genre is irrelevant, only content.

The piece I wrote and presented at the Young Writers Camp '07, during the "Writer's Slam" session. No one was slammed, however. Disappointingly. Hehe. _____________________ A breeze blew. Fluttered, went the leaves. Gazing at them, I paused...then reflected. With silent, disenchanted melancholy, I thought about how easy it is to lose yourself in the abyss that is your thoughts. Hehehe. What rubbish that was, all in the name of showing off to others how "powderful" your "Engrish" is. I am, after all, not like Alvin* or Owen*. I do not use big words, as it can be telling of me- since the size of your words is proportional to that of your ego. But what am I saying? I do not like to criticize people. However, for the purpose of my story, I'll be glad to make an exception. The story begins on a cool, breezy night. Don't worry, no big words coming up. He stared into the sky, with nervousness. His hands were shaking. He had a date. Something, no, ...

I wrote this story when I was 13, and it certainly is still one of the best stories (personally speaking) I've written to date. I actually finished this series up, racking up 30,000 words (I think). Unfortunately I was not smart enough to back up my stuff, and I lost it all when my PC was reformatted. Anyway, I am attempting to piece together the pieces, as well as add new things in the process. This is the very first chapter, of which I remember almost everything. Of course there are new additions (not to mention grammatical changes!), but the main plot of the story is still intact. ___________________________ A person jumped off a thirty story building. And then another. And another. And then hundreds of them came falling down like rain. All of them landed on the sidewalk with loud splats, though the thudding became softer each second as the sound was dampened by the ever increasing pile of corpses. “New Guinness World Record!” a small boy yelled out. “Most people committing suic...

Sarah looked out the window, watching cars pass by. They slowed down as they approached a bump. Then they sped up again; sped away. The day had passed from gloomy to sunny. She liked gloomy better, but knew not why. Come to think of it, she thought, she had always liked rain better than sunshine. One of the symptoms of melancholia, so it seems. Untreatable, maybe. But certainly she was not one who will delight in it. There was another part of her that was a relentless optimist. And sunshine is its prime symbol. As she pulled herself away from her gazing (she had other things to do), she recalled last night. It was a very boring one. Yet she still wanted it to continue. Today was a day she did not want to dwell in. Yet it’s not like you can stop it. She fatalistically resigned. Yes, there was nothing you can do. “Maybe…” Sarah whispered. Why did she say it? She did not herself know; maybe ”maybe” sounded nice. Perhaps it was suitable. Something made her say it. What did? She did not kno...

Some commentary is required. This story is part nonsense story and part slight satire on some issues in my country (Malaysia). Unless you are familiar with them, you probably will not notice the parallels I draw. (E.g. Aryans, 15% discount, Kutadships). Anyway, enjoy! ___________________________________ Prince Democracy (yes, that is his name) was quite intrigued when he heard about the Paper Lighthouse. “And so,” Mr. Fairytale said, “this is the story of the Paper Lighthouse.” “Intriguing indeed. Very intriguing.” Democracy said to himself the moment Mr. Fairytale ended. “So. Where is my cash?” Mr. Fairytale asked. “How dare you show such contempt to me!” raged Prince Democracy. “Off with his head!” Thus, Mr. Fairytale’s existence came to an abrupt end. *** Across the ocean, the very same tale of the Paper Lighthouse came to the ears of King Communism. The Messenger (so was the name of the person who brought the tale to King Communism) intrigued the King with “an amazingly intriguing ...