:: Deq Vioraq - The Towers Of Sebalon [prologue]::Unbearable heat was beating down on his shoulders, but what could he do? Nothing. There were no windows, doors, lose tiles or any hope of an escape route. Even if there was, he was pinned to the wall with ball and chain; impossible to escape.
It wouldn't take hours to kill one in that inferno. Minutes in there and blood would boil; veins would pop; brains would fry; and heads would drop. Sweating profusely, he opened his eyes slightly, to a flame in the centre of the room. His gaze was already hypnotised by the heat.
Black flame...? he discerned dreamily as the last bit of consciousness leaked through his empty gaze once again. His head lolled over his shoulders, held back only by the coagulating muscles of his neck and the disintegrating bones of his spine. His mind shut down, dead. Precious atoms of life were expelled through his pores, forming a cloud of silver dust around him. When all were through, they fabricated themselves into a long, silky fibre of pure Vingere*. The virgin Vingere shot forward into the depths of the black flame and then, the ignition extinguished itself, leaving the room in infernal darkness. Suddenly, the heat was displaced by sub-zero temperatures and the body dipped into gelidity. Thick hair whiskered from his open pores and his skin cracked. The ice spread across his body, crackling as it marched on, leaving not one bit of warmth in its wake. Crystal vines crept up the walls of the stone tower, devouring every bit of heat foolish enough to disdain the departure of the ebony embers. All that was left was the cold blackness of the tower.
Outside, was a large forest. An Amazon of stone towers. Stone towers similar to that of which
he was in. The one of which
he died in. Yet, he was not the only one. Just one pawn in a game of chess. His life never mattered.
written by MitZukin Mrvica
:: The Prostitute ::Her name was Alice. A name for a decent, smart girl; or so I thought. I had known her since secondary school - same class for two years. She was a rather close friend, and I got to know about her fragmented life. She had a broken family: a mother who could not care less, an abusive alcoholic brother, and a divorced convict father. She got caught for taking drugs and alcohol. And to be honest, if she were not in her depressed, drugged-induced state, I bet she would be the most beautiful girl that I have ever seen. I told her that she was special, but that was just to prevent her from killing herself.
Thirty-seven points. That was what she achieved in the 'O' levels. Where was she to go? Stalled at the crossroads of life, she took a nasty turn down the deep dark ally of Geylang. The Red-Light district, as people would call it. That was where she met her first boyfriend, who sold her off to the brothel and got her to sell her body. He said that it was a form of love. She believed him. And with that faith, she lost her virginity, her pride, and her friends. That included me.
Two years passed, and I had long forgotten about the girl who sold herself.
*~*
It was a warm, humid day as I hurried along the pavements of the Emperess Place.
Just in time!. I marched into the Arts House where the exhibition was held. The lady at the door showed me in and directed me up the stairs where I found myself staring at long corridors of artwork. Oil-on-canvas, paint-on-wood, charcoal-on-paper; it was an artist paradise. As I passed the several lounges, there were even sculptures! Clay, porcelain, bronze, marble and even gold! I could not help but smile to myself. A friend of mine had told me about this exhibition and it certainly met my expectations. All these artworks were on sale and I was so tempted to whip out a cheque book and purchase every single one of them. However, aware of my limited funds and the fact that I did not actually have a cheque book, I refrained from even thinking.
Then, something caught my eye. Long silky hair. Jet Black. Tall and slim figure, strangely familiar.
Was it her? I thought. There, stood a girl in a long white dress, pondering over a piece of artwork. I walked closer to her. She did not notice me.
"Alice?" I whispered to her.
"Er.. Oh. OH! Benn! What are you doing here? What a pleasant surprise!"
"I'm here to look at art. You too?"
"Yea... I really like it. It somehow... calms my soul."
There, we stood together, soaking up the artistic ambience that the gallery provided us with. For a moment, it was as though we were alone, a world with no worries nor cares. Alice was indeed right. And so was I. She was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. All of a sudden, my previous disgust of her as a prostitute had vanished. She melted my heart.
"I never knew you appreciated art," I whispered to her, not wanting to ruin the moment.
"I never knew I did too," she replied, her eyes still glued on to the canvas.
It was amazing what that single moment did. Strangely, she had become such an amazing girl. Nothing like the one I had remembered two years ago. Bleeding wrist, small bottles of detergent she would attempt to drink, and walks on the rooftop where I would find her and persuade her not to step past the line of no return. This Alice was decent. Beautiful. Perfect.
"Alice," I finally spoke again. "You know something?"
"Mmm?" She turned to face me.
"You're really special..." and I kissed her.
This time, I meant it.
written by MitZukin Mrvica
:: English Mock Examinations, VS ::Write about an important decision that you had to make which affected your relationship with someone special.*~*
'Yes, Mum' I looked into my mother's eyes, unsure if I were to look sorry about my decision. I had noticed the sudden change in her mood whenever I mentioned it before. She would always turn away and sigh, her shoulders drooping down in disappointment and hurt. After all, I was only twenty, and I was still my mother's little boy. A twenty year old, but forever a child in my mother's loving eyes. I could not blame her for this, but neither could I stay on under the watchful eye of my mother anymore. I needed privacy.
Ash. I had that name carved on the inner side on the ring. She was the love of my life, and she still is. I had decided to move out with her into a small studio apartment. My mother was not very willing to let me go. I decided nevertheless. From the moment I dragged the last of the boxes out of the house, I was out of the care and guardianship of my mother. Things went down hill after that, but little did I know.
I left the cradle I grew up in, the room I slept in, and most importantly, I left the person who had given everything to me. A new chapter of my life began, leaving the settings of the previous. New 'main characters' replaced the old, and my world now revolved around a different person. The ring was now on Ash's fourth finger, where it was destined to be. Like every other newly-weds, we shared moments of intimacy. We kissed, we hugged, we made love. All in the new found privacy of our home. Sadly for my mother, she had always chosen the wrong time to call. In actual fact, there was no right time. In the morning, Ash and I were out working. In the evenings, we had dinner together in the hawker center near out place. At night, we unplugged the phone while we had out passionate moments. My mother was never granted audience.
Caught up in my job, in my family and in my life, it rarely occurred to me to visit my mother. Plans were often postponed due to 'unforeseen circumstances'. Three months passed and the only contact I made with my mother was through our shared bank account - once a month. Sometimes, I would find notes on the 'welcome' mat from my mother, saying that she missed me. I kept them, but I never replied. I did not miss her. I felt as if we were no longer mother and son. It was as though she had disappeared, when in actual fact, it was I that had done so. I wonder why my conscience did not prick me.
Another two months and only one visit and twelve minutes of phone calls. The relationship with my mother had dwindled to that of a distant friend. She gave up calling and I thought of her even lesser. We drifted apart. Ash seemed to notice it as well and had urged me to pay a visit. I agreed without a thought. This was unbecoming of the perfect son I used to be.
As I drove into the carpark, I felt as though I was going to meet a stranger. I shivered. Had we drifted that far apart? I walked mindlessly into the lift and went up to the seventeenth floor. I was still filled with uncertainty. I was still very unsure of my feelings.
'Honey? Are you okay?'
I wake from my thoughts, realising that I am still standing at the door of the place I used to live. Twenty years...
'Dear, you've been standing here motionless for two minutes... ...'
written by MitZukin Mrvica
:: Broken :: [VS SA1, Paper 1]
The bell rang, calling the day to another abrupt end. Along with many others, I packed my bag quickly while the teacher issued last reminders about the upcoming tests over the constant chitter and chatter of the students. 'Like anyone would listen,' I thought. 'At least not me.' I swung my Von Dutch bag over my shoulder and left the room, shirt untucked and unkempt.
I paced the distance to the school gates. Five hundred and seventy eight. That was the shortest route I found. A shorter and quicker way to freedom. But I know, deep inside, that the pacing was pointless - it was far from accurate. I did it anyway. It killed time.
'Where to?' I thought out loud. I did not want to go home. Did I even have one? Well I remember having a small little concrete cage; An empty shell. If I wanted to be optimistic, an empty house was ideal, and lucky to have. For when it was occupied, I would be caught between a crossfire of vulgarities and expletives. I would rather go home to an empty house.
My sleek silver nokia buzzed to a syncopated rhythm. It was my 'brothers'. They were the ones who bought me the phone.
'Eh bro! Come PP. We got good stuff for you.'
'K. gimmie 5' I replied the SMS and boarded the bus service 197, which had just arrived. In l than give minutes, the buss pulled over into the bus bay at the bus stop and almost everone, including myself, streamed out into the Parkway district. There were my 'brothers', waiting for me.
I met the three of them about a month ago at the LAN shop, Zion, while playing DOTA(Defence Of The Ancients), a popular online game. They accepted me in to their trio after i displayed my skills at the game. All of them were impressed and we 'hung out' together ever since.
'Eh brother, come. We bring you go enjoy!' the gang leader told me, and the four of us went to Zion for a few games. They pulled me to a corner of the shop and offered me a tube of clear liquid. I drank it without thinking. And as the liquid entered my body, there was a sudden release of adrenalin that surged through my body. Gosh, it felt good! My 'brothers' smiled at me and commented in hokkien, 'He seems to like it alot.'
Within the next few hours, I took three more doeses. I was extremely high, and barely controllable. The next few minutes however, was a blur, and too fast for my drugged mind to register.
My brothers vanished. Three policemen took their places. The next thing i know, i was at the police station. Still, i was too high to feel worried or scared; too drugged to realise that my life was about to fall apart; too weak to shake myself out of exstacy's grip.
My mother cried. My father cared not. And my sister was probably having sex with one of her boyfriends. That was the family i had. I was detained, waiting to be sentenced. I knew i was going to the Boys Home but somewhere inside me, i was hoping my brothers would save me. Fat Chance. That was to dream, and i knew that well.
The stroke of the hammer etched a police record into my life. That simple action sent me away to hell on earth; that simple stroke engraved a mark into my mind; and that simple thud hammered a blow into my heart. Lament. How i wished that it would help. Regret. It would not bring me anywhere better. There was nothing i could do but wait till the term was over. So here i lie, dead and lifeless. Scarred. Broken. Family, broken.Heart, broken.Trust, broken.Friendship, broken.Life, broken; shattered.All, never to be mended or healed.They say time heals all wounds. They're wrong.
written by MitZukin Mrvica
:: The Modern World ::The modern society - a fascist world. The ostracization of the non-conforming. And when would people learn to accept...
Martin paused. Scanning the surroundings, he stepped through the rusted iron fates of the school. It was still dark as he hurried along the empty corridors. Since young, he had tried his best to avoid attention. Not that he wanted so much to be a loner, just that along with the attention that he got, came mockery. Names like
cultural freak and
mad musician were pretty much usual. How he wished all that would stop.
As Martin continued along the perimeter of the parade square, he noticed a trio of kittens. One black, two white. It was quite evident what was happening. "Even in the animal kingdom, at such early periods of life, ostracization still occurs," he thought. He knows how it was like to be a victim of fascism. When he snapped back to reality, the white kittens had left, leaving the little ebony fur ball, curled up and forsaken. He took pity.
The little kitten rested on Martin’s lap, her eyes gently shut as he stroked her behind her ears. Though Martin had only seen the kitten for the first time, he felt he loved her more then anything in the world.
"I know how it feels kitty; I've been through that all my life."
She stared back at him with her large, round eyes, as though she understood.
Martin placed Kitty on the podium and opened his violin case. "Kitty, this is for you. Moonlight Serenade, by Klaus Badelt," and under the soft, comforting incandescence of the dim moonlight, he played, eyes closed, as if he had entered the music itself.
The first note resonated through the night sky, and the moon smile back down at him with her perfectly arched lips. Kitty blinked as she listened to the slow, mellow sounds of the violin.
Martin was so engrossed, he did not notice the sun had already crept over the horizon. And all of a sudden, he was awakened by the same mockery he had heard for eons. The very same derision that was brought about by his idiosyncratic ways.
"Haha! Look! It's the cultural freak! Playing to a cat!" Laughter shattered the early morning serenity. So much for his serenade...
Martin quickly packed his violin in his case and turned to leave, picking up little Kitty from the podium.
"Stop right there, FREAK!"
Martin shouldn't have stopped. As soon as he turned his head, a large fist landed right in his face.
Laughter sounded. The once dark, serene and lonely parade square was now lit, noisy and crowded. He should have know better than to hang around after the first rays of the morning sun; after the train of busses dropped of their passengers; after the darkness swiftly and silently left.
Martin staggered backwards, his arms around the little feline, protecting her from any harm; and just as he turned to make his from further derision, Kittle leapt out of his arms, onto the aggressor’s face, leaving behind three, long, fresh, red streaks across his cheek. Then, she ran off with Martin, her new found friend.
The couple hid in a toilet cubicle as thoughts started to settle upon Martin. Is it only that the same outcasted people can accept each other? And that no one else would? How is it that just small differences set people apart? Martin sighed, still stroking little Kitty behind her ears...
The modern society - still a fascist world. The ostracization of non-conforming. And where people will never learn to accept...
written by MitZukin Mrvica
:: Two Sides of the Coin ::
One tells head
One speaks tail
One skin tan
One face pale
One full suit
One piece loin
One more look
One same coin*~*
post poem prosefollowing this is a four part short story titled
*Two Sides of the Coin. do look out for it, and hope you would enjoy it.
* story might be delayed as it is now the exam period.
written by MitZukin Mrvica
:: Fish in Shallow Water (Part III) ::It was a dim-lit room; not very big but the furniture, though few, played a great part in making the room seem spacious. There, in the centre, stood a tall figure, covered with a large piece of cloth. A few rays of evening sun shot through the quartet of small round windows installed on the ceiling.
“Well, Issie…” Zen paused.
It was, after all, Isabelle’s birthday(Zen hadn’t mentioned anything about it since morning. Though Isabelle was a little disappointed, she was more worried about Zen’s condition throughout the day). “Here it is. There. Um… Happy Birthday,” and he pulled off the large, grey cloth off the mysterious object.
“Wow…” Isabelle stood there in awe. There, before her, was a large portrait of Isabelle herself. It was simply a work of skilled art. An exact replica, capturing the most beautiful side of her. The gentle arc in her smile, the light pinkish-red in her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. It was almost like the Isabelle in the painting would just come alive.
Isabelle just simply stared. It was unthinkable how much time Zen spent on it. One week? Or maybe two? All she knew was that Zen did spend time and effort doing it for her. With that thought, she flung her arms around Zen and whispered into his ear. “Thank you. How sweet of you. I thought you forgot…” then gave him a peck on the cheek. Isabelle almost could have sworn that Zen had blushed.
*~*
Things didn’t seem to end there. Zen brought her to another place.
“This is really no art I created,” said Zen as they entered an area, possibly closer to the surface then the room before. “This is the greatest art ever created,” Zen continued. “And a took a piece of for the both of us. This, is nature.”
Zen reached out for Isabelle’s hand as they walked up the gentle sloping plains of the backyards of Zen’s heart. As they reached the surface again from Zen’s underground art gallery, the last rays of evening sun sneaked away into the horizon. Suddenly, stars started emerging from their hideouts, like little flowers blossoming on the arrival of warm spring after a freezing winter. The moon looked down at them with her arced and thin smile.
There, they stared up at the heavens above.
“It’s so beautiful, Zen. Just so beautiful,” Isabelle whispered to Zen.
“So what if it’s beautiful? No use if it’s incomplete…”
“Why? What’s missing?”
“Something… Someone… I can only wait…”
“Someone? Who?”
Zen paused. “Someone who would love my art. Someone deep down in my heart. Someone I am talking to. And that someone would be you.”
Isabelle held Zen’s hand close to her heart. She gave him another peck on the cheek and whispered, “Well, you won’t have to wait anymore.”
written by MitZukin Mrvica