somewhere i don't want to go

somewhere i don't want to go in a place i thought i once knew to try so difficult to find but once your words used to flow out like fluid butter smooth as the winter's breath but dark like a thorn in their hearts now the hermit spends his life in a greater world where he has learnt not to think where he is content being content about being content

Love Letters To Death - Letter 1

Dear Death

Normally I'm not the one to make the first move, but I guess my desire to talk to you has grown so strong that I can't resist writing this anymore. I have to be honest with you; my first impression of you was somewhat unflattering. You seemed to be the type of person most would avoid at a party. You're that type of guy that leans his back on the wall, holding an unpopular drink in your hand and taking small sips at it, all the while bobbing your head to the slow rhythm of the music playing in the background. I used to think little of you, trying instead to make small talk with the other more prominent males around, but you're like a skin disease, slowly starting out as a minute itch that could be easily removed with a few scratches. Then you start growing, forming a thick rash that repeatedly distracts me from my mundane life, up until the point where you ravage through my whole body, eating away what's left of my skin. And no matter how much I try to peel you off, you will always form a noticeable scar that I'll have to keep for the rest of my life.

Whenever you occupied my mind, I tried reasoning with myself. Trust me; I tried every way to push you to the closet in the corner of my mind, telling myself I could never be with you. It would never work out between the both of us; I used to say to myself, as the other boys bored me with their self-assuring boasts. But one day the truth just appeared in front of my eyes, we were destined to be together. You're accepting of anyone, ignoring all their past mistakes. The silent sidekick, who would come to us when we're in need, telling us you, would always be there. It hit me that there was no one else who was just like you, no one else whom I wanted to love more than you.

I know you're always ready, but I'm still unsure. I still need your affirmation that you'll stick with me forever before I make this leap of faith. Please, reply as soon as possible. I'm afraid I might change my mind if you wait any longer.

Love,
Gloria

NO LIGHT AT THE (END OF THE) TUNNEL

When my doctors told me that the chance of getting a heart transplant was one in a thousand, I almost shat my pants. Damn, I was condemned to a death sentence without breaking the law, how unfair was that!? And you know what the worst part of my heart failure was? Freaking lying in bed all day at the hospital, filled with the inherent smell of disinfectant, doing nothing! Oh and I swore if I had to consume the same bland yuck of a gruel everyday for the next twenty-something years I would prefer to die (peacefully of course). Heck, even hell has better food than this crap I betcha.

But man was I lucky or what? Some dude from the other end of my country died in an unfortunate car crash or something and I got a suitable match with that guy. I am not gloating over his death, no that would be incredibly screwed up of me. At first I felt shameless as well, but then this guy, my homie, he opted himself for the organ donors program. Said he wanted to give someone else a second chance when he died. And then I realised, I should be thankful and seize this chance to get back at being a comedian again, that was what he wanted to do. I loved this guy man; he would go to heaven, for sure.

***

It was yet another shitty day for Howard Stilton, piloting yet another domestic flight. It had been six years since he gave up his hope of flying around the world and seeing all those wonderful sights he saw in the travel magazines he kept throughout his life. But those freaking guys at the top never gave him a chance to rise; instead they gave those young and inexperienced pilots who had a few more years of advanced training the right to pilot all the international flights. Howard had seen many of them before. Those arrogant bastards with no idea what to do in an emergency, surrounded by a throng of gorgeous air-stewardesses, how Howard wished he could walk up to them, give them a sucker-punch then coolly say, “This, is for stealing away all my dreams,”.

In his early forties but looking like a fifty-year-old, you would never expect Howard to be a pilot. Years of hair loss had caused his head to be almost bald, and his depressing face would remind you of a labourer who hated his life. Howard did felt like one though, he came to work as a pilot thinking he would live the high life. Instead, luckless Howard only piloted one international flight in his life and was still unmarried.

‘This plane carries organs need for transplant, it’s a very important flight,” Yea right, if this was important, I could sell my hairy ass for money, Howard thought. He started the plane and controlled it lacklustrely, his mind still distracted by the fictional scenery he created. So distracted he was, that he failed to notice that one of the two engines had caught fire and it was spreading. When he finally looked down, both engines had already been irreparably burnt, and the plane was on a one-line track to crashing, nose first. Howard smiled; at last he would be able to travel freely all around the world, as he happily got himself wrapped in an inferno of flames.

***

I guessed…I guessed life had played one giant joke on me. An enormous, goddamned joke on me. It gave me all the hope I could ever receive, and smashed it right in my face like a pie filled of cream. Even my wife’s sobbing embrace could not pull me out of my hopelessness. That idiot pilot, I cursed him. I cursed him to hell! What did he think he was doing? He had my life at stake, and he blatantly threw it all away!

But I knew the doctor was joking. Must have seen me on TV and wanted to see my comedic response. “It ain’t funny, doctor. You shouldn’t play with your patient’s feelings like that,” I told him with a sarcastic laugh. Then I saw the uncomfortable expression on his face as he kept quiet. And I asked myself

WHERE’S THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL? THERE’S NO LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL. WHERE’S THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL? THERE’S NO LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL. WHERE’S THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL? THERE’S NO LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL. WHERE’S THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL? THERE’S NO LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL. WHERE’S THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL? THERE’S NO LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL. WHERE’S THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL? THERE’S NO LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL. WHERE’S THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL? THERE’S NO LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL. WHERE’S THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL? THERE’S NO LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL. WHERE’S THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL? THERE’S NO LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL.

The Necklace

Note: This story contains expletives that hopefully do not offend you much.

The Necklace

Cassandra had a problem. She was unable to remove the necklace she put on. That obsidian pearl necklace clung onto her thin neck, like her annoyingly childish younger brother, although it made less noise. It was her family's heirloom, passed onto her by her grandmother, who told her to keep it safely and to wear it only on special occasions. For some reason she could not resist putting it on, those tiny beads glowing under the reflection of her bedroom light, and she had just finished staring vainly at the mirror when she realised how difficult it was to take it off her neck. Come to think of it, she did not know how it was put on in the first place. There was no clip, no knot, it was as if she just placed it over her head and let it fall to her neck, except that the necklace was too small to pass through her head. Growing increasingly desperate, Cassandra took out a pair of scissors from the top of her dresser and attempted to snip the string of the necklace. But no matter how hard she tried, the string still could not be cut. She started pulling the necklace fruitlessly, but all that did was to cause her pain and more frustration. So she decided to call her male friends Andy and Dan for help. After all, they were guys, she thought, they would be able to rip this necklace off.

"Eh Cass!" Cassandra was sitting on a table at the void deck, crossing her legs and waiting for the boys with a look of dissatisfaction. When the Andy and Dan arrived, Andy quickly shouted her name and waved enthusiastically while Dan stood behind him, giving her a reassuring smile. Both of them had a liking for her, with a silent enmity growing between them. Cassandra was typically attractive. She had long hair, with streaks of light brown at the ends, a fringe that covered a part of her face, and a pair of FBT shorts she wore that unintentionally revealed her smooth legs. Plus, her innocence and insecurity poorly covered up by a veil of vulgarities she spewed just made her cuter in their eyes.

"Dan, Andy! Wah lucky you guys are here man, you know this fucking necklace is making me so damn pissed lah!" She tugged her necklace a few times and grimaced, "Your can me get it off anot?"

Andy jumped immediately at the opportunity to impress and responded, "Of course I can lah! Come, let me," Cassandra turned her back facing him and he walked up, using the chance to take a whiff at her hair. It smelt like a heavenly bed of flowers, and Andy grinned to himself as he handled the necklace. At first, Andy could feel a slight, prickling pain in his hands when he touched the necklace, but after a few seconds, he jumped back with a howl.

"Wah damn pain nia! What type of necklace is this?" He looked at Cassandra with shock while she and Dan sniggered at his actions.

Sensing it was his turn to prove his worth, Dan stepped up and began to pull the necklace apart. He could feel it too, but he held it in. It must have been his imagination, he thought, but the stinging pain rapidly became potent, and soon Dan was struggling to remove the necklace. Cassandra gave a short moan when he pulled the necklace too hard, causing it to press tightly against her neck. Dan yelped and finally released the necklace. He lasted a good ten seconds more than Andy, but his hands had started bleeding.

"What the hell, Cass? Is this some kind of joke?" Andy asked sternly.

"No, I really don't know..."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Dan's wounds were not intending to heal by themselves. It was so painful that Dan repeated his agonising screams.

"Cass, I'm gonna bring him to a doctor. That necklace you have there, it's some fucking shit man I tell you," Andy placed Dan's unharmed hand over his shoulder, "I don't know how you gonna take it off, but...but we're getting out of here," He assisted Dan as they rushed away from Cassandra.

Cassandra grabbed hold of her necklace and felt nothing. She was utterly confused. Why did she feel no pain while they were hurt so badly? Were they playing some sort of sick joke? Or was it a curse or something? For a moment, her mind was blank as she held her mobile phone in her hands, wondering who to call for help. She finally dialled a number she has not dialled for months after some consideration - her mother. When her mother picked up, Cassandra told her all about the necklace, skipping through many of the details.

"Cassandra, why you so idiot? I got tell you don't anyhow wear that necklace right?" Her mother's response made Cassandra remember the reason for not calling and even talking to her mother often. Her mother often insulted her, peppered her conversations with hurtful words that squashed Cassandra's self-esteem. Little did she know that her mother was so condescending because she had to work two jobs after her drunkard husband left his job and spent all his money on gambling at the new casinos. Cassandra would never understand, of course, for she never bothered to, especially since all the other friends of hers hated their parents as well.

"You also not the one give me the necklace, you think you got tell me not to wear?" Cassandra was not exactly sure if her mother did warn her, but she had to pretend so that she would not lose her pride, "And ma, can stop calling me idiot?"

"Ah whatever. You wait for me at home; I after work will come back,"

"Okay okay, bye," Cassandra hung up the phone before her mother could reply, then took a lift back up to her flat.

The creaky house door slammed closed with a bang. "Cass, I'm home!" Her mother's voice was loud and commanding, though slightly hoarse after many continuously days of shouting at her half-wit subordinates. Cassandra shut down her computer immediately and stood up. She was checking her Facebook account to make sure Andy and Dan did not post anything about the afternoon, although the use of the computer without her mother’s permission was forbidden.

"Ma...You're back," She prepared herself for a tirade of harsh, hurtful words.

"Come, sit down, I'll help you get rid of the necklace," Her mother held the necklace gently, slowly pulling it apart. From time to time she would grit and suck her teeth. Cassandra kept her mouth shut as she did not know what to talk about. It problaby let her mother concentrate better without all the talking anyway. A minute later, her mother said feebly, “I’m done,"

"Thanks ma! Wah this necklace ah, I really dunno how to take out...Ma...Your hands..." They were bloodied with many deep cuts extending all the way to her wrists. Cassandra was overwhelmed with deep guilt, it was the first time she actually realised her mother's immense love, how she was willing to endure all the pain just to remove that necklace. But it only took this long for her to see it. It hurt Cassandra so much that her eyes started swelling while fresh, warm tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I'm...I'm...alright...No pain...You're okay, that's all that...matters," Her mother gave a weak smile.

Cassandra stood up and called for an ambulance immediately, before taking some tissue to dry up the blood futilely. Those hands suddenly reminded Cassandra of her grandmother, who lost part of her fingers on both hands but never cared to explain why. She stared at her mother, her mouth wide open in horror, "Grandma..."

"Yes..."

You Never Will

You can see yourself staring into the mirror, trying your best not to look straight into your eyes, because you know that actually you could never see yourself in the first place. To you, you're just a metaphorical piece of art, living in a portrait of irony, a photograph of self-denial. You were never really part of the solution, neither were you the source of problem, but instead, you're an onlooker, concerned but helpless in your causes. You wished you could actually lay your hands down, to actually find yourself doing something useful, but in the end the fear of losing a part of yourself for the greater good overcomes you, grips you by your throat and chokes you, leaving you to die in a radioactive marsh. There used to be a time, though, when you were less afraid. Before compliments became cloaked knives that backstabbed, before you tried so hard only to fail. Those were the times you wish you could turn back to, but you never will. You never will.

Then someone catches your attention, and you realised that you had to change. Your flawed character would only serve to turn your love life into a hurricane-wrecked train disaster, so you wrap yourself under the pretext of expensive, unnecessary suits and posh ties that were like bandages, wrapping your true self under a cushion of soft cotton. But never will you be able to hide it all, because one day it will all come to light, that you were just a pathetic useless person, whose bandages only served to delay her pain, like a criminal on bail. You can never hide it fully. You never will.

Unreally Wax

Our story starts with an adolescent boy named Horman, driving the black second-hand Cadillac his father bought for him on his eighteenth birthday. Horman was driving down an empty highway, with only blank mud fields surrounding it on both sides, wondering why his girlfriend dumped him again. The first time she did, it was due to his peculiar habit of wearing the same clothes over and over again, and she could not show him off to her friends. This time round, she said she was leaving Horman for a billionaire, whom she claimed had a thousand times more shirts than him.

It was not that Horman had not tried to get some new clothes. In fact, he only quit trying on the umpteenth time, because all the shops he went to rejected him. Each shop told him the same thing, that he was a utter disgrace to their branding, and if anyone saw him in the shop, they would leave immediately.

Horman woke up from his train of thought when he saw the picturesque sunset while passing through a beach. For a person who never really saw a sunset before in his life, it was a wonderful, mind-blowing phenomenon, the sun melting slowly into the horizon, its mellow sunlight bouncing on the calm water, extending its reach towards the beach, painting the sand a soft orange. Horman got out of his Cadillac and treaded softly down a gentle slope to the beach.

It was full of static wax figures that were perfectly sculpted. To the untrained eyes, these wax figures looked exactly like normal humans, except with a flawless body and a perfect face. But their eyes were fucking soulless, although it was the only part of their body that could move properly. Horman approached a wax couple, both of them lying on a mat, staring into the sun. They were talking about the waves, and how sweet it would be to surf on. Not once did the couple bother to look at Horman, except when Horman tried to greet them. The male gave him a quick glance then, before continuing to blabber his meaningless crap. It seemed as if they never stop talking, and it seemed as if the only topic they had was about the waves.

Why could no one recognise his presence? Was it because of his clothes again? Horman could not hold it in anymore, so he took out his lighter from his pockets and set the wax couple on fire. But even when they were ablaze, they never looked at him. They never stopped talking. So, Horman decided to burn all the wax figure on the beach, and watched as they all burned to a thin crisp under the phoenomenal sunset. It was a terribly beautiful scene, when Horman suddenly noticed that all the wax figures were actually hollow inside.

Horman hopped back into his Cadillac, and drove off to his girlfriend's house. He did not know why, but he did not have to. When he opened the door, he found her entering a bathtub filled with wax.

"Eli, why are you doing this?"

“Go away, Horman, he doesn't want me anymore. But I'll change, I'll change myself so that he'll accept me...But you won't understand. You can never be one of them," She closed her eyes, and submerged herself into the wax. Horman was horrified, and then reached into his pockets for his lighter.

14th Street Avenue

The train screeched to a startling halt as it reached its last station, 14th Street Avenue. A place of nullifying silence and silver chrome crows that shriek at the shattering of treated glass. I rose from my seat, made of soft cushion that had been flattened by the bottoms of many and said, “Come on Amie, it’s time to go,” She reached into her tote bag her friends gave for her birthday, and then gave me a stoic expression of franticness.

“Wait, I can’t find Elis!”

“Did you drop it or something?” I asked rather uncaringly.

She bent down and checked under her seat before replying, “No, pa, it’s not there,”

“Forget about that bear, we really have to go now,” Besides, she was too old for a teddy bear. Her mother gave it to her a day before she left us for a new man, as if it was her last attempt to spite me. In fact, I kind of wished it was lost, left on this train and gone forever, so that she could finally forget about that bitch.

“But it’s been with me for ten years, I can’t just leave it here. Besides, it was mum’s…”

“Give me that!”I snapped as I grabbed her bag and began to rummage through all her belongings, only to find Elis hidden comfortably in the side pouch, “What is this, huh? Oh, so now you’re trying to lie to me. So you think you can miss your appointment today?”

“No, no, I swear. I really couldn’t find it!”

Denial, denial, denial. I could already see from her shocked face. She was definitely guilty, yet she still wanted to deny it. “I took time off from work just to bring you to the hospital, and here you are trying to delay us? I’m not going to have it your way, you’re coming with me,” With that, I clutched her hand and attempted to pull her out of the train.

She struggled and used all her strength to stop me from getting her out. “Pa, I really don’t want to go, please…please, I beg you…” That little girl already had such a rebellious streak at the age of fifteen, if I let her go on, she would be the death of me when she grew up.

A pair of hands suddenly gripped my hands, and when I looked up, I saw a tall middle-aged Caucasian man, wear a dull grey trench coat, shaking his head at me, “Excuse me, sir,”

“What? Let go of me, it’s none of your business!”

“It’s mine if you treat your daughter like that,”

“You don’t know the situation, okay? She’s crazy! She’s freakin’ crazy! She’s got voices in her head, telling her what to do – look at this!”I rolled up her sleeves to reveal a multitude of scars on her arms, that resembled a reptile’s scale. The Caucasian man widened his eyes, “All I want to do is to bring her to the mental hospital for a checkup, yet she insists on not going. I’ve to tell you, if she doesn’t get treated, she’ll do all sorts of crazy things, and who knows, she might even kill me!” I was practically releasing all the rage I had built up in me for the past two weeks, not even thinking about what I was saying. When Amie told me about her problem, I became so troubled and confused and lost at what to do. She was the only person I had left.

“Oh…” The Caucasian man released his grip and told Amie to listen to me and follow me for her checkup.

“You see, Amie? Even this man here wants you to listen to me, so you better come out of the train now,” I tried to convince her, but she cupped her ears and shouted, “You can’t just go around telling everyone I’m crazy! Don’t you even care about…”

“No, I don’t care! I don’t care about what you think, now just start moving!” Then, Amie took out a sharp, shiny object and thrust it deep into my abdomen, as she glared into my eyes, hers burning, fuelled with pent-up hatred. She pulled it out and proceeded to slash the Caucasian man, and the rest of the passengers on board.

Being hated, stabbed and killed by your own daughter was horrible. Seeing her destroying the lives of the innocent while you laid on the floor, holding your stomach, was pure insanity.