Darfur, Sudan.

In Darfur, Sudan, 35,000 people have been killed from genocide and almost 10,000 have died every month from famine and diseases, which have been going on for the past 3 years, and all over the world, children are suffering from extreme shortage of food. Famine is real and is happening in a country like Sudan. Famine is happening in an era where obesity is consuming most Americans. In this world where greed rules, Africa is like the forgotten child, but why is it always Africa?

Visit these websites for more info on how you can help:

• Save Darfur
• Darfur: A Genocide We Can Stop
• Make Poverty History

The Day That Was

Little Matt was lacing up his new sports shoes, prepping for a game with his father. He attentively followed the lacing patterns of his father’s freshly polished military boots on the garden table. With his new shoes proudly adorning his feet, they played a joyous game of throwing and catching, running and chasing, jumping and rolling on the grass, and the occasional spurting of water guns. The sun was setting, and their day ended happily and joyfully.

The morning light shined through the window and Little Matt was already rushing down the stairs. He stopped on the landing when he saw her shadow in the living room cast by the rising sun. His mother was leaning against the gaping French windows when he approached her. He noticed that she was holding an envelope, and that his father’s boots were nowhere to be found.

End.


Detail from a drawing by Lulu, © Drawing/Sketching at About.com, by permission.

Heaven

With the engagement ring lingered in his pocket, undecidedly, he took a right turn and walked into De Beers. He dropped the ring on one of the glass counters and left.

End.

The Violin Child

A lost, tearful child with a violin held tightly to his chest was witnessing a momentous, fateful day. Rows of mortars blazing brightly across the river and rows of gun-trotting men screaming and shouting in pleasure. The unsuspecting civilians fled the scene, running away frantically for their lives. Numerous lifeless bodies decorated the war-torn street in a macabrely sculptural manner, where some were limbless and some were headless altogether. But tucked quietly amongst these ruins was a man, severely embellished in blood, he was clutching a toy car in one hand and a fiddlestick in the other.

End.


Image taken from 419.bittenus.com

Pansy's Magic Potion and the Golden Shower

A long time ago, a borderline schizophrenic wizard named Pansy, who possessed an extraordinary skill of tapestry-making, had concocted a magic potion that would yield yards and yards of magical silk thread out of your nostrils.

“Drinks it, and miles of silk will pour out of thy noses... but only when thou sneezes,” exclaimed the wizard loudly, alone, on the street, in the dark.

A bored, silly-looking gentleman walked by and was enthralled by Pansy’s poor sales pitch when the wizard suddenly sneezed, and out came yards of rainbow-coloured silk threads, branching out like Rapunzel’s split ends.

“Oh mah lord, fiddle-dee-dee! What in tarnation is that?!” asked Nelly the silly-looking gentleman.

“That, my dear, is money. See as I pulls it out... Owww, my God! Yes, it does hurts a bit. But with this magic yarn, thou weaves it into an underpants, only to be done during the night, and thou wears it to sleep, wakes up the next day at precisely 8.21 in the morning, and thou shalt be well endowed.”

“My goodness, fiddle-dee-dee!” Nelly joyously hopped and skipped around the unamused Pansy. “But why 8.21? I’m a late bloomer.”

“Alas my humble customer, I’ll spares ye the complicated quantum physics involved, but that time is actually the measurement of thy desired size, straightforwardly translated into time,” explained Pansy confidently and he continued, “buy this starter kit of five vials and thou gets a free gift... a raven’s feather, to help thou sneezes. But one warning, my dear customer... one vial per night and this is not for the weak of minds.”

And so, Nelly bought the starter kit of Pansy’s magic concoction and went straight home for the sneezing process. The greedy, silly Nelly consumed all five of those vials and paid no heed to Pansy’s warning.

“Owww, mah lord! Fiddle-dee-dee!”

After a few hours of diligently designing, cutting and sewing, he had fashioned himself a rainbow-coloured boxer briefs, complete with non-chafing elastic waistband. He slipped it on and instantly, he felt a rousing, tingling, magical sensation as the brief’s smooth, soft, silky texture brushed against his manhood. The overwhelmingly magic-infused, stimulating session eventually was too much for him and the overpowering magic rendered his brain unconscious and he remained in the state of slumber for the rest of his life.

Nelly was not quite dead nor was he quite alive either, and without anyone nursing to his unfortunate condition, no one had realised that he was still wearing the magic underpants, and so, his private part was slowly and gradually growing in size until it was incredibly huge and stiff as a timber that it poked a hole on the ceiling and peeked its head out through the roof. Every now and again, the tiny village would be blessed with a mysterious golden shower that confounded the entire villagers of its origin and its unusually foul quality.

End.

The Search of Their Lives

They crossed the rapids looking for him after hours of searching and scouring for tracks and clues of his whereabouts at the campsite. However, the raging river was devoid of sympathy and consumed two of their lives after one of them slipped on a rock and accidentally dragged the other one into the river. With two lives lost in the search for the missing one, they continued their journey on the other side of the river.

The search went deeper into the jungle when they stumbled upon the habitat of brightly coloured tree frogs. The curious one picked up a frog with three streaks of silvery bands on its burgundy body and some silvery spots on its legs. A few minutes later, he collapsed on the ground and was left to die by the rest of them as they were running out of light and needed to find a site to camp. With three lives lost in the search for the missing one, they continued their journey the day after.

The search party had been reduced to two members and their effort in finding the missing one was looking bleak more than ever. A few hours of trekking later, one of them was beginning to show symptoms of plant poisoning when he fell to the ground, convulsed uncontrollably and died instantly, with marks of rashes all over his body. It was assumed that he had eaten some leaves that were mistakenly identified from his guidebook. With four lives lost in the search for the missing one, he continued his journey deeper into the jungle.

After hours of walking through the dense jungle, the search had finally came to an end when he found a trail of blood leading to a clearing where a wounded body was rested against a large boulder on the river bank. The body was drenched in blood with a sizeable gunshot wound at the back of his head, and a semi-automatic in his grasp. He pulled out a note that was tucked inside the front pocket of the uniform and was shocked to discover that his Scout Leader was a man with a pervasive preference for the young ones, and had been living a life of guilt and remorse.

End.

Noise

He runs into flowers, caressing petals with open palms. He runs to the sun, setting between the mountains.

I lay on the grass, counting clouds as they fly to the west. I lay on the grass and close my eyes as a gust of wind kisses my lips.

He soars to the sky into the clouds towards the sun, foot-printing sparks of beat thumping through the air.

I lay on the grass as I listen to the pulsating sound. I remain on the grass, incandescently grinning with silence.

End.


Image courtesy of wallpaperstock.net.

The Return of Koko Volta & the Nut of Mangroover

The ship was badly hit and it was sinking. He jumped overboard and swam to the nearest land, an island of gigantic bamboo forest. A pink-feathered simian suddenly appeared amongst the bamboos and started to spin itself on its tail like a candy-coloured top. He spun rapidly, approaching the bewildered little boy like a tornado of cotton candies. The creature stopped in a sudden and began his protocol of a Q&A session with the newly arrived visitor.

“What is your name, boy?” asked the simian.

“My name is Koko Volta.”

“And my name is Jimbo Bingo. I know why you’re here... your ship sank.”

“Yes,” replied Koko in astonishment.

“But I could get you home if you have that magic nut with you.”

“What magic nut?”

“You know, that magic nut, the Nut of Mangroover. You must give it to me.”

“Oh, that nut. I think I have it in my pocket, somewhere. What are ya gonna do?” asked Koko in amusement.

“I will squeeze the juice of the magic nut inside my mighty nostril and use it to create a flying creature that would get you home,” replied Jimbo with an air of pride.

Jimbo grabbed the Nut of Mangroover and rammed it into his one-nostril nose. After a few gusts of huffing and puffing, viscous white liquid poured down his nose and into his mouth. He gargled and gurgled, and spat it out into the shape of a unicorn. Then, he mumbled and garbled a magic spell, and thus, the unicorn was alive and kicking.

“Um, I'm Chuck,” said the unicorn bashfully. They jumped onto Chuck's saddleless back, and the wingless, airborne creature carried them high into the sky.

“This nut is Mr. Mangroover's soul, his energy, his mojo and you have to return it to him immediately or he will diminish into thin air,” said Jimbo while he slipped the nut into Koko’s pocket. Koko nodded in agreement and felt ashamed for stealing the precious, magical nut from his Scandinavian neighbour.

Although Koko had unlawfully stolen the nut, but ironically, it was the magical powers of the prized possession of Mr. Mangroover that brought him back home after running off on a sinking pirate ship, fleeing from his neighbour in the first place.

End.

Penelope's Pink Dress

A beautiful girl in a tattered pink dress was found dead in the forest by Mrs. Squirrel.

A few minutes before her death, she was ripping her dress apart as she ran frantically across the river into the forest, as seen by Mr. Falcon.

A few hours before her death, Ms. Butterfly had observed upon the window sill, that she was given a gift for her twelfth birthday by her stepfather. She unwrapped the box and inside was a lovely pink dress made of silk satin with intricate beadwork and handcrafted lace.

A few days before her death, Mr. Mouse had revealed that her stepfather had soaked the pink dress into a tub of a foul-smelling substance in the basement.

A few weeks before her death, her mother had died from intoxication as claimed by her stepfather that it was the fault of a nearby factory for the polluted drinking water from a nearby river, as noted by Mr. Ant.

A few months before her death, she was the only witness to the unfortunate marriage of her wealthy mother to her treacherous stepfather.

End.


Artwork from Getty Images.

Cloudspotting

He gazed up to the sky. He saw a pie, a rabbit and a flower. Usual everyday objects one would see on a cloudspotting day.

On the next day, he lay on the same spot of grass, and he saw a dress, a pitcher and a slice of cake.

Yet, on the very next day, on the very same spot as was yesterday, he saw clouds with shapes of a spoon, a book and a bracelet.

Still, he lay on the same spot of grass on the fourth day, yet for more cloudspotting, but on this day he was greeted by a clear blue sky. He sat on the grass sobbing, betrayed by the cloudless morning.

“I miss mommy,” said the boy.

End.


Image courtesy of Getty Images.

Andy and His Hunter

I am the Narrator and this is my story. I'm boarding a train for a weekly pilgrimage up north. This weekly rendezvous started five years ago since we found each other in a bookstore, particularly at the fitness section as he was holding a hardcover of Bodybuilding Anatomy, while I, on the other hand, literally, was clutching Yoga Mala. There was a spark between us and apparently, it went off like a tremendously bright firework, illuminating the whole east wing of the bookstore. It was undeniable, the attraction was imminent and the rest as they say, is history, or rather - coffee. As we brushed shoulders while walking to the nearest café, we discovered that we loved listening to the sounds of Mogwai, appreciating the nuances of Gustav Klimt and admiring the storytelling prowess of Ang Lee. After two cups of afogato later, I learned that he possessed an interestingly striking name - Gray Hunter…

“Andy, are you done? Are you gonna buy that or what? Put the book down and let’s go baby, we have a movie to catch. Mr. Hunter isn’t going anywhere dear, he’s a bestseller, he’s everywhere.”

End.

New Fiction In The Making

I'm sorry for not posting any new stories lately. I'm currently in the process of writing my new fiction, and the working title is The Journeys of Weirdo, yeah, something like that. It will be something like a children's fiction for adults, a somewhat dark comedy with bits and pieces of fantasy, violence and of course, sex.

I'm expecting to finish the story by the end of next year, hopefully. And in the meantime, I will post some flash fiction, so this brokedown blog of mine would be up and running again. So, I'll see ya in a few days with some new stuff. :)