another unfinished story

this was meant to be a version of Alice in Wonderland but I never got around to finishing it :D





And here I was, at a loss for words, for the nth time. A wave of nausea washes over my overheating grey matter as I try to decode the answer to the problem. Usually I embraced maths questions as one might approach the Loch Ness monster or Hannibal Lector. Needless to say, numbers were not my thing. The clock ticks on, valiantly, marking down each second that I am spending on a simple equation as I begin to hear a crescendo of sniggers from the back of the classroom. The clock face morphs into a mask of mockery, laughing at my pathetic attempts. Its clownish face grinned at me without even a slight trace of sympathy
In my desperation I turn my eyes onto my friend who, like me, obviously had no idea what to do. She shrugged and mouthed words I couldn’t distinguish-maybe a prayer in French?, meanwhile making eccentric gestures towards the far side of the room. I turned my irises towards heaven, hoping for some form of divine enlightenment. To my utter surprise none came.
I gave up my futile struggle of trying to make head or tail of the matter. Clicking my heels “Case closed Sir!” I announced proudly at the teacher, who frowned at me, as per usual. The class joker who didn’t have the slightest idea about maths, I swear I could hear him think. In fact, if I were to be completely honest, I think I might be clairvoyant.
Who am I? Take your typical teen and mix it with an overdose of television, a pinch of adolescent rebellion (says my parents, who evidently adore me) and a total deprivation of brain-cells. My friends think I’m the funniest thing that’s happened since Scary Movie 3. My siblings, all older, wiser than me, watch me with distain and avoid speaking directly to me. “Where did the boy go today?”, they would ask my parents if they wanted to know the details of my (largely exciting) days.
A lot of the time I’m just clueless, really. As a child I had trouble with the most basic skills. A teacher would say “run left”, and I would amble, as fast as my small legs would carry me, to the right, then ponder for some time before realising I was on the opposite side of the room, while everyone else laughed at me. I really can’t say much has changed since those days. Sure, my sense of direction has improved by a fraction, but I still have no idea what a fraction actually is.
Apologies, I dwell on trivial information. None of this actually matters in the story I’m about to share with you, readers and innocent bystanders alike.
It was on this predictable note that I started my day on the 4th of November 2001. I finished my normal routine of reluctant teeth-scrubbing, bedmaking and breakfast consumption-Nothing out of the ordinary, no suicide bombers, or anything of that sort-just your average humdrum day in a big city.
On the way out of the front porch I was vaguely greeted by my parents. My sisters didn’t even bother rotating their necks to see me out. As I strolled to school I tried to think of a happy colour, one that would help me get through the day. I didn’t like the look of the sky that day, slightly champagne-tinged with bits of blue shot through the misty atmosphere. Global warming must really be getting to my city.
Even today, I debate with myself what then materialised. Out of the alleyway one block from school, a tiny creature emerged and blinked furiously at me. At a closer glance it was a black hare, which is very peculiar, for these animals usually lived in remote countryside areas-one of the only things I learnt from biology. The hare piqued my curiosity in a very profound manner, so of course I let my curiosity take the lead, and thus began my journey of following the hare. It kept turning around, almost as if making sure I was still pursuing it. For a moment I thought maybe I had let my imagination run too wild, or maybe I was experiencing the effects of noxious exhaust fumes. But alas, no. I looked again for its rabbity ears, and there it was, silently gazing at me with soulful brown eyes, waiting for me to make a move. I had a strong urge to catch the hare and prod it with a stick to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Being the sensible adolescent I was, I decided against committing such a crime, in fear of upsetting wildlife authorities. You see, I was a good boy, despite what my teachers thought of me.
The rabbit beckoned (yes, beckoned with its ears) me towards a manhole in the patchy foot path, then hopped in casually. I was a bit unsure about putting myself in a sticky situation-spending a school day in the sewers didn’t sound too appealing-but what the heck, I could probably learn something from a field trip in the underground, visiting the despised denizens of the city.
I climbed tentatively down the grimy, slippery metal ladder into the underworld, counting out each rung aloud as I descended. The gaping black hole seemed to be neverending. One hundred-and-fifty, one- hundred-and-fifty-five, one-hundred-and-sixty? I was flabbergasted. I had been climbing down for an age, and I was still no closer to terra firma than I had been half an hour ago, and the hare was nowhere in sight, as far as night vision goes. Fancy that, a fathomless hole! I thought to myself, then realised the dire situation. A sense of doom prevailed upon me. Should I continue to shimmy down in hopes of reaching the depths of the manhole? Or should forget the bravado that would accompany such a feat and escape while I was still given the chance? I had reached the pinnacle of my indecision when the walls of the sewers began to pulse with an eerie, jelly-green light, the kind of radioactive shimmer that you see on cartoons. Gingerly, I reached out and touched the surface with my fingertips. I was startled by the smooth, warm texture. I did not picture a sewage system to be spotless. That’s when I noticed another idiosyncrasy was that I couldn’t smell anything. Not. A. Thing. Sewers are supposed to stink, right?
To say I was frightened at that instant would be an understatement. I was petrified, frozen and had absolutely no idea what might happen next. The only sound I could hear was my respiration echoing off the luminescent wall, and the frantic scrabbling my fingernails made on the cold metal ladder. Where was the stupid hare when you needed it? I started using expletives under my breath, then stopped abruptly as I detected a black object darting nonchalantly amongst the menacing throb of light.
I felt a spiralling sensation in my head and found that I could not remain upright any longer. Then there was blackness. I could not see my finger nor touch my toes. When I awoke from my sudden unconsciousness, the horizon had turned into a dark, bleak line. Someone tapped me lightly on the arm. I turned around to find a small man dressed in entirely in black and white. He sported a ridiculously large moustache that threatened to smother his chin.
“You’re trespassing after curfew hours!’ said he in a singsong voice. This auspicious man clearly was not affected by the puritanical air that hung over the two of us like an ominous cloud on a stormy night, “I could care less, my good monochromatic friend.” I replied sardonically. Prancing around a fairytale land for more than sixteen hours can turn any sane soul sour.
An austere, metallic woman stepped in our derelict line. She was decked out in a red, tarty gown that defeated the ‘less is more’ idiom.
Nearby there were two people squabbling furiously. On one of the foreheads was printed T1 in red ink, while the other had T2 in blue ink scrawled on. I thought maybe I had wandered upon a children’s television set, as the pair were practically doppelgangers for the lovely Banana in Pyjamas I so loved as a toddler. I sidled from the two lunatics quietly.
“How dare you compare me to a lowly caterpillar?” he cried indignantly.
“I am no caterpillar, or anything of the kind.” He paused here for theatrical effect.
“I am a Book-worm!” As if to prove his point, he bent down, all 300 pounds of him, segmented rolls and all, to retrieve one of the paperbound items on the floor. To my alarm and disgust, he began to gnaw on the book that proudly displayed “How to---lose 20 kilos in 10 days”. Before I could protest, the title slowly disappeared from my eyes, then the blurb, leaving the now lonely back cover, which floated gently down to the ground carried by a supernatural breeze. He then proceeded onto removing a tiny toothpick from one of his fatty pads. I lost it then.
“You are by far the most repulsive thing I have ever set my eyes on! How can you eat books? Obviously you’re illiterate or belong to the Republican party!” I screeched.
He appeared to contemplate for half a minute, then replied to my taunting in an agonizingly slow manner.
“So it’s all right for you and your fellow humans to slaughter flesh and blood for so-called ‘nutrition’, but unacceptable for me, (big-boned as I may be) to chew up a relatively small section of a tree? Herbivores have to live, too, you know.”
*stunned silence from my end*---actually, no, I babbled a few incoherent words before hastily shutting my mouth. Another noise behind me almost caused me to jump out of my skin. A little pixie-like girl was sniggering, apparently at what I had said.
I glanced over at my little stalker. At closer inspection (despite the fuzziness of her apparition), I could immediately make out the thin blonde strands of hair that crowned her face like a halo. What struck me as unusual was that her hairstyle seemed a wee bit outdated, as with her outfit---a knee-length blue frock. It resembled something my grandmother wore in her photos. “Back in my day, children were expected to dress properly, none of this ‘crop top’ nonsense,” she had told my sisters.
Curiosity had the best of me again, so I tried talking to her, seeing as she seemed to be the only voice that accompanied a human body. “What’s your name, little girl?” (as you can see, I was not the most tactile person in those days). She ignored me, so I thought perhaps she hadn’t heard me. I repeated my question, raising my voice just a cinch more. She stared back at me blankly with her blue doll-eyes. I was about to ask again when she spoke.
“My name is Alice,” she said in a childish lisp, prolonging her weird stare at me. She began giggling with amusement. I didn’t quite see the humour, but I thought I would entertain her, if only just to get some vital information regarding my whereabouts. “So, Alice, where are your parents?” She breaks into a ditty…I shook my head in despair, it was as if I had entered a musical nightmare, surrounded by a cast hand-picked from the asylum.

the beginnings of another story?

The leaf floated gracefully towards earth, propelled by the light autumn breeze. The Leaf was no different from any other ordinary leaf people come across on the footpaths on the main street. Brown blemishes dotted the entire surface of the leaf, along with its marked lines, visibly showing its age. Perhaps it was a maple leaf, but no-one really knew.

old story (written in 2006)

Nostalgia

Leaning against the weather-worn rails, I stared angrily towards the ashen skyline. Nothing had changed; the beach, the tree and the sand was still in the same place, yet everything was so drastically different. A lot had changed in the past few years. The familiar shores were filled with an air of melancholy. The harbour looked inanimate, like a movie freeze-frame. I remembered a time when the sea glittered during the brief hours of sunlight, and glow when the moon cast its radiance over the waters. But now, it had the look of a brooding child, silent and secretive. The monochromatic clouds draped low, as they were a thick, smothering blanket. The majestic Kauri tree used to stand unwavering, even during the harshest of gales. And now, it was reduced to a bare stump. I doubt it would survive the next storm.
I crossed the old boardwalk tentatively. It was overgrown with green, twirling moss clawing its way through the creaky wooden boards. The familiar landscape brought back shards of memories from days long gone.
Laughter and dazzling sunlight filled the air. The mere sigh was mesmorising. The waters were a pure blue, unblemished by urban pollution and careless visitors. I could literally taste the energy and anticipation surrounding me. The sunlight streamed through the tree branches. Spots of white light danced amongst the shadows of the Kauri leaves
All that was left now was the overwhelming emptiness. The trees had long since abandoned their coat of green leaves, leaving behind only the gnarled, almost macabre twigs and grotesque looking tree trunks and an excess of peeling bark. The beach was transformed into a barren place, devoid of seashells, but filled with infinite specks of sand. The wind whispered no more; the cicadas’ song was only a passing thought. The only voice left was the suffocating silence, even that in itself was frustrating. A droplet of rain now fell and trickled slowly down to my sneakers;. More followed. It seemed like they, too, were mourning for an irreplaceable loss. The murmur of wind that had only begun a few moments before now swelled into a vehement, hateful howl. And there I stood, alone. Amidst all the frenzy created by the incoming storm, I was brought back to reminiscence. The images beckoned me towards a time when we were children, naïve but carefree.
Outlines of the desolate scenery blurred as once again the vibrant colours appeared. As if I was in a dream, I saw children playing chase, giggling. The atmosphere was saturated with excitement. I waded through the thick long grass as fast as I could, stopping only to catch a breath. The aroma of barbecued pork filled my nose as I staggered towards the picnic area.
After the hearty meal we discovered some sea snails lying on the shoreline. Their hard shells made them an ideal object to throw at each other. Each time the shells hit the target, a jet of water would be released. By the end of the day our clothes were soaked through with stinky seawater
Looking back now, it seems like the good times were probably only a façade. Our innocence shielded us like a veil, which eventually wore away to reveal the miserable truth. The seemingly impenetrable barrier dissolved in front of our eyes, pushing us reluctantly onto the ugly, lonesome path to the so-called ‘growing up’; the complex world of adulthood. We were children once, but time had caught up with us, leaving behind ghosts filled with old memories. True, we could look back at the photographs, but they could never recapture the joy, for they are still made of paper, which is insubstantial and flimsy; they could never illustrate the emotions we feel.
The sickening smell of wet sand brought my head back to reality pretty quickly though. The unforgiving wind seeped through my thick jersey and into my skin, cutting into my nerves, my veins like a bloodthirsty knife. A small puddle of rainwater collected at my feet. Reflected in the puddle was my face, pale and tired. The footprints I left imprinted in the damp sand were now being washed out by the incoming tide.
I scooped up a handful of icy sand and hurled it into the grey waters, watching closely as it settled quietly into the depths , without so much as a ripple or splash. Feeling shattered, I walked back home, turning my back from the sad waters, leaving it all behind me.

wow, look, it's a new entry!

You know they always say that the calm precedes the storm, right? well, I beg to

differ. The calm is what follows that storm, the overbearing silence at the end

of a relationship, the frigidity of the expressions. Think of the storm as a

supernova, eternally ablaze. The

explosion occurs unexpectedly, a burst of neurosis spreading and becoming a

raging inferno you could no longer control. waterworks won't extinguish those

words.
what's left is the cold loneliness, the haunting regrets that keep you awake at

night. the gestures you never made, the words that stuck to the back of your throat, the dreams that were never realised.

the calm is like a glass shield, you can see the life beyond it but

something stops you from reaching out. It isn't palpable. You exhale and people see your breath

fogging up the panes but are never able to share your isolation. the past eats

away your present until there's nothing except a hardened shell remaining. You

start to wear your shell like a plastic raincoat, bright colours running through each seam. no rain seeps through its pores, no heat escapes past the

lacquered surface. people begin to admire your unusual taste in clothes and one

day some nice person asks you politely, mind you, if they could borrow your

marvellous coat. you think about it for a moment and decides there's no harm in

being generous. you say, why not, go for it. the person talks about their

mundane life and the little habits other people have that irk them, and you

start to think maybe you could be friends, seeing as you both have compatiable

starsigns. one thing leads to another and soon you're sharing coffee, dinner,

sunny-side up eggs and toast with them. You savour the delicious taste of love

and bumble around your delirium. You don't realise you've gone too far again

until winter hits the city and the windblown leaves flies into your eyes, but by

then your raincoat's been lost, and storm season stalks around the corner. Your

eyes have turned glassy again, because what you thought was yours forever has become shredded like the

piles of autumnal leaves on the pavement.