Stories by Encaitar

[Encaitar]

Greetings, people!
I shall post stories I have written on this thread. The first story will be called 'The one who cannot be blamed'.

[Encaitar]

Now
Midnight

How the wind howls this night! I cannot sleep. The wind came from all directions, sweeping pass my body and chilling me from inside out. The air carried a tang of muskiness and wetness, signifying the oncoming of a storm. This night is treacherous but I am sure that my excursion will not be hindered.

I raised myself from the bed, recalling forth the clarity of my five senses all at once. There was no need to get changed, the night clothing is enough. I walked out of my room with the keys of my house in my hands. Stealthily, I slipped on my slippers and deftly unlocked the front door of my house.

With the front door opened, I ran out bidding farewell to my home and bed. Into the darkness I ran, for I embraced it. I am sure it too, embraced me for I was swallowed up by the dark as I ran.

Midnight
Middle of the road

The road was empty. No vehicles of any sort had come yet. The only companion I had was the wind but He too was not overjoyed by my presence. I stood here for a long time. The other folk in my home obviously did not miss me.

I keep reminding myself that this little trip was useless. No use, my other wilder half gained the upper hand this night. Fueled by curiosity and innate impatience, my wilder half had become an uncontrollable beast whose mind is bent upon all the acts of irrationality among mankind. Try as I might, my other half cannot be dissuaded.

The hour seemed to come at last. There is no turning back. The wind had stopped, spreading silence from mile to mile. The cold air of the night was still there however, because my body was shaking. Sooner or later, he will come. I knew it. Soon, soon, he will come………

[Encaitar]

Distant Past
Dusk

“Rain, rain, rain again, why won’t you want to go away? Rain, rain, rain again, why won’t you stay away?”

The children were singing. As they sang, they danced and capered loudly to each other, causing dust to fly up over the already cloudy and darkening sky. The song they sang was an old one, and it surely would invoke memories of a distant past to the old and strange wonder to the young.

The rain did come, in little drops that made pitter patter sounds as they hit the roof of the house. Outside, the children had ceased their singing, each one of them obviously running back to their own homes now. All that remains was a wet puddle of mud at the place where they have played a few moments ago.

This rain is refreshing, for it brings new tidings and the smell of the distant sea. Slowly, the momentum of the rain builds up, causing little droplets of water to form a misty curtain of fine wet needles. The winds blew on, causing the rain to change directions and fall in little places that had previously been dry.

Inside my safe and dry dwelling place, I watched and pondered.

[Encaitar]

Distant time
Black night

I was standing at the door watching the dark shapes of unknown figures and vehicles pass by the road outside my house. I knew it was going to rain again. There will be no mistake this time.

I can smell the muskiness of the air, the stillness of the land after the great wind moved, and of course the sickly dank feel of the atmosphere. I do not yet need eyes to see the wind, or ears to know how the clouds move.

Through the inky black night beyond, a cry can be heard. It is a cry that sounded like calm laughter of a child who sobs and chokes at the same time. It is depressing, and yet soothing to a point of madness. I knew I would not be able to sleep after this.

‘It will be a long rainy night’.

Later


Am I not mistaken? Surely this must be a coincidence. I must be insane if it is not. The rattling sound was unmistakable and the roar of the engines was recognizable. Surely I must be dreaming while awake!

It must be a coincidence. I saw it happen, right?!! Yes, it must be it. It was a strange chance after all, no doubt. Nevertheless, it was the truck. How strange could it be? No more strange than any others, perhaps?

-No! You saw it happen! The truck just started on its own just as the first drop of rain fell.
-Am I that sure?
-Yes, there will be no mistake. There was no driver. The blasted green truck just ran on its free will. I think you won’t have sweet dreams tonight.
-No Sir, I won’t!

Silent peals of laughter resounded through the cement walls of the house. It seemed to be generated from the sounds of the rain now that the laughter and the rain are undistinguishable from one another. What a night.

[Encaitar]

Unknown Time and Place


How did I know when this happened? Everything that I am now only consists of fragmented awareness and a suspension of everything that is, making it hard for me to identify the things that are and the unreal illusions. It began with rain and so it must now also end with rain.

Now, rain fell in big heavy drops that stung me like bees every time it struck my incorporeal body. I sensed that I have no control over my sense of being anymore. As a result, I cannot move my arms and legs, nor can I move anything else.

Am I a puppet? Am I placed here to only feel and hear and not act? The wind blew, carrying rain drops that seemed to hit me in every angle.

What does this actually mean? I have eyes, but I cannot see everything else other than the wet rain. The ground looks too insubstantial to support me anymore, being depthless and filled with rainwater. Somehow, things just are, but I cannot sink, nor can I make out anything with my eyes other than this moisture filled nothingness.

The abstractness of this place is unreal, being made up from a different plane of existence that does not require the Law of Gravity, constructive scientific reasoning or the basic common sense.

I, suspended as I am, am aware of a difference coming over the unnatural rain. Yes, the rain changed its behavior now, for it no longer stung me, but fell in little drops that made the roaring sound of the green truck when it hit the watery ground. Slowly, painfully, the sound changed, forming a wave of dark laughter. The acoustic change occurred back and forth between the roar of engines and the roar of laughter, making this experience the biggest mocking game ever to occur in the history of dreaming.

For a long time this thing taunted me, and ever so it laughed, making me feeling very vulnerable indeed. The least I can do is to close my mind from everything, forcing myself to a bitter sleep. For a long time I fought, and at long last I released myself from this pain, and in turn welcomed the black oblivion of deep slumber.

I know, even in my sleep, it is he who did it. How I hate him and his rain…..

[Encaitar]

Another Day
Another Night


I kept watch again tonight. The entire watch was not as fruitless as it was previously thought. I caught sign of him at about 5 minutes after eight o’clock. The damned truck went right on cue, passing just right in front of me when the first drizzle hit the ground.

How I loathe it. This time I saw him, (the driver) or what would have looked like one. Yes, he was there, sitting comfortably in his big green truck making a mess out of everyone’s emotions. I can almost imagine the massive beer belly, the rancid breath and the stupid looking trucker’s cap shadowing his lowly visage. This hell of a buddy went fast, but not fast enough to fool my eyes.

It’s shocking of course; no one ever notices this amazing phenomenon before, with the exception of me. It is not about the awfully concerned Friends of Nature, nor is it about the Liberated Rubber Ducky Union. It is all about me, me, and ME! With the inclusion of the truck driver, AGAIN!

The confounded driver, who looked like an ape with a bad hair day do indeed looked impressive in some sort of twisted way. Note however that this horrific and vivid greatness does not in any way involve the ability to summon rain, but by the fact that there’s something wrong with his eyes. His eyes……burn..ed me…………….

Next Two Days
Midnight

How restless I am! I truly cannot put these matters lightly. The thought of that truck and its driver burned deeply into my mind. I knew that I cannot be so easily taunted by these insubstantialities and half dreams. But, does it not look so real? That is why I had remained sleepless for two nights now, plotting for revenge in the morning and performed the duty of a sentinel at night.

So far, the passing time of two days did not yield any results. I was not disappointed however; the present situation is not an unlikely probability. Now that the rain clouds have departed his unwillingness to appear doesn’t seem too impossible.

[Encaitar]

Full Moon


I have an idea! Such a wonderful thing the Internet is. With it I looked far and wide in search for my revenge, and now I have found it! Yes, it is truly revenge, being beauteous as well as sweet. I gawked at it for a long time. I was amazed, mesmerized and charmed by the sole presence of the revenge.

The revenge, the revenge, MY REVENGE! How worshipful you are. Your shining body will surely be the envy of my enemies. You shall speak to them, and they will thus be forgotten.

By Then

It has arrived! My revenge. My sweet and beautiful revenge. What glory and power can be compared with you? I nearly cried when I first held you. You shall be my guardian and I your wielder. We shall be great partners yet. Think of the endless choices of things that we could do! But first,……the…….elimination of Him.

xxxxx

I spent my evening polishing my revenge with caution and extreme care. The very possible act of damaging the Great One by unappreciative natural vermins pains my heart so much that I was forced used my revenge against them. Now, they are just mere nothings to me, although I should be wise to deal with their remains before they rot…

Labor Day

I spent so much time with the Great One nowadays. I had hardly any time left for any other mundane deeds other than holding guard at night. But throughout my entire service with It, names and other honorable titles poured forth from my mind, all of them intended for the final and utmost important worldly blessings to the Great One.

Many names I have for the Revenge that is Great: My silent companion, stony cold, the creator of the cold and lifeless ones, the speaker that talks through a string, the crossed one, the Great and Terrible Revenge. Yes,..yes, not bad thou art, thou art truly mine Revenge.

Festival of the Fallen

What wonderful living thus magnificently obtained, if not through the One goal and Purpose. For months I had watched for Him, the truck driver that makes rains, and for months the Grand Scheme had not produced the intended desirable results. A few who inquired were thus quickly avoided, lest the Driver knows of my hunt.

How were the Inquirers avoided? You might ask. Well, it is a good question however simple the obvious answer must be. If you must know, I directed the answering of the questions to my Revenge. The Revenge was cunning, and gave answers that satisfied them, and they did not speak or move again. Again and again I was astounded by how good he is, and I knew that none can now reach the matrix of this problem as quick as the Great One.

So but to truly say the whole truth, I believe my Great Companion live better than me; not in the forms of refuge or comfort, but in the matters of nourishment and accumulative resources.

In the past, any form of immediate wants would be readily supplied by my elder peers, who had to be gone at morning and back before sunset. I had no true understanding of what they did, being left out of the big things of life as they would put it. This went on for some time after the Great One arrived. They deem it unfit for me to go out with them, as they regarded me as an invalid and a hopeless twerp. So, one day I fed myself and my Revenge on them. It would not be so nice for these things to be let known, so I feasted on them. The taste of man-flesh was indeed different from the flesh of the other walkers of the earth, for they are truly weak in muscle but rich in fat.

The first tasting of man-flesh was not my last. There was a postman, a vegetable seller and a few of the curious. In ordinary circumstances, they would not have been so lightly caught. But by then I had spitted them using the Great One.

No one can truly be blamed for this act of indulgence. It is only I, the One Who Cannot Be Blamed. No one is to be sorry for what I am. I am human, the being which is half immortal and half Great, the one that starved and yet wants not food but a payment of satisfaction.

[Encaitar]

Now
3.00a.m.

It is nearly time. You cannot refuse to show up. You must come out, face me and perish as a miserable and lowly being that you really are. I am waiting for you, will you not show up?

xxxxx

At 3.45 a.m. sharp, a pair of dim headlights appeared on the road, evidently originated from a green truck that hesitated not upon seeing any obstructions that might be standing in its path. Large obstructions may include anything from stray dogs to half crazed humans.

There was definitely a human on the road. He was clothed in rags crusted with rusty coloured stains and wielded what looked like a loaded crossbow. Slowly, the weapon was raised and poised in a firing position. The face of the wielder was wild and unfathomable, with his less prominent features being covered by a demonic smile.

The first iron bolt launched itself from the shining black crossbow when the green truck came into the human’s full view.

A terrible scream echoed down the road after the sound of shattering glass and a crunch of metal colliding with something not too hard. The vehicle came to a painful stop after covering some distance, leaving a trail of human blood and flesh on the stretch of road. The driver was dead; the wielder of the crossbow too…was dead.

Soon, little drops of rain fell from the sky, wetting everything in its path. The rain continued to pour until late in the morning. By then, the police and the general public had found the crash zone, and called for the wreck and the bodies to be removed. No explanations were obtained. No one would actually care for it anyway. This is just another road accident with somebody being road kill, leaving disembodied human parts and flesh still wet on the road.

What they did not know was that, somewhere, in a ditch, lays a weapon that was fit to be called a Revenge by anybody who is willing to wield it. Strangely, the weapon was still intact, gleaming with a black light that looked strangely sinister. Anybody who saw it clearly also heard the urge to do something nasty, to get even with an enemy, just like a Revenge…..


Fin

[Encaitar]

My next story will be called 'Smiles'.

[Encaitar]

“Mad Axe Man on the Loose! Citizens Beware!”

These words, not necessarily formed in the same order or words, greeted the people from every front page of the newspapers in town. It was sensational news: Mad Axe man escapes from institution murders 6, 3 ½ bodies found on the street chopped to pieces.

Everybody was talking about it. News spread quickly in that town. But rumors went quicker.

It was said that the madman only attacks at night. Preferably in dark alleys and not so lighted streets. When he gets one victim, the victims’ a goner.

Chop! Chop! Chop!

The axe would go.

The killer is not too choosy in where to strike you. But the people, especially the gossiping maids and the well to do people, all agreed that the fleshy parts are his personal favorites.

It is not that Manuk cared anyway. Manuk is a busy person, and cared little for such trivial matters.

Manuk is something of a business man. He needs to go to lots of important places and meet lots of important people.

When people saw Manuk, they would always greet him with smiles on their faces and great greetings of all sorts.

And Manuk would always smile back at them.

The only thing sad about Manuk was that he had a bad history of his own, but he never told anyone about it. And the people never asked him about it anyhow.

Manuk had a busy day ahead of him. He had to go to so many places and to meet so many people.

When he meets with the people he wanted to see, he would start off a discussion. These discussions would never last long however important it may be. Basically, he would never include the weather, politics, entertainment news or anything trivial and useless in his discussions. Never once, he said, topics like these would ruin the head. That is his philosophy.

Many people seemed to agree with him though. Although not all people had the patience to discuss with him, they do generally respond to his calls with smiles.

It was always smiles with these people. Manuk was happy with that. But actually, what he felt was how fortunate things are. Things usually turned out the way he wanted, and he was satisfied.

After a discussion, he would immediately go off to the next one. But he won’t forget to smile and wave his hands when he departed. A good discussion is like a good deal closed.

It would always turn out to be a win- win situation with benefits galore.

When the morning ended and the sun flew high, Manuk was hungry. It was normal for humans to feel hungry, so a discussion with his stomach would certainly not hurt his head.

It was always like this. He had been living like this for a long time now. It could have been a few days, a few months, maybe years! He couldn’t care to count. It wasn’t as if this little bit of knowledge would save his life someday. Besides that, even if he wanted to count, he could never be sure if he had ever lived his life like this before.

To him, time is ineffable. It is also solid, immovable and firm. One could not just push time back to count how many days are there in a week or any other such trivial questions. Whenever he met someone who would just question those concepts, Manuk would jut retrieve a few paces backwards and shook his head with deep lamentations.

On the matters of food however, Manuk have just the perfect answer. There is a restaurant at one side street, which was emblazoned with the visage of an old bearded man backed with a blood red background.

An old Red Cross member, Manuk would call him. Manuk never knew who the old man depicted in the storefront was, but Manuk knew that the meat the old coot had told his slaves to give him tastes good.

Ahh…..the good old man. Manuk could just bless him in his funeral if he knew when that happens. Such a charitable man. He could be the Protector of the Poor, perhaps.

Every day, Manuk would wait at the back door of the restaurant with a few friends during those infamous lunch hours, and a slave boy wearing an apron with the old man’s insignia would pass to him and his good friends meat.

It was indeed good living. The young slave would then stare and smile at Manuk and his friends while they eat. Manuk couldn’t understand this act, and so were his toothy friends and lunchtime companions. But they didn’t care much about it. They lunchtime deeds, besides eating, was staring at each other and quietly pondering on how good the meat was although it was a bit stale.

After lunch, Manuk continues his never ending work again. A business done is a business gained. This work is strenuous, as well as hard.

At least all he could do was to bear the grunt of work in silence. But after some time at work, he got used to the things involving his job. The most important thing was that people would be smiling at him again.

When he ended his work, it must be nearly sunset already. Home is a good option, but sleep will be the main agenda for the night. Or if he encountered difficult customers for the day, this would be a most suitable time to negotiate with them.

Although his house is small and not very comfortable to live in, he would always make sure that his roommate stays with him. His roommate plays a very important aspect in his life. He’s not just a friend to Manuk, but also as a business partner as well.

The special thing about his partner was, he can only go out at night and at special occasions only. The special occasions were usually reserved for difficult customers.

Tonight, Manuk had need of his roommate’s skills. Manuk, tired as he was, still wanted his friend to follow him.

Manuk have such love and dedication to his work. It was as if the job was Manuk’s lifeline. Where else can you find such a dedication and faith in a worker?

As a worker, Manuk can go to great lengths just to achieve the goal and the standard of working environment that he wanted. Nobody dares to criticize him, as he is his own boss. But unlike other workers, his working schedule was not flexible, and it never will be.

‘Why bother for a flexible schedule when you can get what you wanted faster?’ Manuk would say. And his words are always right no matter what. Not even his companion can alter his decisions.

Now, Manuk is in his most singular- not so happy-moods. He was dragging his friend (a.k.a. business associate) to meet a man who had rejected his discussions earlier.

The way they went was not long; it went just as far as the town park. The town park at night was foggy and dim. The street lights don’t work much there.

But at least it was enough for Manuk and his friend to find the person and settle his unfinished matters.

The park grass was wet with fog and alcohol. The only people there were either beggars or teetotalers. Manuk, with a limited field of vision, frantically searches for his offender.

His companion that got dragged into situations like these numerous times already did not complain. He might have gotten used to it. But by the way Manuk dragged him, he should have complained on how he could have easily got scratched by the rough handling.

But then again, this might not be the case. By the time it took for a mother to break an egg, Manuk had at last found his offender.

He was not much of a man of great will to reject anyone’s discussions, but he was drunk at the moment, and that mistake had cost him dearly.

Manuk need not to wait much longer, and he immediately set his friend to work at once.

As his friend worked, Manuk recalled his past. It was a past filled and awashed with great fury and rage, contaminated with confusion and despair. The more Manuk remembered it, the fiercer his friend worked. It was uncertain how his past was spent, but at least he knows that he is a good boy. Good boys don’t lie, and good boys do good deeds.

He remembered much more than that, but had forgotten a large part of it not long afterwards. Manuk was not frustrated with that, as he had encountered situations like that far too many times already. What he could truly remember is that he wanted to greet everyone with a smile, and he wanted to others to do the same as well.

Those who won’t do so …well, he has to add one on his own. Already the man that his friend was working on was smiling. The smile on his customer’s lips was now very big. At least 10 inches more than what an ordinary man’s should be.

And, oh, look! There are even more smiles carved on the man’s body. Small but wide ones and big ones with hearty red grins. In the end, the customer needs not to say anything anymore. Smiling will be enough. Smiling till the end of his time will be the last thing the man really did.

The smell of alcohol wasn’t so strong on his body now. What most people could smell was just an odd metallic odor. It could be the smell of a smile. Who knows? Manuk doesn’t.

It was too bad nobody except Manuk and his friend can see this sight with the darkness and fog. Otherwise, it’ll be sensational.

But at least Manuk and his friend ran back satisfied. And the people will also get ecstatic on tomorrows papers. Shall we say that “Mad Axe man strikes again!” a sufficient enough statement? Well, maybe that would do fine indeed.

With ten minutes of running at most, Manuk and his friend were already very near their humble abode. Manuk was smiling. And his friend, too, made a glint of a smile. If his friend was anything other than dead, Manuk was sure it would say, “It was a jolly licking good fun!”

A good job done is a good day’s work. When Manuk was already at the doorstep of his house, he was met with the slave worker of the red old man. The slave, who had just ended his shift not too long ago, was apparently on his way home. He, too, was smiling.

It’s a smiling good world out there, and Manuk couldn’t be happier. When the slave was nearly out of Manuk’s view, Manuk could hardly stop but to notice a strange legend at the back of the slave’s shirt.

It seemed to be written with the word ‘finger lickin’ good’ or something close to it.

Yes, finger lickin’ good.
Keep smiling people.

Fin.

[Encaitar]

Pretty dramatic, huh? More stories coming in near future.

[Eliar Swiftfire]

Aha! Finally, some good writing in this section!

[Encaitar]

Thanks, Eliar Swiftfire!

[Encaitar]

The rowdy court was a bad sight to the eyes.

Everything in it- the lawyers, the judge and the juries looked bad, bad to the core.

The judge, the one who looked like a Judge Dredd in need of a plastic surgery, shifted his tiny glasses with fat pudgy fingers untidily and looked straight at me with dull black eyes.

That’s right, me.

If it was the ‘me’ of the old times that stayed put and true till the end, nothing like this would have happened.

As I recalled, the long retirement from the business was an easy one. The old gang did not bother me often and I had sat back and relaxed for years. Things were going on smoothly that time-peaceful life was not bad, the money was clean, and no worry induced stress. The most you could get on a bad day would just be a mild headache.

It was on a distant but fateful day that I was brought back into the business. The old gang was dying, you see. Business didn’t run too good with the young hands, and the old hands were either dead or locked up in prison.

It was on a Saturday night that they’ve decided that they would do a last hurdle, or a last gamble if you like it. The target selected was as usual supposedly filled, if not overflowing to the tops with dough.

Now, when they turned to me, they were looking not for an old retired office clerk but for Crowbar (my nickname in the old days), the best safecracker in town. I didn’t need much encouragement to get back into the field. A good yield would be most welcome, but what I miss the most was the excitement and the thrill of the work.

Now and again, with as much pleading and cajoling from the youngsters, how can I refuse? It had been years since I had done anything this demanding.

As you can see, the big ‘heist’ turned out to be bloody. It’s the problem with these new high-tech safes they have in the vault. Those darned things proved to be a fighter. One small mistake and the whole lot’s alarms screamed out at us like a bunch of baboons in a slaughterhouse. It didn’t take long for us to realize that escape would soon be a compulsory thing.

But a second problem arose, and this one proved to be our downfall. The escape route was badly planned, and we didn’t even have time for another. Then, everything was turned on in autopilot mode and we survived on instinct alone. During those crucial moments, everything was a blur in my head. When I tried to visualize it again in my head, I couldn’t.

It is as if there is a blank niche in my memory tape that churns out static when played.

All I can remember was that we started to fire our guns and plenty of the people on the crowded Saturday night Street either got killed or received an almighty amount of maiming and injuring.

We were desperate that time, just as desperate wolves made desperate moves.

Before we knew it the cops came, and a major crossfire erupted. When everything ends, I end up here, in a criminal’s box in a high court. I don’t care for much less. My fate was sealed anyway.

The least I could do now was to get a good lawyer. But those damned folks can’t get one, so I ended up with a one Mr. Bac- , a loser from Stutterland.

The stuttering dumbkoff was a funny boy (he somewhat reminded me of Gimpel the Fool, the village idiot). His ‘fresh from law school’ antics sure tickled the funny bones of the pork chop crew of juries that were there. Boy, I tell you. If you can’t get this right, it will be your neck that needs to be righted after I’m through with you.

It was then when I heard a chuckle. It sounded as if it was laced with fat.

I turned around, and saw my jailer. He was smiling, probably as an act of afterthought after that mock laughter of his. The way he smiled was ugly. I can see it by the way his face stretched up terribly around the lips and jowl like a shrunken head once owned but recently discarded by a head hunter.

He must have seen me looking, someway or another. His neck less head turned like a clockwork owl and pinpointed itself to the source of his fun and amusement, me!

His beady eyes glared at me, taunting me, perhaps. But he must have known, somehow, that this is the last hearing I’ll ever have in this sorry place, and these people knew that I might be destined to go to Hell with them.

In flux with his eyes and face, his mouth started to move. It seemed to say, “See you in Hell” or “we shall torcher you”!

I felt an almighty sense of unease at that image, but lets cross our hands and hope it doesn’t end that way.

The court proceeding continues, manned by people who are constantly ignoring the fact that I could hardly hear anything that was said. And oh, what have we here! My lawyer, the good old Mr. Bac- must have felt that he is in deep sh*t, and would be inclined to say that he could not go on any longer.

His face was covered with sweat, and his beady eyes betrayed bits and pieces of jumbled thoughts that were either too bad to be called questions or too great to be called an ‘I GIVE UP!’ speech.

I sincerely do think of reconsidering an act of throttling this bumhead, but all I could do was just look down to the floor, like what normal convicts would do to make themselves look guilty.

But, what the hell!

I couldn’t do anything compromising now, would I?

Maybe if I behave myself, I could get an early parole, notwithstanding the fact of passing every torture they gave me like a good boy. And by the time I can get out to the real world, maybe I can really become a good boy. Yes, a senile good old boy hobbling around in crutches, peddling fake Viagra liberally laced with rat poison to even more senile and diuretic folks.

No, no, no, no, no!

Maybe it’s the only choice I’ve got. Sitting here watching at people spewing out nonsense, and trying to maintain that look of guilt.

Relax! You’re kind of lucky this time! Normally things could be much worse. On such days, it’ll look like a bad episode of Oprah Winfrey Show featuring a political dialogue between the Dalai Lama and Gimpel the village idiot. Not forgetting Barney the Intoxically Purple Colored Dinosaur as the special guest for today.

[Encaitar]

As the great and cruel iron hammer of justice was pounded in judgment, I don’t think I’ll care anymore. Really, it’s that simple.

Are you sure, they’re gonna torcher you, remember, not just torture but torcher torcher torcher! Get that!??

I won’t care what the impossibly ugly judge said, or what the juries are talking about.

Perhaps this is the end after all.

You betcha it’s the end. The friggin’ end. The final friggin’ end, you perverse tax luggin’ criminal! And you better do something about it!

Only that I didn’t care to remember what ‘the end who likes to speak about torcher’ or the judge said. I might have caught several words like ‘guilty’, ‘death’ or ‘hang’; but what can I do about it?

As I turned and have a lookey look around this abysmally cheerless place, I can see my amateurish lawyer, Mr. Bac- gave me a half guilty half crybaby look that looks not too innocent before turning his back away. And I knew, at a place like this, you can actually predict when something ends by just looking at the one representing you.

The crowd is now slowly dissipating away into the free outside world, while I, the Breaker extraordinaire, am stuck here. I felt slight a tug from the spiked linked chains that bound my feet and hands, but I have somehow ignored it.

Why did I do that? You people might ask. Well, I’ll tell you why. I was looking at the jet black steel grilles that separated my criminal’s box from the outside world. A barrier it is, still and imposing; something like America’s Statue of Liberty. I have a notion that it might be something that might liberate me from the cruel world, but I know that the world will surely not be liberated from it.

This I can assure you.

My hands slowly crept up. Slowly, gingerly, I touched one of the grilles.

It felt cold against my skin.

I dared myself to touch more of it, to hold tightly against it. So tight a grip that I must have used that I saw my knuckles grew white and my hands stinging with pain and a deep icy coldness.

‘Please liberate me! Release me! I’m innocent!’ I thought. But it could also sound like, ‘hit me! Kill me! Don’t you see that I ate you damned dog and I might eat your family next?’

But who cares anyway.

It might be the jailer, because he might see this as a sign of rebellion. Now he is tugging me by the ends even harder; wait any longer and he might rip my hands off.
But still, my limbs bled. Those spikes are truly cruel and fiendish.

I relaxed my grip and stared at the man.

The man-jailer. Unimpressive, mundane, maybe sadistic. “Move it, you son of a b**ch!” he (with the portly waist) said.

Well, man. I must say that you’re quite a nutso. Jailers don’t use barbaric and crappy chains to a man that had reached the end of his marbles, or in this case rope. Not even on Slave Day. But then again, this is a special case after all.

Slowly(again), I followed the(reluctant) jailer out of the High Court, with its sterile environment and non biased law making decisions whipping me at each step.

[Encaitar]

As I stepped out of the court building (pronounced: the criminal has left the building!), a stream of pale white and lukewarm light of the sun greeted me.

It was not much of a reception.

But who was I to complain anyway? The jailer Davim(his name was written on his name tag) , without hesitation, shoved me forcefully into an escorted armored van specially booked for me and drove away.

Before the van moved too far away from the court building, I managed to look outside and catch several glimpses of the great imposing building that had contained me not so long ago.

The building looked old but new. Old by the fact that it’s a grand gothic monument backed a pale and weak sky, and new by the fact that it had remained in an obtusely clean state that few old buildings can achieve.

From my point of view, which was through a small bulletproof and steel grilled window inside a cheesy armored van, I can see that a storm is brewing up somewhere beyond the court building. These things are quite easy to tell – the sky’s all dark beyond Plexiglas windows of the van, fierce winds blowing (I can see dust devils, ok?), the ‘spink-spink’ noise of wind blown small rocks and pebbles hitting the underside of the van and the crushing sound of sand under the heavy duty Bridgestone tires of the vehicle.

It was until then when I broke my momentary reverie, for something strange had caught my attention. There were birds, whole hoards of them with big black bodies and beaks all clustered around and perched on trees, tall bushes and telephone cables everywhere the van goes. It was as if these creatures suddenly appeared from nowhere to everywhere.

These birds (crows’ maybe) gave me a shocker! I felt as if these damned pestilential flying freaks were all looking at me. I am sure of it.

What is it then, a welcoming committee coming straight up here from Hell? If so, my luck couldn’t be worse. See you down there in a moment, people, this death sentence business won’t take long!

Then, miraculously, drops of tears fell down from my eyes! Can you believe that? The tears wouldn’t stop, and now I couldn’t even see where we are heading now.

These steenkin’ tears made everything funkfully blurry with my eyes. Desperately, I tried to wipe them dry with my hands.

It’s useless; the chains on my hands were making things hard for me. I couldn’t go on for more than a second before the cuffs started to cut into my skin or the chains go clanking like a classic dying old Silver Ghost.

It is not as if I cared anyway. As I continued the assault on my eyes, my damned hand accidentally slipped on a tear streaked cheek and the rough spiked handcuff collided somewhat with my right eyebrow.

Immediately, I felt a stinging sensation followed by a stream of something warm flowing down my eyebrow.

That ‘something warm’ flowed into my eyes. And instantly my already blurry sight turns into a jaded crimson red that made concrete shapes turn into fuzzy red globes that won’t look out of place in a cheap science fiction movie.

“You OK, man?” One of my guards asked.

“Bug off, wormhead,” I answered, annoyed by his over hyped attitude towards prisoners in pain like me.

“Bug off? Why, I’ll give you a ‘bug off’, you lowlife!”

I knew that by the time guards say something like this, the outcomes would not be good for the unfortunates like me.

I was right. Before my eyes can be in running shape again, I felt the cold butt of a standard issue ‘kayu jati’ baton pressed onto my belly.

Instantly, the back of my eyes felt little pinpricks of pressurized pain.

The pain was followed by yet another greater pain on my rostrum, back, legs, everywhere…..

When I was unloaded from the van at my final destination, I had to be discreetly carried off to my cell in a stretcher.

[Encaitar]

(9.00 a.m.)
It was humid, as well as dark. The fluorescent lights were not working properly, acting as if they are constantly in doubt whether they should stay on or off.

For me, a brief stay in a prison is not that bad, though the food here tastes like week old shrimp doused with kerosene.

Yes, you don’t see much of daylight here too, but at least big black birds don’t come here. In places like this, you could easily lost track of time.

Or, at least, I did. I gave up after failing to recognize whether yesterday was last week or tomorrow is next week. But, I somehow knew that my stay here as about at least a week or so.

Now, I can hear squeaky foot steps coming my way-which was near the end of the prison corridor- and it is not even lunchtime yet!

Squeak, squeak, squeak, like {a mouse dying in an overflowing storm drain} rubber boots on a polished floor.

Something is gonna happen today. I can feel it in my bones.

Perhaps this is it.

The liberation of me! Me! Me and nothing but me! I swear that I’m telling the truth like a good boy going to the gallows.

An officer appeared behind the deadly black iron gates of my cell. It was Davim. He kindly gave me a manic smile.

“We’re going out for a little walk here, buddy.” He said, while jamming a greasy fist inside a bulging pant pocket.

Suddenly, this whole deal feels all wrong right and true. Maybe, just maybe, a fraction of a fraction of a possibility; a thought from up, up and beyond. They are going to compromise the victim. “Oh God, don’t shoot me! I’ve still got long running years ahead of me. Don’t-“ I screamed in my head.

But this was not the case. As he was drawing out whatever that he intended to draw out, something else quite unexpected fell out of his pocket instead.

It was a coin. A shiny one. It rolled pass the cell door and made several rounds around the rotten leg of my prison bench before it stopped dead beside my foot.

It was a US$1 coin. With a lady labeled Liberty quoting “In God We Trust”. Lady Liberty (is it so?) it is, cradling a child (might he be named Lucky, like a Lucky coin) behind her back.

Yes, a lady called Liberty; a woman with the bloody smile pasted on her lips (and I don’t mean the Mona Lisa).

Sweet Irony.

I don’t know what to say, nor what to think. I just stared fixedly at the coin, hoping for some miracle to drop off from the sky just like the way freshly imported frozen freshwater fish do after a storm.

You know what I mean, right?

I was answered by the jingling of metal against metal that was followed closely by the scraping and clacking sounds of an opening lock.

Squeak, squeak, squeak, those polished leather boots screamed {just like a couple of sad dying mice asking for pardon inside a flooded storm drain}.

This answer will not deter me (I hope).

I tried to pick the coin up.

(Pick the coin up).

Picking.

When a boot tip tacked with sharp iron studs squished my begging fingers.

“Don’t you touch my lucky coin, prisoner!”

I yelped out in pain. Davim shared it with a laugh.

And he grind it some more.

He removed his foot after an extended period of pure enjoyment, and picked up a soiled and stud scratched coin from the ground.

Hope is lost.

And he smiled some more.

“You, worm. Come with me!”

Bye, bye, liberty!

And I knew that salvation was already out of my reach.

With a crushed heart and bleeding aching fingers, I followed the guard Davim out of my cell.

[Encaitar]

Lucky coin is as lucky as lucky was. He had probably picked that coin up from the stiff and cold body of some lucky tourist who got lost and scared and somehow ended up in this hell, savoring each torcher and treatment before expiring into the earth where he can join the rest of the dead Earth Children.

It was a big and dark room that he had brought me to.

To my tortured mind(I tried to get the word torchered out of my head), a room like this could prove itself to be of multiple uses: with a great and cheap looking plywood podium and a great thick goddamned piece of wet and blackened hemp rope with a nasty looking loop at the end.

Davim moved across the room, alternating himself between switching on dim and blinking fluorescent lights and the thick grilled windows that splayed flat all around us, serving somewhat as a dark relief of the otherwise even darker room.

Game’s over. Fun is fun and done is done. Even Lady Liberty with her ‘In God We Trust’ cannot save you now.

Now, sick and neutered white light filled the room. My eyes are pained, but at least I can see the ugly black rope better now.

The other guards began administering me with their kayu jati or maybe, just maybe iron batons.

I am pained once again. It was a pain dear bought with smiles at the administering ends.

They, at least, had left my body intact. Had a quack not come at that moment, what other little games they could have played remains pretty much to be guessed.

Amateur knee surgery perhaps; coronary bypass from under the intestines? What choices, what agony!

“Any last wishes, dumbkoff?” Davim asked manically, a fat chuckle from under his lips testified against his sanity.

“Nothing, boss!”

A lame reply, perhaps. But I couldn’t do any better.

They, the fur brained ones, then literally dragged me to the strangely cheap but awesome podium.

They made me stand up right dead on the centre of the combinatively sinister room-the podium- and slipped a steenkin’ black underwear over my poor head.

“Prepare to kiss you b*tt goodbye, lowlife! ‘Cause this is gonna be the last thing that you’ll ever do.”

I was helpless…….now blind. Any thought of liberation would be impossible. This ain’t no 18 Wheels of Justice. This is the real world, baby. Winner takes all, losers get to kiss his b*tt goodbye.

Well begun, but too soon done. Well, not quite. Middle age death ain’t not a too soon death.

I wonder what my death certificate would look like. Maybe it’ll look pretty innocent, ‘death by vertical strangulation’, but the DEATH SENTENCE at the comment box certainly uglifies it.

“Any last wishes?” a voice that was barely hiding the giggles underneath it asked again, sarcastically.

After a moment of pause, I shakily replied, “Can I still get a Get out Of Jail Card around here?”

“No, but you’ll get this instead, free of charge!” Answered Davim as his knuckled fist gave a hard and hearty contact with my stomach.

The effect of his fist was immediate. I felt out of breath and limp, like a jellyfish stranded on dry land. Roars of laughter swiveled around the room. Wretchedness crawled deep into my guts and thrived there.

The laughter subsided after a brief period.

But as I felt the rough edges of a somewhat (I bet’cha its not just the old sweat of the newly dead that made it) wet and hempty rope around my neck, I heard the familiar roar of a SoundBlaster system commenting on the weather today.

Nice, with pleasant little drizzles on the east coast. Well wishers kiss the sunshine. Then the transmission stops……no, wait….I heard several clicks, and the song “We are the Champions” came running to my ears.

I felt as if I’m going mad.

Bye-bye, bye-bye!

“I, Jail Warden Davim Babung declares that the execution of one ---, by the death sentence of hanging by the hemp rope till the body of the guilty expires. This sentence is under the Penal Code ---, act ---, revision number 19, year 19--. The execution will commence on the count of three. blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah!

Ha, ha, ha, yock-yock-yock.

We will make sure that the guilty one is dead.

And we truly mean dead, dead, dead, dead! So that the truth couldn’t be deader!

I heard cheers of approval coming from his cronies, who were, unbeknown to me, creatively named Balak and Montoku.

At least the death sentence doesn’t consist of blah-blah-blahs!

[Encaitar]

The noose was in. Up till now, do I, miserable and without insurance, live up again and stand against this tide of troubled conflicts.

No one’s a fool enough to do it. But come on, I’m gonna be the first. The High Ones Above bless and receive the victims of bureaucracy.

“One….”

Say your prayers.

A steady hum of an unknown generator or contraption sprang to life, blotting out the ridicules and the final instructions of the people.

“Two….”

My friends are waiting.

I heard the footsteps of people moving away from me; away from a would be scene of execution.

“Three, bingo hits the jacko!....”

How they missed you in Hell….

The sound of a switch being flicked was heard and I felt the thin wooden floor below me shift in weight.

Well begun, too soon done?

An indescribable sensation took over me, and I felt as if my stomach became light and seemingly filled with rusty, bleeding, fluttering moths.

You’re gonna like it down Here!

I fell, and in due speed(which was fast) and time slowed down to a crawl, making my body feel so very heavy, like being filled with dingbat pellets of lead.

Deep flashes converged and diverged, flittering and fluttering all around me. It is as if I had lived my life in a fast forward mode one at time every day and then everyday together in a single instant of a second.

The moment of reflection was short, for my euphoric thoughts were scooped back up to the real world by the steenkin’ noose.

I can see, but am I blind?

“We are the champions……”The most counter revolutionary band of the yesteryears sang.

An instant’s worth of something stiff pressing against my neck made my five senses more acute than ever before, especially in the sensing of the pain department.

My head tried reflexively to lurch back, to get one more breath of life before the last moment.

But you all know that this is not possible, even now with my tongue rolling out of my mouth like a dead fish.

The last thing that I felt was not eternal inky blackness, but a stream of warmth flowing down my face.

The flow was so slow…. slow….slow to the point of madness.

When it reached my mouth……, it tastes a bit salty.

Tears, maybe…... drops of covered tears under the sunshine.

We shall torcher you………

[Encaitar]

The air was silent and still, and the radio was turned off (it had served its purpose, had it not?) Nothing moved. It was as if someone had drowned out the sounds of life with something imposing and great.

Maybe it was death, but we will never really know for sure.

Davim was smiling; stiffly. The smiles of Mr. Bac-, Balak, and Montoku were also frozen on their faces. The quack was nowhere to be seen.

“Funny,eh? The guy still thinks he’s a criminal mastermind of some sort! To think that we’ve just picked him up from the street not two hours ago.”

Scattered laughter among the three. The lifeless corpse’s head was already uncovered. The eyes that used to be seeing from the face was now in an evidence bag held tight by Balak. The tears that had flowed clear from the eyes were not too long ago were replaced with deep crimson streaks that manifested itself on the opening of hollow eye sockets and the gaunt cheeks of the dead man.

“The stuff works, just as promised. The only problem is that we couldn’t get to the other guy in time. Heard that he just got hit by a truck of some sort.”

“What about our friend? Did you find it?”

“We combed out most of his hiding holes and covered the crash scene. There was nothing left. It had simply disappeared!”

“No matter. We’ve got all the time we need to do this right. We’ve done enough for now.”

This apparent dismissal was greeted with loud peals of laughter that cut the air like what broken glass would do on a baby’s naked and soft skin. The laughter shows no sign of stopping; and in fact the only thing that it apparently did was to darken the sky once more.

Outside, hundreds of black birds that had gathered there for days already took to the skies in an explosion of shiny jet colored feathers, shocked by the great laughter that had so suddenly and mercilessly filled the area with so great a cold and gloom.

Fin.