0011.

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.

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.

home.

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.

hey.

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.

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.

JOHOR BAHRU. MALAYSIA.

[ 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.

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. "

spark.

the swirl of the caffeine turns silently within the cup as he ponders quietly.

the trees whispers incessantly across their canopy, keeping him sleepy despite the coffee.

Pen twirls across the sheets filled with calculations, but all he's thinking about is just the trip home.

just another sixteen days.

" Just sixteen days. "

he sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair one last time before getting back to the work.

all work no play makes jack a dull boy.

but the work gets him home.

no play then.

Tired of sleeping.

Meds has a way of making,
making your eyes feel like they are dying to get out of your body,
ears into thinking they are mini copters longing to fly away.

Sickness has to kick in during the holiday week.
it's a horribly ironic issue.
now i just got to get on with the assignments again.

i don't need to keep the two feathers from the last semester.
fuck the feathers.
i'm going for homely dinghys.
All four of them.

Too bad Black Ops is coming out on sept 11.

not too good i guess.

You are a S.O.B behind the wheel my friend.

i drove into a cop car today but he just waved me on.
Guess that means i will be okay.
Listen to the sound of, birds whistling through a hail of lead.
Hold on to the dear thought of your figurine on a cross saving you,
because i don't think uncle sam would be equally kind to us.
The joy & misery of the fire flickering in your eyes is killing your lover.
He's already laid across the planks burning for you.
Yet you did not choose him nor he did you.
Oh he certainly did not.

All chances of recovery is gone for the dead for they cry silently.
Cry for the lost hopes of a child bouncing smiling on their laps with their tiny hearts against, against the very fabric of mankind.


All said & done,
Deep sea blues and too many watches,
we love your sigh like jesus loves his toast.
Bleed for your bleeding colours like it's pulmonary,
hang the dead man noose.
Hang him dry.

Blue pear.

After bouts of restlessness and tossing with a lil turning,
one person out of a hundred will slowly understand that,
nothing is ever perfect, and if they seemed to be at the start,
it's just a fool's hope, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

The pot that can never be found.

Some people smile at the sight of the children frolicking around the puddles of water by the gutter,
Others laugh quietly at the sight of loved ones smiling at the children.
It's a bittersweet smile though, one that never lasts.

Once upon an age, it was an easy task to be sure of oneself.
just the mandatory tales of Blood and tears upon the falling burning hanging body.
Now it's hard. it's just so hard to do so.

People never had time for romantics & dreamers.
it's out of a logical need but we don't have the need to diss it too.
Superficial beauty takes away the breath of the public and the rest just weep.
weep, with the sorrow of knowing the lost.


it's an error to feel.
to feel too much and to understand it so.
To watch it burn in front of you but yet,
letting it burn away instead of keeping it to yourself is better for it.
so let it burn.
let everything burn.
let it all burn.

moth

i was a king,
but i'm just the same,
putting my hands over the flame,
i love the heat and the strings that tied me off,
but the flaming just burns so hot.

all along,
fiddling through all by myself,
he's celebrated but i'm disturbed,
it's never a curse,

my love affair with everywhere was innocent,
why do we bother,
time to start the car and go,
to where you are.



All said and done, it's just 10 days to go.
time for the pick up and the last beer for the road.



oh.. you are the best i know love.
the best.
seeing you there so unaware.
but yet we will be together soon.
we will.

the little things in life

are best enjoyed through slow-motion.
what can be better on a lazy saturday than,
waking up,
baking up,
grab a bun and head down to the field to watch football.


talk about live entertainment.
sitting like a hermit in a black hoodie,
while watching the players screaming injury every five minutes is pretty funny.

there are some men who just want to see the world burn.
but the world has been burning for a long time.
and.. yet, it's still here.
i guess that's the bloody beauty of it.
oh burn world burn,
then just stop drop and roll,
oh yea.

you got a death wish, Johnny?

not that i know any johnnies or john anyway.
i wouldn't mind knowing a few though.
nowadays the sun is hot on the hotside and yet the wind is super chilly.
talk about god being indecisive.

everyday would be a cyclic process.
get up, shiver, fumble for the heater.
walk walk walk away for class.



somehow this feels so much better than high school.
the classes i mean.
other parts.... nah.


personal times is usually spent between the keyboard, fretboard and bottle.
not to mention grocery shopping.
it is therapeutic.
especially with mushrooms.


one for each month eh?
at least it's cheaper over here.




and... i can never leave out the fun box too.



39 days left.

the yearning

for a lover's hand.
for the touch of her palm firmly pressed against yours.
for the quiet smile on her face when her hands in yours.
for her.

when all the confusion starts to spread,
and the pictures in my head blurs away,
you are the one that stays clear.
crystal clear my love.

i know it's been a long hard wait,
it ain't fair to make anyone wait like this,
but you have stood with me all the way,
all the way from the first glimpse of the stairs.
thank you.

just 42 days more. =)

shh. =)

well,
it's approximate 20 hours 34 mins since the incident,
but, i'm still going to celebrate it anyway. =)

yep,
it's the birthday of a special person.
a person who is able to lit a smile in me no matter what's going on.
a person who is beautiful way beyond any comparison,
and yet she doesn't believe me.
nope she still doesn't. =)

people say that,
the myth of that one love which is sustaining always is not true.
but yet i disagree.
for i found mine a year and 8 months ago. =)

happy birthday joyce. =)
the light of my life.
just 53 days more dear.
till i'm back with you.

i love you. =)

same old concrete. same old trigger.

run,
like a steam down a mountainside,
with the wind in my back.
staring at the loss of souls behind,
living without a home.

of the mind of putting your burden down,
we have done it before,
we could definitely do it again.
but now all is gone.
all that matters is gone from the second that,
the second you pulled the trigger.

looking for the cause is pointless.
because you only need a mirror to do so.

nobody can tell us why people go insane,
why people choose to live alone.
but i certainly as hell would never choose to live alone.
for to live alone would be to be without you.
and i can't do that.
not me.


shapes of every size is moving behind your eyes,
smile because you are blinking the blood away,
oh shadow of the sun.

junkie wunkie woo.

My friend,
i'm oh so depressed,
I feel the question of the loneliness.
the quietness of the night wind, silenced by the cold,
cause it's hard when you don't know yourself.

hammering away on this keyboard isn't a shallow pursuit,
to the riches of vain fame with the hi and byes of momentary warmth.
it's an expression. a quiet one of the mind and the thoughts,
often not unspoken but always there,
by the tip of the lips.

it's hard to understand, but the average jul does understand,
despite the fact that of a foreign land and riches to be gain,
it just can't compare with the memories of a sun drenched and humid place.
a place of simple pleasures and a quick trip for a burger and some mental fun.
a distress signal so obviously blaring within the head is not easily ignored,
when you are standing on the balcony watching the pale faces play,
so undeservedly happy, with the cold wisps of the air tugging the hair everywhere.
oh no sir.
it's not easy at all.

2 more months eh?

Don't you know,
It's a love that lasts forever,
It's a love that has no past.
Ooh she digs me,
but I guess nobody ever really done that.
ooh but she did. she certainly did.
my warmth, my loverbird. =)

quiet poppies

You've got this new head filled up with smoke,
he lost that glow he used to have in his face,
empty burned bottle on the carpet,
everyone's lying beside it.
hold your tongue with your teeth.


a quiet easter is my easter for the past two weeks.
it would have been worse though,
if not for a certain joyce to chat to under the sheets,
to chat the night away. =)

gone are all the days of zooming around in a tacky silver car,
a hand on the wheel the other typing away on the phone.
gone are the days of heading to the shops and sitting down,
shooting a few guys while arranging some other poor souls to be dead by chaos.
and yet, it'll be back in 2 months.
it feels a bit like christmas. hehe.

from one small town to another,
albeit one that much is safer from the lack of cheap scooters,
and a lack of education for two generations of dopeheads and wraparounds.
you will never wake up to the sound of,
the ambulance screaming down ur lane at 3am back home though.
poor girl but it was her fault for drinking so much,
till the point of the rearrangement of the paint on the walls with bio paint made from dinner.

st patrick's day.
the night they painted my floor a living green with beer.
laugh out loud with a certain shake of the head will be proper i guess.
i guess.


oh ya.
nicholas cage is a batman wannabe.
kick ass.
hehe.


But it was cold, it was getting late
Sadly, she crept back into bed
But then she felt a soft kiss on her cheek
she opened her eyes.
smile my love. C=

Time.

"Each moment is as slow and transparent as glass. Through each moment I can see infinite moments lined up, waiting. Why has he gone where I cannot follow?"
-Clare

Love, Joyce.