ISSUE 3
Edited by Elizabeth Deng, Han Wei Tian, Zack Soh, and Teoh Jing Yang
PROSEPunggol
by Ke Dong The Day It Rained
by Celine Sleeping Beauty's Wonderland
by Celine |
POETRYmama's kitchen
by Eng Yeow storm in a teacup
by Mikayla and Eng Yeow |
PROSE
Punggol[1]
|
|
The first impressions of the purple-pink station – warmth and weather, the slippery feel of an old man’s hand as he brushes by. Dull puddles, tinted. The feeling of narrow, rough-rock-roads, pebbled with childhood sensation. Grass smashing its way through stoic grey tiles, seething and grasping. The air is thick with the scent of durian and the cries of hawkers hawking their wares. The sound hovers, as if underwater.
As I walk by there are pony-tailed men, fat women, hunched elderly. The detritus of society, washed up, cast upon at the shore of an alien nowhere, clumped together in huddled masses of rumpled fabric and flustered words. Plastic sheets rattle like bones upon makeshift poles in the ghostly sea breeze, stalked into the cookie-crumble earth. There is this feeling that Punggol exists in a sphere within itself, floating a giant globe just a few metres above the crust’s hold, drifting and swaying in the wind of its own making.
There is little but
The slow drifting
Ascension of an escalator
Fast asleep, and the whirring
Restlessness of the human current.
The condominiums rise like massive steel fingers from the rust and dirt. A pool made of sharp crooked angles, planks and smooth marble floor. Sweat-footprints congeal and decay. Glass shatters in a dream city of crystal houses.
A balloon watches impassively. Food lie to waste.
…
It is night when
We leave, me and her, she and I
Idiosyncrasies and dark-lit
Kafka and Murakami[2].
Someone has turned off the lightbulb, so
It looks as if the sky has been overturned.
…
The buses lie empty shells of white-blue-purple metal.
Windows are blackened from the inside.
Indistinct silhouettes of watchful sentinels blind.
…
The bus bay curves gently kindly like clay like sand at the beach where gentleness reclines under a purple frilly umbrella. The marble moon spies on sable cities falling asleep.
[1] Punggol is a neighbourhood in Singapore.
[2] Both of which are influential writers.
As I walk by there are pony-tailed men, fat women, hunched elderly. The detritus of society, washed up, cast upon at the shore of an alien nowhere, clumped together in huddled masses of rumpled fabric and flustered words. Plastic sheets rattle like bones upon makeshift poles in the ghostly sea breeze, stalked into the cookie-crumble earth. There is this feeling that Punggol exists in a sphere within itself, floating a giant globe just a few metres above the crust’s hold, drifting and swaying in the wind of its own making.
There is little but
The slow drifting
Ascension of an escalator
Fast asleep, and the whirring
Restlessness of the human current.
The condominiums rise like massive steel fingers from the rust and dirt. A pool made of sharp crooked angles, planks and smooth marble floor. Sweat-footprints congeal and decay. Glass shatters in a dream city of crystal houses.
A balloon watches impassively. Food lie to waste.
…
It is night when
We leave, me and her, she and I
Idiosyncrasies and dark-lit
Kafka and Murakami[2].
Someone has turned off the lightbulb, so
It looks as if the sky has been overturned.
…
The buses lie empty shells of white-blue-purple metal.
Windows are blackened from the inside.
Indistinct silhouettes of watchful sentinels blind.
…
The bus bay curves gently kindly like clay like sand at the beach where gentleness reclines under a purple frilly umbrella. The marble moon spies on sable cities falling asleep.
[1] Punggol is a neighbourhood in Singapore.
[2] Both of which are influential writers.
The Day It Rained
|
Urzal
The wind from the North howled incandescently past my ears as they bit against my skin. The pharaonic clouds, a tenebrous grey, grumbled loudly as they passed by high above us. In the valley below, the gangly trees swayed as the yellowing grasses arched back haphazardly.
How safe is this place, actually? If there aren’t even any skeletons at all in this vicinity…
“Hey.” Talio was still staring ahead as he sat down beside me. “Cool view, isn’t it? I never knew such things existed in this world.”
“Yeah,” I replied with a smile, “they made us believe that The Dome was unparalleled in terms of beauty and the outside world was full of savage monsters.”
“And we believed them.”
I smiled grimly as I nodded. And I wondered whether my family and friends- those that had not participated in the protest- would ever know of a world like this.
“Don’t you feel cold, Talio?” I asked after a moment’s pause whereby I noticed that he was wearing a shirt and shorts. In contrast, I was wearing jeans, a denim jacket over a long-sleeved shirt, and sneakers.
We have always been shocked whenever we see Talio dress to his choice ever since we met him. He has worn woolen pullovers under the scorching sun and singlets in the snowy mountains, only to be surprised when he sees us wearing what he calls an “identical dress code”.
“Nah,” he grinned. “I feel perfectly fine. Oh, and I see that they’re wearing the same things as you again.”
Raykus, Azius and Cando had just exited the tent. They were looking in the other direction before Cando spotted us and pulled the other two the right way.
“Hey,” Raykus called out as we both stood up to help Azius sit. “We’re about done with dinner, you know?”
“How’s it like today?”
“Thicker and creamier than yesterday’s. More filling too, which is good.”
“Taste?”
“You can taste more of the potato and the meat today.” Azius replied as Raykus furrowed his eyebrows. Cando, on the other hand, was staring hypnotised at the mountains ahead.
“Pity the taste’s still about the same. I mean, ever since we got out of The Dome, all the food tastes muted.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Talio and Azius replied in unison.
At that very moment, a blinding streak of light flashed past the sky, followed closely by a sound not unlike a lion’s roar. All of us except Cando jumped up in surprise.
“What the heck is that?” Raykus shouted in shock.
“If my memory doesn’t fail, that was lightning and thunder. It will soon be followed by a water precipitate which our ancestors termed ‘rain’.” Talio racked his brains. “At least, according to a centuries-old science textbook I found in my attic when I was young.”
“That was a hell of a noise.” Azius drawled as he stretched out his legs; we pulled him back to prevent him from falling down.
“Yeah, and it won’t be the first. You’ll hear more of it during the rain.”
Water droplets began to fall from the sky. The wind began to subside to a mere whisper, and the trees and grasses slowed down in their dance.
“Let’s go back.” I urged. Water precipitate it may be, but who knew what those lights and sounds could do to us?
“No,” Talio begged, “Let’s stay for a while.”
“Yes, it’s kind of nice being out here,” Raykus seconded.
The rain was now pelting down like shards of glass from a shelter that has just broken; it was as though we were in another Dome, but someone had shattered the top very violently so millions of lethal tears were pouring down on us.
“But I like the smell.”
Talio was now breathing in like a man who had been deprived of air; Raykus took a breath and smiled as well. Azius, with his hands gripping firmly on the edge of the rocks, was leaning forward with a content expression etched on his face. Even Cando, who had never communicated with us in the spoken tongue, had closed his eyes and smiled.
Just what was I missing out? It seemed to be a common thing they were all doing and enjoying, something I didn’t have an inkling of. And there was a something they mentioned which I didn’t recognise.
And I blurted out the question I had been wondering:
“Smell? What is smell?”
The wind from the North howled incandescently past my ears as they bit against my skin. The pharaonic clouds, a tenebrous grey, grumbled loudly as they passed by high above us. In the valley below, the gangly trees swayed as the yellowing grasses arched back haphazardly.
How safe is this place, actually? If there aren’t even any skeletons at all in this vicinity…
“Hey.” Talio was still staring ahead as he sat down beside me. “Cool view, isn’t it? I never knew such things existed in this world.”
“Yeah,” I replied with a smile, “they made us believe that The Dome was unparalleled in terms of beauty and the outside world was full of savage monsters.”
“And we believed them.”
I smiled grimly as I nodded. And I wondered whether my family and friends- those that had not participated in the protest- would ever know of a world like this.
“Don’t you feel cold, Talio?” I asked after a moment’s pause whereby I noticed that he was wearing a shirt and shorts. In contrast, I was wearing jeans, a denim jacket over a long-sleeved shirt, and sneakers.
We have always been shocked whenever we see Talio dress to his choice ever since we met him. He has worn woolen pullovers under the scorching sun and singlets in the snowy mountains, only to be surprised when he sees us wearing what he calls an “identical dress code”.
“Nah,” he grinned. “I feel perfectly fine. Oh, and I see that they’re wearing the same things as you again.”
Raykus, Azius and Cando had just exited the tent. They were looking in the other direction before Cando spotted us and pulled the other two the right way.
“Hey,” Raykus called out as we both stood up to help Azius sit. “We’re about done with dinner, you know?”
“How’s it like today?”
“Thicker and creamier than yesterday’s. More filling too, which is good.”
“Taste?”
“You can taste more of the potato and the meat today.” Azius replied as Raykus furrowed his eyebrows. Cando, on the other hand, was staring hypnotised at the mountains ahead.
“Pity the taste’s still about the same. I mean, ever since we got out of The Dome, all the food tastes muted.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Talio and Azius replied in unison.
At that very moment, a blinding streak of light flashed past the sky, followed closely by a sound not unlike a lion’s roar. All of us except Cando jumped up in surprise.
“What the heck is that?” Raykus shouted in shock.
“If my memory doesn’t fail, that was lightning and thunder. It will soon be followed by a water precipitate which our ancestors termed ‘rain’.” Talio racked his brains. “At least, according to a centuries-old science textbook I found in my attic when I was young.”
“That was a hell of a noise.” Azius drawled as he stretched out his legs; we pulled him back to prevent him from falling down.
“Yeah, and it won’t be the first. You’ll hear more of it during the rain.”
Water droplets began to fall from the sky. The wind began to subside to a mere whisper, and the trees and grasses slowed down in their dance.
“Let’s go back.” I urged. Water precipitate it may be, but who knew what those lights and sounds could do to us?
“No,” Talio begged, “Let’s stay for a while.”
“Yes, it’s kind of nice being out here,” Raykus seconded.
The rain was now pelting down like shards of glass from a shelter that has just broken; it was as though we were in another Dome, but someone had shattered the top very violently so millions of lethal tears were pouring down on us.
“But I like the smell.”
Talio was now breathing in like a man who had been deprived of air; Raykus took a breath and smiled as well. Azius, with his hands gripping firmly on the edge of the rocks, was leaning forward with a content expression etched on his face. Even Cando, who had never communicated with us in the spoken tongue, had closed his eyes and smiled.
Just what was I missing out? It seemed to be a common thing they were all doing and enjoying, something I didn’t have an inkling of. And there was a something they mentioned which I didn’t recognise.
And I blurted out the question I had been wondering:
“Smell? What is smell?”
Sleeping Beauty's Wonderland
|
“Casper...please…wake up,” the voice, not unlike a breeze whispering among the trees, entered his head like a ghost through a wall.
Casper Wilburg shook his head for the umpteenth time. No, not again, he thought. What was it that happened in the accident that caused him to hear his mother’s voice in his mind all the time?
“Casper…Casper,” the low, kindly voice seeped into his brain once more.
Casper sighed a low, ragged sigh. He wished the voices would go away.
It had been a breakthrough.
As the bright, scorching sunlight bathed the inhabitants of the city, numerous zooming airbuses, floating posters and gleaming windows fought to enthrall passers-by, advertising the latest product developed by the scientific community-the Restful Eternity Tablet, aka RET.
A tall, venerable gentleman strode through the streets, a smug smile playing about the corners of his mouth. His sharp silvery eyes glanced around occasionally to watch the passers-by being enticed by the RET.
This man’s name was Edward Starke.
Fellow government officials who heard his name being mentioned in the bustling streets would slow down their pace to listen to the people who were conversing about said person while mentally agreeing or disagreeing to opinions. Civilians spoke of admiration in his contributions; the rebels, disgust and admiration at his master plans.
Knowing government officials never spoke of his name in public.
A humongous poster drifted towards the crowd around him, promising consumers an immediate, uninterrupted eight-hour sleep per pill ingested. The pixels rearranged to show a short clip on how the tablet worked as a narrator explained.
“The active chemical, ES2173B, attaches to relevant neurons in the brain for seven hours while breaking down into harmless substances which are subsequently drained out of the ‘brain sewage’ during sleep. This prevents any unwanted side-effects all other prescriptions have such as memory disturbances, hormonal changes, and drowsiness, to name a few. ES2173B starts to travel to the brain neurons the moment it is placed in the mouth, so an undisturbed sleep can occur within five minutes of consumption.
“Thus we have a medicine which would allow you to have the recommended quantity and quality of sleep each day in this noisy, urbanized city! So, ladies and gentlemen, what are you waiting for? Buy the Restful Eternity Tablet now!”
Casper Wilburg sat beside his mother while the cold, drab furniture of the hospital room stared on, like vultures to a prey. He stroked her smooth, slender fingers and stared into her aged yet beautiful face, willing her to awaken.
She was the only relative on Earth whom he knew of, the only person whom he could ever love. The duo had thrived together against the cold cruelty of humanity for two decades after his father left them forever.
Together, they had earned a living to support one another. Casper’s external beauty got him a job as a model, but the only genuine kindness he had ever felt was from his mother. Together, they had escaped from the vice-like grip the government had placed upon the general population. Together, they had stood against all troubles that went towards them.
“Mum…wake up…I’m here now,” Casper whispered into her ear. The cool cotton sheets ruffled slightly as he adjusted her legs and his whisper echoed around the room. But her eyes remained closed.
He sighed resignedly and stood to leave when he heard a warm, musical voice. “Casper…I love you…Casper.”
He turned around like a puppy to its owner’s voice, only to see her still asleep. Was she playing with him, like she used to in the past?
“Casper…” The voice entered his mind again, but her lips had not moved.
“Damn hallucinations!” The famed model banged his head against the wall and began to cry.
Sarah Wilburg gazed at her son’s pale pointed face and the glossy black hair which swept past it. Just what had happened to him that night in the club?
Casper turned around, only to find his mother staring worriedly at him. “Are you alright, Casper?” she asked, concerned.
He rubbed his eyes before saying a little too quickly “Something just went into my eyes, mum,” before he continued, “How was chemotherapy?”
“Oh you know, the same old,” she smiled serenely as she spoke, “Nothing bad, really. Now, tell me, have you had so much to drink in the club that night that you ended up in here with me in the hospital then?”
“Well, I suppose so.” His face flushed red. “I promise I won’t do that again, mum.”
“Casper, dear, you know that I’m not looking for an apology. All I need is to know that you’re fine.”
“Doctor Starke, tell me more about ES2173B.” The much younger researcher looked up upon him with bright eager eyes.
Edward Starke smiled amiably as he looked down at his mentee’s face. “What would you like to know about it, Tom?”
“What is the quantity of ES2173B in a dosage of RET? If an individual overdoses himself greatly, what would happen?”
“Each RET contains just 0.2 milligrams of the active ingredient as only a minute amount of ES2173B is required to result in a deep, uninterrupted slumber. Thus every 0.1 milligram of ES2173B causes four hours of sleep.
“On the other hand, should a person be grossly overdosed with the chemical, he or she might fall into an unconscious state for possibly an eternity. We are still in the midst of conducting the experiment on that.
“Meanwhile, as ES2173B stays only in the brain, overdosage would be undetected from blood samples.”
“Our subjects are just some of our rivals, aren’t they?”
“Of course, my dear boy! Are you ready to bring in another subject?”
Casper stood facing the tall glass panels of the building, the silvery rays of sunlight penetrating it like sharpened blades through a body and leaving long blue marks on the icy ground. Ground-transport and air-transport alike zoomed past him, unfeeling and uncaring.
How long has it been, he thought, since his mother was diagnosed with Medusa?
It had seemed like an eternity from the day the doctor determined the dreadful disease- Medusa, a new disease that immobilised a body until the heart cells are dysfunctional, all while the victim was still alive. Yet an eternity couldn’t have passed, for the doctor gave her just three years to live.
“Casper!” The familiar good-humoured voice rang out as clear as church bells in a wintery village.
Lugubriously, he turned to his best friend. “Hello Tom,” He managed.
“How have you been doing?” Tom smiled, but upon glancing at the model’s grave visage, which was not unlike the face of a man who died alone, he added soberly, “I hope you’re handling it alright. On a brighter note, have you heard that some scientists have created a new method that has the ability to lengthen the lives of patients with Medusa? Your mother should try that. That could cure her illness and let her outlive the remaining month the doctors gave her.”
“Thanks, Tom.” A silence passed between them as an airbus lumbered past right outside the windows before Casper continued, “Tell me, Tom, what happened to me the night we were at the club?”
“You had thrown my good intentions, my caring advices, my consoling words to the wind, my dear friend! You had gone on and on drinking, cursing my poor colleagues and banging your head against the bar table while I tried my best to restrain you. This obviously landed you in the hospital.” An amused expression suffused his friend’s face. “My, weren’t people frightened!”
“Hey! We government workers are above beating people up when being insulted.” Nevertheless, Tom guffawed loudly. “Stay here while I get you a drink.”
As Tom jogged out, Casper turned towards the sky yet again. Humongous silvery clouds hovered peacefully in the clear blue sky, encasing the busy world of advanced technology below. Boats roamed in the calm, vast ocean a mile or so away, not unlike wild sheep on a plentiful field, oblivious to the dramas on land. Occasionally, the odd bird would fly past the window in search of its flock.
More than two years ago, visiting the beach after work on an evening similar to this was paradise. Now, to be able to visit his sole caregiver everyday was the only thing he wanted.
Sarah Wilburg limped uneasily around her room, her soft, quick footsteps echoing throughout the still airy room as though it were a stone path in a graveyard.
“Casper,” The name seeped through her lips as easily as a breeze through the trees. Her boy, despite his elegant beauty, was never contemptuous of others, was never playing about with another’s mind or heart, and was never placing her at the backseat.
She remembered the day her doctor broke the news to her, plunging her into a nightmare for eternity. Or at least, for the rest of her life. Casper had been there, grasping and stroking her hand as the grim-faced doctor spoke to them in his usual calm tone.
Her eyes glazed over and her footsteps faltered as she thought of what had become of him, her only son.
The doctors could find no trace of poison in his blood.
‘Casper, wake up’, she thought as her thoughts dissolved into darkness, and Sarah Wilburg soon slipped into a slumber.
The thick woollen carpet covered most of the wooden floor; sturdy yellowed books filled the shelves that lined most of the walls. Rain pelted against tall glass windows like angels falling from the heavens; the storm clouds, turbulent yet majestic, rumbled angrily as they glared down at the world below. A deathly silence reverberated throughout the dark spacious room; the polished vintage furniture stood like knowing would-be victims, unable to run away, as they looked on at the two men sitting around the oak table.
It was the older of the two who decided to break the soundless atmosphere. “So, Mr Wilburg, would you like to work with us?” He asked in his customary grandfatherly voice, a genial smile plastered on his façade.
The lissome young man stared coldly at the paper lain out before him as though it were his foe, all traces of blood or expression drained from his already pale countenance. His smooth slender fingers clenched as though he were crushing the life out of an organism he despised.
“No.” The voice, dripping with displeasure and revulsion, cut out like a sword through flesh. The elderly gent, who had been reaching out to push a pen towards him, froze; vexation- masterfully controlled, but too much to remain invisible - crept up the corners of his face.
“Perhaps you would like to think through again, Mr. Wilburg,” the venerable man, though still putting up his charming smile, remarked rather tersely. “You will be able to receive many more benefits than you are entitled to now, such as-”
“No.” Casper replied, with as much patience as he could muster while teaching a particularly mischievous class of eight-year olds. “No way am I going to work with you, the government. I have seen how you, the recently-formed ministry, function. I have seen how you dominate the whole nation by brainwashing the majority into following your orders; how you manipulate the people to toil for hours on end like machines in a busy factory; how you eliminate anyone who dares speak against you. Most of the citizens have not realized that, but I do.”
He fixed his icy blue eyes to his rival’s wintery grey ones; the temperature of the room could have dropped by twenty degrees. “Most might find it glamorous to be part of your elite team of psychopaths, but I’m not part of the majority. Never will I partake in enchanting others to slog on continuously to create an even higher platform for us to stand on, discrediting each and every of those individuals of their efforts.”
Casper stood up, his glass-like gaze still fixed on his nemesis’. “Farewell, and may this be the final time we ever meet.” With that, he turned away and left.
As he shut the heavy oak door, he heard the shatter of a glass. Finally, a little triumph. Smiling to himself, he marched out of the building.
“Hey Casper, wake up,” Tom thumped Casper on his back. The latter opened his eyes slowly and blinked.
“Wha- was I asleep?” Casper murmured groggily. “What time is it?”
“Approximately eight hours after you drank the drink I handed you. A pity I had to sedate you to ensure you have enough sleep! So anyway, are you ready for the procedure?”
“Well, why not?” And the two went off to meet the head doctor.
Across the country, millions of people were consuming RETs to earn the wondrous sleep they all yearn for. Within minutes, an eerily quiet atmosphere would engulf the whole place; the bustling city would, after eight hours, be resurrected yet again.
In most places, that is.
The club which sat on the highest tower in the heart of the city, like a queen on a throne, wasn’t teeming with life, but compared to the rest of the country seemed to be a partygoer among a huge crowd of mourners.
Two men sat in a corner of the room, away from the hubbub. The duo spoke in low tones, the sober of the two leading the conversation.
“Don’t you find it amusing that practically everyone in the city fall asleep within minutes of each other, regardless of what time their work begins?”
“Of course it is! It’s simply impossible to believe that so many people actually trust the new government’s products! They’re too gullible for their own good! What do you think, Tom, my intelligent friend who has managed to infiltrate the barbaric organization that named themselves our leaders?” The drunk cried out.
Tom shook his head and cast his friend a disarming smile, albeit nervous, as he signaled one of the bartenders “That’s what I think too, Casper. But thankfully, from what I know so far, the drug does not control people in any way.”
“Nonsense! They always have some clandestine motive and probably hid it from you because you’re young.”
Meanwhile, at the counter, the bartender smirked as he poured a fine white powder generously over the drink. The label on the sprinkler read: Pure ES2173B.
Sarah Wilburg lay on her deathbed and stared unblinking at the morbidly white ceiling. Tears, whether out of pain or grief, flooded her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. With much difficulty, she breathed a painful, ragged breath.
Her time was up soon. She knew, for she could feel her heart slowing down like a person who has ran for too long and needed a rest.
‘Casper’, she whispered in her mind. As far as she knew, her son was still in the comatose state he had been in ever since he went to the club five weeks ago. The kindly doctors and nurses had given hourly updates about her son from when the disease began to attack her ferociously, leaving her unable to visit him.
Her heart was beginning to slow down to a halt; she willed it to quicken but to no avail. She had always assumed that her son would be by her side in her last moments, comforting her with the adventures they had throughout their lives, consoling her that he would be fine even after she was gone.
But it was now all a dream.
‘I loved you, Casper, from the day you were born to the day I die. And I still do…’
Casper knelt beside his mother, willing her to wake.
Soon, she opened her eyes. “Hello Casper,” she smiled.
“Mum,” A smile of pure happiness spread across his face as he embraced her.
“It seems that the drug can be utilized for hibernation as our subjects had not needed to consume anything while they are asleep. Though they’ll need to when the supply of ES2173B is exhausted and they awaken.” Tom noted thoughtfully.
Edward Starke nodded indulgently as he watched the unmoving body in front of him. “And it seems that a gross overdose would not condemn one to fall asleep forever. How would you like to wake our sleeping beauty up? After all, his supply is already running low.” He turned, smiling innocently, and held his palms upwards towards the boy. An open invitation for the younger man to pick the direction he wanted and which he already knew would choose.
“Well, to be honest…I’ll feel terrible for him if we did that,” The younger of the two spoke somewhat uneasily, “I don’t want him to awaken to realize that he had not been with his mother in her final moments. It also seems that in his dream, his mother was cured of Medusa.”
“Well said, Tom.” Starke said. Not that he cared about what Wilburg would feel. Because isn’t it better when their rivals are silenced in a furtive manner such as this?
And isn’t it even better if his emphatic mentee believes that he was given a choice?
And he injected a huge dosage of ES2173B into Casper.
Casper walked alongside his mother, breathing in the salty air the sea so generously provided. Greenish and bluish waves rose and fell like a thousand beating hearts before climbing up and slipping back down the shores. A fresh breeze blew past their faces; their shoes sank into the warm white sand.
“I love you, mum,” he spoke softly into her ear.
“I love you too, Casper,” she whispered in a voice with the sweetness of honey.
As they strolled through the beach, enjoying the low murmurs of the seas, Casper pondered about why there were voices in his head.
Perhaps his mother had been calling out to him with her mind in her dreams. Perhaps she was able to when her illness was about to enter its final stage. Perhaps they had a telepathic connection during that short period of time and he heard her in her dreams. As he thought on, he hugged her tightly, like a parent around their newborn.
He was just glad that, whatever the reason was, he could hear them no more.
Casper Wilburg shook his head for the umpteenth time. No, not again, he thought. What was it that happened in the accident that caused him to hear his mother’s voice in his mind all the time?
“Casper…Casper,” the low, kindly voice seeped into his brain once more.
Casper sighed a low, ragged sigh. He wished the voices would go away.
It had been a breakthrough.
As the bright, scorching sunlight bathed the inhabitants of the city, numerous zooming airbuses, floating posters and gleaming windows fought to enthrall passers-by, advertising the latest product developed by the scientific community-the Restful Eternity Tablet, aka RET.
A tall, venerable gentleman strode through the streets, a smug smile playing about the corners of his mouth. His sharp silvery eyes glanced around occasionally to watch the passers-by being enticed by the RET.
This man’s name was Edward Starke.
Fellow government officials who heard his name being mentioned in the bustling streets would slow down their pace to listen to the people who were conversing about said person while mentally agreeing or disagreeing to opinions. Civilians spoke of admiration in his contributions; the rebels, disgust and admiration at his master plans.
Knowing government officials never spoke of his name in public.
A humongous poster drifted towards the crowd around him, promising consumers an immediate, uninterrupted eight-hour sleep per pill ingested. The pixels rearranged to show a short clip on how the tablet worked as a narrator explained.
“The active chemical, ES2173B, attaches to relevant neurons in the brain for seven hours while breaking down into harmless substances which are subsequently drained out of the ‘brain sewage’ during sleep. This prevents any unwanted side-effects all other prescriptions have such as memory disturbances, hormonal changes, and drowsiness, to name a few. ES2173B starts to travel to the brain neurons the moment it is placed in the mouth, so an undisturbed sleep can occur within five minutes of consumption.
“Thus we have a medicine which would allow you to have the recommended quantity and quality of sleep each day in this noisy, urbanized city! So, ladies and gentlemen, what are you waiting for? Buy the Restful Eternity Tablet now!”
Casper Wilburg sat beside his mother while the cold, drab furniture of the hospital room stared on, like vultures to a prey. He stroked her smooth, slender fingers and stared into her aged yet beautiful face, willing her to awaken.
She was the only relative on Earth whom he knew of, the only person whom he could ever love. The duo had thrived together against the cold cruelty of humanity for two decades after his father left them forever.
Together, they had earned a living to support one another. Casper’s external beauty got him a job as a model, but the only genuine kindness he had ever felt was from his mother. Together, they had escaped from the vice-like grip the government had placed upon the general population. Together, they had stood against all troubles that went towards them.
“Mum…wake up…I’m here now,” Casper whispered into her ear. The cool cotton sheets ruffled slightly as he adjusted her legs and his whisper echoed around the room. But her eyes remained closed.
He sighed resignedly and stood to leave when he heard a warm, musical voice. “Casper…I love you…Casper.”
He turned around like a puppy to its owner’s voice, only to see her still asleep. Was she playing with him, like she used to in the past?
“Casper…” The voice entered his mind again, but her lips had not moved.
“Damn hallucinations!” The famed model banged his head against the wall and began to cry.
Sarah Wilburg gazed at her son’s pale pointed face and the glossy black hair which swept past it. Just what had happened to him that night in the club?
Casper turned around, only to find his mother staring worriedly at him. “Are you alright, Casper?” she asked, concerned.
He rubbed his eyes before saying a little too quickly “Something just went into my eyes, mum,” before he continued, “How was chemotherapy?”
“Oh you know, the same old,” she smiled serenely as she spoke, “Nothing bad, really. Now, tell me, have you had so much to drink in the club that night that you ended up in here with me in the hospital then?”
“Well, I suppose so.” His face flushed red. “I promise I won’t do that again, mum.”
“Casper, dear, you know that I’m not looking for an apology. All I need is to know that you’re fine.”
“Doctor Starke, tell me more about ES2173B.” The much younger researcher looked up upon him with bright eager eyes.
Edward Starke smiled amiably as he looked down at his mentee’s face. “What would you like to know about it, Tom?”
“What is the quantity of ES2173B in a dosage of RET? If an individual overdoses himself greatly, what would happen?”
“Each RET contains just 0.2 milligrams of the active ingredient as only a minute amount of ES2173B is required to result in a deep, uninterrupted slumber. Thus every 0.1 milligram of ES2173B causes four hours of sleep.
“On the other hand, should a person be grossly overdosed with the chemical, he or she might fall into an unconscious state for possibly an eternity. We are still in the midst of conducting the experiment on that.
“Meanwhile, as ES2173B stays only in the brain, overdosage would be undetected from blood samples.”
“Our subjects are just some of our rivals, aren’t they?”
“Of course, my dear boy! Are you ready to bring in another subject?”
Casper stood facing the tall glass panels of the building, the silvery rays of sunlight penetrating it like sharpened blades through a body and leaving long blue marks on the icy ground. Ground-transport and air-transport alike zoomed past him, unfeeling and uncaring.
How long has it been, he thought, since his mother was diagnosed with Medusa?
It had seemed like an eternity from the day the doctor determined the dreadful disease- Medusa, a new disease that immobilised a body until the heart cells are dysfunctional, all while the victim was still alive. Yet an eternity couldn’t have passed, for the doctor gave her just three years to live.
“Casper!” The familiar good-humoured voice rang out as clear as church bells in a wintery village.
Lugubriously, he turned to his best friend. “Hello Tom,” He managed.
“How have you been doing?” Tom smiled, but upon glancing at the model’s grave visage, which was not unlike the face of a man who died alone, he added soberly, “I hope you’re handling it alright. On a brighter note, have you heard that some scientists have created a new method that has the ability to lengthen the lives of patients with Medusa? Your mother should try that. That could cure her illness and let her outlive the remaining month the doctors gave her.”
“Thanks, Tom.” A silence passed between them as an airbus lumbered past right outside the windows before Casper continued, “Tell me, Tom, what happened to me the night we were at the club?”
“You had thrown my good intentions, my caring advices, my consoling words to the wind, my dear friend! You had gone on and on drinking, cursing my poor colleagues and banging your head against the bar table while I tried my best to restrain you. This obviously landed you in the hospital.” An amused expression suffused his friend’s face. “My, weren’t people frightened!”
“Hey! We government workers are above beating people up when being insulted.” Nevertheless, Tom guffawed loudly. “Stay here while I get you a drink.”
As Tom jogged out, Casper turned towards the sky yet again. Humongous silvery clouds hovered peacefully in the clear blue sky, encasing the busy world of advanced technology below. Boats roamed in the calm, vast ocean a mile or so away, not unlike wild sheep on a plentiful field, oblivious to the dramas on land. Occasionally, the odd bird would fly past the window in search of its flock.
More than two years ago, visiting the beach after work on an evening similar to this was paradise. Now, to be able to visit his sole caregiver everyday was the only thing he wanted.
Sarah Wilburg limped uneasily around her room, her soft, quick footsteps echoing throughout the still airy room as though it were a stone path in a graveyard.
“Casper,” The name seeped through her lips as easily as a breeze through the trees. Her boy, despite his elegant beauty, was never contemptuous of others, was never playing about with another’s mind or heart, and was never placing her at the backseat.
She remembered the day her doctor broke the news to her, plunging her into a nightmare for eternity. Or at least, for the rest of her life. Casper had been there, grasping and stroking her hand as the grim-faced doctor spoke to them in his usual calm tone.
Her eyes glazed over and her footsteps faltered as she thought of what had become of him, her only son.
The doctors could find no trace of poison in his blood.
‘Casper, wake up’, she thought as her thoughts dissolved into darkness, and Sarah Wilburg soon slipped into a slumber.
The thick woollen carpet covered most of the wooden floor; sturdy yellowed books filled the shelves that lined most of the walls. Rain pelted against tall glass windows like angels falling from the heavens; the storm clouds, turbulent yet majestic, rumbled angrily as they glared down at the world below. A deathly silence reverberated throughout the dark spacious room; the polished vintage furniture stood like knowing would-be victims, unable to run away, as they looked on at the two men sitting around the oak table.
It was the older of the two who decided to break the soundless atmosphere. “So, Mr Wilburg, would you like to work with us?” He asked in his customary grandfatherly voice, a genial smile plastered on his façade.
The lissome young man stared coldly at the paper lain out before him as though it were his foe, all traces of blood or expression drained from his already pale countenance. His smooth slender fingers clenched as though he were crushing the life out of an organism he despised.
“No.” The voice, dripping with displeasure and revulsion, cut out like a sword through flesh. The elderly gent, who had been reaching out to push a pen towards him, froze; vexation- masterfully controlled, but too much to remain invisible - crept up the corners of his face.
“Perhaps you would like to think through again, Mr. Wilburg,” the venerable man, though still putting up his charming smile, remarked rather tersely. “You will be able to receive many more benefits than you are entitled to now, such as-”
“No.” Casper replied, with as much patience as he could muster while teaching a particularly mischievous class of eight-year olds. “No way am I going to work with you, the government. I have seen how you, the recently-formed ministry, function. I have seen how you dominate the whole nation by brainwashing the majority into following your orders; how you manipulate the people to toil for hours on end like machines in a busy factory; how you eliminate anyone who dares speak against you. Most of the citizens have not realized that, but I do.”
He fixed his icy blue eyes to his rival’s wintery grey ones; the temperature of the room could have dropped by twenty degrees. “Most might find it glamorous to be part of your elite team of psychopaths, but I’m not part of the majority. Never will I partake in enchanting others to slog on continuously to create an even higher platform for us to stand on, discrediting each and every of those individuals of their efforts.”
Casper stood up, his glass-like gaze still fixed on his nemesis’. “Farewell, and may this be the final time we ever meet.” With that, he turned away and left.
As he shut the heavy oak door, he heard the shatter of a glass. Finally, a little triumph. Smiling to himself, he marched out of the building.
“Hey Casper, wake up,” Tom thumped Casper on his back. The latter opened his eyes slowly and blinked.
“Wha- was I asleep?” Casper murmured groggily. “What time is it?”
“Approximately eight hours after you drank the drink I handed you. A pity I had to sedate you to ensure you have enough sleep! So anyway, are you ready for the procedure?”
“Well, why not?” And the two went off to meet the head doctor.
Across the country, millions of people were consuming RETs to earn the wondrous sleep they all yearn for. Within minutes, an eerily quiet atmosphere would engulf the whole place; the bustling city would, after eight hours, be resurrected yet again.
In most places, that is.
The club which sat on the highest tower in the heart of the city, like a queen on a throne, wasn’t teeming with life, but compared to the rest of the country seemed to be a partygoer among a huge crowd of mourners.
Two men sat in a corner of the room, away from the hubbub. The duo spoke in low tones, the sober of the two leading the conversation.
“Don’t you find it amusing that practically everyone in the city fall asleep within minutes of each other, regardless of what time their work begins?”
“Of course it is! It’s simply impossible to believe that so many people actually trust the new government’s products! They’re too gullible for their own good! What do you think, Tom, my intelligent friend who has managed to infiltrate the barbaric organization that named themselves our leaders?” The drunk cried out.
Tom shook his head and cast his friend a disarming smile, albeit nervous, as he signaled one of the bartenders “That’s what I think too, Casper. But thankfully, from what I know so far, the drug does not control people in any way.”
“Nonsense! They always have some clandestine motive and probably hid it from you because you’re young.”
Meanwhile, at the counter, the bartender smirked as he poured a fine white powder generously over the drink. The label on the sprinkler read: Pure ES2173B.
Sarah Wilburg lay on her deathbed and stared unblinking at the morbidly white ceiling. Tears, whether out of pain or grief, flooded her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. With much difficulty, she breathed a painful, ragged breath.
Her time was up soon. She knew, for she could feel her heart slowing down like a person who has ran for too long and needed a rest.
‘Casper’, she whispered in her mind. As far as she knew, her son was still in the comatose state he had been in ever since he went to the club five weeks ago. The kindly doctors and nurses had given hourly updates about her son from when the disease began to attack her ferociously, leaving her unable to visit him.
Her heart was beginning to slow down to a halt; she willed it to quicken but to no avail. She had always assumed that her son would be by her side in her last moments, comforting her with the adventures they had throughout their lives, consoling her that he would be fine even after she was gone.
But it was now all a dream.
‘I loved you, Casper, from the day you were born to the day I die. And I still do…’
Casper knelt beside his mother, willing her to wake.
Soon, she opened her eyes. “Hello Casper,” she smiled.
“Mum,” A smile of pure happiness spread across his face as he embraced her.
“It seems that the drug can be utilized for hibernation as our subjects had not needed to consume anything while they are asleep. Though they’ll need to when the supply of ES2173B is exhausted and they awaken.” Tom noted thoughtfully.
Edward Starke nodded indulgently as he watched the unmoving body in front of him. “And it seems that a gross overdose would not condemn one to fall asleep forever. How would you like to wake our sleeping beauty up? After all, his supply is already running low.” He turned, smiling innocently, and held his palms upwards towards the boy. An open invitation for the younger man to pick the direction he wanted and which he already knew would choose.
“Well, to be honest…I’ll feel terrible for him if we did that,” The younger of the two spoke somewhat uneasily, “I don’t want him to awaken to realize that he had not been with his mother in her final moments. It also seems that in his dream, his mother was cured of Medusa.”
“Well said, Tom.” Starke said. Not that he cared about what Wilburg would feel. Because isn’t it better when their rivals are silenced in a furtive manner such as this?
And isn’t it even better if his emphatic mentee believes that he was given a choice?
And he injected a huge dosage of ES2173B into Casper.
Casper walked alongside his mother, breathing in the salty air the sea so generously provided. Greenish and bluish waves rose and fell like a thousand beating hearts before climbing up and slipping back down the shores. A fresh breeze blew past their faces; their shoes sank into the warm white sand.
“I love you, mum,” he spoke softly into her ear.
“I love you too, Casper,” she whispered in a voice with the sweetness of honey.
As they strolled through the beach, enjoying the low murmurs of the seas, Casper pondered about why there were voices in his head.
Perhaps his mother had been calling out to him with her mind in her dreams. Perhaps she was able to when her illness was about to enter its final stage. Perhaps they had a telepathic connection during that short period of time and he heard her in her dreams. As he thought on, he hugged her tightly, like a parent around their newborn.
He was just glad that, whatever the reason was, he could hear them no more.
POETRY
mama's kitchen
|
mama once called home night after night,
bidding love after love with her wrinkled palms.
hello? wei? mama will not hear me like she could but
look at me the way i look at her,
sit away from her the way she sits away from me.
smile at her the way she used to,
making silence cry at us the way it doesn’t.
mama, she was a masseuse now no longer for sale
mama did not play men, just played around
fat dishes then thin veggies then stenchy freshcatch so fine
her clients are satisfied, nevermind rough hands.
angry, i sleep to kill and it’s ol’ mama,
all her to blame and i do blame.
my life is a chinese composition
of us chinese’ decomposition
that tires me so weary, dear.
when i sleep i dream, i am not xiao ming,
i am caesar, legendary warrior
armoured with a six-pack, strapped manboobs
crowned in the dayshadows of hong lim park
cheered on by lgbt countrymen
so i ask them all if they seen my mama,
always answered by that stillness,
shaking me the way it doesn’t.
jolt. i woke, i wondered when mama would return
little less late than night, to mama’s rusty kitchen
in its glorious sunlit luminescence that mama
sees every drop of the old oil in blurred visual
insurance that bishan won’t burn down how
everything has mama’s kitchen to blame.
i looked, i listened to mama’s footsteps’
start, and stop, repeat until her wires disinsulate,
badly, did i smell the bloody mess or her cried tears,
certainly not smoke? the alarm must’ve slept inspiredly,
hearing mama whisper explosively, those three words -
the ones she says when she returns for dinner - i …
got fired, again i know again. accidentally closing my eyes, for seconds
is not sleep but remuneration for its lack.
take my money or my body and anything,
just refund me what i live for, just do.
i still sleep, now i think
of the dinner that mama’s kitchen wanted to cook
the aromas that never were,
delicacies lining in wait,
pots unopened,
pans clean,
air dead,
i alone,
hello?
wei?
i slept in my den, sword by my stands,
fed like a true legendary warrior
to find my identity and fight for my country, i
kill to return with headless chickens
enough to feed an army, found in expired wait
for an answer to unsafe water.
exclaimed fire! fire! but nobody was there for my hopeful.
hello? wei?
i sleep on, dream on
that i forgot mama, dead. i don’t know papa, perhaps dead.
when i kill, all i remember’s:
torn mittens, check; fruit cocktails, check; tinned tuna, check;
hunger, check; the hungry, check;
i am hungry no more, the dead do not feel
anything or anyone but the dead.
or i thought i forgot mama, dead.
i want to eat her cooking, dead.
i want to admire her face, dead.
i want to kiss her hands, dead.
i want her to see me, dead.
bidding love after love with her wrinkled palms.
hello? wei? mama will not hear me like she could but
look at me the way i look at her,
sit away from her the way she sits away from me.
smile at her the way she used to,
making silence cry at us the way it doesn’t.
mama, she was a masseuse now no longer for sale
mama did not play men, just played around
fat dishes then thin veggies then stenchy freshcatch so fine
her clients are satisfied, nevermind rough hands.
angry, i sleep to kill and it’s ol’ mama,
all her to blame and i do blame.
my life is a chinese composition
of us chinese’ decomposition
that tires me so weary, dear.
when i sleep i dream, i am not xiao ming,
i am caesar, legendary warrior
armoured with a six-pack, strapped manboobs
crowned in the dayshadows of hong lim park
cheered on by lgbt countrymen
so i ask them all if they seen my mama,
always answered by that stillness,
shaking me the way it doesn’t.
jolt. i woke, i wondered when mama would return
little less late than night, to mama’s rusty kitchen
in its glorious sunlit luminescence that mama
sees every drop of the old oil in blurred visual
insurance that bishan won’t burn down how
everything has mama’s kitchen to blame.
i looked, i listened to mama’s footsteps’
start, and stop, repeat until her wires disinsulate,
badly, did i smell the bloody mess or her cried tears,
certainly not smoke? the alarm must’ve slept inspiredly,
hearing mama whisper explosively, those three words -
the ones she says when she returns for dinner - i …
got fired, again i know again. accidentally closing my eyes, for seconds
is not sleep but remuneration for its lack.
take my money or my body and anything,
just refund me what i live for, just do.
i still sleep, now i think
of the dinner that mama’s kitchen wanted to cook
the aromas that never were,
delicacies lining in wait,
pots unopened,
pans clean,
air dead,
i alone,
hello?
wei?
i slept in my den, sword by my stands,
fed like a true legendary warrior
to find my identity and fight for my country, i
kill to return with headless chickens
enough to feed an army, found in expired wait
for an answer to unsafe water.
exclaimed fire! fire! but nobody was there for my hopeful.
hello? wei?
i sleep on, dream on
that i forgot mama, dead. i don’t know papa, perhaps dead.
when i kill, all i remember’s:
torn mittens, check; fruit cocktails, check; tinned tuna, check;
hunger, check; the hungry, check;
i am hungry no more, the dead do not feel
anything or anyone but the dead.
or i thought i forgot mama, dead.
i want to eat her cooking, dead.
i want to admire her face, dead.
i want to kiss her hands, dead.
i want her to see me, dead.
storm in a teacup
|
|
the dark blossoms into something new,
deflowers with the stench of faintest brew.
petals caught in a twilight draught
pursing lips broken like death's curfew.
feeble flowers’ spare parts stripped, o diffuse!
afloat? but sinking in watergrave’s residue
not drowning yet; just merely there
in this flooded path to despair.
i
n
h
a
l
e
&
e
x
h
a
l
e
breathe again, yet again and - wait.
slow. contemplate. recall. regret regret
deshaping the weary-celled souls
mangled, defaced, no longer bold
no, no longer swimming in this tea bowl.
stained and yellowed inside and out,
boiled blood-dry towards demise,
deflowers with the stench of faintest brew.
petals caught in a twilight draught
pursing lips broken like death's curfew.
feeble flowers’ spare parts stripped, o diffuse!
afloat? but sinking in watergrave’s residue
not drowning yet; just merely there
in this flooded path to despair.
i
n
h
a
l
e
&
e
x
h
a
l
e
breathe again, yet again and - wait.
slow. contemplate. recall. regret regret
deshaping the weary-celled souls
mangled, defaced, no longer bold
no, no longer swimming in this tea bowl.
stained and yellowed inside and out,
boiled blood-dry towards demise,
rushing into swirling whirlpools -
exhaling final discolourations -
waiting till bubbles dissolve -
watching as ripples resolve.
exhaling final discolourations -
waiting till bubbles dissolve -
watching as ripples resolve.