~The Hug Part 02 – The Maker’s Embrace~

Hidden behind closed doors, she twirled around the imaginary psychedelic-coloured sheets that hung from the ceiling down, dancing amongst books, boxes and paper, laid all over her grey-fur-coated carpet, albeit in a 21st century-inspired thrashed-up look. That tiny yet significant fraction of her time was semiconsciously-dedicated to her ever-refurbishing yet repulsive insanity.

Sheets of Kleenex came to waste at a rate best described, almost immediately. Fresh from the box, she flung them a-piece-at-a-time into the air, sheet following another, bracing a weak smile on her tender face. An endeavouring scene almost to the extent of being branded ‘disturbing’, it was a sight to behold.

Soothing the awkward yet revolting settings of her world, Josh Groban was on replay on her media playlist. It almost seemed as if she was till the irreversible state of being lovelorn. It was as if this scene had been directly ripped off a chick flick, at the stage where the female actress was falling hopelessly in love.

Kristine was twenty-three, with bursting youth and raging passion within. Although she was not of noble birth, she led her life as though she were royalty. Humble royalty, that is. Armed with the riches that never seem to deplete, an intellect not many could compare themselves to, and an outlook that only two heavenly words could describe. God sent.

A strong girl too, she picked herself up from a failed relationship. She had finally seen the holy light, the bright amber that guides her to spiritual enlightenment. She had made the choice, of being embraced by none but one. Herself.

Fear results in the monster in you and that fear builds up the monster. It is unleashed from within, though considered controllable by yours truly. People get carried away by putting too much in the monster, forgetting that there is no monster. The monster only lives in the reflection of your fear. The monster is nothing without the raging fear within you…

The scene reverts back to her bordoir once again, though this time without the hallucinations. The mess and thrashed-up look remains intact, though as her vision cleared up, she realised she never did dance that long a time. She lay on her carpet, though it was wet, as if soaked with a liquid substance.

She now remembered. The flying Kleenex. Though the detailed picture now materialised in her mind. The Kleenex stained with blood deemed fresh too. Laid on the corner of her space amongst the boxes and paper was an orange object. Something that now in through her eyes became all too clear. The orange penknife she used to slit her left wrist. The music gently crooning on the background, bringing back that familiar feeling she felt, though in a different setting this time.

She had finally come to this point of her life. She could now shut her eyes and rest now. And be embraced by the maker.




Josh.

~The Hug Part 01 – Calling It Quits~

Hmmm…This hug seems weird…It seems like…nothing! I’m not feeling anything at all, how could this be? I liked him before…I mean I loved him before. How is this possible?

Ever had this feeling before? This feeling where the initial rush was rapid and enthusiastic, only to experience the quirky and disappointing feeling in the midst and aftermath. The guy was someone Kristine loved for a good long period stretching out to 5 years. Their love tested the rage and turbulence of the occasional yet intensive waves of periodical storms. And the greatest item they shared in common was held onto strongly. Their endeavouring yet recently-regarded-as-a-passé-kind of love.

And the reason of calling it quits? The guy had no longer yearned for a mildly-stale yet peaceful and everlasting relationship. What he wants this moment is to instill a short-lived stint of senseless living filled with exciting bouts of clubbing outings, booze, street car racing and, needless to say, flings.

He needed fresh blood to quench his thirst, thrust by his raging hormones. No longer satisfied with just the missionary, with the occasional doggy, he now wants more than just that. He wants to feel the adrenaline rush, the excitement, of which he wants to experience, no courtesy to his group of buddies who share their occasional escapades of lust.

He initiates a whole new set of rules that takes their normal sex routine out of the bedroom. Alfresco, handicapped toilets, backseats, reservoirs, you name it, he’s tried it. Just that things, just don’t always go his way. In fact, it never did. Kristine was strong on her personal views, that sex had be strictly in the bedroom and no where else. She just can’t bring herself to do it.

He got tired over the repeated pleas, but chose to live with it. Only till the day he joined his mates for a club outing. He got to know Cindy, which shared with him a fast-progressing relationship that led to sex a couple of hours after they met. He felt different. He felt great, as if he had unleashed the raging demon in him.

Deciding in-between having a peaceful and loving relationship and enjoying the riches of the devil’s pleasures, he chose both, like most of us would. I meant the most of the individuals, who do not bloody own a conscience.

Living in the best of both worlds, this life carried on for a short period. He reckoned that in order to live his life to the fullest, he needed to be free, from all commitment and responsibility. And he did just that, by breaking off with Kristine.


She was devastated. She cried. It was terrible a sight to witness her crying helplessly. A strong lady she was, it didn’t matter no more to her to brace up a strong front. She was frail.

It was like a formula-one race car traveling at a high speed towards a Y-junction. The driver, experiencing problems with his steering, leapt out of the car to land onto the right lane of the road, while the vehicle just sped off on the left. Kristine was the driver, and he, the vehicle.

He was the vehicle, speeding off without a driver in the seat, traveling aimlessly without direction and destination, and would only know when to stop when a bad crash occurs. And she, the driver who rolled over the rough surface of tar, crying out in anguish and pain. She was in a bad shape, as if she had received the utmost chalice of agony.

As time passed, she learnt to pick herself up along that familiar and lonely stretch of road. She started heading towards the left lane, a step at a time, enduring the pain and tears. The journey was difficult, having to fight back both physical and psychological damage inflicted onto her. But she prevailed.

From getting herself onto her both feet, to enduring the ‘death’ walk to the hospital, she had proved a strong girl she was. Very quickly, she nursed her wounds to recovery. It was speedy and Kristine had recovered fully. In fact, she had never felt better than before.

Now, Kristine had learnt to be independent. She needed no one to turn to, to hold and say she loves him. She became stronger, and I was delighted at this fact. Although there was the occasional drive-by of her old vehicle, she handled it well. And she was strong enough not to take it for another drive. Not that she was afraid of another crash-out, just that she had learnt to walk with both her legs. Although walking could not take her far, at least she knows a fact.

The fact that she was in total control of herself. And I love her for that.


Josh.