IMAGINE A WORLD LIKE THIS: NO CONFLICTS, NO DISPUTES, NO WARS, NO RIOTS, NO ECONOMIC RECESSIONS, NO HOMELESS PEOPLE, NO STRAVATION, NO FAMINE, NO FLOODING, NO DROUGHTS, NO FOREST FIRES, NO HURRICANES, NO SOIL EROSION, NO DEFORESTATION, NO PROPAGANDA, NO TERRORISM, NO STRESS, NO HUMAN MASSACRES, NO TEENAGE PREGNANCIES, NO GLOBAL ILLITERACY, NO GLOBAL WARMING, NO NUCLER WEAPONS, NO PROSTITUTION, NO SMUGGLING, NO INCEST, NO SLAVERY, NO ROBBING, NO CRIMES, NO MURDER, NO ILLNESS, NO PSYCOPATHES...
PERHAPS you notice that there’s a lot more NOs…
MAYBE NOs are not so bad…
Check up this story: NO… (upcoming)
Cheers, Ori
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Justice
Hi! This piece was actually an essay that I had to write for schoolwork. But I modified it a little and decided to post it up here. Although this piece touches on the issue of terrorism, I'm not criticising the US government or condeming the terrorist themselves. Instead, I'm just writing it from a different point of view, which i think is interesting and worth exploring. So, without further ado...
JUSTICE
The cold Alaskan wilderness was a miserable place to be, especially if one was wet, hungry and all alone, the howling north wind swept across the land, invading every crook and cranny that a fellow might huddle to get a little warmth. Ice needles driven at high speed stung any exposed flesh. Mohammad gritted his teeth against the pains in his back and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the next. His mind churned with fragments of thought and memories, all hazy through the layer of pain and anger. One thought kept him going: the sweet taste of justice.
Up ahead he saw the faint lights of the research station glimmering softly in the distance. He hosted the backpack higher on his shoulders and quickened his footsteps, anticipation running through his veins. As he neared the station, his heart began to beat loudly in his chest. This was it. There is no turning back. He nervously fingered the laminated card in his pocket. At the entrance, he flashed the fake pass quickly at the two guards and nodded his thanks as they open the steel plated doors for him. Inside, he heaved a relieved sign and made his way slowly through the winding maze of corridors, grateful of the encompassing warmth. His gaze settled on the steel walls of the station and involuntarily, his thoughts flew back to a different set of walls, coated with layers of grime and blood and sweat. Rusty iron chains swung from rings embedded in those walls, the echoes of silent screams and the memory of suffering still lingered within. Thousands of his people were forced against their will to bow before their enemy right at that very spot.
At those recollections, Mohammad’s anger boiled over, his hands clenched into fists and his whole body shook. How dare they invade his nation! How dare they lock him up in his own prison! They claimed to be agents of god, to bring freedom to the people from their dominating ruler. Mohammad scoffed at their impertinence. They say they are wielding the hands of justice, but in truth they are the wicked, they are the unlawful. They marched onto Iraqi soil and claim it as theirs; they murder brutally and use their terrible weaponry to commit immoral acts. They are the true villains. Now, he shall show them the true hands of justice, the Lord shall punish those who wrought power with bias hands, who sought only to fulfill their unquenchable thirst for more power, and he, Mohammad shall be the Lord’s tool.
Navigating the hallways was not hard, but to get to his destination, he had to mingle into the crowd. Doorways to rooms of numerous proportions lined the corridors. Scientists in sterile white lab coats and equally gleaming gloves walk in and out. Others were dressed in day clothes, obviously going to their living quarters. Mohammad breathe deeply, the stale smell of artificially purified air filled his lungs and calmed his raging nerves. He ignored the sounds of quiet conversations and pictured in his mind the 3D map of the research station that he had memorized the night before. Allowing his mental compass to guild his feet, he strode forward, purposefully and determinedly. In less than a minute, he found himself facing the silver door engraved with the words: Engine Room.
He pushed open the door and entered. Several workers wearing the same suit of overalls minus the thick fur coat looked up as he entered, but seeing the uniform, they quickly lost interest and returned to their work. Mohammad walked to an empty workspace and put down his backpack. Working quickly, he drew out a slick metal cylinder about the length and diameter of his arm and a small black device which he fitted into a slit on the cylinder.
Mohammad took a quick look around, no one was watching. Adrenaline was pumping through his blood, heightening his senses. He had never been this aware of his surroundings before. He glanced around, drinking in the sharpened images and feeling the cool beads of sweat on his skin. His heart was beating strongly and quickly and he marveled at the ingenious design of nature. Images of his wife and children flashed across his eyes. He looked back down at the device in his hand and whispered a word as he pressed it twice. “Justice.” Idly he wondered at the fragility of life. It was his last thought before his world became a blaze of white heat and then nothing.
It was in the news the next day: Research Station in Alaska, Blown to Oblivion by Suicide Bomber. A suicide bomber sneaked into the Alaskan Nuclear Research Station after falsifying his identity and planted a bomb in the engine room. He triggered the bomb at 2301 last night and killed himself along with 212 people in the facility. 16 personals escaped, suffering from sever frost bite and exposure to the harsh Alaskan winter. The research station itself was completely destroyed, causing millions of dollars in damage due to the state-of-the-art equipment invested by the US government…
The justice of one man brought down 212 others; he thought that he was justified in the cause, but what about the families of those 212 innocents who died that night? Who will they go to for justice rightfully theirs? Who will be the next victim of ‘justice’ in this war between terrorists and the world? Will it ever end? This justice of theirs is just a mask for the deeper, uglier motives of greed, selfishness and a twisted desire for power. Will you let them continue? Will you let these people playing god throw your lives around like toys? That is a question only you can answer.
FIN
Well, I hope this story has invoked some of your thoughts. Please do feel free to share your views. In fact I would love it if you could spare a moment for two to just type a little something here. Thanks for reading. Ori and I really appreciate it.
Love, Pyro.
JUSTICE
The cold Alaskan wilderness was a miserable place to be, especially if one was wet, hungry and all alone, the howling north wind swept across the land, invading every crook and cranny that a fellow might huddle to get a little warmth. Ice needles driven at high speed stung any exposed flesh. Mohammad gritted his teeth against the pains in his back and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the next. His mind churned with fragments of thought and memories, all hazy through the layer of pain and anger. One thought kept him going: the sweet taste of justice.
Up ahead he saw the faint lights of the research station glimmering softly in the distance. He hosted the backpack higher on his shoulders and quickened his footsteps, anticipation running through his veins. As he neared the station, his heart began to beat loudly in his chest. This was it. There is no turning back. He nervously fingered the laminated card in his pocket. At the entrance, he flashed the fake pass quickly at the two guards and nodded his thanks as they open the steel plated doors for him. Inside, he heaved a relieved sign and made his way slowly through the winding maze of corridors, grateful of the encompassing warmth. His gaze settled on the steel walls of the station and involuntarily, his thoughts flew back to a different set of walls, coated with layers of grime and blood and sweat. Rusty iron chains swung from rings embedded in those walls, the echoes of silent screams and the memory of suffering still lingered within. Thousands of his people were forced against their will to bow before their enemy right at that very spot.
At those recollections, Mohammad’s anger boiled over, his hands clenched into fists and his whole body shook. How dare they invade his nation! How dare they lock him up in his own prison! They claimed to be agents of god, to bring freedom to the people from their dominating ruler. Mohammad scoffed at their impertinence. They say they are wielding the hands of justice, but in truth they are the wicked, they are the unlawful. They marched onto Iraqi soil and claim it as theirs; they murder brutally and use their terrible weaponry to commit immoral acts. They are the true villains. Now, he shall show them the true hands of justice, the Lord shall punish those who wrought power with bias hands, who sought only to fulfill their unquenchable thirst for more power, and he, Mohammad shall be the Lord’s tool.
Navigating the hallways was not hard, but to get to his destination, he had to mingle into the crowd. Doorways to rooms of numerous proportions lined the corridors. Scientists in sterile white lab coats and equally gleaming gloves walk in and out. Others were dressed in day clothes, obviously going to their living quarters. Mohammad breathe deeply, the stale smell of artificially purified air filled his lungs and calmed his raging nerves. He ignored the sounds of quiet conversations and pictured in his mind the 3D map of the research station that he had memorized the night before. Allowing his mental compass to guild his feet, he strode forward, purposefully and determinedly. In less than a minute, he found himself facing the silver door engraved with the words: Engine Room.
He pushed open the door and entered. Several workers wearing the same suit of overalls minus the thick fur coat looked up as he entered, but seeing the uniform, they quickly lost interest and returned to their work. Mohammad walked to an empty workspace and put down his backpack. Working quickly, he drew out a slick metal cylinder about the length and diameter of his arm and a small black device which he fitted into a slit on the cylinder.
Mohammad took a quick look around, no one was watching. Adrenaline was pumping through his blood, heightening his senses. He had never been this aware of his surroundings before. He glanced around, drinking in the sharpened images and feeling the cool beads of sweat on his skin. His heart was beating strongly and quickly and he marveled at the ingenious design of nature. Images of his wife and children flashed across his eyes. He looked back down at the device in his hand and whispered a word as he pressed it twice. “Justice.” Idly he wondered at the fragility of life. It was his last thought before his world became a blaze of white heat and then nothing.
It was in the news the next day: Research Station in Alaska, Blown to Oblivion by Suicide Bomber. A suicide bomber sneaked into the Alaskan Nuclear Research Station after falsifying his identity and planted a bomb in the engine room. He triggered the bomb at 2301 last night and killed himself along with 212 people in the facility. 16 personals escaped, suffering from sever frost bite and exposure to the harsh Alaskan winter. The research station itself was completely destroyed, causing millions of dollars in damage due to the state-of-the-art equipment invested by the US government…
The justice of one man brought down 212 others; he thought that he was justified in the cause, but what about the families of those 212 innocents who died that night? Who will they go to for justice rightfully theirs? Who will be the next victim of ‘justice’ in this war between terrorists and the world? Will it ever end? This justice of theirs is just a mask for the deeper, uglier motives of greed, selfishness and a twisted desire for power. Will you let them continue? Will you let these people playing god throw your lives around like toys? That is a question only you can answer.
FIN
Well, I hope this story has invoked some of your thoughts. Please do feel free to share your views. In fact I would love it if you could spare a moment for two to just type a little something here. Thanks for reading. Ori and I really appreciate it.
Love, Pyro.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
For Honour
Pyro here again! Am back this time with a Lord of the Ring's one-shot which I've written a long time ago. It also has been posted in fanfiction.net, so you can check that out of you want, but there really isn't much difference. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: All characters except my OC are Tolkien’s work, not mine.
For Honour
Tired of war, tired of pain and the never ending fear, he was weary of the same brown grassland, day after day. Of blood spilled from friend and foe alike, all red, and warm and gore. Battle after battle, fight after fight. Pain. Blood. Fear. War.
Many of his comrades in arms were dead and in his heart he knew he was next. To fend off the orcs, Rohan’s treasury had been emptied, the blood of its men staining the ground around and inside the Hornburg a muddy red. The very soul of the troops had been sucked dry. The siege was almost over. All was lost.
Then, on the dawning of the day, a white rider came with the sun. With him were two thousand strong, fresh troops that had come to the aid of Rohan. At the glimpse of hope, the men trapped in the city gathered for the last ride. Lead by their King, they mounted their weary steeds and the Horn of Helm’s Deep blew forth once more. Never had it sound so pure and strong as than faithful day. Never were the men quite as without fear as that day. They were destined to triumph, and so they did. They poured out of the Glittering Caves screaming their war cries and charged all the way to Helm’s Dike, slashing and hacking as they went.
They triumphed that day. It was only later; when it was over and they were safely at Meduseld again did this warrior awake from his terrible nightmare. For half the night, he sobbed. He cried for his comrades, he cried for the young men that perished under the cold night sky. He cried for himself, for having such foolish notions of honour. He thought that to fight well and without pity would bring him honour and raise his status up in his father’s eyes. Too late did it occur to him that without the skills of a warrior, going into battle would be suicide.
His father was a battle hardened warrior and all his life, Baldric had trained to fight. But he was a naughty and wild child and many times he ran away, to play and folic with his friends. Now, in the space of two days, his friends and father was dead.
Baldric buried his face in his hands and rocked on his hunches. Wild cries escaped from his throat as he fought a desperate battle within himself. His world churned around him and his heart felt like its being ripped into pieces. He felt betrayed. Where was this honour that his father always spoke about? His father had held to it like a prayer and it was because of this honour that he went to fight in the first place. He should have stayed in the caves with the others. And died like a coward? A small voice nagged at him. He would rather have gone down fighting than waste away from illness. In his heart he knew, but his mind would not let him let go of the guilt.
He dug his nails into his own flesh, not caring about the rivulets of blood that flow down his arms and pooled around his knees. From his kneeling position he collapsed backward. Until he was lying spread eagle on the freezing stone floor. He hit the ground with his fists. Letting his grieve, anger and frustration pour out. It was only after he exhausted himself, that he slept.
His pain and suffering was not unnoticed, for Lord Eomer was close and he had heard the mourning of Baldric. Lord Eomer was more than a leader of his men. He was their friend and companion. Thus, it was only natural that he went to comfort Baldric as best he could. Baldric was very young, only twenty and two, and Eomer swore to watch over him as an elder brother. However, when Eomer went to Baldric the next day, Baldric merely shook his head and strode away. Baldric would not accept sympathy from any one, for he had took it upon himself to punish himself in the form of guilt. He barely ate or slept, and when he did rest, nightmares haunted him. At night, he would immerse himself in hard liquor and lay as one dead till noon the following day. Eomer looked on with worry growing in his heart.
Eomer, being of sane mind, was wary about approaching Baldric. He was in a dangerous state right then and he was aggressive to any that so much as gave him a pitying glance. Eomer decided that he would go to his sister for help. So, one afternoon, he stopped to talk to Eowyn while he was going to dinner.
“Good afternoon, dear sister!”
Eowyn looked at him suspiciously. “When you are sweet as sugar, you usually want something, dear brother. So, what is it this time?” Eowyn remarked with an elegant eyebrow raised.
Eomer had the grace to look sheepish and said, “One of my warriors has been having a bad time. He lost both his father and his closest friends in the Battle of the Hornburg and he is taking it really hard. I tried to comfort him but he just did not want to be comforted. Since you were always the gentler one, I was wondering if you could… you know get him to feel better or something. I really don’t want to lose him in our next battle. He’s good and with so many people dying, we just can’t lose another one.”
“Since you have asked so nicely, I’ll try my best little brother.” Eowyn smiled and Eomer pulled her into a hug before walking away, feeling lighter than he had arrived.
Eowyn sighed and taking a stack of neatly folded clothes, walked to Baldric’s room. She knocked on the door and waited. Sound of shifting came and the door opened into a small crammed room. Baldric was surprised to see Eowyn and hesitated a moment before bowing and greeting her. Eowyn gently place her hand on is arm. Baldric glanced up with surprise.
“My brother told me about your loss. I am so sorry for you.” Eowyn said softly. At her words, Baldric stiffened.
“I do not wish to talk about it. The wound is still fresh in my heart.”
“This pain of losing someone close to your heart is unbearable, I know. But for the sake of everyone we must be strong enough to bear it. You are not the only one dealing with this kind of suffering, no matter what it may seem like to you. Baldric, you are a warrior; do not let this dominate you entire life. Fight.” Eowyn was speaking so quietly, she was almost whispering, but her voice rang with emotion and her eyes were red. Yes, she too knew of the pain of losing someone close. Her cousin had died but few weeks ago and the grief was still strong.
“Forgive me, my lady, but it feels like my heart is ripped out. I feel nothing but emptiness.” Baldric spoke hollowly. He started to close the door, but Eowyn stepped into his room and slide the door close behind her. She walked to the small table in the middle of the room and sat.
“I would like some tea, if you would” she said pointedly. Baldric was about to protest, but thought better about it and did his lady’s bidding.
Eowyn accepted a mug of tea and sat there silently. She knew that Baldric needed to release his thoughts and she was waiting for him to speak. Soon enough, he broke the silence.
“When we arrived at Helm’s Deep, I wanted my father to stay in the caves. I was afraid. Afraid that he was too old to fight, he had broken his legs once and he was left forever limping after that. He had actually already retired and wanted to do some farming, spent time with his beloved garden and he wanted me to take over his place in the Rohirrim. So I did. He always taught me to cherish life and that to fight of honour and my country was the only path a warrior should take.”
“But then, at Helm’s Deep, he refused to go into the caves with the rest of the elderly. He said that he would rather die fighting for his country than die cowering in the caves. I argued with him, but he wouldn’t listen. No, my father was stubborn and he took up his rusty sword and shield. He was my father, how could I refuse him?” Baldric paused and he swallowed hard before continuing. “I should have forced him… I should have! I saw him die right under my eyes... I was not able to reach him… I was too late! Then, my dear friend died too… He died to save me… Oh lord! It’s all my fault… I could’ve stopped it, but all I did was to stand there like an idiot or a fool! I could’ve saved them… I could’ve…” At this point, Baldric was sobbing brokenly. He covered his face with his hands and rocked back and forth on the ground.
Eowyn went to him and gave him a sisterly hug. She patted his back and gave him as much comfort as she could. When he finally released all his tears, he sat there for a long time, just thinking. And Eowyn sat with him, in silent memories of the ones who have gone.
It was evening when they uncurled and stood. Eowyn looked at Baldric and asked: “Are you alright?” Baldric nodded his head, still silent. Eowyn turned to go, just when she stepped out of his room, Baldric said in a low voice, “I know why my father had to go. He was fighting for his honour, to protect his country and loved ones. I know and I am proud to call him father. I too will fight, for honour, for my country but most of all I will fight for vengeance.”
The end
So once again R & R! Hope that you guys liked it.
Love, Pyro.
Disclaimer: All characters except my OC are Tolkien’s work, not mine.
For Honour
Tired of war, tired of pain and the never ending fear, he was weary of the same brown grassland, day after day. Of blood spilled from friend and foe alike, all red, and warm and gore. Battle after battle, fight after fight. Pain. Blood. Fear. War.
Many of his comrades in arms were dead and in his heart he knew he was next. To fend off the orcs, Rohan’s treasury had been emptied, the blood of its men staining the ground around and inside the Hornburg a muddy red. The very soul of the troops had been sucked dry. The siege was almost over. All was lost.
Then, on the dawning of the day, a white rider came with the sun. With him were two thousand strong, fresh troops that had come to the aid of Rohan. At the glimpse of hope, the men trapped in the city gathered for the last ride. Lead by their King, they mounted their weary steeds and the Horn of Helm’s Deep blew forth once more. Never had it sound so pure and strong as than faithful day. Never were the men quite as without fear as that day. They were destined to triumph, and so they did. They poured out of the Glittering Caves screaming their war cries and charged all the way to Helm’s Dike, slashing and hacking as they went.
They triumphed that day. It was only later; when it was over and they were safely at Meduseld again did this warrior awake from his terrible nightmare. For half the night, he sobbed. He cried for his comrades, he cried for the young men that perished under the cold night sky. He cried for himself, for having such foolish notions of honour. He thought that to fight well and without pity would bring him honour and raise his status up in his father’s eyes. Too late did it occur to him that without the skills of a warrior, going into battle would be suicide.
His father was a battle hardened warrior and all his life, Baldric had trained to fight. But he was a naughty and wild child and many times he ran away, to play and folic with his friends. Now, in the space of two days, his friends and father was dead.
Baldric buried his face in his hands and rocked on his hunches. Wild cries escaped from his throat as he fought a desperate battle within himself. His world churned around him and his heart felt like its being ripped into pieces. He felt betrayed. Where was this honour that his father always spoke about? His father had held to it like a prayer and it was because of this honour that he went to fight in the first place. He should have stayed in the caves with the others. And died like a coward? A small voice nagged at him. He would rather have gone down fighting than waste away from illness. In his heart he knew, but his mind would not let him let go of the guilt.
He dug his nails into his own flesh, not caring about the rivulets of blood that flow down his arms and pooled around his knees. From his kneeling position he collapsed backward. Until he was lying spread eagle on the freezing stone floor. He hit the ground with his fists. Letting his grieve, anger and frustration pour out. It was only after he exhausted himself, that he slept.
His pain and suffering was not unnoticed, for Lord Eomer was close and he had heard the mourning of Baldric. Lord Eomer was more than a leader of his men. He was their friend and companion. Thus, it was only natural that he went to comfort Baldric as best he could. Baldric was very young, only twenty and two, and Eomer swore to watch over him as an elder brother. However, when Eomer went to Baldric the next day, Baldric merely shook his head and strode away. Baldric would not accept sympathy from any one, for he had took it upon himself to punish himself in the form of guilt. He barely ate or slept, and when he did rest, nightmares haunted him. At night, he would immerse himself in hard liquor and lay as one dead till noon the following day. Eomer looked on with worry growing in his heart.
Eomer, being of sane mind, was wary about approaching Baldric. He was in a dangerous state right then and he was aggressive to any that so much as gave him a pitying glance. Eomer decided that he would go to his sister for help. So, one afternoon, he stopped to talk to Eowyn while he was going to dinner.
“Good afternoon, dear sister!”
Eowyn looked at him suspiciously. “When you are sweet as sugar, you usually want something, dear brother. So, what is it this time?” Eowyn remarked with an elegant eyebrow raised.
Eomer had the grace to look sheepish and said, “One of my warriors has been having a bad time. He lost both his father and his closest friends in the Battle of the Hornburg and he is taking it really hard. I tried to comfort him but he just did not want to be comforted. Since you were always the gentler one, I was wondering if you could… you know get him to feel better or something. I really don’t want to lose him in our next battle. He’s good and with so many people dying, we just can’t lose another one.”
“Since you have asked so nicely, I’ll try my best little brother.” Eowyn smiled and Eomer pulled her into a hug before walking away, feeling lighter than he had arrived.
Eowyn sighed and taking a stack of neatly folded clothes, walked to Baldric’s room. She knocked on the door and waited. Sound of shifting came and the door opened into a small crammed room. Baldric was surprised to see Eowyn and hesitated a moment before bowing and greeting her. Eowyn gently place her hand on is arm. Baldric glanced up with surprise.
“My brother told me about your loss. I am so sorry for you.” Eowyn said softly. At her words, Baldric stiffened.
“I do not wish to talk about it. The wound is still fresh in my heart.”
“This pain of losing someone close to your heart is unbearable, I know. But for the sake of everyone we must be strong enough to bear it. You are not the only one dealing with this kind of suffering, no matter what it may seem like to you. Baldric, you are a warrior; do not let this dominate you entire life. Fight.” Eowyn was speaking so quietly, she was almost whispering, but her voice rang with emotion and her eyes were red. Yes, she too knew of the pain of losing someone close. Her cousin had died but few weeks ago and the grief was still strong.
“Forgive me, my lady, but it feels like my heart is ripped out. I feel nothing but emptiness.” Baldric spoke hollowly. He started to close the door, but Eowyn stepped into his room and slide the door close behind her. She walked to the small table in the middle of the room and sat.
“I would like some tea, if you would” she said pointedly. Baldric was about to protest, but thought better about it and did his lady’s bidding.
Eowyn accepted a mug of tea and sat there silently. She knew that Baldric needed to release his thoughts and she was waiting for him to speak. Soon enough, he broke the silence.
“When we arrived at Helm’s Deep, I wanted my father to stay in the caves. I was afraid. Afraid that he was too old to fight, he had broken his legs once and he was left forever limping after that. He had actually already retired and wanted to do some farming, spent time with his beloved garden and he wanted me to take over his place in the Rohirrim. So I did. He always taught me to cherish life and that to fight of honour and my country was the only path a warrior should take.”
“But then, at Helm’s Deep, he refused to go into the caves with the rest of the elderly. He said that he would rather die fighting for his country than die cowering in the caves. I argued with him, but he wouldn’t listen. No, my father was stubborn and he took up his rusty sword and shield. He was my father, how could I refuse him?” Baldric paused and he swallowed hard before continuing. “I should have forced him… I should have! I saw him die right under my eyes... I was not able to reach him… I was too late! Then, my dear friend died too… He died to save me… Oh lord! It’s all my fault… I could’ve stopped it, but all I did was to stand there like an idiot or a fool! I could’ve saved them… I could’ve…” At this point, Baldric was sobbing brokenly. He covered his face with his hands and rocked back and forth on the ground.
Eowyn went to him and gave him a sisterly hug. She patted his back and gave him as much comfort as she could. When he finally released all his tears, he sat there for a long time, just thinking. And Eowyn sat with him, in silent memories of the ones who have gone.
It was evening when they uncurled and stood. Eowyn looked at Baldric and asked: “Are you alright?” Baldric nodded his head, still silent. Eowyn turned to go, just when she stepped out of his room, Baldric said in a low voice, “I know why my father had to go. He was fighting for his honour, to protect his country and loved ones. I know and I am proud to call him father. I too will fight, for honour, for my country but most of all I will fight for vengeance.”
The end
So once again R & R! Hope that you guys liked it.
Love, Pyro.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Valentine Letter
Hi again!
Well, I'm here with my first one-shot, its called Valentine Letter, because as we all know, Valentine has just passed. Ori might be posting up her's soon, but if not I'll be back with another. So here it is and I hope you guys would like it!
His eyes were narrowed into slits with concentration and the tip of his tongue protruded slightly between his teeth as he wrote at a furious pace. The dim lights in the club heightened the shadows on his face, highlighted the strong bridge of his nose and defining the fine curve of his jaw. His eyebrows were drawn together in a small frown, wrinkling his forehead in a most attractive manner. Coal black eyes focused on the scrap of paper with intensity that made my insides turn to water.
I could feel the heavy disco beat vibrating through the soles of my shoes. I could smell the overpowering smell of cologne and sweat penetrating the cool air. Despite my less than serene surroundings, I was contended here. Here means anywhere beside him. Anywhere that I could see him, hear his deep voice and speak to him. His expressive face with its smiling lips, his large, warm hands that seem to make everything else seem small in comparison, his rough-shaven cheeks that made my fingers itch to feel them… all these and more I loved.
Jer - the man of my dreams – left out a growl of frustration and crumbled the paper into a ball. He then proceeded to throw it behind him, adding it to a growing pile of paper balls that littered the ground around him. He was stuck – again.
I watched as he took out another fresh sheet of paper and lifted his pen in preparation to once again try to transfer his feeling into black and white. But just as his pen was about to touch the paper, he halted uncertainly, his puzzlement clearly etched on his face. Then, his face suddenly lighted up, as if he had just solved a problem that had plagued him dreadfully. He turned to look at me.
At once I knew what he wanted; I also knew that I would not be able to resist his persistence. That does not mean I will not try, however.
Composing my face, I looked steadily back at him. He widened his eyes and jutted his lower lip, evidently thriving for the Puss-In-Boots irresistible look of pleading.
I crossed my arms and shook my head slowly. Nope, this one isn’t going to work.
He tried a new track, exploding in a din of noise, all of them explaining to me why I should help him.
That isn’t going to work either, Jer.
He cajoled, he threatened. He begged and shouted. All the usual Jer-nonsense. He knew what I wanted, he knew what to say, but he just wouldn’t say it.
You see, it has become a sort of game. Every time he wanted me to do something for him, he would have to say the magic word. That’s right – please – is it really so hard to say? A single word with a single syllabus – please. And every time he would attempt to get his way without saying it. Really, you’d think he ought to have learnt by now!
Usually I’ll laugh along and pretend to be swayed by his silly taunts, but tonight was different. Tonight I really did not want him to say that word, I dread the moment he got impatient enough to lower his sky-high ego and plead with me to help him. I dread the word that made me his slave, chained by a years of love and friendship to his every beck and call. He often complained that of all the girls in the school (of which he was the king) I was the one that seemed unaffected by his charm, having known him since childhood. Oh! If only he knew!
But all things that are due must come. And this was no exception.
Finally, with a lot of exaggerated sighs of defeat, he muttered the magic word – the dreaded word: please. He said it sincerely despite his tone of voice, with all his heart, with all his might. I could see it in his eyes. His hands were clammy and cold with nervousness and they gripped the handles of his chair so hard that his knuckles turned white.
It was then I knew.
He loved her. Really, really loved her. With all of his being, his heart, his mind.
I had lost. Forever. And my heart shattered into a million pieces.
I wanted to cry.
Instead I smiled shakily at him, hoping that the dim light would mask my quivering chin, and took the pan and paper from him.
I uncapped the pen and began to write, each word bringing with it a wave of pain:
Hi,
You probably don’t remember me, but I’m Jer from your economics class. I sit two seats behind you on the right and ever since I saw you on the first day of school I have liked you. You probably think that I’m kidding or playing around. I know I tend to do that - a lot. But this time I’m serious.
I know that you like to wear your black and white Converse shoes with mismatching socks. The left shoe has a hole in it, near the big toe. I know that your favorite artist is Kelly Clarkson and that your favorite colour is baby blue because your bag, files and wallet is the dusky grey that is what happens when baby blue fades away with age. I also know that you like red speckled roses, so I hope you’ll like your Valentine’s Day present.
I’ve waited for a long time for this, this chance for me to tell you my feelings. You’ve no idea how much I’ve gone through, how much this silent crush has tormented me, but now I’ve decided to hold back no more. Every time I see you, I would feel infinitely happy. Every minute I spent away from you, I’m thinking of you. I really like you.
Alice Grace O’Conner, will you be my Valentine?
There. I’ve wrote it.
Jer was ecstatic with joy, thanking me over and over, saying again and again how perfect it was, how the emotions reflect his own so well, how I seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say. Joyce, he said, you’ve read my mind.
Have I read his mind? Did I really have some sort of mystic power to somehow peer into his heart?
No. I do not.
I knew because that was all he had been telling me for the past month. I knew because every time we went out together on our weekly dinners, he would stare dreamily out the window and ramble on about his crush. It was always Alice this… or Alice that… And every time he did this, my heart would give a painful tug. Every time he laughed in delight at something that Alice said, my stomach would clench and I would feel as though someone had punched me in the gut.
I also knew because it was exactly how I felt.
You’ve no idea how much I’ve gone through, how much this silent crush has tormented me.
Years it had been. Ever since the third year of high school when I realised that we were no longer just kids, but a guy and a girl. I suppose it was natural, after all he was the closest to me other than my father and brother. He, whom I’ve tumbled in the grass with, whom I’ve argue and fought with, whose presence gave me strength on countless occasions, and he was my other half, my soul mate.
Every time I see you, I would feel infinitely happy. Every minute I spent away from you, I’m thinking of you.
I had wanted to tell him when we hit high school. To confess my heart, whether or not he would accept me. But the moment we stepped into school, the girls came flocking over. He was so strong, so handsome. And with his charming smile and witty remarks, he was what every girl dreamed of. Stacks of love letters flooded his locker. His table was so crowded at lunch time that I often had to sit elsewhere.
You can imagine why I changed my mind. How could he ever take me seriously when he was receiving proposals every other day? How could my love matter when he was practically the center of attention from the whole school? Jer was too precious to me. I was so afraid of loosing him completely that I would rather hold on to his friendship. Even though looking upon him was like cutting my heart with a knife, knowing as I did that he views me only as a friend, even though friendship was not – and not ever will be – enough. And so high school passed into college and Jer met Alice.
I wept bitterly, all alone in my room on Valentine’s night, even as Jer and Alice went out on their first date, even as they laughed and loved. And I wept.
*****
I regard the last year of college as one of the worse years in my life. Jer and Alice got together that year. My hope withered and turned into dust.
Jer and Alice were the most celebrated couple on campus. I would often sit in my lonely corner of the library and listen to the gossip flow around me. Since Jer was spending less and less time with me, I had to get information anyway I could, and gossip was one of the best ways, even if it was not 100% accurate.
Finals came and went. They both graduated with honours. As did I.
They say time heals all things. Time went on. But there was only an empty aching hole where my heart once was.
*****
I became a doctor, a strange twist, as my childhood inspiration was to become an astronaut. Jer and I lost contact two years after graduation. Last I heard they were planning to tie the knot.
Then, one day I received an offer to go to USA to continue my research on stem cells. I took it at once. It was my chance to start again anew, my chance to forget about him, my last chance to live my own life. So I went.
But before I left I wrote a letter. A letter that I told the postman to sent on 14 February.
This was how it went:
Jer,
It has been a long time since we graduated hasn’t it? I’m now working at the hospital as a doctor as well as doing stem cell research at the University. How is your company doing? Have you achieved your dream of earning your first million by the time you turn 28? Your birthday is in five weeks time you know.
Well, Jer, today is the 14 of February. Three years ago this day, I wrote a letter for you. A letter that I hope has helped you gain the happiness you seek. But now, I’m sorry to have to tell you this way: I’m leaving. I’ve been offered a place in a team of scientists and doctors that are researching on the same subject as I am, so I’m going to America to join them. In fact, by the time you are reading this letter, I’m probably already on the plane, halfway across the Pacific.
I hope you are not mad at me, leaving so suddenly like this, but I won’t blame you if you are. I know that you and I have been the best of friends and I want you to know that that has not changed. I did not leave because I don’t love you anymore. I left because I do love you, so much, too much. You have known me for how many years? Eight? Ten? But yet you still do not truly know me. I’m so sorry, so sorry that you cannot imagine.
I love you, Jer. I have loved you for years now. Only when I’m with you do I feel alive. Only when I am with you I feel happy. Yes, I’m confessing to you, as I had wanted to three years ago, three years too late. I see your beloved face right now. Frowning at the paper. Did you know that when you frown you will always unconsciously winkle your forehead? I would love to have seen you one last time before I left, but I couldn’t bear it. I‘m so cowardly, Jer, I’m afraid of what I would do if you had said no. I’m afraid that I’ll drop down on my knees and beg you to change your mind. But as much as I love you I know too that love cannot be forced, I know that it would do no good except to humiliate you and me further. So I chose the coward’s way out. I wrote this letter.
I’ve told you my heart. I’ve bare to you my soul. Now it is up to you. If you truly love Alice then stay with her, with my blessing. If she makes you happy, if she’s the one that lights up your life as you have done for me, then love her, cherish her, and don’t ever let her go. Don’t make the same mistake as I did. Tell her that you love her everyday. Tell her how much she means to you. She shall take my place beside you; she will do all that I cannot.
You will always be my heart, Jer. I love you. Happy Valentine’s Day.
Forever yours,
Joyce Marilyn Flitzer
Well, I'm here with my first one-shot, its called Valentine Letter, because as we all know, Valentine has just passed. Ori might be posting up her's soon, but if not I'll be back with another. So here it is and I hope you guys would like it!
*****
His eyes were narrowed into slits with concentration and the tip of his tongue protruded slightly between his teeth as he wrote at a furious pace. The dim lights in the club heightened the shadows on his face, highlighted the strong bridge of his nose and defining the fine curve of his jaw. His eyebrows were drawn together in a small frown, wrinkling his forehead in a most attractive manner. Coal black eyes focused on the scrap of paper with intensity that made my insides turn to water.
I could feel the heavy disco beat vibrating through the soles of my shoes. I could smell the overpowering smell of cologne and sweat penetrating the cool air. Despite my less than serene surroundings, I was contended here. Here means anywhere beside him. Anywhere that I could see him, hear his deep voice and speak to him. His expressive face with its smiling lips, his large, warm hands that seem to make everything else seem small in comparison, his rough-shaven cheeks that made my fingers itch to feel them… all these and more I loved.
Jer - the man of my dreams – left out a growl of frustration and crumbled the paper into a ball. He then proceeded to throw it behind him, adding it to a growing pile of paper balls that littered the ground around him. He was stuck – again.
I watched as he took out another fresh sheet of paper and lifted his pen in preparation to once again try to transfer his feeling into black and white. But just as his pen was about to touch the paper, he halted uncertainly, his puzzlement clearly etched on his face. Then, his face suddenly lighted up, as if he had just solved a problem that had plagued him dreadfully. He turned to look at me.
At once I knew what he wanted; I also knew that I would not be able to resist his persistence. That does not mean I will not try, however.
Composing my face, I looked steadily back at him. He widened his eyes and jutted his lower lip, evidently thriving for the Puss-In-Boots irresistible look of pleading.
I crossed my arms and shook my head slowly. Nope, this one isn’t going to work.
He tried a new track, exploding in a din of noise, all of them explaining to me why I should help him.
That isn’t going to work either, Jer.
He cajoled, he threatened. He begged and shouted. All the usual Jer-nonsense. He knew what I wanted, he knew what to say, but he just wouldn’t say it.
You see, it has become a sort of game. Every time he wanted me to do something for him, he would have to say the magic word. That’s right – please – is it really so hard to say? A single word with a single syllabus – please. And every time he would attempt to get his way without saying it. Really, you’d think he ought to have learnt by now!
Usually I’ll laugh along and pretend to be swayed by his silly taunts, but tonight was different. Tonight I really did not want him to say that word, I dread the moment he got impatient enough to lower his sky-high ego and plead with me to help him. I dread the word that made me his slave, chained by a years of love and friendship to his every beck and call. He often complained that of all the girls in the school (of which he was the king) I was the one that seemed unaffected by his charm, having known him since childhood. Oh! If only he knew!
But all things that are due must come. And this was no exception.
Finally, with a lot of exaggerated sighs of defeat, he muttered the magic word – the dreaded word: please. He said it sincerely despite his tone of voice, with all his heart, with all his might. I could see it in his eyes. His hands were clammy and cold with nervousness and they gripped the handles of his chair so hard that his knuckles turned white.
It was then I knew.
He loved her. Really, really loved her. With all of his being, his heart, his mind.
I had lost. Forever. And my heart shattered into a million pieces.
I wanted to cry.
Instead I smiled shakily at him, hoping that the dim light would mask my quivering chin, and took the pan and paper from him.
I uncapped the pen and began to write, each word bringing with it a wave of pain:
Hi,
You probably don’t remember me, but I’m Jer from your economics class. I sit two seats behind you on the right and ever since I saw you on the first day of school I have liked you. You probably think that I’m kidding or playing around. I know I tend to do that - a lot. But this time I’m serious.
I know that you like to wear your black and white Converse shoes with mismatching socks. The left shoe has a hole in it, near the big toe. I know that your favorite artist is Kelly Clarkson and that your favorite colour is baby blue because your bag, files and wallet is the dusky grey that is what happens when baby blue fades away with age. I also know that you like red speckled roses, so I hope you’ll like your Valentine’s Day present.
I’ve waited for a long time for this, this chance for me to tell you my feelings. You’ve no idea how much I’ve gone through, how much this silent crush has tormented me, but now I’ve decided to hold back no more. Every time I see you, I would feel infinitely happy. Every minute I spent away from you, I’m thinking of you. I really like you.
Alice Grace O’Conner, will you be my Valentine?
There. I’ve wrote it.
Jer was ecstatic with joy, thanking me over and over, saying again and again how perfect it was, how the emotions reflect his own so well, how I seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say. Joyce, he said, you’ve read my mind.
Have I read his mind? Did I really have some sort of mystic power to somehow peer into his heart?
No. I do not.
I knew because that was all he had been telling me for the past month. I knew because every time we went out together on our weekly dinners, he would stare dreamily out the window and ramble on about his crush. It was always Alice this… or Alice that… And every time he did this, my heart would give a painful tug. Every time he laughed in delight at something that Alice said, my stomach would clench and I would feel as though someone had punched me in the gut.
I also knew because it was exactly how I felt.
You’ve no idea how much I’ve gone through, how much this silent crush has tormented me.
Years it had been. Ever since the third year of high school when I realised that we were no longer just kids, but a guy and a girl. I suppose it was natural, after all he was the closest to me other than my father and brother. He, whom I’ve tumbled in the grass with, whom I’ve argue and fought with, whose presence gave me strength on countless occasions, and he was my other half, my soul mate.
Every time I see you, I would feel infinitely happy. Every minute I spent away from you, I’m thinking of you.
I had wanted to tell him when we hit high school. To confess my heart, whether or not he would accept me. But the moment we stepped into school, the girls came flocking over. He was so strong, so handsome. And with his charming smile and witty remarks, he was what every girl dreamed of. Stacks of love letters flooded his locker. His table was so crowded at lunch time that I often had to sit elsewhere.
You can imagine why I changed my mind. How could he ever take me seriously when he was receiving proposals every other day? How could my love matter when he was practically the center of attention from the whole school? Jer was too precious to me. I was so afraid of loosing him completely that I would rather hold on to his friendship. Even though looking upon him was like cutting my heart with a knife, knowing as I did that he views me only as a friend, even though friendship was not – and not ever will be – enough. And so high school passed into college and Jer met Alice.
I wept bitterly, all alone in my room on Valentine’s night, even as Jer and Alice went out on their first date, even as they laughed and loved. And I wept.
*****
I regard the last year of college as one of the worse years in my life. Jer and Alice got together that year. My hope withered and turned into dust.
Jer and Alice were the most celebrated couple on campus. I would often sit in my lonely corner of the library and listen to the gossip flow around me. Since Jer was spending less and less time with me, I had to get information anyway I could, and gossip was one of the best ways, even if it was not 100% accurate.
Finals came and went. They both graduated with honours. As did I.
They say time heals all things. Time went on. But there was only an empty aching hole where my heart once was.
*****
I became a doctor, a strange twist, as my childhood inspiration was to become an astronaut. Jer and I lost contact two years after graduation. Last I heard they were planning to tie the knot.
Then, one day I received an offer to go to USA to continue my research on stem cells. I took it at once. It was my chance to start again anew, my chance to forget about him, my last chance to live my own life. So I went.
But before I left I wrote a letter. A letter that I told the postman to sent on 14 February.
This was how it went:
Jer,
It has been a long time since we graduated hasn’t it? I’m now working at the hospital as a doctor as well as doing stem cell research at the University. How is your company doing? Have you achieved your dream of earning your first million by the time you turn 28? Your birthday is in five weeks time you know.
Well, Jer, today is the 14 of February. Three years ago this day, I wrote a letter for you. A letter that I hope has helped you gain the happiness you seek. But now, I’m sorry to have to tell you this way: I’m leaving. I’ve been offered a place in a team of scientists and doctors that are researching on the same subject as I am, so I’m going to America to join them. In fact, by the time you are reading this letter, I’m probably already on the plane, halfway across the Pacific.
I hope you are not mad at me, leaving so suddenly like this, but I won’t blame you if you are. I know that you and I have been the best of friends and I want you to know that that has not changed. I did not leave because I don’t love you anymore. I left because I do love you, so much, too much. You have known me for how many years? Eight? Ten? But yet you still do not truly know me. I’m so sorry, so sorry that you cannot imagine.
I love you, Jer. I have loved you for years now. Only when I’m with you do I feel alive. Only when I am with you I feel happy. Yes, I’m confessing to you, as I had wanted to three years ago, three years too late. I see your beloved face right now. Frowning at the paper. Did you know that when you frown you will always unconsciously winkle your forehead? I would love to have seen you one last time before I left, but I couldn’t bear it. I‘m so cowardly, Jer, I’m afraid of what I would do if you had said no. I’m afraid that I’ll drop down on my knees and beg you to change your mind. But as much as I love you I know too that love cannot be forced, I know that it would do no good except to humiliate you and me further. So I chose the coward’s way out. I wrote this letter.
I’ve told you my heart. I’ve bare to you my soul. Now it is up to you. If you truly love Alice then stay with her, with my blessing. If she makes you happy, if she’s the one that lights up your life as you have done for me, then love her, cherish her, and don’t ever let her go. Don’t make the same mistake as I did. Tell her that you love her everyday. Tell her how much she means to you. She shall take my place beside you; she will do all that I cannot.
You will always be my heart, Jer. I love you. Happy Valentine’s Day.
Forever yours,
Joyce Marilyn Flitzer
FIN
So, how do you like it? Feel free to comment! We just love comments! I know my grammer isn't up to standards. Please be understanding.
Love, Pyro.Intros and hellos to all!
Hi everyone!
I'm pyromaniackid, (or Pyro for short) and my friend, origamigirl (Ori). And - its kinda self explainatory - we're creating a blog together!
Yep! That's right, a blog just from the two of us! :D
And guess what...
This blog is going to be our platform for us to put all our writings here! Writings meaning fanfic, essays, short stories, one-shots, poems... well, you get the idea. Basically, anything and everything that runs out of our minds on to paper will be posted here for all our enjoyment (including nonsensical random facts that have driven us crazy by our tormentors- opps sorry- I mean teachers). Also, I'm taking this chance to put in a disclaimer, anything posted here would be purely for fun, and any characters that we write about is ours. If we write any fanfic, we will definitely indicate.
So, I hope anyone who reads this blog will pardon us if you get confused or disorientated, if you do, please don't hesistate to ask us or to scold us (not too harsh please), and we'll be sure to explain. :) This blog is meant for us to enjoy the beautiful art of writing, so please give us lots of love and support! Oh, and if Ori writes too much angst, try to cheer her up, because it probably means that she's feeling down.
Thanks to all who's reading this, cause it means you are giving us a chance. We promise not to let you down!
Love,
Pyro ^^
PS: Origamigirl = a figure of a girl made of paper, Pyromaniackid = a kid who loves to play with fire.
I'm pyromaniackid, (or Pyro for short) and my friend, origamigirl (Ori). And - its kinda self explainatory - we're creating a blog together!
Yep! That's right, a blog just from the two of us! :D
And guess what...
This blog is going to be our platform for us to put all our writings here! Writings meaning fanfic, essays, short stories, one-shots, poems... well, you get the idea. Basically, anything and everything that runs out of our minds on to paper will be posted here for all our enjoyment (including nonsensical random facts that have driven us crazy by our tormentors- opps sorry- I mean teachers). Also, I'm taking this chance to put in a disclaimer, anything posted here would be purely for fun, and any characters that we write about is ours. If we write any fanfic, we will definitely indicate.
So, I hope anyone who reads this blog will pardon us if you get confused or disorientated, if you do, please don't hesistate to ask us or to scold us (not too harsh please), and we'll be sure to explain. :) This blog is meant for us to enjoy the beautiful art of writing, so please give us lots of love and support! Oh, and if Ori writes too much angst, try to cheer her up, because it probably means that she's feeling down.
Thanks to all who's reading this, cause it means you are giving us a chance. We promise not to let you down!
Love,
Pyro ^^
PS: Origamigirl = a figure of a girl made of paper, Pyromaniackid = a kid who loves to play with fire.
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