Tuesday, May 31, 2011


The balls of flame flew through the air, creating smoke trails across the bluish grey sky, blackening the earth upon impact. Men screamed as they flew through the air, torn apart and eviscerated by the balls of flame. The ones that are left huddled closer together among the lines, despite the angry voices yelling at them to spread out. All sense and thought are numbed by the growing throb of fear among the rainfall of death within the masses.

Peter was one of them, one of the new guys who had to take the front ranks and bear the punishment being dished out. He flinched with each assault of thunderous sound, cowering when another cannonball tears through flesh and bones not six files away from him. All the feelings of jubilation and triumph of marching into the town square in his shiny uniform and oiled musket was all gone, mud and excrement splattered all over him with dead men lying down in grotesque positions all around him.

One of the other recruits was screaming his heart out, clearly having lost himself to the fear of what’s going on and about to come. He was silenced with a hard tap to the head by sergeant Hanksworth and brought to the rear, soiled pants and all. Peter turned around back to the front, and only saw smoke and fog covering the ground in front of him. The sound of drums is slowly filling the air however, accompanied by the steady rumble of footsteps belonging to men who are coming to put a bullet in his heart.

The order to load came and Peter hurriedly tapped off his musket and held it ready. It was better to be doing something than to be standing still in this madness. He could see the figures of thousands of men marching up the hill through the smoke now. The emperor’s columns coming to meet the lines of freemen. The next order was shouted down the line and he brought the firearm up and braced it against his shoulder. He could see the grizzled men of the emperor now, proud moustaches framing the mouths with confident eyes looking towards him.

The officer swept his sabre down and the cannons erupted.

It was the enemy’s turn to get mauled by artillery fire, balls of fire and iron pounding into and directly through the columns, shredding the front ranks to bits of men and gore. But yet they still came on, step after step, closer to the lines. The sergeants bawled out the order to fire, and the musketfire rippled down along the line. Peter closed his eyes and pulled the trigger as well, his view being clouded by the sudden burst of smoke from his musket. He slammed the musket down by his feet and started to reload, hours and hours of blind practices in the barracks coming to use now in this place of blood and fire.

The columns quivered and shivered like a great beast, men falling right and left out of the great formations. The unstoppable force has ran up against an unmovable object, and now it will suffer.

Peter was emptying his fourth shot into the lines when the order came to fix bayonets. He plugged the sharp piece onto the mouth of his musket and held it up like a spear. All the fear was out of him now, just the blood pounding rage surging into the heart and throbbing away in his ears. The orders rang out and the officer and sergeants led the charge, sabre and pikes leading the way down the hill into the tangled mess of men that once been columns.

The clash of the two sides was louder than the screams of those who died in the clash. Peter ran down with the rest of his company, screaming the old war sounds of his people, the wordless sounds of rage and fear together. A man loomed up in him and Peter rammed his bayonet spike into the belly of the person, feeling the guts and muscle tensed and gripped his spike before he pulled it out. He did not see the blood that spurted out of the man’s mouth when his spike went in. He only saw a body falling down and he plunged on into the melee, being swept away by the passion of the war, a howling screaming madness.

a beautiful bloody madness.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

going silently insane.

The alarm sounds off by half past ten, locking the boy inside his head in his own room. The sounds of outside pulls and plucks at his heartstrings, reminding what was once his, yet is now not. All he can do is revel in what has and had been inside in his own imaginarium.

It's midnight and the only exit he has is the internet and black keys of his laptop. But what he craves is not the artificial, but the breath of the fresh night air and the laughter and warmth of company, not this silent cussing going on between himself and house.

It's two. He wanders the house in a desperate bid to get out, but the padlock is locked on tight with the the alarm rigged to go at the slightest touch. The chance to just sit on the porch, enjoy the night on the patio with a hot cup of tea is so close yet so far. the room next to the alarm slumbers, blocking off all possible chance of escape and relief.

It's four. the day is coming. he will fall asleep for now. But when the night comes, he will be alone yet again. It has always been this way.

Hopefully not for any longer.
hopefully not.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011


He folds down to the floor to the pain in his chest.
It throbs and pulses against his entire existence, causing him to grit his teeth and digs his hands into the good black soil of his homeland.
His hands scrabble around his chest plate and finds the violent arrow that had chosen him out of so many.

He takes a deep breath and looks up at the view in front of him, the beautiful green plains of his people being stained by the sight of long ugly lines of shields with burning stones trailing across the blue morning sky. His men marched on, scared souls gathered together to defend their towns and villages against the foreigners. Their lines bled men to the arrows and boulders, screaming kids yearning for their mothers and old men for their lovers.

The pain was growing now. Yet he still stood up and readied his shield and blade. With a deep breath he broke off the shaft of the arrow and rejoined his men, the blood slowly pulsing out of his body onto his armor. His friends of the lines acknowledged his return to their presence with grim nods and quickened their pace to the sound of the horns blowing.

It would be over soon, it will be over soon, he told himself over and over again as he started running slowly along with the rest. The enemy shield lines bristled with axes and swords and broke into a run to meet their charge. It was the sound of thunder as the lines met and the stabbing and hacking began. He punched a leering face with his shield and slid his blade into another's guts whilst screaming wordlessly, flecks of blood splattering his victims. Punch, stab and slash he did over and over again against the enemy till the enemy line lost it's cohesion and started drawing back.

He felt glorious as he hacked his way into the enemy, feeling like the beserkers of old. None could stand before him, none would stand before him as he fought like a demon along with the rest of the men. The spirit of victory was in the air, the enemy was already fleeing in ones and twos from the back of the line and yet the horns started sounding urgently for a retreat.

He ignored the horns. he was too deep to withdraw anyway, being surrounded by a ring of dead enemies and with no way back with the men pushing forward. He pulled a frightened young face onto his blade, hearing him scream for his mother before he heard the thunder of hooves to the left. Men screamed as the churning mass of lance and horse slammed into them, many dying with the last sight of a lance piercing their chests before being trodden down into the mud and dying by the big stallions of the heavy calvary.

He turned with the rest of his men and wearily faced the incoming rush of horses and men. None of them would survived the onslaught. They know that much. He grunted as the horses closed upon them and hammered the nearest horse in the face with his shield, causing to rider to fall off his mount. He was still screaming as he raised the blade to finish off his victim as a chevalier's sword came swinging towards him.

It sliced his head clean off.

Thursday, January 27, 2011


As the passion of love ignites like fresh sprung fire,
the feeble kicking of life starts like mice within a barrel of cheese.

but from that, comes out a bundle of joy and tears that will cause either,
untold joy or despair depending on the matter.
Yet it will still grow, weak fingers grasping a milk bottle,
to strong hands holding a beer bottle frothing at the ends.

those strong hands will either hold a loved one in their arms,
or be grabbing a blade in desperation. But pro-create or destroy,
the riptide will reach out and affect old and new lives.
Both ends of the spectrum, so easily achieved with the use of alcohol and rise of emotions.

Unlucky are the ones who grow old on a rocking chair,
grandchildren aflow and a crisp nice fire going in the fireplace.
Lucky are they who die young and pass into legend.
For they will be remembered always.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

A continuation : What Mel Brooks never did and never finished.

* This is a continuation of the book WWZ by Mel Brooks based on the fictional issues if the undead actually did overrun mankind. However, as usual the white man discluded the world of South - East Asia. Hence, the squinty eyed man has to finish the job. Typical. *

New Kuala Lumpur, (located in pre - war Pulau carey) , Klang, Malaysia.

[ The new capital of the country is showing signs of thriving once more, despite the heavily fortified sections of the city to the north and west. Rizal, a member belonging to the forward militia section of Klang is having some home brew with me at a kopitiam near the borders of the city. He ironically smiles as he gestures at the north - west walls and fortifications. ]

Rizal : Never let it be said that all my people abandoned the rest of the country to the undead. Granted some did, but not all. There is always the black sheep among the white, isn't that what you all would say? there is always some.

How long has it been since you and the rest of the troops lost contact with the northern states?

Well.. it has been almost like, 5 to 6 years since we stopped communicating with them. What's the point anyway? i still remember the day in which my unit and several others decided to stay behind and to help sort out the mess in which this country has become. do you know what the bastards did? they took all our firearms and left us there with naught a transport to ferry us to the risk zones. Apparently they were afraid we will secede after the war and challenge the government. How could we in the bloody hell do that? What's a few rifles and ammunition going to do to a government? the motherfuckers.

[ Spits at the side of a road and pulls out a bag of tobacco from which he starts rolling a cigarette.]

At least they left us riot gear belonging to the FRU* and 3 days worth of supplies. It still took us 2 days to get into Subang though, and what a sight it was. Can you imagine a mess of walking rotting bodies as far as the eye can see? at least they weren't concentrated in a whole mass though. that would have been a real nightmare.

*FRU -Federal Reserve Units. The original units meant for prewar anti - riot purposes within Malaysia. They were wiped out during the first week of the outbreak.

[ Finishes rolling his cigarette and lights himself up before offering to roll me one. I gestured no.]

Sure? Alright. Well, where was I? Ah, Subang. the first hell hole i went in and certainly not the last. i still remember how the lieutenant made us form a line and push through the roads in ranks of five with ten abreast. It must have looked like an ancient tribe going to war. Mind you, it did feel good though, beating through the undead in that formation and continuously gathering up civilians and supplies that were still holed up in the region as we pushed our way to Klang. At least there was some semblance of fortifications at Pulau Carey already. We were already almost down to the breaking point before we saw the forts beyond the river. Yet we still went out after a few days of R & R in Pulau Carey. The co's just drummed up two to three hundred males of fighting age into the troops before pushing out again. Half of the men were already lost by the time we made it to Pulau Carey hence the need of new recruits. We swept and swept through the entire pre war KL area. Petaling Jaya, Puchong, Kajang, You name it and we would have been there.

Was there anywhere else that was a refuge apart from Pulau Carey during those early years?

Apart from Pulau Carey? well... there was the Batu Caves Section. The Hindus's were already doing a pretty fine job of manning the place by the time we managed to make contact them. I believe they are actually one of the more prosperous settlements right now in this country. Of course, there was the southern states. Although they refuse us entry, can you blame them? Left alone, besieged by the hordes for almost half of the first year. i wouldn't even want to be in their shoes.

[ finishes off the last dregs of his homebrew and stand up whilst picking his baton and riot shield at his side. Both of the baton and the shield looks very well used.]

Now, if you would excuse me, i have to lead the unit out again. There were reports of a recent migration of the undead from the north, yet again. i wonder what the hell are they doing up there. Bloody incompetent bastards.

Would you rejoin the government if they came back to reclaim Malaysia?

[ looks at the trundling traffic for a while before slipping on his gloves and helmet. his tone was cold when he spoke.]

No. I will never let them come back to rule us again. The people of Pulau Carey will not let them use us as bait again. Never again. So - called prinsips Ketuanan Melayu.* Power to the survivors of this war instead. power to the children who will never see their parents again or lovers who will never love again. Power to us.

we will secede.

*principle of the Lordship of the Malay race over others. A pre war ethnic slur used by the government to gain political power.

a scribble. short scribble.


[ He takes a long drag off his cigarette and looks blearily at the signboard tagged with pictures and pre-war maps.]

Wayne : It’s a lack of effort from the country to control the outbreak at the very start that caused this to happen. Look at things over the causeway. The issues over there are long dead and it’s thriving again. Not this shit piece of land that is called a country though.

But the government did despatch troops to the southern states to restore order.

Did they? All we could see was the trucks coming in to pick up their own people and simply shooting and picking the rest who was just trying to get away too. We were left on our bloody own, the towns and the city was left to the rot while they took their own people to the northern states . And we ain’t like the west, we don’t have the guns. We don’t have the mindset of people who would rise to defend their own homes at the first sign of trouble. Just a pack of refugees struggling to get themselves into the north or down south across the sea. All gunned down at the border though, none of them stood a chance.

[ Angrily takes another drag and unpins some photos from the signboard. The pictures show masses and masses of bodies piled on roads. One clearly shows a women holding a child to her bosom. Both showed signs of gunshot wounds.]

Just look at them. Our own government and they did this to us. This is not a bloody commie state, no this is a fucking democratic country. Bloody fucking cunts. All the way up the country, struggling through the roads and the jungle just to be gunned down at the gates of the so – called safety zones. Little wonder the country doesn’t want them back.

But Singapore did put down the refugees at the bridges too.

I know. They even blew up the bridges on the fifth day after the outbreak too. Self centered bastards. All for their own necks and none more for the rest. You can see how bad things got here. Barely this first week and we were cut off from help and support all around. Just the milling hordes streaming down from the north and the cold sea on our back. All of us lost relatives, loved ones to the plague. My family was in the first makeshift forts along the Skudai section of the North – South highway. They never stood a chance when the hordes first appear. We thought it would be secure.

[ He slowly leaned back against the chair and kept quiet for a while. His fingers shivered for a while before brushing away a tear against his cheek.]

I still remember the screams of the women and children at the forts when we got there. They never stood a chance. The image is still there, the sea of bodies and the burning forts. How could we have been so careless? How could we. What are we to build back on if the future is dead?

Just ashes. All ashes now.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Lights swirl.

Scribbling down the notes along the static glow of the television with the headphones on,
completely oblivious to the world except for the one within the books opened around him.

he checks the phone for a message from a loved one but it stays silent,
nothing pronounced to him that he is more alone than ever at that moment.
nothing but him and work.

" Tears stream down your face for tonight, but the lights will still guide you home and ignite you. "