empty glass

I've felt much worse, but when I realised

how long I've been staring

at this blank white page

without having my fingers moving,

tapping on alphabets like it does before

when I want them to, I saw a man

who could say nothing but silence, slowly

sinking into the stagnant sea he called his life.

Sometimes by mistakes they deliver it to me

word by word, and I am a grateful servant,

a typewriter made of flesh,

better than a beggar I am right now.

As night crawls deeper the stronger

disappointment is persuading, pulling me

deep into sleep. But the bright canvas

lending its light into the bedroom

keeps on waking me up in the dark,

while whispering, not yet. Not yet.

So to kill the insulting guilt,

how easily I am defeated

by the void that has claimed my mind,

mercilessly swallowing sentences

and drowning uninspired inspirations,

I keep on writing for you, my dear

about how I can't write tonight.

kindness

I admit that I'm nothing but shit.

I am.

Till the day I die

a rotting carcass.

I admit that you are made for greatness.

You are.

I never deserve you

and I will never be.

I admit that my regrets drown me.

Always. 

Time just nods silently

with chains stiff on my neck.

I admit that I miss the dead.

So much.

But they won't be so kind

when they receive me.

prodigy

"We have no time. Let's move, they are at 35 and 36 when we both left"

“Let’s not disappoint Mr Arahat”

This is a huge mistake. Arahat of all people knows that I'm not from any Combat Class. We just finished physics few hours ago and he didn't even mention any of this. What the fuck was in his head when he put my name on the list? I would be dead for sure, if they put me in a cage with one of those flamethrower kids. What kind of sick joke are this you spastic old shit. These two guys are still not answering any of my questions. They keep lifting their feet alternately while indirectly commanding me to move faster with them.

From the reflection on the glass panel at the corner we had just passed 1.2 seconds ago, I can see that the man on my right is taking his step with his feet bent at an unnatural angle to his walking motion. Maybe an old injury had resurfaced, something a perfectly placed kick would do. Sadly I really don't have any idea on how deal with the towering second guy; he looks like he's made of boulders instead of flesh. The odds for me to get back to my bunk are obviously higher if I get into the arena, compared to going against this colossal beast right now. We finally get into the end of the corridor. I was instructed to stand on the round platform, with my impending doom waiting the moment the hatch above me open.

"Hey kid. Good luck"

Glad to know that there is a human inside that mountain. He swings the glass door close while his mate with the bad leg pressing authorisation code at the panel on the wall. The elevator ride lifted me intensely, as I re-enacted every possible strategies for almost all Combat Class available in my head. Most are still made of flesh; I just have to think of ways to stay alive until I have my chance to strike. I will survive. Then I’ll kill Arahat. My brain is a gift, more powerful than teleportation or any fancy tricks.

As soon as the vertical ride slowed down, the slit above me grew larger into an opening, and gradually I can see the whole arena. About a hundred meter in front of me, a girl ascends from a hole in the ground into the prepared jagged surface full of fist-sized rocks. I swear I've seen her somewhere, but I have no time to focus on trivial stuff when my life depends on every single decision I'm about to make. There are 638 rocks with enough weight to shatter human skull, but most of them are on her side of the arena. I have to move really fast. I can’t wait to know what I’m going against.

"No 43. James Anderson. Einst. Raise your hand if you're ready" I wave at the tinted glass covered platform hanging above both of us.

"No 44. Fatimidae Arahat." what. The. Fuck.

“Mover. Raise your hand if you're ready"

I don't have any time to think of what his motives are. As soon as the siren breaks the silence, I shift all my weight to my left foot and begin strafing towards anywhere my feet would take me. I know that I’m already dead. Inches behind me was a constant stream of swooshing sound followed by numerous ear-shattering smash. Dust flying with shattering debris all over my track.  It doesn't take her more than two seconds before a big chunk hit my calf, ricocheting me upside down like a ragdoll into the air.

She is very good, a prodigy just like her mum. They said that she lifted her whole house off the ground when she was five. I wonder what kind of shit Arahat has to deal with every day, having both of them under the same roof. She's looks nothing like him though. Her skin was flawless, and that stiff smile look exactly like the pictures Arahat had shown me. I can see it from here every strand of her jet black hair is floating in the air; I can count it from where I am, few meters above the ground bracing for the impact. But it hasn't come to me yet. 

I could always count the strands of hair if it's not moving at all like right now. I begin to realise that something was not right -not physically right. The closest rock floating in front of me would hit my face 0.03 seconds ago in its previous velocity, but it hasn't yet made any progress from that exact spot. I can see even the minute specks floating in the air like pencils graphite, suspended on invisible strings. Everything in motion regardless of size and speed has stopped on its track seconds ago in a long numbing silence. Everything from slicing projectiles to my eyelids are all still.

Then there he is, walking down the arena with that smug on his face. I put a lot of effort in twisting my head towards him. He never failed to impress me in his lectures, but looking at him walking effortlessly in this paused chaos made me feel like he’s some kind of deity among mortals. He stops right behind his daughter, and then laid his hand on her frozen shoulder.

"You know, I really love Fatimi, but I always wanted a son.”

“So how does it feel having it switched on for the first time?"

new trick

Rocky was barking non stop at the window. He had been acting a bit weird since we get him inside, and now he had spotted something behind our fences. The last time he did this is when that weird kid trying to climb over. I told Marie to stay in the living room as I grab the baseball bat. Rocky calmed down as I get outside with the bat loosely in my right.

I give an "O.K" sign to Marie and Rocky through the glass. As I take few steps across the wet grass, I tell myself on how unlikely a robbery is to be happening in the rain. The only possible culprit is that weird kid, even a thunderstorm would not stop him. Some say he had been entering houses for fun. I was pulled back to my intention as a faint trail of blood on the fences heighten my senses.

I followed it out of the gate until it leads me to a spot in the bushes, where the weeds is pressed down by a mangled body. It was too familiar, covered in its wet golden fur. Raindrops keep hitting on it, washing away some of the blood covering it into numerous little red streams. I stare at it, baffled and soaked head to toe.

"Rocky?" it didn't respond to me poking on it with the bat, while my head processing everything desperately fast. I waited for my feet's next move, while my baseball bat already on the ground. My conclusion causes me to turn my gaze to the window. The dog is not there anymore, so does Marie.

anomaly

2.57PM

"Can't we at least wait till I get back?" the man on the beach chair asked.

"No we can't. We can't wait till tomorrow nor for another few minutes. Your time is up to 3, and the rest is oblivion my friend. We're sorry for the late notice"

His voice was calm, in an unnaturally superior way. The boy who's constructing his sand castle close to the conversation is now staring at the big man, who is certainly out of place in that strip of sand. That sharp black suit is more than unwelcomed.

"What do you mean oblivion? Will you make me forget about here or the one up there? Both are still unfair I guess"

It's obvious that he is frowning behind those sunglasses. His peace was clearly not there anymore, it's like a violent storm has arrived. His short holiday wasn't meant to be disturbed, he had cursed the rain for few days back, and now this big guy won't step out his view of the sea.

"Both. You will be brand new, with no record of being sent before"

"You'll make people forget me too?" he stares at the big guy in disbelief from behind his sunglasses.

"I'm sorry, but I believe that you had make use of it all very good. We're not surprised as always, there's always that tiny percentage who are meant to be sent that way, and to stay. They are the pivot of most stories in the books. We will let you to stay too, if we get the instructions to. But I'm sorry to tell you that we don't"

2.58PM

"Why can't you just kill me, that wouldn't make things too complicated to explain" he took a sip on his drink, which has getting more tasteless from the melting ice.

"Hmm. In this case, it is not something that had anything to do with killing. See,if a factory produces a faulty goods somewhere, guess there's much more relevancy in claiming it back to the shop than destroying it. Right?"

The man on the beach chair didn't answer. This is exactly what he has heard from the whispers. They will be taken back, rebooted and repackaged. It's his fault that he made it too obvious, or should he just join the church from the start? The temptation was never a joke. Much more stronger when you know you already had it all. All the strings you see on everyone, how can you not mess with it? How can you not use it to get you everything when it's in front of you all the time. It's a gift since forever, today it become a curse.  

"Heh. What a shitty factory that is. What kind of job is he doing up there. Both places are in chaos. Can't believe I don't see this coming"

"He is never in chaos my friend. A factory is never perfect, just like the product. Mistakes are made for every billion that has passed. But the same thing can't be applied to the owner. He always knows when it happened, and what he sent was meant to be sent. He had written the start and the beginning of every single one, he even writes about this conversation we are having right now"

"You are meant for something, but it’s not here."

"You know what. Fuck that. You know nothing. What if I tell you that you're going to be wiped for some fuck up you didn't do? Will you be okay with that? Why can't he just let me stay? What different does it make if he let me?"

"I don't have the answer for that. I was sent here to take you back" The man on the beach chair is now half-smiling.

"Fuck it. I'm a man who never did any harm for all that I know. Why didn't he send you to end Hitler? That one's a mistake too right? Fucking teleport to Berlin now, wasn't time a plaything for you guys? Or is he just as disgusting as any sadist could be? Enjoying bloody shows while nitpicking on a businessman?" the boy halted his sand castle construction, as the man is now almost screaming in a language foreign to the beach. The tension is obvious between the two of them, in the realm of salty air and summer sunshine.

2.49PM

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid we don't have much time"

The man on the beach chair is frozen still. He knew that he's not capable to do anything to avoid this. His life was a good 22 years, of a vicious climb towards dominion. He got something anyone else doesn't, and he use it perfectly well. Like holding a divine dagger in a crowd of mortal, easily he made his way to the top. But now the glory must end, his youthful empire will cease to existence. His trace will be erased, as those who had been in his place before. History will be reconstructed today, with one man less.

The big man in the suit raises his hand to the sun. The air around begin to shift visually, signaling imbalance of substances which doesn't belong there, wrapping around them. It sinks in him, the same feeling he had had before he enter the red room, the unforgotten womb. The huge man then lowers his hand towards his shoulder. He shrugged. He is ready for this.

A bright flash of light swallowed both man and the beach chair for few seconds. It failed to catch any attention from the others on that crowded beach but the kid, who has already stopped building his sandcastle. The unworldly chaos then end in a split second, unnoticed as how it begin.

The huge man is now nowhere to be seen. He disappeared as he was never there from the start, his footprints is somewhat was lifted with him. The beach chair, its lowered fabric never rises. The man is still there, removing his shades and now wiping his wet forehead. A sight of relief is hard to be unnoticed from his face. His hand is still shaking.

He then stand up on his feet, then walk towards the boy and his sand castle. He picked the boy up, and then he put him high on his shoulder. He regain his smile for sure, still wandering if they both had yet declared a war on the factory up there.

"Thank you Gabriel"

"You're welcome my lord," said that tiny voice.

3.00PM

midnight's wishlist

Street lamps flashed like shooting stars

and I told you to make a wish.

Your teeth clipping lightly on your bottom lips.

Your eyes tight shut. A river of constellations,

flowing on these streets from the feet

of that frail majestic frame, which the owner

knows nothing of my wishlist.

I bet yours goes for balding Claire.

Her blonde locks once wrapped in your fingers.

Most visits was brief, but I'm still in the 4 hours trip.

Or does it goes for that big dream of yours?

To drop acid on summer cruise in the tropics.

"If I scream and leap off the deck,

Would Jeremy jump and save me?"

Lights flickering pierce through my eyelids.

Tuck my cold limbs in. You'll be in my care

seconds before we crash salt water.

Walks are dull, but I painted tonight's,

so my rewinds wouldn't be in black and white.

You tell me you wish we never missed the train.

"What do you wish for?"

Street lamps would frown listening to mine.

For so long it's impossible even for the stars.

basement party

"How now Mike?" Russ keeps on scratching his head.

"I've told you we need a bigger one right?"

"I'm not the stupid one who wrote S-A-N-T-A you cocksucker! How would I know? How would I know that the SANTA we're going to summon won't fit this pentagram we made for SATAN you dumb illiterate shit?" he was half screaming while kicking Aaron's dad's toolbox.  

Mike was really tired. Being the only one who's not sleeping for 2 days reading that old rotten book really mess him up. The responsibility was always on the brightest. He had his whole life worrying on legal contracts they might not ever be getting, but this current problem in front of him was so big it won't fit the sixth pentagram he has made today.

"When we're famous I'm going to ask Maroon 5 if they have someone as stupid as you in their band. If we did get all this done tonight of course. Aaron's parents will be here in the morning, and now we have to deal with this dumb fat old man who can't give us anything but toys! Its not even Christmas for god sake! So how now Russ, tell me. How now?"

"I don't know Mike"

"How about we ask Santa himself?" both of them turns their heads towards Ritchie.

The whole basement turns silent, along with the muffled grunt from the big man in red, halfway buried in the basement's cement floor. Ritchie was the most quiet one, only saying important things when it is needed.

"Okay. Okay. We talk to the big guy" "Let's see what's his opinion on this fuck up this retard caused"

Russ lead the four of them towards the man, who had now stopped his struggling. He then yank the red Christmas hat Mike had stuffed in his mouth. The man's breath smell of candy, as he breathe the damp basement air in and out. He had no choice. He was on his massive bed in North Pole forty-five minutes ago. 

"Are you the kid who misspelled Satan?" Russ nods

"I've been in worse situation son, don't worry. I've been stuck in much smaller circles. I'm not mad at all for this."

"Even Maroon 5 made the same mistake, they're the kindest group of kids I've met. Down to earth. Good kids. Anyway, I can help you to return me back to the midgets, but I won't this time. I refuse to let you all send me back"

Mike wasn't sure about what he just heard so he walked forward, while pushing the almost crying Russ out of the way.

"So how Mr Santa. I'm sorry but you're in our way. We have to send you back, this is the only time we get everything right, EVERYTHING right but the name. I really need to go to sleep. We're not gonna keep you here in the basement feeding you like a gimp. Aaron's dad gonna be so mad at us if he sees you. So please Mr Santa. Let us send you home. Please,"

Mike was leaning too close towards Santa, and Santa was purposely leaning back. With a movement like an alligator, he lunge his upper body forward driving his forehead towards Mike's nose. Blood sprayed on Santa's face from the impact.

"You kids have no respect! I said I'm not going back there before tearing you up to pieces you little shit! Everyone who ever accidentally called me treat me with dignity, plead for forgiveness, and talked to me in a way which shows that they do feel guilty! I am SANTA CLAUS! You guys? Implying that I'm fat with every sentence? stuffing my mouth with my hat? You won't be playing anything after I pull your guts out! Ugh! Ughghg!"

The hanging light was swaying hard with each movement as Santa's mass was almost equal a hippo, causing their shadows to sway on its axis. Russ was silent, he's glad that Mike made the circle small enough not to let that beast forelimbs out, seeing the blood dripping from his nose. Ritchie was walking towards Mike to pick him up, with no words coming from him too. Aaron can't take it any more, he want all this to be done before his parents get back. He rushed upstairs, then another floor up towards his parents room.

Aaron knew already where his father keep the gun. He pick it out of the drawer while taking a deep breath. He then sits on the bed for a good 5 minutes. He locates all the mops and pails in his head. Shovels in the backyard, a big old rug on in a roll under the stairs. His car still have enough gas to bring them all somewhere they can bury Santa if they really kill him tonight. 

Satisfied, he exit the room and went downstairs with the gun, now figuring out by himself on whose gonna make the shot. His few last steps was greeted with Russ on the floor, sleeping in a pool of barf.

"What took you so long Aaron?" "We're halfway done already, sorry we didn't wait for you"

Mike was bloody to the sleeve, blood still flowing from his nose. His stained hand was empty, but Aaron recognise a screwdriver on Santa's right eye socket. Santa's head was limp, now mishapen, and slumped forward, definitely dead. Cohesive lines of mucus and blood flowing from his facial cavities. Ritchie is soaked from head to the waist like he just got pranked with buckets of pig blood, looking at the dead old guy while holding a bloody hammer. Santa life's ended, thus begin the cleaning.

"Now let's take care of this, and make sure the next time you draw a bigger circle" said Ritchie while wiping his glasses

"I know Ritchie, I know"

"It's 3 now, we got half a Santa to be disposed, and we haven't met Satan yet. Where's your dad's saw Aaron? It's nowhere in the toolbox for fuck sake"

backfired

He must run, but he can't. He know, how it always gives him a better chance to spot movements when the target is moving so quick, even under the shades of leaves. He walks in a calm manner, slowly dissapearing into deeper part of the freezing woods, while always letting his back covered by the trees. He place his bet on the falling snow to cover his obvious tracks.

It is not anyone's fault but himself, that he missed the shot. He had a perfect aim, but mountain winds was indecisive most of the time, and this time it decided to punish him for his decision. He had been on his scope for an hour but still it bears more mercy on Ivankov, less on him. He cursed himself every time his feet sink in deeper snow, never has the combination of anxiety and coldness wears him this much. Knowing about the possibility of that they might have the advantage on the terrain, he must make sure that all his years benefit him good, regardless of how deep the snow pits are.

The smoke from the target's base was long gone in the air, and the hole on the fallen tree trunk look so comfortable compared to the long unknown road.  He trust his instinct, knowing that it is temporary, but the only sound he could hear in the ocean of trees is the sound of his own footsteps. Good enough for him. His feet beg for a rest. While he lean his back on the crisp surface, the thoughts of home never fail to make his rest more sedating. He really needs it, but he's afraid that he might fall asleep. He admits that he does need some, but he also need to stay alive.

Tightening his hug on his metal comrade, he wonders if the letter he sent had reached Aunt Betty. He promised himself to throw that ugly cunt out when he gets back. She's no good at all, not with kids, not with money, not with cooking. He could take care of the kids better. Audrey had thought her a lot. The sight of her in the kitchen dangling in his mind like the necklace he gave her on her birthday. The necklace is swaying on her neck as she moves from the counter to the sink. He keep staring on her neck while she was busy preparing for lunch. The snow keep on falling on his face, but now he's already thousand miles back in the warm kitchen, under hours of California sun.

Snap.

His drowsy circuits works hard to locate the source of what sounds like checkmate.

rare occurrence

"Tell me what you read, I will know what's in your mind, but no for sure what is in the text,"

-Tariq Ramadan to Christopher Hitchens,
  on the interpretation of the Al-Quran among muslims, civilians and scholars.