profile.
Name: Alvin
Age: 21 years old
D.O.B.: 2nd December 1987
Currently studying in:
NUS FASS (CNM major)

talk.


affiliates.
Becks
Cath
Hana
Gary
Lisa
Lele
Sharon

archives.
December 2006
January 2007
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
February 2009
April 2009

layout.
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resources: x

Sooooo... It's been quite a while since I updated. But for good reasons, I assure you! Perfectly legitimate, reasonably reasonable reasons! Oh ho! I see the skeptical look on your face! It's practically shouting "Oh, what reasons could those be?" in my face! Well...





You might remember how, perhaps, when you were younger, your friends and relatives and family would screech in horror, raise their hands and slap their faces (much to your amusement) whenever you said, "I slept during my exam today." You might also remember them shaking you and solemnly saying: "Never sleep in an exam, you must make full use of your time!" You might even go as far as remembering them throwing you a furious HADOUKEN! or KAMEHAMEHA! and screaming: "BETTER WAKE UP YOUR BLOODY IDEA, SOLDIER!"

The trauma has likely lasted you through the entirety of your school life.

But fret not!

For today, I have proven, beyond a doubt, that napping during an exam can have ginormous benefits! You see, I had my Sociology examination today (ironically, it's called Making Sense of Society, and it barely made any sense to me), and the format of the paper was basically choosing 3 out of 7 essay questions to answer. I took the question paper, flipped it over, and immediately realized that I only knew how to answer 2 out of the 7, which would have, of course, resulted in epic failure.

For the first minute or so, I sat there and panicked.

"Oh god what am I gonna do now I only know how to answer 2 out of 7 questions but I need to answer 3 oh damn oh damn why didn't the topics I studied for come out in this stupid question paper what are these questions asking were they even taught this semester I knew I shouldn't have slept through so many lectures oh damn what am I gonna do now..." and so on and so forth.

And then I made what could possibly be the wisest choice (as far as I'm concerned, heh) ever in the history of SC1101E .

I took a 15 minute nap.

Don't cringe from that Hadouken you can just imagine flying towards me right now!

That nap quite literally saved my ass (to put it crudely). The moment I woke up, I knew, and I have no clear idea how, how to write an essay for a 3rd question. Just like that. I picked up my pen, and immediately wrote a 2 page essay before moving on to the next question.

Epic.

And so... the moral of this story is:

Nap time is always good time. Always.

Rain and I, we have a longstanding give-and-take relationship - rain gives, and I take (whether I want to or not) It doesn't help that the only pair of slippers (how aptly named) that I own are so worn out that it only takes a little puddle of water to send my legs into the air, my head towards the floor, thus creating a combination that results in a great deal of pain. And humiliation. And pain.

And humiliation.

Just yesterday I took a Grade A (more on that later) 3 hit combo nasty spill. My slippers, combined with a freshly mopped and smooth marble floor, ended with my right leg flying out from beneath me. I suavely caught myself on the wall, and then my left leg decided that hey, my right leg's really cool, and tried to do the same thing. Once again, I managed to catch myself. But alas, both my legs decided that teamwork was the key to absolute suaveness, and I ended up sprawled on my back.

Stupid feet.

Stupid floor.

Stupid slippers.

Now, the very act of slipping isn't something to take lightly. Depending on the category of severity of the slipping, it can change the very fabric of reality as we know it.

"What do you mean, the category of severity of the slipping?" you may ask.

Excellente. (with an extra 'e'!)

No, I am not rubbing my hands together in glee like Mr. Burns does.



The Categories of Severity of Slipping:

Grade E:
"Heh."

- When your foot slides just a little, usually not enough for people to notice. Hence the name, usually, when people encounter this grade of slipping, it is a cue for a smug grin to plant itself smack on their face.

Grade D:
"Whoa."

- When your foot slides a little more than a Grade E slipping, enough for it to be noticeable and for your heart to perhaps skip a beat. This is also the grade where you will most likely catch your friends sniggering at you. (damn them!)

Grade C:
"Whoooa!"

- When your feet slide a fair amount more than a Grade D slipping, usually enough to cause you to blindly grab onto anything within arm's length (also a good chance to grab onto your friends - preferrably at their necks - in revenge for their sniggering)

Grade B:
Spill

- When you slip enough to land on your knees and maybe your elbows, resulting in a fair amount of pain and humiliation. Usually the cue for you to start swearing like a sailor.

Grade A:
Nasty Spill

- When your feet temporarily forget that they're not supposed to be above the head. A Grade A 'Nasty Spill' leaves you lying on the floor, winded and aching, and your pride bleeding out of you and mixing with the puddle of the water you're soaking in. Usually you would be in too much pain to even swear.

Grade S:
Fwooooosh

- If you slip, and discover you're in a completely alien place, whether it be in the middle of a forest surrounded by a pack of bloodthirsty wolves, or in the middle of China, you know that you have just encountered a Grade S 'Fwooooosh' slipping. This grade of slipping is so powerful that you end up in an entirely different place, as far as landing in a different country.

Grade SS:
Uh... Houston, We May Have A Problem

- As the name of this category suggests, you have slipped so hard that you just blasted off into outer space.

Congratulations!

Grade WTF:
Einstein, Smeinstein

- Note: This grade of slipping is only achieveable by the most incredible slippers of all slippers. If you slip this hard, you rip through the fabric of space and time, transcending the mortal boundaries of simple physics. You could conceivably alter the flow of time itself!

Remember, my friend, with great power comes great responsibility.

Doing something as irrelevant as burping or farting while suspended in the 4th dimension could destroy reality.



And now, I shall tell you the story of... The Slippers. No, I'm not referring to the footwear we've all come to love and hate. The Slippers are a group of gifted people with the power to control their slipping and use it in means to their advantage. Now, this may not sound particularly fantastic, and The Slippers agree that their powers lack the kind of 'cool-ness' that their cousins, The Jumpers, possess. However, the most powerful of Slippers have within themselves a power beyond comprehension. Why? Because the most powerful of Slippers could conceivably achieve a Grade WTF as and when they please.

:O

How do you identify a Slipper, you may ask? It's actually quite simple.



A Slipper:

- Owns a pair of slippers that are so incredibly worn out you'd think you could probably see your reflection in it.

- Will give the excuse tending towards the lines of "sentimentality" when asked why he/she doesn't get a new pair.

- Always carries a bottle of water around, but never seems to drink from it.

- When asked why, gives the excuse "just in case."

- Avoids rough terrain as much as possible.

- Loves smooth, slippery surfaces.

- Has the strangest habit of running and sliding on smooth surfaces, usually accompanied with a gleeful "Wheeeeeeee!"



If any of your friends fulfil all of the above characteristics, keep a close eye on him or her, your friend might just be a Slipper! Watch carefully when your friend slips, a professional Slipper is so adept at covering up a Grade WTF that it looks like a mere Grade E or D. But a sharp eye would be able to catch the telltale shockwave/sonic boom that accompanies a Grade WTF.

Good luck, soldier!

Finally, a short story update. :D This one's an idea for a short film production I'm a part of, though it may not be used. Regardless, I really enjoyed writing this piece, and hopefully you'll enjoy reading it!

Sidenote: I would really recommend listening to a sad musicbox sort of melody while reading this, because that's the exact kind of music I imagined would fit this story.

The melody I was listening to while writing this is White Album - Version 2 by InfinityVas on Newgrounds Audio. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to post a direct link, so I won't!

----------

Bump. Bump. Bump.


How long has it been, that I’ve been just sitting here in the dark? How long has it been since I last heard the sound of your voice? Has it been days? Hours? Or has it only been a few minutes?


Bump. Bump. Bump.


Is this the sound of your basketball? Or is it the sound of my own heart, trying to lend sound to this overwhelming silence that’s washed over me since you left?


Bump. Bump. Bump.


When I first woke up, the first thing I felt was the warmth of your hands, supporting me as I lay on the cold, cold floor. I could barely make out your face in the darkness, but I could feel your care and concern. A short while after that, I realized that I could not remember anything, not my name, how I came to be here, my family, my friends, nothing. What was this room? Why were you sitting there in the dark, watching over me sleep? But even as those questions drifted through my mind, a faint memory nudged me. There had been a terrible, unspeakable disaster – one that had destroyed the world as we knew it, but no further details came to mind. All I knew was that something terrible had happened to the world, but I could not remember exactly what.

I got up then, and wanted to leave, to find out what was going on, and also to see if anything could be done about my lost memories. But you reached out, with those warm hands, and pulled me back down.

“It’s dangerous out there right now.” You whispered to me as I struggled to break free. “Stay here, at least until the danger’s gone.”

“How can you be sure we’ll be safe here?” I demanded. And even though you didn’t say anything, I could somehow sense that you were smiling, and I instantly felt comforted. And that, more than anything else, made me decide to stay.


Bump. Bump. Bump.


Time had no meaning, no relevance in that dark, cold room. What the room even was, I don’t know, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was a storeroom. There were boxes of food – canned meat, chocolate bars, sweets, and bottles of water – and you freely offered to share them with me, even though you didn’t know who I was, and I you.

As time went on, you would tell me stories of your own life, for I had none of my own to relate. When I mentioned as much, you only laughed, saying that it didn’t matter, that by the time his stories were done, it would be safe for us to leave the room.

You told me about how you were a professional basketball player before the disaster – you wouldn’t tell me what exactly it was – and why you loved the sport so much. It was more than just the tension, the excitement in the air, and the cheers of your supporters, you said. It was more than just the teamwork, the patience and guidance of your coach, and the incredible emotions from winning or losing a game.

You told of how, when you were a child, your mother had been struck by a fatal ailment that wasted her body. You told of how, as your mother lay on her deathbed, she called for you, and you alone.

“My child,” she whispered, “I’m sorry.” And you spoke of how you had been so confused – why was she apologizing to you whilst on the verge of death? “You love basketball, don’t you? Let your passion guide your future. Always aim high and shoot for the moon, and even if you miss, you’ll still land amongst the stars. Live life to the fullest – I want nothing more than for you to be doing what you want, and I know you have the courage, the passion, and the drive to be successful in doing what you love.”

“How do you know?” You had asked of her. And she had smiled.

“Because I am your mother.”

And then, from your backpack, you showed me the miniature basketball that you always kept with you – a mini replica of the real thing, a toy that you had played with since you were old enough to do so. It served as a reminder of your mother, and her wish for you to live life to the fullest, to be happy doing what you want to do.

And I asked, what happiness could there be now, when the world was gone?

And once again, all you did was smile. But that was good enough an answer for me.


Bump. Bump. Bump.


Just how much time did we spend in that room? Thinking back now, it felt like an eternity, but your stories helped make it seem so much shorter. But as limitless as time is, our supply of food was not, and we were starting to run out. We spoke of gathering the last of our food and water, and leaving the room, but we could not think of a place to go to, nor did we know what to expect beyond the boundaries of the four walls we had been living in. It was as though our entire world now revolved around the room – we knew nothing of what awaited us outside the door, and as much as I desired to leave, a terrible fear of the unknown had taken root in my heart, bred by the sense of safety and security offered by both the room, and your presence.

And as our discussion went on, a horrible, horrible scream suddenly came from the outside. I immediately shrank away from the door, shivering, so terrible and heartrending the scream was. It was almost inhuman, so filled with emotions – anguish, fear, pain, desperation. You immediately ran to door, and jammed a crowbar – one of the items we had managed to find inside the room – between the door handle and floor, effectively locking the door in place. The scream grew more desperate, and the door handle began to shake. I turned away from the door, pressing my face against the wall, willing the scream out of my mind and trying not to let one out myself.

Even as I shook, I felt your warm hands wrap themselves around me, comforting and reassuring me. And so we sat there in the darkness, you protecting me, and eventually the screams faded away, even though my fear did not.

And at some point, I must have fallen asleep, worn out by fear, for when I awoke, you weren’t there by my side. In my hands I was holding the crowbar, and I guessed that you had placed it there for me to use in self-defence. But the crowbar didn’t offer the same sense of reassurance. I felt naked, alone, weak... and afraid.

You came back some time later, and so wound up was I by that time that I very nearly took your head off with the crowbar when you opened the door. Only that familiar aura, that sense of comfort I always felt when you were with me, stopped me from attacking you blindly.
But something about you felt different.

I didn’t know what it was, or why, at the time, because it was too dark for me to see much of anything. You opened your backpack, and withdrew more food and water, explaining that you had ventured outside the room to gather more supplies while I had been asleep. You seemed so very tired, your actions were so sluggish. But I thought nothing was wrong, that you were only tired because finding the food had taken a lot of effort. I asked if it was finally safe for us to leave the room, but you said that there was still danger lurking outside, that we would have to wait a little while longer.

And I believed in you, as I had come to do in the time we spent together.


Bump. Bump. Bump.


Later that day, as I slept, you watching over me as you always seemed to do, I felt your hands lightly touch my face.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. And I didn’t know what you meant at the time, guessing that you were apologizing for leaving me alone in the room.

“I was scared, you know.” I said.

“I believed in you. I know you’re a strong person, you can handle it.”

“... How do you know?”

“Because I’m your friend.” And I smiled.


Bump. Bump. Bump.


When I next awoke, you were lying there on the floor next to me. And I found it strange, for you were always awake before I was. I reached over to nudge you awake, but there was no response. I shook you harder, but still you remained silent. And that was when I realized that there was something sticky on my hands. I looked at them closely.

It was blood. Your blood.

In desperation, I checked for signs of breathing, a pulse, anything, just to make sure you were still alive, but I couldn’t find anything. Your body was still warm to the touch, as warm as I had always remembered, but you wouldn’t reach out with your hands to comfort me, as you always had. You remained lying there, so still, so silent, and with that same, reassuring smile. The same smile that had helped me stay sane in those long, dark hours we spent sitting in the room.

I realized then why you seemed so tired when you returned from the outside. It wasn’t because you had expended a lot of energy finding supplies... it was because you had been badly injured by whatever it was that lurked outside. And I also realized then, with a pang, that you probably wouldn’t have been so badly wounded had you taken the crowbar with you, but you left it in my hands to ensure that I had a way to defend myself.

“Why?” I asked, knowing that you couldn’t answer. “Why?”

I looked at the smile upon your face, that smile you always gave me that gave me assurance even if no words were spoken.

And for the first time since I woke up in your arms...

I cried.


Bump. Bump. Bump.


How long has it been, that I’ve been just sitting here in the dark? How long has it been since I last heard the sound of your voice?


Bump. Bump. Bump.


Is this the sound of your basketball? Or is it the sound of my own heart, trying to lend sound to this overwhelming silence that’s washed over me since you left?


Bump. Bump.


But does it matter? The sound of your basketball, and the sound of my beating heart... they’re one and the same now. Even now, your words ring strong within my mind.

“I believed in you. I know you’re a strong person, you can handle it.”


Bump.


I have all the supplies packed in your backpack now, along with your basketball. And I have the crowbar. There’s no turning back now. I’m leaving this room. I’m no longer afraid of the unknown, for I will have the memory of your smile, always, to reassure and comfort me.

Your mother wanted you to live life to the fullest, to be happy doing what you wanted.


I will live that life for you.


... Why?


“Because I’m your friend.”
Because I’m your friend.

... Well, no, the title of this entry is deceiving. I do not have the talent (much to my everlasting shame) for singing, and even in the legendary K-Boxes I'm usually the emo kid squatting in some shadowy corner sipping on a beer and refusing to sing. So... singing in the rain is clearly out of the question for a person such as myself, for various reasons:

1. I can't sing.

2. Singing in the rain means getting rainwater in my mouth, which isn't very... pleasant. (singing in the shower, however, is different. The shower is a godsend to people like myself, who can't sing worth a crap, but want to try it without killing people within a 20 meter radius)

3. I can't sing.

4. As mentioned in point no. 2, if I sang in the rain, it means singing in a public area, and that equates to me becoming a mass murderer. I can see the headlines now... "A New Way To Kill?! Young Man Massacres People With Horribad Singing!"

5. I CAN'T SING.


... I digress. You're probably wondering by now, just what the heck I was doing wandering around in the rain in the first place.

And that, my son (and no, I do not have any illegal sons that I do not know of), is a most excellente (with an extra 'e'!) question!

You see, I was supposed to head down to my friend's residence for a rehearsal for our Theatre Studies module. And it just so happens that the one bus that goes there only arrives once every 30 (BLOODY THIRTY) minutes. And just as I was stepping out of my home, casually whistling a happy tune, I saw the bus thunder past.

I think I stared stupidly at the bus stop for a good minute there. There's a schedule at every stop the bus goes to that says what time the bus usually arrives. And everyday, for like the past damned 3 years I have been taking that bus, it arrives within 5 minutes of the stipulated (amagadz, big word) timing.

Wouldn't you know today would be a first time it arrived 10 minutes earlier?

Awesome.

And so, thinking to myself, "Hey! The walk can't possibly be that long, I mean, it only takes like 7 minutes by bus and 3 minutes by car if I speed like a demon, which I always do!"

And now, I'd just like to say to everyone out there who might possibly have had a similarly misleading thought such as this one.

THE THOUGHT IS A LIE.


Alvin's Theory of WTF-is-this-stupidly-long-walk:

Time taken to traverse a distance on foot = Time taken to traverse said distance by car x 10

Time taken to traverse a distance on foot = Time taken to traverse said distance by bus x 4~5


And so, what I assumed would be a short and relatively quick walk turned out to take all of 30 minutes. And to make matters worse, it started raining 10 minutes into the walk.

By the end of the walk, my feet were aching from having to clench my toes to hang onto my wet slippers, which, true to their name, kept trying to slip out from under me. Stupid slippers. More awesome, some random guy driving past blew his horn, and I could have sworn he was laughing at me from within the comforts of his car.

If only I were Ryu or Goku, I would have sent a Hadouken or Kamehameha of FIERY DEATH his way.

But on the bright side, I made a new friend!

You see, as unbelievable as it seems, while merrily (no, not really) heading on my way, I saw someone coming in the opposite direction, in the exact same situation that I was in.

Awkward Oh-Hell-You-Too? smile.

"Hey, great weather, isn't it?"

"Yeah!"

Borderline hysterical What-The-Hell-We-Must-Be-Crazy-Or-Something laughter.

And this just goes to show, that there is a silver lining in every cloud. Even if the cloud is pouring a gazillion gallons of acidic rainwater on your head.



Sidenote: I really need to change my habit of being late all the time.

Somewhat short and emo post.

What started out as a shouting match between my mother and I (over various reasons) eventually evolved into a heart to heart talk about longstanding issues about our relationship, our daily interactions and the barriers that had been erected between the 2 of us. I learned many things I never knew about why my mother treats me the way she does, why she's always so strict with me and not my brothers, and I also told her about my feelings and long-bottled-up emotions.

And I know now, without a doubt, that my mother, in her own way, loves me. To her, I will always be her son, always that same snotty kid who used to get his head stuck in the staircase barricade and somehow get separated from the rest of my family no matter where we went. But after today's talk, she accepts that I'm an adult now, that even though I'm still and will ever be her son, I have to take some responsibility for myself and gain some independence.

The heart to heart talk was something akin to having old wounds reopen, but for the sake of draining the poison that was slowly corroding the inside. It's been a long time (or maybe, never) since I had a good talk with my mother.

The poison's slowly fading away.

And now, perhaps, the wounds can heal, and the barriers can fall.


I love you mom!

(and yes, small text for emo posts. Hur hur.)

Some wise dude somewhere (probably already dead and rolling in his grave as we speak) once said, "Nothing is more satisfying than having a plan go smoothly." And perhaps there never was a wise dude who ever said this, BUT the phrase is stuck in my mind anyhow, so either the wise dude:

1. Actually did exist (or existed)

2. Was a figment of my overwrought imagination (but I only have 200 imaginary friends, that's not a lot D:)

3. I'm the wise dude. Awesome!

But yes, enough digressing. The immense satisfaction from having a plan go smoothly, the sight of Becks's gobsmacked expression (photos to follow! ... I wish) and her brilliant smile thereafter, made the effort seem as nothing.

The plan went basically like this: devise any means necessary to keep Becks awake till 12am (of which the less said, the better) at 11:30pm, gather at my place (or not, Danny and Zongfu made their own way down at 11:45), lie to Becks (hur hur longest shower ever), speed like a demon down to her place (maybe running over a few people or cars along the way, gogo GTA!), huddle at the stairway outside her flat, light the candles on her cake, then sneak into her house (also, of which the less said, the better), and... SURPRISE!

Cake in the face!


...

Or not.

Well, there wasn't any cake in the face, otherwise I might be typing this post from a hospital, or maybe not typing this post at all (you guys might have been reading an article about a mysterious youth who plummeted to his death at some HDB estate at 12am - Youth Falls To His Death At 12am! Nearby Residents Have No Idea Who He Is!)

And now, you may be wondering, what would have happened had we arrived at her doorstep, only to realize that she wasn't home? Well, that's where our contingency plans come in!


Contingency Plan #1: "In the event Becks is not at home."

*brrring brrring*

*brrring brrring*

Becks: "Hello?"

Us: "Uhh... Becks, where are you right now?"

Becks: "[insert location here]"

Us: "Oh. Uhh... Happy birthday!"

- end phone call -

Proceed to emo at the stairway and eat the cake.


Mission Failed.



Contingency Plan #2: "In the event Becks is asleep when we arrive."

*Bursting into Becks's room*

Us: "HAPPY BIRTHDAY BEC-"

Becks unleashes an unspeakable power!

Us: *thrown out her window or maimed in graphic and indescribable ways*

Becks: "Fools! Your plan has failed!"

- your raid has wiped on Becks -


Mission Failed.



... So... yeah, it's a good thing everything went smoothly. :3


Happy 21st birthday Becks!

Slight rant.

It's clear to me, after the events of today, that Monday possesses some form of mysterious, inexplicable and magical ability to make things go wrong. Now I know why Murphy's Law is named as it is - it starts with the letter 'M', and has six alphabets. IT ALL MAKES PERFECT SENSE NOW!

DAMN YOU MURPHY! DAMN YOU MONDAAAYYYYY!

*ahem*

It all started out, innocently enough, in the morning. You know how it is on Mondays, it's either you wake up to a gloomy day, or you wake up to a clear blue sky, fluffy white clouds, the warm bright sun, and birds chirping... and you feel like shooting the birds because you have to go to school/work, when all you wanna do is snuggle back into bed (with or without something to hug, depending) and drift back into wonderful dreams that slip out of your mind the moment you open your eyes.

This was one of those days.

I flopped out of bed (there's no better way to describe it, "climbing out of bed" is too dignified) and dragged myself to the bathroom for the morning ritual of brushing my teeth, washing my face and taking a shower (sometimes ending up with washing my teeth, showering my face and brushing my body, woot!) When I got back to my room, I saw that I had received a message from Becks. You see, sometime ago, I borrowed her debit card for an online transaction (PERFECTLY LEGAL, I ASSURE YOU. Ignore the people telling you otherwise), and the bill had just come in.

So I sent a reply, asking how she wanted the money - in thick, fat wads of cash packed neatly in suitcase, with 10 fully armed bodyguards watching over the transferral, or perhaps a cheque, signed with a flourish, or maybe a Swiss bank account already configured to her personal settings, with the money inside. (do note that I do not possess the ability to do any of these)

Nearly half a day later, still no reply.

By chance, I saw that she had come online on MSN, so I asked if she had received my reply.

Nope.

I dug my handphone out of my pocket and stared at it suspiciously.

Becks tried switching off her phone and switching it back on again, but still nothing.

I wagged my finger at my handphone. "You'd better not be messing with me, punk." I received a couple strange stares, being in the middle of a full lecture theatre and all, but that's besides the point! Handphones make calls and send messages (amidst other things)! What kind of handphone can't do that? A Handicaphone?

Meh.

It only gets worse. Later on in the day, while trying to chat on MSN, people start telling me that I'm appearing to be offline to them, and that some of their messages are bouncing back. And that didn't make a whole lot of sense, because I had been online the whole time.

Kinda like a scene out of the Twilight Zone. Or that other movie, about the hotel room that was in another dimension or something like that.

"Tell the police to come to my room, I'm stuck inside."

"The police are already there, there's nobody inside."

*X-Files music*

All in all, not a good day for communications. And to think, I'm a Communications and New Media major. Such irony! Ahh, Monday. You may have won this battle, but the war is far from over!



Okay, now on to less gloomy things.

First, Becks's research lab has the most Gihuenormous computer monitor I have ever seen. No joke. It's a monster. It's the kind of computer monitor I could chuck out a 20th storey flat, and the pavement (and maybe some unfortunate guy) would be all that got smashed. It's like... the Incredible Hulk of computer monitors.

It's so big, it could take over Pluto as a planet.

In fact, I should probably propose that.

... I want one.



And secondly, Bakerzin has the most crazy awesome desserts. I just had supper with Becks and Danny, and the warm chocolate cake was practically oozing pure win. Just imagine a chocolate cake, with the warmth of a chocolate fondue, a chewy, firm exterior, and oodles of molten chocolate within, oozing and melting into your mouth with every bite. Imagine that topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and the explosion of chocolatey goodness and the tingling sensation from the contrast of hot and cold, all at the same time.

That is the warm chocolate cake.

Thanks Becks for the recommendation! I can now grow fat and be happy. :D

The wind howled, as though in fury, whipping up massive clouds of dust around the massive crystal spire, blocking out the view for miles around – not that there was anything to see anyway. Long ago, the land around the crystal spire had been drained dry of its life energies to feed the dark ambitions of the demon lord that resided within. All that remained now was a barren wasteland, with nary a tree or living creature, watched over by an unforgiving and unfeeling crimson sky. Ebony clouds swirled ceaselessly, forming a terrible eye whose gaze seemed to pierce through all who had the gall to look upon it. On occasion, a bolt of black lightning would lance down from the boiling heavens, striking the crystal spire and illuminating the rock with an unearthly glow.

For years the demon lord had reigned supreme in this land, slowly gathering his powers for an assault on the other denizens of the planet, dreaming of the day when all would bow to him in deference, or otherwise in preparation for their heads to be torn off. And then the time came when he unleashed his full might and army upon the world, and it seemed to many that soon they would be answering to a new lord.

However...

“Time and again you have stood in my way,” The great demon lord rumbled, rearing to his full height, “Time and again you have foiled my most carefully-laid plans.” He stretched his four massive arms wide, and roared his fury, clenching fists that had put an end to many who sought to depose him.

“Then your plans weren’t very carefully planned, then.” A man grunted, kneeling on the floor, breathing heavily. Sweat trickled down his face, down from his jet-black hair, past his shockingly blue eyes. As the droplets of sweat approached his chin, they mixed with the blood from his many injuries, splattering on the smooth, obsidian floor. The demon lord began to laugh, a terrible, cold laugh, one that seemed to rise up from the very bowels of the abyss.

“You are a fool, Tyren the Lightbringer. I admit that you have done well, getting this far...” An orb of swirling dark energies slowly took form in one of his palms. “But... Hope is lost. The kingdoms that you fight so desperately for are on the verge of being destroyed by my armies. None of your precious comrades are here with you – they are either already dead by the hands of my minions, or aiding the failing war effort. Soon, the world will bow to me. Tell me, Lightbringer. What hope is there?” With a mighty roar, the demon lord flung the orb at Tyren, who barely managed to deflect it with his blade. The chamber trembled as the orb crashed into one of the walls with a great explosion.

“Why do you continue to fight?”

“You speak of lost hope,” Tyren growled, getting to his feet, “Hope is always present in the hearts of all those who keep fighting. Hopes for their loved ones, for the world, and for the future. You speak of the armies of light losing. The last I recall, your armies were the ones being beaten back.” He spat out a mouthful of blood, and straightened himself. His azure eyes glowing with power, Tyren lifted his blade, holding it before him.

“You speak of my friends not being here with me,” He brought his sword down in a swift arc, and the demon lord grunted in surprise as a shockwave sent him stumbling backwards. “You’re wrong.”

“My friends are here with me. As they have always been!” The blade began to shine with a fierce, overwhelming white light, and through the light, squinting, the demon lord thought he could make out the silhouettes of people standing around Tyren. Roaring in anger, he charged at the hero, using one hand to shield his eyes against the blinding light.

“You speak of the world bowing to your will. This world, the very planet itself, continues to fight you!” With a savage yell, Tyren brought his sword up in a sweeping slash, and the chamber was immediately illuminated by a burst of holy energy. Screaming as holy fire coursed through his body, purifying his cursed flesh and setting his black blood aflame, the demon lord crumpled to the floor, and slowly faded away into nothingness. And around Tyren, the chamber began to collapse, the life energies it had drained over the course of many years ebbing out. Smiling tiredly, Tyren sank to the floor, his blade clattering next to him.

“Finally, it’s over...” He muttered, closing his eyes, as the debris surrounded him...


~ 10 years later ~


“The land is healing.” A man smiled, examining a flower on the ground. Rising to his feet, he looked around at the vast green plains, lined with rows of vibrant flowers, resting beneath a clear blue sky and white clouds.

“Hoy! Tyren!” Tyren turned around, and his smile widened into a grin as he spotted his friends approaching on horseback.

“At last, we can start anew.”


~FIN


Lips twisted into a wry smirk as the man shut the comic book, not without a tiny, wistful sigh. Adding it to the stack of books he had piled up next to him, he turned to reach for another, but found that he had run out.

“Heh. Guess I had to run out sometime.” Years of solitude had led to him picking up the habit of talking to himself, to hear the sound of a human voice, and to keep himself from going insane. Rising from the dusty red armchair, he brushed the dirt off the seat of his trousers, and stretched. Abandoning the large stack of books, he made his way to the window, looking outside.

Much like the drawings in the comic book, the sky was a boiling blood-red, although without the clouds. His smirk turned into a grimace as a shadow detached itself from that of a nearby ruined building, revealing a man in rags. The man stumbled around on the cracked pavement, coughing violently, blood splattering the ground – not that it mattered, everything was a damned hue of red under the blasted sky anyway – and finally, after a few moments, he slumped to his knees, taking great gulping breaths before finally succumbing to death. The man sighed, but otherwise directed his attention elsewhere – he had seen too much death in his lifetime, it didn’t affect him anymore.

He didn’t know why he bothered looking around. It was all the same; the same as it had been since as long as he could remember. Ruined, blackened buildings as far as the eye could see, trees that had not seen the birth of new leaves in years, patches of burnt grass, and the sky, that goddamn sky, with its goddamn sun, casting that red light all over the place. Everywhere, people dying, and wretched creatures (he didn’t even know what they were) crawling around. How had this happened? He didn’t even know, all he knew was that somewhere, at some point in time, the world had gone to being the hell that it was today.

Turning away from the window, he turned to face the library he had recently discovered. Much to his surprise, when he came upon the building, it had been largely intact. Whatever disaster had destroyed most of the world had apparently not affected the library much. Sheltering in the library for the night, he found himself glued to the armchair in the day, reading books that told stories of a time that had long been forgotten by the world. Of a time when love (he glanced briefly at the stack of books) had meaning, when heroes would step up to save humanity from destruction, when comradeship was something people could relate with.

He laughed derisively.

What heroes were there now? Clearly, nobody had saved the world – if this was some hero’s twisted idea of saving the world, then he would very much like to meet that hero... and kill him. This was no world to live in, he wanted a world much like the one depicted at the end of the comic – peaceful, filled with friends, life, and a blue sky.

What love was there in this world? Comradeship? He didn’t even know who his parents were – for as long as he could remember, he had been alone, surviving on whatever scraps he could find. The only person he had come close to calling a friend was dead. Once, he had been told by that friend, “only in times like these do we see true comradeship.” And how he had believed that, staying with that community, thinking that perhaps, he could find some semblance of peace and friendship with these people.

A week later, his friend was lying dead in a pool of his own blood, a look of surprise and anger permanently etched upon his features, having been set upon by his own companions when food supplies ran low. As for himself, he had barely escaped with his life and sanity intact.

Since that day, he had been wandering the lands alone, armed only with the weapons he had managed to steal from the mutinous bastards before making his escape. As to why he wandered the lands, even he did not know. He had no aim, no purpose. He had considered before, many times, ending his own life, but each time he brought the gun to his head, he found that he lacked the courage to pull the trigger. Self-loathing was his constant companion, one that he had long ago learned to live with.

But still, as of late, he found himself dreaming of living in the time of which the books spoke so glowingly about.

“... I’m pathetic.” He whispered, smiling sadly, looking at the yellowed piece of paper on which he had been writing for the past few days. With a sigh, he put the pen gingerly upon the table, then grabbed his belt, hanging off the side of the armchair, and fastened it. Reaching for his guns, he checked to see if they were loaded, and then peered inside his backpack to see how many spare bullets he had left.

“Not too shabby.” He chuckled to himself. “Should last me a while.”

Wrapping his travelling cloak tightly around his body and securing the guns, he took one final, lingering look at the paper, then with a heavy sigh, turned around and left the library.


These books here speak of a time now long forgotten to us all. Of a time when heroes existed, when the world was at peace, of a time when love and friendship still held water.

Did such a time really exist? I cannot answer that, I was born in this new age – the age of death and decay. An age where people are willing to throw everything aside for the sake of self-preservation, an age where death is preferable to life.

Love, friendship, comradeship, peace... all these are things I have never experienced in my life thus far, nor do I expect to ever experience them before this wretched world, and its wretched people, consume me. I have no illusions about my life ahead of me – such a thing does not exist. In time to come, I will simply be one of the many victims of whatever disaster that brought the world to its knees.

... Still, it’s nice to dream.

I leave these books, and this note, here, in the hopes that when you, whoever you may be, read this...

The world knows love once more.