It was during the time of great turmoil, when mysticism of the past collided with logic and reasoning of the present, that the great Crystal Ball shattered. The common men was gifted with the enormous power of foreseeing the future. For some time men rejoiced, giving thanks to whatever deity they believed to be responsible for this charity. They thought with this great knowledge, they could prevent and preempt whatever disasters that could come their way.
However knowledge did not bring wisdom. Chaos ensued as people tried advancing their own lives through their newly acquired vision. The world simply ground to a halt when every single action by any single person caused the cascading effects that alters the behaviors of everyone else, which in turn caused more cascading effects that continued this vicious cycle. Civilization was caught in some kind of paradox and was on the brink of collapse. That was when he came.
No one knew where he came from. No one knew his name. No one knew anything about him. Since the beginning, people knew him only as the Oracle.
Combining the mysticism of the past and logic and reasoning of the present, he was able to convince most people to give up the vision they acquired or for the few selfish ones who refused, their existence was ceased at once. Piece by piece, country by country, the Oracle was able to restore order to civilization. He was regarded as a god, an all powerful being sent down to save mankind from their greed and stupidity. People gathered around him wherever he went. They worshiped him. They sacrificed their animals to him. They even knelt to him and kissed his feet. Seeing what’s going on around him, the Oracle simply laughed in disgust and vanished into thin air.
He was never to be seen again.
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Thursday, August 8, 2013
A Lawn Story
I was just out mowing the lawn, minding my own business. Oh how joyful it was going full throttle with no one yelling at you for going too fast. Along with the cooler evening air blowing against my face, I was easily hypnotized by the rhythmic roar from the engine. It was a perfect Summer evening, until Johnny came out of nowhere in front of me. I slammed on the breaks and almost flew off the tractor.
“Are you crazy Johnny!? I could’ve hit you!” For the first time in a long while I was screaming.
“You stay away from Lisa! I swear I will hurt you!” He said rather threatenly.
Imagine the surprise I had on my face.
“Who do you think you are Johnny!? You don’t go about threatening people around here! Lisa is MY girlfriend! She is mine! You want to die!?” I said in a harsh tone, “get the fuck out of the way before I slap the shit out of you!” I turned off the tractor and approached him.
“Don’t tarch me madafarckar!” And he jumped me.
“HEY DON’T FUCKING BITE ME! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”
“I love Lisa! I love Lisa so marrrcchhh! I’ll do everything for her.” His voice trailed off.
“Lisa is my girlfriend you little shit!”
I raged. I grabbed him and overpowered him. I threw Johnny on the ground and started punching and kicking and stomping him. Like a mad dog, I kept on punching and kicking and stomping him until I was drained of my strength.
I spat at Johnny’s dead body, now lay disfigured and contorted, “don’t fucking mess with me!”
That’s when I heard a feminine voice behind me. The voice was shaking and cold, “why did you do that! Why did you kill Johnny! I loved Johnny! I loved him!”
I turned and I saw her. I stood motionless, I was gazing at her and guilt soon overtook me.
“I...I...I...You must be new around here or else I would’ve...I...Are you...are you...Li”
“I’M LISA!” And she too jumped me.
Another round of struggle ensued.
***
At the end of the day, the world is safer with two less spiders.
“Are you crazy Johnny!? I could’ve hit you!” For the first time in a long while I was screaming.
“You stay away from Lisa! I swear I will hurt you!” He said rather threatenly.
Imagine the surprise I had on my face.
“Who do you think you are Johnny!? You don’t go about threatening people around here! Lisa is MY girlfriend! She is mine! You want to die!?” I said in a harsh tone, “get the fuck out of the way before I slap the shit out of you!” I turned off the tractor and approached him.
“Don’t tarch me madafarckar!” And he jumped me.
“HEY DON’T FUCKING BITE ME! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”
“I love Lisa! I love Lisa so marrrcchhh! I’ll do everything for her.” His voice trailed off.
“Lisa is my girlfriend you little shit!”
I raged. I grabbed him and overpowered him. I threw Johnny on the ground and started punching and kicking and stomping him. Like a mad dog, I kept on punching and kicking and stomping him until I was drained of my strength.
I spat at Johnny’s dead body, now lay disfigured and contorted, “don’t fucking mess with me!”
That’s when I heard a feminine voice behind me. The voice was shaking and cold, “why did you do that! Why did you kill Johnny! I loved Johnny! I loved him!”
I turned and I saw her. I stood motionless, I was gazing at her and guilt soon overtook me.
“I...I...I...You must be new around here or else I would’ve...I...Are you...are you...Li”
“I’M LISA!” And she too jumped me.
Another round of struggle ensued.
***
At the end of the day, the world is safer with two less spiders.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Big Dave
"Are you kidding me!?"
"Nobody is kidding you!" Big Dave screamed.
Puzzled by Big Dave's outburst, Tanner reached for his gun, in case anything should happen. All of a sudden, Big Dave's demeanor changed. He is calm, relaxed, like a leopard tracking its pray, waiting patiently for the opportunity to go in for the kill. Sensing the change, Tanner drew out his gun with a sleight of hand, but he was already too late, a bullet had entered his brain long before.
Big Dave chucked coldly as he puts his gun away.
"No no."
*****
It's a relaxed day in math class. Jokes are being passed around lightheartedly, not all were school appropriate in the strictest definition, but Big Dave couldn't care less.
"So Big Dave, if you could summarize your life into a song, what would the lyrics be?" A student asked jokingly.
Ever so calmly Big Dave smiled and said, "I'm a bad ass."
Monday, January 28, 2013
Family Business
[Some say that the pen is mightier than the sword. This is definitely a more peaceful way of revenge. :)]
He hated it when they yell at each other. The things they say to each other were so precisely crafted, they hurt like a slow knife, carving deep into the heart. Of course they would always call a truce few days later, but he often wonders how they can look each other in the eyes and accepts each other’s overused “I didn't mean it”. He knows that they meant it in some ways. He is certain that they know that they meant it too. Moreover the truces they've ever called were just rest spites during which they rearm themselves with even more cruel statements and the setting of moral traps for each other.
The fights are not easy for him to endure. When hostility commences, sooner or later, he would be dragged into it, assuming the position of a judge. He dreads the job, dreads to have to pick a side that is in the right. How can he? He loves his parents way too much to do anything to harm either one. Not to mention the fact that they both have very valid arguments that are, in their own ways, right.
He knew, of course, that if he is just brave enough to talk to his parents about it. Just by telling them how much their fighting upsets him, the ordeals would stop. He knew, also, that they both love him as much as he loves them. He knew that they would do whatever for him. Whatever that pleases him. He knew if nothing else, he can stop the arguments before they are passed the point of no return. Oh he knew, he is just not brave enough to take action, and he hates himself very much for it.
One night his worst nightmare came true. It was the war to end all wars. The most vicious one he has experienced by far from his parents. The volume of their voices stunned him. Not sure what to do, if anything at all, he locked himself in his room and crouched in a corner, and started shaking.
His mind was grasped by a sudden urge to run downstairs to stop them from going any further. It took a while, but he ultimately had picked himself up and dragged his body to the door. He cracked the door open, but slammed it shut almost as quickly as he had it opened. The sound of shattering glassware had hit him like a sledgehammer. He was knocked right back to the same corner where he was too slow to act.
“Coward!” he called himself as he plugs a pair of ear buds in. Feeling lost and not giving a fuck, he irrationally slides the volume bar all the way up.
His ears were pulsating with pain, but he could've cared less. A question drifted into his consciousness, he wonders if they are really oblivious to the fact that whatever they are doing hurts him. But he was too tired to think any longer. He soon fell asleep.
He woke up early next morning with a stream of blood running out of his ears. He laid there for awhile until he noticed the familiar sound of his mother making breakfast was missing. He repeated the phrase “hopefully it’s just my ears” as he dresses to check on his parents.
It was a cold February morning, quite beautiful too. A snowstorm came through just the night before, leaving the neighborhood a smooth white complexion. Outside the children awoke early building snowmen and making snow angels. Everything looked so serene and harmless, but if one was to look closer, he or she would've noticed the two freshly made tire tracks in place of the usually late waking Haldemans' van and a hint of red was splattered on the windows of the master bedroom. And perhaps one would've also noticed the emptiness of the house from which a faint but definitely audible scream came.
But the children were busy having fun and the adults even busier preparing for the long day ahead of them.
He hated it when they yell at each other. The things they say to each other were so precisely crafted, they hurt like a slow knife, carving deep into the heart. Of course they would always call a truce few days later, but he often wonders how they can look each other in the eyes and accepts each other’s overused “I didn't mean it”. He knows that they meant it in some ways. He is certain that they know that they meant it too. Moreover the truces they've ever called were just rest spites during which they rearm themselves with even more cruel statements and the setting of moral traps for each other.
The fights are not easy for him to endure. When hostility commences, sooner or later, he would be dragged into it, assuming the position of a judge. He dreads the job, dreads to have to pick a side that is in the right. How can he? He loves his parents way too much to do anything to harm either one. Not to mention the fact that they both have very valid arguments that are, in their own ways, right.
He knew, of course, that if he is just brave enough to talk to his parents about it. Just by telling them how much their fighting upsets him, the ordeals would stop. He knew, also, that they both love him as much as he loves them. He knew that they would do whatever for him. Whatever that pleases him. He knew if nothing else, he can stop the arguments before they are passed the point of no return. Oh he knew, he is just not brave enough to take action, and he hates himself very much for it.
One night his worst nightmare came true. It was the war to end all wars. The most vicious one he has experienced by far from his parents. The volume of their voices stunned him. Not sure what to do, if anything at all, he locked himself in his room and crouched in a corner, and started shaking.
His mind was grasped by a sudden urge to run downstairs to stop them from going any further. It took a while, but he ultimately had picked himself up and dragged his body to the door. He cracked the door open, but slammed it shut almost as quickly as he had it opened. The sound of shattering glassware had hit him like a sledgehammer. He was knocked right back to the same corner where he was too slow to act.
“Coward!” he called himself as he plugs a pair of ear buds in. Feeling lost and not giving a fuck, he irrationally slides the volume bar all the way up.
His ears were pulsating with pain, but he could've cared less. A question drifted into his consciousness, he wonders if they are really oblivious to the fact that whatever they are doing hurts him. But he was too tired to think any longer. He soon fell asleep.
He woke up early next morning with a stream of blood running out of his ears. He laid there for awhile until he noticed the familiar sound of his mother making breakfast was missing. He repeated the phrase “hopefully it’s just my ears” as he dresses to check on his parents.
It was a cold February morning, quite beautiful too. A snowstorm came through just the night before, leaving the neighborhood a smooth white complexion. Outside the children awoke early building snowmen and making snow angels. Everything looked so serene and harmless, but if one was to look closer, he or she would've noticed the two freshly made tire tracks in place of the usually late waking Haldemans' van and a hint of red was splattered on the windows of the master bedroom. And perhaps one would've also noticed the emptiness of the house from which a faint but definitely audible scream came.
But the children were busy having fun and the adults even busier preparing for the long day ahead of them.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
The Green Car
"John McNap! You stay behind! I'm calling home for your bad behaviors in classroom today! And throw away that straw, NOW!"
"Yes, Mrs. A" I put on an annoyed look, and I whispered to myself, "hole." She gave me a look and decided to ignore me until the end of class.
I don't see why she made such a commotion, I didn't do much today. I've only got a few spitballs stuck to the back of this ugly Mrs. A-hole. If it weren't for that tattle-telling pig of Mrs. A-hole, I would've made it out okay today. Although A-hole would've been suspicious of the random laughter that erupts every time she turns her attention away from the class.
A-hole should of known better not to put me in a seat right next to the door. And when the bell rung, a huge crowd of people walks by my desk, obscuring her and her pig's view of me. I waited for the right moment, picked up my food and walked right out with everyone else.
I'm known to be rebellious by both my parents and teachers, causing mayhem wherever I am, whenever I wish. Phone calls from teachers are now a part of daily life for my parents, so I wasn't expecting anything when I get home. And today is Friday, one more reason to slip out of her room. Mrs. A-hole should thank me for leaving, she would've had the worst Friday of her life if I stayed behind.
***
After I parted with equally despicable friends of mine, the sky starts to thicken with terrifying looking storm clouds. Not wanting to get soaked, I decided to take a shortcut through the abandoned part of the city to get home.
As I walk down the street, a sense of sadness is creeping into me. This once bustling part of the decaying city is now populated only by the few stray cats and some homeless people. Grass and weeds are growing in the cracks of the pavement, creating bumps and ditches that had almost sprained my right ankle. It's hard to believe that the place where I engaged myself with window shopping is now lay in ruins, with a layer of dust over everything and crumbling buildings everywhere.
Soon I sighted a small red iron bridge, now rusting away with the city. I'm a bit afraid to cross this bridge, it was said that the red color came from the bloods of people who died of terrible accidents here. Only a month after the bridge was opened for traffic, the bridge was decorated by many small wooden crosses and rings of flowers. The city authorities was forced to close it down, and unemployment and unforeseen weather events immediately followed.
I stopped a few yards in front of the bridge, trying to find enough of the recklessness inside me to force myself to walk across. And a violent gust of wind came, almost knocking me over. I'm walking across!
I picked up my foot and started to walk, and right then I heard a loud roaring of a car coming from behind me. Fearing for my life, I turned swiftly to see what it was. A ghostly looking green car, modded apparently, was racing its way towards me. I started to run towards the side streets hoping to avoid this reckless driver.
"Ouch!"
I lay on the ground screaming in vain after stumbling on the cracked pavements.
"I'm going to die, I'm going to die! Ahh!"
I stood up, feeling the pain shearing up my foot, I started for wherever but here. But it was too late. The roaring is now so close that I can feel it vibrating my heart! I look up and the car is a few inches away from me, and I squeeze shut my eyes.
My whole life played out in front of me. All the happy memories, the unhappy memories, the ones I've forgotten, the ones that I wanted to forget are all coming back, like a movie.
And I was knocked to the ground by a strong gust of wind.
I opened my eyes. Confused, I started to feel for my limbs and smacked myself in the face. I got up, panting from the frightening experience, and intoxicating myself in the process by the heavy smell of alcohol. I stumbled across the bridge, ignoring everything I known about the bridge. I just want to go home.
I got home, rung the bell, and no one answered. My parents are always home on Fridays!? I took out the keys from my pocket and opened the door to let myself in. Surprised to find all the furniture rearranged. Weird, some of them I've never seen before.
I walked into the kitchen and treated myself to a can of soda. I start flipping through all the mails on the table, all of which are addressed to a family call the Lains. Why are they here? Who are the Lains? There are no Lain families in our apartment. Weird. I set aside the mails and grabbed the newspaper underneath them and started to read through it.
And down on the corner of the front page, a title grabbed my attention, "1 Year Anniversary of the Teen Killed By A Drunk Driver By the Bridge".
"Interesting, I don't recall any kids got killed."
"Yes, Mrs. A" I put on an annoyed look, and I whispered to myself, "hole." She gave me a look and decided to ignore me until the end of class.
I don't see why she made such a commotion, I didn't do much today. I've only got a few spitballs stuck to the back of this ugly Mrs. A-hole. If it weren't for that tattle-telling pig of Mrs. A-hole, I would've made it out okay today. Although A-hole would've been suspicious of the random laughter that erupts every time she turns her attention away from the class.
A-hole should of known better not to put me in a seat right next to the door. And when the bell rung, a huge crowd of people walks by my desk, obscuring her and her pig's view of me. I waited for the right moment, picked up my food and walked right out with everyone else.
I'm known to be rebellious by both my parents and teachers, causing mayhem wherever I am, whenever I wish. Phone calls from teachers are now a part of daily life for my parents, so I wasn't expecting anything when I get home. And today is Friday, one more reason to slip out of her room. Mrs. A-hole should thank me for leaving, she would've had the worst Friday of her life if I stayed behind.
***
After I parted with equally despicable friends of mine, the sky starts to thicken with terrifying looking storm clouds. Not wanting to get soaked, I decided to take a shortcut through the abandoned part of the city to get home.
As I walk down the street, a sense of sadness is creeping into me. This once bustling part of the decaying city is now populated only by the few stray cats and some homeless people. Grass and weeds are growing in the cracks of the pavement, creating bumps and ditches that had almost sprained my right ankle. It's hard to believe that the place where I engaged myself with window shopping is now lay in ruins, with a layer of dust over everything and crumbling buildings everywhere.
Soon I sighted a small red iron bridge, now rusting away with the city. I'm a bit afraid to cross this bridge, it was said that the red color came from the bloods of people who died of terrible accidents here. Only a month after the bridge was opened for traffic, the bridge was decorated by many small wooden crosses and rings of flowers. The city authorities was forced to close it down, and unemployment and unforeseen weather events immediately followed.
I stopped a few yards in front of the bridge, trying to find enough of the recklessness inside me to force myself to walk across. And a violent gust of wind came, almost knocking me over. I'm walking across!
I picked up my foot and started to walk, and right then I heard a loud roaring of a car coming from behind me. Fearing for my life, I turned swiftly to see what it was. A ghostly looking green car, modded apparently, was racing its way towards me. I started to run towards the side streets hoping to avoid this reckless driver.
"Ouch!"
I lay on the ground screaming in vain after stumbling on the cracked pavements.
"I'm going to die, I'm going to die! Ahh!"
I stood up, feeling the pain shearing up my foot, I started for wherever but here. But it was too late. The roaring is now so close that I can feel it vibrating my heart! I look up and the car is a few inches away from me, and I squeeze shut my eyes.
My whole life played out in front of me. All the happy memories, the unhappy memories, the ones I've forgotten, the ones that I wanted to forget are all coming back, like a movie.
And I was knocked to the ground by a strong gust of wind.
I opened my eyes. Confused, I started to feel for my limbs and smacked myself in the face. I got up, panting from the frightening experience, and intoxicating myself in the process by the heavy smell of alcohol. I stumbled across the bridge, ignoring everything I known about the bridge. I just want to go home.
I got home, rung the bell, and no one answered. My parents are always home on Fridays!? I took out the keys from my pocket and opened the door to let myself in. Surprised to find all the furniture rearranged. Weird, some of them I've never seen before.
I walked into the kitchen and treated myself to a can of soda. I start flipping through all the mails on the table, all of which are addressed to a family call the Lains. Why are they here? Who are the Lains? There are no Lain families in our apartment. Weird. I set aside the mails and grabbed the newspaper underneath them and started to read through it.
And down on the corner of the front page, a title grabbed my attention, "1 Year Anniversary of the Teen Killed By A Drunk Driver By the Bridge".
"Interesting, I don't recall any kids got killed."
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