Friday, 26 February 2010


"Johnny, am i really into this?" a pointed face teenager asked; loading her gun with inaccurately shaking hands.

"You were born to stop him Selina, go for it!" Johnson Cavanaugh reassured her; leaving a fine tap on her shoulder. Selina hid the gun in her suit and opened the door on the upper deck. Maverick was underneath, gazing through the horizontal line between the night sky and the blue-black sea. No sooner that he realizes that her daughter was on the upper deck.

"What are you doing up there Pumpkin? Catching the night's breeze?" Maverick Ferndale said, expanding his hands towards Selina.

"No Daddy, i just want to say goodnight..." she said, aiming her gun downwards and shot her father right at his heart, "...forever," she uttered, with a distinctive smile on her evil face. She felt gloomy sadness and sensational relief all at the same moment. As she turned backwards, she found out that Johnny was behind her the entire time. "i've made it Johnny, i've made it!" she said; smiling.

Johnny took her hands and pulls her into a close embrace, "i'm glad you are, Selina," he said, with a welcoming smile. "But, i don't think you can live without him. So, i'm going to send you to him!" He said, firing his gun on Selina's stomach, laughing hard as Selina began to tremble in front of him. Inexplicably, a bullet was fired from the lower deck; the bullet smoothly planted itself into Johnny's heart. Although he was puzzled and dying, he still tried to find the gun responsible for the bullet in his torso.

To his surprise, he saw Maverick pointing a gun at him on the lower deck. "Confused Johnson?" Maverick said; fastening off his bullet-proof jacket.

"Poor Johnny, i would never kill my own father you know?" Selina's voice was heard. "We had vowed to keep our trusts, and we will never break it." She walked towards the lying Johnson and bends down gracefully with Maverick on her side.

"As family is the only place where we can put our trusts on," the Ferndales said; leaving poor Johnny alone - lying dead.

Monday, 15 February 2010

Chapter 2 - Taken Aboard

The Detective was sitting on his silk embroidered armchair, thinking about his wind-blasted fate - linking his pale fingers together as he think. His sophisticated white coloured summer suit was almost in stain. It has been quite a long time since he had left his cosy room; maybe after the death of almost the entire Gentlemen’s Club members in the Bourdain House. He vowed to do everything he could to solved Lord Drouhte’s death riddles, even if it is making him no more of his usual sane. After the attack, Lord Drouhte seems to be stopping his bloody murders – as if trying to give Detective Hugh Damon some times to pull himself together. But the times given were not meant to be long.

“Detective Hugh,” a pale English boy appears from the other side of the room, “Lord Drouhte sent you a mystery letter.”

“Give it to me Michael,” he said; signs of worries were all over his face. He took the letter hastily and read it in a fast yet thoughtful motion.

To my lovely rival,

The reason that I wrote this letter was to realizing you of what so much time that I had been given you to prepare for my next puzzle. You see, together with this unexpected letter, I slipped some quotes referring to something that might have been or might have not been important to you. A code that may or may not answers your questions.

PS: Shall God sent us to another crime scene… ‘Peacefully’

Under the white envelope where the letter was placed in, there was another paper about the size of a business card. The paper was written on it the words ‘I love to swipe hibiscuses’. To his bewilderment, there is a blood stain on the far end of the small paper.

“He will strike again,” The Detective said; folding the letter firmly as he then throws it into the fireplace, “and his fate is alike to that letter he gave me.” The letter was slowly being eaten by fire, burning until what left was a handful of ashes. Detective Hugh Damon was standing in front of the fireplace, putting a loud smile on his cold face. Michael had never seen him like this before.


The next day was a fresh day for Detective Hugh and his young partner; Michael Williams. They took off by the district bus early in daybreak; before the dewdrops falls and while the senseless morning fogs blinding all over. Both of them were strictly hurried towards their only goal - the Heathrow Airport. They saw such boring scenery at the airport, where every people they met were moving in a rather slow motion; frankly said that, even Detective Hugh was surprised to witness this inexplicable occurrence. As they were approaching the counter, Michael enquired, “Detective, if we are going to catch Drouhte, Why is we’re travelling air-borne?”

“Good question my dear boy, the reason that we are travelling aboard is strictly because of the word ‘swipe’ in Drouhte’s letter.” He hesitated for a moment. Observes his surrounding, and continued “You see Michael; the word ‘swipe’ entitles the fact that Drouhte is doing something concrete, or dare I say some work that can be feel by our five major senses. That means that he can see, touch, taste, smell and obviously hears the object he’s sweeping. Here’s the problem my friend; we don’t have hibiscuses in the United Kingdom.”

“So, that leads us to a country where we can surely feel a large amount of hibiscuses sensibly.” Michael crossed excitedly.

“Good Michael, you have some wits in you, my dear boy.” the other crossed back. As they were standing in front of the receptionist, Hugh took some bills out of his woollen cloak, placed it in front of the wonderful brunette upon him and said, “Can you please provide me a couple of tickets to Malaysia please, my dear lady?”

“Spare me a moment please, sir.” She said; reshuffling some papers in her hands at the double.

“Let’s welcome ourselves to Malaysia Detective, where hibiscuses were cherished as their national flower.” Michael said; grinning as he was footing next to his divine guardian respectfully.


A trip to Malaysia seems to be consequently long, since they’re travelling with late preparation and a lot of anxieties in their psyche. But the most difficult thing: is trying to initialise themselves to the original peninsular climate of this exquisite country. After getting their luggage out of the plane, they were rushed towards a H1N1 booth at the trivial corner of one compartment from the bravura airport. At the small cubicle, they were assessment to make sure that they’re free from the latest pandemic that fled on Malaysia – the Influenza A or also generally known as the swine flu. The nurses seem to be tangled up pretty much by their works – they were busy taking care of foreigners and countrymen coming in and out of the airport.

“The clock strikes three, what’s next in your mind Detective Hugh?” Michael said; staring at his exuberant Flamingo which was emblazoned with delicate sparkles.

“I say, we should have lunch.”

“But where should it be Detective?”

“Oh, you’ll see: somewhere fishy.” He said; manoeuvring his act forwards without using complicated maps or any GPS devices as if knowing all the road networks and streets of this serene realm.


Chapter 1 - Of Detective Hugh Damon

A totally-black Mini Cooper S-Cabrio slowed down from the motorway, to a parking spot in front of the Bourdain House – the heart of The Gentlemen’s Club in London. A fine gentleman in green suede was seen walking out of the Mini Cooper, looking rather astonishing as he slowly paced on the grey pavement, to the opening gateway of the century old building. He was soon standing in front of the modishly carved door – waiting calmly as he stands. “What’s the password?” a voice emanated from inside; asking politely in a broad English accent.

“Anything we committed inside should never be revealed outside.” He said calmly - while combing his lank auburn with dry fingers. The door shrieked opened, revealing an old butler with pale complexion; wearing royal velvet with matching pair of pants.

“May I take your coat off, sir?” The butler asked, placing his hands on the green suede.

“No thanks, my dear fellow. I’m on my way to meet a friend,” He said, grinning as he nudges away the butler’s hands from his suede. He calmly admired the luxurious decorations on the wall, as he was on his way to the cellar bar.


The comfortable cellar bar appears to be filled with three other gentlemen in various ages, but his eyes were fixed on Mr. Jesse Wilder – a former Field-Marshal of the British Army. Mr. Wilder was smoking Chocolate with cognac, and he appears to be sitting on a majestic red armchair. “May I suggest, Mr. Wilder,” said he, looking carefully at his cigar, “may I suggest that you take your cigarette away? That should just be enough for today.”

“Then it’s the murdering of joy for me, Hugh. Come, join me.” He said, with a careless gesture to invite Hugh Damon to the opposite seat. “Fancy a Chocolate?” he asked – politely handing the cigarette-box to Mr. Damon.

“I beg your pardon my dear friend, I don’t smoke,” Mr. Damon said; making the sign of disapproval.

Niles,” Mr. Wilder searched for the butler.

“What is it sir?” the butler hurried towards them.

“Would you care to get me some of those lovely foie gras, for my dear fellow?”

“Absolutely sir, I will go right away,” as Niles walked swiftly to the cellar, both of those fine gentlemen rolled their eyes on the fireplace.

“Thank you Mr. Wilder, may God place you under his blessings.” Mr. Damon said, with a grateful smile on his cold young face.

“Regarding Lord Drouhte, I think we should hold our meeting in your place Mr. Damon. What do you think?” he held out his Peruvian pipe.

“That sounds sweet, but I would prefer here. It is a lot safer here,”

“If that’s the case, we will meet again in Saturday then?” he said, emitting a polite smoke from the pipe.

“That would be more than perfect, Mr. Wilder,” Mr. Damon said “that would be more than perfect.”


Mr. Damon left the club after consuming some of those brilliant foie gras, served by the butler in velvet. After this, he will join Mr. Wilder in handling one of the most horrifying criminal in the history of all London; Lord Drouhte Von Grovovitch. He realises beautiful days would no longer be in his living diary after this. Not long before he slides into his Mini Cooper, the sound of loud orchestrated music banged the Bourdain House, which lead to an explosion; a massive mushroom cloud was formed up in the peaceful air of the Gentlemen’s Club, leaving imperfect remnants of the building in split seconds. “Good God, Drouhte!” he hoofed towards the burning remnants, bending down to a perfect halt “so, you really want to play fire with fire eh?”


I don’t / I do?

My hand trembled through the veils of shames, as I am getting more turgid to seeing such an enormous remnant of my deliberative state. Although the signals had called off the mission, I remained there - unmoved. Maybe something is wrong with me or is it something is unclear for me. Never, the less shame I had ever endeavored in my whole life and never, the more pride I had ever planted in my soul. Before the wedding, everything and everyone was all fine, no problems were in sight. Not until the Father’s words were pierced through the eardrums of my inert ears.

“Will you William Tennyson, take Christina Evans as your lawfully wedded wife?” he asked. I’m stuck at the middle of an awkward situation, a situation in which no man had ever passed flawlessly before; I prayed to God for the agility of my tongue.

I answered, “I …don’t,” every rolling eyes were on me, my fiancĂ© almost fainted, the father of the bride looks like he will be butchering my flesh and tears almost ran down my mother’s cheeks. “No, I … I do!” I uttered abruptly, correcting my rather stupid statements on the most glorious day of my life. I held my head downwards - at first, no one seems to notice my idiocy, but, after seconds of silence a fine gentleman starts smiling, two giddy teenagers giggled, three women whispered and everyone laughed. Father Joseph even slapped me hard on the shoulder. Everyman Jack were laughing including Christy – oh, I can’t wait to divorce her.


what am i doin' here?

First up i wanna tell u all that in this blog i'll post all my writings and poems, just to see what others think about them, if they are all sucks, so be it! i'll never be a good writer just yet if that is your feedbacks. I'm gladly aware of the facts that I'm not an Englishmen, but to every Englishmen in this world , i just wanna say that, "Your language is hard and beautiful, and i'm glad to try it", i just love to write man! can't help it,
this is the first post for my blog, i have nothing else to say really,
to everyone out there who loves reading, read me, pleaaaseeeee~