14 July 2016

The Sailor

Dedicated to Vignesh - "Be good to yourself because the whole world will try to put you down" 

How long has it been? I would ask myself; every day of every week for every month that passed.
124 days it had been since I stepped off land and went to sea. And 1 day it had been since I started feeling this way. Lost at sea, not in body but in mind. The world seemed to shrink and crumble down. All that I thought I knew to be true, now, no longer were. All that I believed would happen were now lost and never ever to be found. Along came the 5 stages of Grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. Living in denial for weeks - months. The quickness of how it all happened, like a quick stab to the heart - one would not even know until he started bleeding. It left me in disbelief - that all that was happening around me and to me were real. Every day would become a struggle; mentally, physically and emotionally. Draining me of all my energy. Pain would become a friend through the course of this period. The only thing that gave me comfort.

Waking up at 7 am to start the day and working till around 8 pm. The jobs that were more laborious in terms of physical strength would become a favourite because of the physical pain involved. Holding the jet chisel, chipping away rust till your arms were numb or fixing things with your bare hands until something pricked you and cut you. The more cuts and bruises you had the better, And when all of that ended, I would go back to my cabin. The tiny cabin in which you were free to do whatever you wanted - to yourself...
Days with bad weather were welcomed with happiness because it makes you feel absolutely horrible. Constant churning of your innards, dizziness, nausea, lack of appetite. I have now come to accept that I'm a horrible person for doing the things I've done. Intrinsically a bad person who just can't stop fucking things up. It was hard to try and act normal through it all. You could not show that something was wrong to others, they would be concerned and would start asking questions - did not want that. Practiced smiling and laughing in the mirror. Short smile, wide smile, giggle, laughter each suited to various situations. That is how you got through.

You also lose faith in this period. That if there were really a God out there then would he not do something about this? Why would he let a person go through it? Why would he do it to you? Why has he not done something to stop it. God is not real. If he is, he does not care about you and you have no right to be mad at him because you brought this upon yourself. You do not deserve mercy. You do not deserve compassion. You do not deserve happiness.You are the scum of the earth. You do not deserve to be respected as a human being.

Found a rusted cutter while cleaning out a drawer, hid it in my pocket till the day ended. Went back to my cabin that night, stripped myself of all clothes. Stared at my naked body in the mirror; that face that had done so many wrongs. Made small tiny cuts near the left wrist, then the right wrist. Working my way up the forearms - criss-crossing the lines as they went up. Deeper and deeper. This became a routine for every day of every week for 8 months. Having worked all the way up to my shoulders with the cuts and since they had not yet healed; I moved on to my torso and chest. The more the days went by the deeper the cuts became. The more I practiced smiling in the mirror...
I have sneaked out to the deck after work hours during sunset so it is relatively dark so people will not see and stood on the railings; wanting to jump, the hypothermia would get to me within minutes. It would have been a wonderful way to go - nobody would have realized until the next morning. I have screamed into pillows and when that was not enough I have gone down to the engine room with the engine roaring while the engineers slept and screamed and screamed till my lungs gave out and my throat felt like it was going to rip apart.

Somewhere in between, I re-learnt how to splice rope. Had a small 2 foot long rope now in my possession. I have lost track of how many times I have contemplated suicide. I have not done it because of friends and family who still cared. They do not deserve that - to go through something like that. I could be selfish like I have always been or live and possibly make them happy in the future. I no longer cared for myself. So suicide was out of the question but pain and suffering and punishment was not. New year's eve came around and I sat in the dark making a resolution; to die.  Not a quick death but a slow painful, suffering one. I would wrap the rope around my neck and pull on it. Pull on it till it strangled me. Eyes would go red, face would swell up from all the blood unable to flow back to the heart. Breathing becomes heavy, veins pop up and you feel a burning sensation neck up. Pull and hold it till your vision gets blurry near the edges and breathing becomes shallow - till your face is twisted into something unrecognizable then let go of the rope. Catch your breath, let the swelling go down. Repeat.

This was Depression...




I'm very thankful for all the people in my life who have stayed with me and put up with all that I put them through during this period. Thank you very much for everything. If you're reading this and you relate to it; just know that it gets better. It really does. Because you're stronger than you think you are right now. You're more capable in getting through this, I believe in you. No matter how hopeless it seems. Just know that there will always be people to help you back up, who care about you and for you. Take on the entire world.

9 July 2016

Prologue

The whistling wind blew the snow that had settled on the ground covering pavements and roads from the previous night. It was six o’clock on a cold January morning. The town was still asleep; the streets were quiet with the occasional pedestrian strolling by. There were not many shops this side of the town so the vendors took their time to set up. Somewhere to the east side a dog barked, another responded by howling. On the west side of town stood a white building that was higher as compared to the rest of the buildings surrounding it. Hotel Dumont, a place usually occupied by the people visiting the city on business. There seemed to be activity in the third room on the fifth floor of the hotel. No other room was awake at this hour.
                            The translucent curtains that lined the glass doors to the balcony showed a male in a grey suit pacing up and down in the room, telephone receiver pressed to his ear and gesturing in frustration while holding the base. It did not matter who he was or what he knew. What he did not know however was the fact that he would be dead in a few minutes. Three hundred yards away from the cluster of small buildings, high up in an old bell tower on the cathedral Wolf knelt down beside his brown rectangular case. Rolling the dials to the correct combination on the case with thick gloves on was always difficult; a few tries later the lock clicked open. He decided to keep the gloves on so his fingers would not freeze up later. A cloud of white vapour blew out from his mouth as Wolf exhaled, opening the top of the case revealing an M91 sniper rifle along with various metal fittings.

                            He lifted the rifle from its case and set it on the ledge of the tower and reached for the scope. Hitting targets three hundred yards away was no big deal but the winds today might affect the trajectory. Wolf reached back in to the case and pulled out three bullets; he would not need more than one today but it is always good to have a few extras, just in case. He loaded the three rounds and locked in the bolt. Mounting the scope into place, he crouched down till his right eye was in line with the scope. He exhaled through his nostrils this time making sure it was away from the scope so as to not blur it with fog. Now, Wolf had to wait till he got a clear shot. That however, could take anywhere from minutes to maybe even an hour but Wolf knew that the target had to leave the hotel at 0700 hours so he had an hour’s window to finish the job.
                           No names, no other information; all he knew was how they looked and when and where to find them. The rest did not matter. Being a mercenary, holding any other information would make him a liability to his clientele. The man in the suit seemed to have finished his unpleasant conversation on the telephone. He slammed the receiver and walked further back into the room. The curtains weren’t so transparent enough to show what he was doing inside. Wolf was now only looking through the scope and kept his breathing low.

He slipped off his right hand glove. He opened and closed his hand a couple times to keep blood circulating and placed his index near the trigger. A figure emerged from among the curtains of room 3. The curtains parted and the glass doors slid to either side. The man in the grey suit came outside with one hand patting down his coat and the other holding a pack of cigarettes. He had a look of confusion and anger, mumbling something under his breath. The target as informed was a middle-aged white male with greying hair, sharp features and clean shaven. The man pulled out a stick hastily and put it between his lips. His other hand had found the lighter he had been looking for. He lit the cigarette and leaned over the balcony, looking out into the town. Wolf could take the shot now but there would be a possibility of him falling over the ledge and into the streets below, which would cause a mess and more importantly would raise an alarm. The job had to be clean; as always. Wolf waited as his heart beats got heavier.

                                     The man was about to finish his cigarette, he took one last long breath in as he straightened up. He lifted his index and thumb to grab the cigarette butt from between his lips. Wolf placed his index finger directly on the trigger. The man removed the cigarette from his mouth. The crosshair on the scope was now dead centre on his forehead. Smoke filled the air around the man as he exhaled his last breath. The trigger clicked. A sharp piercing noise followed as the bullet zoomed through the air past the buildings. Wolf did not lift his eyes from the scope, he had to make sure the man was really dead and that the job was clean. The man’s eyes floated upwards as if to look at where he had been shot. His fingers released the cigarette butt and it fell on the ledge. There was now a red dot about two centimetres from the centre of the forehead from which blood trickled down. Wolf smirked; could have been a better shot. The curtains behind him had not moved nor had the glass doors shattered, implying that the bullet had not exited the skull. The body fell as the cigarette butt rolled off the ledge and was carried down by the wind…

19 June 2016

Stranger - Part 2

Part 1 - http://wispywisdom.blogspot.sg/2016/06/stranger-part-1.html

My head feels like I just got off a roller-coaster and got shot in the head at the same time. Where the heck am I? My arm - that's a needle in there. Faded white tiles cover the wall in front of me. I hear a constant beeping, harmonized with my heartbeat. The smell of ethanol and sweet smelling soaps hit my nostrils making me nauseous. I get up and pull the needle out of my arm and tear the plasters on my chest and arm. The machine which was beeping is now giving a constant high-pitched tone. I walk over to the bathroom. I feel dizzy, like I'm walking for the first time. My legs buckle. I grab the sink for support and stand up. I lift my face to the mirror. My face...

MY FACE! WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MY FACE! What did they do to me. My face has changed. My face. I don't look the same as before the crash. What happened? Did they give me plastic surgery? Did they change my face? NO! I no longer look like David Cross. Who?! Who did this? I'm screaming. I'm shouting. I punch the mirror in rage. The broken pieces of the mirror distorts the reflection; I'm even more unrecognizable. I hear the clattering footsteps rushing towards the room. Doctors and nurses hold me down. I'm screaming as loudly as I can while I'm flailing my arms and legs. One of them pulls out a syringe. I feel the needle in my forearm. Everything fades to black...

I wake up again. Feels like a dream. The same faded white tiles, the same smell of ethanol, the same beeping. A man is sitting beside the bed on my right. He smiles. He has a comb-over, glasses, shirt and tie and a white coat over it. "Mr. Cross? Hi, I'm Dr. Patel. You've been in a serious crash. Do you remember?". This is news to me. I'm Cross? What the fuck? But my face. My face was different from his when I looked in the mirror just then. I nod. "Your friend sadly did not survive the crash. I'm sorry." he says in an apologetic tone that seems like he's done this quite a number of times. I give a half-smile and frown. "Can I see his picture?" I ask. He nods and gestures asking me to wait and walks out the room. I try to move my arms but they're held down by leather straps. Same goes for my legs. I prop myself up as best I can. Dr. Patel walks back in.

He smiles; that stupid fucking smile. Starting to get on my nerves now. I'm perfectly fine. He's treating me like I've been traumatized or insane. Stop it! I don't need your sympathy. "After your episode, you understand we had to make sure you wouldn't go haywire again." he explains as he hands me the photograph. David Cross in the picture looks like how I used to look before I ended up in this hospital. But I no longer look like myself. This all doesn't make sense to me...

A few months later... 

So where are we now? Harborough Mental Health Facility, that's where we are. Been making some good progress. Doc says I'm doing very well. Been taking my medicines and I'm almost fully rehabilitated. Got used to my new face. I look pretty handsome if you ask me. Anyway, I went in to get my final assessment from Dr. Patel. He says I'm good to go. All I need to do now is wait for them to process my details and I'll be a new free man. They don't know I meant to kill Cross - or whatever his name was. Otherwise, this story would have gone in a whole other direction. Turns out I was David Cross all along. But I didn't own any of the cars and bungalow and shit. Just my name. David Cross, new reformed and rehabilitated man!

So a few days pass; they're still processing my stuff - finding me a place to live and a sponsor and what not. I was just minding my business, walking around the cafeteria. This guard, he's giving my the funny look from the other end of the cafeteria. I don't like it. I'm perfectly fine. Need to show him a thing or two. So I walk over to confront him and guess what? HE FUCKING LOOKS LIKE ME...

15 June 2016

Stranger - Part 1

The loud droning of the alarm wakes me up. I don't know if I can call myself a morning person, it's all just a matter of habit and routine. Walk into the bathroom and I see my face; probably need a shave. What's so special about me? What sets me apart from the folk you see walking down the street? How am I anymore unique than them? There isn't much to it really, I'm just your average guy; a face in the crowd. You'd have passed by me in the street and your brain wouldn't even have registered that you've seen me. I might end up as a person in your dream; I don't know. They say the faces you see in your dreams are ones that you've seen but don't consciously remember. So maybe somewhere in somebody's dream I am a face to be remembered, to be recalled. I practice smiling in the mirror. Different smiles, for different situations, different levels of amusement. They can't know what's really going on in my head. Look at that fucking face, disgusting. I want to cut it up with a fucking knife. Scar it all over, cut it up beyond recognition. Become somebody else altogether maybe. Start over. Hmm.

Work is shit. It drains the life out of me but if I wasn't working what the fuck else would I be doing? You fucking no good loser. You deserve nothing, absolutely nothing. I sometimes wish life was better but at the same time, I sometimes feel like this is all I'm entitled to. I see Donna smiling and flirting with some guy as I walk past the' admin' desk. That fuckin' whore screwing every guy in the office; she'll get it from me. She will. What do I do, you ask? Oh not much really, a low-level scum in the corporate world. A paper pusher literally, a mail boy... Yeah I deliver fucking mail within the office building. A mail boy! A nobody. But how funny things work out; change after all is the only constant in all of our lives.

I was just going about my job. Went into the new guy's office, some high position - prick didn't even acknowledge my presence in the room. Why would you, right? He had his chair turned away from the door and was busy talking on the phone. I walk over and place this tube thing that had his name and I looked up at the glass window and I see his reflection. Multiple waves of pins seemed to go from my head down. He looked exactly like ME! Every single detail on his face. Holy shit... I couldn't believe my eyes. I blinked rapidly to make sure what I was seeing was true. "You can go now. Thanks." he tells me in his disdainful tone without even looking back.

This guy, David Cross; I needed to know more about this man. What he does, where he lives, who he's with. I am obsessed. I've been following him for a month now. His life! My God his life is amazing. What I'd give to have a life like that. Senior partner at the firm, a company car, a bungalow in the suburbs and his wife or partner or whatever. Oh my God! What I'd give to have that. I've incorporated this into my routine, every Monday and Wednesday night; I get off about 5 blocks from the house, jog up to the bungalow. I always dress like I'm going for a run - less suspicious. I've watched them through the bushes and crouched under their windows. I've seen him cook, seen her clean, watched them make love in the bedroom...

I do believe it to be fate or Providence maybe. That my - what do they call it? Some German sounding word - doppelganger has to be revealed to me and he ends up having a better life than me; practically everything that I want. Humans are in a never ending chase, spending their entire life trying to become happy. But they don't see it as having enough rather they find the need to have more than the other guy. That's what determines success and happiness. "I've made it!" means I'm better off than the rest of the filthy scum. We end up comparing whatever we have to everyone else around us. I know I'm unhappy. I'm sure Cross is unhappy too despite having everything I would want. He sure seems unhappy; I see it in the way he kisses her, the way he looks at his car or his house, the way he interacts with his "friends". He's tired of life as well. Look at him, lying unconscious in the passenger seat, all tied up. WE'RE GOING FOR A RIDE, DAVID! You're not coming back. I'm doing you a favour if you think about it. I'll gladly take your place! Get you away from this life that you so hate. You're crazy! Who me? I'm not crazy. I'm fine. Perfectly fine. New life. That job, the bungalow, this car all ours now! Going to fuck that broad first thing. HAHAHAHAHAHA...

I've been driving the Mercedes for a good 2 hours now along the highway. The drugs should last 4 hours. Enough time. We're far from the city now, I've turned into a side road away from the main highway. The roads are lined with thick dense woods on either side. Anywhere would be good. Just need a place to hide the car, in case someone comes along the road. Then it's bye-bye to you Mr. Cross. HAHA. Almost a peaceful way to go, if you ask me.
FUCK, He fucking woke up! What the fuck. I had 2 more hours. Motherfucker punched me in the eye. Can't fucking see where I'm going - am I bleeding?. Lost control of the car. I'm throwing my fist at him. I can feel my hand connect to his cheek. I'm frantically trying to steer with my other hand. Don't panic. We got this. Oh fuck...


Part 2 - http://wispywisdom.blogspot.sg/2016/06/stranger-part-2.html

27 March 2016

Everything is Preordained - Part 2

The being's face was expressionless; it showed no sense of emotion or feeling after having uttered a phrase so grave and grim. "People need to die, of course that happens on a daily basis. Natural deaths, diseases, hunger, murders, suicides; men, women and children. Everybody has to die eventually but once every few hundred years we need death and destruction on a much larger scale; a kind of reset button that has to be pushed. We had the plagues before but with man exploring, discovering and developing the sciences to advance the methods of warfare, I figured why not?"

The man tried to listen patiently trying to quell his now throbbing heart that beat like a drum. "Humans are the most developed animals on this Earth and yet your categorizations - things that you've come to perceive by your own - causes conflicts among yourselves. Race, religion, gender, political ideology - all things that you have created to distinguish yourselves from one another. Your need to be different, to stand out and be special drives you into conflicts, into WAR. Of course, you cannot expect them to be perfect beings. If everyone was perfect, there wouldn't be a God. A figure to look up to in times of need, times when you feel a divine intervention is necessary. Someone who is perfect and can guide you; that's when you look up and pray do you not? Despite countless opportunities that have been presented before the human race to turn from this behavior and to unite as one and live peacefully; you have failed repeatedly. Sin has become the norm. War is the solution to peace. Conflict after conflict that has no absolute resolution. I cannot send a 'Jesus' every time to die for your sins. I've given the choice to you and can merely guide you to the righteous path, what you choose at the end of the day is entirely your choice." the figure's voice was no longer calm and soothing. Anger and rage seemed to be physically manifested into the words that spat out from its mouth

"So your intentions just happened to align with my vision and goal for the human race? What if I had chosen differently? What if I never became the most feared tyrant in the world, then what?" asked the man, his curiosity aroused and his anger building. "If not you then someone else. Someone somewhere will have surely carried out mass killings, not your choice of people in particular but surely people would have died. What is the death of millions if it means I can save billions? It becomes an example, a sign that humans need to unite and stand together. Put their differences apart and come together. Death surprisingly does that - always brings people closer than life ever has and will. They'll learn what not to do and build a new world from these ashes. But of course some other sort of conflict will soon occur in a matter of decades because they will lose sight of where to go once again, the process repeats over and over like a circle." explained the being, now calmer and more conserved.

"So I ended up doing all the dirty work for you... A mere pawn in your elaborate chess game. But why me? Why not use some divine intervention?" questioned the man. "Divine intervention would mean something akin to God or God himself. If it wasn't God and God didn't stop it then what good is he? If it was God and he did it then is God truly good? People will question the power of God and then the existence. That cannot happen. People cannot know God is both good and evil... God has to be pure, God has to be all things good because if he possessed both opposing qualities then in the minds of the people, he is no different than themselves. He loses his power and divine status among them. He will no longer be pure in their eyes and that is when the blind sheep become blinder and stray from the herd heading straight for the cliff. One by one they will follow each other throwing themselves over until the whole herd is dead. The moment the belief in God no longer exists is when the destruction of the human race begins. The devil himself is merely an agent to God's will. 'I am the Alpha and the Omega' - the beginning and the end. 'The Lord gives and the Lord taketh away." Likewise, you were just an agent despite your thinking that this was all your will. Your rising to power, the death and destruction of millions of people, your wrong move to attack in winter, your loss in the war and now your death. I have seen everything, I know what is going to happen, I just choose not to change the outcome for that is how it needs to be. Everything is Preordained." the figure rose from the bed and walked over to the man.

"They're at the door..." it said.
"So tell me, how do I die?" said the man nodding and smirking having accepted his fate, whatever was preordained for him.
The figure smiled back. "Of course..." it said as its extremities began to fade until it vanished completely.


Metallic clanking came from the door as the enemy soldiers tried to crack it open. The man pulled out his revolver from its holster and checked the cylinder; six bullets was all that he had to stop whoever, whatever was behind the door. The man cocked the gun with his right hand and rested it on the arms of the chair aiming directly at the door. A small sudden blast blew through the metal lock on the door flinging it open. Smoke and dust erupted from the entrance blinding the soldiers momentarily. "I'm going to hell anyway right?" muttered the man as he looked up and raised the pistol. The click of the hammer and another short bang rang throughout the room. The soldiers took cover expecting a rain of bullets. But no other sound followed. They moved into the room cautiously with their rifles raised. The revolver fell from the man's hands. His mouth ajar and eyes looking up such that the soldiers could only see the whites of his eyes. A splatter of blood on the velvet cushion behind his head told everything the soldiers needed to know. It was over. It was preordained...