Three corpses lie in front of me. Lighted by the laptop's pale white light of condescending nature. The light, it seems to mock the stiff, bodies that lay there. It was a testament to my impatience, and the unholy bloodlust that I have to seem have developed as of late.

But yet they kept coming. They taunt me.
They want to see how many more I can take before I finally succumb.
It is as if the corpses of their brothers and sisters that I have happily murdered were just mere puppets to test my mettle.

I sit here, the room covered in darkness. My naked upper half remains unguarded, unarmored, laying itself wide open to as if goad my enemies into taking the first strike. But my eyes remain wild and calculating. It darts from left to right, waiting, for that moment when it darts its black figure across the stark whiteness of the computer screen.

*CLAP*
Another body falls on the keyboard of laptop, its quivering frame refusing to give in to the reaper's scythe. But hope is all but extinguished; I have not yet noticed its limp, but shivering body that tries to crawl itself away from its apparent landing spot. It hopes to crawl into some blind spot, recover from the beating that I have given it, and strike at me again in order to devour the fresh blood that lies beneath my skin.

But it is too late.

Good lord.

Truly.

I have lost the touch. Well, almost at any rate.

Here I am, finally inspired to write something because of someone (isn't it always?) and it's going to be a series.

A series of short poems, dedicated to my outings that I had rather recently with someone... should I say, more special than I would ever think of.
My outings with her are not without humour. Every single outing was something funny, and it's always something that I'd regale about in the future with her.

But still.

There is something about her that, goes beyond physical appearance and linguistic skills alone.

I felt.. a connection. Not that telephone line TM punya.

It was a connection that stretched deep. Deep to the very hem of my being. A link, a twine of sorts, materialized thinly, but firm. And if I will it, indestructible.

I could say emotional connection. I could throw in that we have similar interests in nearly everything under the sun, of course.

But those are excuses.

Probably I am feeling things that I haven't felt in the longest time, or never before?
Because here I am sitting in this comfortable chair, dreading thoughts of ever losing her. I couldn't imagine the kind of damage I will suffer, the torture that I will go through in this lifetime, should she ever leaves my sight, my arms, my soul.


Henceforth, after two years not posting anything, here I am posting something that well, probably lame and crass and full of sappy shit.
But.

I want to remember. I never want these thoughts ever leave me because if they do; I will be just a shell, no longer a man.


Dan

The bouncer called a name, a woman in a business suit appeared before Dan.
"Come with me",she said, as she walked away slowly, inviting Dan in. Dan followed, nodding a thanks to the burly bouncer on the way in. The bouncer just sighed knowingly, with stoic visage.

************************************************************************************

Loud techno music greeted Dan heavily the moment he pushed through the heavy glass doors. Patrons were dancing to the repetitive beat. Catchy too, Dan thought. The woman just walked at a relaxed pace in front of Dan, intending for Dan to drink up the surroundings of this famous European style nightspot in KL. A Dutch DJ stood at the turntables in a glass enclosure above, dictating the dancers' moves with his music. The smell of cigarette and beer too, embraced Dan, and it keeps getting thicker the deeper he moves into the club. And as anticipated, Dan detected a hint of ganja. Other harder drugs wouldn't be too far behind then.

The woman walked straight up to the club's bar and spoke to one of the three bartenders manning the place. The bartender, he was wiry, wearing standard bartender's attire; white shirt and dark vest with a bow tie. But he had this super sharp features of a Malaysian upper crusted Chinese; fair, big eyes, slim brow, sharp nose. Anyone can mistake him for a Korean singer. Both the woman and bartender talked for a bit as Dan stood a little while away.

After their little conversation amidst the loud beats, the woman beckoned to Dan to come over. The bartender appraised Dan as he walked. The woman suddenly stepped aside, the bartender moved forward out of his post towards him. He then did a full body check for weapons that would've shamed a US Customs official. After making sure he wasn't armed, the bartender then nodded to the woman and then returned to his post.

The bartender than pressed a button underneath the counter, and a door opened on the floor, inches away where the woman stood.

"How much was it again?" Schiller asked.
Clutching the phone, with his shoulder and head, Schiller feverishly scrabbled for a writing instruments on his table. Numbers were spoken from the other party, and Schiller wrote a figure on an old copy of The Star left lying in the bin.
"Sure, I will get to you soon enough," Schiller said, as he put down the phone. "Assuming he'd accept it".

The clouds were anything but present in the night skyline of Kuala Lumpur. Schiller stared outside the window of his office in the Petronas Twin Towers. It was nearing midnight, and the moon shone brightly into his darkened office, save for a light on his desk. He sighed audibly, and then went to his drinks cabinet; to infuse himself with some fiery liquid courage in his system for a call that he's about to make.

He poured himself a generous sniffer of whiskey and downed it in a single gulp. The liquor burned his throat and made him cough a little. Already a man in his 60s, he shouldn't even be taking shots this raw and forcing down his system. But he needed it. He needed whatever he can get to help him to make this call. He poured himself another and sipped it gingerly. Holding his glass, he walked to his couch and sat down heavily.

Papers were strewn on the table in front of him. He pushed a bit of them away to reveal a cigar, half of it's length already been burned by it's previous user. Him.
Glass in one hand, he dusted the cigar and put it in his mouth. He then brought a matchbox out of his person, struck a match and lit the cigar, all in the silvery presence of the moon's light.

He sat there for a while, puffing away and taking a sip of his drink now and then, contemplating on what to say when he finally makes that call. Then after about a quarter of an hour, he picked himself up from the couch and strode towards his desk. Standing, with liquor glass empty in hand, he dialed a series of numbers and waited.

**********************************************************************************


The streets of Bukit Bintang, in the heartland of the capital, was still brightly lit, dimming the moon's presence. Cars swept by endlessly, each with its own purpose and destination. People dotted the streets, all too friendly and passing greetings on this unearthly hour. These people ranged from middle aged, casual men with Rolexes and Armani loafers to young women of different racial mixes and clothes.

At this hour, accompanied by the unwilling blessings of the moon, these people peddle their trade to the a rather specific market. Luxurious German and British sedans would sometimes sidle up to one of the younger women, and within mere minutes, a door would be opened, beckoning its offer of hard cash for a service that they are there for, and could only offer to their patrons.

Dan just observed from afar, leaning against his own German sedan. It was an old BMW, bought at a rather cheap price from a dealer in Johor Bahru who sold Singaporean cars and legalizing them for Malaysian roads. He sipped his Heineken gingerly, while watching the spectacle across of him. A man in a beat up Wira inched close to one of the middle aged men on the road, and after an exchange of Ringgits, a woman was called and brought into the passenger seat of the car. The car then sped off to probably some cheap motel that would barely even cost 30 ringgit at most. Just enough to do the deed.

A Russian song suddenly played from inside the car. Dan reached his hands through the open windows and took his beat up Samsung mobile and looked at the caller's name.
It was Schiller.
Now? At this time? He answered it.

"Ich habe fur Sie arbeiten", a voice echoed, in throaty German.
A job, at this hour? Dan thought. It quite uncharacteristic for Schiller to give him last minute offers. Because Dan needed time to prepare. Especially with the kind of jobs that he get since he first started working with this man.
" Was ist das?" Dan refused to mince words, because each job brought him more money. And he could always use more.
"It's quite a offer, Dan." Schiller said, " Fifteen thousand. And I am taking no commission because it is a last minute thing, as we agreed upon."
"Exactly," Dan sipped his beer, " So what do I have to do?"
"Get to Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman right away." Schiller sipped his whiskey, "Meet Alain Esmail as usual. He'll provide the details."

Dan dropped the call immediately, not bothering with a thanks or even a goodbye. Dan gulped the last of his beer and tossed the can aside. He then made his way to the street that Schiller mentioned. 

***********************************************************************************

 It was just after midnight, and the street was bustling with activity. It's pavements were littered with club patrons, and the clubs themselves. Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman. For a street that's named after the founder of this country, it was quite the 2nd biggest hub of liquor and nightly entertainment after Jalan Changkat. Dan parked in front of a club. The man he was going to meet apparently was the owner of Club Infusion, an associate of Schiller's in Kuala Lumpur, and information broker to individuals who can afford it.

Dan stepped out of his car and made his way into the club. Two bouncers, who were dealing with a line of patrons who's too keen to enter one of KL's famous nightspots, stood in Dan's way.
"I'm here to see Mr. Esmail." Dan said, as he looked directly into one of the bouncer's eyes. The burlier of the two. He just stared back at Dan curiously.
"I am a guest of Alain Esmail," Dan replied, "And you're in my way. Get out."
The bouncer just stood there, still looking at Dan.
Dan just shrugged, and fished out three 100 ringgit notes. He folded them and put them into the gorilla's suit pocket. "There, we good? Let me in? It's rather urgent."

The bouncer called a name, a woman in a business suit appeared before Dan.
"Come with me",she said, as she walked away slowly, inviting Dan in. Dan followed, nodding a thanks to the burly bouncer on the way in. The bouncer just sighed knowingly.







...to be Continued