes against her bare leg under the cover.

"Hey," I said. "Hey, you. Wake up." Anne groaned as she pushed toward consciousness. "What?" she finally mumbled. "Who the hell is Freddy Polanski?"

Different & The Same.

Zoned out. Over Medicated. Stoned. That's what everyone keeps saying behind my back. Nobody ever says it to my face. Not that I would notice even if they did. Guess that's what happens when you're reduced to a zombie. But it has nothing to do with drugs or alcohol. Depression? No.

It's about sleep. Not that I can't sleep; but that I don't want to. I don't like where my mind takes me. "Who are you? Who do you want?!" "I mean you no harm. This place... it haunts you. The darkness it brings is like poison in your soul. You must expose the truth for what it is."

I'm in the woods. It's very dark and I despise the dark. I'd like to use the word "Hate", but that word is too strong of a word for me to use. The lights are very glaring and I had a gut feeling that they were going to abduct me... again. Their slimy hands. Green skin, yuck!

"They're here!" "They know you are special and they want to know your secrets. You must look within to solve the mystery. It can help protect you from them."

"SSSTTTOOOPPP!!!"

"Where am i....?" "Meeeenaaamuahhhhhhhh!" "Who... who's there? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" "Don't touch her." "Please... Please help me." "You don't need my help." Suddenly, things seem to look clearer. He put my glasses on for me. "You simply need to look to your past, Piper."

I closed my eyes and pictured myself unlocking myself from the chains. Waaa-la! "Can't believe I did that." "Hey! Over here!" What? Me? That can't be me. But... how is this possible? I opened the door and dashed out of that stinking place.

As the images became clearer, so did the truth. They weren't monsters. They were just men. We just kept running. Not taking a chance to look back. My heart was pounding in my chest I swear it would've jumped out!

"That one's locked! Try the other one! ," said my twin. "Who are you? Why are you trying to help me?" "I'm your sister, Debbie! We were seperated at birth, this is my home. Don't make it yours! Now, go!" I slipped through the tiny hole with such ease. "Come on, Deb!" "It's too small... how did you...?"

"PIPER!" "NO!!!!!!!!!!"

-

"DEBBBBIIIEEEE!!!!!" "It's okay, Piper. It's all okay." I hugged my father very hard. I didn't want to let go. But why? Why Debbie? I... I remember now. There was nothing extraterresterial about my abduction that night. Those men violated my body and my mind before someone erasing the entire event from my memory.

Or, I should say, our memory. Because, now I know the truth. She isn't from my dreams. Debbie is from my past. I have a sister. I kept crying, not knowing when I would stop. "Doctor, she's having these dreams again. The dellusions of a sister... she seemed so good for so long. I dont understand what happened."

"It's okay, sometimes external forces trigger the episodes. You did the right thing by calling. Don't worry Ma'am. We'll be right over and do your daughter good... again."

Pieces Of Me.

My name is Ryan Tyler. I have recurring dreams consisting of a series of bizarre images, but each night, it ends the same way... with my own death.

-

If dreams are a way for the subconscious mind to send messages to the brain, then mine is just plain nagging, because I have the same dream every night... the same terrible dream.

"You're new. But being part of the dream, you already know that, don't you? Have you come to give me answers? Some understanding?" "Only you have the answers. Life is to be understood, it is nothing to be feared", said the pale looking boy.

"Great, I didn't think so." I looked out to the sea and up to the sky. Hues of blue. At this time of year in France? Couldn't get better thing this! "And again, we have crows... always seven. And here I thought that was a lucky number. What do you think? Oh, so it's going to be like that huh?"

He refused to say a word. I took a cold breathe in and exhaled out warmth. The atmosphere constantly changes. I looked away and made my way to the old grimacing castle that stood before me. The very same ones that you'd see in vampire movies. The gargoyles always gave me the creeps. But the structure of the Gothic building? Mind blowing.

Like I always said, I've had the same dream before. But still, each time it feels new.

"Ryannnnn..."

Hearing my own name always startles me. It sounds like it's coming for upstairs.

"Ryannnnn..." "Ryannnnn..."

But the higher I climb, the softer the voice becomes. "Ryannnn..." And then, it's gone... Ryan, this is your life. Parts of it anyway. I found myself in a very old dusty, Victorian-like church. On the glass panes of the church, I saw my past, the present & the future.The good, the bad and even the ugly.

The images makes my blood boil. I want to drive my fist through the glass. Erase it from my memory. It hurts too much to remember how Gloria left me... how she was taken away from me! This time, I understand. "That's strange. Is that me?"

I was happening to be looking right at myself into the mirror. Except, that wasn't me. "What are you smiling at?" My mirror image gave a smug smile and pulled me into the mirror. I found myself falling... "THUD."

-

I always heard, that if you die in your dream, you die in real life. Well, I die every time. So, what does that tell you? It tells me the freud was an idiot. Dreams don't mean squat. "True, dreams are not to be the focal point of our existence. That which is here, should remain.", the pale boy whispered into the lifeless body.

While you direct your attention elsewhere, focus on what matters most. The life that you still have.

Life Before It Started.

Once upon a time....

A Little Girl tries her best to tune out an argument that's been going on for as long as she can remember. In this household long filled with shouting, the Little Girl decided some time ago that it'd be best if she just kept quiet. In fact, hardly a peep ever escaped her lips.

"SLAM!"
"Look what you made him do," her step-mom shouted. She always had a cigarette in her mouth, smoke chokes her.

Her father didn't return that night, or any other.
"My step-mother's right," she thought.
"It is MY fault. Not telling someone to stay is just like telling someone to leave."

She held on to the hope that one day he might return; though she was soon told that she did so in vain.

"Your father ain't EVER comin' back, so you just put that out of your lil' ole' head!"
Then she felt it. The Little Girl fell to the ground & felt her step-mother's hand sting her left cheek. Teardrops feel onto her face, cooling the sting that she felt. "If you're gonna go on livin' under this roof, you're gonna have to earn your keep, girl!"

And as immediately her step-mother spoke, she was put to work. "Everyday day, right after school, you come home and get right to your chores. First thing you do is vacuum the carpets"

Her life became an endless repetition of tasks carried out in silent servitude. "Maybe if it's perfect," she thought. "Maybe then he'll come back..." So she kept on.

As most adults know, life lived under the strict routine of work can pass you by like the blink of an eye. And the lonely Little Girl found herself to be a Young Woman before she knew it. Then one night came and everything changed...

The Young Woman's step-mother woke from her usual spirited slumber in a fit of ire. "He left cause'a you! You always came between US!" She screamed and kicked the bucket of water she was about to use to mop the floor.

"He didn't want no fucking kid! 'Specially one that doesn't nothin' but take up space. You ain't special. You ain't nothing at all!"

She sat down on the floor, starring at it. "I'd wish you'd just die," she murmured under her breath. "What'd you say to me?"

"I SAID I WISH YOU'D JUST DIE!"

All of those years supressing her voice, keeping it deep down inside, made it so that when she finally spoke, no one could help but listen. Her step-mother's heart certainly listened, and stopped pumping the instant the command was uttered. She dropped her cigarette and slowly started to burn the lounge room carpet. Slowly but surely.

The Young Woman didn't know what power her voice held. She had changed herself in the course of an instant. And nothing would be the same for her ever again. Like her father had done a few years before, she left herself behind in that house that now set ablaze.

"Move! You have to get out of here! Wake up!!!", she panicked. But no matter what she said, she could not compel her step-mother to move. For what she ordered could not be undone. And as she wiped away her tears, she wiped away her past.

The road was long, she kept on walking. She looked up to the sky and then looked far out to the fields. "Daddy, where are you when I needed you most?"

A striking red Mustang zoomed past her, messing her long brown hair. It came to a screech and reversed back to where the Young Woman stood.

"Are you alright? I'm gonna call the cops." "No, just take me away from here," she said. She had changed into someone else. Someone with a special gift.
"Where do you want to go?" "West," she smiled.

And to sever her new world from the old, she decided to rename herself Eden.

Manipulate Subject- No. 3

Day 1.


Just a phonecall she said. She's going away for a couple of days with her dad. She couldn't bear to hang up. Kissed me a dozen times over the phone. She couldn't come to see me due to the short notice of leaving, fuck. She couldn't bear to hang up still....


My heart is searching for her whereabouts now. I feel her aching heart as she's gone further and further.... Or is it my own aching heart i'm feeling? Where is she!? In the car? Still in Singapore? Across the Causeway? What about her horny cat? Maybe her dad'll change his mind about going!


Waaaait just a minute... why am I being so bloody childish?! Does it make any difference whether she's going anywhere or staying put? Why didn't she crash the bloody car up the curb and they can't go anywhere coz' it would've been at the mechanic's over the weekend? Damn it!


Day 2.


Practise tomorrow.
No call.


Chill out in my room.
No call.


Dinner.
No call.


Tagboard.
No tag.


Just a phonecall, to send my usually placate, even aloof, mind in frenzied turmoil. She must've put something into my curry, bloody bhangra.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

PS: Been away to KL, busy shopping, watched a man die & been trying to revive back to my good ole' erotica writing days.

Manipulate Subject- No. 2

12:51pm; Sunday.

"Girl, get outta the way! You don't wanna have me drilling a hole in your shell!"

Well, at least somebody don't hafta do anything. I looked on as my terrapin found Andrea.

"Get on with your work, lazy bums!"
"Read my lips Andrea... bitch.", he said.
"Don't be surprised to find your fat terrapin missing later."

For half the morning, I was removing screws, taking down complicating devices such as the dish rack (Siti refused to part with it.) and mounting them back on at the new place. By afternoon, my arms were sore and my t-shirt was drenched with my perspiration. I thought by going home late on Saturday means skipping the whole moving house thing. I never knew they had other intentions for me. I had become their handyman. I should pay Erika a visit. She promised me that movie, The English Patient.

"On-dre!! Dish rack here."
"When are you cooking lunch? I'm starving."
"No dish rack, no lunch!", she said as she pointed to the dismantled dish rack.
"Don't be such a bhangra!"
"Dish rack lower. Cannot reach."
"Why don't I put it up on the ceiling? Gives you the excuse to use the old ladder you refuse to throw away as well."
"No time to cook your favourite pasta if i climb up and climb down."
"Ok ok... We'll do it your way."

She's got a greater sense of humour then I expected!

"King sized bed, Andre! RAD!!"
"You can have it all to yourself then. Imma crash over at Anne's."
"WHAT?!"
"You heard me sweetie."
"You asshole!"
-imitating mommy's accent- "Mind your language kids!"
"You really mean it? You're gonna bunk over at Anne's?"
"When a man has an electric drill in his hands and dust on his face, does he have time for jokes?"
"Alright wise guy, what are you up to now?"
"Working my way for a decent lunch, can't you see?"
"What's with you?"

I stopped drilling and looked at her. How do i break the news to her? Will she go berserk? Nah... Maybe not today. Imma just put it off till I couldn't and announce to her that i don't intend to get married.

"Nothing."
"Mom, did you see Fat Girl? I had been searching for Fat Girl after I had scrubbed Fat Lady's shell. She's now resting comfortably in the garden's pond."
"That ugly thing? No."
"It's hard not to notice her y'know..."

Andrea was sounding suspiciously evil. But I refused to ask her where she put Fat Girl. Imma find her if it meant flipping the whole house.


"ON-DRE!!! IS THIS SOME JOKE?? TAKE AWAY!!!"

Siti found fat girl stashed in between some of my dirty laundry in the back when she was dumping them into the new washing machine my mom got her. She was complaining about the weird noise coming from the old one.

"Andrea! You bloody bhangra!"
"Mind your language kids!"

Manipulate Subject- No. 1

4:21am.

"I need to talk." I felt her shoving me.
"Wake up now!"

Damn! I turned away from her.

"She's back, isn't she?" Huh? It didn't register.
"Can we talk tomorrow? I'm really tired."
"No! I wanna talk now."

Her tone was firm, but she didn't sound pissed.

"I know she's back in your life. Our life."
"You think too much." Sweaty palms.
"Damn it Andre! You were good for a couple of weeks! I thought you will be mine, all mine. I guess it's just wishful thinking. You can never be good."

My mind started racing. It was no longer screaming for sleep.

"It's not what you think."
"I saw marks on your body. HER marks!"

Damn! Erika! I turned to face her. Before I could speak of any lame excuses running through my mind...

"2 weeks dre, you didn't want me for two fucking weeks!"

Has it been that long?

"You fall asleep right after you hit your pillow. I know you've been busy, never thought it was the other girl you were busy with."

"Fuck it Ash, you were the one who took me away from her."
"You wanted me too, Dre."

-silence-

"And now you want her. Just how many more do you want?"

Uh... damn it! I actually counted! Fuck!

"What about the promises you made to me? What about the plans you told your parents? Do you make those promises to her as well?"

Bitch.

"I know even if we do get married, you can never be good. I can close an eye and ignore what you do outside, can she?"
"I dunno. maybe you wanna ask her yourself, Ash?"
"Since we're both awake now, you wanna do it?"
"You're fucking crazy! I wanna sleep!"

-

I should really think of getting rid of Ash, besides, my real girlfriend bonks my brains out!