Short Story: Pills

She turns and toss beneath the blanket moss, staying close to the bus, hoping to get some of the heat emitted from its engines.

"Ares, God of War" she whispers under her breath, tracing the constellations with her fingers.

"Hey, Tina?"

With every effort left in the cartilage of her bones, she got up on her haunches. There was a Man In Denim Jackets.

"You're not asleep yet, are you?"
"I'm trying to"

Slowly, the Man in Denim Jackets glanced at her drawstring pouch near her jeans, as to not attract her attention. But quietly enough, he nodded before she could form words of accusations.

"You're not still keeping them are you?"
"Why not?"
"They're magic"
"So?"
"Magic sends people to hell"

Constantina Roger smirked and continued her attempts at slumber.

Man In Denim Jackets joined her, differing due to the presence of a pillow under his head. "Take off your shoes, Tina. You'll get nightmares from all of those dirt on your feet."

Shoe gazing, Tina laughed abruptly, "How long have I been on this hill?"

---

"She's in a coma"

Terence furrowed, twiddled his thumb, looking for forms of expression that would not make anyone write him off as worried.

"Oh", came out from his lips.

"How long 'til this junkie goes to hell?", said Terence's Girlfriend, under her breath.
"She's on...indefinite suspension, if you would like"
"No I DO and WILL not like"
"What?", remarked Terence at the lack of arrangement in terms of syntaxes.

Terence's Girlfriend blabbered on under the flickering lightbulb, whilst Terence tried his best to listen.

The truth is, Terence Roger, never loved his sister. Abandoned her after the death of Mr and Mrs Roger, until he received news that his only living relative was stuck in the grey area of this world and the next.

Terence Roger was also an atheist. "Come, let's go home. The hospital would inform us of any de...velopments"

"Just say death, Newton". Terence's Girlfriend rolled her eyes at the demeanour of her lover, fixing up her cocktail dress.

"I was just wondering, honey, does talking to Constantina render so many illogical consequences it automatically invalidates my stand towards empiricism?"
"...my God, Terence. I thought you hated her. Sigh, you know what I'm going to the car first. Will wait for you at home. Keys, please"

Terence inadvertently threw the keys at his girlfriend's face, and halfheartedly apologising thereafter.

He stared through the pane of the intensive ward unit, his sister almost lifeless. Not that she ever had much to live for.

--

"You just entered the hospital, Tina", said the Man In Denim Jackets

Apparently deaf to whatever was said, she went back to her attempts at reaching sleep.

Dear Diary,

This is weird. I was alone in my apartment as far as I remembered and now there's suddenly this man in denim jackets.

" I can read what you're writing by the way "
Annoyed, Constantina Rogers uttered, "Yeah, way to have a go at my penmanship. Who are you again?"

"I told you, I'm technically your Angel of Death. You see, you just had a seizure due to overdosing of methamphetamine", said Man In Denim Jackets with a nonplussed look on his face.

"On Christmas? Really?"
Suddenly, Constantina remembered Sunday school, and let out a cry of disagreement with the way her Angel of Death looked.

"You're not Death"
"No. I'm your ANGEL of Death. You see, because you entered purgatory from drug abuse, you're actually high and metaphysically torn apart at the same time"
"...woah"

She pulled out her drawstring pouch, and started ingesting barbiturates. "So..name?"

"Pilgrim. Call me, Pilgrim", as he was lying down on the grass, he took out a list. "I don't wanna be blasphemous, but after all I'm only a psychedelic souvenir, and not actually a creation made of light"

"It's okay, as you can see, I'm intoxicated". Finally giving up on pretentiously dozing off, Constantina Roger stood up on her numb legs (accidentally hitting them against the exhaust pipes of the bus). "Can you be my lover, before I go to hell I mean?"

A long sigh came out of Pilgrim's mouth. He took off his denim jacket, revealing a T-shirt that was torn, shabby, and covered with what looked like vomit.

"Your brother's here, and he wants to pull the plug"
"No he's not here"
"I meant outside, in the conscious world. You can't see him"

There was an empty look in Tina's eyes, "No...he's not here"

---

Terence sneaked into the dark room, whose only lights came from the digital display that showed how his sister was doing through numbers and pictures that resonated a sort of morbid video game.

"..hello, sister."

---

The bus started its own engine. For the first time that night, Constantina Roger felt scared.

"I'm sorry", she said, dawdling and trying to find composure, as she tried to figure out who she should say sorry to.

"Merry Christmas, pagan", waved Pilgrim without looking away from his list.

---

"Merry X-Mas, sister"

Reply To Dream Of Consciousness

And the night going back,
And two rats are in a hole,
And our bruises are becoming,
Though we never fought.

And I was your silver lining,
As the story goes,
I was, but now I'm gone.

I was your silver lining,
High upon my toes,
But you were running through fields of hitchhikers,
As the story goes.

And the grass blades were a-ticking,
And the sunset was on a rise,
I never felt so wicked,
As I willed our love to die.

-Lover of Christ.

Dreams of Consciousness

Used to be one of the decent ones,
And I liked you for that,
Used to be one of the rotten ones,
And I loved you for that,
Used to be one of the selfless ones,
And I hugged you for that.

Now you're all gone, with your make-up on and you're not coming back.

Being the thief, smoking hash, covering rash, from all your friends,
Fixing your teeth, smiling flash, talking trash, under your breath,

Preaching your priest, dyeing your hair, saving up cash, just for a dance,

Wasting a gift, showing off flesh, running fast, with what you have.

Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, fight about me,
Fuck that car, hide that phone, weep on the floor, write about me,

Painted cars, recharged phones, cemented floor, scream about me,

Hold that call, drive that home, knock that door, dream about me.

Dream about me.

I Know It's Getting Late

Rye. And woods wry in the midst of June. Were magic ingredients for what I think is worthless physiognomy that seem to represent what I feel about myself.

I do not want to admit that my weakness seem to surrender itself at the bottom of your vocal chords. In the deadly nights of awkward silences when ants amidst the wilderness of bedsheets were aiming for the only shelter they had left.

I do not, or can not, even grasp the feasibility of why such an attraction exist.

If you would only just talk to me.

Please.

Currently listening to:
Anthems For A Seventeen-Year-Old-Girl.

Christlover

Every night I pray,
And leave my day-by-day,
Endearing to the sounds of May,
And money in the way.

A widow at her prime,
The judge's case is won,
You don't get it the first time,
But you ask for a second one.

That's what you said to me,
Where good things come in threes,
The flesh that roam the streets,
It's not the bread I seek.

The King of Rock and Roll,
Might've gone and sold his soul,
That's what you'll never do,
Oh there's no price for you.

I shall not bear to cross,
The hand when all was lost,
Rise up from the seas,
Of evil in the trees.

Cause maybe there is Love,
And more than that is seems,
But moons they float above,
Tales of sacrificial means.

Every night I pray,
Forget them all by day,
Lucy's in the sky,
I tried my best to try.

Cause neon lights they fade,
When dawn it comes to shade.

Faith comes to me in randomness,
What miracles that fall on Man,
Cause truth becomes a sad old rule,
A law that people love to bend.

In hate with silence of the hall,
That echoes the caverns of the mind,
Of arrogance and pride stood tall,
And charring of what's left divine

She took the road protesting ya,
And drew the last hallelujah,
Awkwardly the doves they fall,
The day I knew ya.

I don't even think of you that much,
But somehow it breeds a godly touch.
Even more than I think of sunrise in the east,
And the coming of the famine and the beast.

If even there's a war to fight,
And doubtful as to which side is the light,
Parts of my heart,
I already gave away to you.

Son, what can I concur?
When David sings a lovely song,
I think I've finally lost my taste of right from wrong.

Idle thoughts they surely were,
Turned to instinct,
And obedience to God.

You could play for your fur,
Like a river on fire,
But you better be sure,
If you're making God a liar,
Who's the devil snake, babe?
Who's the fuel on fire?
So if you're gonna get made,
Don't be afraid of what you've known.

Repentance to no one or other,
Faithfully yours, oh Christ lover.

P/S: I grew to love the silent night of winter.

Wry, The Noisy Capitalists

Battering fingers on the deskboard of yesteryears, I grew awkwardly solemn over the maiden that was presenting the best she had in front of me.

Where was I?

The Diaries of the Ill-Contempt

It's thirty past two in darkness, and I am a drunken man. The mosquitoes hum a song of destitute to my defective hearing, possibly overwhelmed by the bitterness of the damsel's cry of despair. Telling me her story.

Why is it that when she sneezes the dust from my desk stays put, unaffected by the solemn wind from her nasal?

Is it because it has been embedded into the very sheaves or cracks that make up this timber?

Well, this table's only 2 years old at that..

"Please, you don't have to do this. You used to love me. Why is it that you need to leave the rest of the world to fall under your liking?"

BANG, goes the inappropriately cohesive sound of an exploding car across the street.

"I'll talk to you about Mary later. Speaking about the dead bothers me"

Especially to the person that borne the said cadaver.

Where was I? Oh, yes. So I was getting sick of Night. She used to come home late. And complain about the silliest thing. It was then I discovered my truly cardinal desires of wanting, not needing, sex. Marriage has caused me to perceive things rather differently.
And not in anyway a factor of me staying loyal to the Vow.

I met Mary at a dark alley.

"Haha, you sir. Sir, in the cardigan excuse of an overcoat"

I hated people who made fun of my overcoat. I remember taking out my gun to that slut.

"If you have any business you would like to offer me, or any investigative services that you require off of me, please do so while I'm at the office" hand sliding off the steel trigger. "Otherwise, I'm on my way back home. Where I can...well..definitely take off my overcoat without anyone indifferently criticizing it. Understood?"

She was shivering in the rain. But you could tell she wasn't shaken by the probability of a bullet, because she was smiling. "C'mon there sweetie, I've handled madder souls than yours"

Sometimes the devil wins. But I'm not much of a bible reader. Inhibition seemed queer really, when made by an author only specific to those who believe. As for the Government, and the laws they made...well let's just say everyone believes in the Goverment. In existence, at the least.

She was good.

"So I presume, with the pipe and all, that you sir, are a detective?", mumbled Mary with a cigarette propped at the left side of her mouth.

"This...is not a pipe. It's a wooden carving of one. I'm a surrealist you see"

I remembered her demeanour of never showing her naivety, and always acknowledging the things that come out from my mouth.

"And how much does a surrealist make a month?"
"Sigh, I will pay you do not have to worry on such a conundrum"

*typewriter jams*

"My God"

*gunshot through the typewriter*

"I hate this bloody contraption, always leave things half-finished it does", said I while fumbling my fingers at the broken letters left on the floor

"You really do have a knack for breaking things you can't fix. Leaving at them at a worse state than before. You killed me not knowing how to fix me" uttered Night without any semblance of emotion.

"Shut up"
"You killed Mary when you found out she had AIDS"
"SHUT UP!"

Mr. Witherson? Letter from the Government.

Dear Mr. Witherson,

It is my great pleasure to inform you that you have been chosen to enter the Asylum Of Lunary Hope, as to your unorthodox behaviour that leaves you off of the Consumerisma society normal routine of living.
The last time you shopped, or even stepped foot into the Mall Temple was ages ago. Thus due to these occurences that disturbs us, we have found out that you belong in the shelter-place of the Bohemians, housing not more than 230,000 weirdos.
We would also like to inform you that your term from the All-Seeing Eye Intelligence Agency has been abrogated. Thus leaving you jobless

Yours faithfully
Wry Woods
Capitalist #2849
Government Officer

Have a nice day.

I Wasn't Born In Prison

Stuck in a rut,
Didn't know what to do,
Looking at sunbeams,
Making fun of me too.

Oh my god,
They've seen it all,
Scratching the walls,
And almost I forgot.

I was there to,
When will you do what you do,
And let me out this here place,
And renew my face.

A bloodsucking monster in disguise of a nice guy,
Trying to find more of this life.

Then you wanted to be sure,
You got close and got hurt.

Where were you when the world ends,
When the sickly romance through,
I will get to you.

They say there's a motel of sin,
But I wouldn't trade my life for the one that you're living,
Because I was always this way,
For as long as I can hardly remember.

When you caught me by surprise,
I had to look into your heartless eyes,
Like the moon they never show,
How it is they'll ever glow,
Without the sun behind them.

Because here's the reason,
For all of my treason,
My awkward sense of freedom.

Because here's the highlight,
Of the deepest darkest lonely night,
I put my five fingers,
On yours,
And tell the whore inside,
That the angel wants to ride a plane.

Cause I wouldn't trade my life for the one that you're living,
I wasn't born in prison.

To: M.A.R. :)

It’s not often for one to see a tanned, dark-haired Malay speaking in an Australian parlor, intermittently interspersed with an American accent, whilst wearing a baju kurung,and managing to look comfortable in it. That was the scenario once upon a Raya. One might presume her as a baffled product of globalization, but she would tell you otherwise. She’s Maryam, best living individual in the world.

For a person who would pass off as a Caucasian – on the phone at least – Maryam’s height is a great example of sexual dimorphism in nature. In other words, she is short. Her beady eyes has become a distinctive feature, for the fact that all of her sisters share the same trait. Adorable as that might sound; she is not in any way ‘vulnerable’. Despite the petite impression she gives, Maryam’s confidence can scare the heavens out of you. With all of that in the picture, Maryam has still managed to keep her poise and charm decent enough in any given situation.

To describe her as boyish would be lazy journalism. In fact, Maryam’s sense of style surpasses most seventeen-year-old girls. A self-proclaimed connoisseur of the arts, the range of Converse and Gucci she has on the list, has become to the object of envy and admiration amongst both genders. She is a girl of principles. In this case, its feminism. Trivial matters like playing hockey with her male peers, turns into a global debate of discrimination. But at the end of the day, her distaste for disputes and her awkwardly alluring sense of humor overwhelms the gravity of it all. “How many feminists does it take to change a lightbulb? None, because they can’t change anything!,” she jokes with the world.

It’s the myriad of characteristics in her personality that has driven me to write this essay. The reality of her being female has often made people mistake it for post-menstrual syndrome. But her ire and assertion is not without substance. A tornado on the run; as when it all recedes, the sun would shine like it has never shined before.

The truth of the matter is that Maryam, since she moved Down Under two years ago, I haven’t even seen the outline of her countenance. I was disappointed to discover that the Razak family came to my house when I was too busy socializing in the outside world. Disbelieving the notion that I had a childhood friend (because I remembered being antisocial as a child), I sent her a letter. It was a torturous attempt to avoid awkward statements, like implying that I’ve known her before, would make me sound like a desperate stalker.

But Maryam’s unorthodox way of behavior has proven me wrong once again. She answered it, remembering the address and the name given to me, so nonchalantly. She was the same old Maryam, surprisingly so, despite the maturity. I laughed my head off when she arrived at the airport not too long ago. “Hello, 6-year-old soul mate!,” she cried. Memories of how she spoke Australian attempting to imitate Harry Potter came rushing back.

She was a parable to conclude. Teaching how friendship is not a matter of material expressions, but the warmth when two friends would fall silent in the middle of a conversation, as though communicating through telepathic means. Maryam Abdul Razak, if you’re not nominated on the list of Person of the Year, then there’s always a reason for that. But seriously, you would always be the ‘Person of My 17 Years of Living’. Salutations, Maryam!

Exciting Lighting

I was looking through my playlist,
And noticed that the last time I listened to The Strokes,
Which is supposedly the nominal favourite band of all time in my opined gesture of a post.
Was 2 months ago.

It was less of a sad revelation, then it was a disappointing one.

It is all winning glory when my career of structuralised arguments put into moot ends with a happy episode of pride and relief.

Relief....hmm.

That was it then. I did not want to let it go.

Because isn't that what relief is about? Releasing. Sure, struggles were meant to be part of the dogmatic package of hope. But the thing is without the toil there wouldn't be the oil that became the source of light...the source..

Of endlessly incoherent poetry.

You see, as an individual, I was never much up for planning..anything.

All of my poems are drafts, my thoughts subconsciously thrown into forms of words.

Until debate came and ruined that sense of randomness.

And now, when I try to revert back to erratic disclosure of expressions and feelings.

I actually feel...awkward.

Maybe I just need to learn how to tune my guitar.
Maybe I should just leave it entirely, making it of as a trail of youth that I shall walk away from.

Under one umbrella of conformity, you couldn't even call that melodramatic.

Success comes with a price of complexity.

Especially when quotes, are only deemed quotable, when other people think they are.

Not when a self principle rules that it shall thus be a gimmick of the mind.

On to the show.

---

I'm not much up for ecstatic,
Or anything cinematic,
I just hope that the rain would stop.

Because the signboard on the left side,
Of main street and the nightlife,
We left to get a life for ourselves.

I'm not much up for anything at all,
When the city people,
Want to forget who they are.

They say u can't run away,
From civilisation.

I told them,
Who's running away here?

Not much for reconciliation,
When the pitiful left their stations.

Exciting lighting,
They will sing,
The electric thing,
We used to dance to.

Committing crimes,
With as much value as a dime,
Is it a waste of time,
Says who?

Great people make great mistakes,
Not grave mistakes.

Footprints Dressed In Red

I took the call,
I started talking,
I lost it all,
When I start walking.

The same mistakes,
The old car plates,
I thought you can't,
But you were late.

I just wanna be the one who cares,
When the sun alights the whispering ears.

Old history cage,
Why have u ceased?
I thought the wall,
Was to release.

A hedonist,
A lack of crisp,
You shine the sea,
Like glass in mist.

I just thought that you were closer,
Than the lightest star in the universe,
But you proved yourself wrong,
So I'm singing this song

When you left the young years,
Just to be with your peers,
I was wrong,
Was i right?
That you'll leaving - while bleeding - the fight.

Footprints Dressed In Red,
Identities Left In Bed,
You Are,
The Sin,
I Wished I Didn't.

Drunk Donkey

Never should have known,
How the racer beats his own,
Record track,
How I'd go back.

Honey, it's a trick,
For when they tell you're not sick,
Where's your catch,
Where's the last pick?

Vases have been broken,
And pieces have been picked up,
I don't know what you've spoken,
In the light of every song.

Honey, I've been dreaming again,
That we were friends and not pretend,
Cause eighty years is too much to understand.

I'm happy for you,
Too compromising too,
What's sincere in love,
Is always sincere in view,
Shade off all elegance,
'Cause you don't know when to do,
What to do.

Capitalism, was the last one to let go,
Then communist in dresses, was the one to let you grow,
Baby I'm all for equal distribution but I'm broke,
I see life through lenses, not eyes or even ghosts.

So be..nice.
Be nice.

And farewell,
Good night.

Sometimes Static

Is it some kind of function,
Of weak constructions,
Of where you've always been?


In the melodious way, my fingers left the keyboard's ivory
bay.

From where the time seems obscene,
And why I couldn't just say what I mean.

And then the blackest nights,
Or the brightest light,
Just wanted to tell me,
Just tell them the story.

So I've compete in the string of lost heat,
Amidst deserts and boulevard streets,
Amidst kind winds and evil deceit,
Where I learned,
To create the things I want to discern,
To debate of all the lessons learned,
What taught me to be professionally yearned..

Taught me to be human.

And questions arise of which gender shares a higher similitude to animals of lower extend?

The fact that you have to specify to avoid misunderstanding.

Of people and beast, sharing unequal grounds, standing on...unbalanced feet.

Realistically, I've never been bored. Only the people I'm with, told me to feel as such.

Idealistically, I've been too caught up with reality.

I believe in God. Such a paramount statement to all other things that can be possibly implied.

In the darkness of dormitories, when the mind rests, giving way to a tempestuous heart.

"Aku nak jadi hedonis ar"

Musically, it all came true. I started becoming detached of things I once held dear.

With the excuse that I wasn't, initially, myself at all.

It had to be in the year where the slaves of theoretical cognitive take up a challenge of life and it's proceedings.

"SPM jauh lagi"

Sitting in the dinner table, in the tent that sheltered us from the blistering weather of the foreign.

Tearing red farcical tears, saying "I want to wake up, I want to wake up, I want to wake up"

I never meant the silent tantrums, I never meant to appease the elderly servant of life's compassionate and subservient status quo.

"DON'T BREAK THE STATUS QUO IF EVERYONE'S HAPPY WITH IT"

But I question how revolutions happened throughout the entirety of history? Because of the majority that was happy with it? Or because of the few who wasn't?

I was lying to everyone. I was lying even to the wino, what more to the marijuana and her forgiving demeanour?

I am not a rebel in a complacent society.

I am an apathetic, in a society of unnecessarily redundant vigor.

Despite all of those things I wasn't planning on doing...I did them anyway.

"Whatever trance you're under"

So silently, how else can it come to me....whispers of "Where are you?"
Who am I talking about,
At times, I'm not even sure myself.

But when the lights go out,
I remember

"And you'll find out that 'being yourself' isn't just about being something no one has ever been"

I believe in God. Please don't make that a past tense.

I gave up all of the sense of existence I fabricated.

A Rhythm

Three can be complete without the rest of the world,
Three can be complete, what's with the rest of the world,
Do it for the people who were there for your sake,
An entire generation whose got nothing to say.

How to leave the world to be?

Oh, let's say you make do with me,
Cause I know your name and your homer trap,
When we're all trashed up,
With the things we felt,
And we'll always say,
That we might need help,
We could just go off at the next red light,
If it don't make sense,
Or it don't feel right.

All the ghouls can never make me fear them the way I love you.

Can't you see the sky is not the limit no more,
I can see the other way to crash to the floor,
I can see siesta day sailing away,
Seven billion people whose got nothing to say.

What you coming home to be?

Well I saw your face,
When I heard that song,
It was so inviting,
That it harped my bones,
Well it looks like you,
But your eyes astray,
When your head is gone,
But your mind's okay,
Yes I like to smile,
When my forehead's cold,
I don't want you to be afraid and go.

I was fixing lights and steel, then I'm staring at a home that pleads for you.

I was waiting,
For my lazy,
To arrive,
Right by my side.

Oh, please, leave me an oath tonight,
Forget the pest.

Three can be complete without the rest of the world,
Oh, I wouldn't say it just to get you to laugh,
Do it for the people that would die for you sake,
An entire generation of entertainers to blame.

Light is red,
The camera's on,
Get yourself a lawyer and a gun,
Paint your friends whose friend's like everyone,
Trying can be so competitive.

Oh the sky's not the limit,
And we're never gonna guess what is.

Carbon Era

They're pulling out,
It nearly begins,
A silly story,
Long time ago.

Stop to pretend?
Stop pretending?
It seems this game is simply never ending.

Oh, when the sun shines,
Hving fun is in my blood?
I just can't help it,
Don't want you here right now,
Let me go.

Oh, let me in.

Leaving just in time,
Stay here for awhile,
Lulling in the ocean,
Trying to catch her eye,
We're calling 'cause it's easy,
Do it just to please me,
Tomorrow would be different,
So I'll pretend I'm leaving.

I guess I'm different now,
A way to deviate,
I wish you had the stake,
My visions fading now,
But I'm not afraid.

Lying on the seats,
Atomic pool of trees,
I took too many,
Varieties.

Oh when we're sometimes having fun,
It's in my blood,
I just can't help it,
Don't want to hear you now,
Let me go.

Oh will you let me in,
And go?

Living just in time,
Stated for awhile,
Drowning in the ocean,
Try to catch a lie,
We're going to take it easy,
Don't do it just to please me,
Tomorrow will be different,
So this is why I'm leaving.