The Purge

The theme of this piece is "utopia" - a prompt from Figment.com. I don't believe that a perfect utopia is possible as long as humans are around, given our propensity to be narrow-minded.

The Purge

Word Count: 750

Summary: For those who dwell in heaven, all are perfect. All must be perfect. When they’re not, it’s time to fix things.

-Year 101-

It was a couple of days after the first centennial anniversary of Purgatorio and a rare shower, definitely not scheduled, occurred in the lush southern plains of New Petra. Hammurati was mending a torn skirt when she noticed the first splash of water hitting the windowsill and immediately abandoned the hapless project to watch serotonin-infused droplets evaporate as soon as they made contact with soil. Her mother called out, telling her to go outside and prepare the drums—just in case the light shower grew heavier. No sense in wasting free water, she said.

The girl obeyed and fetched the drums from the garden shed. She was putting the last empty barrel at the corner of their backyard when a sudden, loud, thunderous crack tore through the wide plains and for a moment the world turned as black as bruise. She didn’t remember if she’d screamed or if the noise had silenced her dumb, but rooted to the spot, Hammurati felt for the first time in her young life a paralyzing fear that took over her body. Then she saw him.

          

The djinn.

1000Words - Little Sins

Just because this piece has been sitting in my PC forever, and it needs to get out and get a life.

Little Sins

Word count: 1000

Note: I never had a conversation as remotely interesting as the one below.

She said to me one day, “He didn’t text back.”

Knowing perfectly well who ‘he’ was, I thought it was normal and within realm of possibilities. And I said so.

“No, he’s good at these things.”

What things?

“You know, like replying and stuff. Keeping in touch. Saying hi, how are you’s.”

Oh, making friends.

1000Words - The CD

A picture speaks a thousand words, they say. This is a project for me to write a thousand words about one, about anything really. Here's the first.

The CD

Word count:1000

Note: Inspired by Swinging Popsicle’s Transit.

Her favorite CD was from an obscure indie group consisting of three Japanese and an American. She bought it at an anime convention few years back, when dressing up as another character was still a part of her life, and it had accompanied her throughout the good years and the tough ones. There were twelve songs in the album: eleven were sung in Japanese and one in a crooked, yet recognizable English. She had those eleven translated and romanized so she could sing along.

(years later she would misplace the piece of paper and thus lost the meanings of the lyrics forever)

Udang Goreng Mentega (Shrimp with Butter and Worcestershire Sauce)

I made something good today. This phrase doesn't come often, considering what a disaster I am in the kitchen. I have been an enemy of proper cooking for years, and this sort of clumsiness is so inborn it's hard to let go. Nevertheless, let me say it again. I made something good today.

Need You Now

This happened on a perfect day. At the end of that perfect day, I wanted to scream. The next writing exercise is that scream in so many words. Words I can say to anybody without revealing any particular identity.

Title inspired by Lady Antebellum's hit "Need You Now". Played in loop.

Tabidachi (Starting a Journey)

Hello hello! Boy, am I glad to be here! It's the first writing exercise I've done after a long while. LJ still wins hands down in terms of formatting and publishing ease, although I haven't lost hope that after slogging in the HTML code long enough, this blog will finally take a decent shape.
 
Tabidachi - Starting a Journey
Summary: It all starts with a pickup line, even in the oddest kind of circumstance.

Note: The Yoshida Brothers' 2003 namesake album inspired this. Tabidachi is the first song.

The first thing that came to his mind when West stepped into the train car was how the stench of humans repulsed him so. Odors that came from stale aftershave, unwashed dried sweat, and just day-to-day mixture of musk and growing germs made him want to gag. He never had any difficulty with non-human waste, yet the thought, simply the thought of touching another human body was beyond his imagination. It was practicality — next train in ten minutes and just as aromatic as this one—that kept his feet moving deeper into the confine, searching for a solid, undisturbed space to stand during the thirty-minute ride. Preferably one where the air-conditioner blew through the vent in generous bursts. Preferably one least conspicuous where he could look up to the ceiling and swallow the air without incurring questions.