One-shot: Caprice

I have had so many eyes staring on me. Eyes of different shapes, colours and sizes. No matter where I go – be it America or Asia – people would cast their eyes on me, unmoving, until I walked past them quickly. It would be easy to avoid several glares from people but if you were the centre of attention of any given place, it’s almost impossible.

But I’m used to it now. I wasn’t born this way – wasn’t born to appear different to many people just so they could see me as a walking freak of nature. It was because of an incident – too painful for me to let the memories flood in again. I had sealed the tap to that one.

Right then, as I was walking on the cobbled pavement, I let my head droop horizontally to the ground, staring at the small, sharp rocks that made a crunching noise whenever the soles of my shoes brushed against them – while people stared at me instead.

Taking a brief moment to take a look at the vista in front of me, I noticed the two women in front of me – they had side glances at me while one of them had her hands covering her mouth as her head turned to the other woman. They were whispering fiercely, their hushed noises too muffled for me to hear what they were saying. But I knew. They were talking about me. Women needed their gossip.

“Mummy, why is his face like that? Mummy, he looks scary.” A voice filled my ears. It was the voice of a young boy, a few metres away from me, who was holding a woman’s hand who I presumed was his mother.

“Hush now, Elijah. Don’t be rude to the old man.” The woman gave me an apologetic expression – nodding her head as if to apologise for her son’s curiosity – as she dragged the boy till they turned into another street and wasn’t in my sight anymore. That was nice of her. Those kind of occasions were rare.

Walking further without any specific destination in mind, I stopped in front of a patch of land – where there were dried leaves scattered all over and some wooden cardboards lying. As I sucked in a short breath, I stepped onto the grass and crouched down – as my eyes covered the whole area.

I subconsciously touched the huge scar on my face. I lightly caressed the rough surface – as my forefinger traced the bumps – the skin all wrinkled and dry which no longer held its elasticity. The doctor had told me to take cultural epidermal autograph as a coverage treatment for the burnt wound after the incident happened but I refused as my mind could not imagine the amount of money needed, let alone me holding onto the physical hard, cold cash.

Well, I could have, if not for the fact that the notes burnt with my wife and two children.

A sudden wave of regret hit the shores of my heart and engulfed it whole. It felt like the exterior of my heart was slowly being ripped off – skin by skin, vein by vein. It felt as if a blunt pencil had managed to force itself into the centre of my heart, pushing itself harder each time. A vice-like grip seemed to have hold onto it and was on the verge of crushing it. It was pure torture. It wasn’t a heart attack; I was suffering from my own emotional pain.

Everyone, every single loved one was gone now. My wife, Katherine, my two young boys, Nathan and James; five and seven years of age respectively – now no longer in the face of this Earth. All because of me. Me. My fault. Mine. The world suddenly grew silent as the clouds gathered above me – so grey and dull like the depths of my despair. A water drop hit the tip of my nose and I soon came to realise that it was drizzling. One by one, the drops pelted onto me – getting harder and harder each time as if to punish me for what happened two years ago. Tears were already streaming down my face then, masked by the rain. The world hated me and I deserved it.

And then the thunder. The sound of it was explicitly familiar. Like the explosion. The explosion which had awoken me from my slumber, only to find out that my wife and sons were trapped in a fire behind the master bedroom door. Too little too late.

So why didn’t I sense the fire any sooner? Couldn’t I have felt the heat it was emitting? Why didn’t I hear the crackling sounds? I was always sensitive to them – my ears would perk up to the slightest clink of a teacup – indicating the end of my afternoon nap and the start of tea time. So why did God turned me into a deaf man sleeping that day? Did He want to punish me for hurting Kate? Was it His way of telling me that what happened was all because of me? Because if it was, He convinced me.

As the harsh winds grazed my skin, flashes of memories of the fire came out from its hiding place in the socket of my brain – as the vivid frames of the incident started playing in my mind like a whole short film – replaying over and over again as if to taunt. The fiery colours – red, orange, yellow – blazed my eyes and it seemingly felt as if I was standing right there in the bedroom. The crackling fire resounded in my ears, the sound of chipping wood so palpable each time the fragments hit the porcelain floor.

“Kate! Nath! James!”

“Nathan! James! Scream out, I can’t see you!” The smoke compressed in the small room, like a bunch of thickets growing very close together in hugely dense forest, congesting any form of oxygen into my lungs. I was running out of air as I took in a series of short breaths while letting out rasps of cough. My lungs felt like they were about to collapse any moment. Breathing had never felt so painful.

Clutching onto my chest, I took a last bet – still holding onto that thin string of hope that my family members were still alive – and dived into the raging hot fire.

“Harr-harrum-harrumph. Kate…?” My voice trailed off as the heat around me suddenly rocketed and I realised that I was in contact with the fire. It was no use avoiding – the fire had circled me and I had no escape. My knees were getting weaker and I was on the verge of passing out. My throat was getting too dry while my eyes welled up with tears due to the smoke particles floating in the direction opposite of mine. Giving up then would be the best option. I had already lost my family. There was no use fighting for my life.

I dropped to the ground. My world turned pitch black.

Something jolted in me and I returned to the present. Turned out, I hadn’t screw the tap to the particular memory properly. I was still crouching on the patch of grass – though this time – my hands were gripping onto the soil as I leant forward for support. Raindrops hit and wet the palms of my hands. Or maybe they were my teardrops.

I took a last glance at the land where my house used to stand and wiped the tears off my cheeks. It was no use now. Everything I have ever loved was gone, and no angel was going to come down from the heavens for my own salvation. I had to accept the fact that there never will be an eraser for the past. But there was also no exit for the memory of the fateful night when it all started between Kate and I. It will always haunt me.  

“Katherine, I have something to tell you…” She looked at me with woeful hazel eyes, shifting uncomfortably at the sound of me calling her by her full name.

“What is it Ethan? Is it regarding Nathan’s poor school report?” She replied, her eyes still lingering on me. Why did she think that I was going to start talking on our son’s poor report? She knew I didn’t bother with such trivial matters. Was it because she had already found out and was just suggesting something else to convince herself that everything was alright between the both of us?

“I-I have an affair. With your best friend, Maeve. We-we honestly thought it’d never come to this. She had no intention that it would become what it already has. I’m sorry; I never meant to hurt you. I just felt that this marriage never flourished. I’ll leave you to decide on what you want to happen next.” Not willing to see any tears or screaming, I placed my teacup on my saucer and left the table for my afternoon nap.

I never woke up from my nap peacefully that day. Kate had already set the fire. The bottle of gasoline on the kitchen cupboard was gone. It was all nothing but suicide. She didn’t have to take Nathan and James with her. But it was never her fault. She didn’t deserve such hurtful words.

I was always going to be blamed. And I fully deserved it. 

Author's Note: I wrote this in the midst of inspiration and never really planned the storyline. I didn't really edit after writing (too lazy and busy) so there might be some mistakes in grammar. I do appreciate constructive comments and how I can improve my writing! I know this plot is quite common and cliche but for me, this piece was more for the fact that I haven't really written anything for so long. So, hope you guys enjoy it!

Essay: Trapped

Plot A

Pressing my face against the overly-sized sweater I was wearing, I rubbed my hands together to warm myself up – for a bit at least – from the chill of the night wind. Frost was visible on the branches of the trees that twisted, almost like distorted limbs reaching out towards me. I continued my walk on the snow-covered pavement, leaving faint footprints behind. The flickering light of a streetlamp brought some life into the shadow pool at my feet as I trudged along the street. I put on my earpiece, shutting myself out from the world.

I guessed it was my sixth sense – almost immediately, I turned my head slightly and through the corner of my eye, I scanned the surroundings behind me; but stopped midway. Clutching my earpiece, I slowly removed it from my ears, as the gravelly voices from afar echoed across. It didn’t take long to realise that they were following me.

Picking up pace, I thought of all the worst possible ways they could do to hurt me. I surveyed the vista in front of me and spotted an alleyway a few metres away. Fleetly, I covered the distance and made a sharp turn into the narrow path – to find out that it was a dead end. Drat. If they were to walk in here, I’d be cornered. Call it unintentional suicide.

Clenching my fists in trepidation, I let the concrete walls touch my back. The shuffling noises of their shoes had become louder. I turned my body halfway, cowering while I uttered a prayer amidst all of that. Then, something caught my attention – protruding, its shape roundish…like a doorknob. I took a large step and grabbed hold of it as I confirmed my suspicions. Turning it, I pushed the door open and entered – wherever it was leading me to – in agile speed and shut the door a split second after. I leaned against the door, gently sliding down and thumped on the floor as I heaved in relief. I was safe.

The place was pitch-black. I roamed my hands to whatever that was in my reach and slowly stood up. Dragging my feet in the darkness, I stumbled upon something hard. I brushed my hands against the material and reckoned that it was a wooden shelf. Walking further along the shelves, (I discovered that there were more) I wondered where I was exactly. I ambulated around the area, relying entirely on my sensitivity, hoping I wouldn’t get thwacked by another wooden plank. I was tired and late for dinner-

My train of thoughts halted to a stop as soon as I saw light from a distance. It filtered through the shelves, forming the profile of at least fifty other replicas. I advanced towards the light, finally realising that I was in a library – one that I never knew existed in the street. The light was coming from a room with its door slightly opened. Just as I was about to creep in, I heard voices. I quickly found a blind spot and pressed my ears to the door, listening to the voices intently.

“Hmm, this place looks a little peculiar.” It was a man; his voice was low and raspy, and it seemed to have a mix of Russian and Old English accent.

“Myrnin, may I know where we are?” A young female voice was heard next though her tone hinted a slight exasperation.                                                                                   

“I’m not exactly sure young Claire. In normal circumstances, we would have managed to teleport back to Founder’s Square but-”

“Myrnin, don’t you smell human blood in here? Sheesh, it’s not you Claire, it’s someone else’s. It’s been bothering me since we came here.” Someone else interrupted the man. He could smell blood? The thought alone sent shivers tingling all over my body. 

As I tried to listen to them more clearly, my arms accidentally pushed and swung the door open, revealing the three people. The man was wearing bunny slippers, which I found ridiculously funny (but didn’t dare laugh given the situation I was in) while the other two simply gawped at me. Feeling uncomfortable at the stares I was receiving, I averted my gaze towards a bare wall.

“Who are you?” The boy decided to speak out as I decided that he was the brave one.

“Cerys. What brought you all here?”

“We don’t know ourselves. We were at Myrnin’s lab at first. I guess you can call him my boss…” And then, it hit me. All of it – Founder’s Square, Myrnin, Claire and the boy (or Michael), came from a book I had recently read; “Ghost Town”. I was dreaming then? It felt too surreal.

“I’ve never seen you in Morganville, are you new?” Michael questioned me with uncertainty. I could not believe I was talking to a fictional vampire. Digging my nails into my palm, I blame my lack of neurons to think of an answer fast. 

“No-not really, I-I came last year.” I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from slipping out the truth. They wouldn’t believe me anyway. Shifting my vision, I caught a glimpse of Myrnin and noticed something about him suddenly looked frightening. His face seemed clouded of anger, as if he was holding himself back. He looked like he was craving for something…

Blood. It took me a few seconds to register that he was on top of me. Pinning my arms flat on the ground, he bent his head slightly as he revealed his fangs and pierced them through my neck. Claire screamed as my whole world faded to black.

Something was shaking my body. Opening my eyes, I squinted at the sudden light intensity. There was a girl around my age standing in front of me, giving me a concerned look. “Are you alright? What are you doing here?” Brushing off the dirt from my sweater, I inspected my surroundings. I was in an alleyway. I stood up and stared at the bricked walls. There wasn’t any door.

“Where am I?”

“Morganville… are you alright? Uh sorry, I have to go now.” The girl arched one of her brows as if I was talking in a foreign language. She scampered from the place quickly and was out of sight instantaneously.  I looked up at the sky from the narrow alley, still confused by the sudden change of surroundings.

Morganville? 

Author's Note: This was an essay I wrote which I intended to submit in a competition. Though, in the end I found that it wasn't really that great. I would be posting a story similar to this (which I submitted) though it's a little bit different. 

The question: "What if you spent a night alone in a library? What if the characters from within the books were able to come alive? What might you see?" Enjoy reading!

Book Review: Last Breath (Morganville Vampires Series)

Author: Rachel Caine

This book starts slowly, with Claire Danvers doing her normal routine in Morganville, Texas. However, one day when she was out with Shane (boyfriend) and Myrnin (crazy lab boss and vampire), Myrnin receives a letter meant for Amelie (Founder of Morganville) that was written "RUN". Myrnin immediately bolts off, determined to reach Amelie as soon as possible. Claire and Shane, with questions unanswered, started feeling that something wasn't right. It was then, things got horribly wrong.

Amelie starts to get the feeling that this was the end of her experiment and doesn't do anything. However, Claire and her friends - Shane, Eve and Michael have got something else in mind. They are determined to fight back whatever is destroying their town. But whatever this thing is, it is neither human nor vampire. And it is very dangerous.

The book ends with a lot of fighting and action as it always has been. However it ends in a bitter-sweet moment, intending there will be another book next. This is probably the best book of the whole series yet as there is just the right amount of tension, suspense, romance and action.

The world was gone, but there was something holding her. It felt like a rope, a thin, invisible rope; she bobbed against it like a balloon on a string, lost in a night sky. I’m dead. The thought came to her, but she didn’t really know what that meant anymore. If you were dead, you shouldn’t know you were dead. You just were, or were not, like Schröding-er’s cat. I’m the cat in the box, with poison. The cat might be alive. The cat might be dead. You can’t tell until you open the box. Indeterminacy.

Author's Note: It would be better if you read the previous ten books first before reading this so everything would be clear. The next book is called "Black Dawn" and it is scheduled May next year. So hold onto your seats! Thank you for stopping by my blog.

Book Review: Awaken

Author: Katie Kacvinsky


The book sets in the year 2060, where almost everyone heavily depend on technology. The main character, Madeline (Maddie) Freeman, daughter of Mr. Freeman, creator of Digital School. Digital School is where students stay at home and study in front of their computers. Not just that, hardly anyone goes out of their houses anymore since all their work is done at home, food packages sent to their houses. In all, no one ever leaves their houses.

Maddie has always been okay with the solitary, digital life but subconsciously feels that her father is not entirely correct. However, things really started changing after she meets a boy, Justin. Justin was different. He likes being with people. He likes physical closeness and face-to-face conversations and not behind the computer. Maddie starts believing him and starts to think that perhaps there is a different, better way to live. Maddie starts socialising with people and realises what she has been missing all these years.

As the book comes to an end, expect a turn of events. This book is very relevant to a world not much different from ours and examines what it means to be human and a teenager in these changing times.

"We push buttons," he said. "That's it. We click and press buttons. And that's supposed to be satisfying? Aren't we designed for something a little more authentic than that?"

Author's Note: I will be doing book reviews to the books I read. I didn't actually plan on doing this but I think books are meant to be shared among readers and writers and I do enjoy sharing the books I like.

Essay: House

“Dear, the furniture movers are here. It looks like someone finally bought the house next door,” Marissa said to her husband while peering out of their well-polished windows.

“Oh...can you see who it is?” Her husband, Andrew, joined her at the windows.

“Looks like an old man. I wonder how he managed to buy that house.”

“Well, I don’t really care, as long as he keeps our pathway clean and leaves our beautiful garden untouched,” Andrew replied with a sniff of disdain.

However, just after a short period of time, the undesirable happened. To Andrew’s incredulity, the old man constantly left his rubbish along the pathway, not even attempting to place them nicely beside the rubbish bins provided. The litter attracted stray cats and cockroaches. To Marissa’s aversion, she found a number of cockroaches; both dead and alive in their garden numerous times.

“I can’t stand this anymore! Ever since that old man moved into the neighbourhood, the amount of vermin has multiplied!” screeched Marissa as she brought out the insecticide from their storage room.

“Alright, that’s it! I’ve had enough with that old man!” Andrew bellowed, as he stormed out of the house and approached his neighbour’s house. Andrew, with no intention of being considerate, banged onto the old man’s door. A few seconds later, the door opened, revealing the old man. Andrew did not wait for a response.

“I’ve had enough of your nuisance! You keep leaving rubbish everywhere – my garden is now full of pests because of you!” Andrew shouted at the old man. He could already feel hatred towards the old man.

“It’s not my fault you do not know how to take care of your garden well,” the old man replied plaintively, his voice as screechy as a badly-played violin.

“My garden used to be free of vermin until you came! Don’t you know how to keep things clean?! Although from the sight of your ugly eyes, you probably don’t!” That was the end of their conversation. Andrew strode angrily back to his house.

The following night, Andrew and Marissa were walking home, drunk, from a friend’s party. As they staggered along the pathway leading to their semi-detached house, the old man appeared. 

“Andrew, Marissa, come my lovely neighbours. Come inside my house.” The couple, easily deceived in their drunken state, entered the house.

“You two should take a shower while I prepare warm food for both of you,” the old man suggested. As Andrew and Marissa entered the bathroom, the old man made his way to the kitchen. 

Half a minute later, as Andrew was about to undress himself, he felt someone pushing him into the bathtub. Due to his blurry vision, he could not identify who it was. Seconds later, Marissa was pushed into the bathtub. She yelped as her head hit the hard, ceramic tub. 

“Well I’m sorry to have to interrupt you, but I’m afraid your shower will have to wait.” It was the old man. He drew out a knife from his pocket, its metal plated surface gleaming from the bathroom light. It was swift – before Andrew could realise what was happening, his wife was being stabbed before his very eyes. She let out a harrowing wail. It took him a few more seconds to gather his thoughts and emotions before he could register that he was in imminent danger. As he struggled to get out of the bathtub, the old man grabbed hold of him. He tried to free himself from the old man’s vice-like grip, but the old man was surprisingly stronger than him at that moment and he failed to escape. 

“Trying to run away?” The old man let out a wicked laugh. He grabbed Andrew’s garb and shredded it into pieces. Pushing Andrew harder, he locked Andrew’s position by pressing his legs onto Andrew’s. It was too easy for the old man – he took Andrew’s life with one deep slash across his throat. Crimson blood gushed out of the open wound and soon enough, warm blood covered an eighth of the tub. The old man washed his blood-stained hands, the knife and drained the blood in the tub. He covered the wounds with bandages and dragged the two bodies; one by one to his backyard and spent the rest of his night digging two deep pits and placing the bodies into them. He also had to clean any trails of blood on the floor. 

Two weeks later, the police started investigating residents around the place as there was a strong foul smell given off in the vicinity. Soon, the police arrived at the old man’s house.

“Mr. Lee, do you know what happened to the couple who lived next door? We asked around and many said they last saw them entering your house. Is it true?” A policeman questioned the old man.

“Uh...no....of course...not...I...uh...I don’t-” As soon as Mr. Lee started tripping over his words, the policeman searched his house in a heartbeat. A split second later, his personality changed and he was racked with guilt. “I killed them! I killed them! Fine, fine! I did it!” Mr. Lee burst out, covering his ears while shaking his head violently. 

Mr. Lee turned out to be crazy and was sent to the Institution of Mental Health. He was diagnosed with bipolar disorder which explained his split personality. The confession was made but what was done could not be erased.

Author's Note: I might be posting the essays I write in school. I'll probably will only post the better ones. What do you guys think? It's my first time writing a murder story. Comments, please.

Self-Grade: 6/10

 

Author's Note

Hello there, if you are checking on this blog right now, I can assure it is not a dead or dormant one. This blog is for writing pieces I compose. I really enjoy reading and writing - perhaps this is why I created this blog. However, I will not be posting any pieces yet until middle November as I have to prepare for major examinations right now (so it will be a dead blog for the time being). The writing pieces I post here is continual - I plan to write a novel by the end of next year. If you guys are unsatisfied with my writing or feel that my plot can be improved, please add in a comment - I'll really appreciate it.

verrebrise