Stories by Encaitar

[Encaitar]

I'll certainly post more stories in the future, but I think I'll focus more on my translation work. As my school workload is climbing up to its peak, I think the only time I'll can only be truly free is in December(that is, after government examinations and all). So, I'm truly sorry if translation work and stories aren't coming as regularly as hoped.

Regards,
Encaitar.

[Versace]

Encaitar, your short stories are very absorbing to the mind. I hope to see you write again soon

[Encaitar]

Thanks, Versace.

[Encaitar]

I don't have time to write stories, but I do have time for poems. These poems(which will come irregularly), I hope, can complement my stories and give some deph for my future works. This one is dedicated to the students of 6AS1(year2006) of St Mary's secondary school . Enjoy!


-Pristine-

More beautiful than plastic credit cards
or self procured
Destroy It Yourself greeting cards
sun dried

In the openness
of surgical appliance pink
or phsychedelic dots
of the mold infested sink

I precede you
in fake cottony snow
made wet by drool
and dried meat of confisticated cows

Your cyclopean gaze
marred by redness
and allergies to furry gauze
along with sweet expired water cresses

Festive colours made
you ill
lamb kebabs with frosted cake
if you will

Platonic insurance money recedes
like chewed
bubblegum beads
sports shoe skewered

I'll supercede cue
cards and phone calls
with puke
that look like waterfalls

Year end greetings
like mites
it itches and stings
like Bayau's lecherous bites

Come and share
what have you
lips pared
or voice mute?

[Encaitar]

-The riddle of the sand dredger-

Daydreams oscillated pretentiously,
it touched countless hands;
not periliously,
on the shores of sandy lands.

I want to believe in you,
sand dredger.
you called, didn't you?
flightless fledger?

The shores wide and broad,
the sands white as board;
first you kissed me,
then you leave me.

I want to believe,
not be lied,
don't be afraid,
don't be afraid.....

The shores are fell.
It caught me,
ere I fell,
limpidly it carressed me......

Immobilised by fear,
blinded by sand,
eyes with tears,
and wounded hand,

I want to believe,
I really do!

First you kissed me,
then you leave me.

Now I ask you,
do you love?

Sand dredger,
sandy white,
foam hedger,
light in might.

[Encaitar]

“How utterly useless you are!”-?

*****

The Revenge took many forms, but it had always remained singular and unavoidable.

When the urge took a man overcome by It, everything crumbles around him. Like debris, bits and pieces of this everything that the man or woman took to as his or her world would not just disappear, but would tumble in place and form new things; and they might just look like new kitchen appliances, medical insurance cards, or even a blank column reserved for a soon to be written obituary.

Needless to say, they will all bend to the paths of deathless hopeless misery, and they will learn to gnash the ends of their teeth and brave new and strange diseases as they will.

The forms of ‘the Revenge that is, that will, and that was’ are known to all. But yet, it was only divined out by a meager few, and such are the facts.

A ready to fire bakakkuk, for instance, or a sharpened and seasoned parang hidden under sofa covers, or stranger still, a sleek black lacquered wooden crossbow with real bloody and poisoned bolts are some of such forms. Great Forms of the inexplicable tenderness in part of the wielder and the love between him/her and the Form of The Revenge.

It is too easy to say that the revenge gets love and attention. A bit too easy, in painful revelations called Truths.

So, it is to say that love and attention given to the Revenge are just some of the things that should be done, something like side dishes on the main menu.

And so to say, as it should be, to continue on with this…the revelation of the nature of the main menu, or the prime thing needed by the Revenge is

“Just the memory of it!”

But not just any memory,

or some memory,

for it is a fact to remember that ,

two or three had fallen(or maybe more!)
The Revenge is alive and happy and neglected(for a while)
The discussions continued(it cannot be stopped…yet)
and new faces will enter the stage(they have yet to come!)

Period!

*****
“Do not ask us, The Children of the Night, how it came to be, it just did”-The Children of The Night

[Encaitar]

-Pristine(2)-


It is....

More than what we can chew
of trust we've too few
vedic laws begrudge us
a protection from wussines thus

commit us to your fold
of non religious colt
we love it
as we did with a 'fah moi' pit

protect us from the protector of the poor
as you've protected us from tax evasion lores
please doubt us not
but do spare us lots

Tangible tangerines forgive us
but the sunkisses are pustule blobs of puss
can you give us extended leaves
from mass transit related peeves

for.....
and because.....

It is...
as it is.

[lilchilipepper]

Wow...that was amazing. Very intriguing and disturbing all at the same time. Your style of writing is excellent and not something that can often be found in sections like this. I think my favorite one so far was "Smiles." Disturbing and twisted, it fed off of my morbid curiousity...hehe...anyway, hope you can make some time for more stories soon!

[Encaitar]

Thanks, I really appreciate that.

[Encaitar]

They talked in the full stillness of day, never forgetting the soundless drones of the heat tormented asphalt road that lay distended beside the half-rotted hut they sat in. Languid wisps of sigup smoke drifted and swayed by the will of the weak wind. The two really are firm believers of Ladang Garam Suraya.

“Can you see?”

“Yes.”

“How far can you see?”

“What do you mean by this?”

“I am referring to those things that you should see, those things that people paid you to see.”

“I see.”

“So, how far is it?”

“It depends. What do you want to see?”

“What I want to see.”

“True enough.”

“Quite…”

“But what you want to see may not be necessarily things that you will like to see, or it may. Like I’ve just said, it depends.”

“Hmm…”

“So, what will it be?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you still want me to see or not?”

“I think the answer would be a yes.”

“Ok, so will it be then.”

“What about the offerings, the head cover, the musicians and the assistants?”

“What makes you think I need those?”

“Bobohizans need those…”

“What makes you think I’m a real one?”

“You’re not?”

“Sakai! Do you think I look like one?”

“But your name….”

“Real Bobohizans are very rare nowadays, and they’re not as powerful as they used to be.”

“Then what are you?”

“It depends”

“…”

“Do you still want to see or not? I haven’t got all day for a fat giuk like you.”

“Yes.”

“But first things first, you have any montoku with you?”

“Yeah…”

“Hand it over.”

“Ok.”

A hand grasped upon a glass bottle, and it was subsequently passed over. On swig… two swigs.

“Hmm..Chap Sompoton, it could have been worse.”

“What are you suppose to do now?”

“Giving you this...”

A muddy looking piece of scrap …an old condensed milk tin label, with a long stream of passionately written letters written behind it, was taken out. The fat man took it. His roving eyes furrowed at the sight of the contents.



VISIONS

Left eye: foresight

A sandy stretch of beach extended forth like a white dead snake bordering the edges that brimmed land and sea. Its reach fingered out endlessly, until one’s eye perceived at a point that there is no end or beginning of it. It was just there.

The waves broke upon the white borders ceaselessly. It carried along the lives of many. Songs upon foam and rock, leaf and flesh. The cries and dirges rose up from whence came the deepest of the deep, and ascended up to a point from which none can judge to what extent it goes

The fluidly ethereal music it carried was like a lullaby for slumber sung by the voices of the romantically lost. However, it lost no timbre or rhythm. It is endless, as well as ceaseless. Forever it goes on, without a single lost note or strangled melody.

The wide and great vastness of the immutable sea that wrapped the edges for who knows how long embraced, too, the night with much grace and love.

The gentle night winds will undoubtedly put soft caressing touches upon the music. Deep drowsiness or fresh wakefulness meekly greet whosoever who wanders upon it, and they will thus believe that the moon, whether round or half lidded or veiled, will put great peace upon troubled hearts.

There is a sand dredger lying somewhere.

“What the hell is this sh*t?”

“Sh*t you need to know of.”

“Nothing useful here, except for the sand dredger part. What is that?”

“How the hell should I know? I never even heard of it before.”

“Umm…where do you think is the beach?”

“I think you should know it better than me. It could have been Tanjung Aru, or maybe anywhere with 4 star beaches and b*tches.”

“Anything else I should know of besides this.”

“Yes, here’s another one...”

Another similar piece of scrap, more crumpled and soiled that the last one was given up. The style of writing was the same, though this one more rushed and shaky near the full stops. It seemed that the writer had difficulty stopping his or her pen when this was written.

VISIONS

Right eye: foresight

Lush green colors greeted the self like no other things before. On the edges, one might ridicule it, claiming victory over yet unclaimed achievements. But at the heart of it, the heart will undoubtedly feel either free, of suffocated.

Once the worn callused fingers touched the smooth luscious leaves, or ran upon the pleasant rough timbers, one would feel the great presence of life. Life endless, life enduring, life dissolving and life beginning. You can feel it all and yet feel nothing at the same time.

To be lost in its heart seemed a redundant and meaningless thing, for who can be lost in the midst of life? One can only be lost in despair (certainly not death, it is despair), the lack of hope for life.

To feel the veins of glistening watery life running through the gifted lands, to hear the cries of night and day beings, to embrace much and yet give few in return.

The facts are daunting, the truth unbelievable but correct on all terms.

This place is so full of life, and yet so endless in riddles. But remember this, leaves of fire once fell from the trees, and this will happen yet again.

“More sh*t. Care to tell me what this one means?”

“Isn’t it apparent already?”

“No.”

“It means that your enemies are aware of you, and they will not hesitate to end your existence should you let them know what you’ve been doing all these years. Already they tire and are wroth of you and your minions.”

“They are?”

“Yes.”

“Haha, curse them! Anything else?”

“Actually, there is some more of this sh*t, as you so disrespectfully call them. Care to read the rest of them?”

“Ok.”
Two more pieces, written on the back of lottery papers. The letters were cramped and spiky. It looked as if it was written under the agony of arthritis and the lack of sleep.

VISIONS

Hindsight: left eye

Two humans are weeping, are they not? One sees them as male and female.

They are so young, so full of life, and yet carried so heavy a burden of sorrow.

The male, a boy he is, was bowed to the ground, and very still he was. He might be broken from a great grief, or have despaired due to insurmountable tragedies.

This human was plain of face, but his grief and sadness turned his visage into a pitiably beautiful one. He was frozen to the ground.

There is a girl behind the boy. She, too, looked broken. She held her companion by his arms as she embraced him from behind.

Her face has very refined features, but it was contorted by the feelings she was unable to keep secret from her companion.

Circling ever so slowly around them was a parade of people, beautiful and fair people. They looked at the pair with great distaste and anger.

One cannot see anything here with clarity except for their faces. All bodies and clothes are clouded by shadows, and their surrounding environs blotted out by darkness.

One minute… two minutes….

Tears or what looked like tears fell, but on closer encroachment, one can discern that these are not tears….

These are not tears, but blood!

Blood tears, these are called, and they are purely blood, not tears. It flowed down their faces slowly. Just watching them makes you feel that it is as if time had slowed down to a crawl.

Are they in love, or are they enemies?

It is, as the saying goes- those who do not shed tears, shed blood!

VISIONS

Hindsight: right eye

A great mountain of green loomed up upon the self. It is solid, firm, and immovable.

A wide expanse of green land covered it through and through. On the base of the mountain, a whitewashed structure stood menacingly still. It looked like a hospital…

The sun, or what appeared to be a bloody glimmer of it, struggled with the failing night. There is no need to cry or to shed blood for it.

The dark is very strong, but the blood covered light is just as strong.

Before the passing of time and the movement of infinitum can proceed, it was stopped.

The movement ceased, to give way to another thing. It looked somewhat new, and somewhat old as well.

The ones who knew what it was called it by the dread name of ‘piercing darkness’, the color that comes first and goes later. But no one truly understood what it was, for some interpret it as the white while the others deem it black.

“I don’t understand any of this crap”.

“Neither do I, Davim. But it is to my belief that your enemies know something of it, as they have copies of the visions and they know what to find.”

“What did they know?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious? Why don’t you go and ask them yourself. I cannot possibly know what they know.”

“Well, what do you know?”

“I do know that they were last seen at Mile 2 and a half.”

“When did that happen?”

“Last night.”

“So, have they found anything yet?”

“Apparently not.”

“Hah, we’re still ahead of them, then.”

“How far ahead we are ahead of them is irrelevant if we can’t find the things or people mentioned in these infinitesimally vague papers. We must remain on guard. Remember, we are already lost if our enemies found even the tiniest bit of what is related to the problems we now face.”

“I know.”

“Then be on your way then, already I tire.”

Davim went out without another word and was gone from sight before the Bobohizan could even take another drink of montoku. It is good that he had remembered to take away the papers. Suddenly, it looks as if he had never been there in the first place.

The Bobohizan sat for two more hours in the hut, brooding. By the next nightfall, no one could even be sure if there was ever a hut built along that stretch of road.

Fin.

[Encaitar]

Mired pools of tears,
stagnantly coalescing with years,
will it not leer
will it not fear?

Salvation's but a passing glance,
a second's lance,
a little one's grace,
a latter's one's face.

Mired thoughts of steep blue,
swirling deeply of dream hue,
like you to face it of late,
like the channels of chaos' fate?

Worry and worry more you do,
Querying about burning leaves,
upon forest green,
and rivers swift.

[lilchilipepper]

Thanks, I really appreciate that.

hehe...just giving praise where praise is due.

[Versace]

Hello Encaitar,

Again, adore your writing style and hope you continue to write casually.

Thank you for giving me a reason to come back in this section. I also miss a particular individual who used to love writing and was quite a magnetic angsty writer a couple years back.

[Encaitar]

Hello Encaitar,

Again, adore your writing style and hope you continue to write casually.

Thank you for giving me a reason to come back in this section. I also miss a particular individual who used to love writing and was quite a magnetic angsty writer a couple years back.

Thank you, thank you and thank you...y'all are really too kind. I'll continue to write, though I won't know if you people will like what I'm going to write next.
By the way, who's that magnetic angsty writer?

[Encaitar]

Another little project. Please click this link to read. Give comments if possible.

[Encaitar]

Another translation. Hope you people like it. More original fiction will come up before the end of this year.