Otherworld

Workday Woes

2009-12-07T16:15:00.002+08:00

There are some days when you wake up and you just can’t muster up the strength to haul your ass out of bed to get to your dead end job. And the reason for this, let’s call it “fuckerosity”, for lack of an actual descriptive word, is you have a fucking bitch of a boss who thinks it’s her life’s aim to hound you at your every step, to make your workdays a miserable, suicide-provoking, endless procession of hours. And your only respite is when the clock strikes 6:30 (that’s right, THIRTY FUCKING MINUTES PAST FUCKING SIX, FUCKING HALF PAST FUCKING SIX, not five like other normal, decent jobs), and you get to walk to your car and spend another hour and a half in a fucking traffic jam before you finally reach home, too fucking tired to even eat.

Well, I’ve got that bitch of a boss, and yesterday was one of those days.

Ironically, the day started off pretty well. I woke up early, feeling refreshed. I even had the time to stop at Abang Mi’s for my favorite nasi lemak with sambal paru. The roads weren’t as congested in the morning, and I had a pleasant drive to the office, listening to songs on my iPhone.

I reached the office and immediately started my daily routine of numb-minding paperwork. As I was clacking away on my keyboard, the bitch walked up to my cubicle.

“Where’s the report I asked for yesterday?”

I looked up. “I put in on your desk, ma’am. Did you look properly?”

She started flaring her nostrils, a sure sign that a tantrum was on the horizon. “Don’t be a smartass. Where the fuck is my report?” She was starting to raise her voice.

I tried to keep calm, although my fists were clenching under the desk.

“It should be on your desk. I don’t know if someone else took it.”

She was screaming now, her face turning a deep shade of red. “Fuck you! It’s not there, you fucking retard! Fuck! I want my fucking report now, you fucking idiot!”

And, well…

That’s all I remember. The next thing I knew, I was at home.

And I had the bitch nailed to my floor. Hmm, I should elaborate, I guess. I don’t actually remember what happened, but I guess I must have punched her in the face at some point during the day because she had a nice purple bruise on her right cheek. And then I somehow carried her home and nailed her hands and feet to the floor, like a grotesque parody of Jesus.

She wasn’t naked, God, no. Not yet, at least. No dirty thoughts here, if you please. That would be horribly disgusting, like thinking of a rotting, maggot infested cow. She was, however, starting to wake up. I decided to wait for her to be fully conscious so that she will better appreciate the upcoming experience.

After around 10 minutes or so, she started to make noises. I am reluctant to say ‘scream’ here, because the sound that came from her mouth sounded more like the bleating of a wounded goat more than anything else. I quickly prepared some tools and approached her.

She started to scream for real now.

“What the fuck are you doing? Help! Help!” Her eyes were wide with terror, I noticed.

I smiled at her.

“Tsk, tsk,” I said. “Such a foul mouth. To use a cliché, bitch, no one can hear you. I would like to welcome you to your annual appraisal.

“Now I’m going to give you a choice-“

“I want to live!” She interrupted. “I want to live, so that I can get out of here and report you to the police and they’ll lock you up so that you’ll be fucking ass-raped so hard that you won’t be able to walk for seven fucking years!”

“Wow,” I exclaimed. “You’ve been watching too much TV. Here in the Otherworld the good guys always win.”

She looked up at me. “Otherworld? What the fuck are you saying? Let me go! What do you mean, good guy? You’re the good guy? You’re crazy, you motherfucker!”

I had had enough of her foul mouth.

“Shut up,” I said. “Like I said, I’m going to give you two choices. Unfortunately, you’re not going to leave this place alive. So, ma’am, all you have to do is choose. Behind Door Number One: quick and painless! One BANG! and it’s over. Behind Door Number Two: agonizingly slow and painful. You’ll probably scream yourself to death. Literally.”

She didn’t answer me. She started squealing like a tied pig.

“EEEEEEeeeEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEeeeeeeeeEeeEeEEEEeeeeeee…”

I chuckled. “Aha, looks like you’ve chosen Door Number Two!”

“EeeeEEEeeeEeeeeeEEeee…”

I took a spoon and plunged it into her left eye, careful not to pop the eye. I scooped her eye out and stuffed it into her wide open mouth. She started to choke.

“Oh no,” I said. “You’re not going to choke on me, now.”

I stuffed the spoon into her throat and took the eye out. Then I took a pair of scissors and cut the front of her t-shirt and her bra to expose her large, ugly, sagging breasts. I noticed that her right breast was larger than her left, and her nipples were (barf!) hairy.

“Eww!” I gagged. “You are hideous. It’s no surprise that no man would want you.”

She was still squealing. The stupid bitch.

“EeeeeeeeeEEEeeeeeee!”

I got a sharp knife and slowly sliced her right breast off. When this was done I told her, “Balance!”

“EeeEEeEEeeeeeEEEEeeeeee!”

I started to skin her, starting from where I had cut her disgusting right boob off. She was breathing in hitched gasps now, but trying to squeal anyway. The stupid bitch.

After about 20 minutes, I had flayed her whole torso. She was, amazingly, still alive. She wasn’t screaming anymore. She was just whimpering like a wet dog. Bitch.

I was, I have to admit, kinda tired. I thought, what the heck let’s get this over with, and decided to end it.

I ran out to my tool shed and got a garden rake. When I got back in, I just started to rake and rake her flayed flesh until she became still.

She was dead, finally.

I took pictures of her body and posted them on Facebook. A lot of my officemates commented on the pictures. All the comments were positive and encouraging.

I never had any trouble at the office anymore.

And if I did, I’d do it all over again.

2009-11-03T13:57:00.002+08:00

The year is 2020. Malaysia is a fully developed country, and after 20 years of being a member of a major political party, I, Adlan, finally become Prime Minister at the age of 38. The youngest Prime Minister in the history of the country.

This is what I will do once I am in power.

CONSOLIDATION
1. Ban all political parties except for the ruling party. I will also ban the ones in my "coalition" government, and restructure my current party so that it will integrate all the different structures of community and races in the country. Those who refuse to adhere to this policy will be severely punished.

2. Declare myself "Emperor", though not a strictly hereditary title, I will have the power of veto and the power to appoint my successor. The "Emperor" will rule for life, or until he sees fit to abdicate his post. He will also be the sole executive decision-maker. The organization structure will be as follows :

a. The Supreme Emperor (Maharaja)
Positioned at the top of the ruling structure, the Emperor is the Supreme Ruler of the nation. Commander-in-Chief of the Military.

b. The Supreme Minister (Menteri Agung)
Sort of a vice-Emperor, with complete authority second only to the Emperor.

c. The Supreme Counselor (Penasihat Agung)
An adviser to the Emperor, with complete authority on matters of government.

d. The Supreme Council
Consisting of 10 ministers in charge of their respective ministries.

3. I will reclaim Singapore, and return it to its ancient name of Temasik.

4. I will grant limited autonomy or 'semi-independence' to Kelantan, and this new protectorate will pay an annual financial tribute to Malaysia. Citizens of Kelantan, however, will require passports and other travel documents to enter Malaysia. Kelantanese people who have worked and lived for less than 20 years in Malaysia will be required to register themselves at the Immigration Department. Kelantanese who have lived here for more than 20 years are accepted as citizens of Malaysia.
NOTE : "Kelantanese" refers to people born in Kelantan.

5. All royal families of their respective states will replace Menteri Besars as state rulers. States without rulers will be provided with rulers, elected from royal families of other states. All these state rulers, however, will answer to the Emperor.

RELIGION
1. All matters of religion will come under a centralized Ministry of Religion. The individual state will no longer have religious authority.

2. Freedom of religion and worship will be granted. However, the official religion of the Empire is Islam.

3. Religion will NOT be taught in schools. The Empire believes that religion is a personal matter, and will not impose upon its citizens any religion.

4. There will be government-run religious schools, catering to all religions. Citizens, however, are not forced to enroll.

5. All independent religious schools will be banned.

ECONOMY
1. The Empire will encourage foreign investment in all major business and trade.

2. There will be a Corporate Tax imposed on all large private businesses.

3. The government will try to provide very low interest loans to Small and Medium enterprises, to help boost economical growth.

4. There will be a permanent peg on the Ringgit to the US Dollar, set at RM3.5 to the dollar.

EDUCATION
1. The Empire will ban all vernacular schools, and bring back English-language vernaculars.

2. Private vernacular schools will be allowed to be run, but only with a government approved syllabus.

3. Primary and Secondary education will be fully subsidized(free-lah), provided for by the government.

4. Diploma-level tertiary education will be fully subsidized, even in private institutions.

5. All government tertiary education will be fully subsidized. Private education institutions will remain as they are.

6. Home-schooling will be banned, and will be considered a criminal offense.

HEALTH CARE
1. All government health care will be fully subsidized for all citizens, regardless of whether they work in government or not.

2. Private health institutions will remain as they are.

CRIME & PUNISHMENT
1. The death penalty will be imposed on ALL crimes for offenders over the age of 16.
NOTE : ALL CRIMES means exactly what it says. If you steal a piece of candy from a shop and are found guilty of it, then you will die.

2. Juvenile offenders will be sent to special "Counseling Schools" for 7 years or until the reach 16 years of age, whichever period is longer.

3. The only method of execution approved is by a gunshot to the head.

LAW & ORDER
1. A new unit of enforcement called the Imperial Guard will be formed, and answerable only to the Emperor himself. The Imperial Guard will oversee matters of Intelligence(local and foreign), and watch over any political dissent from within and without the Empire.

2. The police force will remain as is, except that all matters of Intelligence will be transferred to the Imperial Guard.

FOREIGN POLICY
1. Indonesia
a. The Empire will continue to be friendly towards Indonesia. However, we will not tolerate ridiculous demands from its citizens (such as the "Rasa Sayang" issue, etc). Demands such as these will just be ignored.
b. If Indonesia continues to disregard its citizens(and sadly, our citizens) conducting open forest burnings, the Empire will be forced to intervene.

2. Singapore
Singapore will be reclaimed as part of the Empire, and renamed Temasik.

3. The West
The Empire will welcome all foreign investments. However, we will wholeheartedly protest and retaliate against any foreign power who encroaches on our sovereignty and the sovereignty of our Allies.

4. "Israel"
Diplomatic relations will remain non-existent. "Israel" as a state will not be recognized as a valid nation, and the Empire terms "Israel" as an organized-crime entity. People of the Jewish faith, however, will be treated with respect and tolerance. It is Zionism and the criminal "Jewish State" that the Empire refuses to recognize.

5. The Middle East
The Empire will encourage the countries of the middle east, primarily the Arab nations, to forget their bickering for once and form a united front against "Israel" and other criminal forces.

6. Brunei
Brunei will be invited to join the Empire. If it refuses, we will exact an annual tribute, as in the case of Kelantan.

IMMIGRATION
1. All illegal immigrants will be put to death.

2. Legal immigrants will receive a small amount of financial aid from the government.

MILITARY
1. The whole defense system will be restructured and a massive armament program will commence.

2. The Empire reserves the right to protect its borders against all real and perceived threats.

MISC
1. The nation will be renamed the Empire of Malaya, with Sabah and Sarawak as states within the Empire, along with Temasik.

2. The parliamentary system will be abolished, the Emperor will rule by decree.

3. The justice system will remain in place, with the Emperor in an advisory position.

4. The individual state Rulers, however will not rule as they please. They will be, in effect, governors, ruling by the Grace of the Emperor.

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OK, so far that’s it. I’m sure there are a lot of other issues I need to address, but I’m too lazy to think of them right now.

The ramblings of a crazy person? Maybe, but fuck you. You’ll die when I rule.

Somewhere Along The Way

2009-04-17T12:37:00.019+08:00

I got the idea for this little tale while I was listening to Dean Martin's version of Nat King Cole's Somewhere Along The Way. It's a hauntingly beautiful song, so I thought I'd write a love story to go along with it. Enjoy.

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I used to walk with you along the avenue
Our hearts were carefree and gay.

I remember the days when we used to go strolling hand in hand, my heart in your heart, and yours in mine. Back then I loved you with all my soul; I still do. On weekends when the weather was cool and breezy, we would go for walks around our little town, looking at the small shops and smiling at the giggling children as they passed us by. In a way we were like those children; carefree, happy, and in love.

I remember that Sunday 13 years ago. The day was cloudy, overcast. It was probably going to rain, but I thought that the rain was still a couple of hours away.

I remember asking you, "Honey, you wanna go out today?"

And I remember you replying with a little frown, "Sure, but it's going to rain, isn't it? Look at those clouds." You pointed out the window.

I looked in the direction you pointed. I regret ever saying the next sentence.

"Ah, don't worry, babe. It looks like we have some time yet before it starts to pour. Anyway, what harm can a little rain do?"

I remember the next moment. You sighed, "Okay, let's go. I need to wash my hair anyway." Then you laughed, a laugh so sweet that now, after all these years, when I close my eyes I still see you laughing.

So out we went, hand in hand as always.

How could I know I'd lose you
Somewhere along the way.

The streets were strangely empty that afternoon. I thought, everyone's probably inside waiting for the rain. Oh, well. We have the town to ourselves. Now I wish I'd never had that thought.

I remember passing by the old hardware shop. You pointed to the left and said, "Honey, have you ever seen that alley before? I know this sounds weird, but I've never noticed that alley. I mean, we've passed this place a million times."

I had to agree with her. "Hm, you're right, babe. That's strange." A thought struck me. "Hey! Let's go exploring!"

You frowned. "I don't think that's such a good idea. It's just an alley. It's probably filled with dead rats and creeping garbage."

I turned to you. "What? What's creeping garbage?"

You looked puzzled. "Creeping what?"

"Garbage. You said 'creeping garbage'."

"I did?" You said. "I didn't say that."

I shrugged my left shoulder, the way I always do when I get confused. "You did, babe. You said the alley was full of dead rats and creeping garbage."

You were indignant. I remember you looking at me with your beautiful eyes (oh I miss you so much) and saying, "I don't remember saying 'creeping garbage'. You probably imagined it. Anyhow, it's not something I would say."

I laughed. "Okay, babe, okay. Whatever you say. Come on, I wanna see what's in that alley. We could become the Backstreet Boys."

"I'm a girl, in case you need some reminding." You giggled. "First creeping garbage, now I'm a boy. Okay, you win. Let's go."

I smiled and took you by the hand. We walked together into the alley.

The friends we used to know
Would always smile, "Hello",
No love like our love, they'd say.

I remember every moment of that Sunday like it was just a while ago. I remember loving you like nothing I had ever loved before. Everyone would look at us and call us hopeless romantics; we couldn't help ourselves, could we? We were hopeless romantics.

We had met 10 years before that damned Sunday. I fell in love with you the moment I laid eyes on you. I was waiting for the bus one morning and you walked up to me. You asked me for directions. I remember stuttering and stammering, offering to walk you there, as the place you wanted to go to was only a few blocks away.

I remember you smiling and asking me in your direct way, "Are you trying to hit on me?"

I remember stuttering something inaudible. You laughed and told me you were kidding, but yes, I could walk you over to the place you were going to.

Up to that point in my life, that was the happiest day ever. We soon became friends, then lovers, then you became my wife. And I loved you then, and I love you now.

I wish every single day that I had never asked you into that alley.

I should forget,
But with the loneliness of night I start remembering everything.

Every night now I relive those horrible moments as we walked into the alley.

The alley was small, just wide enough for the both of us to walk side by side - hand in hand. The alley was empty, save for some trash strewn about; broken bottles, plastic bags and other stuff lying around. There was a strange smell, like the smell of meat burning on a barbecue. I noticed that the alley had a dead end, and there was something stuck to the wall at the end, like a poster. From a distance it looked like a poster for a rock concert, all colourful and bright.

You edged closer to me. "I'm scared," you said. "Let's go back."

I looked at her and let out a small laugh. "Oh, come on, babe. There's nothing here. I just want to look at that poster."

You looked at me with frightened eyes, but you didn't say anything. We just kept on walking.

We reached the end of the wall. There was indeed a poster stuck to it, but it wasn't a poster for a rock gig.

Instead there was this.

Otherworld? I thought. Where was that? What was that?

We looked at it with wide eyes, and there was a strange and ominous feeling in my heart.

The poster began to move. The picture began to shake and shiver. The writing on the poster seemed to float in water, undulating and moving around on the poster. You screamed and began running, holding on to my hand. I turned and ran with you. We were horrified to find that the other end was also a wall, a dead end. We didn't have anywhere to go. We began to panic. You pounded on the wall - this new wall - and screamed for help. I stood there, frozen with fear.

Suddenly there was a rustling sound behind us. We turned and screamed. All the garbage that was strewn about began to move towards us. Began to creep. Closer and closer.

A piece of rotten fruit suddenly jumped up and stuck itself on your chest. You screamed. I tried to swipe it off, but it stuck there like glue. Then, more garbage flung themselves towards you and began to cover your whole body, even your face. I could still here your screams, but they were muffled. I tried to hit at the garbage but nothing came of my efforts. I was screaming, calling your name, tears flowing down my cheeks. They only thought I had was for you to be safe, for both of us to be safe. I was deathly afraid of losing you.

I remember hearing, at that point, a clanking metallic sound. I looked to my left, and the last thing I saw was a large rusty old paintcan hurling itself towards my head. I know that it hit me because I passed out.

Then love slipped through out fingers
Somewhere along the way.

I woke up to find myself lying on our front porch, bleeding and sore from head to toe. You were no where in sight. I screamed your name like a madman. I began to cry, and slumped on the porch steps. I looked down, and at the bottom of the steps was something that looked like a poster.

I screamed and cried at the same time.

You're gone and yet
There's such a feeling deep inside that you will always be
part of me.

My legs hurt like fire, but I ran all the way to the hardware store. The alley wasn't there. I looked around, but the streets were still empty. I fell to my knees as it began to rain. You were gone. And the most horrifying thing was, I didn't even know where you were.

is she in the otherworld?

So now I look for you
Along the avenue.
And as I wander I pray
That someday soon I'll find you
Somewhere along the way.

It has been 13 years since I lost you. I still walk along that street every single day, looking for that lost alley.

Looking for you.

Yellow Days

2009-04-10T09:15:00.003+08:00

The road was dark and winded...

Ah, fuckit. Writer's block is a bitch. If I had been using a typewriter, I would be ripping out the paper, crumpling it up and chucking it onto the floor with all the other balls of paper. I'd probably be going through a whole forest of trees and killing a few dozen orang asli along the way.

I thought I was inspired like a madman on speed, and all I could come up with is "the road was dark and winded". That sounds like an opening for a B-movie, or rather, a B-story. Shit, maybe it doesn't even deserve a B. More like D minus, where it lurks in the realm of animal porn and fake snuff flicks.

I've been a writer for the past 12 years, and I'm proud - or ashamed - to say that I've made enough off of my imagination to last me a couple of lifetimes. I'm a rich man, and at this point in my life, I've come to realize that I've milked the last(almost?) drop of imaginative blood - so to speak - from my mind. I can quit, retire and live out my days drinking lukewarm tea and eating soggy goreng pisang. But I won't. Not just yet. Not when I might have one last story.

So I sit at my keyboard every night, tap-tap-tapping away, only to press backspace until the page is nothing but a blank sheet of digital paper again.

Tonight it's unusually dark outside, and when I look out the window to check, I see that all the street lamps are out. Hmph, big mystery there. I guess you could say I was expecting something a little more - here's the I-word again - imaginative.

But I love nights like this. And I loved this afternoon, where everything was cast in a yellow, almost orange light. I haven't seen a yellow day since I was a kid.

Yellow days are here again,
Chain your women and beat your men.
Eat your children and remember when
Yellow days are here again.

Wait. Where the fuck did that little rappin' rhyme come from? I'm feeling a little groggy. Must be the writer's block turning into a writer's migraine, ha ha. Or, maybe I've been staring at the monitor for way too long in a dark room, and the contrast is hurting my eyes.

I turn on the lights, and the light is yellow. Nothing unusual about that, except that I have those 4-foot flourescents that cast a white light. I'm a little creeped out, but not to the point of actual fright. Maybe the light is on its way to Incandescent Heaven, and yellow is its dying color.

Hah, dying color. I like that. That means Yellow Day is here.

What? Yellow Day? Mellow Shmay? Fellow Gay?

They call me mellow yellow.

I...I'm starting to lose it. I'm too tired. I switch off the monitor and walk to the fridge to get a drink of water. There's a bottle of water which I bring up to my mouth. As the water comes into contact with my throat, I gag and spit it out. I look at the water. It's yellow.

Bellow May?

That's right, boys and girls, children of all ages. Yours truly here just took a giant shot of cold, refridgerated piss. Mmm, just like Mother used to make.

The light in the fridge is yellow. But it's always been yellow. Yellow lights. My fridge is yellow too. It was blue this morning.

Maybe I'm starting to panic a little. What's going on? I don't really know. I turn on the tap to wash the pee-taste out of my mouth. I'm no longer surprised to find out that the water from the pipe is yellow too. I bend my head down to take a smell. It smells normal, like water should. I take a glass and fill it half-full. Always the optimist, that's me. I take a tentative sip, and it tastes like water should: tasteless. But good. I fill the glass all the way and drink. Fuck, that's good water. Who cares if it's yellow?

But then I feel a warm, tingling, wet sensation near my groin. I look down to find that I've just peed in my pants, my white linen house-pants. Of course, it's now stained yellow.

Shmellow Clay?

I'm losing my mind, I guess. It's a nervous breakdown, I know it is. I run around the house, turning on all the lights. Of course, they're all yellow by now. I can't even remember what color the lights were before. Yellow is my special color.

It's just another yellow day.

I run out to my balcony, and look up at the moon. The moon is yellow. Is it a yellow night too? Well, I guess it is! What a yellow riot!

I look down 15 floors towards the swimming pool. The water in the pool is, predictably, yellow.

Brellow Fay?

I climb the balcony railing and push myself off. Everything seems slow-motion now, and very, very, very yellow. I'm going to land in the swimming pool, where the impact of the water is going to be as hard as yellow concrete.

But my head hits the pool edge, and my head cracks open like a watermelon. There are yellow watermelons too, you know? They seem to taste sweeter than the stupid red ones.

As I float in the pool, a large chunk of my head floating nearby, I see my yellow blood streaming out of my head, making dark, yellow, swirling clouds in the pool.

As my whole world turns to yellow, I smile and close my eyes.

It's been a yellow day.

My last one.

A Short Story

2009-01-30T10:44:00.000+08:00

One day, a boy saw a ghost. He ran and fell into a hole filled with deadly snakes.

He got bitten by the snakes and died.

Three years later, the boy's ghost still haunts the hole with the snakes.

THE END.

The Lollipop

2009-01-26T11:02:00.019+08:00

A humorous take on a horror subject. Enjoy.
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Irene loved lollipops. Everyday on her way back from school she would pass by Mr. Johnson's Drugstore and buy herself a lollipop. She would stand by the counter, thoughtfully staring at the multitude of flavors and colors. Mr. Johnson would look at her from the corner of his eyes as he stacked cigarettes behind the counter and smile inwardly. Here's the lollipop girl again, he would think.

Irene's favorite flavor was chocolate-banana. To her it tasted like a magical banana split ice-cream where all the wonderful flavors exploded in her mouth, all at once. She would always close her eyes to savor that first lick, that first taste in her mouth. She would sigh and think, All my troubles are gone, oh how I love my lollipops.

Today was no different. At the sound of the bell, she bid her pals goodbye, picked up her backpack and walked out of her classroom. A couple of "See yas" and a handful of "I'll call you tonights" later, she was out of the school halls and into the crisp autumn afternoon. She took in the soft wind that blew into her face and through her hair. It was quite cold, but not cold enough to numb your nose. It was a perfect kind of cold, thought Irene.

Then she remembered. Lollipop time! The thought of unwrapping a banana-chocolate or a strawberry lollipop put a bounce in her step as she walked the few blocks down toward Mr. Johnson's store. Maybe I'll try something different today, she thought. Maybe I'll try that new flavor, what was it? Ah, Creamy Mango! Maybe I'll try that today.

Ten minutes later, she arrived at Mr. Johnson's Drugstore. The door had one of those old-fashioned brass bells attached to it, and it clinked merrily as she entered the shop. As usual, she went straight to the counter where the lollipops were. Mr. Johnson put the lollipops in a large glass jar, so anyone with a sweet tooth could see the myriad flavors available.

Irene's nose wrinkled a bit as she tried to pick out a good flavor. She was torn between banana-chocolate; her favorite, and the new Creamy Mango. After thinking it through, she decided on Creamy Mango. She took out her choice, paid Mr. Johnson, and left the shop.

She picked out the new one, thought Mr. Johnson. I'll bet she ain't gonna like it much.

Irene hastily unwrapped her lollipop and popped it in her mouth. She didn't close her eyes this time, because she was always wary of new flavors. If she had her eyes closed and didn't like the new taste, she was afraid that the new flavor might stick on her tongue for a long time, and she would have to drink Coca-Cola to get rid of the aftertaste. Irene did not like Coca-Cola, or any other colas for that matter.

The new lollipop was swirling around in her mouth. Hmmm, not bad, she thought. Creamy Mango wasn't what she expected at all. It had a nice, tangy tinge to it, and the mango tasted like the real thing.

But then Irene felt lightheaded and dizzy all of a sudden. She thought that maybe the flavor was too strong for her. She felt like the time when her cousin Angie went to the Thai specialty store and brought home a strange fruit called the durian. She had taken a whiff of the strong-smelling fruit and felt woozy. This was how she felt at the moment.

Her vision was starting to get dark, and the images of her surroundings were spinning as if she were a little beetle perched on a spinning top. She didn't even realize it when she passed out.

Irene woke up to find herself lying down in a brightly lit room, so bright that she couldn't even make out where the walls ended and the floor began. She was naked, lying on some sort of bed, like a hospital bed with no railings. The bed was hard, like a rock slab. There was a cushion underneath her head, but that was also hard and uncomfortable.

She tried to scream but nothing came out of her mouth, only air. She tried to move her arms and legs, but they were tied down with restraints. She panicked.

Oh my God, where am I? she thought.

I want my Mommy. Please help me, Mommy.

She heard a door open, and footsteps coming toward her. Finally, someone's here to save me. But when the footsteps reached her, she was horrified to see a creature, standing like a man but with a long, segmented neck that wove about like a centipede, and even looked like a centipede. At the end of the neck there was a large rectangular head with eight large, black, shining eyes. It's mouth - if you could call it that - was protected by a pair of thorny mandibles, that opened and shut as the creature breathed. There were two curved horns that protruded from both sides of its head.

The creature wore, of all things, a lab coat. Inside the lab coat, it wore a white button-down shirt with a blue tie. On the coat's lapel there was a nametag with it's terrible picture on it. Irene, in her panic, read the name tag : Dr. Dratsab Cinomed, MD. And with that, Irene wet herself.

The creature - the doctor - looked at the puddle of urine between Irene's legs and took out what seemed to be a hand held tape recorder. It pressed a button and spoke into the recorder, in perfect English.

"The subject, a pink-hued, prepubescent, female humanoid, has just pissed herself. I suspect the reason is fear. As with all the subjects I have studied, this subject is absolutely terrified at seeing me. In a moment she will probably start to lose control of her bowels - oh, there you go. The subject has excreted an unusually large amount of feces. It smells like the fruit these humans call Mango. Apparently this subject has eaten the bait we left in Dr. Toidi's - or should I say Mr. Johnson's - glass jar."

Irene tried to cry out, but again, her voice failed her. The doctor-creature spoke again into his tape recorder.

"The subject is unable to vocalize, which means that the vocal-chord paralyzing agent is working like a charm. There's actually no need for all these restraints, but it is essential that she doesn't flounder about when the little Iakgnatreb Alug burst out of her rectum. It should happen in a few moments, I have already placed the container near her rectum."

What? Burst out of where? Irene thought frantically. She couldn't even shed any tears, her paralysis was so complete. Oh, Mommy, save me please. I want to go to school. I want to see my friends. I want to watch TV. I want to kiss you, Mommy. Please come.

Suddenly, Irene felt an intense pain in her stomach. She could only scream in her mind. And in her mind, she was screaming for all the world to hear. The stabbing pain wracked her frail little body, causing it to tremble and struggle against her restraints even though she was paralyzed.

Out of her rectum, tiny little lollipops of all shapes, sizes and colors started pouring out. The flow started getting bigger, and bigger, more and more lollipops were spurting out like tadpoles along with feces and blood.

Irene was convulsing. The pain was unbearable.

Mommy, I want this to end. Please. I can't take this anymore.

Irene's rectum tore into a gaping hole as the burden became too much for her. The lollipops were cascading like a waterfall now, filling the container placed near her body. Irene's intestines and guts poured out along with the lollipops.

The doctor-creature spoke into his tape recorder, "The subject is on the verge of death, I think. We have enough Iakgnatreb Alug to last Dr. Toidi another year at the very least. I shall send them over to Mrs. Tnuc for sterilization, then to Dr. Krodparc for spiking. As usual, Dr. Toidi will pick up the new batch."

And with that, the doctor-creature turned off his tape recorder with a click.

Fortunately, Irene never heard the click.

She was dead.

I, Hangman Part 2

2009-01-23T21:03:00.011+08:00

If you missed reading Part 1, click HERE. Enjoy.

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"Hey."

The voice was coming from inside the execution chamber. Must be a prison guard, I thought. Probably wants me to help with something.

But I was the last one to leave.

"Hey," the voice called out again.

I shuddered. In a trembling voice I replied, "Is someone there?"

I heard a chuckle. "Of course I'm here, I wouldn't be calling you if I wasn't here, right?"

My fear subsided a bit at that point. I walked up to the door, which was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and stepped in. It was quite dark, the only source of light coming from the streetlights outside, their orange light peeking through the window. I couldn't see anyone.

"Who's there? Where are you?"

I heard another chuckle. It sounded like someone who's just heard a very funny joke, but was too polite, or too embarrassed to laugh out loud. A muffled laugh, if you may.

The voice replied.

"I'm up here."

I looked up to my left and saw a man hanging from the gallows, his face swollen purple black, his tongue protruding from between his blue lips. His eyes seemed as if they would pop out at any minute. He looked quite dead.

I staggered and stumbled backward, and fell on my ass. I couldn't take my eyes off the body, hanging there like a gruesome ornament.

At that moment, the hanging corpse's face began to change. Its eyes slid back into their sockets. His tongue did the same thing, sliding into his mouth with an awful slurping sound. Thick, stringy saliva leaked from the side of its mouth.

The corpse suddenly broke into a grin. The most horrible sight was his teeth, shiny-white and perfectly formed. It didn't click with the rest of his face, swollen and purple-black.

The corpse spoke.

"Are you afraid? Ha-ha, what a surprise! Who knew, the man-who-pulls-the-switch, afraid of a dead man? I'm not going to bite, no no, I can't even get down from the rope, now, can I?"

I sat on the floor, unable to move. I asked, stuttering, "Who-who a-are you?"

The hanging corpse grinned even wider.

"I am Everyone," said the corpse, and broke into a blood-curdling fit of laughter, its body shaking against the pull of gravity.

"I am number one, and I am number two hundred and ninety three. But you don't remember me, do you? All you remember is the switch."

"The lever," I said. I don't know why I said it, but it seemed to me as if I could regain some sort of control if I corrected the corpse. "It's a lever, not a switch. You need a switch for something electrical. The lever, the trapdoor. It's mechanical."

The corpse's grin turned downward. It screamed, "It doesn't matter! It's a switch! You flick the switch, and we all die! You are a murderer!"

I'm having an argument with a ghost, I thought.

The hanging corpse said to me, "I want you to think, hangman. How many innocent people have you killed with your 'lever'. Sure, there were madmen who deserved to die. But how many fathers, sons, brothers have you hung?"

A silence passed through the room like madness in a fevered brain.

The corpse closed its eyes, seemingly to reflect on the weight of his questions. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, it spoke again.

"Ho-hum. It's all the past now, right. We are all dead. I am dead. I will not hurt you, I can't hurt you. You have life, you are flesh and blood. And I am nothing but a memory of death. But let me tell you something, hangman.

"A memory is stronger than a touch. A memory lasts longer than flesh. And from this moment on, the memory of Everyone will linger on with you till your dying breath, when you will join us and be with Everyone."

And with those words, the rope from which the corpse hung broke. The corpse fell to the floor, and begun rolling slowly towards me. I was too paralyzed to move, I could only watch as it rolled - like a horrible, putrid, maggot-eaten song sequence from a Hindi movie - right up to where I was sitting on the floor.

As it reached my feet, the corpse looked up. It's left hand reached for my knee and grasped me tight. I could feel its rotting flesh, smell it's stinking breath. It spoke.

"Remember."

It disappeared with a whoosh sound, like the sound curtains make when the brush against each other.

I ran.

I quit the very next day, handing in my resignation letter to the warden. Two years after the incident, I still could not set foot anywhere near the prison. I fear death. I fear becoming Everyone.

And I still remember.

I, Hangman Part 1

2009-01-22T22:44:00.009+08:00

This is a 2-part story. I have no idea how a real hangman does his job, and I'm too lazy to do any research. Everything here is made up. Hope you like it. Part 2 will come soon.

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Crack.

The sound of vertebrae breaking as a body falls from the gallows doesn't bother me anymore. I've seen worse. I've seen people decapitated by the rope - a rare occurrence, sure, but it happens - when there are errors in calculating the drop. I've seen people slowly strangle to death; their feet kicking wildly against the restraints, as if to find some sort of footing in the air where they dangle. The choking sounds they make, the buckling of their bodies, the loss of bladder control, the smell of excrement as they shit themselves in their final death throes.

Yep, I've seen it all.

I wasn't always this indifferent. I remember my first day on the job, 20 years ago. I guess you could say I stumbled upon my work by accident (a cliched way of getting a career started, but it's true enough): one day the regular guy couldn't make it. He had an accident, or called in sick, or his wife was giving birth to sextuplets in a barn, whatever. My uncle, who was the prison warden, called me in. I remember his phone call as if it was yesterday.

"Evening, kid. I need you to come down to the prison." He always pronounced it prizzern for some reason.

"Why?" I asked him. "What's at the prison?"

"Nothing much. I just need you to come and help me hang someone."

I guess I became silent for a bit. Uncle said, "Kid? You still there?"

"Yeah. Are you serious?"

"I sure am. Come on down, you could make 50 bucks tonight."

My uncle knew I had a morbid fascination with death. I watched Faces of Death, I had a book about WWII which had gruesome photographs of dead soldiers. I read books on death and dying.

Wait, maybe I wasn't being truthful. I wasn't interested in death at all, actually. It was the dead bodies that piqued my interest. It wasn't anything weird, it was just a sort of fascination. Dead bodies, decomposition, I had a fascination with all of that the way a kid likes dinosaurs.

So I told my uncle I was coming down to the prizzern. A chance at witnessing - taking part in! - an execution, and the chance of making 50 big ones, well, let's just say I was there in a flash.

When I got there, a prison guard escorted me to the execution chamber. My uncle was waiting for me. He told me that all I had to do was wait for a signal from him and pull the lever which opened the trapdoor, which in turn - just in case you're not following me - will cause the condemned man to drop down, fracture his vertebrae, severing his spinal cord, and hopefully, causing immediate death.

About an hour later, there I was, both hands on the trapdoor lever. The prisoner had been led up to the gallows in shackles. As he stood under the noose, his shackles were removed and his hands were tied with ropes behind his back. A cloth bag was put over his head, then the noose was draped around his neck and tightened. Some prayers were said. The condemned man was calm throughout. He even smiled and nodded at me as he passed me on the gallows, as if to say good luck buddy, don't screw it up.

I was sweating. My knees were starting to get weak. Steady, I thought. Just grit your teeth and get through this. My uncle read out the man's death sentence from an official-looking piece of paper. Then he looked at me and nodded his head. I took a deep breath and pulled the lever with both hands.

It happened so fast. One moment the man was standing there, the next moment there he was, dangling on the end of the rope, his body slack and swaying in the air.

I promptly threw up.

I couldn't sleep for days afterward. When I did manage to fall asleep, my slumber would be filled with horrible images of men hanging from trees, like strange fruit. I would awake in a cold sweat, coming pretty close to wetting my bed on more than a few occasions.

But that was 20 years ago. I don't throw up anymore. Call me apathetic,but killing people is just another job, a source of some extra pocket money. Throughout my years on the job, I've killed 480 people in the name of justice. That's an average of 24 hangings a year. Does that make me a mass-murderer? I don't know, and I don't care to know.

I don't ask questions, I never have. I just come, pull the lever, collect my cash, and go home. I don't even look at the prisoners as they are marched up to the rope. And I've lost my youthful fascination with dead bodies. I've seen so much death that it's begun to bore me.

So one late Saturday night, I was in my car driving home from yet another hanging, when I remembered I left my file in the waiting area next to the execution chamber. It wasn't just any old file; it was my personal hangman's file. In it I kept records of all my executions; from the handwritten, yellowed (and vomit-stained) pages of my first execution to the neat typed notes, printed using the warden's (a different guy, my uncle died 12 years ago) inkjet, detailing the recent events of 2 hours ago.

I turned back and soon arrived back at the prison. The corridors leading to the execution wing of the prison were empty. It was 11.30PM, and most of the prison was dark. Everybody else had gone home, to their warm beds and their warm wives and warmer girlfriends. I had never been to any other part of the prison complex other than the staff cafeteria, and I had never had any contact with any other prisoners. The other parts of the complex were restricted-entry-only, I could not have gone even if I wanted to.

I parked my car, and walked to the execution wing. I passed through several empty corridors, dark and damp, smelling vaguely of urine and, for some reason, rotten wood. The smells always reminded me of walking in a swamp. I used to imagine hearing people crying or whimpering within these halls. I usually tell myself that it's just my imagination, nothing to be nervous about. But I always get nervous walking through these halls alone at night. The place is unsettling, even with the stark luminescence of the white fluorescent lights.

Whatever you hear is just your imagination, I told myself.

Then, loud and clear, a voice.

"Hey."

to be continued