To Daphne

Shouts and screams echoed in the National Intel Organization – TOOTHBRUSH SKIMS ULCER. DON’T PUSH ME.

Johnny walked to and fro across his office with heavy footsteps, his eyebrow strained as his mind was cluttered. He snapped his fingers silently as he pondered upon that phrase.

“Toothbrush skims ulcer. Toothbrush skims ulcer. Toothbrush... What could it possibly mean?”

Agent M was shot dead while working on an important case. With his last bit of strength, he spoke through the mike on his lapel those six mind-boggling words: Toothbrush skims ulcer. Don’t push me. The officers working on the case burst out through the doors of the communications room, shouting and screaming as they demanded that every agent in the building gave them the most suitable interpretation of that phrase as it could provide the only breakthrough for the case they have been working on for months.

crossing of two paths 6

To dance along to the tune that was being played, to put on a mask and be part of a masquerade ball, it was all too easy an act to play. He stumbled his way into his car, and silently departed from the scene. No one knew who he was; no one knew his pain... no one...

THE END

crossing of two paths 5

He walked out from the masquerade ball panting. Sweat dripped from his forehead and streamed down, wetting his collar. His back was all wet. Blood starting gushing out from his thigh’s wound, but the black-coloured pants covered it up pretty well. There were a few droplets all over the dance floor, but too insignificant for anyone to realize. He stretched out his hand towards the park bench outside to support his own weight. Foam started to gather in his mouth.

Who was that guy?
He danced so well...
That was a breathtaking smile!!
Does anyone know who that was?

And so he walked out into the night, without anyone knowing who he was. He took off his mask, and lifted it over the trash can, ready to throw it away. He hesitated, and let out a sigh as he stared at the mask.

crossing of two paths 4

The whole room was illuminated as the dazzling chandeliers that hung from the ceiling came to life. The patterns on the walls and the paintings on the ceilings of the hall were just breathtaking. The whole building was conceptualized by a famous Arabian architect and intricately constructed by some of the best in the world. One of the students’ parents owned the building, and so the class of 08 seniors had one of the most magnificent places to hold their annual school prom.

As time passed, cars filled the parking lots and students filled the ballroom. Hundreds of students began to gather in cliques and indulge in idle talk. Some commented on others as though they were fashion students, others gossiped about the latest celebrity scandal or the school’s happenings. Giggles, whistling, chattering and loud-obnoxious laughs could be heard from outside the lobby. Glasses clanged with each other as they blissfully celebrated their graduation from school. Guys started hitting on girls, hoping to be lucky; and the females willingly and flirtatiously entertained the guys. Some were unlucky, and received a nice, red hand mark on their faces; others were able to go out together in the night to make out.

You could see that all of them really put a lot of effort in ensuring that they looked perfect for the night. For the guys, suits were dry-cleaned and ironed out, shirts were creaseless, and ties were repeated adjusted to the “perfect” length and position. For the girls, hours were spent in front of the mirror, dressing up and putting on make-up. Hairdos were done by the most expensive hair-dressers in the district. Every girl was dressed to kill, and their clothes demanded the attention of every guy in the room.

it's still the same #2

I froze.

No, it wasn't a gun pointed at the back of my head. A smile grew slowly and spreaded right across my face. An amazing aroma drifted right by me. I know that smell! Peanut butter cookies! Chocolate chip cookies! And not just any sort of cookies that you can get. It was Madam Courtney's family secret, one passed down and perfected since the days of her great-grandaunt. Oh yes! I know that aroma very well.

As kids, we used to run about the neighbourhood wasting our childhood years away. Everytime we passed by Madame Courtney's house, all of us would stop if she was baking her famous cookies. The smell of it would cause everything inside of you to hunger for it. It would cause you to stop in your tracks if you were rushing anywhere else. It was a "magical" cookie to me. Being kids, we would run up to her, begging for a bite of those gastronomical delights. It always came with a condition: the bunch of us would have to clean up her house, sweep her lawn etc. But it was all worth every sweat as the cookies were amazingly good.

Yes. Those were the good ol' days. I stood there and just enjoyed the moment. My nose was enjoying what it was smelling. Ah... Now I can finally say...

HOME.

it's still the same

The year was 1991. The cold war had just ended. Troops everwhere were dispersed one by one back to their hometowns. Smiles beamed on the faces of everyone as it had been umpteen years since anyone last saw their family. Rifles and helmets were thrown back into the stores as each of us boarded the truck. Although we missed our families, one would say we have been out here so long that we were attached to the bunkers and trenches we stayed in, with the brothers that we served with.

Big, muscular, tough men from my company wept as they said their goodbyes to each other. Brotherly bonds had been formed throughout these years. Blood, sweat and tears were shed together on the battlefield, fearlessly defending the country from any threat.

It was a long ride home. I had lost all my family members, and had nothing to look forward to as the house I was returning to was empty and lifeless. No hugs, laughter, a warm meal nor screams of joy awaited me at home. It was hard to say if I was actually happy to return or not. But, the war's over. That's some news to celebrate about. I'll probably hit the pubs nearby and get drunk real bad. I was 16 when I drafted into the army, having no family and no future to look forward to. After all those years of army training, I would say it has made me, if not a good man, a tough man.

Finally, we reached the targeted destination - HOME. I bade farewell to the dudes and walked forlornly up the pathway heading towards my house. It's been a while , a really long while. Everything seemed so foreign. The windows were filled with dust, and cobwebs were everywhere.

I ignored the call for cleaning up and changed into a singlet and a pair of cargo shorts. Time for a good walk. I headed out to take a stroll around the neighbourhood. Houses looked the same, yet different. It was as though I was at an alien land. The streets were clear, every so often a car would crawl past with its loud engine disturbing the just obtained peace. Kids ran around in the parks with screams and giggles, enjoying the fun that they were deprived of during the war. Yes, it was a time for celebration.

As I walked, I felt a slight sense of peace. The war was still disturbing me at the back of my head, subtly calling out to me. But now, I was able to put it all behind and release a sigh of relief. It was no longer dusty backlanes which I crawled on with dust and sand blowing against my face, but a cool, calm and clear breeze on a well-paved walkway. No sounds of bullets nor tanks, no screams of blood-thirsty lunatics, just the sweet chirpings of birds.

-to be continued.

crossing of two paths 3

And so he got ready for the night. He went to the bathroom and took a shower. A hot one, then a cold one, then a hot one again. He winced in pain as he cleaned the wound. The pain from the stab earlier was still fresh in his mind. He felt refreshed. His eyes were still slightly swollen and red, but it didn't really matter. He took some powder and rubbed it on his face.

He walked to the kitchen and grabbed the first aid kit. He wiped dry his wound and applied some antiseptic cream on his thigh. Then he began to bandage his thigh. It hurt badly, but again, it didn't really matter to him. He made up his mind not to regret anymore.

Limping, he went back to his room to get dressed. It was a 800 dollar suit that he had bought not too long ago. Just for this night. A black coat, black slacks to match, black socks and shiny leather shoes. He put on his white shirt, slowly doing up the buttons. As he did each button, he wondered whether he should go for it or forget about it and stay at home. He paused to look out of the window. The sun was setting. The birds were flying back to their nests. It was a classic painting of evening life, where roads were jammed up as people rushed back home for dinner with their families, others would head towards bars, some just drove with no direction in life, while some, headed back to enjoy the comfort of their bed alone. The sky was painted beautifully with orange, red, yellow, purple and pink. He stood there, staring blankly out of his window.

"Why does life seem to move on so normally even though everything's going wrong for me?"

He got fully dressed and put on his bow-tie. Just not too far back in the past, he stood looking at the mirror in the shop with one of the widest smiles anyone could give as he stared proudly in the mirror at the suit he had just purchased. Now, it was a face that lacked any form of emotions. More like a statue that stood lifeless in the park. He began to brush his hair. He had a forlorn look as he repeatedly combed his hair. Again, and again. Machine-like.

"Boy! Don't you have something on tonight?"
"Coming, Mother!"

He slowly walked down the stairs, feeling pain with every step. He gave his mom a kiss before heading to the car.

"Have fun tonight boy! Don't be late!"

The shout of his mother was drowned out by the engine of the car roaring into action.

grooving to the unknown beat

he felt it. he heard it. he bobbed his head to the beat. his body started grooving to the music. he snapped his fingers and did random hip hop steps with his feet. each part of his body moved to the beat. he smiled. he liked it.

no one else heard anything. but he heard it all. he enjoyed the music as he walked. everything didn't matter anymore. everything around him, ceased to exist. it was just him, his dancing, and the beat.

he grooved to the beat unknown by the world. he grooved to the unknown beat. he grooved. to the beat of silence.

writing a sad story, is actually one of the easiest things to do.

crossing of two paths 2

He wiped the tears away.

"I don't have to trust anyone anymore. If they bothered a single bit of what went on, they wouldn't have done the things that they did. But the damage is already done. How can you fix up a vase that has been intentionally smashed against the wall, and its broken pieces stepped on until it turns to dust? It is but swept away. It doesn't matter anymore. I've already been swept aside by all of them. They said they care. But it didn't show. The saying goes, 'Actions speaks louder than words', but no one took heed. Their actions said nothing but hurtful things. They thought they were helping, but they were actually making things worse."

He took out a knife from the cupboard and stabbed his thigh. Blood splattered everywhere. It was painful. It was messy. But he didn't care.

"With this pain in my head, I vow to myself: I will shed a tear no more for this world. Purposeless tears would never roll down ever again."