Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘Fiction’

I own an elephant since I was in highschool. It is big and disturbing. Sometimes I walk it in school, inside the classroom, inside the library, with my friends, with my family, with strangers but mostly I don’t. I always have to remind myself how big and disturbing it is.

I received the elephant on a car accident. It was raining and so I hardly saw the road. Before I knew it, I was running towards a car. I was badly injured. My left leg was almost ripped into half, all my fingers was gnarled, my broken ribcage implied I could no longer swim, my throat screamed its last scream. And the elephant, as a gift from the offender, would remind me of that dreadful accident. My parents were the least thankful.

Since the accident, my life changed dramatically. When somebody saw the elephant, they too would be reminded of that accident and gave me a pity look together with a reassuring smile. My family exempted me from any exhausting chores. Gone are the days of lifting the garbage bin or carrying the pale of water. The school gave me a special treatment. Its either I will be the first person to get the freshly cooked lunch or the last person to pass a test paper. One would think that was a blessing in disguise. The one, however, is not the injured. For the injured, the blessing can’t still compensate for the pain.

Today, I am walking my elephant. It would be odd in particular days but today is not a particular one. I will be having a presentation of my thesis for the next hour. I can’t talk without the elephant, I became dependent on it. It is worsed than a trauma, this phenemenon is untreatable. Unless, of course, if the heavens go crazy, then I’ll utter my dying wish.

When I enter the classroom, all is in place. My teacher, my technical devices and my classmates. I walk towards the center of the classroom as soon as my name is called. I flip through my note cards and begin my presentation. It is after fifteen minutes when I heard one of my classmates rustling over the back of the classroom and mimicking my voice. I am quite grateful for it. Usually, it takes them only three minutes before they start mocking me. At least now, I made my premise. My teacher didn’t flinch. As usual, he is showing his professionalism, just doing nothing. When my presentation is finish and after some phony bows, I immediately walk out from the classroom. I can’t bear the view anymore.

The scenery always happens when I’m with my elephant. One would have thought that I had gotten over it and people would have been tired teasing me. However, the one hasn’t realized how piercing every smirks and laughs I received. This kind of pain didn’t diminish over time.

There is, however, another reason why I am with my elephant. My book club is having a discussion about “The Lovely Bones” by Alice Sebold and I am tasked to be a discussion leader. I review again my note cards and begin the discussion. I start with the objective questions working up to the intimate ones. They all listen intently to my words, as if missing one word would deprive them of a valuable information. All participated in the discussion, which I am happy for. When the discussion is over, almost all of the members pat my back and praise for the good work and worthwhile session. I smile and return back the favor.

My classmates loath my elephant but my book club appreciates it. That explains the old adage of “you can’t please everybody”. I’m just glad that there is somebody who appreciates elephants, my elephant.

Read Full Post »

Clayton Riddell is on the way home after he sold his comic work when a man bites off the ear of a dog. A woman charges to a vendor. Numerous distant screams. Before Clayton knows it, the world is already in chaos. He realizes that the cell (phones) makes a person crazy when he listen to it.  Clay, together with his pick-up friends, Alice and Tom, races from Boston across Kent Pond when he remembers that his son owns a cell. Stephen King’s “The Cell” pulls off a not-so horrifying thriller in a gory zombie tale.

Cell (2006) by Stephen King

When I was reading “The Cell”, Stephen King’s “The Gunslinger” keeps reminding me that this is not worth the time but I am actually impressed to see a dramatic improvement from his writing, which is reasonable since King admits he haven’t been in writing workshops until, I guess, when he started writing the second book of the Dark Tower series. In this work, he chooses the words carefully and manages to tickle you in serious moments but one thing is still disappointing, he’s not a compelling storyteller or should I blame it to the plot? In the middle, when the dynamic trio escapes to an English boarding school, or even before that, the story slouches, no not being a slow pace but it gets boring. He narrates the zombies and what they are doing but it gets worn-out to see the little progress of these creatures. At first, zombies eats another zombies, then they learn how to team up and start to flock to right then to left, then they start to sing and on and on. It would have been fine if these things plays a great role or even a satisfying epiphany in the end, but no they just get blown up. This just shows that these zombies’ deteriorated brains can’t think well. (more…)

Read Full Post »

The Virgin Suicides (1993)

Before the trash collected itself from the curb, before the fence was remove, before the house was labeled as haunted, before the parents got divorce, before the suicides happened, the Lisbon family was living peacefully in Michigan with their 5 daughters: Cecilia, Lux, Bonnie, Mary and Therese.

Told nearly twenty years later after “there were no more daughters to save”, the story was narrated by a collective first-person observer from a group of middle-age men addicted to the Lisbon girls. The tragedy started when Cecilia cut herself on the wrist, a near-death experience. As if that was just a game, she tried it again but this time jumped off from her window and was impaled against the fence: a sure kill. The remaining girls suffered from “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder”, and peer pressure. As the narrator said,  “Inside their house they were prisoners; outside, lepers.”

(more…)

Read Full Post »

Our church is undergoing renovation and we need fund for the construction. Thus, the committee decided to hold an acrobatic show. That’s how I find myself sitting here on a plastic chair beside the walls of a gymnasium. I think I arrived just in time. The ticket says 7:30pm but it’s already eight and I’m not seeing any action. I drum my fingers out from boredom for the next one hour.

My first saliva is about to drop when the show finally started. I wipe it from the back of my hand and rub it in my pants. I know I doze off but I don’t want anyone having evidence. There is a cranky music and all the performers run through the center stage, each of them bowing as their names are mentioned. I am tempted to cover my ears, the music banging my ear drum like a stand-alone cymbal without a pattern of rhythm.

(more…)

Read Full Post »

theresnoplacelikehere_ceceliaahern

In times when I lost something, a pen or book, I always sulk and complain where it went. My father, which has no help at all, will then tease me and say, “Find it with your hands, not with your mouth”. When all hope is lost, I pondered about how I taken it for granted. But just give me days and I will forget it. However, in Sandy’s case, she won’t.

Sandy had been obsessed in finding her lost things since an incident of Jenny-May Butler’s sudden disappearance. From a single sock to a memorable diary, she would strip their house naked just to find it. But not all search cases ended up with satisfaction. Eventually after realizing that she had potential, she started an agency on finding missing persons.

On her search for Jack Ruttle’s case, she had wandered to a path that she has been long looking for. A path that led to place called “Here”, where all missing things stayed, even missing people. Now, she had satisfied her lifelong search but it conjured another one. How could she find her way back home?

(more…)

Read Full Post »

Ma is kidnapped by Old Nick and was concealed in a secluded room. After two years, she gave birth to Jack. Despite the despair, Ma created a lovely world for Jack. In result, Jack regarded the room as a safe house rather than a prison. Room by Emma Donoghue is a story of a parent and child relationship amidst captivity and their adaptation to the environment.

The quirky voice of the exuberant Jack rings in the novel. The narration makes the novel funny and lively despite the dreadful reality. Emma retains this voice concrete and unified throughout the novel. The innocence is not stained with lust, pride and greed. This makes the novel completely pure.

(more…)

Read Full Post »

One night I and my brother couldn’t sleep. It was already late at night but our eyes were wide open. We already tried different sleeping positions but still we ended up awake. Actually more awake. By the time the clock hit twelve, our stomach was already grumbling. We decided to eat but we considered two things. First our parents would be mad if they hear us lurking early at night and second our door creaks so loud that not only our parents could hear it but also our neighbours. If there was a candidate for best noise pollution, our door would win. It was a dead-end plan. Its either we could eat food and feel guilty that we did what we know was wrong, and that includes a series of scolding. Or we can have all consequences and can’t have a food at all.

I thought hard. Really hard. By the time the clock hits one, I had my decision. I will pretend to have a sickness and cough so hard. To be able for it to be realistic, I will open the door immediately and rush to the kitchen fast. My little brother will then follow me pretending he is concern. My parents may punish us but we have a perfect excuse. Perfect indeed.

(more…)

Read Full Post »

The Bad Beginning is full of unfortunate events, as the series says. Even if there is a glimpse of happiness, it is rob immediately and replace with sorrow. The events start when Violet, Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire lost their parents. They are now orphans. They can’t acquire they’re fortune until Violet is of the right age. They are adopted by Count Olaf. Later he is found out to be a wicked man, who wants nothing for the Baudelaires but their money.

So far in my Summer Reading List, this is I enjoyed the most. I didn’t hold back while reading. The reason why I am engrossed on the story was the author’s writing style. I know it’s aimed for children but I find it effective. There was also a work of authenticity. Like when a word was a bit confusing, he will explain it elaborately:

(more…)

Read Full Post »

I have always wondered about circus. How life has been for the performers, for the workers and for the animals. Though our circus doesn’t travel by train and I haven’t also, I enjoyed how the book portrayed it. But be informed, this is not about circus. It is about a love story.

The Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show On Earth is at the brink of indefinite loss until Jacob appeared. He is an undergrad veterinarian at Cornell who was lost, both literally and figuratively, on his predicament. Jacob tames Rose, an Elephant, letting her perform tricks and obey commands. But on Jacob’s stay he falls in love with Marlena, the head animal trainer’s wife. Jacob is about to cross authority beyond his feelings.

(more…)

Read Full Post »

This is the  first chapter of my story. I don’t really know if I can call this chapter. I don’t know how much words should a chapter contain, let alone what should it contain. But hopefully, you could give me insights on how bad did it go. Thanks looking forward to your responses or violent reactions.

—————–

The Rashadine village was celebrating the 32nd anniversary of its independence. Each of them wore their greatest attire. People were decorating their respective hats, wanting to look their best. Foods are already prepared for the night’s feast. Their upper garment always consists of sleeveless brown shirt with red stripes lay upon the middle. They also bore beads of skull around their neck. Their nose were pierced with the sharp fangs of a sabertooth tiger. The lower garment resembled tight short pants that only runs down before the kneecap. They wore no footwear for their feet were thick enough not to feel the earth.

At the center of a venue stood three totems, each carved into an eagle. On the totems’ side laid a group of logs, waiting to be lit. The totems were surrounded by a circle of variety of food, waiting to be eaten. The Rines, the inhabitants, stood behind the fruits, waiting for the ceremony to start.

(more…)

Read Full Post »

Every Saturday is market day and people are busy. As I was approaching, I saw many people in commotion. I figured they were in negotiation, they always were. But before that I saw a man, an old man. I used to know him back then in a tailoring shop. His figure hasn’t change, I whispered to myself. He still wears a plaster on his face. I once heard that his nose was wiped clean and so he had to cover it to prevent repugnance. His hands were gnarled. Even though I am at a distance, I clearly saw his wrinkled and loose skin. I can’t see his eyes I figured his eyelids were too heavy for him to lift. He had lesser hair than I last saw him. I guess he was going bald. He had no shoes but he wore socks. I guess it was better than nothing.

He was walking with the aid of metal for his support. I figured he was practicing. For every three step he took, he lifted the Zimmer frame and he stepped again for three times. As I look on his face, there was no smile. It only showed remorse. I paused and sat on my knees and said a short prayer.

I hope Lord that before the aged dies they may find contentment for their lives.

Then, I continued to walk. The people in the market were diminishing since it was already sunset. But still there were many people, as far as my fingers were concerned. There were fruits, vegetables and used clothes. After a bit of sightseeing, I was disappointed. I was hoping I could buy something to bring with me home. I decided to go home but taking a different route.

I was kicking rocks, slightly hoping I could get an award for doing it. But before I got the award, I saw a lady. She was in her forties. I remembered her back then because she sold different kinds of kakanin on our school when I was a little kid. She was wearing a long skirt and slightly tattered yellow kamiseta. She had her goods hanged in her right elbow while holding an umbrella. She laid the umbrella on her shoulder like a marching musketeer. Her left hand waved in the air, calling for costumers. I paused and stood on my ground. I bowed and prayed.

I hope Lord that you give success on the efforts of the people who have worked hard.

But this time, I didn’t just walked away. I ran towards her and decided to help her.

“Is there” I asked, panting, “any left?”

She smiled and answered, “Yes, there is”.

“How many,” I inquired while bending over my knees, catching my breath.

She opened the basket and mouthed numbers while counting. She finally said, “Three”

“I’ll take it.” I handed the money. As I received the goods, it felt good, like receiving an award, an outstanding award.

On the curb I saw some teenagers. They had grown up. Last time I saw them they were playing in dirt and chasing butterflies.  They were even taller than me now. I glanced on my left and I saw a boy. He was short haired, tanned brown and skinny. He had pimples. I remembered this boy. Then I said I prayer.

I hope Lord I’ll stay the same and if by chance I do change please make it for the better.

Then I walked home.

 

Read Full Post »

%d bloggers like this: