a lazy update

Okay. this is today's post. Now. there. this counts as an update...doesn't it?
hahahah malas ku bah. esuk saja tah nah..
:P

an update?

Rain pellets hit the window pane, making a clatter through the whole of room. You're sitting ontop of the bed, crosslegged staring aimlessly into the darkness. The face glitters in the darkness, reflecting the moonlight splayed into the potrait of the room. It's hands slowly moving, making a clicking sound, irritating and twisting nerves you never knew you had. The face tells you something, plaguing you with responsibilities and flowing the feel of dread and fatigue.

The face tells you it's one in the morning.

"Damn it"

You exhale, feeling faint, it's been a while. Your eyes burn in their sockets, daringly pleading you to drop into the comforting quilt and sink into that welcoming pillow, so near you; within your grasp. But you dare not.

Exhausted your brain's just about to break down, no, you won't. You can't.

You do.

The rebel in you forces you to rest, to hold you captive helpless to the wilies of a the monster of the night. As your head falls to the soft landing fitting your heart races and stops entirely at the same moment, sending you to the realm of unconciousness.

You fall asleep.

Ensnared you feel the breath in your lungs rush out, as your met with the scene that has been playing through your brain all day, like a broken record. The words reverberate through the air, twisting your throat, the slaps of curt answers pierced the air and you feel your blood freeze.

The sight infront of your eyes, you can't forget; you doubt you ever will.

The strangled figure of courage on the floor, it's blood imprinted to the wall of your mind. Charred is your concience as you hear words that should not be uttered, accusations raised to the air and chartered through you by calculative figures, shaded glasses, tightened strings of anger.

You stand for what you believe in, rigidly repeating, trying to stope the battle raging on. A fighter, they said, you were always a fighter, always trying to find an advantage for tactical resevere.

The problem is, you notice, being a fighter, you can't handle this. The feeling inside you, gripping you to the core. Staring and absorbing the view presented, the mangled gasp struggling through your bruised lips, yearning to stop the senselessness of the situation.

Shackled to weakness, you can't do anything; you're helpless. You hate being helpless, and that is what you are, powerless against the rushing stream of clenched fists and boneless features.

Nothing in this world, has felt this bad, not kicks nor punches could beat this feeling of pure terror, overwhelming you.

Eyes glued to the brutality towards that sole voice that you've heard so many times; joked with.

You urge it to stop, the the violence to the voice, to fucking put a cork in. But no, it repeats, and you fall.

'Holy crap', you think, as you see the structure fall beyond rails of safety.

Breath hitches, as contradicting natures of thoughts clash as you dash at the sign of life, at the edge. Seemingly stumbling steps meet your beaten legs, and in the middle, a hole holding so much more. Behind the barrel, a face you've known for a while, that perhaps you've trusted just a bit, and you thank god for your nature.

They bring you to the red scene, painted with agony, where an armless and faceless spot of life twitched to live. You do what you can, you help just a bit, to redeem, to apologize. Shadows surround you, but you see an inkling of light; perhaps a shade of faith and hope.

But it quickly dissipates, as reality guts you, shadows will engulf them as they did to you; fully dismantling bravery through numerous ways of darkness.

'Go,' screams bravery.

Justice was never just, but the shot ran through your spine, as the aim was true. Unappeased, again blurred shots of misconception twice punctures the head of courage. Skidded blood skewed your hearing, as it was impaired by an explosion of fragmented pale pieces befell on you.

Red is the last thing you see, blue turning to red; a harsh image. Laughter and screams intertwining in between each loop; weaving into your memory. The clinks of fallen bullets and twisted bones burned to mind. Horror-strcken, gaunt-like eyes, staring at you, haunting you every second.

You wake up screaming, sweating cold sweat, heart beating faster than before.

You tell yourself it's just a dream, but a little voice whispers it might happen.

Fear takes it's toll, and you dare not wink at all.

The fighter in you, fights the demons to bay, and you sit up and stare again, feeling helpless. Stars above making sure you have company as thoughts and images of that fated horror.

That night, you do not sleep at all.

A sacrifice

He won’t make it.

He’ll never get through, he knows he won’t. With every trudge of his foot down the path; he knew he wouldn’t make it. Each second; each grasp of breath he takes now, could be his last. No, he knows they will be his last.

He can’t explain it, can’t elaborate the feelings in his gut. Controversial instincts clash in his body. Brain, Heart, Muscle; all, battling for control.

Heart thumping, sending bloodless oxygen spiraling through capillaries of wood, to give and take, to give and take. Always a reason for giving, always a reason to give. For every choice there is a reason. Also a consequence.

Muscles constricting arteries, dilating veins; vice versa. Simultaneously. Spasms jittering fiber, bone and sense through cells. Moving, respiring, living, for the last time. Spluttering responses, letting instinct run a lost race.

Brain shifting through, each memory, each feeling, categorizing each memoir, trying to see sense, searching an escape to live out an alternative. Analyzing each discarded possibility, repeatedly; obsessively.

Each of his strength tantalizingly dances with his weakness in a time without space, in a place where there is no light, no darkness. He walks mechanically to his destination.

Never has he felt this desperate, this dire for him to lay it all bare.
Never has he marched to battle without a plan.
To dance along with an unknown beat.

Yet he continues, plunging into unchartered waters. Marching through an unknown abyss of darkness. Shameless guilt set upon the path.

For her. All for her. Her; the wearer of probing eyes. The sniffer of problems, He did this all for her. For her to smile, to laugh.

Even if it’s without him. He’d give away everything for her; even his life. He’d sacrifice his soul for her.

The only chance for her to live again, was for him to give a sacrifice on the altar of happiness and pride. His happiness for hers, his dignity for her life.

He’d have to give away a part of his heart. He knows deep inside, a knowledge which supports the chances of him making it through were slim to none. Anyway, if he was able to go through, he won’t be able to be who he was. A runner, a basketball player.

He’d be less of who he was. less of who he had become.

Ironic, through out his short 15 years of life, he’d never been so keen on making his sister laugh.
Till now.

Random sproutings

"Once upon a time..."
A beautiful beginning to a tantalizing tale, a classic adored by others, fantasized by children and humoured by adults. Humans selfishly dwell on these stories, forgetting reality for a while. Even if it's just for an hour or a few minutes, you sometimes sit down and ponder on mindless questions, yearning for our own happy ending.

Happy endings are never coming, does cartoons are lies. trechorously stringing all of us along for a ride, flaunting something we'll never have. And we'll yearn for it even more, deluding ourselves of reality.

As the caged bird screams, we dream.

We dream of sunsets by the beach where we'd picnic, dream of a whole life filled with joy and delight. Masking our own reality, not knowing without reality there can be no truth. But we happily do so.

Believing a hoax.
Trusting a lie.

for ignorance is bliss.

An Advantage to a Power Shortage

They lay out on the damp grass, staring up at the stars. Her head rested on his chest and their fingers were laced together.

“So beautiful.” She whispered. Being out here during a power shortage was amazing. There were no lights to deter the beauty of the stars.

“Yeah.” He smiled at her. To him, her beauty was much greater than the stars.

She leaned her head to kiss him.

“Summer nights, no lights, what a sight.” She grinned at his rhyme.

“You’re a dork.”

“But I’m your dork.”

“Yes, that you are. Always and forever.” And they kissed again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I know..mushy.. tacky..and so totally cliche.kill me.we all need them in our life..one way or another.. :P

To be remembered.

"Because life is boring"

The words raspy in the cold night air, echoes as it bounces of the walls of the room. Voicing reason, showing logic, for the adolescent teen. Standing in the corner, leaning onto the wall just like he always was.

"No it's not.

Each day, is an adventure. No matter how small or uneventful, each choice we make and each thought we ponder on, changes our future. Each and every of our action paths a way through, and each of our words slashes through the wild. An adventure doesn't mean having adrenalin soaring through your body, your heart beating at the speed of light. An adventure is a journey, a journey which brings you to another place, another destination.

So in a way, each day you live, is each day you're closer to another place.Get it?"

The girl's voice: strong and turgid. Ringing in the cracks in the ceiling and walls.

"Done with the sermon?"

A smug face appearing on his gaunt features. Teasing the girl for her speech.

"Call it as you may, but you shouldn't do this. You know you shouldn't."

Voicing her opinion, reprimanding the boy for his lack of insight.

"I've had enough of this so called journey,I always end up being in the same place. Life sucks. Life is unfair."

Assured words of the boy, resignation flowing through.Hands steady and ready.

"Life is fair through it's unfairness"

Yet she remains adamant, persisting against, what he was going to do. Stubbornly attempting to stop him.

" Tell that to those who suffer, who have mothers who blame them, who become frustration outlets, whose life are so deranged that they feel like they're floating through life, with no purpose. Tell them. Life is FAIR. That it's fair for them to go through crap everyday, it's fair that they face against dangers constantly. "

Anger resounded in his voice, frustration leaking out. Hurt seen pass through the visor. Slowly he pointed it to his head. It's nearly time.

"Ethan, don't do this. Please. I'm begging you, Don't."

Her tone was desperate.

Ethan looked at her, his English partner, a nobody.
Cynthia Kent. No one to him.

But as she stood in the doorway, affixed and firm. Looking at him with determination, he couldn't help feel happy. His hands are steady, fingers are ready.

Atleast someone'll witness it and remember.

Smiling, Ethan Mayne pulled the trigger of the colt 45.

It's official.

Ask me a Straight maths question, even add maths. I'd have a chance of answering.I swear.

Twist them?
I lose my brain.
Really I do. I am NOT joking.
It's not even hilarious.
yea.Yea.It's just me I guess.It feels like..the numbers are twisting and forming itself into snakes slowly squeezing my trachea till I can't breathe.

Physics, You? Please please stick into my head.
please?
Malay,
Please, please co-operate, I have ideas.
God knows I have ideas, but I can't seem to express it.
please?

And you, You dear.
Yes. Maths and add maths.
I know you don't like me.
I don't like you too.
But PLEASE FOR GODS SAKE.
I BEG OF YOU.
LET'S CALL IT A TRUCE YEA?
Jeez.

and it's also official.
I've lost my mind.