. 18.12.13 an eye for an eye .

  I was a 15-year-old homeless kid, living on the streets with an older woman I called 'mom' and an older girl named Sarah, whom I treated and loved like a sister. We were hobos basically, living on the streets, relying only on ourselves and our wits to survive. Though I was the kid, I was the caretaker of the group. For some reason I was skilled in fighting, and I protected my family.

  One day, we return to an old neighborhood of mine. I had history in this particular neighborhood, and before I could avoid it, it had already caught up to me. Suddenly the three of us were shuffled into this big mansion by a group of gangsters, all dressed in black leather. Inside, I recognized the owner of the house. He was a man, who looked near his mid-thirties, and was dressed in all white. Besides his oldest son, who was 14-years-old and with the gangsters who herded us before, he also had a number of adopted children. Some were toddlers and the rest were no older than 7.

  His cronies brought us to him as he played with the children in the den. He brings up the past, subtly telling me that now he had captured me, he was going to get his revenge. He had been waiting for a long time now, but he was patient and it showed in his calm demeanor. Flashbacks erupted in my head, and I saw a small boy with black, wavy hair and a wide smile. And I felt so sad, my heart wanted to break because I knew that the child was long dead.

  "I'm so sorry.. I didn't mean to... It was an accident! He was the only friend I ever had then, I would never hurt him.." I was on the verge of tears.

  Apparently his youngest son, Sam, and I were close friends when we were younger. But he died in a terrible accident an d his father blamed me for his death. His older son never knew about him, probably due to memory suppression, and was lost during our conversation. But after hearing my pleas, he wondered if I really was innocent or not. The doubt showed on his face, especially when his father seemed adamant in getting his revenge on me.

  The man in white opened up a door to a very derelict room and told me to go in. It looked like an abandoned child's playroom; ropes and hooks hung from the ceiling, toys in clutters and disguised as torture devices. I went in and he locked me in total darkness. I hid myself in murky bedsheets and covers under the dusty bed, lying in wait and letting my eyes adjust to the dark. I anticipated thugs to come in after me to finish the job, but for some reason the man in white left me alone. Somehow he thought that I had suffocated from something inside the room, and that I'd passed out or died.

  Either way, the door of the room was now unguarded and so I escaped. I went upstairs to find my 'family' and found that they were taken hostage in the dining area. Mom and Sarah sat terrified beside each other at the long, dining table, while the gangsters stood at all sides of the room. All the gangsters were armed. Some were seated at the table, some just stood around joking. The son was there too, and only now I realized how much he resembled Sam. I really didn't want to hurt him unless I really needed to. I didn't mind killing the gangsters though.

  I stealthily searched the other rooms for weapons. I went into the master's bedroom and found a wall full of firearms. I was awestruck and excited to use them. I took a small automatic machine gun and two automatic pistols, and I was so ready to fuck shit up.

Unfortunately before I reached the dining room, I woke up. But I supposed I saved my 'family' in the end, though not as smoothly as I would've hoped. I would've killed most of the gangsters by the time my ammo ran out. I would get caught by the man in white again, but this time he threatened to kill my 'family'. I'd give myself up for their lives because they had absolutely nothing to with Sam's death. "Killing me won't bring Sam back! As much as I wish it would, I know it won't happen too!" I could imagine myself saying.

Maybe the second son would believe me and understand that it wasn't my fault. He would stand up to his father and admit that he had taken things too far for too long. He saves my life and lets me and my 'family' go. And if he wanted to join our 'family', we would be more than happy to welcome him.

. 10.03.13 Zuko's dark side .

  The Dream was set in the world of the Avatar: the Last Airbender, so if you’ve never of this awesome Nickolodeon series, you’ll probably be lost. We were at a Fire Nation prison somewhere on an island and surrounded by water. I don’t remember a lot about my Persona except that I was a girl with dark hair and a long ponytail. I was dressed in Fire Nation guard armour and I called two guards around the corner to come back me up as a prisoner was attempting escaped. When the guards arrived, I banged their heads together and threw them into an empty cell, unconscious. Sokka got the keys and found the cell that was keeping Aang in and let him out. Aang was really happy to see us both.

  Aang had his trusty glider back and lead everyone out of the prison safely. Even Zuko was there helping with Aang’s escape so he was one of the good guys now. The prison was in the middle of a crater filled with water, with rockpools all around it’s dividing walls between the prison and freedom. Aang was trying to carry Sokka and I while Zuko used Fire-bending to give himself a lift while still holding onto Aang. But in the end we were all too heavy and landed in the water before we could cross the crater walls. We climbed into the nearest rockpool where we rested in shallow water.

  But suddenly we heard a voice and as the mist cleared, standing on top of the rockpool was a girl with dark eye-shadow and purple hair and clothes. She didn’t seem interested in Aang who just busted out of prison but looked like she was after Zuko and I, for personal and other reasons. Zuko looked like he hated her with a passion though. I don’t really know what happened between the two, but in between the sarcastic, snarky remarks, the girl was sincerely apologetic for something she did to Zuko. But Zuko didn’t seem like the forgiving type at the moment.

  As she got into the rockpool with us and once I saw Zuko’s anger, my guts told me that it was time to go. Sokka had gotten out of the rockpool first and I guessed it was high-time I took Aang with me. Aang was tired from all the flying and gliding so I had to keep us both afloat, and we were in no position to help Zuko. But it turns out that he didn’t need any help at all. Zuko set the rockpool at boiling temperature, turning the surrounding rocks black as charcoal. Once the girl realized what was going on, it was too late for her to escape. She screamed her lungs out, the pain of being boiled alive was unbearable. I tried to shield Aang’s eyes away from the horrible sight but I couldn’t stop the screaming. It was the first time we all saw Zuko’s dark side.

  I’ve already had severable Avatar Dreams before and they all have had Zuko in them because he’s my favourite character (which I like to fangirl over). But honestly this Dream was ghastly and just plain sad. I’d like to think that Zuko and my character were close and the fact that the girl threatened to kill me to get to him maybe kind of pissed him off, but I didn’t expect him to kill the girl. At least not in such a horrifying way.

. 28.11.12 Nobody .

  Her eyes are a dark, dull silver pair, and they stare at you lifeless, like the eyes of a dead fish. Her hair is raven and forever trailing in the wind, and her ends disappear with every gust that stirs. Her dress reminds you of the mist, and sometimes you wonder if that was all she was, and if she was ever there.

  She likes to walk around at night, barefoot across roads and roads of cobblestoned streets. And sometimes, if you listen real hard, you can almost hear the pitter-patter of ghostly feet. Like a child, she is forever curious of the world around her; the sensations about her that she can no longer feel or taste or touch. She likes to follow you around, even if you never notice her; even if your eyes will never meet hers. It hasn’t stopped her before.

  Animals take notice of her. Some are frightened, while others grow familiar with her kind presence. She becomes nothing more than a shadow that accompanies them on their rounds. If she had a companion, it would seem to be a particular, black cat, plump in figure with emerald eyes bejewelling its round face. They walk side-by-side down the cobblestone path in the early mornings, before the milkman arrives with its breakfast.

  Most people never see her, and she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t mind anything anymore. She just is. And that is all she will be. Though sometimes she takes pleasure in being noticed once in a while. More than once, her misty frame has caught the glance of a child or two and they always stare at her in awe. Their eyes tell her they’re frightened of her dead-fish pair and her ghostly figure, and all she does in return is smile, with a single finger to her pale lips. Her raven hair twists and turns in the wind and across her face.

This Dream was neither sad nor scary. Just a short narrative of a girl ghost who walked through the streets, still observing the lives of the living and existing with the simple pleasures she has left. Like making friends with a single black cat (which was awfully cute by the way). I called this Dream ‘Nobody’ because it reminded me a lot of Nobody Owens, the ghostly boy from the Graveyard Book; one of my faves by Neil Gaiman.

. 24.08.12 a girl in a grey world .

  If the world were a colour, it would be grey. Well, it’s not really grey. But for this girl, it was. She was an odd little girl in an odd little world. Well, she wasn’t really little, nor was the world she woke up in. But one thing was true, it was all very odd.

  When she woke up, she wasn’t really lying down. She was standing up straight and felt a bit disorientated, as if she had fallen in a daze in the middle of the corridor. She can’t remember where she was or how she got there in the first place. And everywhere around her was very strange and unfamiliar. The decrepit structure of the buildings, the damp, grungy decor and the foreign smells thick in the atmosphere; it was not a pleasant place to be, but the girl was not frightened.

  As she explored the place, she found her reflection in a large, piece of mirror shard, sticking out like a jagged piece of ruin. She seemed like the only thing in the world with colour. Her short hair and top were a bright, dark pink, almost a magenta shade. Her skin was porcelain white, with a blush of colour on her cheeks, like a doll. Her pants and knee-length boots were black as tar, and so were her eyes. But her eyes had pink pupils in the middle, like buttons.

  Not a moment too soon after inspecting herself in the shard did she hear a strange sound. Further down the corridor she spots a large frog-like creature. Or maybe it was a child. Perhaps it was both. Its skin was swamp-green and it was hopping about like a frog, but there was something child-like or impish about his face. Whatever it was, it seemed like the only moving creature besides her. In a lonely grey world with nothing to do, she follows it through the maze of the worn-down building. The creature bounced off the walls as the girl nonchalantly followed. It seemed as if it wanted to be followed because whenever the girl stopped and took her time to inspect something, the frog-imp-child would wait for her close by.

  Through corridors and corridors, the girl passed by shadows and old ghosts and people whom she was sure were no longer people; all residents of this forgotten grey world. The girl found a staircase and was enticed to go downstairs to see where it led. But she heard someone coming up the stairs. It was a woman singing. Suddenly fear overtook the magenta-haired girl and she hid around the corner. From a safe corner, she saw the woman’s black gown trailing behind her as she sang softly, but cheerily. She was dressed in all black, like a mourner’s gown, with a long, black-laced veil covering her face. The atmosphere was eerie and cold and for the first time, the girl was frightened. She went to look for the frog-child.

  Finally the girl sees a curtain at the end of a large hallway, with bright light creeping in through the gaps and moth-bitten holes. Without hesitation, she pushes through the curtain and her eyes are blinded, for a moment, by a vast spectrum of colours. She finds herself in the outside world. She looks up to the blue, azure sky and she can feel the warm sunlight on her porcelain skin, still feeling cold from the grey world behind her. She finds herself standing on a patio garden, with greenery of all kinds in pots of different shapes. On the wooden floor and a number of them handing above her head. Some of them even had flowers and they were a beauty for her button eyes to behold.

  Just then, she feels arms wrap around her and someone is hugging her from behind. The girl hears a voice speaking, saying things like ‘how much I’ve missed you’ and ‘it’s good to see you again’. The girl turns around and she stares into the chocolate eyes of another girl, not much older than she was. She had brown hair and was dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans. She looked at the girl as if she were expecting a response to the warm welcome. The magenta-haired girl looked confused at the stranger and asked, “And you are...?”

  And the girl with chocolate eyes was stunned. “Don’t you remember me, Magenta? It’s me! You do remember me, don’t you?” A second later a lifetime of memories flooded the girl’s mind, shocking and terrifyingly abrupt. The girl with chocolate eyes was just a child when Magenta came into her life. Woven by threads of dreams and wishes of friendship, Magenta was brought to life by the little artist and her world of crayons and bright paint. Whenever she needed a muse or a friend, Magenta was always there for her. But one day, the artist fell ill for the longest time and her world of colour was turning pale from malnourishment.

  Months passed and the girl remained in a coma, and unconsciously sought dreams from everywhere else except her own. But though Magenta was almost forgotten, she never left her little artist. She remained in limbo, where she awaited her canvas world to be restored to life. But after a while, Magenta lost her memory and wandered through limbo aimlessly, constantly forgetting what and who she was and what and who she was supposed to be. Finally the day came when the artist awoke. And she sought to find her muse once more. “I’m sorry. I never intended to forget, especially you.” Magenta replied as she hugged her artist tight, “You never forgot me. Your heart remembered. You were always there, while I was the one who lost memory of my master.” And painted on her porcelain face was a smile.

This was a sweet story with loads of abstract concepts, but I loved it to bits. I especially liked how blur and nonchalant Magenta turned out to be. There are still a few things I didn’t get, like who the frog-child and the lady-in-black were supposed to represent. After all the grey world is actually the grey matter in the artist-girl’s head. I love the special relationship the artist has for her muse, like she really loves her and protects her, because she has been a part of her ever since she was created. And now reunited they can make worlds again <3>

. poor Harriet .

  Harriet is a 17-year-old girl with chestnut eyes and frizzy dark brown hair. Harriet is a disturbed 17-year-old girl. Her eyes are always blood-shot and her chestnut color has dulled with tears. Her wavy locks have become more of a frantic mess. Her eyes are sunken from restless sleep, and she’s been tired of the world for the longest time. Her skin is pale from hiding from the sun. She rarely goes out anymore. She lives with her uncle and aunt. But her father lives with her.

  Every morning she has to wake up to the sound of his voice; his sharp, snarky remarks about everything she is and everything she isn’t. When she brushes her hair, he is there in the mirror, speaking to her in his cold, condescending tone. He would tell her not to bother with her looks when she’s not even worth looking at. She would fight him at first, with silence, not knowing what to say. But deep down, her heart was breaking. When she cries, he just brushes it off and leaves in a huff.

  Every morning she has breakfast with her aunt and uncle, at the round dining table with the quaint white-red chequered cloth. And every morning her father sits between her and her relatives and continues the verbal abuse, while drinking coffee as black and bitter as he was. After attempting a few nibbles of her toast and scrambled eggs, Harriet doesn’t dare eat another bite at the constant nit-picking of her father. She just sits at the table, head down low, and silently tears trickle down her freckled cheeks. Her aunt and uncle look at her pitifully and say nothing.

  This morning, her aunt and uncle were taking her out for a drive. Her aunt sits with her in the back, and her father sits in the front passenger seat. The whole time her uncle drove, her father just could not stop barking at her; calling her names and belittling her every being. She cringed every time his voice rose. Even as her aunt held her, she was trembling from the fear and anxiety and the tears.

  Finally Harriet snaps. And she screams.

  She screams with all her might, staring into his heartless eyes in the rear-view mirror. She screams, “I don’t need you anymore! You’re nothing to me! Why can’t you just leave – me – alone??!!” Her aunt struggles to keep her calm and her uncle focuses on the road, not wanting to hear this. Her father, however, smiles. And slowly his figure disappears from existence, like mist. He is gone and the passenger seat is left empty. But his sadistic smile burns into Harriet’s mind.

  Her aunt and uncle are taking her to a hospital. Hopefully she will have some peace there.

  Harriet is a 17-year-old girl with chestnut eyes and frizzy dark brown hair, and exhausted hopes and worn out dreams. Harriet is a disturbed 17-year-old girl. Her father died 2 years ago so she lives with her uncle and aunt. But her father lives with her. Forever inside her. And he’s not going to go away.

Poor Harriet. The whole Dream played out like a movie so I tried narrating it as it was. If you still don’t quite understand what’s going on here, basically it’s about a teenage girl who has been abused by her father for the longest time. Probably ever since she was a child. I’m not sure whether it was sexual abuse or just physical, verbal & emotional abuse, but it was traumatic nonetheless. She suffers from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, in the sense that she began hallucinating about her father, since he died 2 years back. Even though he was gone, his memories still lived within and tormented her.

. detective Maria Bennet .

  The era looks like the early 1900’s. I was a female private detective, by the name of Maria Bennet. That was how I introduced myself at the client’s door. I was with two other people; one man, who looked like my assistant detective, and a woman, who wore a white coat like a doctor. We were investigating the mysterious death of a young woman and her new-born child, upon the inquiry of her father. His name was Dr. Sterngal, a man well-known for his practice and was a man of pure science. But he could not explain rationally his daughter’s cause of death. When we arrived at the home to inspect the body, it was ghastly.

  Her body was pale grey, with a slight blue-purple hue to her skin. The veins in her body were visible and her eyes were wide open, white as the moon and bloodshot at the corners. Her mouth was left open and gaping, as if she were screaming. Her eyes and mouth were too dry and stiff to close, so they had no choice but to leave her as she was. What was even more frightening was that the baby looked exactly the same, but it seemed it was still struggling to live. I don’t remember much what happened after we inspected the mother’s body, but I recall seeing the distraught look on Dr. Sterngal’s face when the baby tried to cry. It sounded more like gurgling wails, like it was choking on its own saliva. Or blood.

As the detective, of probably the occult, I concluded that the girl was the victim of demonic possession. But the goal wasn’t her, rather it was the child the demon was after. The whole thing reminded me too much of the movie ‘The Exorcism of Emily Rose’. Probably what invoked the ‘demonic possession’ Dream in the first place xDD

.: just for us :.

Aster and Fou; Dream 29.03.09

Just thought I'd post up this recent illustration I did of two characters from a Dream long, long ago. One of the earliest Dreams I blogged about even. When I first wrote down the details of what went on in my bobble-of-a-head, the story was not smooth, characters were intangible, things shifted and disappeared and just like any Dream, most of it didn't make any sense. So I rewrote it as a real, concrete story, at the same time experimented with a writing style and plot that still left it vague and surreal. I call it 'Just for Us'.

Enjoy~ And as always, feedback is always appreciated~

. 05.08.12 special daughter .

  I'm a little girl, maybe 10 or 11 years of age. Two adults are bringing me to the bank for a day out. I know they're not my parents but I cling tightly to the man. He's young and handsome, with light brown, short, wavy hair and brown eyes. I am more attached to him and I call him 'daddy'. As the adults go ahead to the counters, I wander around observing the other people in the bank. The tellers, the clerks, the other customers, and then the security guards. I notice one in particular. A young African-American man sitting near to where the main counters are. He's just sitting there with his gun and when he smiles at me, I get the most uncomfortable feeling. Then I start to cry. I find the nearest corner and cry hysterically. The woman comes back to check on me and asks me what's wrong. I can't form words but I'm holding the sides of my head as if I have a headache.

  I tell her that something bad is going to happen. And when I look at the security guard again, his eyes have changed. They're no longer smiling. He stands up with his gun and starts shooting the ceiling and soon everyone is down on the floor like me. I think there were other people in disguise like him in the bank but I couldn't see them. All I could see was the man walking up to the counters where daddy was. He was threatening him. Daddy was in trouble. The moment the phoney guard hit daddy's head with his gun, something took over me. I slowly walked up to the man with anger in my eyes. He was about to smack me with his gun but somehow mid-way, his arm couldn't move. In a blink of my eyes, his gun was sliced into two, and all I could say to him was, "Don't hurt my daddy.." Then I grab him by the collar and lift him up, him weighing as light as a feather in my hands. And I threw him at the counters, his body crashing through the glass barriers.

  And after all that, I feel my anger leaving me and my body weak. I fall to the floor unconscious. I feel strong arms cuddle and lift me up. I remember the warmth as he brought my body closer to his. I remember daddy holding me. And then I remember nothing.

  Possibly it was the next day. The adults are dressed in white coats and seated down in a large canteen of some sort with their supervisor. The adults talk while I just sit idly by, eating. "It's remarkable. First she has Level 5 telekenesis, and now she can see the future?" says the woman. Daddy takes a plate full of small buns and gives me a few. I like the buns and happily eat them one by one, dipping them into the saucer of chicken curry nearby. Daddy talks, "She can't see that far into the future, but perhaps just the immediate possibilities according to the situation and time she's in. Call it a sensitive case of farsightedness."

  The adults talk some more and I've long lost my interest. Soon after we're back at 'home' and I spend quality time with daddy. He is sweet, kind, gentle and considerate. Even as we're doing tests, I'm not afraid as long as daddy is around. In the playroom, I draw some pictures and daddy picks one up, "What's happening here, sweetie?"

  "It's me flying, daddy."

  "Hmm can you actually fly, I wonder?" he smiles at me. I take the picture and show him that he and the woman were below on the ground. "You and mommy give me wings so that I can fly, see?" "That's very poetic of you, sweetie. It's very nice." He sits on the floor and cuddles me from behind so I continue showing him pictures.

If it were up to me to continue this story, I'd say that by the time the little girl (whom I shall call Annie) grows into a young woman, or teenager, she'll have developed more mature feelings towards the man. Annie has always felt safe and secure with her fosterfather, and in times of danger she's always capable of protecting him. Despite the 10 years age difference, Annie falls for the man who's always taken care of her, but unfortunately it's one-sided because he only sees her as his fosterdaughter. She'll probably find another 'special' kid they have in the organization, except that he might be someone who doesn't like being cooped up in a super-secret basement. In the end he turns on the organization and the people who have been experimenting on him and escapes. And then Annie will be forced to choose between the boy whom she shares so much in common with, or the man that will never be able to love her back. Dun Dun DUUN!!