A Little Rant

lion-2885618_1920

Hello, humans. I wanted to write something else today but I’m just tired from I don’t know what. Maybe it’s because I started my “vegetarian diet” which mean I didn’t have meat for a day today for the first time in years. Plus, my partly disappointing exam results might contribute to my tiredness too but since I passed every exam for the first time since I entered University (I was expelled before if you didn’t already know), I’m a little proud of myself.

Actually, I didn’t plan to write a blog post at all until I saw something that annoyed me beyond my normal “level of annoyance” and I think I need to say something even though I think I’m not allowed to. Just as I was about to sleep, I saw a news article about an artist who was sentenced to a month in prison and ordered to pay a hefty amount of fine for “insulting” someone of a high level. Let’s just get to the point, it’s completely ridiculous, stupid and idiotic.

Just because you are the prime minister, the president, the king, the queen or whatever, it doesn’t mean that you should be immune to “criticism”. I mean, why bother telling everyone, promoting everywhere that you believe “progressivism” and promoting “moderation” when you can’t even take a single tiny bit of criticism. Being a representative, a Prime Minister or a President doesn’t mean that you’re special. It just means that people believe and trust you to do your work properly.

They believe in you to make their life better, not to make it worse and then blame it on something else. If you think someone wrongly accused you of something, it’s your responsibility to tell them that they’re wrong. There’s also this nonsense about “there’s a better way to voice out your opinion” or “you should have done it the right way”. Well then, let me ask you this, if writing or drawing to expression disapproval is not the right way to voice out opinions, then what is? Crying? Setting ourselves on fire?

Perhaps you prefer people writing you formal letters which I doubt you even read and if you happen to be a representatives who reads letters or emails from your constituents, then I apologise. Lastly, I just want to say, if you can’t accept criticism or a little bit of harmless “insult” then maybe you should just resign and don’t bother to run for any office ever again.

Every where you go, whatever you do, there will always be someone who criticise or insults you. So what? If you are a great leader, you shouldn’t be bothered about people criticising you. Just because you have the power, it doesn’t make you superior to everyone else in your country. Remember, if it wasn’t for the people, you wouldn’t be in charge. In fact, you would be powerless and probably unemployed.

 

Advertisements

The Path : Flash Fiction

nature-3151869_1920

Everyone wanted to know where the path leads to but nobody was brave enough to find out. Legend says that once, a young man and woman took on a journey to find out the truth but they never did return. When people first told me about the path, I wasn’t at all interested to investigate, let alone walking along it by myself, especially when it seemingly leads to nowhere. However, after a few months, I decided that a visit could do me no harm.

“Are you sure you want to go down the path?” my best friend who followed me asked. “Yes,” I replied bravely. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m following you,” he said and so I agreed. Although I was reluctant to bring anyone else with me, I know that preventing them was useless, simply because I couldn’t care less with what people want to do with their own life and their own body. Besides, it’s always good to have someone around just in case I’m injured or killed, not that there’s anyone special in my life who needs to know that I’m dead.

“You have life insurance right?” my best friend asked me suddenly. Thinking that it was a joke, seeing that we have been walking non stop for the past hour, I laughed while saying, “Yeah and you will get all the money since I don’t have any other living family members or friends,” I replied. “Good,” he said. “Why did you asked,” I questioned him but I never did received an answer because the next thing I knew, he shot me in the head and pushed my dead body down the cliff. It turns out that there was nothing special about the path. The whole legend and stories were created by him as a plot to lure me towards my dead. It turns out that my life insurance was really useless after all.

My best friend may get away will all my insurance money but I remained at the woods, waiting for someone to come. From that day onwards, the path really became haunted, not by some random ghosts but by me. Some may disagree with me killing all the hikers that pass-by but surely even a lonely ghost like me deserve to have some friends.

The Apology : Birthday

pexels-photo-720362.jpeg

Most people that I know would say that one of the happiest day of their life is their birthday but as I said before, it’s not for me. I hate birthdays, let alone celebrating them. I guess even if I hate it, it doesn’t mean that I don’t have to walk about it at all. Birthdays are important whether you like it or not. Most people, they regard birthdays as milestones and a calculation of how far they’ve gone in life. For me, I see my birthdays as a nuisance and a curse. Every time I became a year older, I would wish that it would be the last year that I’m alive but as each year pass, I became more and more disappointed.

As if it’s not enough that none of my wishes for the year came true, it’s more devastating when I start to realise that maybe even death doesn’t want me. People would tell me, “Be grateful that you’re alive and that you have enough money to survive. Some people in the world don’t even have enough money to eat and some died when they are just babies,”. While I am grateful that I have enough money to get by, sometimes I wonder, is it really a blessing to be alive? What is there in life if all you get is misery, working day and night just to get some money so that you can live for another day, just to repeat everything the next day?

All these talks about life reminded me of the time that I ruined a birthday celebration. It was a fine day, even for me when somehow I found myself in the middle of a birthday party. The circumstances were always the same. There was someone who annoyed me and immediately, the voices in my head to me to kill him and so I did. Except for this time, I did it as fast and as painless as possible. “He’s annoying but not that annoying,” the voices said. “Maybe you can spare him the misery of living and end his life in the least painful away as possible,” they ordered me and so I followed the orders.

Of course, finding a way to kill someone without really hurting them is hard until I found an axe that was lying around for no reason. I found out later on that the axe was intended to be used later on for the one who is being celebrated to chop open pieces of wood that would somehow reveal her presents. Of course, it never happened because it took people less than five minutes to notice the father of the birthday boy missing and another five minutes for them to find his head. If I was being honest, I would say that it was the easiest yet the most enjoyable task that I was ever given by the voices in my head.

The old man didn’t suspect a thing when I ‘accidentally’ pushed him to the ground but when he saw me holding the axe, he wanted to scream but couldn’t because I was faster. That would help to explain the shocked and confused expression on his face. Of course, I hated the party and didn’t want it to be dragged on any longer. I bought the head with me to the back of the stage, where nobody could see me. Just as the organiser whisked out the birthday cake, and the wife searching frantically for her husband, thinking that he was probably cheating on her, I throw the head and it landed on the cake.

Some people laughed, thinking it was a joke but when the laughter turns into screamings, I must confess that I was beyond happy. The birthday was ruined and one thing for sure is that the boy would never look forward towards his birthday ever again. Sure, I killed someone but it turns out that the person I killed had women tied up in his basement and he abuses his older children. So, tell me, did I do something wrong? It wasn’t two years later that I found out the boy would never have another birthday party. Not because he’s traumatised but it’s because he killed himself. Instead of feeling guilty, I felt happy because I killed a psychopath and prevented someone from suffering his whole life. Surely, I deserve a medal for that.

From that day onwards, I did celebrate a birthday. It isn’t mine but the boy’s. That day, I found out that for the first time in my life, I did something good, something useful for the society and I hope that some day, they would do the same for me.

(To be continued)

The Apology (Part 1)

sunset-3042496_1920

“Do you have any other thing to say?” the police officer asked me. “No,” I said. “I already told you everything,” I replied. “You may leave now,” I was told and so I did after more than five hours of being detained at the police station. I know was expected to tell the truth but I couldn’t simply because doing so was suicidal. You see, everything that happened wasn’t my fault. They told me to do it and so I did because they say if I didn’t, they would kill me and my loved ones, which is something that I would never allow anyone to do.

It wasn’t the first time that I followed what the voices in my head told me to. The first time, they told me to kill a cat. “We hate how it walks and stare at you,” they said. “We want it dead. NOW,” they commanded and being the powerless guy that I was, I had no way of objecting. It was hard at first. After all, I always have a thing for cats. However, as I saw the first pool of blood pouring out the cat, something clicked inside of me. It made me happy. I wanted to see more. I wanted to feel more blood flowing onto my hands.

Sure, I tried many times to tell people that they are others living in my head by I never got the chance to. “Tell them and we’ll kill you,” they said. I was never afraid of being dead. In fact, I always look forward to the day that I’ll die. That day will be the best day of my life but it would also be the most devastating day of my life, simply because I’m claustrophobic and when you’re claustrophobic, the idea of being buried 6 ft under the ground doesn’t seem that appealing.

I still remember the first time I killed another human being. It was around midnight when it happened and I was innocent too. “That person is so rude,” the voices told me. “I want you to kill her slowly and mercilessly,” they demanded and I agreed. One of the benefits of having an innocent look is that people trust you not to harm them and that they automatically feel safe around you. The person wasn’t suspecting anything even when I was obviously following her. Every time she turned around, I gave an innocent smile and looked down.

The third time she looked behind, I was holding a knife and she was too slow as I stabbed her in the stomach, just enough to hurt her but not too much. “A quick kill is never worth it,” the voices told me once. “Shh,” I said at the person who looked at me in fear and disbelief. I pushed her onto the ground and stabbed her right eye with the same knife. “I bet you have always wanted to see what your right eye look like,” I told her. Having said that, I took out the right eye with the knife and waved it in front of her, so that her left eye would see.

“You know what?” I asked her. “Your tongue is too long,” I said. “Maybe I ought to shorten it up a little. You know. Just to give you a little makeover,” I continued. Seeing how worried she was, I reassured her by saying the words “Don’t worry. It’s completely free,” with a huge smile. Then, I forced open her mouth and pulled out her tongue before cutting it in half. She screamed of course but when you lost half of your tongue, your scream sounds more like voices animals would make.

Fortunately for her, before I could do anything else, I heard someone approaching and so, I slit her throat before shoving the knife into her throat, killing her instantly. I heard the screams that followed once passerby saw the dead body. I know what I did was wrong and I sometimes felt guilty about it. However, most of the time, my hunger for blood and the fear of losing those who are close to me overcome my guilt. Sometimes in life, not everything that happened is your choice. Everyone is a puppet that is controlled by someone or something and people like me have stories of their own. Different people have their own regrets and what you are reading is my regret.

This is my apology.

(To be continued)

The Anger : Short Story

lion-2885618_1920

“I’ll be there in a minute,” I impatiently said to the person who was on the phone. “I would go faster but I couldn’t!” I shouted, angrily and the person hung up. I wasn’t the type of person to get angry easily as I’m always calm and reasonable but when someone just couldn’t understand something, it really annoys me. “Everyone’s born smart but some choose to be retarded,” I explained to someone once. Of course that someone stopped being friends with me but it’s not my fault. In fact, nothing is ever my fault.

It’s less than a minute later that the person called me again. “I told you I will be there in a minute!” I shouted. “I don’t have a minute. I need you to be here now!” the person shouted back. “Listen here you bloody idiot. I will be there as soon as this traffic clears up!” I yelled and hung up. “Bloody idiot ruined my day,” I mumbled to myself. It took me half an hour to reach my destination but it felt like hours. I got out off the door and saw something fell in front of me, causing me to jump away, up and down like an idiot. At first, I thought the person who was so eager to meet me started to throw rubbish at my direction but when I heard the screams, I finally realised that she had killed herself.

“I really don’t know why she wanted to meet me,” I told the police officer that was questioning me for the last hour. “You must know something,” I was told to which I reply with a question, “Look here you smartasses, rather than keeping me here why don’t you solve real murder cases?” and I walked out. I was strolling aimlessly, trying to get the ridiculuosly horrifying picture out of my mind when someone called my name not once but twice. Turning around, I saw that it was my boss. “I’m so sorry for your lost,” he said before walking away. Stopping at his tracks, he said, “Don’t blame it on yourself. The traffic wasn’t your fault,”

“Die you idiot,” I said under my breath. I was sure that he was still able to listen to what I said but it didn’t matter. Seconds later, a car lost control and ran over him, killing him instantly. Everyone became hysterical, of course but I remained speechless. As people started to gather around me, I could feel my vision getting smaller and smaller, darker and darker and finally, I passed out. I woke up at the hospital, my best friend sitting beside me. “Where am I?” I asked. “Hospital,” he replied. “You fainted at the crash scene,” he explained. I was discharged an hour later after forcing the doctor to let me go. My best friend offered to stay at my place for the night but I refused, saying that I will be fine after a long sleep.

I was sure I was in the middle of a sweet dream when I heard someone knocking on my door. “Don’t open it,” my inner voice said. “It’s the ghosts of those two people,” it said. “They want you dead,” it continued and so I lied on my bed, trying not to move a muscle. The knocking became scratching and later banging. “Open this door you idiot!” someone screamed at the other end of the door. I recognised the voice and I would have opened the door if I haven’t rememebered that the person died a long time ago. “It’s time for you to die too,” the person said in a happy tone.

“No you freak,” I replied. “I didn’t survive thing long in the world just to be killed by some stupid, idiot ghost,” I said and went back to sleep. It was seconds later that I heard something or someone creeping onto the bed. I opened my eyes and saw a rotting corpse smiling at me. I let out the loudest scream that I could and tried to push the thing away. “Don’t worry,” it said. “It will be quick and painless,” it said, laughing happily. “Then you can join the rest of us and we could be friends again, just like the good old times,” it explained. I didn’t get the chance to ask about what the hell the thing was talking about because the next thing I knew, the thing was holding my neck and I heard a crack. Then, I was flying down the appartment building and towards the ground.

The Lifeless Valentine : Short Story

pexels-photo-15267

I wasn’t really sure what the old woman told me to help her with but they way she trembles while talking and walking made it difficult for me to refuse to help her. I was aware of the recent case where a young student was killed (butchered, actually) while stopping to help an old woman carrying her groceries. The old woman turned out to be Satan but when the innocent samaritan found out about it, it was already too late. Someone found her remains near a drain, thinking that it was something people cook for dinner or something.

I was scared at first but after realising that I’m still alive after a few minutes, I figured that perhaps this old woman is truly innocent. “Where’s your house?” I asked her. “It’s just by that corner over there,” she replied. That instant, I knew that something was wrong because there’s no house at “that corner over there”. “I think my gun is falling,” I said, lying. The old woman trembled even more after hearing that I have a gun and she immediately said, “Oh look, my grandson is here!” while pointing towards a guy that’s double my size. It took me less than a minute to get out of there and drove away.

I figured that it would be too risky to go straight home from the market so, I decided to stop at my friend’s house. She might be my friend but I couldn’t care less if the huge guy and the old woman chop her into pieces. “Do you have a date for valentine’s?” she asked me while I sat at the table, sipping a cup of coffee. I made an excuse to meet her, giving her a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates, as a symbol of appreciation for being my “friend”. “No,” I said. “I don’t intend to go out and buy someone a dinner for a day cause that’s what everyone is doing,” I replied. “Oh don’t be a square,” she replied. “Valentine’s are fun. You get to date anyone you like without people judging,” she replied.

“That reminds me of a movie,” I replied. “A horror movie about someone going on a rampage,” I said, finally knowing what I would do for the night. When her lover arrived, I asked “When are you going to get married?” and she replied, “As soon as the closet could fit 100 people,”. I left after half an hour, driving around while occasionally checking mine rare mirror, seeing if anyone followed me. After deciding that I was safe, I went home, only to find that the door was unlocked. I called the cops immediately and I was told to stay in the car in case the robbers were still inside, armed with weapons. Five minutes later, they arrived and barged into my house. It was a wreck but at least, they stole nothing. The only thing I had in the living room were novels that nobody reads anymore. Of course, ever since I started listening to audiobooks, I stopped reading them too.

I was asked if I have enemies to which I replied with, “Not that I could think of,” with a shaky voice. Then, I told them everything that happened about an hour ago, causing them to warn me against staying alone for the night. “Do you have somewhere else to stay?” they interrogated and I nodded. I rang my best friend and asked him if he had plans for Valentine’s. He was all excited, thinking that I was asking him out but the excitedness went to terrified after I informed that serial killers were probably on the loose and that they might be looking for me. “Oh dear lord!” he exclaimed over the phone. “What kind of problem did you get yourself into now?”

“It isn’t my fault,” I retaliated. “Listen. I will tell you everything once I get there,” I replied and hung up, realising that I probably already spent nearly half an hour on the phone. After reaching his house which was in a gated community, surrounded by “extra security”, I told my best friend to lock everything, including windows and doors. “Don’t be silly,” he said. “If one of us dies, the surviving person will get a huge amount of money,” he said, laughing. “This isn’t funny,” I complaint. “I shouldn’t have been so helpful all the time,” I continued. “Didn’t you see the news?” he asked. “Look. I know you think the news is right-wing conservative propaganda but you can’t ignore them all. Sometimes, they also provide information about…..” my best friend blabbered as I stared out of the window.

For a brief second, I thought that I was a man wearing all black standing at the far end of the road, but maybe I imagined things. “Hey!” my best friend touched my shoulder, bringing me back to reality. “It’s sad, isn’t it?” he asked. “Sad?” I asked back, confused. “Valentine’s day was supposed to be a happy day, a day for lovebirds to go out and enjoy themselves. Not for large corporations to rip-off people and certainly not for people to guard you 24/7,” he said, pointing at the cops who were staying in their cars. “Am I stopping you from seeing someone?” I asked, feeling guilty. “No, no,” he replied. “You know since my divorce that I no longer date anyone,”. “So, what are you doing tonight?” I asked. “Watching a movie and before I sleep, listening to an audiobook on Audible,” he replied. “What about you?” I was asked. “I will just stay up all night, holding your gun,” I replied.

 

That night, my best friend put on a horror story, the one that I thought about earlier in the morning. “I hate these movies,” he complained. “They are so predictable,” he continued. “It always starts with a guy or a girl, doing something innocent when they meet someone suspicious who comes to their house at night and murders them. The lovers would be separated by death or they would live happily ever after that is until the psycho comes back and the screen cuts to black,” he said and I nodded in agreement. “I don’t watch movies for the messages or the story. I watch them for the killings,” I replied. “What’s so great about killing?” he asked.

“Well, I would just imagine that I’m in the psycho’s place. I imagine that I’m the one killing people aimlessly cause that’s what I want to do,” I replied. “Movies and books are my gateways. They let me be someone that I always wanted to be. They let me be me,” I explained. “So you had always wanted to be a murderer?” he asked. “Well, there are some people who just manages to annoy me so much, I just wish I could cut their head off and chop their meat into small pieces and feed them to the animals!” I exclaimed with a tone an excitedness, as I pictured myself doing it. “Get away from me you psycho!” my best friend exclaimed and panicked a little before calming down. “You know,” he said. “I totally agree with you. Fiction is a form of escapism,” he continued.

“So,” I asked. “If a psycho running around is cliched, tell me, what isn’t?” I asked him. “When the writer does something totally random. Like writing a short story without a plot and ending it just like that,”. “But what’s the point of doing all that?” I asked, confused at what he said. “Well, a story never ends. It keeps repeating. There’s never a happy ending. There’s no happily ever after. People fight. People break up. People die. Somewhere, somewhat, somehow, something would happen,” he explained. “Oh,” I replied, amused at his level of wisdom. “That’s why instead of finishing a cliched story, the writer should just end it, after it became too mainstream.

I dailed the number of the policeman who said that I needed to call him to report anything and he came in. He didn’t have a chance to do anything as I shot him in the head and locked the door behind me. I took the knife and it took me nearly two hours to cut out his heart. Bringing towards my best friend, I asked, “Oh honey, would you be my valentine?” and he nodded. “That’s a good move,” he said. “But it’s still clichéd!” he complained and took the gun from the floor. “Killing yourself is cliched too,” I pointed out. “I know,” he replied. “That’s why I’m killing you instead,” he said. “That’s cliched too,” I said in defence. “What isn’t?”

The End.

The Regret : Flash Fiction

skull-1193784_1280

Alice walked out of her car and walked away from the screaming and wailing daughter that was locked inside. Slowly, she walked towards the woods, leaving her only child behind. “It’s not my fault,” she said to herself in a soothing voice as if she was calming herself, telling her soul that everything would be alright. “It will be over soon,” her inner voice said. Alice wasn’t sure if everything went according to plan because she stood there for 10 minutes, waiting for something to happen but it didn’t.

Just as she was about to go back to her car, it exploded, sending pieces of the car and her daughter flying all over the place although she couldn’t tell apart which one’s which. She dropped to the ground, wailing as people started to gather around to observe the commotion. They didn’t stay long, of course, fearing that the remaining part of the car, which was just the front would explode too.

After the cops sent her home, Alice locked the door and laughed for the first time in months. Most people would regret their decision of killing their children but not Alice. Just earlier that year, she pushed her husband off the building and now she got rid of yet another nuisance. “I couldn’t be happier,” Alice said whenever someone who visits her asked how she was feeling. Of course, they didn’t pay much attention to her weird answer. Unfortunately, those who are too stupid to question her and starts investigating never got out alive.