..:: TOMMY ::..

The cemetery is a cold quiet place which I have grown to love. I have been sitting here for almost five centuries and believe me, there are night that I helplessly feel my inside freeze to ice while my cries for help are ignored. It was my masters wish that I sit here to wait, wait for someone to come and pick me up so that his plans for immortality can be fulfilled.

Master was a man of all traits, he was a ventriloquist. “Manson Cain” was his name and they were usually above theater in big bright neon lights which flickered as people lined up to take their seats. I was his favorite boy, I was his first boy. He named me Tommy, after his little boy who had died of leukemia at a young age. Master prepped me well. I was always dressed to impress and my red wine silk bowtie stood out like a bright red rose, proud and beautiful.

Master had me imported from Italy, where he only insisted on the best wood for me. I smelt like the forest. Green and fresh. I shined with such perfection that the other ventriloquists stared in awe. Master made me just like the other hard headed knee figures, but I was special. I was different. Master loved me so much that I was his little boy. I had the best cotton suit which was tailored to fit only me, and this made the other dummies jealous because they all shared clothing. I was the root of masters’ heart. Hard and sturdy. The rest were flimsy and made of paper mache or plastic. I was the only authentic boy that master ever made.

“Ssssh…don’t speak. Let me do all the talking” he would whisper just before the bright spotlights hit me and the rise of roaring cheers and applause fills the theater. I was a good boy, I was obedient. Master would stick his hand under my shirt and move my face just as though I was a little boy. It tickled me, but I tried my best not to laugh. He had an audience and the best was all he ever given them.

One day, his name was taken down and replaced by a few names of people who were in a movie. Master lost his audience as they moved on to Broadway musicals. We were broke. Master had to sell some of the other to feed himself. He got sick eventually and had something inside of him, a tumor. As he slowly faded before my eyes, I watched him plan his resurrection. He was determined to show the world that what he had was better than just songs and dance routines. He wanted revenge. His last days were filled with books of spells and magic.

SOUL TRANSPORTING, BE IMMORTAL.

“We’ll see who the real dummy is now” he uttered as his days were slowly outnumbered.

..:: TWO WORLDS COLLIDE ::..

Dakota dreams of a land full of fantasy where mermaids fills the oceans and unicorns runs with the wind. But all that Dakota can do is dream. She was born with a condition where her bones were fragile and brittle and she had to be very careful not to be rough. The slightest movement could break her fragile bones like twigs. She was always on a wheelchair, with her nanny, Claire who attended to her every needs. Dakota parents werent always around. They travelled the globe searching and documenting the different species of animals and beast. Her father had plans for them, the three of them to travels the continents as “The Adventurous Trio” and take the world by storm. Dakota deformity had left her father disappointed and her mother's heartbroken.

Dakota lived in a mansion by the beach where her father had made her a silk hammock among the coconut trees before she was born. Now instead of swinging she would have Nanny Claire push her to the river as she sat with her book and pen and her imagination. Nanny Claire pulls the brakes and lowers the sole of the wheelchair. Dakota wiggles her toes into the the cold damp sand . “ Can I walk today, Nanny Claire?” she asked only to get the same answer she got yesterday and the day before. Nanny Claire went back to the house to bring her warm tea and oat biscuits, while Dakota indulge in the only scenery she has ever known. The blue wide ocean.

Daddy never let me go up to the surface. It is tradition that on my 18^th birthday that me and my sisters would be able to go close the water and spy on those two legged crreatures. Their world is filled with color and fragrances. The green and orange. The warm and cold. Down here it is always blue, sometimes green but never orange. The sun does hit the surface but I never got close enough to feel its warm rays on my skin.  Pixie on her 18^th birthday had went up as traditions say we could but she never returned and it broke daddy’s heart. Now, me the youngest, I am robbed of promises to see the world above. 

Today I disobey my father and will take my destiny into my own hands. Should I die and never return , be this the trip of a lifetime. As I rose higher I saw the twinkling lights of the sun reflecting on the water which grew as I got closer. Would I die if I inhaled the atmosphere up there, would they catch me ? I must see for myself. I’m sorry daddy.

The waves made my head bob as I slowly raised my head above the water. The first breath of air was peculiar. Almost like my sense were awaken. The breeze was cold and the sun was just amazing. I saw the shore line. Mother had a seashell necklace once as I has seen in sculptures. I want one too.

A fuzzy mirage of figures catch my eyes near the shore. A little girl staring straight at me. Her blonde hair blew in the wind and her metal feet shined like the sun. She moved her hands at me. Do I go closer or should I return ? 

..:: BIRTHDAY ::..

The rough sandy beach of Batu Ferringhi was where I celebrated my 15^th birthday. Now I stand here and look over I see how the place has become so polluted and dirty. No more stalls, no more children running around with their parents busy eating sandwiches. I remember how much fun we had here. The barbeques, the chasing and throwing each other into the sea. But that was when I was in high school. Sadly, when I come here I not only remember my birthday but also I see the people who died on my birthday 3 years ago. Tsunami, 26^th December. That’s right, it was my birthday. I wasn’t at the beach when it happened, but there were many families and children just having fun under the sun. As the waves rose, they just stood there and stared for it was such a strange phenomena. Poor souls. I can see the waves crushing down on the little children and I imagine the frightened screams. It may now just appear as a dirty polluted beach but what we fail to see was already washed away by the sea. 

..:: OLD / FORGOTTEN ::..

My days pass as I sit here on my bench, looking through the gates at the school across the road. Look at those young children running around, when the bells rings they run out and search for their parents before hugging them signaling that school is over. I am 78years old now, and I had 2 sons. Oh how they grow so fast. I remember the days when I used to pick them from school, but not like the parents of today in their cars. I used to have a trishaw and I would wait for them with their “ice balls” in hand as they ran out and jumped onto the seats. Oh what good times that was. Now, my eldest is a lawyer in Melbourne and my youngest a doctor in England. My late wife, God rest her soul always wanted a daughter as she said that girls would always take care of their parents. But I always wanted boys to carry on my name and legacy with hope that they would grow up and be better than me. Unfortunately, they are better than me. Today I sit here with other parents whose children are better than them and we sit and talk about the times when our children still needed us. 

..:: (eye)'M SORRY ::..

Kendall Raven is a sexy, gothic punk with a sense of humor. Kendall was your average girl, who is slightly decorated from neck below. She had colorful tattoos which were strategically placed in order to hide them from her parents. Outside she was liberated, at home she was just Kandy, who had strict parents and a noisy-little brother.

Kendall was beautiful. She had fair princess-like complexion, big hazel-grey eyes, long straight jetblack hair and skin softer than silk. Her mother had always wanted fame for her daughter but Kendall felt otherwise. She had greater things in mind which didn’t involve photoshoots and spreads in magazines.

“AMERICAN TATTOO FEST IN SACREMENTO” read the invitation card and Kendall wasn’t going to miss it. “A study weekend at Stacy’s” was what Kendall had told her mom. She was going to drive across the state, and make it back by Sunday. She packed her clothes, her platform boots, leather apparel and lots and lots of black eye shadow.

“This weekend is going to be great!” she kissed her mother goodbye before driving off.

Two hours later, Kendall stops for gas. She stretches and starts to stock up on drinks and snacks. She double checks with the cashier the directions to Sacramento. She had to be sure, for driving from Salt Lake City to Sacramento was no short distance. She checks her tire pressure, water levels and blasts her speakers. Accelerate and off she goes.

The sun is scorching hot! It was so hot I that I was seeing doubles. Damn car broke down as I was heading up to Sacramento. Damn engine couldn’t take the heat, but then again, who could ! I was on my way to the Sacramento General Hospital to enlist my babygirl, Hannah on the recipient list.

“Can I get a ride please”

 I tried flagging down cars, praying for sympathy in the middle of the highway. My fogged-up glasses hanged on the edge of my nose as I clutch my briefcase and tried desperately to flag down cars.

 “Please, anyone… can I get a lift”.

It’s been three long hours and I’m still stuck in the middle of nowhere. The phone was dead and I already tried flagging down cars by waving a $50 note. Nothing worked. Frustrated and thirsty, things couldn’t get any worse.

Then just like a mirage, a blue Saab with a petite girl who was drowned out by loud music pulled over.

“Hello there miss, could I hitch a ride.I’m headed to Sacramento. My car broke down back there and I’ve been walking ever since.”

“Sacramento? I’m headed there too. Hop in.” Kendall smiled unlocking the passenger door.

“God Bless you child”. I jumped in the passenger seat in a millisecond, not giving her a chance to reconsider. Also, I spotted a bottle of water back there.

“So, mister, whats in Sacramento?” asked Kendall, her eyes glued to the road.

“I’m headed to the Sacramento General Hospital. But before that, can I please have something to drink?”. My hands already reaching for the bottle of water.

“Sure, help yourself”

“Thank…*gulp*gulp …ahhhhhhhh”. Such relief.

“What’s your name? And why are you headed to Sacramento?” I pried.

“ Name is Kendall and  I’m getting ready for a weekend of pure art. I’m headed up for the American Tattoo Fest in Sacramento. Tattoo artists from all over the country gather to exchange ideas and build client networks. You should drop by” .

“Tattoos? Sounds more dangerous than fun” I was shocked by the talk tattooes. What a way to start a conversation.

“So why are you headed to the hospital? You sick?”

“It’s my daughter, Hannah. I’m going to enlist her on the recipient list for a cornea transplant. She was in an accident”.

 Then the talk about eyes made me notice. Kendall  had the most brightest hazel-grey eyes which was emphasized by the excessive use of dark eyeliner. They were beautiful. Just like how Hannah’s once were. Her big round peepers reminded me of my little babygirl and how her eyes used to sparkle when she was happy. I’d do anything to see my babygirl happy and sparkling again.

Then it hit me ! This young beautiful girl with bright brown eyes was sitting next to me. Images, thought and plans spinned its way into my head so fast that I felt dizzy with disgust. I couldn’t do it. None of it.

“Where are your parents? Why are you driving alone?”.

 “Ummm…my parents don’t know I’m going to Sacramento for the weekend” answered Kendall  biting her nails.

Her parents not knowing where she was made it easier for the dark evil thought to re-enter my mind. I shaked them all off. I couldn’t hurt her. And I wont. I just need to sit and have a nice long chat with her. Make her understand things.

That was when it hit. A big fat juicy drop of rain which was followed by others double its size. It started pouring and I saw my chance.

 “I can’t see” squinted Kendall pressed against the steering wheel.

“Pull over at the motel ahead. We’ll wait till the rains stop. No point driving when you can’t see. Don’t worry I’ll pay for it.” I offered.

“Okay, fine. But only till the rains stops then we move”. She agreed once the  pounding on the roof grew louder.

Kendall pulls up by the side of the highway, where the “vacancy” lights flicker like fireworks in Chinatown. The sight of other cars stopping comforted her, for she now feels that she wasn’t going to be alone with this stranger.

After checking in, and settling the bill, they got room 13, which was conveniently far left. The rain drops pounded on the roof of the motel like a carnival. It was noisy and cold.

Kendall jumped on the bed throwing her stuff all over. She marked her spot hoping the stranger got the hint. The man, hanged his coat on the chair, sat on the desk, and started thinking. His hands were shaky and the hard look of concentration was obvious on his face. He would daydream and shrug at certain thoughts. Kendall didn’t notice this. She just wanted the rain to stop. She was thinking of ways to politely turn this stranger down and maybe drop him at a gas station where he could call for a cab.

“Excuse me. I am going to freshen up”. My hands were trembling. I wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do. Maybe I should just walk away now while I still can. Oh,God forgive me !

Kendall was glad that the stranger had decided to lock himself in the toilet, but when he started walking in and out of the room for ice, she couldn’t help but get suspicious.

After multiple trips, finally the stranger settled down. Minutes went by and she got more and more suspicious. She was going to take the risk of driving in the rain. Should she tell him she was leaving? Or should she just go? She slowly got up, quietly packing her stuff. She walked, almost tip-toeing to the toilet, pressed her ears on the door and thought to herself “what on earth was he doing?”. She leaned harder on the door putting more pressure before the unexpected happened.

The door gave way and Kendall was thrown inside the toilet. She screamed. There, with his sleeves folded and glasses tilted, sitting on the floor, he was sharpening his Swiss knife vigorously. Rocking back and forth he was chanting the words “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I have to do this”.His possessed expression stared emotionless at the wall.

“What are you doing? You creep!” Kendall’s voice shook as she tried holding the tears back.

That was it. My plan was clear. I knew I couldn’t have gotten away with this. What should I do now? All I wanted was to apologize and tell her how sorry I was.

“I know what this may look like, but believe me I’m not trying to hurt you”.

I got up slowly and put the knife on the sink. She screamed as I tried reaching out for her. She started cursing me and spitting in my face. She even bit my arm but I had to wait till she calmed down so I could explain things to her.

Kendall jumped back. The stranger overpowered her when he suddenly leaped for the door and grabbed her arm. Kendall screamed with all her might. The rain was to his advantage. No one was going to hear her under the pounding of the giant droplets. He yanked and yanked her hand until she calmed down.

 “Let me go” kicked and screamed Kendall continously.

Kendall  knew what she had to do. Like in the movies, she was going to give him a good hard kick to the groin and dash for the door and straight to her car.

 The stranger went on and on about how sorry he was but Kendall wasn’t listening. She must act now. With a deep breath of air, she moved back, making enough space to lift her knee up before slamming down a hard kick to his…thigh. She missed. The stranger flipped. He was angry. He started shouting as he placed his big hands over her tiny neck. He pressed harder and harder with each second.

“Why won’t you listen to me? I said I was sorry”. I just knew it, she was going to run and report me and I would never see my babygirl again. Weekend visitations and custody rights just isnt enough. I’m sorry.

I dragged her over to bath tub and stuck her head in the icy water. She kicked and kicked but it was no use. Both my hands are on her neck. I pushed and pressed as hard as I could. I lifted her head, but not for air, but to start pounding her head on the edge of the bathtub like a madman. Blood splattered into the cold water and onto my shirt. Her screams of pain faded as the blood thickened in the water.

Her body dropped with loud thud. What have I done? I was a monster.

The man reaches for the knife on the sink. His hands trembling with fear, he manages to slowly carve at the dead girls head. When he finished, the only remains of her face were the two empty eye-sockets, dripping with blood and raw exposed face muscles. He puts her eyes into a plastic bag, filled it with ice and sealed it with duct tape.

“Hannah, look what daddy got you”. The man stared at the dead brown eyes.

This prize was for my babygirl as a symbol of my apology. The accident two years ago was my fault. I shouldn’t have had that much to drink. I’m sorry babygirl. Daddy is going to make it all okay again.

“I’m sorry” I whispered as I kissed Kendall’s forehead before sliding her down into the ice-filled bathtub which was to be her grave. The blood rushed up as she sank deeper. The ripples formed shapes and designs as her black hair swam gracefully embracing her bare skull.

With his treasure in his ice-filled briefcase he walks out the room. He walks in the rain, leaving a trail of blood as he goes. The smuck of guilt and joy fought to control his expression. The thought of Hannah and how she would be happy again sparkled and motivated him to keep walking.

“..The body of Kendall Raven was found submerged in a bathtub filled with ice in Travellers Motel yesterday evening.  Kendall was murdered and her eyeballs missing. Police have detained a suspect who was spotted walking along the highway in a bloody coat. Police forces tried arresting the suspect seconds before he ran across the road and was hit by a truck. His identity is yet to be confirmed but a bag with the victim’s eyeballs were attained….”

..:: GUILT ::..

Sitting there, topless and twirling the Zippo in his hand, burning them with each twirl, sat Brandon on the curb. He was always alone. His appearance scared people off. All the tattoos and piercings and the crazy hair do was just a cover up. Deep down Brandon was scarred, and no I’m not talking about the scar on his neck and back. Brandon wasn’t always like this, 2 years ago if you would have met him, you would say he was the sweetest child who was well educated and came from a nice decent religious family. But after the fire, it all changed. In his wallet he carries a crumpled burn picture of his sister. A guilt no ordinary 17 year old should ever have to feel. Last spring, Alana, Brandon’s girlfriend had got into a fight with him which ended up with them breaking up. Fueled with anger he took all her belongings and pictures and threw them into the metal bin and drowned them in kerosene. He threw the Zippo in. “Burn bitch” were the only words scrolling like a marquee in his head. It was late, his parents and sister was asleep. He left his window open for the smoke to go out, but what he didn’t expect was the strong night winds which spread the fire, which was on the floor, to the curtain which was engulfed in flames in no second. The fire spread to his six year old sister’s room in which she was fast asleep. It was too late and not matter how hard Brandon tried to run into save her, the barrister collapsed. He was left with second degree burns and the blame of killing his sister. His parents have never treated him the same ever since. He was shut out and hated by them. He had taken away their baby girl, who could never be replaced. A tattoo of his sister, right in the middle of his back symbolizes him carrying her on his shoulder as what should have been on the night of the fire. Also a chest piece tattoo with a heart on fire. Another metaphor for what else that burnt that night. The piercings on his body could not compare to the piercing pain in his heart when he heard his sister screaming trapped in the room. The flashbacks and memories haunt him to this very day. Now, in rehab, when it was activity time for the patients, Brandon sits there on the curb, cursing his parents for putting him in this nut hole as he throws his rosary into the drain. “There is no God”. Also those words are inked at the side of his arm in bold old English fonts. There is nothing that he can do but stare at the picture of his sister in on hand while twirling the Zippo in the other burning his fingers with every twirl and waiting for the bell to ring calling them in for dinne

..:: CANDY ::..

" Why! Why do I have to stop? I love this! I feel alive; I feel like I am flying, I feel GREAT! And so will you if you actually had the balls to actually try it, you sad excuse for a man!” screamed Candy with the joint still in stuck in between her fingers. She was not going to let go and neither was she going to let him take it from her.

            Mike has had enough of her bullshit. He was not going to give in to her addiction, not from the girl whom he had given his heart to. Not now, not anymore. For the first time, he defended his dignity. “Don’t ever tell me what I should do. You’re not even sober enough to look me in the eye. I have had it with your habit. Choose. It is either me or the weed. One has got to go in order for this to work. I’m sorry.”

            Candy was now trying to pull herself up from the couch where she spends most of her days. She was struggling but yet she snickered before screaming. “SCREW YOU! I will not stop anytime soon, you can’t make me stop and NO I will not stop! So baby dear, pack up and start walking, loser! ” she yelled as she stumbled on the accumulated bottles and boxes of food on the floor as she tried to stand up straight while pointing her wobbly arm to the direction of the door. 

..:: I REMEMBER ::..

*beep* *beep* *beep*. I remember the sounds. Sound of machines, sound of life. I remember the smell of alcohol and the coldness of the ward. I remember praying and asking God to open her eyes. Or a finger to twitch. Even for just a second, please. I remember sitting at the edge of the cold plastic chair, in the room with strangers around me on life support and ventilators. So much despair in the air that it choked me. I hate hospitals. I remember the endless nights here, praying and at the same time cursing God. I remember mama. Oh dear mama, always so fragile. Jaundice, liver sirosis and stomach ulcers. In five months, I was robbed of the only person I loved most. I remember the night she left me. I remember coming earlier to bring her rosary which I put under her pillow. I remember having the chance to tell her how much I loved her and that she was going to walk out of the hospital just as walked in. I remember not saying it because even the thought of it made me tear up. So I didn’t. I remember the long beep of the machines going flat and I remember how my heart broke. I remember the emptiness I felt right in the middle of my chest. I remember that night. And I remember the lonely nights that followed after. I love you mama, if I never said it. I still remember mama. I always remember. 

..:: binaries ,. WHO ARE WE ? ::..

Diamond bracelets and boulder necklaces hang their expensive weight on the rich and famous, animals killed for clothing and snakes skinned for shoes. A woman shows her success by wearing all that trophies on her body. She walks on the street, her nose high in the clouds. She walks in a beeline, just like she was taught in prep school. Her Jimmy Choo’s kick something soft as she lowers her eyes to see. A young mother, old and haggard with hair crumpled and dry clinging on to her baby, skinny and asleep. A bowl in front of her, with four dollars in it gives her the promise of maybe a meal for her and her baby. The woman now in disgust as she bends down to inspect her shoes for dirt, looks at the mother in disgusts and walks away. “Trash” she mutters under her breath as he stops a cab with her shiny red painted fingernails.

A man fresh out of community college waits in line for the bus to work. Today is his first day at LeoBurnett Advertising. He cluthes his torn bag as he fights his way to stand on the shaky sardin cramped bus. The stench of sweating passengers stick to his shirt as he pries his way out the tiny door. His tie is crooked and his is late. He takes the elavator up and receives stares from the neat and tidy. “I need this job” he think as he pictures  his mother selling fish in the market and how she has suffered for him and his sister. His boss, barely legal to drive a car walks in. The smudge of arrogance plastered on his face as his assistant carries his briefcase and and Starbucks into his office. His Ferragamo tie was neatly done on his white-striped Versace shirt. His Ralph Lauren slacks were shiny and ironed to perfection. He was Mr Burnett’s son, the new Vice President. The quiet son of a monger watched silently as he work the photocopy machine. 

..:: MIAMI ::..

MIAMI

She is a seducer of all who chooses to go there. With her sandy beaches and her friendly residents, she seems friendly. The bright sun and the freedom of people walking around in bikini’s and shorts, flashing their collection of tattoos almost like a small competition paints the streets with such diverse variety, making Miami a meltingpot of different cultures. Her salty breeze from the seas brings such relaxation to mind. That this is all before night falls and her wild side appears.The sun begins to set and once you’ve had seen Miami at night, you will never want to leave her again. Her bright neon lights and blasting music fills the streets almost like Mardi Gras on a quiet summer night. Her ever flowing fountain of alchohol tempts both familiar and unfamiliar to enter her side of sin city. Her sweet elixir brings out the friendliest and the violent side of people. She seduces you with promises that leaves you begging for more. Drunkards fall like flies on the street as the sun slowly rises in the wee hours of the morning. But as the sun’s orange rays pours on the white sandy beaches, Miami’s horn and devil tail goes back into hiding as she is once again the happy promising lady she always is under the sun. 

..:: touch me NOT ! ::..

Stop Staring at me ! All these eyes roam my body as those I was a stuffed chicken on Thanks Giving Day.  Men, creatures of God’s punishment to humanity. He built men with such little common sense who finds the simplest pleasure in life and are such uncomplex being who are given honor to be called MAN. Look at them running after every skirt they see. The city is a hunting ground for these land crocodiles. They watch you from the corner of their eye, pretending to read their newspapers upside down while in their head slowly undressing you in the train, or in the bus, or even in the café. Even a simple quiet lunch is impossible with these vulturous eyes scavenging for fresh meat. If I had a choice, I choose to be ugly, for that is the only way that a woman can get around in the city unnoticed. Boobs popping out, slits up high on thighs, perfect bottle bodies are invitations to these scroungels. They are just as low as the stray dogs in the smokey alleys of the city, only difference is they are better dressed. Once again I set my gaze straight and make a beeline to my office building. Look at them run behind me with such passion. They disgust me. Men are disgusting creatures. Scumbags of the earth.

..:: FLUSHED ::..

The cold air crept under my skin slowly like termites eating their way through old rotten wood. The shiny sink shined with such grace in the dim eerie bathroom. The only light that poured in was from the tiny window above the rusty dirty white bathtub. My only door to the outside world. The bathroom was messy, as though a matador had been provoking a bull in this four tiled walls. The tiles were cracked and yellowed, you could tell that she was old and antique. Her flowers which used to run along the walls were now cut short by the ugly evil cracks which snipped her roses. The sink was a mess, old brittle tootbrush were thrown all over and toothpaste were disgusting squirted everywhere. This was appauling to look. Maggots had made themselves comfortable nesting in the eaten fragile brushes of the half snapped toothbrushes. The mirror was a seduction. The frame was a beautiful golden brass woven in circular motion almost like a hypnosis to whoever who stands before her beauty. Each step on the ice cold floor sent my spine into spasm. It was so cold, almost like snow on a cold winter night, or maybe worse. The chilled painful pricking of the cold air was too much for me to handle. I sit in the corner, hiding myself in between the toilet bowl and the bathtub, trying not to rub my self on the brown rusty pots for fear of being thrown in a fitz from my lack of tetanus immunity. I look up at the window, feeling despair but I fight against the gagging feeling I have in the back of my throat as I feel the green stench of toilet water and the open sewage pipe push its way down my esophagus. The moonlight spills in,  mocking me , teasing me for I am trapped in here and she is out in the big black sky shining her rays on all those who are free.