Monday, November 21, 2011


Hi! How is everyone doing?
   My apologies for being absent for the past two Saturdays. I hope that you forgive me.
   There have been some problems at home, but I've overcome them, and I now have good news. I can finally reveal one of the projects that I've been keeping secret from all of you: it's a book! I just published a book titled, "An Unknown Narrator". It is fiction, has 56 pages, and is very cheap!
   For all of you who have been steadily supporting this blog, here's a sneak peek ...

    “Let’s meet at Starbucks tomorrow, okay?”
    “Yeah, tomorrow. Bye. Fye.”
    “Bye, Leo.”
    Leo drove away in his red Toyota Vios. Fye turned away, and walked under the glow of streetlights in the Lone Houses Subdivision. He was a tall, 20-year-old guy with a muscular body. He was bald. He was wearing a white hoodie over a yellow T-shirt that had red, horizontal stripes. His gray pants were a bit creased near his ankles because of his huge, Caterpillar shoes. He carried a light backpack on his left shoulder.
The wet road glistened in the night, and the place was absolutely quiet. The houses in this neighborhood stood far from each other. The houses were almost a kilometer from one another. The name of the place said it, it was for people who wanted to be alone. Residents couldn’t even see their neighbors from their own houses.
    Fye’s house was on Mattias Drive. It was facing west. He approached his two-storey abode. Its lights were glowing softly against the trees that surrounded it. He could hear his twin sister’s sweet voice. She was chatting on the telephone again.
    He glimpsed something. Or someone.  A man was sitting on the edge of the sidewalk just outside their small gate. The man was wearing shorts, a simple T-shirt, and white rubber shoes. He didn’t see Fye, and he looked like he had been eavesdropping. Fye quietly walked to the sidewalk, and sneaked up behind the man.
    The man turned his head upon hearing Fye’s voice. Fye punched the man’s head. The man collapsed on the pavement. Fye crouched beside him, and began beating him up.
    After a few, silent seconds, Fye stood up, and sprinted into his house. His twin sister, Venna, met him at the front door.
    “Stay here,” he warned her as he dropped his backpack on the floor and removed his hoodie. He ran back to the gate as he took out his mobile phone. He dialed the number of the local police. “I just saw a guy attack another guy outside my house. He ran to the northeast from House Number 309 Mattias Drive, Lone Houses Subdivision. Please send someone to chase him.”
    He put the mobile phone back to the pocket of his pants as he kept screaming, “Help! Help!”
    A yellow car was approaching from the north. Fye held the unconscious man’s ankles, lifted them, and dragged the victim off the sidewalk. The yellow car stopped in front of them, and a skinny driver came out. The driver frantically shouted at Fye, “Don’t drag him!”
    It was too late. Fye had dragged the man to the road, and the victim’s head hit the pavement.
    “A man viciously beat him up, I saw it,” Fye explained. “He quickly escaped. We need to send this to the hospital.”
    “Okay, I’ll send him to the hospital,” complied the thin driver.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Crab Mentality (Part 17)

June 8, 2010 (9pm)
Senior Police Officer IV Callon Gallaner looked at the frightened boy, and then continued walking to the burned house. He left the crowd of onlookers. There were fire trucks, ambulances, police cars, and the forensics team. Blinkers flashed in the night as firemen hurried on the wet grounds, carrying hoses and other tools.
The number of the house was 3. The small property was in the middle of two, huge houses that had tall firewalls. House number 3 was now nothing, but a shadow with debris on which firemen focused their flashlights in search for corpse. Gallaner had been assigned to the case only this afternoon. He never left the possibility of a simple accident, but it had happened twice within two nights. And where were the residents? “The neighbors said that the residents had entered the house a few minutes before the fire started, and that they didn’t get out of the house after that,” a Police Officer 1 said as he joined Gallaner. “The firemen have finished the search. No bodies were found.”
                They turned their flashlights on, and stepped into the property. “They were a family. Mr.Don Chrom, Mrs.Matilda Chrom, and their child, Lenon Chrom.”
                Gallaner spotted a broken flower vase in a pile of debris. He could picture how Mrs.Chrom took care of that vase. “Mr.Chrom was 32-years-old, Mrs.Chrom was 32-years-old also, and little Chrom was 8-years-old.”
                Gallaner spotted a bowl with dinosaur patterns in another pile of debris. They carefully walked on the wet ashes on the floor. They moved to the inner part of the “house,” investigating everything that their flashlights could help them see.
The possibility of an accident as the cause of these fires was becoming thinner. Gallaner dreaded what could be next. He had worked on cases of serial murders in the past, and he hated working on another one. Another set of murders, another killer’s game. After so many years in the force, he had developed strength against the most sensitive things, but murder cases still gave him a deep feeling of dread.
Someday, he would just retire, and live a life of simplicity and peace, but it seemed that that day was still too far. As life went on for everyone, evil characters continued to go beyond normal to kill the innocents. It was the job of the police to stop such evil characters. The worldwide fight against crime seemed to be an endless battle. If it ever ended, that meant that one side had won, and who could that side be? Crime was like a disease, and it even managed to infect some parts of the police department itself.
They had reached the back of the property. Some smoke were still left lingering in the air, but there was something else. The odor of death. It was the odor that came right after a tragic death, and before decomposition. For investigators, it was more to the mind than to the nose. Gallaner just frowned at the smell even though the firemen were already grimacing at the smell of it. Gallaner was used to it, it existed in every murder scene that he had investigated in the past. A stench that was a combination of flesh, blood, and some other unpleasant thing. How sure were they that nobody died here? The real question, where were the bodies being brought? The most dreadful thought that Gallaner didn’t want to think of was here: they were against an arsonist.

50 Days Before Christmas

   Hi! How was your Halloween?
   I can't believe that we are now less than two months away from Christmas! I had written about the speed of time in one of my first posts in my first blog, and how it could be Christmas soon even though it was still January. Look, it's already November! That's one year for me of being a blogger!
   I hope that you have finished your Christmas shopping (the best time to start was in September, only to avoid the crowds).

   I was getting very bored earlier this week. I've been working on three stories at the same time! (Yeah, I wrote even though it was supposed to be my vacation.) All of the drafts have been making me feel a bit weary. Fortunately, at around Wednesday, I became as inspired about writing as I had always been. That's probably what happens to most writers, we have to work even though we don't have enough inspiration --- until inspiration comes. Being a writer seems to be a one-of-a-kind existence!
   Anyway, this episode of "Crab" took lots of research. I went asking questions online and in other places, and I even found another writer who asked similar things to everyone ... for a similar reason. Now, that's real-life horror! How could we be alike even though we didn't know each other? Well, we were not exactly alike, or else I would've freaked out! (Just joking. He's a good writer.)
   I didn't do much editing for the sake of "good" content in this part of "Crab," that's why it's a little more frank than the previous ones. Take care (and, look, it's 50 days before Christmas, wheee!), and thank you for all of the support!