Sunday, October 26, 2008

Open houses everywhere...

Well, thanks to the nice amount of Malay and Indian friends that my parents have, I end up being dragged to all the open houses this holdiay. Not that I'm complaining, cos the food is nice, and I get money on top of it all. Hah. XD

Am practicing for Founder's Day on Wednesday. We're the first on the list. Aiyak. Hope we make a good impression.

Max seems to be better. He's not dying, but he's just lying in his cage and can stand up now. Phew...

Here's a part of a story that I wrote. It's about pirates.

There was that faint whistling sound emanating from the creaky boards in the wall again. The sound of a fast wind tearing through many holes. A wind that no doubt heralded rain. Buckets were pushed along the grimy floors, in order to catch the inevitable rain that would come weeping through the holes.
The air smelled different suddenly. It tasted of forgotten sea-salt and was humid and viscous. A knife, a rip—and the torrential rain spiralled down in fury.
Nevertheless the patron of the Cutlass Inn were promised hot food and some satisfactory, if a little weather-beaten, shelter. Captain Seth ran a tight ship. Or rather, ex-Captain, after he was forced into retirement due to the loss of his left arm and leg to a rogue shark. But the ship was still tight. Orders were barked, and duly followed as swarms of waiters and waitresses and cooks and cleaners elbowed and skated their way through.
This was probably the reason why he didn’t notice the two limp figures scrabbling at the door.
When he did catch a hint of the sound,. Though, they were almost half-dead, limbs turgid and swollen from diffusing water, hair like limp seaweed curtains, and clothes dyed into unrecognisable colours by the mud.
Captain Seth did the only thing he could do. He screamed.
A matronly woman rushed up, sharp eyes taking a quick account of the strangers. She was rather ponderous, but her deftness made up for it. She promptly hauled them across the inn, draped over her shoulder. A small grunt ensued.
Henny took the strangers to the small servant’s quarters behind. She moved them to the front of a small fire which radiated substantial heat. She bit her lip. Hmm. Two girls, with the same face shape but different hair and lips. Sisters, probably, There couldn’t have been more than three years in their age difference. One had coal-black hair and paler skin; the other had more of a chestnut mane, and was toffee-coloured. She noticed a shuddering heaving of their chests: proof that they were still alive.
Working quickly, she towelled them dry, and soon their eyelids began to flutter open. The pale one woke first. Henny shovelled a spoonful of purple medicine into her mouth, and forced it down with a mug of herbal tea.
The girl spluttered, cheeks glowing red. When she had settled down, she scrutinized this thickset woman quizzically, noting her heavy jowls and long jaw, her straight stern brow and angular eyes and nose which must have once been objects of beauty.
“Who are you?” she asked at last. Her voice sounded detached, like it was trapped in a hovering bubble.
“Henrietta, but the common handle’s Henny. And you are?”
The girl paused. She was slowly sweeping up the fragments of memory scattered in her brain. She recalled a ship. Then the growling sky. Its black countenance. The waves which had swayed in ominous reply. The battering of water on wood. The crack. And the water was like a savage creature. Swimming. Flailing.
And now here. Henny was administering the same medicine to the other girl. She was efficient.
“Miere.” The answer came.
“A strange name. Not from around here. And this here lass?” Henny inquired further.
Small nod. Miere wondered where they were now. She and Arla had been travelling towards Corinth, the mythical island that bore the strange Joba tree, along with their uncle. They had been excited to investigate the tree, which was rumoured to have weather-controlling powers. In lieu of the previous storm, she considered this ironic.
Where were they now? In a slightly worn-down establishment in the company of a brusque lady. Judging from the inordinate amount of noise, she guessed that they were in a restaurant of some sort. A bemused Arla was flitting about, eyes jumpy.
Just then a shadow enveloped them. Looking up, the girls saw a man, straight-backed, of impressive height. The first thing they noticed was his apparent lack of left-side appendages. His left leg was replaced by a rod of harsh steel, and his left arm was a mass of intricate metal gears fused together. Both gave off a sharp glint in the light.
“Hello...hello...hello...” he intoned, his voice a low bass hum. Miere and Arla sensed his eyes searching them, like orange lamps in a fog. His lips curled into a thin smile. Despite their dishevelled appearance, theses girls were quite pretty. Especially the black-haired one. The other one looked lively too. Excellent.
“Well, since you two have obviously been shipwrecked, you might as well stay here,” he offered, voice like a rusty knife. “Permanently.”
Miere and Arla figured they had nothing to lose. Better to have their basic needs taken care of rather than rot in a foreign place.
“Alright.” They agreed simultaneously.
“Wonderful,” Seth grinned, displaying a set of unnaturally white teeth.

To be continued...dun dun dun!

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