the adventure of inspector wahab

"What the heck"

"Only 3 kilos and the whole world needs to know? Fuck you la Hana. Who needs to know about how much weight you lose when it doesn’t change anything? You motherfucker." 

"Lan, kau dok mencarut-carut apa tu. Kau ingat mak ni tak tahu?" what are you cursing at Lan? And you think I don’t know? It was something along that line and it echoes across the small apartment from the kitchen to Azlan’s room.

He ignored his mum and continued scrolling the timeline up and down, up and down until nothing is left for him to devour, but his mind keeps on bringing him back to that girl's post. There is something about overweight girls and their self denial that really irritate him to the bones, and he can’t let this one go for all that is holy.

Ugliness is incurable, but weight loss is only a healthy life away. These Facebook posts on this product and that product are scabs from this whole cosmetic business. Everyone knows but those ignorant stuffs keeps on appearing on his Facebook timeline, and God knows how Azlan wish they’re smarter than this.

"Only 3 kilos, and you still look like a wreck you fat slob. I can't see any difference. How can you be proud of that? Have you ever heard of the word exercise?  Go for a jog for fuck sake."

Azlan takes a deep breath and his fingers begin to dance on the keyboards with all the profanity he is capable of.

_________________________________________________________________________________

It is not a great morning for Inspector Wahab. It is only 5am, and he just drove all the way from the warmth of his wife to meet a dead kid in an unknown neighborhood. A girl just hung herself in the living room. She had been put down to the ground by somebody long before the police came, and the rope has been removed from her neck leaving a intricate pattern pressed on the cold dead skin. A new guy accidentally kicked a part of the broken chair on the scene, but everyone just ignored it. Inspector Wahab takes the identification card handed to him by his assistant.

"Nurhana binti Hassan,"

"Ah fuck this. Fuck all of this shit, I'm out,"

Now this case is going to be big for a week in the news and there, another sleepless nights for whoever that is going to be replacing him after he submitted his immediate resignation notice. He's been stupid enough working day and night when he could sit back and enjoy endless vacation if he had just sold his lands in Kedah earlier. No more police stuff and underage suicides for him.

"Say goodbye to Inspector Wahab shitheads,"

He's glad that the dead kid's dad called the police immediately. Inspector Wahab is tired of half decomposed bodies that smell nothing better than how they look. The only few things that is bothering him is the dad's whereabouts, and the closed tab of Azlan Rooney's Facebook page on the laptop full of Hello Kitty stickers in the girl's bedroom. More works for him in these early hours.

“Bali or Bandung? Or maybe I should perform the umrah first?”  Thought Inspector Wahab as the new guy repeat the same question he just asked a few moments before.

_________________________________________________________________________________

"This is the best thing of the week, and its only Friday!" Exclaims Amir.

"Hana hasn't been replying your Facebook comment yet since last night you retard. I can't wait to see her face in the class," he keeps on swiping his iPhone screen up and down, up and down. Then he takes a look at Azlan who has not stopped yawning since the moment they exited Amir's dad's BMW. 

"Do we really have to talk about that fat slut? Amir, my Manchester United jersey, please make sure it’s an S size."

"I won’t wear any M okay?"

"What? Hahahaha fuck you la Lan. I'm gonna buy you an XXL."

"How big is an XXL actually?" 

That is the last thought in Amir's mind, before his instinct takes over at the sight of the speeding Proton Waja and he pushes Azlan out of the way with all his strength. The impact was so immense it sends Amir flying few meters away from the crash site. The sound alerted few passerbies who are usually numb in this cold morning air as it could be heard from the nasi lemak stall on the other side of the road.

The Proton Waja immediately leaves the scene, screeching and leaving trails on the asphalt. The road in front of SMK Taman Indah becomes congested that morning. Azlan totally forget about the Manchester United jersey and the differences that the sizes could make on his out-of-school appearance. Amir is now folded limbs to limbs in the pool of his own blood, a good excuse for the sight of a person vomiting from a distance in Azlan’s peripheral vision.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Hassan is smoking for the first time in years, and he is on his fifth cigarette.  He takes out his wallet and manages to gather around RM14 worth of banknotes and coins. He regrets not going to the ATM first before he begins his fatal hunt. His work clothes since last night are drenched in sweat, and he is stuck in the middle of nowhere with his now fuel-less Waja. His shivering hands are gripping tight on the steering wheel.

"Dear God. Why is this happening to me?"

"Maybe you should just kill yourself. Then you can be with your daughter in hell,"

Streams of tears is racing down Hassan's face as he wonders if his sins are too much that God just have to take everything away from him. He exits his Waja and decides to leave it on the petrol stations car park, and he begins to walk on the side of the road. As he passes a thick spot of bushes, he takes out his phone and car keys and throws them away for good.

Hassan's plan was to cross the border and find a place to hide, but now he doesn’t even know if that is possible. He still regrets not turning back and finishes the job. He will come back, he promised himself. Even if he has to be a beggar in Thailand for years, he promised that he would come back for that boy.

He would get his revenge for his only daughter and skin that bastard Azlan alive. If only he had hit the right kid.

“Wrong boy Hassan. Wrong boy,”

_________________________________________________________________________________

IPOH: The suspect for the hit and run case in that killed a student in front of a school in Subang two days ago was found dead last night on Jalan Maling with a large amount of drugs in his possession. He was found by the locals in a location more than 200 kilometres from where he lives, and declared to be dead due to overdosing on drugs by Assistant Commissioner Chu Kai Sok.

"This is an example of a good connection within the police," according to him.

He was first missing from his house after he called the police, informing that his daughter had just committed suicide. He was then involved in an accident in front of SMK Taman Indah that killed Amir Hafiz bin Khalid Romzi, 15 and escaped from the scene in a Proton Waja.

He is suspected to be under the influence of drugs during the accident. According to the neighbors, he worked night shift most of the time and used the drugs to help him stay up. His daughter's suicide is said to be caused by the depression due to his recent divorce.

_________________________________________________________________________________

"These reporters are so fucking good. Right? And believe me they know how to get paid right too,"

"I was thinking about killing you along with him boy, but you really remind me of Amir every time I look at you,"

"Whiskey? You?" Datuk Khalid's voice then echoes on and on in the spacious office. The two other people in it never said anything yet.

Inspector Wahab nods. Maybe some whisky can help him to forget what happened last night. He needs a clear mind to plan his dream retirement.

Azlan keeps on running his dead eyes on the article again and again while ignoring Datuk Khalid. He is now aware of the fact that it doesn’t matter if he tells everyone the truth, everyone would still believe what is written in the newspaper. Hell, they would cite it. He should have said thank you to Datuk Khalid as his mother told him to, but he doubts that he would remember it when he got sober.

"Everyone is a killer. Mine is just an unfortunate accident,"

"I did not just kill three people. I did not kill Amir. I’m innocent for God sake,”

He put down the newspaper, and shifts his gaze towards the book racks. He then tries to make meaning out of the scattered vertical titles on his left.

"What's his name Wahab? Hassan right?" Inspector Wahab nods again as he put down his now empty glass.

"I asked him kid, why did you kill my son? Before he even answered I stepped on his face again and again until I realized I was jumping on him! Like on a trampoline you know? His ribs caved in when they picked him up! Feels good you know. Feels good,"

"No guns kid. No guns, just plain old hiking boots"
"Can you believe that he's walking to Thailand? Crazy right?"

"We were supposed to be in England now my son,"

And Datuk Khalid goes on and on.

Azlan finished his search for meaning in the book racks, and turn his head towards Datuk Khalid, and he sees what Amir would one day turns out to be, if he were destined to live long enough but he’s now dead before all that could happen. Datuk Khalid has drunkenly mistaken Azlan for Amir, as he slips deeper into the alcohol.

Inspector Wahab asks for another drink, as he tries not to think of how he could postpone his plan to sell his lands in Kedah. In another years maybe, for he now have more than what he planned for. Hell, with the money Datuk Khalid just paid him he could book a ticket to Mecca and never come back. Maybe the sight of the Kaabah would somehow help him to forget Hassan's face.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Hana can't stop looking at herself in the mirror. The diet plan she promoted on Facebook really works. The 3 kilos she just lost really shows.

"This is so much better than exercise," she turns around and around looking at her own reflection. Her young curves are now exactly in between perfections, as other girls had told her. She can't help not to notice how Amir was looking at her all the time, and she feels loved. But it is not Amir that she wants. She’s not into rich boys and their whole pompous charade.

After around half an hour worth of gossiping with her mum on the phone, she decided to take a bath before she gets to bed. As she feels the water dripping all over her, she tries her best not to think of Azlan and his majestic moves on the field.

It's like he had a third eye high in the sky, reading way before each of his opponents acts, mercilessly scoring goals after goals. One after another he takes everything from his inferior enemies and comrades. Goals after goals, like an angry god punishing weak mortals. When the whistle blows she would come running down the field towards him and celebrate his glory in his arms. Around them are their kids, miniature Azlans ranging from 3 to 9 years old.

The sound of the beeping rice cooker wakes Hana up from her midnight daydream. She then scrutinize the food in the refrigerator to make sure that it would still be good when his dad got back from his night shift. After double checking the locks on her front door, she sprints with all her might towards her bedroom and dives into her bed. As she lifts her laptop onto her tummy, she notices a notification icon on her Facebook, and her heart stops beating for a fracture of a second.

"Azlan Rooney,"

this place is okay, but

Yesterday they took me to the 3rd.

Tonight they took me to the 4th.

Sometimes these stairs
would never end,
they never let me go.
This place is strange, I know.

By how the walls are whispering,
plotting in our sleep, pulsing
like flesh.

By how the ants are marching,
drowning in our kettles, screaming
for salvation.

By how the trees are laughing,
cursing in our corridors, crying
into the towering bonfire
burning, breathing,
dancing

on the 999th floor
watching the fate of all
beginning and ends
all ways to turn back.

Sometimes these stairs
would never end.
Sometimes you need to
help
me.

to stab without asking(?)

In the final year, he realized
that whats in his skull
was never born here.
It was, but it despise the peninsula
so much for the heat and idiots
and made his tongue bent,
his keyboards clacking
to the ways of people who once fucked
this land like their whores.
But what in his skull
gives no shit
for it does not belong
to the laughter while raja lawak is on
or to the patrons of titles
which begins with the word 'suamiku'.
It has been cleansed from all the filth
of this small clan of racists,
even though these disgusting idiots
and the heat is all that he ever knew.

But in the final year too
he realize that whats in his skull
could never be able to resist the sedating weave 

of glides and trills ringing in it,
and all the possible ways for the lines

to tell him something more,

the more he said it to her.
Again and again.

"Menikam tidak bertanya
Bertanya tidak menikam"

or whatever the line is
and for once what in his skull
are glad that it is able to think
in the tongue of the idiots he despise.
And whats in his heart
would bend tongue
and clack keyboards
to the ways of the cursed peninsula.

Bertanya tidak menikam
Menikam tidak bertanya.

mike and kirk against the world

"So em. You just lie down for 8 hours and do nothing?" Kirkunoia or whatever his name asked again for god knows how many times he had asked me the same question.

"Yes. I need to sleep now or else my mum's gonna know that I've been up all night when she tries to wake me up in the morning. I got a quiz tomorrow, then I'll come home and bring you to the library. Now lets go to sleep Kirk. Goodnight"

"Lying down like this for more than 5 hours will slow down the flow of the fluids in my body, and its not good for my system in the long run. Why do human need to do this? Can you tell me the reason Mike" oh my god.

"Kirk. Just close your eyes. Its 2 already"

_____________________________________________________________________________

---

"Mike. Mike. Are you unconscious? I can feel your heartbeat but your brainwave suggest that it is in an inactive state" what the fuck. I cant see the clock. My eyes are too blurry.

"Is it okay to stay like this? I can't actually defend both of us in my current state. I think we both need to stay alert when it is dark outside"

"What the fuck Kirk. What the fuck. Its only 3 and I got quiz tomorrow you freaking blob. My mums gonna kill me if she hear us talking and we gonna have to let the military take you and chop you to pieces in their lab. So just shut the fuck up, close your eyes, and go get some fucking sleep you ugly little shit" there, I said it. Hope Kirk knew already that ugliness is a subjective thing. He begin to make this weird expression on his face- if you could call it a face- as if he desperately tries to imitate human's sad expression. He failed in my opinion. Okay, okay. I know I'm being too harsh on him but its 3 AM for god sake.

"Ok Kirk. Promise me that we're gonna sleep after this"

"Promise?" Kirk nods. Of all things, this guy surely is a fast learner.

"Ehem. Here, on earth we have this thing called sleep, which what I was doing when you woke me up just now. All living things, ughghg animals, need to get themselves some good hours of rest for themselves after a long day of hard work. Cats, dogs, birds, my mum, me. There is a big switch in our brain and we just enjoy turning it off at the end of the day. When we sleep we don't really give a shit about what is happening around us, we deal with things when we wake up the next day. We just don't give a shit okay? We can't see, hear, smell or feel anything but we just don't care. Hell, I wish I would be dead in my sleep one day because I wont feel anything then" Kirk nods again and again. I'm sure that he would have the general idea by now. Invasion is the best when we are sleeping.

"So any question before we go to sleep?"

"How do you guys do it?" I wanna die. Fuck this.

"Just count the sheep Kirk. One sheep, two sheep, three sheep. Do you know what a sheep is?" a tentacle sprout from Kirk's head, and like in all the movies I just accept my death.

"Oh my god Kirk. What the fuck is that I'm sorry Kirk. DONT KILL ME I'M SORRYY!!!!!!!

_____________________________________________________________________________

---

I woke up after a few knocks on the door. I had the weirdest dream last night I feel like I never sleep. I remove the disgusting giant suction cup on my head made of one of Kirk's limb and wake him up. He's not waking up after the first try so I decided to draw something on his face, celebrating his first time having a sleep. This could be a breakthrough for his kind. I'm not sure if he had the same dream I had last night.

"What" he looks totally different. Like he had lose all the life in his eyes, all sucked away from last night.

"Are you okay Kirk? You look different" like somebody who just got the worse hangover ever.

"Why do we have to wake up. I don't want to wake up. Lets get back to sleep Mike" "I can't get up I am already used to levitating"

"I can't Kirk. I got a quiz, then we can go to the library"

"Library can go to hell" what?

"Lets get back to sleep Mike"

4th wall? Never heard of it.

God is never a good writer. Imagine having to write, God-knows how many stories, one could be unable to handle all the expectations and deadlines even if he is the ultimate being. Too busy with his work, he created a formula. A simple, repeatable formula that would produce billions and billions of "unique" stories by changing a few bits here and there. Switch the gender, pick a new place, different time and wohoo here's your insignificant snowflake of life. It starts from the womb and end with your death. Nothing more than that except for some anomalies that would bring you a Nobel Prize or having you leading a genocide, but most of the time you'll end up being an average human. Eat, sleep, fuck and die. The writer can sit back in his eternal holiday.

But like every mass produced goods, there must be some failed products doesn't matter if you're a God. But God, being as perfect as he is, rarely made a mistake as I had never in my whole lifetime met an unorthodox character like me. All of us are heroes in our own life, sidekicks to our friends, and villains to our enemies. Most of our genres are similar, typical human life ranging from comedy to tragedy. We all have our stages, we all have our time. But I am different. I had all the time. All the knowledge about the stages, the lights, the script, the storyline. Hell, I am the director. I was the only one able to watch all the shows, all the gags as it unfold in the same predictable sequence. It all ends with death.

From the moment I was born I knew when I was going to die. I live my death the first day I was born, and have it all on reverse in a day. I knew already how it feel and how it would made me feel, but I just need to do it. I wish it would make me feel human but it never. I am here, now and then. Swimming in all the directions in the river of time. Then I decided to play God, to change my life a bit here and there. I fucked with a lot of things again and again. The sequence, the people, the place. I had all the time in my life to do all the things I can.

I made my parents move to all the countries, even though I knew I can't find God. I've married countless women for the hope that my kids would inherit my anomaly, but they never did. I've tried every different religion I could find, but no God could help me escape this endless loop. I've lead wars on every continent. I've found cure for cosmic cancer in Mars. I've live a life doing nothing but lying down on my bed pretending I'm retarded. I've destroyed earth three times in different nuclear wars. I've lead the biggest drug cartel world has ever seen. I've travel beyond the flow and become a god in different times, until I left a permanent mark causing men from different corners of earth to seek about the truth of who am I. Then I erased it all and starts again from the womb.

After, God-knows how many times I start to wonder what do they see when they are dead. What do they get for all their lies. How do they pay for all their sins because I would never know. I could never see afterlife because my life never ends. Its just another curtain fall and another play for the day. I wish that I am God, but I've always knew I'm not. Because if I am, I could have the choice to end this. I don't.

the island

The captain was always a calm man even in the worst storm, but tonight he wish he was never a sailor. Something is not right with this storm. They left the island this morning in the sight of a clear sky and calm water, but now the giant mass of wood and sails is rocking back and forth in this saltwater hell. Last night's storm was one of a kind. Out of season, vicious, but kind enough to lead them to the island. The old cabin they spent the night was miraculously made for all 30 of them, with a room on the second floor for the captain. It could once be a library he thought, a room with a big window facing the sea with countless of ageing books and journals neatly placed in dusty racks. His heart was easy last night, but he know something is not right about this second storm. This is not the worst storm he ever had. This is just the same one as yesterday.

"Captain!! North-east!!!"

He brings out his spyglass under the pouring water, and the sight of the cabin lay upon him. Two seconds was enough to break his mind. Was his eyes playing a trick on him or what he see is the actual truth? He put down the spyglass and curse at fate. The faces of his crews tells him that they won't pass this raging beast tonight. Is the storm bringing them back in a circle? Or the ship had never actually leave the shore? He never wanted to know the answer but he know that his 30 mates are not gonna be at the bottom of the sea tonight.

"That fucking island! We're going back to that cunt!" his voice is calm but his heart is as troubled as the sea that is strangling the life out of the ship.

"Prepare your swords my mates. All of them. The library I slept, I swear by the seven gods there's a woman waving at me from the window"

sorry to disappoint you

This poem is supposed to be depressing

if it can't be a good one,

but I haven't written for so long

and I had forgotten how to.

I wonder, should this poem be short

as one's dying breath

or as long as his poignant life.

A meaningless appearance

credited by a brief eulogy-

I don't know,

I haven't written for so long

and I had forgotten how to.

This poem is supposed to be depressing

but I haven't been depressed for awhile.

Well of course it's a good thing

for me, but not for this poem

as right now I'm trying so hard

to remember funerals,

dead friends and sad movies.

And using words

such as poignant and eulogy

doesn't seem to help.

This is not depressing.

This is not even a poem.

archangel

burial-archangel

holiday (thank fuck)

Frigid wind passing through
overlapping layers of damp laundry.
Fake curtains for a temporary room.
God bless these rainy mountains,
I don't mind if I'm buried here.

Sighs won't stop this bed from getting colder.
Stares won't hide those dust coated books.
Worries won't finish these never started tasks.
And all we ask for is more sleep,
and more strength to stay awake.
Maybe a bit more time to waste?
If death sneaks in between thunder and lightning,
would it be for the worst or the best?

God bless these rainy mountains,
I really don't mind if I'm buried here.