Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Sunday, April 25, 2010


He kept to himself. The jagged little head. Always behind a tree or in the long grass. He'd watch the others wrestle and tumble in the dirt. He'd watch the grown-ups shopping for the best meats. He'd listen to them bellowing in the karaoke places. He'd keep his distance. Because he could not roar. They thought he was dumb because he would not even speak. Only he knew. He could not roar. Not like the other monsters was he. He didn't belong. He'd bring shame to his family name if they ever knew.

So when he became a teenager, he set out for the mountains one day . Wiping away his tears, he glaced back at his monster village before the hills hid it from him. He was alone now. A tortoise became his friend. He found it crawling so slowly, he felt pity for it. So he began carrying it. The tortoise told him many wise things. One of them was : "It's not whether you can roar or not, it's how loud you can eat." And "Never stare back at a stomping giant." None of them made any sense to him. He'd just listen and not speak. And the tortoise would go on and on. But his voice soothed the monster. He'd often go to sleep smiling, listening to his friend. And the tortoise would not even know.

One day, he came to the edge of the world. Nothing was before him. And only a bare desert behind them. "Nothing has been created beyond this", said his friend. "But I suggest we go forward." The monster looked at the tortoise and back again at the nothingness. He backed up a hundred meters. And then started to run. At the edge, his hairy legs lept into nothingess. Then the monster and the tortoise were gone. They could not be seen any more. A voice spoke though the nothingness. A monster voice. They were still nowhere to be seen. But now they were everywhere. And soaring. Past the desert and over the lands where they had travelled. Then down into the valley where the monster village was. All who lived there called the voice kuba, which meant "happy friend". It often spoke comforting and wise words to whoever paid heed to it. Sometimes it would roar in laughter. And no one was ever afraid of it.

Friday, October 9, 2009

outside my window

A monster grows outside my window.

I watch it get bigger everyday. But like all things growing right in front of you, you only notice the difference after every couple months. This monster shakes my walls and gives off terrifying growls that disturbs my sanity. Sometimes, it would take a life. At night, it sleeps and all is peaceful. People walk around it, talking about it. But in the day time, they keep away, annoyed by its tantrums.

I don't particularly like the monster. It isn't my monster. I can't wait for it to be full-grown. Then the neighbourhood will be peaceful again. Then the cursing from everyone will stop. Until another monster is born.

I can't wait for that condo outside my window to be finished. Then I can finally concentrate on my work in peace.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009


He was sitting on the sofa one morning. Dazed after a good night of sleep. He tried to recall his dream last night. That's when he started clearing his throat. It felt dry and itchy. So he coughed. And coughed again. Something was in his mouth now. Sticking his fingers in, he pulled out a ball of blue fur. He stared at it for a moment. Where did this come from? It didn't feel like synthetic fur. It felt real. And warm. No eyes though. He brought it to the sink to wash off the saliva, then dried it with some paper towels. It was breathing. He could feel it pulsating in his hands. And it was getting heavier.

Is this part of me? He wondered. It can't be. No part of him was blue. This was strange. What could he use it for? He bounced it on the floor. But it didn't bounce well. He brought it to the kitchen counter and took out a cutting board. He found a meat knife from the drawer. He began to cut. The sound of its flesh splitting was like cutting into a fishball. But more fluid. More like a pomegranate perhaps. There was no scream. No struggle. No movement now. The insides splilled out. It looked like spaghetti cabonara. And it smelled good too.

He could not resist the urge. Quickly, he collected the mess off the board and spilled them into a frying pan. Some ready chopped garlic and onions thrown in and he was frying. The aroma filled the kitchen. Brunch would be served soon.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

The gargoyle

Tim left the house after cutting the last of the music CDs for Veron. She'd like this, he thought. He had mixed in some of The Killers and light alternative stuff, and there were folders with jazz. She could be weaned off pop, he told himself.

As he walked down the road towards her house, he felt that the air had become colder and rank, like someone had peed all over the street. He looked around him. There was no one. Maybe it was a coming storm?

Suddenly he felt himself being raised up into the air. He tried to scream, and almost dropped the CDs. He looked up; his jacket was being held by a bizarre creature that was stonelike in composition, with great gray wings. It turned its eyes to him.

"Now how high shall we drop you?" it said to Tim.

"What are you?" Tim shouted back.

"Me? Why a gargoyle."

"But.. why..?"

"Because you are."

"Wait... could I at least get this to Veron first? They're a gift. I promised her. I mean, even if I die she can't live a life listening to Britney Spears."

The gargoyle was intrigued. "Veron? The girl you love? Oh boy... you are such a fool. Very well!" The creature laughed.

"You have been following me, haven't you?" Tim said. "Sometimes when I'm on the way back I hear the sound of your wings flapping. Right now, I can see what they are."

"Yes. I mark my targets well. I don't kill very often. I'm quite selective. And killing random people is boring. It's too... easy," the creature said.

They were approaching the house. "Feast your eyes, young boy," the gargoyle said.

Time looked through the window and saw Veron, but she was almost naked in bed. It made him blush. And he realised there was someone else there with her. A man with a tattoo of a Ford Mustang on his back. There was music playing; he could hear it.

The gargoyle laughed; a sound like marbles going down a staircase.

"So are you satisfied?" it said.

Tim was despondent. "Sam. I should have known." He let the CDs drop. They shattered on the streets below.

"Well you might as well drop me," Tim said. "There's nothing to live for."

"Very well," the gargoyle said, flying ever higher.

"What is it with women?" Tim said. They were very high up now. The houses were getting smaller, and soon they would pierce through the clouds.

"They are a mystery; always have been," it said.

"Wow from this distance I should make a fine little mess," Tim said.

The gargoyle smiled and nodded. "Aye, you would."

And then it let go. Tim grabbed the creature's claws. "Wait!" Tim shouted.

"Let go!" The gargoyle said, shaking its claw, jerking around in spasms.

"Drop me in front of her house!" Tim said.

"You should have thought about that earlier," the gargoyle said.

It flung itself around, trying to get Tim to pry off, but Tim hung on hard as he could, his fingers prying into the gargoyle's stone skin. Tim lifted up his body and kicked out with his right foot at the creature's head; slamming into its face. The gargoyle was surprised. No one had ever fought back before. The next kick pounded into its face, and the gargoyle was now tumbling down the sky.

Tim screamed, and so did the creature. It tried to flap, but Tim continued to kick. Suddenly there was a great splash as they slammed into a pool of water. The gargoyle's body had hit first and broken through the liquid, and Tim followed. The gargoyle tried to flap but it could not. It just sank. Maybe the water seeped into the stone and now it could not flap its wings, or that stone was just a natural enemy of water.

Tim swam up and coughed out huge breaths of water. There was a gash on his forehead. The shore was not far. He wasn't sure where he was, but he knew he had a long way to go back. He was already thinking of what CD to put together when he did reach home.

Saturday, October 4, 2008

The Garach

It waited in the desert, lazy to hunt. There was little need. It turned it's great head, and his neck strained. Flies buzzed around it's five horns, and it smelled the human and his gift even before it could see him. They always sought it, bringing with them a human head, for the Garach had a gift. After eating the head of a human, it could bring back the memories within, but it only allowed each human to ask three questions of it. Most of the time, the bringer of heads would want to know how the person had died, whether it was by fair or foul play, and whether it had died filled with hate or love. Sadly, it was more often the former. The Garach waited, flicking it's great tongue, eager for the feeding to begins soon.

Monday, September 8, 2008

The creature in the pail

One evening you stay out too late and it's ten minutes to midnight. You reach the train stop and realise your wallet's gone; probably that man who bumped into you earlier took it. The tracks beneath you shiver as other trains pass by. You dig your pockets but there's not enough money to get a ticket. There's no one else around. You go up the staircase to the street to see if there's anyone around, and beneath a flickering street lamp you see him. A man wearing a coat and a scarf with black glasses. He has a red pail in front of him. Something about him beckons you to approach. You step close, checking the watch. There's five minutes to go. The ground shudders again. The air is cold, and you can see why he's shivering.

You ask the man if he has a dollar, and if he can loan it to you for the ticket for the train. He looks at you, and says no, but he thinks there is a dollar coin in the pail in front of him. He says you can put your hand into the water and dig it out.

You stare down into the water of the pail, and in the black water you realise there's something inside. Something sleek and dark and coiling. You can't see exactly what it is, but you can see as it moves about, a coin at the very bottom of the pail, flickering and enticing.

"Does it bite?" You ask the man.
"When it's hungry," the man replies.
"Is it hungry now?"
"It hasn't eaten for two days."
"What does it eat?"
"Oh... anything and everything," he says, smiling, his hands still buried in his pockets. You can't see his eyes.

"The coin is yours if you put your hand in," the man says.
There are about three minutes left. Your hand is poised just above the pail. The black thing inside appears to be squirming more. You ready, and stick your hand in, and suddenly there is an electric sting in your fingers, like they have been pricked.

"What did it do?" you ask.
"I don't think it did anything," the man replies. There are patches and holes in his jackets, and his glasses seem to be cracked, but you can only see the fine web of lines if you lean close.
"You better hurry boy," he reminds you.
You get ready, aim for the coin, and stick your hand down. There is a loud splash, and you dig at the coin. You think you have it, and you feel string-like tentacles gripping at your hand. You pull your arm out quickly, and open your palm victoriously, but there is nothing.

"I guess you missed. Water does that," the man says.

The black thing inside is twisting and turning, making increasingly rapid circles. You can see the coin move towards the center of the pail.

"Quickly. Quickly," he says. You can feel the last train approaching. The ground is shuddering and ripples radiate in the pail.

You close your eyes and stick your hand in. The creature has closed its coils around your arm. Your fingers dig at the coin. You are sure you have it now. You pull your hand out and feel it being tugged. For a moment, you look into the eyes of the creature that has your arm, whose tentacles embrace it as though black string had been poured all over. It opens it's mouth, gasping.

You have the coin and the creature disappears back into the water. The man laughs and you run to the staircase, insert the coin into the machine which gives you a ticket. You run pass the gates and just manage to get through the train door before it closes shut. Only then do you dare look at your arm, and notice that it is bruised and black, and covered with fine bites and cuts, as though it had been dragged through glass, but that is nothing compared to the sight of the creature that had your arm in your grasp a minute ago, with it's sharp, pointed teeth, ready to cling and eat and devour.