Yo peepos.
First of all, I would like to ask all of you not to kill me.I'm sorry for the utter lack of updates, but really, I didn't feel like writing.
That said, its time now for a major update, yes yes its about that.
Its July 12, 2007 today, exactly 2 months since I've held my beloved's little hand. Before that has been really an experimental stage, as both of us are unsure of what we want, and what the other person wants or feels. I received her vibes, weakly at first, during the first few months of this year. But those vibes were overshadowed by the calling of my heart for another girl during that time. It was only a temporal infatuation.
This however, is not.
Since March, during our first "date" (note the inverted commas), the vibes started to get real strong, and I found myself being pulled into the quagmire that was her. Is this the fabled love? Or was it just a passing crush, a fad like Beyblade?
It was the former. As we went out more often the feeling started to increase in strength, intensity, frequency. It was at this time that I did something unfair to her: I sneaked in stuff usually reserved for couples during our "dates". Really, if people see us on the streets they will mistake us for a couple. For that I sincerely apologise: sumimasen! Its no wonder the poor girl felt confused and lost, as we were really sitting on the fence, neither here nor there. That phrase was a hot buzzword between us during April - May 2007.
The relationship got strained a couple of times. The first was over MSN. Her deep thinking process started and she began to question the validity and sustainability of our relationship. She was tired of loitering, she wanted to be somewhere, either HERE or THERE. As my mum puts it, women want results. The hint was pretty obvious then, but I still withheld myself, as 19 years of singlehood made me think of the worst-case scenario of advancing further rather than the good side(s) of it. Money was one thing, my parents were another. But my worries are for naught, as I'll explain later in this post.
So after that nasty episode which fell on a Thursday, I felt tremendously sucky the next day. I don't know why. My stomach was churning over and over and over and it felt like it was dissolving itself. That is when I mustered up enough courage to approach her on MSN, something unprecendented in the history of James (insert Applause). We thrashed things out and came to a temporary but viable solution courtesy of me: let nature run its course and give each other more time.
And yes indeed, it was but a temporary solution to a much long term problem.
I shall cut to the chase. The date was 10th May, 2007. We were supposed to go watch Spiderman 3 at VivoCity. For the first time in the relationship I was late (boohoo), and she waited an hour for me. However, she didn't complain much, and still gave me her signature smile. She was decked in this absolutely cute one piece garment, with a matching bag (which I had to carry in exchange for courier service of my sweater) and (gasp!) 3-inch heels! Its not everyday that a girl could come up to around my nose level, I mean some girls in my course wear 4-inch heels and I still can't see them if they are directly infront of me. Sorry I'm just being evil.
Anyway, the day went on smoothly at first, the movie was great, her company was great, dinner was great, her company was great, her gift to me was great, her company was great, the walk we had after dinner was great, her company was great. You get the idea. It was at the end of that walk that the reality of the situation sank into her. It hit her like a sledgehammer. Wham! Her mood immediately turned 180 degrees into the negative zone. I tried my best to turn it around, but I failed. My status wasn't appropriate for that at that point in time.
After we parted ways, I felt sick again. The stomach-churning was back, this time more than before. I went online, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, and she was! We conversed and the hint appeared again, this time it was super duper impossible-to-miss obvious. Well, being the passive shy fool that I was I tried popping the question over MSN, but I failed, terribly.
The following days were pure agony. My bodily systems slowed to a crawl, my reflexes dumbed down, and I couldn’t muster that speed that never fails to amaze her. I just can’t function. In school, I tried my darndest to pull myself together and try to suppress the negative feeling. My stomach was practically imploding. To add fuel to fire, my messages were replied with utmost frankness devoid of any emotion, totally different from the situation just a day ago. Come to think of it now, its scary, but I can’t blame her. I acted as if nothing happened and hoped naively that things will go back the way it was before 10th May, 2007.
At night, as I prepared to turn in for the night after receiving a rejection from her. I thought of all the fun times we shared, the random videos, the disturbing of each other at work, the harmless teasing, her smile. Tears rolled down my cheeks. That was when I made my steely resolve.
The next day at work, both of us tried our best to make it seem like nothing has happened. Nobody at our workplace knew of our solo outings, much less the situation that we’re in. However, she felt distant, as if she was deliberately shunning me. After work, at the bus stop, she maintained minimal conversation with me and when her bus came, she did the thing that I was most afraid.
She returned my sock to me.
At that instant, as she boarded the bus, I felt my strength go out with her. She was gone. That statement played back in my head over and over. I sat down on the cold metal seat of the bus stop, and contemplated. Ten minutes later, I reached a decision. I slid up my phone, and found a number.
I hit the call button.
The phone rang for a while, then someone over the other line said “Hello.”
Relief flooded through me. She hasn’t cut me off completely. Yet. There’s still time to turn the situation around.
I fired a wild shot, asking her to wait for me at her place’s park. Well, that shot found its mark, and she agreed. Thrilled, I quickly boarded the bus and sprinted to her place.
There she was, sitting solemnly on a bench, awaiting my arrival, awaiting closure. I spent the next hour talking things through, and trying my absolute best to pop that question, but I just can’t seem to get it out of my mouth. During that time, both of us teared, and it pains me to see her tear. So henceforth, I swore never to make her cry.
Anyway, I was beating about the bush like mad, as she said later, I beat the bush until there wasn’t any bushes left. Practically leveled the entire garden. I can’t help it, I’m just not accustomed to saying such things – that’s what four years in a boy’s school does to you. But in the end, I finally got it out, and got the desired result. I asked if I could hold her hand, she meekly extended it after some thought and I quickly grabbed it. Her soft, delicate and strangely small hand now rested in mine, and has been like that ever since.
That, folks, is how we got together.
The following months were eventful to say the least. The money issue I mentioned previously came up a few times, but I got over it. It’s a guy’s perogative to offer to pay for most things when we go out. But then she’s cute, she offers to pay for certain items from time to time. She wants to be independent she says.
Then there’s the parent’s issue. She told her parents first, and got some rather serious feedback. However, after several visits to her place, most notably first month and for lunch, her parents kinda got to know me better, and I think (keyword: think) that they find me harmless, harmless enough to allow their smallest daughter to continue dating me. I even helped her mom translate a short paragraph of words and came up with letter replies. Into their good books I go!
My parents were easier to handle. They have long suspected something fishy was going on between their son and this girl he’s talking to almost everyday. Why, the last time he talked to someone else over the phone for such a long period of time daily (1~3 hours) was during Secondary 1, and it was his guy classmate. So one fine day my sis asked me if it was true, I didn’t say yes or no, I gave a grey answer. Then she asked if we held hands already. To that, I gave another grey answer, but my sis, being the nosey parker she was, didn’t give in. She pressed me again and again during dinner, until finally I had enough and said, “Have la!” There, cat out of the bag.
Triumphant, she told my dad, who heard every word as he was with us. My dad didn’t say anything much, just said that my mum and him held hands on their second date, and sounded mighty proud while saying that. To think my parents are so liberal. My mom found out about it soon enough, and told me not to take it so seriously, seeing it as my first time. But then I thought, if you wanna do something, do it well, else you’ll regret later. If this relationship is a dream, I so don’t wanna wake up from it. My parents are now more or less in favour of her, after lunch on Sunday. Cheerful, friendly, chatty – that’s how my family described her. My dad told me to “carry on”. I think that’s their way of saying “PASS!”.
Two months have whizzed by in a flash, in retrospect, it really is a perilous journey less travelled.
Indeed.
The times spent with her can never be replaced: unique, special and downright memorable. It always seems that we can't have enough of each other, can't seem to spend enough time with each other.
Yes there's this episode that really threatened to sink this ship - we went out consecutively for 4 days, and at the end of it, both of us felt a sensation of overdose, too much of each other. By reflex, both of us went through our cyclical thinking processes, and it was starkly clear that the relationship could end there and then, before our first month. However, we got through it unscathed, and I think we advanced one step further. A happy ending.
That was pretty much the one major maelstrom in our sea of happiness. Things have been really smooth sailing for the both of us, smooth to the point that it feels like a dream. If I told you guys that we've never EVER quarrelled would you guys believe me? Guess not. Believe what you like fellas, that's the truth. I can argue justification defense.
Now, when I think back, I feel that I've changed a little. I now make noise whenever she doesn't give me her 100% attention, online or otherwise. Not really angry-pissed-incensed kind of noise, just more or less whining, like taxi drivers who complain about the PAP. Before we officially began, I usually tolerated that without question. Maybe the past has caught up with me. Then again, its in me to tolerate people, they say I have a high endurance level. How else would I survive one year plus (insert Shocked Gasp) in the hellish F&B industry? It's difficult for one to change his/her habit that has been with him/her for his life so soon and so suddenly, it's like asking for the sky, or asking for the events of 9-11 to be reversed. I think a little compromise here and there never hurt anyone. Plus, now that I know how she functions, I understand the lapses in her responses better. I'll do my darndest to make sure I don't see her sad or angry face again (scary).
Our first month benchmark was really great. I enjoyed myself tremendously, but made sure she enjoyed herself more than I did. It was the first time I bought a girl flowers and gave a girl gifts, she also gave me one: a really cute stuffed cat that i fancied the moment I saw it. She actually went to get it (touched). Actually, she broke a number of first-time records in my books, but thats another story to be told another time. Although we had to shop for some items she needed, I accepted it unquestioningly: her company was more than enough. That day was also the first time I met her parents. I walked into the house like I was walking in for Radio Heatwave interview. No sweat.
She's gonna start school real soon, and the reality of it is slowly but surely manifesting. Being the active girl girl she is, she has already signed up for at least 2 events that requires a lot of her time. That plus her CIP tutoring, her driving lessons, her school camps, her school workshops, etc. Sometimes I wonder how the heck she manages so many things at the same time but can't multitask. Its one of the many mysteries of the universe.
Oh well, all good things have to end some time. Thing is, its not gonna end for good. Yeah we'll be meeting up lesser, and the duration could be cut shorter, but the important gist of it is that we are still meeting up. Thats enough. For me at least.
Her first camp is underway, glad she dropped me a mesage this morning before she went off (so sweet). I know she's safe, hopefully her gastrointestinal condition doesn't act up again. Yes yes I know what you nosey parkers are thinking, but no, this is a fiduciary relationship, and if something like that will happen, that means there's a major tear in the relationship's fabric. I have every confidence in my girl.
In sum, it has been a really happy journey down this untrodden path with my beloved.
Happy 2nd month.
Love my dear. :D
:D
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Cellular Chapter 2
Chapter 2 - Decisions
Sally Perkins lay huddled in a dank corner of her room, a prisoner in her own home. Outside the mahogany wooden door were her brothers, crazed, ravaged, driven insane by the Pulse. Making awfully sickening noises while sowing widespread indiscriminate destruction to their own home, the two males loitered and prowled along the narrow corridor just outside Sally’s refuge. They sensed her presence, but they could not discern her exact position. Given time however, they would tear the door down and after that, quite possibly tear Sally limb from limb. Sally buried her head into her tear-drenched hands. John, she mentally cried, where are you?
Six kilometers away John Nielsen was fighting for his life once more. After abandoning his car a short distance away from his home because of the debris choking the road along with the sheer number of phone-mad people, John ran nearly all the way to his destination. Well, as close to his destination was he possibly could, given the resistance dogging him the whole time. A woman in a power suit tried to disembowel him with a shovel (where did she get that from?) while a blue-uniformed junior college student swiped at him with her fingernails. Normally, John would not even hurt a fly, but today ‘normal’ just did not apply.
One-on-one, John would have at least stood a chance against JC Girl, but Shovel Lady was also trying to end his life. So it was a little bit unfair in that regard. He had to think out of this one, and not meet the threat head on, for if he did, he would see his head on the ground, along with the rest of his body. Just as JC Girl swiped at his head for the sixth time since the beginning of the attack, John saw an opportunity to reverse the sands. Standing motionless, JC Girl’s bloodsoaked fingers cut through the air like a deadly claw, whistling John’s death knell. In the spilt second before her fingers made contact, John ducked, and the fingers swung past his head by a hair’s breadth, and right into the stomach of Shovel Lady.
Shocked and in severe pain, Shovel Lady let out a guttural cross between a roar and a groan, and lashed out at her attacker. Her shovel found a nice spot on JC Girl’s scalp to land on, sending her crashing to the pavement. Relentless, Shovel Lady raised her weapon and brought it down onto the prone body of JC Girl, again and again and again. John suddenly felt sick: what was left of JC Girl was a jumbled mass of blood, flesh and nylon threads, worlds apart from what it originally was.
The threat eradicated, Shovel Lady now returned her attention to John. She raised her now-very-bloody shovel again, and swung it down in John’s general direction. As with Mr Lee previously, most, if not all, of the phone-crazies suffer horribly in the aiming department, and John easily sidestepped Shovel Lady’s falling spade of doom. Eager to continue moving on, John grabbed Shovel Lady’s namesake and tugged.
To his absolute horror and amazement, her arms came off – skin, muscle, bones and all. Despite being detached from the parent organism, Shovel Lady’s arms held on to the shovel like huge, bulging and bleeding leeches. Oh crap, John thought, someone could really lend her a hand now. Shovel Lady rocked back and forth, struggling to maintain balance as blood gushed out in torrents from the sides of her torso where her arms had been. With one final coarse cry, Shovel Lady dropped to her knees, then fell head first into JC Girl’s pulpy mess.
The irony.
John hurriedly disposed of the shovel and the accessories that came free with it, and quickly resumed his journey to Sally’s house. His gut had been wrenching in upon itself, twisting and turning and generally making a huge din in his abdomen. From past experiences, such feelings meant something bad was going to happen, and John kind of had an idea just what that might be.
Sally.
He brushed away the thought and continued to maneuver his way through the mindless hordes of crazed people, wrecked vehicles and assorted debris strewn all over the road, sidewalks and any visible surface. All around John, chaos ensued. People were killing each other – more than ever before - and stuff was burning in an uncountable number of places simultaneously. Horns blared, metal clashed, bones broke.
It was a bad day to be out.
At last, John arrived at his terminal destination: Sally’s semi-detached terrace house, or what was left of it. The place looked like it had been hit by a typhoon, a hurricane and a tornado attack all at once. All of its windows were shattered; the front door was lying on the ground filled with miscellaneous items of every sort; the lawn had several landings from unidentified flying objects, most probably coming from the second floor. Not to mention the couple of bodies lying in a pool of maroon blood outside the main gate. In all, the place was a mess, and Sally was right smack in the middle of that mess.
John took a deep breath, swallowed then advanced forward. He picked by a bent golf club from the floor, amazed himself by straightening it, and entered the front door of Sally’s residence, literally Hell’s Gate.
Although it was three in the afternoon, Sally’s place was unusually dark. Counting the fact that her house faced the east, it was hardly a surprise. But even so, they should be a little light streaming in. Today however, there was hardly a ray of sunshine in these desolate quarters. John’s visibility was reduced to a mere index-finger’s length from his face.
I have got to find me a flashlight, John decided, this is worse than wallowing in my own misery. Adding a chuckle for comic effect, John felt his way through the sprawling premises, his club raised in an attack position.
Without further incident, John reached what seemed to be the kitchen. There should be a flashlight around here, he thought. He lay his weapon down onto the washing area near a sink, and then proceeded to rummage through the drawers and cabinets to find what he was looking for. After a while, John fished out a long black torch from one of the utility cabinets. The batteries were still there: the thing was as heavy as a brick. He felt for the switch. Light flooded the kitchen with an audible click.
And Sally’s elder brother was there before him.
Completely taken by surprise, John stumbled and fell on his butt. He looked up at his aggressor: Sally’s brother was wounded in several places, and his clothes were in dire need of change. John’s eyes instinctively moved to the hands, and found what they were looking for: a cell phone. That pretty much cemented Sally’s theory of ‘people going mad when they were using cell phones’. All of John’s previous attackers carried cell phones, from Mr Lee to Shovel Lady. Now Sally’s brother joined their ranks.
At first, John tried to reason with him.
“Hey dude!” He started,” Remember me?”
No response. Sally’s brother looked at him with bloodshot eyes filled with eager anticipation.
“Erm,” John tried again, this time with a desperate tone in his voice, “Aren’t you gonna get me a drink? Well I’m a guest aren’t I?” He let out a small laugh, and that was all that Sally’s brother needed to make his move.
With one forceful lunge, Sally’s brother pinned John to the floor, squeezing him between his powerful, toned, bloodstained arms. John cried in pain, but his attacker was relentless. John could feel the life being squeezed out of him in short sharp gasps.
“Hey!” John muttered in between gasps and wheezes, “Let me go! I have to get to Sally you dimwit!” He threw punches at Sally’s brother’s cranial cavity, but that did not seem to have any effect. John screamed again, this time for Sally.
At the mention of his sister’s name, Sally’s brother loosened his hold on John, as if he remembered something. Seizing this opportune moment, John swung out hard with the flashlight, and the sleek black pole connected with his attacker’s skull with a sickening crack. Sally’s brother collapsed like a rag doll, unconscious but alive. John sighed a tremendous sign of relief.
“I never liked you anyway,” John uttered as he picked himself up.
Two floors above, Sally Perkins remained huddled in her cornered sanctuary. Outside her room, just separated by a ten centimeter wide concrete wall was her now-insane brother. Tommy, as he was known before his brain matter got wasted, was crashing into the wall again and again, much like a cat constantly biting a can of tuna to get to the succulent meat inside. Only this time, that succulent meat is his sister’s. Tommy himself was but a cadaver of his former self: multiple lacerations aligned his pale-skinned forearms, many festering steadily in the dank and humid conditions of the house. His head was cratered with pockmarks, most likely from burns, and a wide gash the size of a match stick decorated his solar plexus. He was limping on his right foot, using the weight of his body to smash his body into the wall repeatedly, seemingly oblivious to the pain and damage being done to his already desecrated body.
Sally could hear her brother groan as he ran into the wall for the forty-seventh time, shaking the loose fortification as well as her sanity. One more forceful blow would bring the wall crashing down. Tears rolled down her dust-covered cheeks as Tommy reared up for another ram.
Sally waited for the inevitable impact.
It did not come.
John calibrated the exact trajectory and force of impact before bringing the tip of his heavy-duty flashlight down onto the head of the phone-crazy ramming into the wall of Sally’s room. He looked pitiful, with multiple injuries adorning his pale skin. That flashlight blow shook his fragile frame like it was no denser than paper and sent him crumpling into a heap on the cold hard floor.
I ended your misery pal, John thought, now be on your way and don’t wake up.
John raced to the door of Sally’s room and opening it with such force that could very well rip the door from its hinges.
“Sally!” He screamed as his eyes scanned frantically for her presence. Sally, visibly surprised, immediately stood up, tears in her eyes.
“John!” She leapt into his arms and embraced him tightly, the dams holding back her tears fully broken.
“It’s OK now, Sally,” John assured as he brushed her hair, “Everything’s OK.” They spent the next minute locked in that warm cuddle, oblivious to the hell that was raging outside.
It was then that Sally asked him a question, to which he had no answer.
“What shall we do?” She asked, “Where shall we go?”
To be continued...
Sally Perkins lay huddled in a dank corner of her room, a prisoner in her own home. Outside the mahogany wooden door were her brothers, crazed, ravaged, driven insane by the Pulse. Making awfully sickening noises while sowing widespread indiscriminate destruction to their own home, the two males loitered and prowled along the narrow corridor just outside Sally’s refuge. They sensed her presence, but they could not discern her exact position. Given time however, they would tear the door down and after that, quite possibly tear Sally limb from limb. Sally buried her head into her tear-drenched hands. John, she mentally cried, where are you?
Six kilometers away John Nielsen was fighting for his life once more. After abandoning his car a short distance away from his home because of the debris choking the road along with the sheer number of phone-mad people, John ran nearly all the way to his destination. Well, as close to his destination was he possibly could, given the resistance dogging him the whole time. A woman in a power suit tried to disembowel him with a shovel (where did she get that from?) while a blue-uniformed junior college student swiped at him with her fingernails. Normally, John would not even hurt a fly, but today ‘normal’ just did not apply.
One-on-one, John would have at least stood a chance against JC Girl, but Shovel Lady was also trying to end his life. So it was a little bit unfair in that regard. He had to think out of this one, and not meet the threat head on, for if he did, he would see his head on the ground, along with the rest of his body. Just as JC Girl swiped at his head for the sixth time since the beginning of the attack, John saw an opportunity to reverse the sands. Standing motionless, JC Girl’s bloodsoaked fingers cut through the air like a deadly claw, whistling John’s death knell. In the spilt second before her fingers made contact, John ducked, and the fingers swung past his head by a hair’s breadth, and right into the stomach of Shovel Lady.
Shocked and in severe pain, Shovel Lady let out a guttural cross between a roar and a groan, and lashed out at her attacker. Her shovel found a nice spot on JC Girl’s scalp to land on, sending her crashing to the pavement. Relentless, Shovel Lady raised her weapon and brought it down onto the prone body of JC Girl, again and again and again. John suddenly felt sick: what was left of JC Girl was a jumbled mass of blood, flesh and nylon threads, worlds apart from what it originally was.
The threat eradicated, Shovel Lady now returned her attention to John. She raised her now-very-bloody shovel again, and swung it down in John’s general direction. As with Mr Lee previously, most, if not all, of the phone-crazies suffer horribly in the aiming department, and John easily sidestepped Shovel Lady’s falling spade of doom. Eager to continue moving on, John grabbed Shovel Lady’s namesake and tugged.
To his absolute horror and amazement, her arms came off – skin, muscle, bones and all. Despite being detached from the parent organism, Shovel Lady’s arms held on to the shovel like huge, bulging and bleeding leeches. Oh crap, John thought, someone could really lend her a hand now. Shovel Lady rocked back and forth, struggling to maintain balance as blood gushed out in torrents from the sides of her torso where her arms had been. With one final coarse cry, Shovel Lady dropped to her knees, then fell head first into JC Girl’s pulpy mess.
The irony.
John hurriedly disposed of the shovel and the accessories that came free with it, and quickly resumed his journey to Sally’s house. His gut had been wrenching in upon itself, twisting and turning and generally making a huge din in his abdomen. From past experiences, such feelings meant something bad was going to happen, and John kind of had an idea just what that might be.
Sally.
He brushed away the thought and continued to maneuver his way through the mindless hordes of crazed people, wrecked vehicles and assorted debris strewn all over the road, sidewalks and any visible surface. All around John, chaos ensued. People were killing each other – more than ever before - and stuff was burning in an uncountable number of places simultaneously. Horns blared, metal clashed, bones broke.
It was a bad day to be out.
At last, John arrived at his terminal destination: Sally’s semi-detached terrace house, or what was left of it. The place looked like it had been hit by a typhoon, a hurricane and a tornado attack all at once. All of its windows were shattered; the front door was lying on the ground filled with miscellaneous items of every sort; the lawn had several landings from unidentified flying objects, most probably coming from the second floor. Not to mention the couple of bodies lying in a pool of maroon blood outside the main gate. In all, the place was a mess, and Sally was right smack in the middle of that mess.
John took a deep breath, swallowed then advanced forward. He picked by a bent golf club from the floor, amazed himself by straightening it, and entered the front door of Sally’s residence, literally Hell’s Gate.
Although it was three in the afternoon, Sally’s place was unusually dark. Counting the fact that her house faced the east, it was hardly a surprise. But even so, they should be a little light streaming in. Today however, there was hardly a ray of sunshine in these desolate quarters. John’s visibility was reduced to a mere index-finger’s length from his face.
I have got to find me a flashlight, John decided, this is worse than wallowing in my own misery. Adding a chuckle for comic effect, John felt his way through the sprawling premises, his club raised in an attack position.
Without further incident, John reached what seemed to be the kitchen. There should be a flashlight around here, he thought. He lay his weapon down onto the washing area near a sink, and then proceeded to rummage through the drawers and cabinets to find what he was looking for. After a while, John fished out a long black torch from one of the utility cabinets. The batteries were still there: the thing was as heavy as a brick. He felt for the switch. Light flooded the kitchen with an audible click.
And Sally’s elder brother was there before him.
Completely taken by surprise, John stumbled and fell on his butt. He looked up at his aggressor: Sally’s brother was wounded in several places, and his clothes were in dire need of change. John’s eyes instinctively moved to the hands, and found what they were looking for: a cell phone. That pretty much cemented Sally’s theory of ‘people going mad when they were using cell phones’. All of John’s previous attackers carried cell phones, from Mr Lee to Shovel Lady. Now Sally’s brother joined their ranks.
At first, John tried to reason with him.
“Hey dude!” He started,” Remember me?”
No response. Sally’s brother looked at him with bloodshot eyes filled with eager anticipation.
“Erm,” John tried again, this time with a desperate tone in his voice, “Aren’t you gonna get me a drink? Well I’m a guest aren’t I?” He let out a small laugh, and that was all that Sally’s brother needed to make his move.
With one forceful lunge, Sally’s brother pinned John to the floor, squeezing him between his powerful, toned, bloodstained arms. John cried in pain, but his attacker was relentless. John could feel the life being squeezed out of him in short sharp gasps.
“Hey!” John muttered in between gasps and wheezes, “Let me go! I have to get to Sally you dimwit!” He threw punches at Sally’s brother’s cranial cavity, but that did not seem to have any effect. John screamed again, this time for Sally.
At the mention of his sister’s name, Sally’s brother loosened his hold on John, as if he remembered something. Seizing this opportune moment, John swung out hard with the flashlight, and the sleek black pole connected with his attacker’s skull with a sickening crack. Sally’s brother collapsed like a rag doll, unconscious but alive. John sighed a tremendous sign of relief.
“I never liked you anyway,” John uttered as he picked himself up.
Two floors above, Sally Perkins remained huddled in her cornered sanctuary. Outside her room, just separated by a ten centimeter wide concrete wall was her now-insane brother. Tommy, as he was known before his brain matter got wasted, was crashing into the wall again and again, much like a cat constantly biting a can of tuna to get to the succulent meat inside. Only this time, that succulent meat is his sister’s. Tommy himself was but a cadaver of his former self: multiple lacerations aligned his pale-skinned forearms, many festering steadily in the dank and humid conditions of the house. His head was cratered with pockmarks, most likely from burns, and a wide gash the size of a match stick decorated his solar plexus. He was limping on his right foot, using the weight of his body to smash his body into the wall repeatedly, seemingly oblivious to the pain and damage being done to his already desecrated body.
Sally could hear her brother groan as he ran into the wall for the forty-seventh time, shaking the loose fortification as well as her sanity. One more forceful blow would bring the wall crashing down. Tears rolled down her dust-covered cheeks as Tommy reared up for another ram.
Sally waited for the inevitable impact.
It did not come.
John calibrated the exact trajectory and force of impact before bringing the tip of his heavy-duty flashlight down onto the head of the phone-crazy ramming into the wall of Sally’s room. He looked pitiful, with multiple injuries adorning his pale skin. That flashlight blow shook his fragile frame like it was no denser than paper and sent him crumpling into a heap on the cold hard floor.
I ended your misery pal, John thought, now be on your way and don’t wake up.
John raced to the door of Sally’s room and opening it with such force that could very well rip the door from its hinges.
“Sally!” He screamed as his eyes scanned frantically for her presence. Sally, visibly surprised, immediately stood up, tears in her eyes.
“John!” She leapt into his arms and embraced him tightly, the dams holding back her tears fully broken.
“It’s OK now, Sally,” John assured as he brushed her hair, “Everything’s OK.” They spent the next minute locked in that warm cuddle, oblivious to the hell that was raging outside.
It was then that Sally asked him a question, to which he had no answer.
“What shall we do?” She asked, “Where shall we go?”
To be continued...
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