L is for Loser

The BookReader Chapter 2

2011-05-15T16:32:00.004+08:00

Here's Chapter 2 of The BookReader!

Chapter 2 | CATS

I told Uncle Russ to take his pills and a slid a clear class of water to his side of the table. When he picked up the glass and placed it against his ear, he signaled that I be quiet. I nodded and left the table, but not before reminding him, again, to drink his medication. He scanned me with his crazy eyes and when he washed down the pills with his water, he proudly grinned.

“Congratulations. I’ll be back to make dinner so make sure you don’t cook anything while I’m gone.” Reminding him was a routine and I made sure that the landlady, who was kind enough to watch over him while I was gone (I bake her homemade muffins in return.), would make sure he stayed out of trouble.

It was a hassle sometimes, but it was necessary. After greeting the landlady and handing her a fresh batch of sugary treats, I headed to The Book Reader as fast as I could. It’s been a week since I’ve started working there as a store assistant/ cleaner/ cook and I still haven’t gotten use to the strange stares I constantly receive from everyone.

Now, if they were staring at me for my charming good looks, then all would be fine, but I was convinced that it was the dress I was wearing instead of my normal pair of jeans and sweater. This dress was, for the lack of a better word, unnatural especially in this time and age. Arthur somehow decided that the dress was going to be some sort of uniform. I didn’t question it. I guess it suited the whole Victorian look of the shop or something.

Passing by the café, I turned the corner and walked through the alley, which seemed more welcoming than my fellow neighbors. When I made it to the mystical front door of the antique bookshop, I took a moment to admire it and turned to face the lamp post. The plaque swung briefly from the autumn draft and as I turned the door knob, the gentle ring of the bell echoed quite pleasantly in my ears.

“Miss Emma! I have to say your timing couldn’t be more perfect! Would you please help me from this quandary?” I stared wide eyed as Arthur had his hands outstretched to protect a ledger and some papers while the floor was soaked with dark water. He was balancing on one leg while the other was supporting a chair that was on the verge of toppling over. To make matters more interesting, on the cushion of the chair was a pail of murky water. The mop was lifeless on the floor, down for the count.

I shook my head.

I helped him settle into a much more comfortable position and began to mop up the puddle on the floor. “I just have to ask.” I couldn’t help myself. “How did whatever happened… happen?”

“Ah, well you see, now that you’ve helped with all the cleaning and organizing, there is very little for me to do, so I thought I’d try helping around.” He said being quite pleased with himself, but this wasn’t right by my book.

“Listen Arthur, I’m happy that you’re trying to lighten my workload, but it’s my job to take care of the cleaning. And how can you have little to do? Shouldn’t you be doing some of the book-keeping or checking accounts or receiving books or something?” Arthur didn’t answer my question instead he simply shoved the papers and ledger into the desk drawer. I finished up with mopping and decided to sweep some floors. I scooted around as I swept the dust that collected over night. Honestly, this place never seems to run out of dust.

I could feel Arthur observe my movements, as if he were planning to apply his new found techniques whenever the chance came which meant more work for me. Arthur was… clumsy.

I could hear the heels of his shoes and the impact of his cane vibrate from the wooden floor and I couldn’t help but find myself feeling annoyed. I went deeper into the shop and sighed when he followed me. By the time I reached the end of the room, I glanced at the closed door as I tried my hardest to keep my distance from it. Arthur continued to tail behind me. Ignoring him took all of my concentration and this mystical closet/ back door wasn’t helping me in any way. I stopped in my tracks as I called out to him. He gave out an awkward expression of a person whose concentration was taken away.

“Ah, yes my dear?”

“It’s a little hard to clean with you following me around like that.” A little was too soft a word, still, I wasn’t about to mouth off my employer. He took a moment to consider what I’ve said and smiled shortly afterward.

“I see, I do apologize, Miss Emma.” He started. “It’s quite intriguing to watch how expertly you handle that instrument. Have it not been for your superior cleaning techniques, this place would still be smothered with cob webs and dust and heaven knows what else!” I looked at him oddly when I realized he was impressed by my skills in doing house work.

“No problem, It’s my job after all.” I hesitated but said it anyway.

“There must be a way to properly thank you for the work you’ve done so far.”

“It’s fine Arthur.” A paycheck would do perfectly, was what I wanted to say, but didn’t. “Since it’s just about time for lunch, how about I go ahead into the kitchen?”

Arthur’s magnificent blue eyes practically glowed. These couple of days, he’s been very enthusiastic about me working here, especially when it came to cooking.

To be honest, I was kind of having fun. After emptying the contents of the dust pan into the trash by the counter, I headed down to the basement and into the small kitchen.

I took my time to make some spaghetti. One thing I’ve learned is that Arthur needs a full meal, even for lunch. Sandwiches or salads won’t be enough. I guess that’s the scary thing about growing boys. Amazingly, this kitchen seemed to have everything from the ingredients to the equipment. I found it funny how a small kitchen could hold so many things.

When everything was done, I placed the plate of pasta into the oven and headed upstairs to call my boss—wow, that sounded pretty weird. Walking up the stairs (I took a few seconds to look at the 12 picture frames around me) I looked for Arthur between the shelves.

After deciding to go to the counter, I was surprised to see an old lady chatting with Arthur. I felt my cheeks heat up. This was the first customer I’ve seen since I’ve started here. I retreated a little and cursed a little when Arthur noticed me and called me out.

“Miss Emma! I’d like to introduce you to Mrs. Wilde. She’s been our customer for many years.” Not knowing whether I was supposed to shake her hand or bow or whatever, I simply waved and greeted her.

“It’s very nice to meet you. I’m the store’s assistant.” That was all I could muster.

“I’ll say! Dear Arthur, I don’t recall you having such a lovely lady assistant before.” Mrs. Wilde took my hand as she spoke. I was amazed to find her hands so cold.

“I’m Emma Austen. I just recently started working here.”

“She’s been a great help with cleaning the shop.” Arthur caressed the counter. Mrs. Wilde laughed and nodded.

“I see. Well, Miss Emma, you’ve done a spectacular job with the place. I do apologize for the boy’s untidiness. He may look proper but he has quite an unorganized head.” I laughed only because it was true.

There was some chatter for a while until the old lady pulled out a leather book that was bound together with some thread.

“Here’s the book I’ve been meaning to hand you.” I noticed how she looked at the book with longing eyes and smiled a smile that was so obviously hurt. “I hope you find it to be a good read, my dear.” She held Arthur’s hand as she spoke and I could see her fingers were trembling a little. Arthur took her hand and kissed it (Shocker, but then again, he seems like the type to do weirder things) with a worried smile.

“I thank you deeply. I will read it thoroughly and I will surely share your story with my family. They will be most pleased. I will miss you greatly, Mrs. Wilde. It is such a shame that things have come to this.”

Why were they so sad suddenly?

“Are you going somewhere Mrs. Wilde?” I asked. I didn’t mean to butt in but it felt awkward with me just standing there. She turned to me smiling and chuckled a little, I could still see her hands shaking.

“Yes—and I’m afraid I won’t be returning.” I never know what to say during these kinds of situations. I always thought that a simple pat on the back would be enough but since I barely knew this person, it made it more difficult to come up with a response.

“That’s too bad.” Taking a step back, I turned away from the old lady but she patted me on the hand and smiled.

“I was just becoming fond of you too.” I smiled at her.

We chatted for a bit more about several things, politics, some local gossip, the weather. We offered her a seat and some tea but she thanked us and kindly refused, saying that she should be on her way. I guess she had some business to attend to.

“I do apologize, Mrs. Wilde,” Arthur said, clutching the book in his hand. “I wish I could escort you on the way.” I looked puzzled before the old lady and she laughed at me a little

“I understand dear, you can’t help it. I do hope you take good care of Arthur, Miss Emma.” After wishing her the best, she turned and disappeared behind the front door. I took a moment to read Arthur’s face as he examined the leather book. I was shocked a bit when he took a whiff of the pages of the book but was even more shocked when he flipped through the pages and closed with a soft snap and said;

“It is a good read.” I couldn’t help but shift about. I saw him flip though the pages again and closing it again. He felt the book in his hands, tracing all the fine stitching he could see.

“Are you sure? You didn’t even read it, how can you tell?” The doubt was obvious in my voice.

“I can tell.” I asked how could be possibly tell and he replied to me in monotone. “It’s what I do. I read stories—therefore I can tell.” For a minute I saw how his brilliant blue eyes glinted with such mystery and danger.

“I’d like to read it.” I was shocked at how I wasn’t able to filter that sentence. “I mean, if it’s okay with you of course.” He looked up at me with mystical blue eyes and pondered for a moment. We stood for several seconds in silence as he observed me. Just when I was about to break the silence, he spoke.

“Why don’t we have a seat downstairs? I do smell something delicious.” The mystery and danger just disappeared at that point. He held the book close to him as he headed to the basement. I wasn’t about to address the fact that he completely ignored my question, but I guess it was my fault for saying something without thinking it through. I might’ve stepped on something sensitive there.

Following his lead, I headed down and prepared the meal. We ate our meal (Arthur had 2 full plates) and I cleaned the dishes while the boy had his cup of tea. I would kill for some fizzy drinks right now, or maybe a beer. I laughed at the thought but settled for some coffee after the dishes were done.

There were times where I found this job to be a total drag, and there are times where I find it… slightly amusing—slightly. I admit that Arthur was pretty loose with the rules of the shop. The only thing he’s very particular about is food.

“Have a seat, Miss Emma.” He called me over to the table. Taking my coffee with me and setting it down, I sat on the chair and made myself comfortable. “These past few days have been wonderful and you’ve done a very good job.”

I smiled, but wondered there the conversation was going.

“You’ve even taught me a few things about cleaning.” He laughed. “I had all this time and I wonder why I couldn’t pick up skills like yours.” I forced a laugh. I was much too worried to make fun of him. I shifted uncomfortably as he showered me with comments that I couldn’t really register. I think he even said something about my hair. At this point, I just had to say something.

“Um… Say Arthur, did I do anything wrong? Because,” His confused look answered the question for me, but I still wanted to make sure. “Well, you see you’re complimenting me and everything but somehow I feel like we’re heading into the You’re-not-right-for-the-job conversation.” He sighed and shook his head with a smile.

“No, no, no, you seem to be misunderstanding.” He waved his hands as he said. “You’re safe here. I think this store suits you nicely. Besides, I can’t let you leave just yet.”

Ah yes, my debt.

“My reason for bringing this conversation up is, well, because you mentioned that you would like to read this book.” He pulled the old lady’s book from under the table. Had it been there the whole time?

“Oh, well, I don’t have to read—”

“Tell me, what do you think of our shop?”

I was caught off guard with the question. I had so many things to say about the shop in my head but putting it into words seemed difficult and, well, rude. I cleared my throat and eyed Arthur who waited patiently for my response. I guess he was serious. I fidgeted about on my chair and gulped down some coffee but when I opened my mouth to speak, Arthur interrupted saying;

“Honesty is a welcomed guest, Miss Emma. I would like to know what you truly think of this shop.” I took a deep breath, weighing the odds in my head. Screw it, he asked for the truth anyway.

“Well, it’s filthy.” There was a pause. I continued. “It’s a great place but it could do with a little less, uh, dust.” The boy nodded, listening intently. “Some light would be nice. It’s pretty dark.” He nodded again. “Oh, and we need to advertise more or something. I mean, Mrs. Wilde was the only customer I’ve seen since I started. No one seems to know about this place, it’s practically invisible.”

He laughed a little.

That was it. There was no follow up or explanation so that was probably the end of the conversation. It was something I would have to get used to but conversations with Arthur were always incomplete and I was about to pop a nerve.

“Okay, that was really creepy.”
“Pardon?”

“What you did just now, the little laugh? Yeah, severely creepy.” I stood up. “Um, if we’re done here, I’m going to go ahead and start with the rest of today’s uh, chores.” I cautiously turned around to head upstairs but there was a cat in my way.

It was an orange cat. I didn’t know why there was a cat in my way, there just was. I took a moment to think of an appropriate way to react to it but when I turned to Arthur, the only thing I was able to say was;

“It’s a cat.” Arthur laughed a little and he took another sip from his cup.

“Yes, yes, I see that.” He said, chuckling some. “Oh, you’ve met before actually. I believe Mr. Charles here is the one who led you to our shop in the first place.” I took a moment to remember. When I did, I almost immediately, and carelessly, cringed at the animal.

“Oh yeah, this little devil. I know the type of cat this one is.” Just when I was about to reach down to stroke its fury head, something happened.

“How rude.” The cat said.

The cat said.

“Ex-Excuse me?” I sputtered, watching it jump onto the chair (My chair) sitting on the cushion comfortably.

“Hello old friend,” Arthur chuckled, smiling at the animal as he set his cup down, barely making any noise as he did. “It has been quite a while, how have you been doing? I must say I’m rather surprised; you normally arrive late or not at all upon invitation.

“Ah, as you know very well my boy, I like to surprise people.” The cat laughed (Which was extremely weird to look at). “I’m doing quite well. Would it be much, lass, to ask for a drink?” I stood there dazed. Arthur whispered something to me that I couldn’t really hear. I just floated to the kitchen counter and pulled out a tea cup and poured milk into it. I set it down and it sounded like the cat made some sort of sigh of satisfaction after sniffing it some.

“So how goes your Grandfather?” The orange thing asked.

“He’s very well, though he hasn’t been doing much.” Arthur replied.

“That’s a good thing boy! He is much too old.”

“I suppose, though I worry since he used to be such a lively thing.”

Listening to this conversation felt like—to me—watching a plane fly thousands of feet in the air across the sky. I could see it happening, but it was like I was in a completely different world. Nothing could be done, it just keeps flying.

How was this happening? I wanted to speak, scream even, but I was paralyzed. They were living by their own pace, dancing to their own music and I was just being swept away.

At some point, I clicked back into reality, or what I thought was reality. Before me, sitting politely was a talking orange cat drinking milk out of an expensive teacup. They were talking about something but I didn’t have the mind to pay attention.

I was grinding my teeth. I had to calm down. How was this happening? Was this a trick, an illusion? Several moments passed and I merely stood there, shifting gazes from the damn cat to the boy.

After moving the conversation from his grandfather then to something about gondolas and lawn gnomes, I reacted when Mrs. Wilde was mentioned. It was a soft ‘oh’ but they both heard me and looked up. I could see a soft redness on Arthur’s pale and flawless cheeks.

“Oh, goodness.” He mumbled then laughed to himself and adjusting is glasses. “I seem to be such a scatterbrain today. Miss Emma, this is—”

Oh god, he was going to introduce me to a cat.

“Oh don’t worry, Arthur boy,” The damn cat interrupted, waving his paw. “I’ve heard all about her from Mr. Aiden.”

“Who?” I somehow managed to speak.

“You’re not as tall as I pictured you.” The cat said as he observed me. I started at him and wondered if it was safe to respond. The damn cat had eyes that looked like emerald and when he spoke, I could hear a little bit of an Irish accent. Before I could even let out a sigh, he continued to defy the laws of science. “Still, much prettier than I thought!”

“Miss Emma,” Arthur broke in. “I’d like you to meet your colleague. He’ll be helping around the shop as well.” He smiled his damn smile. The damn cat adjusted himself from the seat to face me fully and I swear to heaven that the thing bowed as he introduced himself.

“I go by Ronald Charles Hawkins,” I could almost hear the royal trumpets. “It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Emma Austen.” There wasn’t much I could do. I didn’t know how to react so I just stood there.

“You can call him Mr. Charles,” Arthur added. “Most of us do.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t”

“Hold on.” Yes, two words! I was on a roll. They all looked at me inquisitively and all I could manage to say was; this isn’t real.

Apparently I began to sway and Arthur and Mr. Charles had to help onto the chair. Arthur poured me a cup of tea and I gulped it down. For several moments, we all sat there in silence. Arthur went back to his seat and Mr. Charles made himself comfortable on a chair to my left—a chair that I swear was not there earlier. I couldn’t worry about chairs though. At this point I was struggling with the reality of a talking orange Irish cat that seemed more sophisticated then I was.

“So,” I broke the silence after several minutes and looked at them. “You talk.”

“Yes,” Mr. Charles said, with worry in his voice, unsure of how I would take it. He and Arthur exchanged glances. “Yes, I do. How do you feel Miss Emma?” I waved my hand to keep him from talking. If they were so genuinely concerned for my mentality, they shouldn’t bring things that defied the laws of natural science.

“Perhaps now is the perfect time to inform the lass,” I could hear the damn cat was whispering to Arthur but I didn’t want to look. Arthur nodded sighed, as if disappointed. He called my name with such an angelic voice; I had to look up, though I couldn’t hide the fear and confusion—I was already shaking.

“Miss Emma,” He began. There was a glint in his eyes, like caution and excitement. I could see the grin that was creeping onto his handsome face as his brilliant blue eyes locked with my dull ones. “The BookReader is,” He paused for a moment. “This shop is a little different than others. You see, we don’t just sell books—we sell History.”

There was a pause.

“History books?” I could tell I was making a face. The damn cat snickered for a moment.

“No, dear, we do not sell History books.” For a moment, he was confused with his words but he literally waved them away with his hand. “Let me explain.”

Please do.

“Books have an amazing power of memory or documentation. Now don’t give me that face, hear me out.” He protested as I squinted at him. “To put it simply, books have the power to record the lives of its owner or—if you want to be dramatic—it’s master. When we sell a book to someone, we’re also selling the owner’s—”

“History…” I cut him off, though I wasn’t even sure of what I was hearing. He nodded excitedly as he stood to walk to one of the many bookcases around the room. As he plucked a book from the shelves, I saw that he had his black cane. He didn’t have it with him earlier.

“Exactly,” He held out a book and demonstrated the act of flipping through pages. “Now to any person this may just be any book, but what they don’t know,” He snapped the book closed and I could see a cloud of dust burst from the pages. “Is that every action made and every word spoken has been recorded within it.”

“Is this some sort of joke?” I muttered as I raised a brow. I did because everything he just said sounded stupid. Somehow, neither of these crazy people—cat included—were able to read my expressions and continued their streak of crazy talk.

“You see lass,” The talking cat began. “This does not only happen to books. In fact, every object made by man has the ability to document History. The only reason why we choose books is because—well, Arthur here prefers to read them that way.”

Automatically, I turned to face Arthur who smiled at me, bowing a little.

“Is this some sort of cult?” I blurted. “Are you trying to preach some sort of mystical….whatever to me, maybe some sort of philosophical lesson?” I eyed every corner of the room suspiciously. “Does every object have a soul? Is there a God, that kind of thing?” I couldn’t hide the musical wave of my voice but I was trying my best not to mock them.

“Yes,” Arthur said obviously. “But that’s not what we’re discussing right now, in fact I’d rather not go into that—much too lengthy and it would only stir trouble.” Just like that, he waved it off.

“To put things simply,” The cat placed an orange paw delicately on the table, as if to affirm his explanation. “When you live your life, every moment is being kept with the object closest to you.”

There was a long pause and it looked like they were letting me sink the information in.

“Wow, this is ridiculous.” I heard myself say. “This is all ridiculous. Everything you guys just said, made no sense at all.” My face was the very definition of smug. I had every possible amount of confidence that I was right. I glared at the talking animal. “Neither do you.” The room fell silent again. I couldn’t tell what they were thinking but I sat there, so sure that somehow our drinks got spiked and Arthur was talking nonsense and I was seeing a talking animal.

“If you think about it,” The damn cat said slowly, unfazed. “Everything, when explained, is rather… stupid.” I winced at his emphasis.

I sat and yielded. I thought of whatever possible job this town had was better than this one. I didn’t want to work with crazy people but I needed to the money, plus I broke their book.

“Fine then,” I said. “Books remember stuff. Great.” I wondered about how long I would be able to put up with this silly joke. Arthur was a kid, eventually he’ll loose interest and they’ll pop out of closets with cameras in their hands screaming Got-cha!

“You understand then?” Arthur said, gripping his cane excitedly. I avoided his gaze, staring at the corner of the table as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Sure.” I mumbled. Arthur then slammed his hands on the table, making me jump. Looking up, I saw on his face the biggest grin I have ever seen. He took my hands and he squeezed.

“Will you help me then?” Arthur asked. “I want to see everything! I want to see the world.” Taken back I just blinked at him and nodded carelessly.

“Oh you don’t know what this means!” The boy exclaimed. “This will change everything!” He pulled me off my chair after muttering a Pardon me. I glanced down at the cat that sighed and shook his furry head. He followed behind as Arthur pulled me away from the table and up the stairs to the shop.

“Wait, where are we going?” I managed to ask without stumbling over the steps. He swung the door open and immediately the smell of old musty books hit me square in the face. Arthur, seemingly unaffected, then released my hand and strode through the forest of towering bookshelves. The gas lamps on the walls glowed and shadow of the shelves stretched across the floor, making look taller than before.

I hesitated but the cat stepped ahead of me, turning his emerald eyes in my direction. I felt it again, just like I did the first time I ran into him in the streets. Those eyes seemed to look into me. Before I knew it I hade taken a few steps back.

“Forgive Arthur’s impatience.” He began, his body not moving. “He is much too excited to notice your—reluctance. I’m not going to force you to believe everything we said but I give you fair warning.”

I had to swallow.

“You will be quite surprised.” Just as he said that, Arthur called out from the other side of the room.

“Miss Emma! To the back door if you will!” A voice filled with excitement echoed in the room and I followed the orange cat to where the voice was. I turned through shelves, dodging piles of books stacked aimlessly on the floor. By the time I reached the backdoor, Arthur was grinning at with his hand outstretched for mine.

I didn’t think much of it so I took his hand. His warm fingered wrapped mine soft but firm.

“I admit,” He said, not letting go, his bright blue eyes locking with my dull ones. “I don’t have that much experience with this. It’s much too dangerous to go the way I am, but with you,” He squeezed my hand a little. “With you, I can!”

“Arthur,” The cat padded between us. His voice was low and wary. “We don’t know for sure.”

“She’s here isn’t she?” Arthur practically shrieked and the way he smiled made him look hysterical. Looking down at him now, he looked like a kid who just found out his favourite band was performing at his 14 year-old birthday party. His eyes almost seemed to glow—like he was a really happy for the first time in years.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I said, but apparently not loud enough for him to hear because the next thing I knew, he turned the handle of the back door. He tucked his ebony cane under his arm and pulled at the door, swinging it open.

“Onward!”

I wasn’t sure what happened next. I didn’t know if it was a bright light or whatever but something stung my eyes and I had to shut them. I felt the cool gush of wind and the smell of the ocean. Which of course didn’t make any sense since our town was so far inland.

“Mr. Charles!” I still couldn’t open my eyes but I could hear Arthur call out as he yanked my hand hard, pulling me forward. “Are you coming?”

“Of course you silly boy!” The cat’s voice was trembling. Was he mad? Scared? Or was he excited? I felt warmth on my shoulder and felt soft fur against my cheek. I knew the cat was on my shoulder, I could feel him there but he was light.

“Brace yourself, lass!” He said into my ear. I stumbled forward and Arthur pulled at my hand again. I waited for my boots to hit the floor, but it never did. My stomach turned and rose as I lunged forward into nothing.

Welp. Hopfully it's not drenched in typos. Again, blogger is messing up the format. -_-

.L

SOVRANO Nanowrimo 2010

2011-05-14T16:11:00.002+08:00

Just a snippet of my NaNoWriMo 2010 novel.

Rosario gripped the handle tight and she leaned to the side to ride with her motorcycle. It roared like a beast as she sped past the passenger car of the train. The little boy squeezed his arms around her waist as he straddled the machine behind her.

She watched carefully as the men atop the car fired rounds at a man with the wind gushing passed them. The gunshots were barely muffled by the rumble of the train engine but she heard it clear enough to know that she had to get on top of that thing before her package gets destroyed. The boy patted her belly, signaling her that he was ready to take control. The loud roars of the engine prevented her voice from being heard so she just nodded. Edging closer to the train car, she fearlessly positioned herself onto the seat of her vehicle. No guts, no glory.

With a deep breath she jumped off her ride and maneuvered herself into a safe position while grabbing onto the convenient ladder to the roof. She watched as her motorcycle twitched and veered for a second until the boy quickly shuffled forward, taking hold of the handle bars. She watched the boy break from the chase, distancing the motorcycle with the large body of the train and disappeared behind the spread of trees.

When Rosario could no longer see the shadows of her machine, she struggled to climb the metal ladder. The rumble and vibration was harsh under her hands and her boots almost slipped passed the rail. By the time she reached the edge of the roof, she heard shouts and grunts of the men above. They were coming and she had to move fast. Pulling herself up, she was greeted by a searing hot bullet whizzing pass her left ear.

"It's Sovrano! Get her!" she almost laughed at how popular she was. She saw 2 men, carrying revolvers, grabbing onto their hats as they fired several rounds her direction. She ducked and took cover behind a weave of thick pipelines.

“Give it up Jonas! We know who the better gunner here is." Rosario shouted.

"This has nothing to do with you, Sovrano!" Jonas was out of breath but he still managed to shout loud enough for her to hear. With another shudder of the train engine, her hat flipped behind her, helpless against the wind. The black string that secured it around her neck was beginning to irritate her, flying into her eyes.

"I could say the same thing for you." she whispered to herself as she reached for her silver Peacemaker and quickly took a shot at their feet. Both men toppled down hard but they weren't done. They shot at her while gripping their bloody legs and screaming out curses that were muffled by the engines.

She couldn't get a good look from her position so she pulled out a mirror from her leather pocket only to have it shatter in her gloved hand by a bullet. It didn’t matter though, her eyes were quick and she managed to get a good enough look before her vision exploded. What she saw didn’t thrill her. Jonas and his foul-smelling lackeys were after the cargo.

The image was still clear in her mind. That white figure at a distance was carrying a suitcase. Her suitcase. This was supposed to be an easy pick-up and now there were 5 thugs or more after the thing. She wasn't getting paid enough for this job.

Focusing her attention back to the 2 bleeding fellows, she fired 2 rounds into their shoulders and jumped out when they weren't a problem anymore. Leaving them there, she dashed over the train carts to catch up with her package. She had two rounds left and she was going to make them count.

Rosario was fast but she couldn't use her full strength with the train running. She struggled to keep herself on the roof when she saw the thugs loading their guns and aiming for her. Taking a deep breath, she ignored the shake of the train and the gushing wind and broke into a dash, reducing her chances of getting hit. The thought of getting blown away in the wind was terrifying enough but now she had people firing bullets at her. Things were not going as planned.

She zigzagged , spreading her movement across the roof as they fired wildly. When she was coming in close, the men shuffled awkwardly trying to decide on the best way of fighting up-close. When she finally came up to one of the gunmen, she sent her heel right into his stomach. She grinned at the sound of his whimpering and kicked him away. The second and third attacked at the same time. One grabbed her from behind and began to squeeze the air out of her lungs. The third swung his fist across the edge of her mouth, cutting her painted lips.

She grunted and her cheeks flared. Now she was pissed.

The third man went for another strike. Rosario smashed her heel against the second man's foot and once she heard him scream, his bones crack and grip loosen, she swung her head back, breaking his nose. The man stumbled back and once Rosario was free she swung her fist into the third man's gut. She sent another hit with a fist to the second man's jaw, an elbow to third man's nose followed by a series to punches to their stomachs.

Rosario panted and when both hit the floor hard, she turned to continue the pursuit only to face another enemy. The fourth man wasted no time in pulling up his gun at her face. There was no time for fancy moves so she kicked him in the groin and watched him curl up and drop to his side, the gun hissing as it exploded above her head. He didn't seem like he was going to get up for a while. Rosario looked over several carts to see the white figure get tackled by Jonas who managed to catch up. He dramatically flung himself over the seemingly weak white coated man and tried to yank it out of his hand but couldn't.

"Where are the keys?" Rosario overheard him shouting as she approached slowly and as quietly as she could, though the rumble of the engines muted her steps pretty well enough. "Don't make me rip your hand off, give me the case!" he shouted again.

"I can't!" the man cried. She didn't recognize his voice and couldn't see his face with Jonas in the way... She intended to correct that.

"Fine you're going to have to come with me the—”Rosario slammed the handle of her gun at Jonas's head and down he went. Not bothering to check her handiwork, she faced the white coated man. She took a second to observe him. His suit was covered in dirt, his coat had a few bullet holes and his round spectacles were cracked. For a moment, Rosario thought that he was glaring at her but realized, he couldn’t see much passed that web of cracks and therefore was squinting.

He blindly, and foolishly, stared her down for seconds and when Rosario was tired of playing games, she finally spoke.

"I'm going to need that."

"You're not taking this anywhere!" He shouted almost immediately. She looked down at the man's wrist and found that the case was handcuffed to him. Almost in a flash, she pulled out her gun and shot a bullet through the chain. The man curled up into a ball attempting to protect his face when the gun exploded.

"Son of a bitch!" he screamed.

"There you go. Now if you would be so kind to hand me the—” Rosario fell onto her side when someone behind her kicked her off her feet and grabbed the suitcase. The white coated man could barely do a thing.

She looked back at the perpetrator who was running away and found it was the man who she had kicked in the balls earlier. He wasn’t at all a fast runner, with that enormous body and awkward limp, but the man next to her broke into a fit.

"Oh gods, now look! That suitcase is DANGEROUS! You have no idea how important that thing is!" he screamed so much Rosario was afraid he might break down into tears. When she got up and dusted herself, she pulled out her peacemaker.

"Then it's a good thing for you," she said as she took aim and fired. “I never miss."

This story was very interesting to write. Sadly didn't reach the word count in time. :(

.L

The BookReader Chapter 1

2011-05-03T14:35:00.005+08:00

Okay here's Chapter 1 of The BookReader, fully edited (Hopefully) aside from the alignment of the text. Blogger messed it up but my original file is properly done! Along with illustrations and what-not. Anyway, hopefully this won't be SO bad.

Chapter 1 | EMMA

I cleared my mind—like the monks who clear their minds and detach themselves from earthly worries to reach enlightenment, to reach Nirvana. Unfortunately, I wasn’t looking for enlightenment—I was looking for my house.

My house—or rather, my apartment building—was gone. I couldn’t find it.

I was lost.

Have you ever slipped into such a severe day dream that you wake up not knowing where you are? Scratch that, severe is too heavy a word and I wouldn’t call it a day dream either. It was more like the feeling of familiarity—like everything around you was so natural that it almost felt like a part of your own body and it just goes unnoticed because it was so… familiar.

Seriously, where am I?

I decided that walking would be the best option—just walk and walk until I see something I recognize. This town wasn’t so big, how hard would it be to find a bright yellow apartment building? Yes, a bright yellow building, complete with patched quilts and laundry hanging from a tightly secured laundry line.

My move from the busy city to the bubbly town (In the middle of nowhere, apparently) was a hard one. I didn’t really have any strong attachments to the busy roads and skyscrapers so leaving was relatively refreshing. The problem starts with the townspeople. People were people, just like anywhere else and this being a small town makes it hard to get away from the gossip.

I moved here 4 months ago for the sake of my uncle. Since he was the only family I had, I didn’t hesitate to move when I heard that he was having some troubles.

Uncle Russ was… special. Sure he seems like a loony, but he truly was a sweet man. I didn’t know much about him but it didn’t matter, he was family after all. I moved into his surprisingly wide and homey apartment and not even once did I explore the town’s shops and market since I spend most of my days helping my uncle feel better. I’ve only been as far as the corner store and market stalls but never beyond that. I wasn’t surprised when my uncle kicked me out since I was being such a shut in.

“Beatrice!” He shouted. “Get the hell out of my apartment you silly blonde girl!” His eyes were filled with so much fire and passion that I was almost blown away. “Get out and go get some sun! And buy some potatoes! We’re having Indian Curry tonight!”

I wasn’t sure if I should be offended by the fact that he called me silly or that he got the color of my hair wrong. Nevertheless, I grabbed my jacket and purse and dashed out of the room. Sure, I would buy potatoes, but not for curry. Uncle Russ actually hates hot food, but I guess he forgot. Just like how he forgot that my name was Emma and that I was a brunette.

I looked at the empty palms of my hands—still no potatoes and I wasn’t about to ask for directions. The last time I asked for help from a stranger, word had spread that I was an incompetent city girl who couldn’t tell the difference between a bottle of milk and a jar of mayonnaise.

I watched my worn out boots swing back and forth as I walked down the concrete paths of God-knows-what Avenue. Just as I was about to drift off (This is probably how I got myself lost in the first place), a streak of bright orange splashed over my feet.

“Son of a—” I yelped in surprise and spun and stumbled when I realized that the blob of orange was alive. I struggled to regain balance and when I did, I found myself cursing the large orange cat that stood so proudly on all fours. I didn’t know why, but I glared at the animal as its emerald eyes gleamed into mine. They seem to have said; Foolish human, or something of that sort.

“You little—” When it turned away (As if to imply that what I had to say was completely unworthy of its time), I picked myself up. It turned to face me again, the cat.

There seemed to be a pause. It wasn’t a very long one, but it made me squint much to the discomfort of having my soul skimmed through in the eyes of a feline. It turned away, then back, away and then back again as if it was checking whether I was still there or not. Beside us, the smell of baking croissants and brewed coffee tickled both our noses. The cat had immediately forgotten about me and slipped into the small café. Stepping closer to the door, I saw patrons give the cat a brief cuddle and tossing it some sliced ham from the table.

The little thing was a beggar, something that the people sitting inside didn’t mind. Several of them donated some strips of meat and bread and when it was done, it quickly ignored the calling patrons and exited the café to turn into the alley next to it.

What a snob. To think that it had the gall to ignore the people who was donating food. A second after it turned the corner, it poked its orange head out to take a glimpse of me once more and then disappeared behind the walls.

The next thing I knew, I was surrounded by red brick walls. Turning to an alley to follow a cat was never considered to be a smart thing. The walls were painted with age old posters of jazz bands, Open Mic nights and shops sales. Other than that, it wasn’t as filthy as I would’ve guessed—again, I don’t usually walk between buildings to follow a cat.

As we—that cat and I—emerged from the narrow alley, we took a brief moment to observe the life around us. Very few people walked about and all of them paid no attention to me or the cat. When I tried to take a look at the mysterious animal, it was gone. I swung back and forth looking for the cat but to no avail.

“The little devil got away.” I heard myself say to no one in particular. Since I was lost anyway, the idea of exploring this peculiar street didn’t seem to be so bad. I turned right and walked slowly down the path when I noticed a beautiful antique street lamp.

Early American? Victorian? I wouldn’t know these things. On the street lamp was an ivory colored plaque. The plaque read; Holmes Street.

Never knew there was a Holmes Street in this town—then again, I didn’t know most of the street names in this town. When faint bells rang behind me, I spun to face the source of sound. It was such an odd sound; A single soft ring that seemed to echo until forever. I found myself drawn to the mahogany door that was before me now. The door was large and decorated with Victorian scrolls and a beautiful bronze door handle with engraved floral patterns. I let my fingertips trace the surface of the handle as if I were trying to memorize the twists and curves of it.

I looked at the shop and noticed the windows were tinted black—still I tried to peek into it. I saw nothing but a black void and sighed as if I was disappointed—and I probably was. Still attracted to the door, I placed my hand on the surface of the wood and rubbed my cheek against it. The door was cool to my skin and it had such a divine smell of tea. It was such an odd smell but still very pleasant.

On the door was another ivory plaque (Similar to the one of the street lamp) that had golden painted letter engraved. Like the door, the letters were reshaped and decorated with scrolls. The plaque read; The Book Reader.

Peculiar name, I thought as I traced the curves of the letters.

I was so drawn to the door that it began to worry me, but I decided to start worrying when I start giving the door pet names. I looked down and saw a brass plated letter slot. Before bending over to take a peek, I took the liberty to look around in case there was someone there to call authorities and have me reported for suspicious behavior. When I got to my knees, I slipped my finger into the slot and pushed it up for me to see.

The shop was empty as far as I can tell and the room was definitely dark. I rose from my knees and wondered if I should enter. If it was closed, it would have a sign up, right? So I decided to turn the handle.

To my surprise, the door wasn’t locked. I pushed the door open and heard the bell ring once more. As I took as step forward and peeked inside, I saw how the light from outside gently split the darkness in half. For a moment, I closed my eyes and closed the door behind me.

When my body suddenly felt heavy, I almost fell to my knees. I buckled for moments and I clutched my stomach. I felt sick. I felt a certain ache at the pit of my stomach. What was this all of a sudden? This wasn’t normal. Then the weight was gone and I was back to normal. I shifted back into balance and straightened up. What was that? Some sort of panic attack?

I looked around as I leaned on the front door for support. After I was sure that I was fine, I began to explore the strange shop.

The smell of old books, which was rather sweet, quickly filled my senses. I opened my eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the darkness. The first thing I did was look down at the floor. Paper and books were strewn across in every direction and I was beginning to wonder if this was a dump site instead of a store. Feeling the wall, I found a small gas lamp by the tinted window and turned the nib for the some light. Slowly the room was airbrushed with red and orange. With the light, I noticed the counter by the door.

Still, the shop was much bigger than it looked from outside. I brushed the thought aside and walked to the counter. I traced the wooden surface and saw the dust pile up at the tip of my finger. I felt myself cringe.

I dusted my finger on my jeans and dodged paper and books to head deeper into the store. I had that eerie feeling of being caved in by the bookshelves that tower over me. Tripping a little, I made it past 2 shelves without having it collapse over me. Still, if the shelves didn’t do me over, these stray books on the floor would.

I carefully picked up a book. I was honestly horrified by the sight. The spine was completely torn and it hung helplessly from the pages. I supposed that the color of the thing was originally red, but it was an unpleasant mix of brown and yellow. The cover was embossed with faded gold. I couldn’t even make out the writer or title of the book. With as much care as I could smother up, I opened the book to look for the publish date. Among the many swirls and spots of stained paper, I finally spotted the date.

“1813?!” The volume of my voice was involuntary. I felt a fear rush through my being. The damn thing was an antiquarian! I panicked and struggled to put the book back onto its original spot on the shelf.

Shouldn’t these things be wrapped or cased or something? I spun to look around. All these books looked as those they’ve been set on fire, doused and then lost in the subway—20 years ago!

How much were these? Living in the city I was never a wealthy child. The thought of grabbing these books and selling it in a certain unmentionable market crossed my mind—very briefly, I assure you.

I felt out of place, for various reasons. The value of my life probably didn’t amount to 3 or 4 of these books put together. Now that was a sad thought. I readied myself for a swift escape but the ominous presence of the door just drew me in. Yes, there was another door. I began to fear the possibility of having some freak-fascination for doors. Still, I walked towards it, ignoring my previous worries of breaking something that I could not pay for.

Dodging books again and maneuvering my way through thick shelves, I made it to the object of my fascination. It wasn’t a special looking one, just a normal door, but with an identical handle from the front entrance.

I don’t know what came over me, but I saw my hand twist the handle and felt myself push the door open. What was I thinking? This could be considered breaking and entering! I felt a pull at the base of my body, as if something on the other side had caught me and was reeling me in. In the back of my mind, I prayed it wasn’t one of those magical closets.

As I pushed the door, a gush of wind swept past me so fast it made me dizzy. I shut my eyes at the sudden brightness before me. I looked out and the bright colors that surrounded the field of flowers danced before me. The sweet smell of nectar, the cool breeze, the bright beautiful blue sky—I was sure of it. I found heaven behind a closet door.

It was so like me to have silly thoughts, but it was that thought alone that made me realize that the warm feeling turned into a spine-chilling streak of fear and awkwardness. I quickly slammed the door and the loud bang rang through the room. I stumbled back, trying to make a quick and quiet (Maybe not so quite.) escape. While I tired to make an effort in a commendable getaway, I fell victim to the books around my feet and as I fell backwards I thought to myself; Ah, the wallpaper in that corner has been torn.

There probably wasn’t any importance to that torn piece of wallpaper, but it registered into me nonetheless. I crashed onto the floor and laid there for a second. I failed to prevent a pathetic groan but it hurt like a mother.

After realizing my eyes were shut the whole time, I slowly opened them only to see a young boy with fascinating blue eyes looking down on me with a peculiar look as if to say—

“What on earth are you doing?” The boy grinned at me. “I came over because I heard a crash but, I didn’t really anticipate this.” He looked like he was about to laugh—he better not. When I realized he wasn’t about to offer a helping hand, I pushed myself up and dusted my jeans and sweater. Unconsciously, I felt for my purse in my back pocket and sighed in relief to find it still intact. I combed my hair with my fingers and stared down at the boy who continued to observe me. To be honest, I found myself doing the same. The boy seemed to be wearing some costume. He was wearing a gentleman’s outfit complete with a velvet vest and a cane (Something he probably didn’t need… probably.).

“Ah, I just tripped.” I felt myself laugh which was funny since the pain on my head still didn’t go away. The boy adjusted his glasses and peeked behind me. Following his gaze, I realized that he was looking at the door that I decided was the doorway to heaven.

“Surely you must know that running in someone’s humble shop is in no way proper.” The boy must’ve been 13 or something but he was talking like he was a middle aged man back in the 1800s or somewhere along that line.

“You saw that?” The pain was still there, but I managed to sway with awkwardness without reeling over in tears.

“Briefly, yes. I would like to know,” He began eyeing his surroundings as if looking for something. “Are you alone?” Despite the odd question, I answered with ease. What could this little boy do anyway, right?

“Yeah, I am. I just wandered here.”

“Wandered? I see. What the move difficult?” He caught me off guard.

‘Excuse me?”

“Was it difficult moving to a different town?” I wore an expression that could only be described as disturbed. I felt my eyes squint, my nose cringe and my mouth shape into a distinct O. The boy laughed before I was able to break my face.

“Well, I haven’t seen you around before and you couldn’t be a tourist. This town is, quite frankly, very boring.” He took a step forward to look at me closely. “You couldn’t be visiting relatives because this town is much too far for a quick visit, which leads me to believe that you’re here to stay.” The damn kid grinned at me like he knew he was right—and he was. Despite only reaching my forearm, he didn’t seem to mind observing a complete stranger. I didn’t like him one bit.

“What if I’m here for vacation?” I challenged. He just smiled at me, as if he knew that he was completely right.

“Okay little boy, you’re kind of creeping me out so,” I waved my hand and bid him goodbye. “I’ll be going.”

When I heard the book beneath my foot split and tear, I began to wonder if I was having a balanced diet and lifestyle. Sure, I’ve been putting on a little more weight because of unemployment, but I don’t think I gained that much.

I felt my heart stop when I saw the spine of the book was completely torn off (I must’ve stepped on it in the worst possible way.).

“Oh dear, that’s a first edition donated by one of our very prized customers. It was a family heirloom of a sort. It was given as a gift after its owner passed away. A beautiful thing it was but look at it now.” I spun around to face the child.

“Okay, the sound of your voice is getting really annoying right now.” The boy looked at me a smiled an innocent smile (Which was actually quite sinister.).

“Grandfather won’t be happy. It was gift and a priceless one at that.” I felt the entire cosmos collapse on me as I slowly lifted my foot from the torn book. This can’t be happening, I found myself repeating the sentence over and over in my head. What was I going to do? How am I going to pay for this? In normal circumstances, I could just dash for the exit and never come upon this store for the rest of my life, but no, because apparently this brat is the grandson of the owner. I wish I could just wipe that smile of his face. I’m beginning to understand why some people hate kids. I gulped as I carefully picked up the battered and torn book and slowly held it out to the blond brat.

“I… am so sorry.” How am I supposed to deal with this? “I… am so sorry.” Much to my surprise, the boy held his stomach and laughed. It wasn’t an evil laugh, no. This was more—how do I say—angelic.

“I apologize but I couldn’t help myself. I was merely jesting. It wasn’t a gift or an heirloom as far as I know.” He adjusted his glasses after they almost slipped down the arch of his nose. I sighed in relief and restrained myself from cracking his head open. I forced a laugh.

“You shouldn’t be making those kinds of jokes. I was in total panic just thinking about how much the thing was worth!” The boy raised a pale brow and gave me a hesitant smile.

“I am sorry, Miss. While I did say was a prank, the fact that it was priceless was quite true.” My eyes widened so much that I felt like I was going to bleed. I looked down at the book in my hands and turned away from the boy.

“I… need to sit down.” I felt the boy shuffle behind me.

“Of course, Miss. Please, let us go to the counter by the door. You must feel quite exhausted.” He placed his hand on my back and led me to the front of the shop. Gently, he took the book from my hands and laid it on the desk as I mindlessly sat on the old fashioned armchair. The boy didn’t seem as despicable as he first did. It was probably just a prank—he was a kid after all. Still, I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders,

Now, I know that I am not in the worst situation, but I was unemployed and I have a crazy uncle and now, I owe this shop money. Heck, these people are probably enthusiasts, bibliophiles! Money can’t replace a priceless book.

“I do apologize for the prank. If you wouldn’t mind, maybe you’d like to accompany me downstairs for some tea?” I looked up at him with eyes of a person who was in debt.

“Oh no, I couldn’t. I’ve done something really bad, but thank you for—” As I stood up, my hand brushed against something smooth and fluffy. Looking down, I saw the quill in its holder sway and topple over. The boy moved quickly and grabbed the book before the ink touched the sheets but doing so, he knocked over the glass bottle of ink (Which I did not notice at all.) and the ink spilled all over my jeans and sweater. I didn’t move. Has his grandfather ever heard of ball pens?

“Oh dear,” The boy forced a smile as he still held the torn antique in his hand. “I am sorry.”

“No! No, please that would just be… wrong.” I found myself saying.

“I really suggest you come inside. I wouldn’t feel right having you wear those clothes.” He motioned me to follow him as he turned and entered the forest of books. He was right though, I could feel the ink on my thighs and belly. I got up with extreme caution. I didn’t want anything else to drop or break or spill. I followed the blond to the back of the room, somewhere even further from the bookshelves. I was surprised to see a stairway heading downwards.

Store room or basement? I found myself wondering. My belly and thigh began to feel a chill as I hurried down the stairs. On the walls of the stairway, I noticed 12 picture frames of beautiful young women. Maybe they were prized donators or customers. All of the pictures have golden words inscribed onto the frame, all in different languages.

As I entered the threshold of the basement, I was surprised to find the room filled with lights and beautiful furniture. There was a dining table, a small kitchen in the corner, some doors (That probably led to some other mystic place.) and of course, bookshelves that reached the ceiling. I saw the boy emerge from one of the 3 doors that were in the room with a paper back in hand and a towel.

“Please, here are some clothes you can change in. The bathroom is the door on the far right.” Quite shocked, I took the bag and towel and asked absolutely nothing. “Please take as long as you need. I’ll prepare some refreshments while you clean up.” The smile on his face seemed so pure I was going to melt away from its brilliance. That was no exaggeration. He edged me to the bathroom door and when I finally entered, he closed the door as he left me in a large bathroom.

“Wow.” I heard myself say. Unlike the showroom upstairs, the bathroom was fantastic. I just stared at the coral walls and the large vanity mirror that circled a pearl white bathtub. It had a shiny bronze faucet and the tub itself bore carvings of flowers and Victorian swirls. The frame of the vanity mirror was decorated with waves and curves of gold-painted wood and… These designs were Late Baroque, there was no mistaking it. The beautiful wide green sea was painted on the ceiling. The cabinets were decorated with gold carvings and there were scented candles everywhere.

What evil must I commit to have a bathroom like this?

I pulled off my ink stained sweater and jeans. There was absolutely no way that I could wear those again. I striped and sat on the side of the tub as I washed the ink off my thigh and belly. I pinned my hair into a neat bun so it wouldn’t get wet.

I began wondering what kind of clothes he prepared for me. To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was some sort of track suit or pajamas for that matter. I finished up and dried myself and peeked into the paper bag.

Strange—it was a simple burgundy dress. Sure it was pretty, but what was a boy like him doing with a dress like this? I shoved the thought aside. It wasn’t my business to question someone’s… interests. I looked into the bag again and saw long black stockings, silver cufflinks and even shoes. This kid had the whole shebang.

I decided that he enjoyed playing dress up. Even now he was wearing a gentleman’s costume, with a cane no less. I carefully zipped the dress on. Luckily this thing was pretty straight forward. I stared into the mirror as I fastened the cufflinks on the white cuffs around my wrists.

I was a little tight, but it didn’t matter since I’m only borrowing it for the day. I had to say, I looked pretty good in it. I leaned closer to the mirror to examine myself. I bushed locks of hair away from my face and tucked it behind my ear.

I looked around and admired the beauty. I could actually get used to this. I was getting quite comfortable with wearing a nice dress and meeting a gentleman of a boy. When I looked into the mirror again I noticed my blue eyes were dull compared to the boy’s sapphire ones. He had such beautiful blond hair neatly combed back and such beautiful skin—which was totally unfair.

Then I realized—I was way too relaxed. After scorning the boy’s angelic looks, I thought of the closet door and what was on the other side. Everything happened so fast (Fast on my part since I panicked and shut the door almost immediately.) I scoffed, it was probably my imagination.

For a second I actually believed it was, but the smell, the breeze and the brightness was all too real. There was something strange—if not horribly wrong—about this shop. I eyed the bathroom door suspiciously. What would happen if I opened that door and ended up somewhere else? Like the harbor or something?

I folded my clothes and slipped them into the bag. The shoes provided for me were too small so I settled for my worn out brown boots instead. I left the shoes by the tub and cautiously turned the handle of the door. I was hesitant but it’s no guts, no glory. I pulled the door open and I was still the same basement. Sighing with relief, I closed the door behind me and walked to the dining table with the most beautiful tea set I have ever seen. I smell was divine and I couldn’t take my eyes off those biscuits that were neatly arranged on the small plate.

“Are the clothes that I’ve provided to your liking?” I spun in surprise and saw the boy smiling at me. I gave a hesitant a smile and turned back to the table.

“This is very beautiful.” The boy chuckled.

“I am quite known for my taste is tea sets and confectionery.” He placed a plate on the table (A plate that I did not notice before.) and took a moment to observe the setting. He adjusted his vest looking as though he was pleased with the arrangement and he pulled out a seat for me. I stared with wide eyes at the cake before more. Was I drooling? I hope not.

Thanking him, I took as seat with my eyes still glued to the table. When he finally sat opposite of me he poured me a cup of tea that was a beautiful red. The smell was wonderfully intoxicating.

“Thank you.” I said as he handed me the cup and I took it from him. I took a sip startled by the hotness but pleasured by the sweetness. There was a hint of peppermint, I liked that. “Wow that’s really good.” He smiled and handed me a slice of cake that was decorated with cream and strawberries. When I took a bite, I felt as though all my worries washed away. The creaminess just filled my—oh god, I got to stay focused!

“How is it?” He asked. His intentions seemed pure. I smiled with the fork still in my mouth. Slipping it out and placing it on the plate quietly, I cleared my throat.

“It’s very nice.” I cannot loose myself at the wonders on the table! “I’d like to know…” He edged a little closer as if to hear me better so I raised my voice a tad.

“The closet upstairs—the one at the back—what’s inside?” I took another bite out of the cake to imply that my intentions were innocent. Also, the cake was really good. I was taken back by his sudden confused expression. He looked as though he was trying to remember something. When he looked up at me again with a smile, he began to speak.

“Ah! You must mean the back door. I was quite confused, I do apologize.” He said as he took a sip of the tea. “You see, we don’t have any closet space upstairs in the store. We do have a back door however. It leads you straight to the main road.” He took a bite out of his cake with his fork and smiled as he savored the taste in his mouth.

“I see. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” I sipped my tea and thought how weird this was. Either he really doesn’t know or he’s hiding it. Judging from his reaction, he seemed more confused than surprised. I didn’t know what to believe.

When I took another taste of the cake, I realized something. There was no way that the door upstairs was a back door. If memory serves, I turned into an alley that was right next to a café. So that means that the only thing behind his shop was the café—huh? How could it lead to the main road? Unless this shop and the café were linked then I suppose it would make sense. The sweet smell must’ve been from the pastries, the cold breeze must’ve been the air-conditioning and the bright light must’ve been because of the track lights in the café. Besides, I was in a dark room for minutes that even a flash light would’ve appeared to me as the sun.

Yeah, that must’ve been it. It all makes sense now. I decided to just shove the whole thing down a hole. Maybe if I didn’t think about it, I would remember everything clearly.

“Are you comfortable?” He asked me. Snapping back into reality, I nodded quickly.

“So where’s your Grandfather? You mentioned him earlier.” I sipped my tea and almost choked when the boy said that his grandfather wasn’t around anymore. When I apologized, he laughed

“Dear, I didn’t mean it that way.” He adjusted his glasses again. “He is very well but he is much too old to be taking care of the store. So he passed it down to me, so the shop is completely at my care.”

“So you run this place on your own?” I asked. When he nodded I sighed in disbelief. “Well that’s not right. No disrespect to your gramps, but that’s a lot of responsibility for a kid like you. Even though you, you know, inherited the place.”

He chuckled and took a taste of his cake.

“I assure you, I am no child.”

I’m sure every kid his age says that. I savored the last bit of cream in my mouth and set the fork down on the empty plate. There was a silence that followed, but I didn’t complain since I snacked on wonderful cake. I heard the boy clear his throat and I faced him.

“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.” I set the tea cup down quickly when I realized.

“Wow, sorry I didn’t even notice!” I said and he laughed. “I’m Emma Austen. As you detected before, I just moved her a few weeks ago. You’re quite the detective.” This kid wasn’t half bad. He was a good host at least.

“You flatter. My name is Arthur Holmes. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Emma.” I couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

“That’s a pretty interesting name you got there Arthur.” I said. Again he smiled and sipped his tea. Everything seemed fine at first. I never thought by looking into his eyes, I felt a faint but unmistakable sense of anxiety. This feeling wasn’t normal.

“As do you, Miss Emma.” He set his tea cup down and looked at me with his dazzling blue eyes. They seemed more infinite than before. I watched him lean forward and resting his chin on top of his hand with his eyes draining me. I felt like they were going to swallow me whole.

“Tell me, Miss Emma,” He said. He seemed different, his voice deeper, eyes wicked. “How did you find you way to my humble shop?” I began to tremble and struggled to hide it. This fear was new. I wasn’t afraid of getting hurt, no, I was afraid of being transparent. His eyes seemed to have washed through my mentality, my soul. There was that heavy weight on my chest again. What was it?

“How? I’m not sure how to answer a question like that.” I looked away awkwardly. I sipped and realized my cup was empty—still I held the cup close to my lips. I could feel Arthur’s gaze and I was afraid to turn and meet him.

This was ridiculous. I shook every suspicious thought away and turned to face him. I focused on him and he took a second to blink and chuckle.

“Is there something wrong with my face? What’s up?” I said a little too quickly. The weight on my chest remained and I was determined to leave. I was about to excuse myself when I suddenly cleared his throat and stared into me with his glowing eyes.

“We have yet to touch the topic of the damaged antiquarian, Miss Emma.”

Oh my god…

“Oh my god,” I buried my face in my palms with a heavy breath. “I… completely… I’m really sorry about that.” I went on and on. I could feel my ears burn as I rambled saying that it was all an accident. Still, that wasn’t going to solve the problem.

“Forgive my intrusion, but I have a proposition.” Arthur cut me off but I didn’t seem to be stopping. “How about you work here?” I stopped completely. There seemed to be a glint in his eyes as he adjusted his glasses and rubbed his chin. Looking rather pleased with himself, he grinned and said;

“How about you work here until you’ve earned enough to pay for the damage?” He raised a finger to make his point. “Well, perhaps it would be much better if I took a percentage of your earnings every other week.” Then the look of disdain replaced his excitement. He leaned back onto his chair and folded his arms. “Ah, but the work load will be quite tough. There will be some heavy lifting as well, and I couldn’t possibly ask a lady to—”

I interjected.

“I can do it!” I said, a little too enthusiastically. “I can handle carrying heavy things. I’m very athletic and have way more stamina than any normal person should have!” I winced at the strange output of words but continued. “Not only that, I can clean and am a very good cook!”

The saying went; a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I have never put so much faith in one sentence ever before, but when I saw how his eyes glinted behind those glasses, I knew I was in.

“That settles it then!” He seemed to have floated of his chair. On his feet, he extended his hand with a smile. “Welcome to The Book Reader!”

Gotta keep writing, gotta keep writing. >.<

Written in the dark.

2011-04-06T00:45:00.002+08:00

SUPER OLD. I needed to update this. Going to revive this place >:)

Written in the dark: A poem

by L.M.Silva

Dark and cold was the marble floor soaked in
Hot blooded cold blooded hearts dead
On all fours
The shadowy figure of a corrupt
And abrupt hate filled soul
Loom and sway above the decay
A mistake manifesting into macabreous hate
But wait oh wait he hears a sound
A sound so deafening it was
Around the corner it was
Not but all around and round and round
The steps the breaths and the pounding of his chest
The bloody hands cannot hide what crimes what foul deeds
What horrors he has seen
It was his doing
Not his doing but the other him that spawned from his dark mind
Recline back to the wall soaked in all but bloody prints of hands
He ran
They know nothing so he will be blamed for what the devil inside him has done
He ran in fear and in shame
How will he endure his wrongfully accused name
This game of cat and mouse
Sustain what was left of sanity
What gain will there be for pain who's name
Is not mine but the other me
The other me is to blame
To the edges of the world I ran to the boarders of life and death I ran
It was not my fault I screamed
No one heard it seemed but I know better
They lie in the corners of my eye
In the corners of my mind
I cannot take this condemning gaze from hidden faces beneath the mask of
Walls and trees surrounding me
Of doors of windows surrounding me
I leapt at the edge of the world and ended what seemed
So surreal a moment of non-existent eyes that gazed through my soul
Oh woe. Woe is the lifeless body I have left to dry and disappear
Woe is my fading mind that sees the hiding eyes and hidden faces
This fear this unsettling fear is no more
I see nothing feel nothing and fear no more
The house I left was empty and the trail behind me barren
Of what was never there before

----

Ok, so one night I had this weird cinematic-ish dream and I woke up in the middle of the night. I make it a habit to jot down little key notes about my dreams, so I grabbed my iPhone. I later realized that I was writing something poem-ish.
So I kept at it but I was falling in and out of sleep so most of the time I didn't know what I was writing.

I woke up that morning and read what I wrote and this is what was written. Unedited, except for silly spelling mistakes. I thought I would share since I thought it was kind of creepy. Notice how I started of with 'HE' then halfway through i started using 'I' instead. o.o

Anyway, there are some weird verses there but I don't know if it was intentional or just by accident.

Oh and macabreous is not a word....

The Book Reader Chapter 2 preview

2010-04-27T00:05:00.005+08:00

Wow... It's April now... 2010. Hm. Anyway, here's a preview for The Book Reader chapter 2.

Chapter 2 | Immortals

I told Uncle Russ to take his pills and a slid a clear class of water to his side of the table. When he picked up the glass and placed it against his ear, he signaled that I be quiet. I nodded and left the table, but not before reminding him, again, to drink his medication. He scanned me with his crazy eyes and when he washed down the pills with his water, he proudly grinned.

“Congratulations. I’ll be back to make dinner so make sure you don’t cook anything while I’m gone.” Reminding him was a routine and I made sure that the landlady, who was kind enough to watch over him while I was gone (I bake her homemade muffins in return.), would make sure he stayed out of trouble.

It was a hassle sometimes, but it was necessary. After greeting the landlady and handing her a fresh batch of yummies, I headed to The Book Reader as fast as I could. It’s been a few days since I’ve started working there as a store assistant/ cleaner/ cook and I still haven’t gotten use to the strange stares I constantly receive from everyone.

Now, if they were staring at me for my charming good looks, then all would be fine, but I was convinced that it was the dress I was wearing instead of my normal pair of jeans and sweater. This dress was, for the lack of a better word, unnatural especially in this time and age.

Passing by the café, I turned the corner and walked through the alley, which became much more welcoming than my fellow neighbors. When I made it to the mystical front door of the antique bookshop, I took a moment to admire it, as I usually did these past few times, and turned to face the lamp post. The plaque swung briefly from the autumn draft and as I turned the door knob, the gentle ring of the bell echoed quite pleasantly in my ears.

“Miss Emma! I have to say your timing couldn’t be more perfect! Would you please help me from this awkward predicament?” I stared wide eyed as Arthur held a broom in his hand and a jar of tea leaves in the other. The floor before him was covered in crumbled dry tea leaves. “I’ve seen you perform this task the previous afternoon, but I can’t seem to get any result besides dirtying the flooring even more.” His puzzled expression almost made me laugh—almost.

“You’re supposed to wrap the tea leaves in a damp cloth. More importantly, you should be using used tea leaves instead of new ones! What a waste.” I snatched the jar from him and set it on the counter. “Besides, cleaning is my job.”

“Ah, well you see, now that you’ve helped with all the cleaning and organizing, there is very little for me to do, so I thought I’d try helping around.” He said being quite pleased with himself, but this wasn’t right by my book.

“Listen Arthur, I’m supposed to be the one helping around. And how can you have little to do? Shouldn’t you be doing some of the book-keeping or checking accounts or receiving books or something?” Taking the broom from Arthur I swept the crumbs of dry leaves onto the dustpan that stood patiently by the door. I scooted around as I swept the dust that collected over night. Honestly, this place never seems to run out of dust.

I could feel Arthur observe my movements, as if he were planning to apply his new found techniques whenever the chance came.

I could hear the heels of his shoes and the impact of his cane vibrate from the wooden floor and I couldn’t help but find myself feeling annoyed. I went deeper into the shop and sighed when he followed me. By the time I reached the end of the room, I glanced at the closed door as I tried my hardest to keep my distance from it. Arthur continued to tail behind me. Ignoring him took all of my concentration and this mystical closet/ back door wasn’t helping me in any way. I stopped in my tracks as I called out to him. He gave out an awkward expression of a person whose concentration was taken away.

“Ah, yes my dear?”

“It’s a little hard to clean with you following me around like that.” A little was too soft a word, still, I wasn’t about to mouth off my employer. He took a moment to consider what I’ve said and smiled shortly afterward.

“I see, I do apologize, Miss Emma.” He started. “It’s quite intriguing to watch how expertly you handle that instrument. Not only that, have it not been for your superior cleaning techniques, this place would still be smothered with cob webs and dust and heaven knows what else!” I looked at him oddly when I realized he was impressed by my skills in doing house work.

“No problem. It’s my job after all.” I hesitated but said it anyway.

“There must be a way to properly thank you for the work you’ve done so far.”

“It’s fine Arthur.” A paycheck would do perfectly, was what I wanted to say, but didn’t. “Since it’s just about time for lunch, how about I go ahead into the kitchen?”

Arthur’s magnificent blue eyes practically glowed. These couple of days, he’s been very enthusiastic about me working here, especially when it came to cooking.

Too be honest, I was kind of having fun.

After emptying the contents of the dust pan into the trash by the counter, I headed down to the basement and into the small kitchen.

I took my time to make some spaghetti. One thing I’ve learned is that Arthur needs a full meal, even for lunch. Sandwiches or salads won’t be enough. I guess that’s the scary thing about growing boys. Amazingly, this kitchen seemed to have everything from the ingredients to the equipment. I found it funny how a small kitchen could hold so many things.

When everything was done, I placed the plate of pasta into the oven and headed upstairs to call my boss—wow, that sounded pretty weird. Walking up the stairs (I took a few seconds to look at the 12 picture frames around me) I looked for Arthur between the shelves.

Anyway~ Looking forward to posting a preview for chapter 3 soon! Like... soon and not next year. ahaha....ahhaha....aha..ha...

~L

The Book Reader Chapter 1 preview

2009-11-30T00:33:00.005+08:00

Just a preview of The Book Reader. Thanks to Jazz music, soundtracks, writing buddies and NaNoWriMo, I was once again inspired to write this story

Chapter 1 | EMMA

I cleared my mind—like the monks who clear their minds and detach themselves from earthly worries to reach enlightenment, to reach Nirvana. Unfortunately, I wasn’t looking for enlightenment—I was looking for my house.

My house—or rather, my apartment building—was gone. I couldn’t find it.

I was lost.

Have you ever slipped into such a severe day dream that you wake up not knowing where you are? Scratch that, severe is too heavy a word and I wouldn’t call it a day dream either. It was more like the feeling of familiarity—like everything around you was so natural that it almost felt like a part of your own body and it just goes unnoticed because it was so… familiar. Or maybe I was just an air head?

Seriously, where am I?

I decided that walking would be the best option—just walk and walk until I see something I recognize. This town wasn’t so big, how hard would it be to find a bright yellow apartment building? Yes, a bright yellow building, complete with patched quilts and laundry hanging from tightly secured rope.

My move from the busy city to the bubbly town (In the middle of nowhere, apparently) was a hard one. I didn’t really have any strong attachments to the busy roads and skyscrapers so leaving was relatively refreshing. The problem starts with the townspeople. People were people, just like anywhere else and this being a small town makes it hard to get away from the gossip.

I moved here 4 months ago for the sake of my uncle. Since he was the only family I had, I didn’t hesitate to move when I heard that he was having some troubles.

Uncle Russ was… special. Sure he seems like a loony, but he truly was a sweet man. I didn’t know much about him but it didn’t matter, he was family after all. I moved into his surprisingly wide and homey apartment and ever since I moved here, I never did explore the town’s shops and market since I spend most of my days helping my uncle feel better. I’ve only been as far as the corner store and market stalls but never beyond that. I wasn’t surprised when my uncle kicked me out since I was being such a shut in.

“Beatrice!” He shouted. “Get the hell out of my apartment you silly blonde girl!” His eyes were filled with so much fire and passion that I was almost blown away. “Get out and go get some sun! And buy some potatoes! We’re having Indian Curry tonight!”

I wasn’t sure if I should be offended by the fact that he called me silly or when he got the color of my hair wrong. Nevertheless, I grabbed my jacket and purse and dashed out of the room. Sure, I would buy potatoes, but not for curry. Uncle Russ actually hates hot food, but I guess he forgot. Just like how he forgot that my name was Emma and that I was a brunette.

I unconsciously looked at the empty palms of my hand—still no potatoes. I wasn’t about to ask for directions. The last time I asked for help from a stranger, word had spread that I was an incompetent city girl who couldn’t tell the difference between a bottle of milk and a jar of mayonnaise.

I watched my worn out boots swing back and forth as I walked down the concrete paths of God-knows-what Avenue. Just as I was about to drift off (This is probably how I got myself lost in the first place), a streak of bright orange splashed over my boots.

“Son of a—” I yelped in surprise and spun and stumbled when I realized that the blob of orange was alive. I struggled to regain balance and when I did, I found myself cursing the large orange cat that stood so proudly on all fours. I didn’t know why, but I clicked my tongue once and glared at the animal as its emerald eyes gleamed into mine. They seem to have said; Foolish human, or something of that sort. How was I the one being foolish when it was the one who bumped into me?

“You little—” When it turned away (As if to imply that what I had to say was completely unworthy of its time), I picked myself up. It turned to face me again, the cat.

There seemed to be a pause. It wasn’t a very long one, but it made me squint much to the discomfort of having my soul skimmed through in the eyes of a feline. It turned away, then back, away and then back again as if it was checking whether I was still there or not. Beside us, the smell of baking croissants and brewed coffee tickled both our noses. The cat had immediately forgotten about me and slipped into the small café. Stepping closer to the door, I saw patrons give the cat a brief cuddle and tossing it some sliced ham from the table.

The little thing was a beggar, something that the people sitting inside didn’t mind. Several of them donated some strips of meat and bread and when he was done, he quickly ignored the calling patrons and exited the café to turn into the alley next to it.

What a snob. To think that it had the gall to ignore the people who was donating food. A second after it turned the corner, it poked its orange head out to take a glimpse of me once more and then disappeared behind the walls.

The next thing I knew, I was surrounded by gray brick walls. Turning to an alley to follow a cat was never considered a smart thing. The walls were painted with age old posters of jazz bands, Open Mic nights and shops sales. Other than that, it wasn’t as filthy as I would’ve guessed—again, I don’t usually walk between buildings to follow a cat.

As we—that cat and I—emerged from the narrow alley, we took a brief moment to observe the life around us. Very few people walked about and all of them paid no attention to me or the cat. When I tried to take a look at the mysterious animal, it was gone. I swung back and forth looking for the cat but to no avail.

“The little devil got away.” I heard myself say to no one in particular. Since I was lost anyway, the idea of exploring this peculiar street didn’t seem to be so bad. I turned right and walked slowly down the path when I noticed a beautiful antique street lamp.

Early American? Victorian? I wouldn’t know these things. On the street lamp was an ivory colored plaque. The plaque read; Holmes Street.

Never knew there was a Holmes Street in this town—then again, I didn’t know most of the street names. When faint bells rang behind me, I spun to face the source of sound. It was such an odd sound; A single soft ring that seemed to echo until forever. I found myself drawn to the mahogany painted door that was before me now. The door was large and decorated with Victorian scrolls and a beautiful bronze door handle with engraved floral patterns. I let my fingertips trace the surface of the handle as if I were trying to memorize the twists and curves of it.

I looked at the shop and noticed the windows were tinted black—still I tried to peek into it. I saw nothing but a black void and sighed as if I was disappointed—and I probably was. Still attracted to the door, I placed my hand on the surface of the wood and rubbed my cheek against it. The door was cool to my skin and it had such a divine smell of tea. It was such an odd smell but still very pleasant.

On the door was another ivory plaque (Similar to the one of the street lamp) that had golden painted letter engraved. Like the door, the letters were reshaped and decorated with scrolls. The plaque read; The Book Reader.

This chapter is like... 15 pages long ^^; I really hope I get to really finish this one. It's a persona favorite of mine :)

~L

Gladiolus snippet

2009-08-30T02:11:00.004+08:00

It's been a while since I uploaded anything here. Here's an old snippet from one of my novellas; Gladiolus.

--

As he sat quietly and sipped his sweet tea, Toul could feel the intense glare form the strangely dressed gentleman across the room of the little run-down tea shop. He felt himself glare back, instantly deciding that he did not like the man.
The stranger was clearly a foreigner with his pale skin and long face—a noble man from Asia, no doubt. While his face gave off an aura of nobility, the deadly glare he sent was much more ruthless than you would expect from a relatively slender man.
New Japan, Toul deducted silently. He traced the man’s features and attire; Japanese robes and armor. It didn’t take those long and slender sheathed swords to tell him that he was a fighter. The stranger rested the hilts of the swords on his collar bone as he sipped from the tea cup in his hand.
Toul waved his hand and asked for a refill. He let the waiter pour more tea as he picked sugar packs off the waiter’s tray.
“You know Mr. Toul,” said Len, the strange and skinny waiter. “One of these days you’ll be clutching your chest, screamed; Why?!” He held the tea pot and tray close to his chest as he demonstrated dramatically.
“Why, indeed.” Toul grinned and sipped his super sweet tea, not taking his eyes off the foreign stranger across him.
“Imagine, the great Toul perishing at such a death. If the criminal life doesn’t kill you, those sugar packs will.” Toul couldn’t help but laugh loudly. He set the tea cup down and stared up at the skinny waiter who didn’t seem quite amused.
“Honestly, Len.” Toul said, trying to shrug off the last of his chuckles as he leaned onto the table. “Must you announce my lifestyle so carelessly?” Len sneered a little. The waiter took a step back and bared the view of the small tea shop for Toul to see.
“Don’t go joking around, Toul.” Len poured him another cup of tea. “Look around you my dear. When you’re hanging in this part of the city, everyone knows you’ve done something so there’s no use hiding it from your buddies here.” Toul knew that Len was only half joking.
“Come on, Len. You know better than to associate me with these guys.” Toul’s eyes began wandering onto the foreign stranger once again. Len laughed.
“Don’t think you’re any better Toul.” Len sighed and leaned against the wall, ignoring the customers around him. “It’s all the same. You do something bad, you’re a bad person. It’s how the nobility of this age usually see things” And there it was—an opening. Toul couldn’t help but change the question.
“Speaking of nobility…”
“There you go again, changing the subject.” The waiter shrugged it off. “Fine, I’m only doing this because you’re cute.”
“Ah, you’re a breath of fresh air, Len.” Toul smiled.
“I’m not only doing this for you,” The waiter said walking away. “I’m also interested in Mr. Dark and Mysterious.” Toul leaned back as he watched Len walked towards the Asian, swaying his hips more than any regular man would. This made Toul chuckle in amusement. Len was always the type of person to attract attention—by any means necessary. After he gulped down his tea, he watched as Len so smoothly made conversation with the foreigner.
Was he blushing?
The moment the Asian man’s face darkened with embarrassment, the aura of mystique just vanished. Toul wanted to laugh, but maintained his composure. Len turned to leave the table with a bright smile on his face and winked at Toul. Naturally he winked back, waiting until Len reached his table.
Then he saw it—a red dot on the robes of the foreigner who was oblivious to it. It traveled up his chest then up his neck and stopped once it reached the temple of his head. Instinctively, Toul leaped from his seat and screamed.
“Get down!”

--

I actually like where this story is going. Haven't worked on it for a while but I'm trying my best to get back in the writing mood :) Hopefully there'll be a new post soon and not with an old piece of writing but something BRAND NEW!!

....Hopefully....

~L

Occupational Hazard mindmap

2009-07-23T14:50:00.003+08:00

Occupational Hazard is a comic that I'm writing and pencilling :) Here's the mind map that I use. It's pretty big so I hid the detailed notes XD

"Try not to sit on the sofa."

2009-02-05T13:09:00.005+08:00

A snippet of a short story I've been planning on the side (Ah~procrastination). Written very quickly. One can say it's my "leveled-up" outline.

---
The large crack on the window seemed to have gotten bigger. David stood and leaned carelessly onto it, letting his fingers trace the web of cracks on the glass. He never got around to replacing it—it was just one of those things.
He wasn’t even sure how the crack got there in the first place. He just woke up on a wet Thursday morning and BAM! The cracks were there. His dark eyes watched the clouds burst into momentary light, the sound of thunder came a second later.
The weather had been terrible for the passed week and it felt as though it was going to rain forever. He walked to the kitchen counter and sat on the tall stool as he poured himself a nice cold glass of milk. As he drank, he stared onto the empty canvas that leaned modestly onto the wall.
How long has it been since he was able to paint? He couldn’t remember. There was just a block that kept him from touching that canvas. He could’ve just painted aimlessly, but no. He felt like there was something that was meant to be painted onto it—he just didn’t know what.
Taking another sip of his milk, three knocks echoed from the wooden apartment door. David glanced at the wall clock; 4:28 am—it wouldn’t matter anyway since that wall clock had been broken for weeks.
He walked to the door, holding the cold glass of milk in his hand, making sure that he didn’t spill a single drop. He turned the knob and tilted his head in confusion. He stood before the open door with a baffled look on his face. Before him stood a little girl wearing a burnt yellow raincoat who was soaked to the bone.
He took a moment to collect his thoughts and shook his head, smiling brightly afterwards to the strange little girl.
“Can… I help you?” He asked, as naturally as possible.
“You are David, correct?” The little girl asked in a strange echo-like monotone.
“Um, I guess. Is there a specific David you are looking for? My last name's—” Before he could finish, the soaked girl helped herself in, letting drops of water fall onto the tiled floor. With each step she took, she left a small puddle (Of rainwater perhaps) and stared out to the city from the broken window glass.
“Ah—sure you can come in, just please try—” Again the girl ignored him and bluntly sat onto the sofa, soaking it terribly. “Try not to sit on the sofa.” David felt his voice fade as he sighed and rubbed the back of his head.
“You are David.” The little girl said. “I’ve come for you.” The door frame supported his weight as David leaned heavily, watching his favorite sofa get soaked to the core.
“Did… I do something—”
“You are dying.” She said. “I’ve come for you.”
---

Oh, you know these kinds of stories. A person is minding his own business and just happen to have Death visit you. Typical story actually, but I have stuff planned for this so it can be better...Hopefully.

L

Hide and Seek

2009-01-18T00:03:00.004+08:00

Typical title. Enjoy. Wrote this last year october :)

---

I was never really good at games.
I was much too careless of a man, at least that’s what my brother insisted. It was true though, I thought as I loaded the revolver. I was much too careless for my own good. As I pulled the trigger and watched the man’s chest burst, I ran through the hallway. The bitter smell of blood and gunpowder made me sick, churning my insides so mercilessly that I could throw up. While each step was heavier than the other, the sickening smell of the air made it easier, calming me, edging me forward into the mess before me.
I began to ponder—ponder about this nauseating stench that clung to the walls, about the gun that felt so warm in my sweaty palms and about the kind of life I lead.
How did I become such a ruthless person?
As I pulled the trigger again, I remembered.
When I was nine; I loved playing Hide and Seek, no matter how bad I was at the game. I was always the first one to be found.
“You got me!” I would shout, for being caught never seemed to have bothered me much, so long as it was my brother who did. I can still see it clearly in my head; the way those suited men raided our home and took my whole family and I away.
I felt my finger tingle as I pulled the trigger again and again and watched the bodies plop heavily onto the ground, I found myself getting lighter and lighter. I felt as though with each step I took, with each bullet I released, the weight on my heart was weakening, as if gunning down these people made me a better person than I was before.
If I thought hard enough, I could still see it all. I could see how my parents were killed, for reasons I still do not know. I could see my brother, crying as he tried to tear his way through the group of men.
I felt as if the air had gotten thinner and I began catching my breath as I staggered through the empty staircase, the sound of my footsteps echoing around me. I gripped the rail with my free hand, pulling myself up as I made my way higher and higher into the building.
I felt the pain instantly as the man behind me slipped the knife into my side. I swung my arm, letting the gun in my palm smash into the man’s face. The attacker spun awkwardly and crashed onto the steps. For a moment, I expected him to get up, to stagger and look for something more to fight.
But he didn’t, instead, he lay there as still as a rock and just as lifeless.
I turned and limped up the steps. I could hear the pounding footsteps below be getting louder and louder. They were catching up, I had to hurry. I felt the exhaustion eating into my entire body and I struggled to fight it.
I was never the better fighter. I was never meant for so much physical trauma and I was completely useless when I was needed the most. I was always the one who lay limp on the floor, making my brother fight my battles, it was always the same. I was never able to do anything, not for my brother, my parents—or myself.
I pulled the knife from my waist and my knees buckled with pain. I struggled, fighting off the fatigue and pulled myself up with the now bloody rails. I stared two floors down and saw the lifeless body on the steps and the trail of blood I left behind. I pressed against the wound with my bloody palm, feeling as though I could not go any further—but I kept going.
I remembered how I used to get so scared at the sight of blood. I remembered how I was always the scared little boy as I was taken into the family that destroyed mine. The oldest of the family hated me, hated how I was scared—how I trembled and cried.
He told me that being afraid meant being weak. It was true though, I was such a weak little boy. I remembered how he grabbed my wrist and spoke with much impatience and force.
“Listen, boy.” He would whisper, his aged eyes burning into mine. “Even if you’re afraid, to survive in this world you must never show weakness, never show fear.”
The pain of the open wound would’ve bothered me much more, if it wasn’t for the game the oldest one used to make me play.
The men would gather around and set me in the center. The rules were simple, if I broke into tears, showed any kind of weakness, they would punish me. When the game started, they began beating the little boy that I was until I cried and when I did, they locked me in a dark room with no food for an entire day.
“Life is a game.” They told me. “Life is a game with no rules and no mercy. Play your cards right and you live to fight another day.”
As I leaned onto the metal door, painting it with angry colors of red, I held the gun tightly in my hand and I pushed. I pushed the door open and walked out of the narrow passage and into the bright open. As I fell to my knees, I felt the cold air on my sweaty face and for a second, I felt as though I froze, that my whole world froze.
If I listened carefully, I could still hear it all. I could hear how my mother screamed, how my father begged and I could hear the shattering sound of gunfire, like an enormous balloon exploding right next to my ear. I could hear how my brother was carried away as he cried and called to me, saying that it’ll be alright and that he would save me.
I never saw him again.
The man before me stood there, proud and unscathed. He held the pistol tightly in his hands as he aimed, basking in the clear shot that I offered so willingly, so carelessly.
I hated him. I hated how he chased me, how he fought me so proudly, like a possessed hunter after his prey. The rays of sunlight reflected off the badge on his waist and it beamed into my eyes, stinging them violently.
I did not move. I saw his pale lips parting as he spoke, but I heard nothing. I was too tired. I was too sick to move, too hurt. I numbly watched him as he took cautious steps towards me, bringing the barrel of the pistol so close that I felt that it would swallow me whole.
He was a few feet away, but I could’ve sworn that he was so much closer. His dark eyes glared into mine, those dark orbs that looked so familiar, like I’ve seen them in a dream—and I have.
I felt warm liquid spill from my side, the wound didn’t hurt anymore.
“I’ve come to take you away.” He said in monotone, the pistol still pointing at me.
There was never a time where I didn’t think about the innocent people I have killed. I have killed so many because that’s what I was taught to do, what I was told to do. I always thought that there wasn’t any reason for it, not for anger or revenge, that there was nothing.
“Life is a game,” Those words seemed to have slipped pass my bruised and swollen lips. “Play your cards right—” He swung his fist and sent me back, but I didn’t fall no matter how heavy I felt.
I realize now that I’ve always been in limbo, waiting and waiting until my brother came to save me and to tell me that everything was going to be alright. I held onto that and fought to live, fought to survive until the day where my brother would come for me, to save me.
I waited and waited, killing others to keep myself from being killed. I wanted to be saved so badly.
“Play your cards right,” I whimpered again as tears filled my eyes. “And you get to fight another day.” Beads of blood trickled down the edge of my mouth as I cried, as I remembered.
The man took a step closer and I saw his face much more clearly. I felt my lips twitch into the smile.
He came for me. He came to rescue me. I remember those eyes, those dark proud eyes that watched over me, that fought for me when I was such a scared little boy. I felt my stomach swell with joy and relief. I raised my hands to reach for him, to hold him. He was going to save me, and now everything will be alright.
Did he remember me? Did he recognize me? I wondered and stretched my arms, reaching, searching.
I raised my hand, carrying the gun that I have forgotten for sometime and I watched his body sway, his finger twitching. I heard that shattering sound of gunfire again.
I remembered when I was nine; I used to play Hide and Seek, no matter how bad I was at it. I didn’t care if I was caught, so long as my brother was the one who found me, who rescued me from my endless hiding.
“You got me.” I heard myself say as the bullet tore through my shirt, my skin and into my heart.
The men who raised me taught me that life was just a game.
I was never really good at games.

---

It's pretty short... but I like it :D

A short short.

2008-11-11T22:17:00.000+08:00

One of the many shorts I found in my binder. Don't remember when I wrote this...
Random titles :)
---
Ode of Lies

The man wore a worn out suit with his neck tie hanging loosely around his neck. His face was sincere and though the rings around his eyes were dark, his kindness and exhaustion was clear. He was tired, but he tried his nest to smile at the little girl that sat solemnly on the chair next to him. She looked like him, with her dark hair and grey eyes. While they looked so much alike, they seemed so distant. The little girl’s ponytails hung by her small red ears as she squinted, letting her swollen eyes glare onto the tiled floor of the run-down coffee shop.
The man sighed, but kept his uneasy smile.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The tired man began. “How’s your mother?” The little girl’s lower lip trembled and turned to look away, completely ignoring his question.
“Don’t be like that.” The man pleaded, his voice beginning to shake. “You know its better this way. We’ll still see each other—whenever we want! I can still take you to all your favorite spots in the city—just like before!” The man wore a smile, but the little girl knew better.
“Liar.” She muttered.
---

Like I said... A Short short.

~L

Novella snippet

2008-11-02T20:41:00.000+08:00

Here's a little snippet of a Novella I've been writing called Dance of Dolce.

___________________________________________________

She seemed to be flying.
Among the roars of gun fires and flames, he watched her leap from roof to roof of each warehouse. Explosions of bullets seemed to have whizzed by from every direction. The sudden jolt of pain through his shoulder sent him reeling back, forcing him to take shelter behind a steel cargo box.
He needed to go after her. This whole mess was because of her; that wretched thief, that cold–blooded killer.
Without even checking his wound, he leaped forward into the frenzy, ignoring the angry shouts of protest from his fellow squad members. They were there, they would cover him. They would understand––he had to catch her.
The very idea of him putting an end to her was the only thing that kept him going. She had taken things, valuable objects and lives––lives that were irreplaceable.
Yes, irreplaceable. He would never forgive her––never forget what she had done.
He found himself staggering away from the fray as quietly as he could, trying his best to keep his eyes fixed on the blur above the warehouses. She was heading for the boat. His heart pounded as he pumped his legs to catch up. He watched her land onto the wooden platform with a thud. She stood there, a woolen sac over her shoulders. The black leather of her pants and jacket seemed to have glistened; her bloody sleeves reflected the fires erupting around the docks.
He didn’t question why she stood there; it didn’t matter as long as he could get the chance to catch her, to make her pay for what she had done to him. He pulled out his revolver from his holster that held its place with straps around his bleeding shoulder. He clicked off the safety and aimed. He aimed and froze. He wanted to shout, to cry out––but his throat was clogged with everything he had to say.
She turned to face him until the scotch marks on the back of her leather jacket faced the steady boat that waited for her. Her brown hair swayed in the wind and her tan skin was smeared with patches of ash. Her lips curved into a smirk, her young face showed no regret, no remorse for what she had done.
“Dolce!” He heard himself scream her name and pulled the trigger. At that instant, her body reeled backwards.
He shot her, He thought. But her body twisted mid air.
And in slow motion, he watched her land onto the boat. He saw how she swirled back, how her brown hair flickered in the air. He saw the smirk on her face, the empty brown eyes––then there was a flash.
The explosion was hot and loud and he felt his skin heat up, as if he was about to catch fire. It hurt, terribly; the bright light, the hot air, the current that pushed him back. In an instant he saw how the boat tore into pieces and burst into flames. He landed on his back, in pain and his trench coat on fire. Instinctively, he struggled out, kicking that burning coat away with his good leg. He heard someone rush from behind him, but didn’t bother to look back.
“Demetrio!” The man called, running to his aid. “Demetrio, they’re falling back! They–– Oh gods, you’re bleeding! What–what happened? What did you say? Who?”
“She’s gone.” He heard himself whisper again, in terror and in shame.
“Who?” The man asked again.
Dolce was gone. Before him was burning debris, he saw no sign of her, nothing––not even a piece. She was too close to the explosion. She couldn’t have survived.
His heart raced. He wanted to end her, not her life, but her ways. He wanted to lock her up for good. He didn’t mean to shoot; he didn’t plan on killing her.
But someone did, and that someone succeeded.

___________________________________________________

Well, it's not a particularly good snippet, especially since I wrote this a while back. Ah well.

RTHK short story competition

2008-10-13T00:26:00.000+08:00

SOOOooooooo

This year's RTHK short story competition's theme is GAMES. I'm already done with my entry, I'll be sending it in next week. In the process of editing it though.

I'm pretty much terrified. This is only the second time I'm going to join a writing competition and the first on was just a school comp. The prizes are.... drool worthy, for any bibliophile and/or aspiring writers.

Anyway, I'm not full of confidence, not lacking it either... I'm just... um, there. Just there. Like, right there.

Sigh... getting yourself to sit and write is hard work...

If you're in Hong Kong, feel free to join the 2008 RTHK Short Story Competition, deadline: October 24. Word limit: 1000-2000 words. There's still time! :)
(Go here: http://www.rthk.org.hk/special/shortstory2008 )

I'm.... going. ^__^;

~L