RVB
love, sorrow, humor, and various human disposition expressed in short story, fiction, prose, poetry, or any accumulation of words, for your amusement.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
The Young Suspect
As the murder case of Annie unraveled, all seemed to pin down one suspect, the 24-year-old Ray. He had stayed silent - there was not a footage of him speaking, which made everyone guess his nature, character, and temperament. But from the various pictures, he seemed to be just an ordinary young man: tall, rather handsome, perhaps a little introverted at times, but nevertheless outgoing when surrounded by friends and family. His life up to this point was pleasant and stable to the outsiders. With a job that paid, a dog to pet, and a girlfriend whom he was to marry, he was on his way to start a family. Within a week, all that had become merely a vapor. Dreams, ambitions, shattered, gone. At such a young age, he could soon be put behind the bars for a lifetime, and to the worst, even be executed abiding CT's death penalty for murders.
What had he done? What happened that day in the lab? What was his relationship with Annie? How did he just lose his mind and threw his life away? How could he commit to such crime? Was it an accident? Why didn't he come forward and confess?
Before he is put on trial and before he is convicted as a murderer, these unanswered questions merge into a thin, invisible wall, giving him a slight protection from the large community who mourns over the tragic death of Annie. If Ray was to seek sympathy, he would be terribly disappointed. If he did what he is accused of doing, it was him who threw his own life away, unlike Annie whose life was ended unwillingly by another. Unless it wasn't him, then he better prove it.
What has our world become? When did civilized, intelligent human beings decide that it is easy and okay to end another's life? Why has violence magnified and multiplied?
The media was doing what it does best: take any sip of information, exaggerate it and spread. Ray's terrifying halloween picture of him dressed and face painted like a devil was featured frequently. Although some of the testimonies from his friends backed him up with neutral and even positive remarks, the media seemed to focus on the small negative comments from people who didn't know him well such as the neighbors. As a result of such bias, the community was insanely outraged toward Ray. They responded to this cruelty with cruelty. "Kill him like how he killed Annie" said one reader on an online coverage. It was followed by another, yet another, and countless vulgar comments: "Put him on the hot chair", "he deserves to be put on death penalty", etc. These comments disturbingly received popular votes. While you wonder why people lose their moral sense and kill each other, it's clear that anyone who was capable of saying such things are capable of killing under circumstances.
The disease has permeated and it is officially incurable.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Letter to Lisa
Dear Lisa,
I am sorry that I never called. You probably thought that I just disappeared and how unfair of me to leave without a proper goodbye. The thought of picking up the phone and dialing your number crossed my mind so often, but as each day progressed, it seemed more reasonable to write instead. I have searched for your e-mail address, or even looked up Kisha's studio to see whether I could get your mailing address, yet nothing came up. A year has gone by without contacting you, and now even calling becomes unrealistic.
You've taught me so much about happiness that I could not have learned otherwise. Without you, everything is so difficult. I try and keep on trying, but can only find my true self in these worthless sobbing words. Then all start from zero the moment I begin to sympathize my little insignificant soul. I fall, far into the bottomless darkness, and let the timelessness take over my fear. If I were lucky, if God allows, let me remember your voice so that I regain something to hold on to. You see, I couldn't call you, and I couldn't say goodbye. I fear that our goodbye will erase you from my memory, and I need you so to remind me of my worth. So, Lisa, please forgive me for being rude and heartless. I am too selfish to let you go.
yours truly.
I am sorry that I never called. You probably thought that I just disappeared and how unfair of me to leave without a proper goodbye. The thought of picking up the phone and dialing your number crossed my mind so often, but as each day progressed, it seemed more reasonable to write instead. I have searched for your e-mail address, or even looked up Kisha's studio to see whether I could get your mailing address, yet nothing came up. A year has gone by without contacting you, and now even calling becomes unrealistic.
You've taught me so much about happiness that I could not have learned otherwise. Without you, everything is so difficult. I try and keep on trying, but can only find my true self in these worthless sobbing words. Then all start from zero the moment I begin to sympathize my little insignificant soul. I fall, far into the bottomless darkness, and let the timelessness take over my fear. If I were lucky, if God allows, let me remember your voice so that I regain something to hold on to. You see, I couldn't call you, and I couldn't say goodbye. I fear that our goodbye will erase you from my memory, and I need you so to remind me of my worth. So, Lisa, please forgive me for being rude and heartless. I am too selfish to let you go.
yours truly.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Box and Box
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