She's Spoilt

"Doksoh lah. Enough. Stop it already. You should forget her. She's spoilt. Spoilt. Bloody spoilt," says Pok Kor the clairvoyant man.

"Pardon?"

"I am sorry I have to say this out very clear, young man. This is for your own goodness. Dok payoh lah, wak nyusoh je kekgi. Stop it already, if you carry on like this, she will be a bigger problem to you. Cakap ballik-belloh sekali dia ni. A good spinner she is. What she has told you before does not reflect what she's actually doing over there. Kuat ngulor ni, muttor ulor sekali. Like a petrified snake knocked senseless by a stick her words are."

"Oh."

"I am sorry again young man. This is an honest advice for your own goodness. Forget her already. She's spoilt."

"It seems like you know better, Pok Kor," says Sir Pok Deng.

This happened a day before Father died. God has answered my prayer. He showed me her true colours.

I Got The Job

Mother used to say whenever God has taken something away from us, He will surely give us something else back to make us happy. We just have to wait. God has taken Father away from me, surely one day he will pay me with something else that can make me happy; like a pretty girl who would be my missus or a high-paying job that can make my dream about me owning a white Audi R8 (expensive shit) come true.

He has given me the latter.

Not a really high-paying job however, but the salary is high enough to this single man named Sir Pok Deng because he only needs to walk twenty steps to reach the alternative entrance gate of SIRIM Berhad. My department block is within three minutes walking distance from the cafeteria where every morning I spent thirty five minutes sipping a cuppa while thinking about the origin of the universe.

I already have visions of Father smiling oh so cheeky, fighting hard not to smile again because smiling while talking would cause vowels and consonants from adjacent words hybridized in weird manner, hence, I can’t get what he is trying to say.

“Longpatje?!” imaginary Father says.

“What? Beg your pardon! The hell are you tryin’ to say?”

“A-a-a,” Father stutters as usual, still can’t get smiles off his face “A-a-along dapat keje ke? (you got job?)”

“Hor lah,” I say. Yes I do.

“A-alongpatjeke?”

“Hor!!!”

Tomorrow I will notice that the whole specimens in his department including the chairs, tables, stray cats, goldfishes in the aquarium at the second floor, red hibiscus flowers that bloom outside the office premise know about this good news. Everybody in there call me Along.

This is a happy post.

The Voice Within

Thought noise. Disturbing. Some people say it is a monologue. The orthodox agrees it is a whispering of a demon. It is a cacophony inside the mind; deafening, distracting.

Thought noise always haunts me. I see images and hear voices of two people arguing over serious matters and the winner at the end of the commotion is always the guy who looks, speaks, thinks like me. It is me; the transcript. It is like a lucid dream where I could create, direct, and destroy any characters I want to and build the entire landscape to my preference. It's like a chess game; single player. To the floor the chessboard would be slammed if I lose, something I choose not to.

Ladies and gentlemen of the juries, you may say I am just daydreaming! You are wrong! The world's exist! It is exist! I cursed and swore at my imaginary people whose their very characters were replicated from those whom I know in real life; those whom I hate so much, so true, so deep. Damn to hell every inch of their skin, every strand of hair, every drop of blood, every sections of their spinal cord, damn their very soul! There their body lying helplessly on the floor, with needles pricked into each of their finger tip and the metals are torched to amber red, then a six-inch stained nail hammered into their skull and left it there until the body suffer the excruciating spasms of tetanus, so painful the bowel liquid left through the anus.

And finally ladies and gentlemen of the juries, you all now know that I am some sort of a vengeful lad who still cannot take past pains and sorrows off me in order to lead normal life as a normal man should be. To say I am a psychopath, that is too early to assume. Like earthquakes, the slight quivers shown to you Your Honour, come from the great tremors deep down. I don't have the power to foresee the day the volcano will erupt, blowing dusts into the sky, blotting light of the world of the innocents. Can I have a seat now, Your Honour? Oh, thank you.