Ywrighting: 2014

Tend To Be

For years, the green vines in the backyard sprawled, and climbed over the fence, occupying territories that were once somebody else's property. The dogs at home, in their unleashed collar, always went on a brawl when Igaras Caeffur left them untied to the big pine trees on either sides.

Caeffur got calls everyday, almost everyday. There were days when he had heard the phantom ringtones deafening his insignificant ears. And no one, absolutely no one had called, and the phone stayed in boredom for the whole day. Those were the days when Igaras Caeffur would started to get anxious about things. He would pave around in his house with his narrow selections of beach pants, and his upper body naked. And he would soon get worked up with all sort of house cleaning tasks that he felt a caged animal raging inside him, which he would promptly rush to the pool and cool himself down. But his eyes would always reach over to the screen of his phone, checking to make sure he didn't missed any call.

This phone he had, it could only receive calls. So every call he got, could possibly be the last call in his life, if he was to think so negatively. There wasn't a bright side living out here in the middle of a desert with a fluctuating population and unstable connections for outside communication. And the only thing for Caeffur that seemed to look up, which was months ago, had began to act weird. It was the power generator.

The Military promised to drop supplies every two weeks when Igaras Caeffur and others were evacuated here for safety measures. And as years passed, the drops began to go thin, and the timing often changes. Two people had been killed from the crates falling from the sky, and the military didn't seem willing to take up the responsibility.

Caeffur used to be one of them, all suited up and ready for whatever wars and battles that was coming for his country. Until the radiation leakage happened and almost everyone he knew had to be relocated to somewhere in the desert. He had tried to run away in the first few month, but every time he thought he was out of the zone, he would see the sand walls that surrounded the inner city where he lived, and he would return, and told kids in the hospital of the imaginative creatures he encountered in the depth of the sand. Kids used to love him, for his charm and the stories that he had to tell, and mostly his great long beard that would rustle in the wind.

It'd been five years and three months since they were exposed to the radioactive waste, and many had given their lives to it. The remaining survivors had less and less of the past to talk about, the distant memory faded, the once familiar voices disappeared.

Under the request of people, mobile phone with sophisticated connections to the satellite were distributed to the citizen. Many broke down crying and drowned in happiness when they had heard voices of their friends and families that were not affected in the incidents.

Caeffur received no calls the first day. Everyone he knew had died a horrible death, and he was, at a time, completely lonely.

Then calls from people he doesn't know started to place in. And when he told people that they had called a wrong number, they would typically reply, "do you mean this isn't the Smithsonian office hotline?"

Papa Jones & Sally Francis Jones

Papa Jones had not always had a big heart. Now that he did, he had no doubt that his daughter, Sally Francis Jones, would run around telling their neighbors and her girlfriends about the luxury suite he would be staying at the St. Clare Hospital for Elders. It was the very first thing Papa Jones could think of when Doctor North broke the news to him, after his health report was retrieved from a pile of medical waste due to a human error. Which was safe to say that the recently hired nurse, Gwen Tracy, would not outlast the previous two nurses in St. Clare. Talk about longevity in an elderly hospital.

For a brief moment, Papa Jones could hear nothing Doctor North was saying to him, as he began to remember Sally Francis Jones' red cheeks under the summer sun, and Sally Francis Jones' soft, long blonde hairs in the candle light. He did not, for one second, think of his two late wives, but the daughter of his mistress.

Sally Francis Jones is a miracle.

When Sally Francis Jones first came into Papa Jones' then hairy arms, she giggled melody of dreams in nights, and sobbed tunes of nightmares during days. It was horrible. So horrible that Papa Jones had to hire a professional to take care of her, immediately after the Agency for Nannies had opened in the morning. It was there when Papa Jones felt his inner peace had returned, that his ears no longer chant the acoustic Soviet Union national anthem.

That was almost six years ago. Today, Sally Francis Jones is not an infant that sucks milk from a plastic bottle anymore. She's grown up into a little miss, and has a bedroom to herself.

"How much time do I have left, Doctor North, Conservatively?" Papa Jones coughed, "Look at me. Do not lie to an old man."

Doctor North didn't look directly into Papa Jones' grey eyes, instead he raised his left hand and showed two fingers.

"Two years? That's not bad news at all. That's fantastic. Maybe I'll still be walking after two years," Papa Jones smiled. "Who knows?"

Papa Jones was about to stand up and give Doctor North a handshake when the opposite head shook lightly.

"Two months then? That's plenty of time for a pre-funeral memorial. I'd like to hear what people have to say about me. After all, I'd be too dead to hear," Papa Jones cracked into a laughter and his face flared up in flame.

"You don't have two years or two months. You have two days. After that, you'll probably, you know," Doctor North said, staring at the report.

DayZ Ops One

[Watching the twitch.tv live stream of 5hizzle as he plays Dayz. Wrote this as his character explore Dayz. Overly exaggerated description and undermined story flow.]

Hiding behind the concrete wall, still heaving loud and audible in the quiet surroundings, Carl could not believe his arms was still holding the fully-loaded fire extinguisher high in the air, and next to his shoulder.

Bang.

The next thing Carl knew when he woke up, he was in a field of golden willow, and a vast, open field with trees scattered around. The cool season wind swept by, caress his glinting forehead. The dampness clung to his back renewed the sensation of a different kind of pain, which ripples in waves, stinging the shallowness of his skins, the depth of his bones. Carl bent his arms and heard a crack, followed by the suppressed cry.

Emptiness and loneliness lingered at his feet. The ruffled trees and tall grasses signified his sole existence at this space. His left foot followed his right foot, while his right foot stepped after his left foot. Carl could not remember which foot first started the walk, but he was glad, when, after a few minutes of solitary walk, he arrived at the edge of a town. A sand-washed place, buildings with broken windows and fallen red bricks. His steps resonated loudly as he walked through a street.

After he had crossed the town, a grey smoke signaled him to move forward. And at the foot of that cloud of smoke, Carl found the place familiar, a strange feeling filled his chest and messed with his brain. He seemed to be here just moments ago. Then as he continued circling around the area, the dusty, red extinguisher waved at him.

So strange, too strange. Carl wandered off mindlessly until he stumbled over something and fell into a tall brush. His hands, scared, his lips leaking red, but he felt no pain, but fear. Right before him, the corpse, fresh with a puddle of dark red blood creeping away, had the look of being frozen suddenly in time. That unnaturally wild eyes and dropping cheeks seemed to be sending some kind of message. An army poked Carl at his stomach, and he could felt them rushing through his throat and nose.

Bang.

The gravel road ran long, and straight. On the other end, the currently visible end, was the reflection of the a magical palace, a place where Carl could seek the asylum of peace. Though its bare existence was being questioned by Carl's master degree.

Things were a little bit easier this time. Carl jogged and ran and skipped instead of walking the loser walk. His black t-shirt was gone when he found a long, green jacket on a shabby pick-up truck. He discovered now that he had a long sleeves, his forearms no longer stung him when sweat ran past, reaching for the finger tips.

The golden sun blinded him as he ran on the soft yellow grass. The sandy soil underneath, almost uninhabitable, catered for these lowly plant as if to redeem for their sins unbeknownst to human.

The spot of the sun's glare remained as Carl stumbled into another town, with more unattended houses and lonely barn houses. Every room he entered, he saw the purple spot on the center left of his sight. It was as annoying as the sweat on his forehead that would occasionally be absorbed by his eyelids.

Quitting the abandoned town, a moist wind touched Carl's torched lips. His eyes, darting around, surveying the empty landscape, could not find a hint as where the spring was. So he went with the second best option, he followed his nose, his lips, and his guts. He went left, always correcting himself over the general direction toward the stream. Sometimes he stop and scatter his ears out into the wild; sometimes he lay down on the ground, almost kissing the dirt, and listen to the advice from the earth.

His nose moved left and right. The closer he thought he was there, the more aggressive he stepped on the grass, leaving a visible footprint on the soft dirt.

He knew he had made the right choices when he plunged into the stream and opened his mouth and galloped water into his body like a fish. Except human is not fish, and when he eventually rose to the surface and had his breath of air, he was immediately coughing and gasping and choking, it all happened at once. His eyes did not open until his body resumed full air circulation.

Bang.

Somehow, on his hand, lit a bright red object. It hurt him like the sun, but he was in a dark room, and he could not have found it more useful than annoying.

Pretending

[I wrote this about an year ago. Unedited. Freshly dug out from bighuglabs' Writer]

He's been shot once in the stomach, he believe a guy with the handgun just walked right into the coffee shop and popped a bullet into his body around his lower left rib bone. He could felt the blood slowly and steadily running over his hands covered at the wound. The room looks foggy, everything sounded weird, a drum started somewhere near, so near and loud. His lip going dry and pale, eyes could not concentrate, hands were losing the grip of the wound. The excruciating pain caught up with the breath, each was getting harder to process.

'Can I help you with anything... sir?' The nice lady sitting on the table next to him asked politely, mouth shuddering.

'Oh, I am alright, thanks for asking.' He said plainly, trying to be as calm as he could as he returned from the state of being shoot to sitting comfortably in a cozy little coffee shop drinking freshly brew coffee from the part time girl.

'You looked a little bit, I don't know, pale a while ago. Are you sure you are okay?'

'Yeah Yeah Yeah, I am fine, thanks for the concern.' He sipped the coffee and looked out, avoiding her dubious gaze.

She dug back into her magazine, still unconvinced.

He realized his hand were still resting around the now gone gun shot wound, he was almost reaching the pass out stage in his pretended act. Then the lady decided to step in.

This is kind of an awkward act he would do sometime's when he felt like it, or seen things that made him want to feel that, or some things just stuck him and made him feeling it.

This little acting thing came up when he was reading the famous J. D. Salinger's 'The Catcher in the Rye', where the main character pretend himself had been shot and fooling around with his feeling and emotion. This inspired him to do the same, pretending he was in a difficult situation where he was the victim of crime and been hit with something.

Sometime it was a good old knife stab in the back or falling off a ledger. but mostly is the gun shot act, which he was doing earlier.

It fascinated him that these little act could felt so real, he could almost feel the pain, the bleeding wound, the instability of a person being hit. The brain could only process so much, that after each act, he would feel extremely dizzy and worn off, not wanting to do or talk to anyone, as if he was really hurt.

Not once did he perform such an act in public space either because he was watching or hearing something that triggered his deeper consciousness or he just felt like it. For this act, he was reading about an article talking about how many people where shot each year by some random stranger who had a bullet to waste. It just got him.

Other times when he got too far in his act, he actually freaked someone and made them pass out, or called for police and ambulance.

The act, he supposed, was a way of experiencing the traumas others has been through as to feel what they felt.

Form a Force

The Beginning

Everyone in the Bakerville would be spared if things were that simple.

Sal Verno, first daughter of the Verno household, and descendant of a long forgotten warrior, could never escape from this matter. And she wouldn't have to leave her three young sisters to the Wise One at the mountain top, and she wouldn't have to ride to the edge of the lake in the dark mask of the night, if not for the beast that had terrorized the villagers for a living.

Most harvests were collected and consumed by the beast just a few years ago when it came to the village, while the folks were already leading a tough living because of the unusual drought. But now that the beast had grown larger and stronger, it soon revealed its unholy appetite, and demanded the taste of every newborn. The villagers regretted not killing the beast, and the responsibility ultimately rested on the shoulder of Sal Verno's parents, the sole hunter and huntress of the village.

It was believed that Sal Verno's parents had, at one time, ventured out of the bound of the village while hunting, and it may have then attracted the beast and brought it into the village.

Whether it was an act of the Mighty One, or fate came knocking the door, Sal Verno was glad when she was appointed as the one to rally an army from the world outside. She had longed for an adventure that was not in Bakerville. For years she had ridden the village round and about, climbed the mountains higher and farther, but wherever she went, there was the gate, and there was the rock that blocked her access of the place she had never seen.

Her parents prepared items she needed for the journey and stuffed them into two large saddle bag strapped on each side of her horse. They then retrieved the map from a delicate box hidden under the ground and taught her how to leave the village unnoticed and ride to the main road.

Sal had her share of suspicion about her parents when she first saw them returned in the moonless night, dirty and drenched in rain. They had lied, Sal thought, when they were outside. All these misfortune, were theirs to blame after all.

Her father held the torch light low and led the horse in front. Her mother, accompanying aside, did not speak a word, or even whisper, but keep on humming a tune that was ever so familiar to Sal.

"What if people asked about me?" Sal asked, her face indifferent in the orange-yellow torch light.

"Let's us worry about that, Sal," her mother hurried her to the horseback and squeezed her hand tightly before her father stepped in and gave the horse a pat.

She had soon made it through the secret passage under the mountain with a dying torch. And she quickly noticed how the constant rain had followed her everywhere she went, which forced her to seek makeshift shelter in the sleepless night.

The Sefinmore Forest

In the morning, she saw how the outside looked like. The forest of Sefinmore, the first place she had encountered seemed new, but also dark, and full of decay. It was not, as tales described, a world showered in a gay mist and lively creatures. She felt lonely while riding in the fog. She kept thinking about the crimson mountains and evergreen vegetation that surrounded her village, and thought how silly she was to expect anything nicer than that.

Her long damp red hair tasted dirty in her mouth as she slowly led her horse, Saa, across a shallow, but cold, and wide river. Sal could feel the chilling air running through her legs. And the vapors coming out of Saa's noses made Sal tremble. The horse dipped it head down to the point it's nose almost touching the stream. Sal tucked the rope hard a few times and urged Saa to hurry. Saa resisted and groaned, and jumped forward, a few light trotting and they were on the other side. Sal leaned forward and whispered into Saa, and then she got off the horseback and smoothed Saa's brown hair, caressing its face. She took food from the saddle and fed Saa first. And Saa was quiet.

The place Sal was going, her people called it the Ocean of Lakes. That was the name she used repeatedly when she asked the grim travelling merchants while riding on the horseback. Sal had never seen the ocean, or been to plains, and therefore she could not comprehend the idea of the horizon ending with the Glowing One when the merchants answered. Anyhow, her people were a bunch of reserved and honest country folks. None of them had left their rustic, caved-in houses in centuries. The fire pit tales and bedtime stories were passed on from their early ancestors, who had a share of the adventure on the old world, in the old times, and they were no longer presenting the current world.

Sal jumped down the horse and landed on the muddy ground. She trod lightly, avoiding the tiny ponds formed under the drizzle. It seemed to rain forever. Sal couldn't recall the last time she had seen the Glowing One. Not far away was a wagon. On it, sat a merchant that wore black all over, just like everyone else. The merchant seemed in a light sleep, the head leaning right, and suddenly bouncing back to the center, and slowly leaning right again.

"Hello there," Sal called out.

The merchant did not wake.

"Yo-ho," Sal whistled.

The wagon jerked forward as the leading horse accelerated. The merchant's hat fell and Sal could see that it was a girl, with fair hair, and a grim face.

"What is it now, boyo?" The girl sat forward and slapped the leading horse with the whip which was tied to her hand. It was a loud noise, and it resonated in the forest, though it did not bring out a large crowd of raven, or any kind of bird. "Don't try any mojo on me, or I'll kill ya like the rest of them," she spat, on the horse's tail. And then she saw Sal standing with Saa on the side of the road, wet all over. "What you looking at? You lost?" the girl asked, refitting the hat on her head, and stopped the wagon. The leading horse kicked the dirt and sneezed hysterically.

"I'm going to the Ocean of Lake," Sal led Saa and approached the wagon, "I don't know if I'm on the right way," Sal breathed white smoke, and saw the girl's freckled face grimacing. Sal took a step back.

The girl laughed, leaning back and holding her hat, her feet kicking in the air. "You people," she stopped laughing, "fear for you life, lady. The Ocean of Lake is on the other side," she pointed to the south east direction.

"Oh," Sal lowered her head. She took the wrong turn in the fog.

"Hey, it's your lucky day. I'm going there as well. It's bad weather all around, and you're travelling alone. I bet you don't even have a dagger or something with you," the girl stared at Saa, and said, "How about you tie your horse up front and hop up. I do miss some company on a road like this."

Sal turned to Saa, the big almond eyes glittering.

"Hurry up, lady, I ain't got all day."

Sal tied the rope around Saa and stroke it from head to nose. She took the girl's hand and sat next to her on a soft pad. "Thank you, if there's anything I can-"

"Sure. I'm going to take a nap. You just watch the road, okay? Ello knows his way. Don't wake me unless their's danger," The girl tipped her hat forward, then tilted it up again. "By the way, I'm Olle."

"Sal," she was expecting a handshake, but Olle had already leaned on her shoulder like a cat and took the nap fast as the wind.

The ride, though smoother than riding on the horseback, made Sal's back arch. She missed the numb sensation that would electrify her body when getting down to the ground for some rest. Saa was pulling hard in the front, working parallel with the other horse, Ello. Sal had never seen Saa pulled a wagon, and she was worry about the horse when Olle offered her the ride. Now that Saa showed her that it could run as well as carry, Sal's heart could finally settled on watching the road.

Olle did not sore in her nap, and as Sal had noticed, the girl carried a mysterious fragrance in her hair. Sal carefully lifted Olle's braid and smelled it more thoroughly. It seemed to a mixture of berry and lemon, but there was also another substance, something familiar, something-

The two passengers shot straight to the upper deck as the wagon swept sideways after the left wheels bumped over a large, blunt rock on the dirt road. The horses shrieked as they recovered from the rope's tight drag, and stopped running in the grey of the day.

Olle moaned painfully while rubbing the top of her head. Her hat was nowhere in sight. "What just happened?"

"I have no idea," Sal said. Her left palm burned in agony. "Are you hurt?"

"I don't think so," Olle pressed her forehead, and gasped, "Quick, get off, we need to check the back. Hurry," the girl leaped down from the wagon and her black boots splashed in those tiny muddy ponds.

Sal went the the back with Olle. She had no idea what to do. Things were stacked in way she could find no logic or reason to it. It just seemed so, beautifully unorganized.

"I can't believe it," Olle said slowly, and with astonishment, her tongue ticking, "Old Master Benju does know a thing or two, that old hound," Olle said, to no one in particular.

"I take it that we don't have to do anything, then?" Sal asked. Now that she had a constant shelter of the wagon roof, she had found it intolerable to stand in the light shower from the sky.

"Aye, everything's in order," Olle chuckled, "let's go. We'll waste no time here."

They rode on until the shades of grey blended with a touch of brown.

The Inn

Olle led the horses to the stable at the back while Sal went into a modest Inn. At the door was the Innkeeper, an wrinkled, and white hair man in his loose brown jerkin, who greeted Sal with phrases that she had not heard of. He asked Sal to dip her boots into a clear puddle at the entrance to wash off the dirt, before leading her into the two-story structure. The first thing Sal noticed was how dirty the corner of the wall were, spiders and their webs hung comfortably in the dim candle light. The tables were empty, layered with a thin layer of white dust, and wooden buckets were placed at spots where rain drops had penetrated.

"Rooms for two, I reckon?" The Innkeeper said grimly, "for you and the other merchant?"

Sal shook her head, pulling hairs that were caught in her mouth. "We've not decided, let's talk about this later. Do you have boiled water?

The Innkeeper's face brightened up with delight. "Of course we do. Come, sit at that table next to the fire pit, and then we shall discuss about your dinner and beds," the old man went to the door, and took down a raincoat from the rack. With a bucket in hand he turned to Sal and said, "you just wait here miss, I'll fetch you the finest water from the Well of Lanecotton," and ran out into the rain.

Olle came into the room just seconds after the Innkeeper took his short left. She had the hat on her again. Sal could not remember seeing that hat after they had the little incident. "Did Bill say that he's going to fetch you the finest water from the Well of Lanecotton?" Olle pulled the chair near the fire place and sat down, unbuttoning her black coat.

"He did."

"What did you say you horse's name was again?"

"Saa, as in Saa the Haste-catcher, the great ancient archer's mount that had helped in rescuing one of the princess of Kutmon."

"That's a lovely name," Olle pulled her feet from the black boots and leaned them against the brick wall inverted, "I wish I have your wisdom in naming my horses. Most of the time I'll just give them name's that are weak, or poor. Like Ello, the dark ashes."

"How old are you, Olle?" If she had to guess, Olle would be in the age like her sisters. The way she talks about certain words, the way she articulate, the way her voice lifted. It reminded Sal of her sisters back home. She had not think of them since she had bid them farewell on the mountain top.

"What is it to you?" Olle said. She took off her black coat, and then twisted and squeezed it to get off the water into the nearest bucket.

The door closed noisily as Innkeeper Bill stripped off his rain coat, and walked toward them staggering in the weight of the water bucket. He set the pot over the red, burning wood logs, and poured water into the metal container. "Here we go. Don't drink until it boils," Innkeeper Bill stroke Olle's hair with his thick, rough fingers, and said, "send Master Benju my greetings."

Olle winked. "Sure. But first, we need to eat. What do you have today?"

The Innkeeper started on a short list of ingredients and the limited amount of dishes. Olle made the order and turned to Sal. "Do you want anything in particular?" Olle asked her.

Sal shook her head.

"And two empty tankard for the drinking water," Olle said.

"Be right with you, ladies," the Innkeeper went into the kitchen and the two of them could hear the metal wares clanking at times, as they sat looking into the dancing fire, and waiting for the water to boil.

"Almost forgot it again. I was meant to ask you about your purpose to the Lake," Olle's face lit up in the glowing radiance of the orange fire. "Why were you alone, wandering in the forest of Sefinmore? Don't you know it's a dangerous territory, you could have been captured by the Nighters."

"The Nighters?" Sal knew very little of the outside world, and her limited knowledge troubled her more often than she hoped to be.

"Have you not heard of them? Master Benju said they are the fearless bandits that ruled the Sefinmore, they will slash your throat and hang you upside down on a tree for the coins you carried. Master Benju said they can know how many coins you have just by smelling the air. That's why I only carry enough coins to travel with me," she showed Sal the rain-shrunken coin purse fastened at her waist.

Sal recalled a tale very similar to Olle's, only her people call these bandits Tiders, rather than Nighters. "Have you seen them before?"

"No. Fortunately. I don't want to be hang on a rope after I die, that's just tiresome."

Sal smiled on that. "I'm sure it is."

The two of them spoke merrily about other tales they have heard of, while Innkeeper Bill was dropping sweat in the iron-red kitchen.

Presently the table was wiped with a dirty cloth hung on Innkeeper Bill's waist, and then the dishes were placed, or rather, stacked into a small fountain; big, round containers with small proportion of food. And with a swipe on the match head, fire sparkles ignited the puddle of wax above the fire pit. The two guest of the inn awed in unison.

"Specially done for you, my good lady," the innkeeper bowed to their applause. His face lit up in pleasure, his eye shivering with tears. "It's been so long since I have a proper guest, please, enjoy your dinner."

"And while we are at it, don't you think you could also prepare a hot bath for the two of us?" Olle said, almost disrespectfully.

"For the two of you? I'm afraid I have only one good bathware left. The other one's been broken not long after the last time you left," the innkeeper told Olle.

"Then we'll bath together in the same tub," Olle turned and grinned at Sal, her lip crunched tight.

"If you so wish," Bill looked at Sal, "I hope this devil here doesn't trouble you too much, my lady," the innkeeper bowed once more, and was soon here kindling the logs in the room next to the kitchen.
Sal stayed in the dinning room to help the innkeeper with the dishes. Sweat ran down her cheeks, glinting and dancing in the warm, red light.

Olle had picked a two-bed room, again, for the both of them. The girl seemed to enjoy her company, Sal thought.

By the time Sal had done the dishes and bid good night to the old man on the counter, Bill said something to her that she could not understand. She could feel the gaze pinching at her back, but she didn't turn.

Olle had called no less than five times to bath.

Sal slowly pushed the door ajar and slipped into the bathroom and gently closed the door. Olle, sitting in the steaming pool, her hands lying on the thick rim of the heavy wooden tub, had her eyes shut. Sal took off her outer garments and then the inner ones. Her clothes felt slippery by touch as she threw them into the water bucket at the side, and knelt down. Her hands pressing on her clothes, soaking them in the water.

"Come and join me, Sal. This water is amazing," the girl called again.

Her legs first touched the lukewarm water, and then Sal suddenly found herself immersed in it. Sitting in the tub opposite to Olle, Sal could understand why the girl had been calling her. The water did feel amazing to her body, particularly when they had been exposed to rain that was as cold as any spring.

The water raised a bit and reached Olle's opening mouth. She swallowed a little and coughed a lot. Sal laughed, and the water rippled in her waves.

"What's so," the girl still coughing, "funny?"

"Nothing. It's just what you did there reminded me of my sisters?"

"Do they get choke on bath water like me?"

"They certainly do," Sal could not hide her smile from the girl.

They were looking each other, head to head. Their bodies below their chins are completely relaxing in the water's warmth.

"Can you wash me?" Olle asked.

"Yes," Sal said. "rub or touch?"

"A bit of both?" Olle said, "I don't remember how it feels like anymore," her thin blue iris trembled in memory.

"Come here," Sal said motherly, holding Olle's hand and sat her down on her naked back.

The smooth touches going in and out of water, like the drizzle that accompanied during the day, though warm. The boiled dew slipped away from Olle's baby skin, tumbling down to Sal's hands and she smoothed them up again. Olle stayed quiet, her moist lips breathed lightly, her shoulder relaxed. Sal cupped water in her palms and slowly, letting them flowing down between her fingers and dripping on to the girl's bare shoulder. The skinny shoulders, almost water-like, felt empty in Sal's wrist as she massaged them. Sweat formed on Olle's cheek, tickling her, and then she felt something warmer than the tub of water formed inside her chest. But it wasn't anything but Sal's hands, which pressed firmly at her heart, rubbing her chest. And Sal's hands continued downward, reaching Olle's thigh, and her knees, and Sal cleaned them, in her delicate movement.

"It is done," said Sal.

Olle, still enjoying the warm touches, said, "thank you. Have you washed any of your sisters?"

Sal gazed into the water at her wrinkled fingertips as if they were mystic worms sucking her bloods. "I do, occasionally and more than I wanted to. It's one of my everyday responsibility to make sure they are clean. I think it creates a greater bonds between us, because, you must have feel it, too, that feeling of intimacy through touches, it connects us and make us, feel for each other."

Olle, rolling a lock of her hairs in the water, saw dozen snakes whirling around her. "It just feels good, that's all."

"Yes. It also makes you womanly," said Sal, "Olle, can you wash me as well?"

Olle grimaced at her again, "I don't want to be a woman. I just want to be a girl, forever a girl."

"You will not ever be a girl, Olle. You will be a woman soon, and you will learn to be a woman."

Olle got up from the tub and hugged herself in a big brown robe, it didn't fit her, and she dragged it on floor all the way to their room.

Sal didn't stayed in tub for long. She braced her hair and combed it in a braid. The strain on her neck clung like a monstrous snake, but the soreness on her legs had dispersed in the warm tub. She left the water, shivering in the cooling steam, wrapped herself in the big brown robe and went to their room.

The door was opened ajar. Sal opened the door with a push as light as the soothing wind coming from the dark, opened window. Olle, laid naked on her bed with the robe on the floor. Her chest pumped softly, her breathing slow.

Sal closed the wooden door quietly behind her and went to Olle, she pulled the foamy bed sheet to cover Olle's cold skin. The candle flickered and went off in a warm gush of breath.

Next morning, the sky grey as yesterday, continued the ceaseless rainfall. The road, stayed impossibly intact as Sal and Olle rode on their wagon.

The day was not pleasant, so was the the following day and many days they sat under the wagon's roof. The rain teased them endlessly and the muddy, dirt road treated them with disgrace.

And finally on the day that they could not tell what time of the day it was because of the heavy rain, they arrived at the gate of the Ocean of Lake. However, the guard post was deserted, and their callings were left unanswered.

"Is this normal?" Sal asked on the wagon.

"No, I've never seen the post unattended," Olle hopped back onto her seat from the mud, "not even in the night when ravens don't fly," she leaned close to Sal, and whispered, "they'd never done that."

A cold stream, chiller than the rain rushed through Sal's back, rendering her numb and immobile. "Is there," she swallowed the damp air and swallowed the cold wind, "is there another way in?"

Olle grinned at her like a skilled thief in the trade, "do I know another way in?" she laughed, evil, echoed by the horses, "do I know another way in."

The Ocean of Lake

They stopped at the beginning of what looks like a tunnel, but it really shaped like a mole hole than a safe passage. The tunnel, unsupported by anything, loose mud dropping and exposed the equally unsecured edge.

"This is it?"

"Olle nodded, dragging Ello and Saa and walking up to the inclined entrance. "Just duck down and follow me," Olle tied the horses at a huge pine tree and went in first. Her heads slowly consumed by the darkness as if sucked into a void. But then she resurfaced and her face looked different to Sal, a combination of courageousness and fearfulness. "If you don't mind, I would like to have the light."

Sal passed the lamp to Olle and could smell the fragrance from the dirt. The scent was familiar. Sal closed her eyes, trying to remember what it was but the smell was erased by the horse's snort.

"Follow closely," said Olle, and held Sal's hand and they began to walk the shifting mud. They paused at certain spots, waiting for the mud to slide while standing on a concrete, solid platform. Their shadows, distorted on the red-brown wall, continued forward until they saw flames waving at the far side.

They came out of the ugly tunnel, and Sal felt heavy at heart. There wasn't a fire, or a torch, yet the flames she saw just then looked undoubtedly real.

"Those who sinned used to escape through this tunnel, but not many of them survived," Olle said, without looking back. Their hands still holding at each other. "You could, I think, step on those unlucky one's bones, but honestly I have never seen one here, let alone stepping onto one. So I guess that's a relieve."

"That's something you should have told me earlier."

"I told you now, didn't I," said the girl.

And on the other side of the tunnel, Sal saw that it was a place of abandoned houses and burned fire pit that carried no ashes, but a dark, scorched mark, which sparkled under the torch.

"Folks used to live here," said Olle. She went left, and immediately Sal noticed a faint sound of water. "Come, wash yourself. I don't want to left the horses outside for too long. There's many creatures roaming in the woods these days. Deadly creatures that devour even the toughest bones and thickest skins."

The cold water ran through the woods and came out of many tiny holes from the rock, which stood polished in the flickering light. Sal lay her hands in the slow stream and held a handful and spray them evenly on her hard boots. Olle, on the other stream exist, had her hands covering the holes, and releasing it just every so often to clean her own boots with pressurized water. Which, was better and faster than Sal's method.

"I'm going to take the lamp with me. You just sit on that log and wait for me. I don't want the horses to panic and ran away," Olle said, "not with my wagon full of merchandises."

"The least you could do is to lit a light for me. A small kindling would do," Sal said, sitting down on the log.

"It won't do. The logs here are too wet, and the leaves are too moist. Nothing will burn here."

"What about the branches? There's even a pit that someone used to burn their own fire."

"Don't even think of that," Olle said, "that pit's dead. No one has ever been able to light a fire there, it's a fool's trap, and a genius trick."

Sal frowned. "What's that suppose to mean?"

"Just sit here and wait for me. Don't move and you will be alright," with that, Olle was gone.

Sal sat alone on the log. Her fingers traced along the decaying, once huge tree trunk, and touched its wet surface that felt slimy. She rubbed it off on her coat and smelled its unpleasant, earthy scent. The night was quiet, without the ravine's cry or the insect's intense chirp. Everything just grew damp in the dark. The fog flushed in without warning, and formed into humanoid, they talked to each other in otherworldly languages and gestured to the clouded sky. And soon every spirited entity had their misty fingers pointing at the same direction. Sal's eye followed them, and there on the sky, a fallen star slashed through the thick, grey cotton and disappeared not so far away with a sonic explosion.

Rain came again. By the time Olle returned from nowhere with the horses in her guidance, the rain had stopped.

"Did you saw that bright light, and hear that loud boom?" Sal asked, her hair dripping water.

"That's what I was going to ask you. Did you see where it has landed?" Olle said, "Nevermind, I think I know where it is. A slight change of plan, we are going there first," the girl grinned, "I'm going to be rich if I can salvage something from it this time."

"This time?" Sal frowned, "spectacle like this has happened before?"

"Why, you must have been living under a rock all this time. Have you not been a witness to such an anomaly?"

"I think not. Is it dangerous? I have heard tales that such light could consume all life around it," Sal said.

"No, no danger at all. We will be safe as a bell if one doesn't ring," Olle said, "get in, we have to beat everyone to the site."

Sal hopped on reluctantly. She began to imagine how they would fall into the light and disappear without a moment of pain. The thought made her legs tremble, and her hands twitch. Olle, the girl, who sat next to her, driving the horses to a destination unknown to the both of them, displayed a fleeing glee in her blinking eyes.

"I wonder if we are going on the right track? Do you know where it is, a rough estimate is better than running around unrewarded," Olle asked, "I'm not saying we are not heading in the right direction though. We are perfectly on track to the source of that superficial light."

Sal swallowed the question and her stomach turned upside down. "I think if we going slightly to the right," her inner compass guided her finger to a single point, and Olle adjusted the rope on the horses to steer through the night woods, "a little bitter to the left. More. More. Okay, stay on this course." The white spirited one rode on the horse back. They turned to look Sal in the eyes and evaporated, dispersed into the dark, and didn't return until their arrival at the crash site.

The Site

The cloud, although thick as a cotton overcoat folded thrice, could not isolate the offensive light coming from above them. The day started earlier than Sal remember when she woke up from her catnap. Her neck, hard and flat, bent with a crackling sound.

Sal immediately thought of checking on Olle, whom had a smile spread broadly across her frozen, red cheeks. "We're almost there. I could smell that roasted scent, almost as if people were having a feast here that lasted all night."

"It smelled more like the rocky flavor when two stones were put to crash at each other," Sal said. Her lips weren't dry, it fascinated her. How long had she not replenished her throat with water. "I see many thin tails of smokes up front."

"Indeed, the grey snakes are ascending," Olle said, "I wonder if someone had beat us to it. I do not wish to share this light with anyone, except you of course," Olle fastened her strikes on the horses, and Sal could hear Saa cried for mercy.

"What are we going to find, in the light?" Sal asked. She had been avoiding, even gagging herself for asking the question, because she was afraid that once she had learned the truth of the light, she would have to depart from the wagon with Saa and travel blindly to the Ocean of Lake alone.

"The light would set you free," Old Mrs. Rouz told the children sitting under the tree. "It would devour everything it touches, and consume other lights that's on its way. The light is not sacred at all, the light is the origin of sin. It came from the sky because it was channeled by the people who sinned the most. It is the sign to retreat. That's also one of the reason why we had been living in Bakerville for as long as we could. And those who dare to reach for the light, shall be burned and never be whole again. Beware, children, always follow the white spirit. May the root guide you."

"The root," Sal said abruptly in the silence morning air. The words came out louder than she had anticipated.

"May they guide you," Olle added.

"You have heard of this saying?"

"Oh yeah. The folks always say it when I'm not around, or at least they thought I wasn't. I think it's some kind of secret code for an underground organization. Why else would people speak of such nonsense like it's a kind of formality, such as Good Morning, Thank You, Bless You, Good Day? I'll never understand the old people's mentality. They're so difficult to read."

"Are you suggesting that the saying is, in fact, something completely different than what I've thought about?" Sal gasped, and clung to the girl's wrist. "Olle, we might be onto something."

"Well, hold on, big sister, because I'm making no sense of what you are talking about. What exactly are you saying we are getting ourselves into? My mind's only on the fallen light, and that's where we are laying our hands from now on until our fingernails are loaded with dirt."

"Yes, but," Sal said, "look out!"

The horses planted their iron feet deep into the dirt and stopped the spinning wheel. The wagon, lifted into the air for a split second, settled at the edge of what seemed to a giant pitfall. Smoke risen in armies of thousand surrounded them, choking and blinding them with a rancid smell, that squeezed the nose and pinched the eyes.

Olle, coughing, "looks like we are here. It seemed so distant just then," the girl spit, "this is even worse than the last one. The smell of it," Olle shivered from head to toe, despite the heat. "This place is ruined, same as the other one."

Sal covered her face with her woolen shirt and hopped off the wagon, walking in the opposite direction.

"Sal, where are you going?"

"I can't take it," she shouted, "it's too strong," tears ran down her swollen eyes, making the image in front of her fuzzy, "I can't breath," she told herself, "I'm suffocating," the grip on her throat tightened.

"Here," Olle ran up to her and fed her spring from the waterskin, even though she had only a drop on her yellowing tongue. "Drink some more. Here, take it."

"I can't," Sal panted, and arched down, her hands on her knees, "I can't drink anymore," and her body hit the ground. There was no sound, she was very light, as light as a fairy is believed to be. "Carry me away. Guide me," Sal said, eyes fluttering.

"Hey!" Olle landed a slap on Sal so hard the girl immediately regretted it.

A bright red palm mark surfaced clearly on Sal's left cheek. It burned and itched, felt like a tomato was growing right out of her face. "It hurts."

"Well," Olle looking away, her face flushed "of course it hurts. It's a slap."

Sal smiled at Olle and hugged her on the ground, "I thought I was going to die."

"Nobody's dying today. All that needed to die died yesterday. Today, we live and thrive. And we're going to live by start digging this light. So, come on up, because I'm not leaving you behind to slack off in the shade of the trees."

Sal stood up and drank a mouthful. "How are we going to get through this smoke?"

"We improvise," Olle said.

The Light

Getting to the bottom was not as hard as Sal had thought. When she stood at the edge of the inverted dome, all she could think of was how the two of them would go tumble and roll until they have snapped their spins or broken their necks. It didn't happen, though Sal herself may have slipped once or twice on the black dust that rolled like regular sands. The misleading smog had removed itself from their presences, tails of snake now danced above them, in midair, and the stream didn't ease with the lack of a visible source.

Both of them, dressed in the queer, improvised helmet made from the secondary supply crate that Olle kept above the wagon's load, sealed their lips as soon as they heard a wailing from nothing. The direction of this mysterious sound could not be determined.

Olle retreated from the lead and came back holding Sal's arm with both of her muddy hands.

"That sound, it's very familiar. Olle, you heard that, too, right?"

"It's probably nothing," Olle's short fingernails pinched Sal, "perhaps it's just a raven."

"A raven could cry loud enough to startle you, but it doesn't chill and froze you. There's something out there, and we must hurry."

Their suckling footsteps, difficult in the mud, approached a rock in the size of at least five people combined.

"This is where all the smoke is coming from," Olle said, "they come off like a stream. Look at this. Can you believe what we are seeing right now. A rock that provides an endless stream of smoke. Somebody might pay for it handsomely," from her pocket, Olle took a small pickax and started clicking the surface of the rock lightly, while listening to the sound of a crisp clank. "Here," Olle handed Sal another small pickax, "help me with this thing so we can leave."

Sal blew at the smoke, and started poking around. The tip of the pickax bounced back and forth on the rock as the two of them walked in circle, going up and down, leaving not an surface unchecked. Finally, the sound of a hollow core chipped. Olle gave it a beating and knocked on it senselessly. Sal came around and helped, puncturing the points where Olle made markings with the metallic tool.

It didn't take long for a thin slice of rock plate to fell into the hand of the merchant girl. Olle cracked a smile. "Well, well, well. It's about time for this little thing to come off," the slice stayed light in her hand and stopped creating smoke. "No, no, no, no! This isn't suppose to happen," and quickly the rock turned into free-flowing sand, and slipped through her fingers and onto the ground. Whereas the rock besides them evaporated the same way smoke naturally did, and all the snakes above them had disappeared, as if by some kind of...

"Magic. This is pure magic."

Ice on the Sidewalk

Whoever left that shoe box sized ice cube on the middle of the street, must have known that people passing by would be glancing at it, and suddenly felt the coolness emitting from the inside of that melting crystal. That pool of water gathering around the ice cube, that was the best testimony of how hot the day was, and what people felt like when walking down the streets.

"Seriously, I'd not anticipated anything from such a simple and boring thing," that old man said, his short silver hair glittering, and so was the sweat dripping down on his forehead.

"I thought it was pretty cool," Tyler said, moving the basketball around his waist, "literally."

"Where'd you get that chunk of ice, Mr. Simon, if you don't mind us asking?" Jacky stretched the black sweatband on his left arm and used it to absorb the sweat gathering around his neck. The sweatband was too wet and couldn't do its job, and it smelled dirty.

The old man, Mr. Simon, sitting on a chair next to the top opening freezer, slid aside the pane of glass and dipped his hand into the cold current. He lifted a bottle of water and gave it to Jacky, his hand slightly trembling. "The thing is that I don't quite remember," his voice weak with sour, "let me think." He took out another bottle and gave it to Tyler, and then his hand returned to the freezer, uncertain about the ice. He closed the freezer. "I made it myself, of course, why wouldn't I."

"How?" Tyler closed the lid on his bottle, which he had only took a sip to moist his fat lips and warm throat.

"And more importantly, why?" Jacky asked, looking at the ice on the street, melting under the strong sunlight. He gave Tyler his water bottle and walked outside, and stripped off his sweatband and squeezed it dry. His sweat, accumulated over the day, went splashing to the ground. Steamy white vapors were visible for a few seconds.

"Men, I could smell your stink over here, what're you doing that for?" Tyler yelled.

Jacky walked back into the shop, standing next to Mr. Simon. "Gotta do that sometime anyway."

"As I was saying," Mr. Simon continued, "I was washing the freezer yesterday night. And poor me, I have not even a mind to remember draining the water after I'd finished cleaning it. I just flipped the switch, and like anyone would expect, the water had turned to ice when I got up this morning," Mr. Simon chuckled, his drooping, wrinkled neck moved in waves. "So by the time I realized there was an ice block in my freezer, I went over to Larry's place and paid him five bucks just to come over and dig the ice out."

"So, you did pay Larry five bucks, huh?" Tyler wriggled his brows at Jacky, "alright."

Jacky reached inside his back pocket and took out a crumbled five dollar bill. It was wet. He gave it to Tyler, but not look at him. He couldn't stand looking at Tyler's fat lips cracking up into a wide smile.

"Sure, a man should always be compensated for his work. Anyway, after Larry had dug that ice out, we could not find a place to throw it away, so I thought I would just let the ice melt on the street and then that would be it. I didn't know it would take so long for it to melt," Mr. Simon said.

"How big was the ice?" Tyler asked. His fat lips didn't make him smarter than normal people.

"As big as this freezer," Jacky said.

The Cargo Port

The night air smiled of burning torches covered under a wet blanket, there was also the stench of fish and clam. And far from the shore was the sound of the seagull, crying for its midnight snacks. It certainly felt like that when there was a mist that had hindered lights from the lamps, and invaded the small cargo port, causing a sudden decease in visibility. The shoreline, paved with shiny cobble stone, shone with the radiance of the moon, was uncomfortably bright. The star above hadn't matured, it was a bitten cookies at best.

The light tower swept its strong undulated beam in the mist. It didn't shy from the dense white vapors, and went against it instead.

This cargo port was originally built in the 80s by the English for shipping herbs and hemp, it had that scent remained in its surrounding as people kept rebuilding with its earlier style in mind, partly to preserve such a lovely, rustic place, partly to go along with people's craving--the oldies that play tricks on memory. A place that could lure someone to recall or remember the past is a place of commercial value, and it remained true even to the end of the time.

And the first person who spotted this opportunity after the cargo port was abandoned in the late 90s because of the financial crisis's ripple effect, was Mr. Carlos Goodwin from the Far South. He had served as a sailor on many cargo ships and visited this cargo port for many times, but each and every time he came running down the ship, this little stretch of place always reminded him of an age of something greater. Maybe it was because of the books he read when growing up, or rather, his father had read to him when he was younger. There were books that were mostly fictional but had captured the heart of the old English. In those books, these port, some built along the shoreline, some set aside in a wide stream that lead into the ocean, had exactly what this tiny cargo port carried.

The barrels, the thick ropes, the oil lamps, the torches, and the wet cobble stone pavement.

It lacked something when Mr. Goodwin brought the land. Something that's so magical it would change the world. Beer, of course it would be beer. A pub at the port, a place for those filthy sailor to cramp together and spread out that familiar stench under the deck.

For half a year, the cargo port had transformed from an abandoned site to a holiday attraction for family and friends. Mr. Goodwin hired full-time performers that basically dressed in the costume of the old time sailor, and leashed a dozen shop to pub owners, new or old, to operate under his property.

Soon, everybody knew of the place, a place simply knew as the Cargo Port.

The Basic

I turned around from the bar and caught a glimpse of you. You were sitting next to the captain beside the pool, your hair orange red under the sun. The two of you were talking in the wind. I could not make out a word but the waves that were racing the cruiser.

The deck was wet from the morning swimmer. I finished my drink and ordered two more, for you and the captain. I knew I shouldn't be drinking that early in the day, I had promised you, but I just couldn't watch the good wine turn to waste in those Russian's stomach.

On my left, your favorite cocktail, on my right, the captain's water. I tilted my sailor hat at the bartender and gave her a tip. She carried a smile with a mild dimple like you, very lovely.

I got up from my seat and straightened my back, but the world turned dark on me. I closed my eyes and tasted salt, but not the fruity flavors from the wine. Ah, I had been leaning on the marble bar table for coolness, and now my bone's stiff. I should blame myself for not putting down that book last night when you begged me to. How did I not understand your concern about me?

The polished wooden floor felt warm under my bare feet. I trod lightly on the wet surface, and walked briskly on the dry, alternating my pace. You are just the pool's width away, and I did not look at you but at the bodies of the swimmers. Among them were children of different ages, their skins still burning red from yesterday's sun. Floating in the pool, treading water beside them, were their parents, mostly womanly, or rather, motherly figures that had scored a balance between healthy and attractive. My eyes were on those, even though my mind was on you.

For whatever stupidity that was still haunting me from the shore, just as I was closing in, I almost flipped backward as I stepped on a toy, a yellow, plastic duck on the floor. I flapped my hands and regained balance, but the drinks took a beating. I could only tell that no one was watching, or even realize where the contents of my glasses had went. A small amount of colored liquid into a pool of water, no problem.

You smiled when you saw me. You introduced me to the captain and we shook hands. You told him to stay when he politely excused himself. I intervened and told you that the captain had works to do, and your lips were angry. The captain stepped forward and hugged you and kissed you on the hand and say his goodbye and went away. You didn't say goodbye. You were looking everywhere, including the back of the captain, but me.

I held your hand, and we went to the bow to reenact the scene of the Titanic.

Internal Storage Unit

Clock in, clock out. The horde of people chained in cyberspace formed an intangible barrier. Their digital records transferred between molecules cry out for salvation. And their bones crackled in sweat.

Just like everybody else, Jearom Benn practised the way of the cyber. She put her body on lease to Reve Rent three months ago. Not because she needed the credit to appear in her bank account, but for various of reasons that had been buried inside the Non Disclosure Agreement. The moment she had been cybered, as people in her generation say, she was still wondering how her body would react to the foreign data.

It is an undeniable fact that people who rented their bodies to Reve Rent or other cyberspace storage companies, are legally binded to a contract that forbade them freedom to roam in the society. They would have zero access to outside interaction besides with those who were in the same data center facility.

Benn, at her late twenties, had done a dozen jobs and changed her name more than twice. She was eventually tired of evading the the loan sharks after all these loveless years, and decided to hide behind the protection of the data giants.

Reve Rent was the first one that came into her mind. Thanks to the subconscious bombing advertisements and jingles and slogans, Reve Rent had quickly rose from a worthless startup in Nevada to the tech giant located in the thousand acres wonderland of New Mexico, where the sun provided heat energy to its uncountable data center.

The day Benn reported into one of the data center, she was minutely given a set of employee clothing and an injection that soon rendered her operationable. By operationable, it meant she, or rather, her body, has been used as a vessel to carry loads of data from around the world.

If she hadn't thought better, she would think that the area she was allowed to roam was actually quick comfortable and large, about the size of the Central Park with people like her, who had lost control over their freedom but to work day and night in the limited area.

Starting from day one, Benn was assigned the duty to mop the floor with the team A, which at that moment consisted of a group of ten people. Group leader Judy Federals didn't like her at first sight and shoved her away to mop the toilet.

In some sense, Benn was living in a prison without committing a crime but serving the world with her body. The technology that enables people disabled her, but she would gladly accept the work if she was given the chance again. She was making money, minimum pay by doing nothing soul-crashing. She'd waitressed, she'd saloned, she'd even chiefed in a remote diner where customers ate worms and crickets.

She paused on the way to the toilet and looked at the crowd. It wouldn't be odd at all for her to think that everyone around her worked like ants. They were contributing to a central ideas by interacting within a designated area, it wasn't magic at all how the technology worked. It was a thing nature had been doing for thousand and thousand of years, only human didn't harness that knowledge until fairly recently compared to the age of the earth.

Someone grabbed her hair by the root, and pulled hard. Benn cried and felt a hand covering her mouth.

"Now, now, didn't I tell you to mop the toilet?" It was Judy Federals.

"I'm going there," Benn said.

Federals let go of her and slapped her back.

"Aw."

"Don't let me caught you slacking," Federals turned her back and walked off.

Benn didn't understand why Federals hit her on the back. She didn't understand why would the old people hit someone just to make a point. For her, she would just keep her distance and talk until whoever she was talking understand what point she was making, because physical contact was unnecessary and obsolete. She didn't like someone touching her, not even loved one or family members.

Three months in, Judy Federals was removed from the squad without notice, the old lady simply vanished. Benn hadn't seen a shadow of her, nor did anybody. Benn herself had been relocated to a new group, which was responsible for clothes and bed sheet cleaning. It was tedious work, and at the end of the week, she simply flexed her arms and could see the muscles building up. The facility's protocol clearly advise everyone to grow up in size, and Benn figured they must have slipped something in the drinks and foods, besides asking everyone to work progressively toward labor-intensive tasks, to strengthen their bodies.

Last year alone, Reve Rent made up a total of 87% of gross income in the state of New Mexico, it was like the most profitable alternative data farming company in the states. So Benn rationalized that if they were earning that much money, they must be willing to invest in their own labor in order to gain more from the profit margin.

Day in, day out. Benn began to drink less and eat little. She had completely lost her appetite a week shy of five month's working. She looked into the mirror and saw herself, pale but stocky.

Reve Rent suspended her contract when they sent her to the medical unit. Meanwhile, the loan sharks had discovered her location through a leaked employee directory of Reve Rent online.

Unsettled

Not everyone has a heart for charity, and one would certainly find that this is especially true for Jared. For he is the typical homeless person you do not see but know that he has his presence in your surrounding.

He dresses in untidy, unconventional clothing, and has long, tangled hair with hidden treasures embedded inside. He does not look at you when he speaks to you, but his hands would always be moving around your pocket. He is no thief by any tradition, because he steals none of your money but your sympathy. It is totally up to you to decide whether or not to give them what they have been asking for, or just give them a shrug and hasten away from their foul body smile.

Jared is aware of his condition, though he could not do anything about it. You don't have to tell him that he smells like the sewer, or that he looks terrible. No, he knows better than you. The most important thing for him at a daily basis, is that he survives another day. Living under the highway bridge, the back alley, the bench at parks, the street, in front of a closed bar. You name it, he have done it. What unstable living environment taught him is that he knows the boundary. He does not dread on a place if he is not welcome there. Well, sometimes Winters hit hard or a torrent of wind poured down at midnight, he would have to break the boundary and find a place to settle for a short period. In fact, he knows where he's been blacklisted and where he's been allowed to stay on a burning wire-once the spark reach the end, he would have to go. Not a shred of tear would drop, not a moment of reconsideration.

What makes him special is that he lives in a different group. Jared maintained his livelihood a bit different from us. He has got no jobs that earns him a stable residence or regular meal, he has got no personal possession other than those he gathered from the path he crossed since he has started living off from the street. While he doesn't need anything, or anyone, he does have a heart for scold.

How many time do you not hear Jared cursing, or other times, singing off his sorrow, on the street? Alas, this is the way he knows how to express himself, his discontent, his anger, his bitterness.

A child ran toward Jared with a charity box carried around her neck. "Would you like donate some money to help our charity work for the homeless people? Just chip in a little would be a big help, mister."

Jared peered inside the box of money, his eyes fluttering, his cheek shivered. "Why don't you give me the box there and help the homeless right now? Easy, and direct."

The child held the box and looked into it. Then she raised her head with an innocent look, her cheeks pink as roses. "Alright mister, you can have it."

With a soft pop, the child opened the box, and Jared held his hands in midair, formed a cup, and heard the coins clinking against each other, felt the texture of paper money pressed against his palm. His eye shone with hope.

"That's all. What are you going to do with it?" the child asked, her hands at her back, her body twisting around slightly like she is asking her mother for a new boyfriend.

"I'm going to spend like I know how," replied the homeless, unkempt, illicit Jared, "I'm going to buy all the cheap liquor this money can buy and have a fantastic night."

"Don't you want to buy new clothes?" the girl pointed her tiny finger at him, "you could really use a new pair of trouser and a new shirt."

Jared checked his shirt and jean, swiping his hands over his body. "They look fine to me, girl. But if you are buying, that's a totally different story," Jared keeps an eye out for an adult who might be this girl's legal guardian. "Say, you don't happen to have some money on you?"

"I haven't got any, mister. But I do have candies in my pocket. Would you like one? Mom said we were suppose to share the sweet with others."

"Do you see my tooth here?" Jared crouched down with his left hand pressing on the floor, his head leveled with the girl. "Are you see this? This is what eating candies did to me. Do you want to be like this?" Jared put his little finger through the crack of his lost tooth and filled it up.

The little girl let out a shriek and runs away.

Jared, what have you done, again?

River of Happiness

#478966191 / gettyimages.com

By the look of his flimsy eyes, he was ready to go again. Old James gathered his items scattered on the flat rock's surface, and without organizing them, threw them all into his sack with a casual flip of the arm, one after one.

The smoke of his fire had completely gone with the wind when he stepped out of the magic circle. What was before him, he couldn't imagine. He only knew that if he did not arrive at the castle before the Night of the Gale, his only daughter, Sapphire, would be sold to the Empire of the One, or better known as the pirates.

Jumping off the big rock, which had been exposed to the blessing of the moon and the sweetness of the dew, Old James began to count his steps while drawing a crude map of his trails. This could possibly be an important document to the villagers back at Little Rock's Fall because the people there had not yet treaded on the road to the Castle of Gazmore.

The forest surrounding him now, The Dark Beum, also known as the forbidden soil from the bed time stories, had a shadowy presence. Either the giant trees and mosses engulfed the light, creating a darker shades of the path and emanating a sad, dreary smell into the air. Old James watched his steps as he climbed over a small hill.

But he quickly felt uncertain as where he was heading, and had soon lost all sense of direction when he stole a breath from the immediate air and quietly swallowed it. There was no bird or any kind of insect producing noises of the summer, though he could hear faintly the sound of running water. The water supply he carried in his sack could last for three more days, maybe five. Old James thought better of it and went searching for the source of running water. He believed it could lessen the water supply people would have to carry if they ever decided to cross this land after his return.

A cross was drew on the map, an approximate location of where he was. Old James then carefully put his heavily inked feather tips an inch away from the map as he trotted toward the water. He thought it would be a river, possibly with a shallow pond that would allow him to gather fresh water.

The splashing. Old James laughed at the sound of it and hastened forward. His feather was hovering steadily over the sheet of map, dotting at interval to indicate the trail he took simultaneously. Closer, closer, he could saw the waterfall. He was ever closer to the water when suddenly he slipped over an wet cobblestone and took a plunge down into the pool below.

His hands patting water, his legs running air. Old James got himself to the surface with a mouthful of fresh water. It was sweet as the meat from the Farland and pure as the lambs from the Lamberson's farm.

Old James swimmed to the river bank, a mere hand's distance. He could not even touch the stones until he reached for it. There was nothing but water between him and the land. Old James got curious and dived a little bit underwater to see how deep the pond of water gathered, but he could not see the depth of it except for the twinkling, shining reflection of the sun.

Finally he went ashore, left his wrinkled legs soaked in the young water. So much as he worried, he found his sack not in the water, but by some ill luck, hung onto the wild, spikeless vines at the edge where he fell.

He went around the water to find a path to his previous misshapen location but spotted none that wouldn't render a body full of sweat or require a body full of inexhaustible strength. At last, he chose the steep run of the hill, and slowly he went climbing to his sack.

To Be Continued (If I Ever)

REFLECTION

LACK OF DESCRIPTION OF THE ENVIRONMENT IN DEPTH

LACK OF CHARACTER DETAILS

REPETITION, SUCH AS THE PARAGRAPHS THAT MENTIONED ABOUT WATER

SENTENCE TOO LONG, CUT IT SHORT, DUDE

A LOT OF NAME DOESN'T MAKE SENSE, DON'T START OFF CREATING YOUR OWN WORLD IF YOU DON'T KNOW THEIR PLACE IN THE STORY

WHY SHOULD I CARE ABOUT OLD JAMES? HIS DAUGHTER SEXY OR SOMETHING?

SCENE TRANSIT TOO QUICKLY, LIKE HOW OLD JAMES PLUNGED INTO A POOL, SO PLEASE AVOID USING THE WORD 'SUDDENLY' AS IT TEND TO ESCALATE THINGS IN A UNSURPRISING WAY, MOSTLY BECAUSE THE WORD 'SUDDENLY' HAS ALREADY GAVE AWAY THE INTENDED SURPRISE, INSTEAD, TRY TO ILLUSTRATE HOW OLD JAMES GOT THERE, WHAT MAKES HIM SO CLUMSY, AND WHY COULDN'T HE PREVENT HIMSELF FROM FALLING, MAYBE HIS EMOTION?

WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY FLIMSY EYES, SILLY?

FINISH WHAT YOU HAVE STARTED, DUMB DUMB

Longing to Be Here

The Sun above, embraced by masses as we now called cloud, was still teasing Fanny. As she stepped onto the sandy beach, after descending from a long and steep staircase in the chilling shades of mountainous trees, she raised her hands and hovered about her forehead, and said to Danny, "why baby, it's so hot out there. Would we rather not stay inside our hotel room and enjoy our bath in their beautiful pool. I reckon you like that pool just as much as mama do, do you?"

"Of course, of course. I would rather share a warm bath with you in that gigantic hot tub in enormous proportion, than standing here and taste my sweat. But baby, it's not so bad. I just want you to enjoy the sun as we did when we first met. The good old jolly time, remember?"

"Yes, I do, baby. Yes. Why, you must have guessed that I've all forgot about it. No baby, it ain't so," Fanny tilted her head forward and took Danny's hand, "I reckon we would be all jolly and burn after this."

"Not so, not quite so. I've brought this sun cream with me that it will ever, ever work so fine," Danny said and produced the "Sun Scream" from his bag.

"Is it not the one we used last time we were sun bathing?" Fanny asked. Her prints on the hot sand was small as she tiptoes around, with her arms hanging around Danny's neck. She was laughing and he was trying to lift her into his arms. "Hold it, you haven't answered my question yet, mister."

Danny put her down ever so gently. "Why does it matter?"

"Do you not have remember what happened last time I rubbed that on your back?"

Danny shook his head ever so slightly as though a little bit more movement would kill him in an instant. "What exactly happened, baby. Don't scare me, tell me."

Fanny turned to look back where they were coming from, the steep staircase seemed even scarier in the hot shore wind that blew at the trees. "Have you not notice what you back looked like when we went home that night?"

"Not a thing. Honest," he lay the blanket on the sand under the darker shades of a frail tree, and invited Fanny to sit down. "How could I. I was drunk all the way home, wasn't I? And I was sick and vomiting for the next few days as well. Is that what it is? Do you think this sun cream here has something to do with my condition?"

"No, baby. Why would you think that?" Fanny said, and mumbled, "I thought you knew."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Why, the ocean view is ever so refreshing."

"Does it now? Beer?"

Fanny waved no and set her head on her man's shoulder. "I wish we were out there in a boat. Just you and me, travelling around the world. Just in a boat."

The beer was in his system. "Your wish would come true if you slept on it."

"Don't be ridiculous. What kind of a wish is that if I slept on it."

"A dream," Danny chuckled.

The two burst into laughter. Others glanced at them, thinking them silly couple must be nuts to be sitting next to that frail tree.

"Would you be back soon?" Fanny said, lying ever more closely to Danny, into his bare chest which wasn't sweating.

"What do you mean?"

"Could you not get upset by the officers and that they kick you out for bad behavior?"

"And why would I do that, baby?" Danny sat straight, leaving Fanny sleeping on his legs, looking at the golden horizon.

"Because you need to be with your family?"

"Yeah. My wife's so important that I can't live a day without her."

Fanny pinched him on the knee.

"You now that doesn't hurt a bit, right?"

Fanny pinched again, only lighter.

Danny stroke her hair ever so slightly like the cool breeze.

REFLECTION

INCONSISTENT, DIALOGUE STYLE
PLAIN, DESCRIPTION
UNNECESSARY, FANCY WORDS
BOUNCING, TRANSITION
LONG, UNFOCUSED SENTENCES
INFLUENCE BY WHAT WAS READ RECENTLY, MARK TWAIN
CHEAP, UNRELATABLE CHARACTERS
FORGETTABLE, UNPOLISHED SETTINGS
UNDEFINED, PERIOD
REPEATING, UNINTERESTING, UNCREATIVE, LACK OF, MOVEMENT WORDS

Unanimous Decision

The girl walked toward the double door guarded by an African-American woman. The woman turned and glanced at her when they were standing shoulder to shoulder. The girl, wearing a white, thin T-shirt and jean bummed fist with the women and went in to the dark passage.

Through the second door, music and drinks welcomed her. A two men band played soft lounge on stage at the right, and only a skeleton was running the circular bar table. The girl sat down on the bar table closest to the door she just came in and ordered a chill lemon water with a piece of fresh mint. The bartender nodded ever so slightly and went fetching her the fresh mint.

The light dimmed down as the groovy music turned into a slow jam with the audience. The girl couldn't bear just sitting there waiting for her lemon water. She was sure what was her's would eventually arrive, but she also had a feeling that she would have to wait for an awfully long time. She looked around, finding something to remind her of this place's past. Memory didn't come easily. Not for her.

Years ago, this place, this club, was where she had the proudest moment of her life. Once a professional wrestler, she scored hits and kicks on girls in her weight class. It was not easy then. The trainer she had was tough on her, and her father, her only family had went into rehab because of his long-standing drinking abuse.

Basically, she fought for herself for that period of time. It was a hell of exercise to control her rage and all that anger. The hitting and kicking didn't do the trick to relive her suppressed emotions, but the cheers under the stage.

That guard out there, she was once the girl's toughest opponent. She didn't break no matter how many hard blow the girl gave her at face value, and she didn't react well to take down either. These matter nothing to them as the fight club closed down, and subsequently they were out of the wrestling life.

The girl was standing by the stage, listening to the music. This was her stage, a box that locked her and her opponent, causing them to fight at the beginning and hug at the end. She loved every single second that had eclipsed, but they were the memories she could not recall in the spark of the match. Too many hit on the head.

She was famous back then, back when folks would come down from around the country to see her wrestle. It was never her attention to top the rank in the female group, but she did it anyway. And when she ate defeat in the face or the leg, she was never sad.

People remember her by her smile and her craze. She looked good on camera. Short blond hair and lovely blue eyes, white complexion with a bit of tanned skin. People loved taking photo with her, and she loved her fans. She was the star to them in million ways, and she responded to the their support in showmanship.

The fights had never been dull for the girl. She was strong, stronger than anyone in her weight class. She could take down anyone she like if she wanted to. She never abuse her natural strength though, mostly because her stamina could not keep up with her energy spending.

She used to jump around a lot, walking the walks, moving the moves. Her fists followed where her eyes went, and that led her to many sorrow matches where she suffered more than a hooked trout.

The crowd slowly went away. The music was over and her lemon water with fresh mint hadn't arrived yet. The girl sat under the spotlight and closed her eyes. She could hear the cheers and the roars and the announcers voice, as if she was fighting again. The announcer was about to read out the judge's unanimous decision, and then, snap, the guard snapped her fingers at her ears and startled her. It was gone, everything she had known was no longer there.

Chase

Running while dodging pulse rays and stunt bullets from behind, Sunja Meris jumped and leaped over a rough cement barricade, and landed hard on the damp grass sliding down a steep slope as though she had broken into an amusement park. The slide carried her to the Falcon Bay Water Way, which was still in construction, had provided little friction between her oversize raincoat and the slippery surface. Muzzle flashes flickered after her, but none of the shots had scored a hit.

Meris, laying flat on the lawn, with her eyes on the clinical exit, had steered away from the course, and managed to grab onto an exposed iron rod at the last second, as she flinched at the thought of launching into the muddy water without the swimming goggles. Now she was hanging inside a framework of metals, the city's most ambitious construction project.

She looked down. The hallow vertical drop lined up with the ground, not the water, at about three floors high, could easily cripple her, or worse.

Quarter drones whirled overhead, beaming search light into the water way, probing into the shallow bank. One of them was heading toward her direction.

Meris, groaning, clung onto the iron rod with the help of her synthetic arms, and in a mighty mechanical force she had swung forward following the light of the drone. The whole network of metals creaked under her swinging, but they stayed firm and absorbed her momentum as she performed an impossible 180 degree upper turn and landed on the thin rod. However, she wasn't able to stop and catch her breath. The drones had pinpointed her location from the noise she made. They were closing in, flooding blue and red siren lights into the water way, creating a false sense of urgency. Whoever was controlling these, had an intention to push Meris over the edge of the destruction, but not to bring her into justice. Dozens of energy waves coming from the pursuer shot past her as she trot around while maintaining her balance.

None of these would happen if she wasn't flagged down for a full body check by two weird-looking male police officers. Sunja Meris would not have committed a single crime before this. She only came out to enjoy walking under the evening drizzle. When did walking in the rain became a matter subject to suspicion of criminal activities?

Summer is My Business & Other Unrelated Stuff

Have you ever felt like the Winter's too long and the Summer's too short? Are you like me who hate the both the cold and the hot but enjoy the nature? And why is that?

Do we despise the four seasons from our own experience, or do we prejudice against them in flavor of the Autumn?

How could people not sweat in such a hot day under the direct sunlight? Look at me, I am already sweating. My forehead, my nose, the skins that wrapped around my mouth, my chest, my back, my feet, they are all wet and stuff. How could you not sweat? Why am I sweating so much? So much so, I did less but received more. If it was only true and applied to my whole life.

Don't tell me you don't hate Summer, that you embrace its heat and the clear blue sky, or enjoy bathing under its unforgiving and scorching light. I don't believe that to be true, and even if it is, I won't accept it.

Suppose there's a place with four seasons that's as pleasant as Autumn. Forever Autumn. Only the Autumn winds and rains and lights. Why is that Autumn is always associated with death, and that Summer and Spring are related to energetic, lively, birthing events? Autumn is a nice season, everyone knows that. The fact that some trees are dying at that season doesn't mean the road is going to end. There's always a new beginning after Winter as well.

It is unfair for Autumn to stuck between Winter and Spring. Autumn is a place to rest, to prepare, to welcome the next Spring and Summer. We can't keep going forever, nothing ever is. You will need to replenish your strength and stamina before giving whatever it is another go(al), be it life (or soccer). The sun will explode someday, the moon will eventually enter a collision course with our Earth. ~~And Aliens will finally visit us.~~

Maybe it's too easy to get lazy. We're the hyper sensitive generation now, everything is our responsibility, everything is our primary concern. The fact that we lack a mutual focus on one thing at a time, because we think we can multitask ~~and man this shit and that shit~~ is what an irresponsible approach to anything. We take it just serious enough to create chaos out of order.

We probably have a crave for everything, that's what we are and we can't dream of change it because we don't know what the side effect would be. But find a focus, something to devote your life, your time, your money, your love, your passion, your family, your body, your soul(s), your dogs, your cats, your eyes, your legs, and your breath into.

Yes. War is cruel. But it's when people were being honest about their intentions and personal objectives. I am not saying that the unstable situation the world is facing now should escalated into a full blown war, instead, I say we should look into what war taught us and apply it into something. Because war is about fighting, either an internal fight with yourself, or an external, International battle with others, it ought to have some kind of impact on everyone, dead or alive.

Enough blah blah blah.

Aliens are coming. The truth is out there. I wonder if there's a hidden message under that statement. It is true that the truth is out there. But if we look at it closely, take it into pieces, we will have something like this.

The - Truth - Is - Out - There

Does it mean anything to you? Anything at all? I can't help but joke. The Truth Is Out! There!

Maybe you have been looking at the wrong direction all along.

P.S.: If you are still wondering what this article is about, please DO NOT ask me. I personally vouch for myself that I am writing under naught influence but still came up with this (Well, Junk DNA is more useful that the rest of the DNA we know. So, yeah, who knows).

Birdy

It would be some days later when that car crash actually happen, but it had already happened though, I had seen it in my sleep.

I have this visions that allow me to peak at the future at night, during sleep. What triggers it, how exactly it works, when would the event take place, why do I see what I see, I don't know. I can't answer you. It is beyond my control. I'm just the receiver at the end. I can't communicate with the future, I can't decide what I see, I can't perform any decisive action, or alter the course of the future. Sometimes I couldn't even distinguish between dreams or visions if my dreams weren't ridiculously off the chart. But what I see in my vision, they are real, they happens. It has happened many times, and since I wasn't counting, I could not tell you the exact number. But it happened enough to convince myself that it is real, and that it wasn't my own perception or some twisted, false memories.

I always see just a few seconds of what would happen in the future. Sometimes I would be aware of myself, but I could not take control over my body in my vision, I could think, I could see what was around me through my own eyes in the future, but not perform any action that would happen. And when it actually happens, sometimes I would think what I was thinking in my vision, but other times I would think differently.

I tried to think about the causes of these vision. However I came up with none so far. If I could find out what really triggers it, maybe I could harness this kind of power, and see into the future. And maybe I would be living in the future as much as living in the presence when I lay asleep.

Would it be possible that I could find the answer to this question? Very unlikely, but don't give up hope I say, for hope has traveled far.

The future is rigged. That's all I could say for now.

Class In Session

Pigeon knows its way home, so does little Jim. His friends call him Lil Jim, just because he's short. How short? Well, he's about a meter shorter than the average for kids in the sixth grade. But his height's not the only thing that belittled him. Lil Jim also has eyes that stretched open in the size of a pin hole. And that's the reason why he's always seen wearing that stupid goggle that glows in the dark. You can always tell which toilet box Lil Jim is in by looking for his light. That, and because the school toilets are so dark during daytime but not at night.

Lil Jim was almost late for school on Monday. He said something about sliding off a fiscal cliff. The class didn't understand him. And subsequently caused Jack Hunter, the naughtiest kid in school to make jokes about Lil Jim's fear in walking pass the local gun shop, where an animated bear model was on displayed.

Lil Jim sat alone in the front with no one he could talk or gesture to. He could hear laughter emitted by the cool kids that hung out at the back. For some unknown reason though, he was able to filter those noise and concentrate on that clanking high heels which was heading his way.

Someone was coming. Lil Jim sat upright and turned back, and softly he blew the whistle he carried around his neck. And the class, as if fallen under the purest spell, had immediately returned to order.

The first bell began ringing. Mr. Seinfeld, who was famous for his punctuality, and straight attendance record since he started teaching forty three years ago, had not showed up when the second bell struck.

On the other hand, the high heels had now rested outside. And through the large crack between the floor and the closed door, a shadow crept in with a sudden mist. Lil Jim took a peak and swallowed the darkness.

The knob clicked open when the third bell ended. And in came headmaster Mrs. Halley. The room stayed in absolute silence expect for her high heels that paced around the room, and the sucking noise made by Lil Jim when he was nervous.

Finally Mrs. Halley stopped moving around and leaned against the door. She coughed and began. "Starting from today, Mr. Seinfeld, your class master, will no longer teach at Ghenmani School," Mrs. Halley paused to make sure no radical facial expressions or insulting laughter had surfaced before she continued, "instead, I have invited my daughter, Miss Halley to you, to be the substitute class master until the end of this school year," the headmaster opened the door and beckoned Bella Halley.

Bella Halley, an attractive young lady walked softly across the room in her flat, rubber shoes, and white flowery dress. "Good morning class."

Everyone stood up, even Jack Hunter, who vowed to despise his class master for life had jumped from his chair. "Good morning Miss Halley."

The angel waved for them to sit down and exchanged a few words with the headmaster. Lil Jim had never heard a voice like this. It was like the gentle whisper which had only belonged to his mother until now. Maybe Miss Halley had stolen his mother's voice. Lil Jim wasn't sure, his goggle glowed as his anxiety level rose.

The headmaster caught the light on her way out. "What's the problem, Jimmy? Afraid that my daughter would undermine your control over the class?" she glanced at the whistle rested on his chest and grinned evilly to the point that the corner of her mouth tipped so high it formed a V-shape, which Lil Jim believed it would only happen in Disney cartoons.

The light from his goggle continued to glow. It was soon beaming stars and shooting comets. The headmaster tried put a stop to it but it had only got worse. "Shut it down junior, or face solitary detention for the whole week."

Out of fear for every awful thing he could imagine during the last solitary detention, Lil Jim ducked under his table and covered his goggle with his tiny hands, but lights kept leaking from the sides to an extent of a blinding luminosity.

"Jimmy, can I call you Jimmy?" said the angelic voice.

The light had ceased to expand.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Jimmy. I'm sure mother didn't mean to upset you."

The headmaster was saying something inaudible in the background.

"How about giving me your hands? You don't have to be afraid, you don't have to face whatever it is that you're facing alone."

The light dimming as Lil Jim felt the touch from Miss Halley. She sat him right up and sent the headmaster away.

"Now what should we begin with, Jimmy?"

House Moving--Done

I'm back. I have been slacking off again because, one, I was moving, and two, the World Cup (Go Netherlands/Germany, either team winning will satisfy my ego and desire and so many restless night).

Back to moving. So far as I remember, I have moved house four times. The first to the third times I couldn't recall being of any significant help. And by significant I mean that I didn't help moving large household utilities or furniture or any objects physically. I was weak then, okay?

The first time my family moved from our second floor apartment, an old two-story concrete building, to the seventh floor of my childhood memories, I was about six or seven or so. I didn't know how I got there. My mom said I had asked her repeatedly about where I was, and when could I go home, the home that we were moving away from. I have no memory of that, and of course I had little memory of my childhood as well.

Time passed, I was in my boyhood when we moved from a small, unimportant village in the Mainland to Hong Kong. We settled in a room no more that ten short steps that my grandfather rented. I think we hadn't brought anything with us except money and health. And I bet it was the easiest moving process anyone could imagine.

Then we moved again, when I was still a junior in secondary school. This time we moved to an apartment just next door. As you could probably imagine, we were living in a small room with a lot of scattered tiny clusters. Maybe I had helped in moving the computer, but other things, nah, I don't remember. For about six years I stayed there, but it was time to move again.

Only this time I have grown up, and our home have so many stuff collected over the years that I was busy organizing them into boxes for so many days. And then there was this harsh condition we had to comply--move everything away, which means we have to clear out everything. So besides moving, I was also dumping aging furniture to the landfill. They were all of second hand that my family received from some relative or found abandoned on the street. So throwing them away now didn't seem to be wasteful at all. We have prolonged their life as being useful.

Anyway, In about three days we have moved everything, fortunately the distance was just a street away and going down the slope, so the transporting by hand and carts was very smooth and relatively hassle-free. Even though there were times when I accidentally cut or injured myself unaware. The scars are still here, especially the one on my right wrist, which is very close to the spring of my life. Luckily it was a shallow cut and didn't slice through the soft tissue, or else I wouldn't be writing right now.

I just want to express my feeling about moving. It's a lot of work, work that would wear one down, and bring back buried memories. I have always been a guy who hates clusters, I don't need too many stuff in my life because I know I don't necessarily need them. Clothes, shoes, junk foods, electronics. Just simply ask yourself, what is enough?

We want things, I want things. But we are not restricted to ownership of things we don't have. Moving doesn't mean losing the past, or getting the future. Moving is more like controlling the present, and start living, adapting in a different environment, have a different perspective, a brand new view.

Now I have got a view of the trees and the buildings surrounding me, whereas before I had only the road and street and city's noise. I really should treasure the view I have now, because I still haven't glance away from where I am.

As with writing, I have been thinking, drafting ideas, nothing concrete yet. I have three unfinished long story and they desperately need rewriting and a stronger, more sensitive story, and relatable characters.

I find my writing different than what was in my brain. When I write, I can think and play the scene inside my head like a film, but when it comes out in word-form, it just changed. It offers none of the pleasure reading gave me, or the visual that exist in films. Maybe I focused too much on the environment, the description that I dismissed ideas and story development. Or maybe I relied too much on short, no-ending story practices, that I ignored the important aspect in writing.

Words matters. So long, battery is at 2%.

Ywrighting

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