Realizing the dearth of topics on which to blog - despite a very sweet girl's help (thanks anyway, darling!) - I have settled on paying off a long overdue bill that has been festering upon my digital desktop for about a year now. Or is that a couple of weeks (I'm still having trouble getting the idea of this being 2008 - Happy Belated New Year!)?

The rot in question is a tag to complete a "mundane" (in the tagger's words himself) meme about yours truly. In short, Henry, here's what you asked for. I hope these answers don't disappoint you completely. *grins wickedly*

List out the top five presents you wish for:

1. A brand new desktop computer, complete with 19" LCD monitor and 2 GBs of RAM, upon which I can play uber-cool games and experiment with Adobe Photoshop CS2 endlessly (so I'm a geek, SUE ME!)!
   
2. A simple, decent digital camera.
   
3. An MP3 player.
   
4. A Perodua Kancil. I need motivation to practice my driving. Yes, I don't have a license. No, I can't ride a motorcycle either 'cos I don't have a license for that too.
   
5. Cash. Lots and lots of cash. To quote Ms Britney Spears (ah, how far she hath fallen), "Gimme more!"
   

The person who tagged you is: Yew Guo Zheng (Henry)

Your five impressions of him:

1. Intelligent.
2. British.
3. Egg.
4. Sadistic.
5. Wordy.

The most memorable words he said to you:
"BAH!"

If he becomes your lover, you will…
..probably realize my mistake once the hangover clears up.

If he becomes your enemy, the reason will be…
..a betrayal so vicious and brutal that the very foundations of the world will be shaken. Additionally, I will make millions selling the sordid story of this unexpected backstabbing to influential tabloids worldwide, and then go on to hosting my own talk show.

As the more perceptive of you may have realized by now, I have had no Internet connection at home for the past.. three weeks or so. I promise to blog more regularly now that I've returned to UTP.

Pass the quiz to ten persons who you wish to know how they feel about you:

1. Jared Ee
   
2. Yi Wei
   
3. Hui Wen
   
4. Aimi
   
5. Jolynn
6. The Psycho Kid
   
7. Fang Xuan
   
8. Wen Sher
   
9. Melissa
   
10. Mildred

Who is No. 7 having a relationship with?
I wasn't aware that he has a girlfriend, really.

Who is No. 9 having a relationship with?
I wasn't aware she has a boyfriend, either!

If No. 9 and No. 1 are together, will it be a good thing?
No, 'cos there just isn't the chemistry for things to work out well. Trust me on this. *winks*

What about No. 1 and No. 5?
Well you could try, but it'd seem as if something was lacking from the relationship.

What is No. 3 studying?
Law, aiming to become a lawyer (..must..resist..urge..to crack..stupid..joke..!).

When is the last time you chatted with No. 6?
Last year, during exam week.

Does No. 4 work?
Not full-time, if you asked me. As far as I know, she's still studying.

Has any cousin in his/her own school?
How should I know such things. Find out from her yourself!

Will you be with No. 10?
As a friend? Yes. As more than a friend? Perhaps. As a lover? Guess not!

How about No. 5?
As a friend? Sure. As more than a friend? Maybe. As a lover? No chance!

Does No. 2 have any siblings?
I'm not sure. If I'd to hazard a guess, I'd say... no?

How did you get to know about No. 2 and No. 4?
No. 2 - Blogging, 2005(06?).
No. 4 - JKMM-UNICEF Children's Rights Convention Workshop, 2004.

Where does No. 1 live?
Fair Park.

How did you get to know No. 8?
Through the Orientation Week in Universiti Teknologi PETRONAS, 2006.

Is No. 5 the sexiest person in the world?
She could be!

* * * * *

The Orientation Week program begins in a week's time. I've returned to UTP to attend to several things pertaining to the Orientation Week, as well as the Student Council. I'll be posting a short story next, so stay tuned!

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The little girl began to cry. In the endless back-and-forth of the crowd she'd been separated from her mother. Now she was lost and lonely in this cold, big city. People brushed past her indifferently, their eyes purposely avoiding her gaze. Except for a handsome young gentleman in a deep blue suit. He knelt before her, smiling paternally. "Hey little girl," he spoke softly. "Why so sad?" She whimpered, "I'm lost, Mister. I can't find my mommy." "Don't worry, little girl," grinning lecherously as her beautiful eyes widened. "I'll help you find her. You're safe with me."

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Some artists have the benefit of having their very own muse. You know, that someone who inspires them to creative heights and drops neatly wrapped works on their doorstep, while the rest of us aspirants-in-waiting have to slog it out to produce something even remotely resembling the wrapping.

Anyway, going by the broadest possible definition of that word, I'd say my 'muse' for today is Jasmine, my favorite oh-so-kinky gal, who recently tagged me to complete this meme.

The Rules:
1. Link to your tagger and post these rules.
2. List eight (8) random facts about yourself.
3. Tag eight people at the end of your post and list their names (linking to them).
4. Let them know they’ve been tagged.

Here goes!

Ersten: I value my friends and family a lot.

If there's anything that matters in my life, it'd definitely have to be the people I know and love. From random acquaintances I found on Friendster to like-minded bloggers, I don't know where - or even who - I'd be without people like them.

I do all sorts of things with this nutty bunch of folks - from gabbing nonstop for hours on end, to watching one movie after another for hours on end, to just sitting around saying nothing at all for hours on end. And when you've spent most of your years (so far) in Deadtown (Ipoh), you really come to rely on the people you know to spice things up a bit now and then.

Zweiten: What Buddhism means to me.

Buddhism only really began to become an integral part of my life after I attended the PETRONAS scholars' motivational programme called 'Soaring the Eagle' at Port Dickson this year. My facilitator remarked that I seemed to be a 'spiritual' person in how I viewed the world around me.

This brought up a lot of questions in me about faith. And yes, religion scares me. Watching people hate each other on the basis of practicing different faiths is demoralizing. Even among members of the same faith with different interpretations there are conflicts.

Buddhism is different because it is not a religion, it is a way of life. The most important part of Buddhism is its focus on moderation, on living a good life and treating people well as we go along. People seem to have forgotten to be good for being good, especially in this day and age. Religion has become too much of a bad thing if people are willing to kill others in its name.

Dritten: If only I could write as well as you do.

Don't look at me like that. Yes, I know I can spin a pretty colorful yarn once in awhile, but its the stories that captivate and inspire that I wish to pen. I dream of writing stories that make people think, make them wonder, and above all, make them dare to dream big, think big, act big because they can.

I look for inspiration everywhere. Somehow or other though, I seem to be collecting dozens of ideas for an alternate-reality Earth of some sort. Regardless, while I strive to find my muse, I shall pen another series revolving around something like that.

Ideas, comments and suggestions on how to write inspiring stories are much appreciated!

Vierten: I want to sing out loud!

Just so you know, I'm feeling very self-conscious as I type this.

The only reason why I don't is because I get the jitters and start to shake and chatter when I try to sing. But I've already had positive feedback from my first "public" (*coughs*) performance, so I'm looking to improve myself. Not as a career or talent, but just for fun so I can confidently pick up a karaoke mike when times call for it.

Fünften: All for sex(uality) education!

Not just to weasel out of having to elaborate (since Jasmine's already put this down as one of her facts.. *laughs*), but because it really is necessary.

I mean, considering the relatively high number of sexual crimes in Malaysia (incest, rape, molest, sodomy, etc.) - especially in a certain conservative state which happens to be the last bastion of a particular religious political party *hmmm* - it's high time our youth be exposed to the issue of sex(uality) without it being taboo! The only way they really learn things currently is through hushed whispers and dirty jokes.. and then some.

And while we're at it, how about some classes on ways to have sex (hands-on lessons not recommended)? It's not just about procreation, you know. Sometimes I do wonder what guys and girls out there really know about "it".

..and at this point in time, I find my brain beginning to jam. And so, with the help of some sweet friends, the final three facts:

Sechste: The Drama King, Me.

Jocelyn observed I have a habit of being random at times, which is true (only I didn't think of it at all). I swing between being painstakingly annoying and overly enthusiastic faster than you can spell premenstrual syndrome. Then again, sometimes I love being over-the-top ballistically bonkers for the sake of ... nothing much in particular.

In the case of being oh-so-drama, I find people's reactions when they see something totally unexpected from me a hoot. I just get a kick out of confusing the hell out of people (or hearing them go sarcastically, "Right.."). So darn funny!

For example, in a recent MSN Messenger conversation with the uber-hot Jasmine (after I was rather indirect in thanking her for providing me with the seventh fact):

[21:30] jasmine: you should've made that obvious
[21:30] jasmine: and stop being so indirectly.
[21:30] jasmine: :P
[21:31] Me: sorryyyyyyyy~~
[21:31] Me: i shall try to remember to be more direct with u in future
[21:31] jasmine: good
[21:31] jasmine: but not tooo direct
[21:31] jasmine: as in like,if my butt bigger,say its smaller
[21:32] jasmine: but then i'll hit you nonetheless
[21:32] jasmine: but much more better that way,rather than you saying that its bigger
[21:32] jasmine: :D
[21:32] Me: girls dont like big butts? *scribbles mental note
[21:33] Me: correction: girls dont like big butts on themselves? *rescribbles notes
[21:34] jasmine: -___-

Damn, that was so worth it! *laughs hysterically*

Siebte: Hiding under girls' beds is fun.

This little nugget is from Jasmine herself too (which explains why I was thanking her above). During the workshop on children's rights I attended in 2004, I'd snuck into the girls' dorm for.. a midnight chat (don't you go about getting no funny ideas!!). And as we sat there talking in our pajamas, along came the camp facilitators - what a coincidence!

Fortunately (for me), one of the girls saw them coming so I dashed under Jasmine's bed.. and the girls proceeded to cover me in shirts, luggage bags, plastic bags and what-nots to the point of burying me alive under there.

After holding my breath (both in suspense and not to suck in any of the dust where I was) for sometime, the facilitators left, satisfied. The girls had successfully hid me away in their dorm! Under Jasmine's bed! That was seriously one hell of an adrenaline rush. Don't expect me to be doing the same thing in UTP, though! *sticks tongue out*

Achte: I'm pretty scary when I'm angry.

To quote the big green guy, "You won't like me when I'm angry." Then again, who'd ever like another when that person's angry? Anger sure brings out the worst in people. And it brings out the worst of me. I remember clearly one time in class.. my mates were raising one hell of a ruckus that could bring the roof down (and if you studied in St. Mike's, Ipoh then, there certainly was a possibility).

Next thing I knew I'd raised my head from my work and shouted, "Oi, shut up la!" I was rather surprised when they did. In fact, later one of my classmates (Kee Cheong, a guy who looked smart but also real rough and tough) said it was quite frightening to see my outburst like that.

My kind of anger is the slow poison that will kill you from the inside-out, eating its way through from your heart to every inch of your body. Apparently, I have this chilling manner of selecting just the right words to dissect your emotions, slice by slice, and hurt you deeply. Ask Henry; we've had our fair share of fights and misunderstandings, and I wasn't exactly very civil, either.

So the next time you cross my path, don't say you weren't warned. *evil laugh*

..now, to tag eight people to do this meme. So, hey you!:

1.Khael
2.Guo Zheng
3.linn
4.Siti
5.Infectioner
6.Redblaque
7.The Neo Visualist
8.Christon

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Since the time of King Richard and his noble Crusades, my family crest has been synonymous with power and all its trappings. Every other aristocratic clan in the nation - nay, the continent - bowed to our every whim and fancy as if we were descended of God. And with the amount of wealth and influence we had, who was to say we weren't?

However, there was much more afoot than the gossip at court would lead us to believe. In time, the populace rose against us, demanding new leaders to govern them. Fearing retribution, my family relinquished their hold on power to the people, and a new, democratic nation was borne out of the ashes of our fall.

Still, all was not well in the new nation. People starved in the streets as our leaders raped the land for its mineral wealth to earn profit. Countless crimes were committed against innocent lives that soon, a reign of terror was installed beneath the thin veneer of supposed "civilization" and "peace".

And thus, beginning with my grandmother and her twin sons, our family plotted in secret against the ruling government to expose its lies to the world and crush it in a murderous campaign of vengeance.

But the more I was involved in their plans to topple an arrogant government, the more unspeakable acts I saw being committed by my family's behalf. Faceless mercenaries operating as government agents, slaughtering mindlessly as the news of horrific incidents were used to bolster the credibility of my family's private war.

In time, I began to feel as if my family, too, was succumbing to the brutal barbarity against which we supposedly stood. When my mother passed away, I finally found the strength to leave the Organization with which I grew up.

It was then Dad and all his like-minded associates decided to do away with me, now that I had been conveniently termed "a liability".

"So this is my eldest son? The one we were planning to put on the throne? You can't imagine how glad I am that you've turned against us! Saves us so much trouble later on.."

About a week ago I decided it was time to stop running and face my fears. I sure as hell didn't give a damn about ideals like "freedom" or "justice", but to let my family re-assume the mantle of power was out of the question.

I was still thinking the same thing even as Dad stepped into the room to survey the bloody remains of my uncle - his twin.

He knelt close to me and opened his mouth as if to speak, but I cut him off. "Don't even start, dad," I coughed. "You've done worse to people, like-"

He finished my sentence for me, "Like grandma?" He smiled benignly and tilted his head to one side, thoughtfully.

"And then some," I continued. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, grunting as my lungs protested painfully. I twisted into a more comfortable position and turned to face my father.

Dad lifted me up off the floor and slammed me against the wall, cracking a picture frame. I screamed in agony as a bolt of pain ripped through my chest.

"Not even you will be able to stop me from succeeding this time, son," he glowered. "I've waited too long for this moment to let an upstart like you ruin it for me!"

"Don't forget who trained this 'upstart', Dad!" I kicked out and knocked him over. I heard the "oof" as he doubled over from the sudden blow to his belly. I tried to draw my knife but Dad tripped me over and grabbed at my throat violently.

I choked and scrabbled to throw him off. It wasn't easy. Dad quickly overpowered my feeble attempts and chucked me across the room. A flower pot roughed up my descent. Dad cricked his neck and walked over briskly, seizing me by the collar and laughed. I wanted to spit in his face but all I managed was a dribble before Dad sent me flying again, smashing my head into the glass window overlooking the plaza below.

And of all times to feel dizzy, the feeling hit me now. I vomited blood all over the upholstery.

..my breath came in spurts; I was losing consciousness. I was dying..

Dad snorted and declared triumphantly, "So this is my eldest son? The one we were planning to put on the throne?" He kicked me and I cried out in pain, rolling over in agony. "You can't imagine how glad I am that you've turned against us! Saves us so much trouble later on.."

He kicked me again and again until I was a whimpering, crying wreck of a man on all fours. He sighed almost reluctantly and withdrew a gun from his coat, cocking it.

"I'm actually going to miss you, you little prick. Say hello to your mother for me, will you-?"

I didn't let him finish. Heck, interrupting was always more fun, especially since he was gloating. I shot him four times in the chest with the pistol I'd found conveniently next to me while I was convulsing in pain.

He looked shocked, dazed even, and fired wildly as he spun. I blew out the window behind him with a few well-placed shots, watching him careen helplessly over the edge of the building, screaming as he fell.

As the last spent bullet casing fell to the floor, so too did my crumpled, wasted body. My vision was tinted red, my mouth choked with sweet blood. My lungs, hemorrhaging violently as my heart continued to pump at an alarming rate, disgorging liquid ruby all over the expensive office carpeting. My breath came in spurts; I was losing consciousness. I was dying...

But I managed to get the last word in edgewise: "Tell her yourself, asshole."

The last thing I remember before passing out was my mother, smiling sadly as she used to, reaching out with her bony hands to caress my bloodied cheek lovingly. I closed my eyes and whispered, "Mother.. take me away with you.."

I remember smiling before she took my hand in hers, and finally letting that bleak darkness overtake me. Everlasting peace at last..

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As the spent bullet casing fell to the floor, so too did my crumpled, wasted body. My vision was tinted red, my mouth choked with sweet blood. My lungs, hemorrhaging violently as my heart continued to pump at an alarming rate, disgorging liquid ruby all over the expensive office carpeting. My breath came in spurts; I was losing consciousness. I was dying...

The countdown to my death began three days ago, when I'd 'accidentally' let my grandmother escape after I was supposed to kill her. She'd died in a tragic road accident yesterday though; a train had slammed into her car and crushed her. Her mangled body was horrible to look at - just the way my father liked it. I just didn't think grandma'd be that careless to escape from the clutches of death at my hands, only to end up being run over by a two thousand-ton train.

If dad was willing to kill his own mother for failing to dispose of me, he must be getting desperate to end this once and for all.

Now I find myself in the capital city. Dad's office is located in the Old City Quarter, a proud, modern spire of steel and glass dwarfing centuries-old colonial-style architecture around it. Being in close proximity to the Senate Guildhall certainly has its boons. I recognized the coat-of-arms of a prominent Senator ubiquitously displayed on buff armored guards strutting around my father's office.

My original plan was to sneak into a side entrance, knock out one of the janitors, don his outfit, hide my weapons in his cleaner cart, get past the guards to the top floor where dad was, then go in and put a bullet through his skull before he even knew I was there.

"In an hour's time, the President and his puppet Cabinet will be dead, and I will show this country the values that once made it great."

Seeing all those guards made me change my mind. With that many around dad, I honestly thought I didn't stand a chance of making it out alive. Thus, I decided to throw caution to the wind and just blast my way through. If I was going to die, might as well do it with company.

I pulled up outside the building and grabbed my all-time favorite terrorist weapon: the rocket-propelled grenade. I remembered hearing the guards yelling something at me, but the explosion that blew out the lobby kinda canceled out whatever it was they were saying.

That done, I chucked the empty launcher aside as people ran helter-skelter and panicked. Coolly stepping over the smoking bodies of several brutes, I cocked a couple of Uzis and stepped into the ruined reception area. There was more than one motionless body lying around, which pleased me.

I decided to take the stairs up. The lifts were too dangerous anyway. As I made my way up more than a few guards took their chances with me, and I made them pay dearly by feeding them my bullets or throwing them down several floors. Occasionally, even the fire extinguishers came in handy for cracking skulls open.

It took me awhile before I finally reached the highest floor, bloody and adrenaline-fueled. Ms Sanders, my dad's busty blond bombshell babe-secretary was missing. Instead, seated at her desk was a man dressed in an immaculate business suit, wielding a twelve-gauge shotgun like a kid with a new toy.

"Senator McCannon," I said through gritted teeth, my voice respectful yet full of spite for this monstrosity of a man who'd corrupted my father.

"Do you know," he spoke softly as he weighed the weapon in his hands, "how much it costs me to train one of my personal guards?"

"Do I look like I give a fuck, Senator?"

"Six hundred thousand per man, son," he smirked. "I thought I told your father to teach you to show respect for your elders."

"Quit fucking around with me. Where's dad?"

..I watched the Senator's exact twin step out of the room, and staggered to my feet..

"Preparing for the New World Order, sonny!" He pointed the shotgun nonchalantly at my face, continuing, "In an hour's time, the President and his puppet Cabinet will be dead, and I will show this country the values that once made it great."

"Like throwing out the trash into your 'rehabilitation camps' out in the countryside?"

"So Patrick was right," he sneered viciously. "You do take after your mother too much."

I drew my revolver and shoved it into his face. He barely even blinked, cocking the shotgun almost simultaneously in response. "Do you really think you can kill me? Once you pull that trigger, you'll die too. And even if you have the misfortune of surviving - which I seriously doubt - my comrades will have you locked up and tortured till a ripe old age."

"Fuck you," I spat at him, pulling the trigger and knocking his shotgun aside at the same time. The buckshot from his weapon tore the window behind me and my chest open, but my bullet lodged itself in his brain and threw him backwards. He slumped lifelessly to the floor while I collapsed, choking from the pain of the blast.

As I coughed I heard the office door open. I watched the Senator's exact twin step out of the room, and staggered to my feet. The second McCannon glanced at the other's corpse, smiling sadly and turning back to me.

It was I who spoke first: "Hello, Father."

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Bells. There's just something about the way they tinkle and ring that just.. I don't know, annoy me. Whether it's church bells (I've never been that religious anyway) or ice-cream bells (those little brass things they shake to part your money from you faster than you can say "uncle"), I've always hated their sound.

Especially rotten, stinking school bells.

Don't get me wrong, I'm no scrooge - wait till you've seen just how kids stare at me. It's not like I dress like a hobo or anything, but.. someone's gotta teach kids some respect someday soon, you know?

The only reason I'm here at this decrepit building complex where younglings get their supposed "education" is because I've arranged a meeting with an old friend. It took me awhile to find her, but no one hides forever. Not these people, anyway.

Mrs Nance, F.I. had been Principal of this school for quite some years now. It's amazing how no one, not even a single inquisitive student, has ever delved deeper into her past to see what she'd been doing before she was made Principal. Of course, they don't know her as Mrs Nance here, but that's another matter entirely.

Judging from my "death" sometime back, I'd say she's been keeping on her toes. She'll definitely be expecting me to arrive at her doorstep and blow her brains out all over her academic degrees and files. Not that I'd mind the mess. It's not like I've to clean up afterwards anyway.

So it was a clear sunny day when I finally showed up to kill the next one on my list. The school was empty.. funny, I always thought nerd-types hang out in the library after classes to do - whatever it is they're supposed to do. Like study.

Anyway, so there I was at the Principal's office.. and this weird feeling of deja vu just hit me there. I was eight then.. sitting outside an office not unlike this one. I'd hit a boy three years my senior in the face, breaking two of his teeth and leaving him a black eye.

"Hello grandma. Not quite the welcome I expected, anyhow."

Of course, back then he was the chief bully of the school. I suspected that fight garnered me more than just the twelve strokes of the cane on my bare backside - like fame among the girls my age. Or infamy, whatever.

I don't know what startled me out of my reverie, but I woke to find myself falling as the door in front of me blew apart into a million flying pieces of deadly glass shrapnel and wooden splinters. In an instant everything slowed down to the point where I could see the sunlight sparkle off each individual shard.. or maybe I was still stuck in a dream.

Instinct compelled me to duck and roll away from the shattered door, and with good timing; instantly huge chunks were torn out of the walls toward my direction. As I struggled to maintain my balance, I got to my hands and knees to look at my assailant. A maternal-looking grey-haired lady in a floral blouse came striding out of the room, carrying a high-powered M16 assault rifle in her hands. She turned to stare disdainfully at me.

"Hello you," she spoke, voice dripping with malice.

"Hello grandma. Not quite the welcome I expected, anyhow."

"Well, would you prefer to be garroted to death instead? I've got spare piano wire in my desk drawer."

"Nah, guess not.. traditional doesn't suit me as well as it does you." A smirk.

She fumed and glowered, "You have no business coming here to my school!"

Neither did you have any business sending psycho freaks after my ass, I thought miserably, but I didn't tell her that. I smiled instead. The effect on people is instantaneous, usually. People pulling their children behind them, or walking the other way. Not grandma though. She had a heart of stone - come to think of it, I think her face is chiseled out of it too.

She didn't even flinch. She snickered and said, "You have the smile of your father." I saw her finger squeeze the trigger a little. I didn't want to take the risk (no, I didn't chicken out), so I jumped - and we traded bullets across the hall.

I wished there and then I'd packed some more powerful gear with me. Nothing beats the M16's steady rat-a-tat gunning across a limited expanse in which to move around. Especially if you're the one being shot at. No matter how cool I thought I looked using two handguns, I'd happily trade 'em for an M16 - just for today.

I paused to catch my breath around some smelly lockers. Grandma sure was fit despite being in her seventies. I don't think forcing her into a wheelchair could dampen that insane killing spirit. Which was too bad.

..I don't care, let the real janitor clean that up..

Chancing a glance towards the corridor, I saw spent bullet casings and gaping holes but no grandma. I heard footsteps coming closer. I turned back to make sure my breath was there, then lunged from cover and fired two shots.

But by the time the body hit the floor I realized the janitor wasn't gonna like what he sees when he comes to. I mean, if he does come to - I'd shot the poor bloke by accident.

I went up to him to see if he was alright. As I knelt to check for a pulse, the bastard got up immediately - and lodged a knife in my good foot. As I screamed he turned tail and ran.. I brought my hands up and popped a few slugs into his upper torso, dropping him again.

Now I remember why I hate school besides the friggin' bells! Tugging the knife free I threw it furiously aside and limped to the body. He was still trying to crawl away as he moaned piteously, trying to turn his head to look at me. I didn't give him the luxury. Three bullets in his skull, there and then. I don't care, let the real janitor clean that up.

Outside a car revved and sped off hurriedly. I'd ran/limped outside just in time to see grandma drive off in my car. I sat down for a very long time to do nothing but swear.

Looks like grandma had gotten away. Never mind. I've just got one more loose end to tie down before I can live a free man. One more: a happy father-son reunion before I was free..

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Yesterday was the first and only time I went out to get coffee for myself. Somehow, despite the fact that I should be happy now that three of my major troubles are out of the way, I feel burdened. I can't sleep nights, I can't take a shower without glancing out the bathroom window every few seconds.

It started with the note I'd found on my table one morning. It was written in my handwriting, but I sure didn't remember writing me a note the night before. All it said was, "I'm coming home.", but it sent chills down my spine. It was reminiscent of the behavior of my twin brother.

He'd always been drawn to the esoteric and the strange all his life. It got worse when he was in his teens, when he became a drug addict. He'd admitted the feelings he went through while he was high helped him to forget the harsh, bitter reality of his life. The more involved he became with drugs, the more estranged we became, and eventually he completely disappeared off the face of the map.

What irked me the most that even during mother's funeral, I never saw him around. I could never forgive him for not coming to hold her hand while she lay dying of terminal cancer. In her last days, all she asked for was to see him again - I suppose the knowledge that she never would killed her as much as the cancer did.

But why return to me now? Especially when his name was next on my hit-list?

I was staring blankly at his name when there was a pounding on the door. Three long, three short, just as I'd told friends to when they came calling. Of course, this wasn't just any friend; Martin had helped me in my direst times of need, and I'd been expecting him to come over to tell me about the whereabouts of my brother.

I opened the door and Martin pounced on me like a tiger going for the kill. Caught unawares I somehow found it in me to dodge slightly, and the blade he was clutching sliced cleanly across my cheek instead of across my throat as intended. I was so surprised I couldn't help but scream in pain.

With cat-like grace "Martin" landed on his hands and feet in a crouching position. I realized Martin probably wasn't going to get back to me after all. The man dressed in his bloodstained clothes was my brother.

He stood and turned round to face me. My brother had been strange in the sense that he was every bit a reflection of me. In our childhood, it was unnerving to watch us enter a room and act the exact same way; every subtle nod of the head, every nuance of our laughter.

..I realized Martin probably wasn't going to get back to me after all. The man dressed in his bloodstained clothes was my brother..

Now he was the one smiling, his yellowed teeth bared viciously. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it abruptly, lunging for my exposed throat once more. I grabbed his thrusting hand and threw him behind me with the force of his movement - but just as swiftly I found myself flying over his prone form, slamming hard into the wall behind me.

Through stars and tweeting birds I glimpsed him moving surely for me. I kicked out blindly and caught him in the shin, knocking him to his knees. I went for his face and jammed my thumbs in his eyes, getting a satisfying agonized scream in response. Turns out I was the one screaming instead; I'd looked down to find his dagger stuck in my foot.

He shoved me away and grabbed his face painfully as I fell to the floor, pulling the blade out of myself with a jerk. Grabbing the dusty "Welcome" mat near the front entrance I wrapped it around his head, choking him. In return he slammed his elbows into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.

As I tumbled backwards he grabbed a vase off a nearby shelf and smashed it over my head. Knowing $3000 had just been wasted like that hurt me more than my head did. I tried to stand but the room was already spinning around me. Next thing I knew there was a knee in my stomach, crushing my belly and sending me sprawling yet again.

He towered over me gloatingly, coming down to me to place his hands tightly around my throat. I struggled hard but he gripped tighter still. The room spun even more violently around us. Grabbing his face and attempting to push him away, I scratched ferociously at his eyes, watching him open and close them repeatedly to shake me off.

I couldn't breathe.. with one hand I desperately tried to reach for something - anything! - in range to hit him with. My hand closed around the grip of something thin and I thrust it into his face. He squealed like an injured pig, blood spurting out in gushes from his cheek as he stumbled backwards.

As he fell onto the floor, clutching at the remnants of his face, spouting vile obscenities at me, I crawled over his body and stabbed again. I brought my hand down repeatedly, again and again as he shrieked and shuddered and struggled to protect himself. My hands were warm and slick with both our blood, and my shirt was covered in it. Blood splattered with each strike, flowing copiously from his wounds to coat the floor in a thick viscous layer.

By the time I was done I was horrified to see what little remained of my twin brother. It was.. like I'd just killed myself, and my soul was hanging around to see what was done to my body. I fell back and chucked the knife away, still gasping for sweet, sweet air.

Sometime later, I turned painfully, reaching for a small pocket diary that had been knocked off its place in our struggle. I smeared the fourth name in it with a bloody finger, flipping the book shut and gazing at my twin's corpse.

Two more. Just two more to deal with and I'm free..

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The night before I spent my time looking at the stars. I was frightened, to be honest. Most people I've met (and that's not many, I can assure you) express the fullest confidence in me to emerge unscathed. And here I was, sitting out in a field at night freezing my balls off, just 'cause I didn't know with what I was going to kill the ones I'd marked for death - all six of them.

The first one is always the hardest, they say. And I agree. His name was Java, and I hated him. The man was complicated at best, and an unpredictable psychopath at worst. Monday was the day I'd crossed on my calendar to send him packing.

Turns out Java had been expecting me. Clad in a strange mismatch of polka-dot tie and rainbow-striped shirt, with lightning-patterned slacks, it was strange to see everyone around our little meet-up gaze at him in fear. Not one soul laughed. Save me, of course.

True to his belligerent nature, he didn't take it lying down. Right from the outset he jumped for my throat, trying to tear me apart with bare hands. I was wrestling him just to be able to breathe.

Then he'd brandished that little dirk of his out of nowhere - damn near missed my jugular. If you were in my shoes, you could hear the swish of the blade slashing the air. We were that close.

So it was at that moment I knew I couldn't delay any longer. It was a risky move, but it pulled off: I rolled over, taking him with me, then grabbed his head and snapped his neck in one clean jerk.

So one down for the count. I made a little note in the pocket diary I carry around and read off the next name on the hitlist: Mr. Counting, A.C.


This man was even more of a bastard than the one I'd just wasted. He's known for his sharp wit and even sharper razors, little trinkets he'd leave lodged in people's throats for the heck of it. He was due in town on Wednesday.

..I swear Hollywood's part-time job these days is brainwashing kids..

And that day came even faster. The man was dressed to kill; immaculate combed hair, slick jet-black tuxedo with white gloves to boot. He looked every bit the gentleman, until the little shithead started chucking razors at me like some slit-eyed Jap from a Ninja movie. I'd picked a simple brown article to wear. Suddenly I felt like I was grossly under-dressed.

Oh, I'll say he caught me by surprise, sure as sure. Cut clean through my right shoulder here. Another here and here, surface scratches. He threw so many razors with such accuracy that I'll never be able to wear this shirt again.

Then again, what's a shirt when I had to sacrifice my engraved Parker pen for his life? Silver never looked so good sticking out of a man's eye.


This third guy was a tough one. For starters, it's not even a guy. They called her the SADist, and I'll be darned if I couldn't see why. Black tight leather suit, whips, ropes, cuffs.. I swear Hollywood's part-time job these days is brainwashing kids. My.. "date", for want of a better word, with her was on Thursday.

I brought the works, expecting a tough fight. Spent all night studying strategies of attack, planning the approach, memorizing blueprints, street maps, even sewer routes of the shady part of town we planned to "date". I'd brought heavy-duty handguns, grenades, high-powered assault rifles, machine guns, and a four-leaf clover, just waiting and dreading the moment of truth.

Turns out the little slut had been having an affair with the Tuxedo-Razor kid. She'd drank herself almost to death by the time I found her in the river, hours later. Boy, was she a mess - torn suit, wounds and cuts and welts and.. well, let's just say she did more damage to herself than any plastic surgeon could ever hope to hide.

I didn't even bother to waste a bullet. She'd die soon enough, but I wasn't gonna hang around to watch it. I rolled her into the pile of trash she'd so ungracefully collapsed on and left her quickly. On the way home I dumped the guns and ammo in the river.

I was about to pluck the four-leaf clover out of my jacket pocket and throw it too. But I left it there anyway.

With the final three on my tail, I was going to need all the luck I could get.


..three more papers and I'm homefree!..

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Tagged by Mildred to do a meme (pronounced "meem") about myself. Since I'm chilling at the mo, let's get this done:

LIST OUT THE TOP 5 PRESENTS YOU WISH FOR:
1. A new computer (coming soon).
2. The latest games on the market.
3. A portable MP3 player.
4. A digital camera.
5. Lots of money.

LIST OUT THE REASONS FOR YOUR CHOICES:
1. To replace the old one I'm currently using.
2. To play on the new one.
3. To listen to music wherever I go.
4. To take pictures wherever I go.
5. To be able to go wherever I go.

THE PERSON WHO TAGG-ED YOU IS:
Mildred.

5 IMPRESSIONS OF HIM/HER:
1. Cute.
2. Sweet.
3. Friendly.
4. Bubbly.
5. Fun!

MOST MEMORABLE THINGS HE/SHE HAS DONE FOR YOU:
Err.. considering I haven't really been chatting with her for long, probably it's just the small talk we've shared for the short time we've been friends. Still, would probably like to get to know her better so I have more things to write about her for my answers to these two questions.

MOST LOVED INVENTION (does not need to be technologically advanced):
The computer. 'Nuff said.

WHAT DO YOU DESPISE THE MOST:
Anybody who is pessimistic and can't seem to see the brighter side of life. Honestly, such people do nothing but drain my enthusiasm for living, and waste my time and energy.

6 PEOPLE YOU WANNA TAG:
Anyone, Interested, To, Do, This, and Meme. *grins*

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