The prologue and the first chapter of a now abandoned project which I thought I would share with you all since it is probably never going to be touched by human hands ever again. It follows the story of William, a university student who has loaned his soul for 10 years to Serton, a company run by demons, the head of them being Adams. He works as a fixer for Serton and, in exchange for his loyalty, is granted the power to stop time. But unknown to him, it is at the expanse of extending his loan period even more. William hence constantly struggles with the morality of his actions and the increasing demands of college life, as well as the loneliness that comes with it.
prompt: It was the day before the last CT and I was sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with two friends on the stadium steps watching the sun set. We were covered in dusky blue light; suddenly there were stars–not many, but in Singapore, you take what you get.
we struggle in youthful foolishness / to find a life of meaning;
(Warning: Contains swearing.)
The letter came for her on a Saturday morning. She wouldn’t have seen it if she hadn’t taken the lift down that day. She usually just glanced at the lift and stayed at home.
Home was beautiful. It stank of cat piss and you could hardly move around. The floor was covered with old flyers her neighbours had shoved under her door when her mailbox was too full. Sometimes she folded them into paper aeroplanes and pushed them out of the window. Her windows were boarded up but she removed the nails so the paper aeroplanes could fall. She sometimes imagined herself on those paper aeroplanes. It must be scary to fall outside onto the pavements.
“What,” Leo says, “the hell?”
The kid looks up and he looks like hell, maybe fourteen with blood crusting on his pale face and a bruised, swollen cheek. His breath shudders out of him in something like a laugh – something like a sob – and lets his head drop back onto the floor.
Prompt: [Never falling in love + Gula Melaka] + [ending scene of titus andronicus] + [interage, inter-racial love] + [Sex imagery] + [Shinsengumi] + [H2ArtSuffering] + [Hanahaki Disease]
Warnings: Some sexually suggestive content
(you find an poorly maintained stack of crumpled papers. upon closer inspection, it seems they contain poetry. ‘that’s way too many poetries’, you think. continue reading?)
Prompt: “you fight god at 3am in a parking lot (specifically parking lot) – he’s a douchebag”
For the prompt “thoughts floating through your mind during a boring lecture as you try not to sleep”.
Warning: Minor vulgarities
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
The principal was fishing in the Bio Pond
For the slip of golden paper that contained
the names of our heroes. Tomorrow,
he is dead, water in his lungs,
and the council president is scolding some delinquents
folding origami in class. The police are called,
the ambulance arrives to see if they can save him,
but they are too late. The ink has already
melted off his body to a spot they cannot reach.
Students are sporadic
setting fireworks on the field
a nebulous singularity. Meanwhile,
the board is in a catch-22.
the sky is a kaleidoscope of words, but
nothing about this was in their schedules.
They’ll hold a 9 o’clock meeting and maybe
make it an oral topic. I’ll maybe climb to the rooftop
to get a better view. This is gold.
We sit on the grass
under the sky that
the stars spill across like
fairy lights, wound around
I wish you could give me one of those stars, You say,
as You innocently look at
Your reflection upon the sky.
I point to
the North Star
and take Your hand
The flower in my hands
I hold a delicate flower in my hands,
no thorns, no leaves, the petals still fresh
with sweet nectar spilling from its glands.
It is that time of the month,
when the flowers wither and drop and the fruits
grow heavy and large and the stalks hunch,
But your petals, they stay.
I push them aside, to inhale your scent and to taste
the sweet sweet nectar in your inners free of spay.
I take a pair of scissors, and part
Your calyx into half, our flowers into one,
Into your luscious heart.
And yet after, you are still whole, blooming, uninvaded, like
The flower in your hands
written for typewriter poetry 2017