He saw her getting into that ‘rusted’ Sonata with Nixon. He could feel the rising anger in him. He gritted his teeth so hard and felt like throwing himself into the dumpster. “I am so foolish! Why did I let her go? I am not going to let this happen”, he said to himself. The next instant, Blue sped off to Nixon’s apartment.
“NO! Leave him, Blue! Do not do this! Pleeeeeeeeeease!”. Bianca woke up sweating blood. It was the same nightmare she has been getting for the past eight years since that horrific incident that happened in front of her eyes. “He killed Nixon. He’s going to kill me too.” Bianca has been living in pure darkness and solidity for the past eight years. She could never recover from the disastrous incident that had completely changed her.
Bianca Hunt was a very talented student in quite an infamous music school. For a beginner, she was good enough. She was a very determined, bold and strong teenager. She was seeing this guy, Nixon who was ten years elder than her. He was the type of person every girl was dying for, but he was interested in Bianca. They were going out for sometime and even planned to get married once she finishes her studies. Everyone liked the idea except for Blue. He always disliked Nixon for some reason he never told. He tried to voice out but no one even noticed. Blue tried reaching Bianca many times but she was least bothered about him, instead she was roaming around like a love-struck puppy!!
It was Thanksgiving Day and Blue joined for dinner. Bianca hated his presence. She never liked him to interfere in her life. Nixon’s Nokia rang and the next moment he was at Bianca’s room whispering to someone over the phone. Blue excused himself and decided to overhear the conversation. This is something Blue usually does.
What he heard shook him to the core of his being.
After the dinner, both Bianca and Nixon drove to his apartment somewhere near Wandina Street. The moment she arrived there, she was greeted with hundreds of red roses and dimly lit candles in the living room. She felt like she was on cloud nine. Nixon gave her a glass of Champaign and planted a gentle kiss on her delicate cheeks. She drank the Champaign her sweetheart gave and the next moment she felt her eyelids getting heavier and heavier. Her vision started blurring and finally went blank. Nixon carried her to his bed.
Suddenly, there were a few loud knocks on the door. Someone was definitely desperate to get in. When Nixon answered the door half-naked, it was someone he least expected, Blue. Blue sprang upon Nixon and started attacking him like a hungry tiger devouring its prey. Nixon could feel a warm gush of blood out of his nose and mouth. He was in too much agony to fight back. Nixon gathered some of the energy left and started screaming, “Bianca! Help me, Baby!”. “Shut Up!”, Blue yelled in a strident tone, swinging his foot with such a rage at Nixon.
All the commotion woke Bianca from her slumber. “Oh my God, what is going on here? Blue! Do not do this. Leave him! I beg you, please!! She was feeling too weak and was helpless. “No!!”she screamed until her throat burned. Blue stabbed Nixon to death.
The following Monday was the day Blue faced the court. Bianca was the sole witness. She could hardly mouth out anything. Finally, she said these words, “He killed Nixon and I saw him doing it with my own eyes. Please punish him!” she broke down. Blue was given minimum punishment because he was only fifteen when he committed the crime. He was sentenced to serve in the juvenile prison for three years.
After Nixon’s death, Bianca started isolating herself from everyone around her. After getting her music degree at the age of nineteen, which was, about two years later, she moved out. She completely isolated herself from her family and lived in pure darkness and fear. A once bubbly and cheerful Bianca turned into a quiet, timid, scared-to death- at-all-times person. She started off as a playback violin player for a local orchestra group. She hardly smiles, even to kids. Her neighbours call her ‘weirdo’ because she never turns off the lights at night and always plays some scary songs on her piano.
One rainy evening, as she was driving back home from the studio, she noticed that a Black Hyundai was following her. She tried to convince herself that perhaps that person in the car was going to a similar destination. She stopped by at the grocery store and continued her journey. She saw the black car, again. This time, she was super-freaked! “Could it be Blue?” she monologues. Bianca started speeding. Her heart was beating faster than ever. All that she wished was to reach home safely.
Upon reaching her porch, she did not park her car; instead, she looked around just to make sure whether that car was still around. Realizing that the car was nowhere around, she let out a huge sigh.
A week later, she received a call during the wee hours in the morning. The voice sounded so familiar. “Hello, Bianca. How are you? It’s me. I need to talk to you.” Bianca froze. It was him. Blue. He has returned. “Stop calling me and leave me alone!” she screamed over the phone and hung up. She stopped breathing. “ He has come back to take revenge on me!” She stayed in for a few days and finally decided to get back to work. “What worse could he do to me?” she thought.
She saw him again. This time it was in front of her studio. She ran away like a freak scaring everyone around her. Later that day, Blue came back. He waited at Bianca’s doorstep. “Bianca, let me in. I need to talk to you”, he begged. “No, go away; I’ll call the cops if you don’t leave. Now get lost! I wish that you were dead!” she said harshly from inside her house. Of course, she is not going to let that maniac in. It is as if she is digging her own grave. “As you wish my lady,” he said and left.
She felt cold sweat running down her cheeks and goose bumps spiking up like punks.
However, she was feeling much better now because she told him off and was more confident than she ever was in the past eight years. She still knew that it would not take long for things to get worse. The next day, to relax herself, she decided to go online and surf the web. She logged in to MSN account to check her inbox. She had three unread mail messages. Two were from her colleagues and the last one was from the person she least expected to hear from , Blue.
Before she opened the mail, she said to herself loudly,” Everything is under control. Let’s do this”. The mail read like this;
“Dear Bianca,
Please do not delete this message before reading it completely. I never meant to harm or hurt you ever in my life. How could you think that I would ever do anything bad to you? After being released from the prison, I tried so much to reach you but failed miserably. I wanted to explain to you everything, but I never got the opportunity. When I finally found you, I was so happy but you never wanted to listen to me.
I did kill Nixon with my very own hands. But, I did it for you. Earlier that evening, I heard Nixon talking to his friend over the phone. He was asking his friend to prepare a video camera in his bedroom back at his apartment to record ‘what I do not wish to mention’. I found out that he was involved in an illegal business. I wanted to warn you but you left early. I decided to stop this and save you. So, I followed Nixon’s car to his apartment.
I waited some while and then entered. I could not control my anger and that is when it all happened. I am so sorry. I never mentioned all this during the testament because I did not want to embarrass or put your dignity in jeopardy.
I wanted to tell you everything that happened and ask for your forgiveness. Bianca, if only you had given me one opportunity. It is too late now, Bianca. Nevertheless, what I have done is the least I could do for you. I really hope you would forgive me.
Yours Truly,
BLUE ”
Tears started rolling down her cheeks. “I need to talk to him, right now! And what does he mean by ‘it’s too late now’? ” .Just as she turned away from her computer, the phone rang. It was Mrs.Hunt, Bianca’s mother. Her voice was cracking and it sounds as if she was crying. “Bianca, I have to tell you something important. Blue…” she stopped. “Go ahead , Mom. I’m listening”. “Darling, Blue is no longer with us. He passed away .” Bianca couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Four months ago, Blue vomited blood. The doctors diagnosed him and confirmed that he was suffering from blood cancer and he was at the final stage. They could not do anything. He was in fact counting his days. We admitted him a month ago since his condition deteriorated . He kept on saying that he wanted to meet you but we refused to tell him your whereabouts. He eloped. He left a note saying that he shall not die until he sees you. I never told you about this because we were confident that we would find him soon. Couple of hours ago, I heard someone knocking the door and I answered……” she stopped, her throat completely clogged from crying non-stop. “ He was covered in blood perhaps of vomiting blood. He was still breathing. He wanted to say something and I lowered my ears to him. The only words I could make out were “Why mother why?” and then….”.
Before Mrs. Hunt could finish, Bianca hung up. Her heart stopped. “If only I had listened to you, BLUE. I’m sorry , brother.”
----------------------------------------------THE END-------------------------------------------------
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
TAPAS HUSTLE
The first day train to Barcelona rattled past. Its diminishing rhythms made Mrs.Guerrero aware of her own sorrows. The day was innocently glorious; spring sunlight scented the pines and sparkled the wooden walls of her little home. Old Mrs. Guerrero had just finished her morning coffee and was flipping through the newspaper. She had not heard a single sound from the kids.” This is weird,” she murmured to herself.
Mrs. Guerrero raced up the stairs to Joaquin’s room to check on the kids. It was so unlike them to be this quiet, especially on a Sunday morning. The floor of the room was in such a mess that Mrs. Guerrero decided to just pop her head through the door and peek inside. She found the two toddlers lying in the middle of the mess with their eyes fixed on the crossword puzzle and their pens slouching on it.
“Joaquin! Lisa! Look around and see how messy the room is. You definitely need a clear up here,” she said, her voice high and shrill. “But why, grandma?” Joaquin exclaimed.
“Why? Oh kids, things can be spoilt or lost in a place when it is willy-nilly like this,” she answered. “But grandma, we can’t do all this by ourselves. It will take us ages to clean this all up! Por favor grandma, why don’t you do it with us instead?” Lisa whined. “No, little lady. I’m afraid that isn’t a wise option. So, why don’t you both starting cleaning this mess up while I go make some yummy tapas for the two of you?” she said. “Hooray! We will start right away grandma,” cheered Joaquin and Lisa in unison. Mrs. Guerrero just winked and left.
An hour later, when she came back into the room, all the toys, books and stockings had miraculously disappeared. “Dios Mio, I can’t believe my own eyes! Now, who’s ready for to dig the tapas?” she asked. Within a fraction of a second, the two hungry cubs were already dancing around the kitchen table with excitement. However, Mrs. Guerrero was suspicious. She walked over to the bed and knelt down. As she lifted the bed covers, what she saw shook her to the core of her being. All the toys and other junks were stuffed mercilessly under the bed!
Joaquin and Lisa were busy licking their fingers on their whoopee cushion when Mrs. Guerrero caught them both by their tiny soft ears and stared at them like an angry bull ready to knock down a matador. “Uh-oh. Do you think you can join us to do the cleaning this time grandma?” asked Joaquin, his eyes welled up in tears.
“You little cheeky monkeys! Con gusto, of course I would!” Mrs. Guerrero burst out laughing. She was just so thankful to God for bringing the two kids into her life, how they make her forget all her sorrows and pain, her two little grandchildren, Joaquin and Lisa.
Mrs. Guerrero raced up the stairs to Joaquin’s room to check on the kids. It was so unlike them to be this quiet, especially on a Sunday morning. The floor of the room was in such a mess that Mrs. Guerrero decided to just pop her head through the door and peek inside. She found the two toddlers lying in the middle of the mess with their eyes fixed on the crossword puzzle and their pens slouching on it.
“Joaquin! Lisa! Look around and see how messy the room is. You definitely need a clear up here,” she said, her voice high and shrill. “But why, grandma?” Joaquin exclaimed.
“Why? Oh kids, things can be spoilt or lost in a place when it is willy-nilly like this,” she answered. “But grandma, we can’t do all this by ourselves. It will take us ages to clean this all up! Por favor grandma, why don’t you do it with us instead?” Lisa whined. “No, little lady. I’m afraid that isn’t a wise option. So, why don’t you both starting cleaning this mess up while I go make some yummy tapas for the two of you?” she said. “Hooray! We will start right away grandma,” cheered Joaquin and Lisa in unison. Mrs. Guerrero just winked and left.
An hour later, when she came back into the room, all the toys, books and stockings had miraculously disappeared. “Dios Mio, I can’t believe my own eyes! Now, who’s ready for to dig the tapas?” she asked. Within a fraction of a second, the two hungry cubs were already dancing around the kitchen table with excitement. However, Mrs. Guerrero was suspicious. She walked over to the bed and knelt down. As she lifted the bed covers, what she saw shook her to the core of her being. All the toys and other junks were stuffed mercilessly under the bed!
Joaquin and Lisa were busy licking their fingers on their whoopee cushion when Mrs. Guerrero caught them both by their tiny soft ears and stared at them like an angry bull ready to knock down a matador. “Uh-oh. Do you think you can join us to do the cleaning this time grandma?” asked Joaquin, his eyes welled up in tears.
“You little cheeky monkeys! Con gusto, of course I would!” Mrs. Guerrero burst out laughing. She was just so thankful to God for bringing the two kids into her life, how they make her forget all her sorrows and pain, her two little grandchildren, Joaquin and Lisa.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
HECK
Guess what, human beings always love to do things the hard way though being provided the easy way out..why is this so?? do we really have to possess such great audacity in proving our stupidity? I have no idea.
How would you feel when someone is acting, no, actually BEING a colossal stupid right in front of you? you may want to tell them to shut their ass up or in my case, just walk away silently muttering under ur breath.
Yeah ok, I know you desperately want to have a partner. Fine, go ahead. But why do you have to put everyone and everything under the sun into trouble just for you to have an extravagant love life? I am constantly surrounded by not any ordinary love-blinded creatures, but sorry-coz-got-ma-brains-scrambled-for-what-i-proclaim-as-love people. They were once full of life, but right now, they have lost all their colours n the vibrant personality of theirs not because of love, but because of mere overrating of the word love.
Love is of course something beautiful but teenagers have set a whole stupid image to it. No longer is it 'thou art more temperate than summer's day' sonnets..Its all about couple-up, break-up, meet-up...all those ups la.... On contrary, LOVE has been deliberately contaminated and currently im so loveophobic. You may think that Im so lifeless to say all this, but hello, "been there, done that !".
Is there any obligation that once you get into a relationship with a guy you hav to broadcast it to the entire universe?aaargh, come on, for god's sake, you need to hav ur own identity at all times ! what pisses me off most is da fact that some freaks have so-called friendly profiles on facebook, friendster and so on, but the joke of the century is, no one lives in that profile except for that person n their partner. I mean comeon, lets say u break up the next day, how many years are you going to take to fix dat profile just to declare that ur finally single, considering the process which usually goes like dis:
1. first month: shoutout: i am so over you/ im depressed/ its over/ love is pain
reason : desperate action of gaining public attention and stupid compassionate
comments from helpless friends who are obligated to respond to you.
2nd month: shoutout: moved on/ things gettin betta/ things starting to look up now/
i got life/ i dunt need anyone
reason: self-convincing. redeem public attention which isdeteriorating by the
minute.
3rd month: shoutout: i am so single/ single n mingle/ life rocks
reason: tryin to prove to the world that you got a life, which you dont.
4th month: shoutout: isit time?/ do you think she loves me? i met someone today/ i think im in
love
reason: shamelessly history is repeating itself
so there you go.All the we will stay together till death do us part is fool's talk. This is exactly how some teenagers claim love to be. But hey, go ahead, say whatever you want bout love, no one cares. All the rest of us want is some peace. Keep all the problems in your lovelife to yourself. Wanna get busted? fine, be my guest, but dunt get me involved. Now that i've put it in right in your face, I rest my case.
How would you feel when someone is acting, no, actually BEING a colossal stupid right in front of you? you may want to tell them to shut their ass up or in my case, just walk away silently muttering under ur breath.
Yeah ok, I know you desperately want to have a partner. Fine, go ahead. But why do you have to put everyone and everything under the sun into trouble just for you to have an extravagant love life? I am constantly surrounded by not any ordinary love-blinded creatures, but sorry-coz-got-ma-brains-scrambled-for-what-i-proclaim-as-love people. They were once full of life, but right now, they have lost all their colours n the vibrant personality of theirs not because of love, but because of mere overrating of the word love.
Love is of course something beautiful but teenagers have set a whole stupid image to it. No longer is it 'thou art more temperate than summer's day' sonnets..Its all about couple-up, break-up, meet-up...all those ups la.... On contrary, LOVE has been deliberately contaminated and currently im so loveophobic. You may think that Im so lifeless to say all this, but hello, "been there, done that !".
Is there any obligation that once you get into a relationship with a guy you hav to broadcast it to the entire universe?aaargh, come on, for god's sake, you need to hav ur own identity at all times ! what pisses me off most is da fact that some freaks have so-called friendly profiles on facebook, friendster and so on, but the joke of the century is, no one lives in that profile except for that person n their partner. I mean comeon, lets say u break up the next day, how many years are you going to take to fix dat profile just to declare that ur finally single, considering the process which usually goes like dis:
1. first month: shoutout: i am so over you/ im depressed/ its over/ love is pain
reason : desperate action of gaining public attention and stupid compassionate
comments from helpless friends who are obligated to respond to you.
2nd month: shoutout: moved on/ things gettin betta/ things starting to look up now/
i got life/ i dunt need anyone
reason: self-convincing. redeem public attention which isdeteriorating by the
minute.
3rd month: shoutout: i am so single/ single n mingle/ life rocks
reason: tryin to prove to the world that you got a life, which you dont.
4th month: shoutout: isit time?/ do you think she loves me? i met someone today/ i think im in
love
reason: shamelessly history is repeating itself
so there you go.All the we will stay together till death do us part is fool's talk. This is exactly how some teenagers claim love to be. But hey, go ahead, say whatever you want bout love, no one cares. All the rest of us want is some peace. Keep all the problems in your lovelife to yourself. Wanna get busted? fine, be my guest, but dunt get me involved. Now that i've put it in right in your face, I rest my case.
Friday, December 12, 2008
RANDOM
I am sixteen years and twelve days old. Yes, I am a teenager but weird enough, I often pretend to be much older than what I am and whenever i do so, the repercussions are nonetheless mere catastrophe.
Even as I'm typing right now, I keep wondering what to write further.I am completely blur and clueless due to agonizingly unavoidable boredom. I just want to blog, no matter how sensible or crappy my posts are. I just feel so relaxed and fulfilled when i write or blog. Well, I always wanted and still want to be a novelist in future.
Does it not feel wonderful when you get to express all your compressed feelings, notions and wild imaginations in such constructive ways like journals, novels and etc?? no matter how pathetic your works are, you will undeniably always have someone more pathetic than you who would phlegmatically read and enjoy your writings with nothing better to kindle in life and would later on classify your work of sheer insanity into some weird genre. it happens, always. Therefore, my advice, never be afraid to express yourself thinking that you will be despised and be sought after as a joke material as out of the whole of 9 billion human population walking on the face of Earth, definitely there will be someone just like you.
Getting back to square one,once again, I ask myself, what am I typing? The perfect answer is, I seriously have no convincable ideas my mind could think of right now. So, upon reading this piece-of-whatever-you-would-call-read-if-you-have-nothing-better-to-do-post, try your best to cope with me. I warn you, I write randomly on random topics at random times. I don't stick to one solid topic , after all, what can you expect from a typical, turbulent sixteen year old? Any better options , eh chap?
Prior to writing this utopia of lifelessness, I was thinking of just making life not so complicated by writng short notes on what I did throughout the day in my whatsthename-flower-scented little diary i bought six dreadful years back. However, luck as usual was not on my side. The diary was too thin, frail and undernourished for me, a complicated being who never knows how to be stingy with ink and papers.Do not blame me for that. Blame my no-good-pig-stealing-great-great-grandfather. Nah, i never had a great great grandfather who loves to steal pigs. It's just a figure of speech i am fond of using due to this subtly humorous tone.
Another reason of why I happily declined the idea of diary writing is because I hate the maniac idea of diary writing where you have to list out all the silly things you did throughout the day. I mean, lets be real, why would anybody, including myself, be interested in writing and reading about me brushing my teeth twice a day (occasionally), bathing, watching Tv and etc? I do know that some people enjoy doing that, I am not ridiculing them , yet, my point is, what is the point of you doing so?
Whatever that you read or write should have some impact, some benefit, a sheer inner satisfaction and delight.I personally achieve inner satisfaction by writing in first or third person's point of view in a rather analytical and critical tone based on random subjects, be it human beings, places, current issues or even paranormal activities with pure honesty and sarcasm to garnish my dish.
Does it not drive you nuts when you have so much to say and you are never given the oopurtunity to speak, forcing yourself to lay silently, shackled and manacled within? After constant struggling, your effort seems to be of no avail. You end up losing all your zest to voice out and eventually give in helplessly. It always happens between parents and teenagers, an undefeatable norm of Asian way of life. Just imagine, when you, an already grown-up beast who is shamefully not mute and audible to all sorts of weird languages around you can't speak your mind, imagine the devastation and agony undergone by newly-born babies who could never successfully convery their actual demands and needs to the adults and always end up wailing and crying as their final resort? They smirk and smile provided they are given miraculously occasional privacy when they are not cuddled and left alone in their beds. However, these smiles too are misinterpreted by merciless adults who immediately lift the poor toddlers and cuddle them to the extent of suffocating them. Do you not know that karma even works for babies?
A grotesquely proportioned unclassified and yet to be specified being just walked past me and is now menacingly sitting cross-legged in front of me. Observing the rarity of these types of existence just moves me within and i despise God at times for being so heartless when creating such creatures. What a pity, I wonder. Nonetheless, i'm describing my one and only little brother, the insane child prodigy who is the cause of my blood's constant boiling. Looking at him slithering around and vying the corners of his room like a bloodthirsty vampire on a relentless blood hunt, I can assure you that he is just waiting to strike me down and start another fight. Yet, no way, not today, not today. Since I'm completely to my computer, he breathes haevily like an angry bull and storms away. My mother on the other side, is gaping into the television watching her favourite typical-waste-of-time-and-energy-watching indian serials, not bothered about either of us, at least I hope she's not, denying the fact that she is restlessly breaking her knuckles and furiously peeping into my direction every now and then.
The clock on my right which I call prehistoric as it has been under my family's possesion even before my existence ticks away phlegmatically from one miserable second to another. Its 7.13 p.m. My fingers are getting weak and tired after constantly tap dancing on my keyboard. My brains are slowly shutting down. The night is still young, yet this young genius is getting too tired. I now end my post by saying "it may not always be a perfect beginning, ut it should end nothing less than perfect".
Good night.
Even as I'm typing right now, I keep wondering what to write further.I am completely blur and clueless due to agonizingly unavoidable boredom. I just want to blog, no matter how sensible or crappy my posts are. I just feel so relaxed and fulfilled when i write or blog. Well, I always wanted and still want to be a novelist in future.
Does it not feel wonderful when you get to express all your compressed feelings, notions and wild imaginations in such constructive ways like journals, novels and etc?? no matter how pathetic your works are, you will undeniably always have someone more pathetic than you who would phlegmatically read and enjoy your writings with nothing better to kindle in life and would later on classify your work of sheer insanity into some weird genre. it happens, always. Therefore, my advice, never be afraid to express yourself thinking that you will be despised and be sought after as a joke material as out of the whole of 9 billion human population walking on the face of Earth, definitely there will be someone just like you.
Getting back to square one,once again, I ask myself, what am I typing? The perfect answer is, I seriously have no convincable ideas my mind could think of right now. So, upon reading this piece-of-whatever-you-would-call-read-if-you-have-nothing-better-to-do-post, try your best to cope with me. I warn you, I write randomly on random topics at random times. I don't stick to one solid topic , after all, what can you expect from a typical, turbulent sixteen year old? Any better options , eh chap?
Prior to writing this utopia of lifelessness, I was thinking of just making life not so complicated by writng short notes on what I did throughout the day in my whatsthename-flower-scented little diary i bought six dreadful years back. However, luck as usual was not on my side. The diary was too thin, frail and undernourished for me, a complicated being who never knows how to be stingy with ink and papers.Do not blame me for that. Blame my no-good-pig-stealing-great-great-grandfather. Nah, i never had a great great grandfather who loves to steal pigs. It's just a figure of speech i am fond of using due to this subtly humorous tone.
Another reason of why I happily declined the idea of diary writing is because I hate the maniac idea of diary writing where you have to list out all the silly things you did throughout the day. I mean, lets be real, why would anybody, including myself, be interested in writing and reading about me brushing my teeth twice a day (occasionally), bathing, watching Tv and etc? I do know that some people enjoy doing that, I am not ridiculing them , yet, my point is, what is the point of you doing so?
Whatever that you read or write should have some impact, some benefit, a sheer inner satisfaction and delight.I personally achieve inner satisfaction by writing in first or third person's point of view in a rather analytical and critical tone based on random subjects, be it human beings, places, current issues or even paranormal activities with pure honesty and sarcasm to garnish my dish.
Does it not drive you nuts when you have so much to say and you are never given the oopurtunity to speak, forcing yourself to lay silently, shackled and manacled within? After constant struggling, your effort seems to be of no avail. You end up losing all your zest to voice out and eventually give in helplessly. It always happens between parents and teenagers, an undefeatable norm of Asian way of life. Just imagine, when you, an already grown-up beast who is shamefully not mute and audible to all sorts of weird languages around you can't speak your mind, imagine the devastation and agony undergone by newly-born babies who could never successfully convery their actual demands and needs to the adults and always end up wailing and crying as their final resort? They smirk and smile provided they are given miraculously occasional privacy when they are not cuddled and left alone in their beds. However, these smiles too are misinterpreted by merciless adults who immediately lift the poor toddlers and cuddle them to the extent of suffocating them. Do you not know that karma even works for babies?
A grotesquely proportioned unclassified and yet to be specified being just walked past me and is now menacingly sitting cross-legged in front of me. Observing the rarity of these types of existence just moves me within and i despise God at times for being so heartless when creating such creatures. What a pity, I wonder. Nonetheless, i'm describing my one and only little brother, the insane child prodigy who is the cause of my blood's constant boiling. Looking at him slithering around and vying the corners of his room like a bloodthirsty vampire on a relentless blood hunt, I can assure you that he is just waiting to strike me down and start another fight. Yet, no way, not today, not today. Since I'm completely to my computer, he breathes haevily like an angry bull and storms away. My mother on the other side, is gaping into the television watching her favourite typical-waste-of-time-and-energy-watching indian serials, not bothered about either of us, at least I hope she's not, denying the fact that she is restlessly breaking her knuckles and furiously peeping into my direction every now and then.
The clock on my right which I call prehistoric as it has been under my family's possesion even before my existence ticks away phlegmatically from one miserable second to another. Its 7.13 p.m. My fingers are getting weak and tired after constantly tap dancing on my keyboard. My brains are slowly shutting down. The night is still young, yet this young genius is getting too tired. I now end my post by saying "it may not always be a perfect beginning, ut it should end nothing less than perfect".
Good night.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
HOTTIE ON THE TREADMILL
A priceless video none will ever get tired watching.
Thanks Pats.
N didnt I tell you, he is just so irresistably adorable !!!!
Friday, November 14, 2008
BETRAYED......
why is this happening?
why is this so?
darkness in the flash of lightning,
Then friend; now foe.
Falling from the heights of lies,
Into the depths of filthy truth,
Immense agony it is,
As spears of past penetrate my soul,
Inch by Inch.
When I laughed, you laughed,
When I cried, you still laughed,
Leaving me confused, dismayed and in denial,
Shan't I call it betrayal?
I should have known,
I should have seen it coming,
But, why couldn't I ?
I held you tight,
Too tight, for too long,
Now I know,
Its a f****** big mistake !
if only you stopped to ponder,
How much it hurts,
To be shunned; betrayed.
why is this so?
darkness in the flash of lightning,
Then friend; now foe.
Falling from the heights of lies,
Into the depths of filthy truth,
Immense agony it is,
As spears of past penetrate my soul,
Inch by Inch.
When I laughed, you laughed,
When I cried, you still laughed,
Leaving me confused, dismayed and in denial,
Shan't I call it betrayal?
I should have known,
I should have seen it coming,
But, why couldn't I ?
I held you tight,
Too tight, for too long,
Now I know,
Its a f****** big mistake !
if only you stopped to ponder,
How much it hurts,
To be shunned; betrayed.
DEPRESSED
I have depression, I admit,
Admit that I have been depressed,
Thinking how much I wish I could be happy,
Thinking how much I want in life,
Thinking how much you can miss someone you love,
When I look back,
I acn see how much this depression has been in my life,
I need this to be fake,
Yet again, its true that I have this depression,
That makes me sad inside, smile outside,
How it makes me feel,
How it makes me think of cutting and suicide,
But we all human,
We all have something to overcome,
i want to overcome this depression,
Once and for all,
I am fighting hard,
But, it seems so difficult,
Can't live with it nor without it,
Gotta admit that it had made me
Who I am today.Depression.I
Admit that I have been depressed,
Thinking how much I wish I could be happy,
Thinking how much I want in life,
Thinking how much you can miss someone you love,
When I look back,
I acn see how much this depression has been in my life,
I need this to be fake,
Yet again, its true that I have this depression,
That makes me sad inside, smile outside,
How it makes me feel,
How it makes me think of cutting and suicide,
But we all human,
We all have something to overcome,
i want to overcome this depression,
Once and for all,
I am fighting hard,
But, it seems so difficult,
Can't live with it nor without it,
Gotta admit that it had made me
Who I am today.Depression.I
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