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The Devil Wants You Dead - 8

car-noirDWYD- as Sal calls it. Part 8 is finally here and DWYD makes its first appearance in the new website. I’m sorry for making you guys wait as the middle portion fleshes itself out painfully, slowly. I’m grateful for the persistent emails asking when the next entry of DWYD is coming up (thankfully, no death threats yet), all those who read the series from the beginning and for those who just started reading the story now. If you want to relive the memories to when it all began, click here for Part 1. The other parts can be found below.

It took David a very long time to regain consciousness in the backseat of our still car. I was getting antsy from all that waiting.

His eyes flickered open and widened with realization as they gradually brought to focus the gun pointed at him. I held Susie’s watch above his face.

“Where did you find this?” I asked.

“I stole it from him.”

“Who?”

He simply looked at me. “You know who.”

The answer chilled me. My hand holding Susie’s watch started shaking.

“How did you escape from the asylum?” Charlie asked. He hadn’t budged from the driver’s seat.

“He busted me out. I was his next victim, you see. Drugged me but I managed to escape the minute he had his back turned. Kept moving and hiding. Hoping you’d find me first before he did.” The words rolled slowly from his lips as his tongue woke up. “And you did.” His voice lowered to a loving velvety whisper. “Blood’s indeed thicker than water.”

Charlie flinched at the sound of his brother’s voice.

“Where did he take Susie?” I asked.

“Where it all began, John.”

The farmhouse.

Susie’s old home.

“I heard him talking about how he was going to cut her and feed her bits to the pigs in his old place.” David laughed. “Just like what we did.”

I punched him.

His manic laughter reverberated in the car and reached into my soul and disturbed the skeletal remains of a past I didn’t want to remember. I grabbed his collar and shook him.

“No use, John. You, me, Charlie –we’re all in this together. Like it or not, it’s all going to end soon,” he said. Saliva dribbled from the wide grin on his mouth. “We’re all hurling down to our destinies like a car rushing downhill without brakes. We dug our graves, now we have to lie in them. No turning back, John.” The grin disappeared and his eyes became mercilessly cold.

“It’s all going to end soon.”

To be continued

Related Posts:

The Devil Wants You Dead - 1

The Devil Wants You Dead - 2

The Devil Wants You Dead - 3

The Devil Wants You Dead - 4

The Devil Wants You Dead - 5

The Devil Wants You Dead- 6

The Devil Wants You Dead - 7

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The Miracle Baby- A Story of Against Racism and Hope

kyleTake a look at Kyle on the left. Just weeks ago he had needles sticking out of his head. He had been diagnosed with meningitis, a fatal life threatening disease of the brain that strikes both adults and infants. If Kyle managed to survive it, it would have still left him epileptic, deaf or mentally retarded.

But he didn’t.

He survived.

A 3 month old baby, barely here in the world, had hung in there fighting for his life in a tiny hospital bed. With scarcely enough life experience, he could’ve just curled up and died but he didn’t. He fought a one month long battle and won.

That’s the Kyle you see now. This was taken weeks after his near brush with death. He’s smiling as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. This baby’s gotten a taste of life and he’s not letting go. It was a miracle.

He’s living proof that if you never give up, you can conquer all odds and win. Unlike some people, who meet a few obstacles and feel like throwing in the towel.

Some people like me.

I’ve finally decided to stop moaning about my present circumstances and do something about it. So I brushed away the dust in my resume and started hunting for jobs. Jobs less stressful than the one I’m currently at with no paperwork and would give me freedom and time to write. You’d think that at these times of financial crisis, this would be labeled as one of the stupidest things a person could ever do. Most people would stay safely where they are, hiding in the cheery comforts of their homes rather than step outside and into the dark dangerous world.

I’m not most people.

So I sent the resumes flying into the world with a prayer on my lips. Then the rejections came pouring in. And like most people, I don’t take them lightly. But what makes these rejections worse was that they weren’t based on lack of qualifications, crappy portfolio or because of the economic crisis.

I was rejected because of my nationality.

It felt like a slap in the face. No, a brutal punch in the gut that smashes my insides. Because had it been lack of qualifications, I could’ve gotten out and earned more certificates. Had it been they’ve got a tight budget, I could’ve looked for another company. Had it been my writing sucked, I could’ve improved.

But I cannot change who I am.

You’d think that with history being made as the first African-American was inaugurated as president in one of the economic giants, there would be less bigots in the world but no. In a lot of countries, racism still exists.

I’m qualified. No. I’ve got talent. No. I’ve got experience. No. I have what it takes. No. I’m sorry. You just came from the wrong country.

I felt like tearing my hair out.

When did people lose their common sense?

I felt like just hoisting the white flag in this battle of life. Why expose myself to this unfair attack day by day? This was a different fight than the rejections I had with my short stories. It was a fight I was slowly losing because there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

Then my friend showed me Kyle’s picture and started telling me his story. A person decades younger than I am battled death and won. As my friend recounted the story, tears came to my eyes.

“Kyle’s father, my nephew wanted to give up too,” she said. “He didn’t know how he could raise all that money. He was only a student. But then I told him, ‘Look at your son. He’s fighting so hard to survive. He wants to live. But he can’t do this alone. He needs you. Fight for him.’”

And he did. A person younger than I am stripped himself of his pride and took to begging and asked just about anyone for money to pay for his child’s hospital bills. Eventually, he did it and Kyle came home, healthy into the arms of his relieved mother. And here I was, into my first week of job hunting and ready to give up and here was a young unemployed father who did all he could to save his son, here was a baby up against a life threatening disease and won.

For the first time, I felt something heavy had been lifted from my chest. For the first time, I felt my old spirit waking up. For the first time, I set my jaw and rose up, ready for another round in the ring. Kyle’s story has given me something that I’ve never felt in the past few days.

It has given me hope.

Take a look at ‘Miraculous Baby Charlotte’s’ story, another infant who had the most severe form meningitis, Despite having lost both her arms and legs from gangrene, she survived.

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Do Not Turn Your Back Away From Your Dreams

reggiToday I read one of my former blog entries called Why Real Life Stops You From Going After Your Dreams and cried because it has finally happened to me.

Yes, life has intervened and won round one, for now.

Before the first post of this blog, it’s been weeks since I picked up the pen and wrote, slicing my heart open and letting all those words pour forth under my fingertips.

And I’m asking myself, Where the fuck did all those words go?

Because I’ve stopped writing. That’s why.

 

I’ve stopped writing for weeks and they felt like an eternity that I didn’t let the real words fuel my very heart and soul.

Life had a lot of things planned. Actually, a lot of things planned to fuck up my life. Because I didn’t allow the words hold me sway. I let them go and they lost their power over me. I miss the heavy scratches of my pen, ‘dotting the is and slashing the ts’, the heavy tapping of my keyboard and the proud moment of triumph I feel whenever I hit the mouse button to publish my post.

Because frankly, without words my life loses meaning.

I cease to exist.

I’d be one of those ordinary folks working a 9-5, paying bills and coming home to a doting husband and kids, belly swelling with pregnancy….. I’m not that! And I don’t want to be that. That’s not the life that I want. That’s not who I want to be. And it’s important to realize this time and time again because life always trips you one way or the other. Whether it be the mountains of work handed over to you, uncaring bosses or a new possessive lover who wants to see you everyday and you just want to scream at him, “Leave me alone! I don’t care how much you love me! Give me some space because I have my own needs! I’m an artist!!”

No wonder I’m in a state of catatonic depression these days. No wonder I couldn’t get myself out of the rut. Suffering writer’s block because I allowed myself to be blinded by these FALSE needs, LIES thrust by society, deceitful norms cunningly slipped underneath your gaze, and I think everything would be over, everything would be just fine and soon I’ll be writing, going back to how things were but IT’S NOT. Because if you allow a single day to stop your words, guess what? The single day becomes a single week. A single week becomes a month. A single month turns into a year and before you know it you’d go back to the cycle of sitting on your ass wishing and feeling sorry for yourself. DO NOT ALLOW THAT SINGLE DAY TO HAPPEN. Because you have to go back to square one. And that’s where I’ve been struggling at now.

My pen is not sharp anymore and it isn’t what it used to be. Now it takes me some time to channel the words, to bleed from them, to make love with them, feel pain, joy, euphoria and misery all at once again.

Because I have shut the words out.

Don’t do that. Never turn your back away from your dreams. Always look at them day and night and never, never stop doing them or that happiness that once clung to you like a seductive tango dancer that caressed every pore of your skin would fade away like a whispered piece of gossamer.

I’ve done that and I’ve regretted it.

But after reading this, I hope you won’t. I hope you will dance and make love with your dreams everyday because you deserve that happiness. You deserve that and oh, so much more.

Drink, feel, breathe and live your dreams. Because without them, what else do we have?

Pencil portrait courtesy of my dear friend Reggie Quirong

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