a short story

So there are friends who still keep up with my life through this rather dormant blog. Thought maybe I'll put up this very short account of my journey to work this morning. Maybe it's the hours spent listening to Karl Malentes' gripping Vietnam War novel, I'm inspired to write some of my own nonsensical life down.


morning muse...

With a hundred metres remaining between him and his office, O decided not to take the chance. He swerved into the YMCA, making his way down to the basement and knowing the holy grail is within a minute’s dash.

The toilet auntie looked at him quizzically as he scrambled past her pail filled with detergent water, saying to his back, “Be careful ah, the floor is wet.”

“Ok, thanks!” he replied. He would go in even if there was flood. He was seconds away from his deliverance.

He opened the wrong door. Behind it there was no pit. He cursed himself for it; he had been there a million times before for gym workouts.

“The one on the left. The left,” the cleaner auntie yelled, sensing the urgency in O. He remembered laughing at his shih tzu scrambling and turning frantically on the grass under the same circumstances and thought he must have appeared the same to the auntie.

Finally, he reached the drop zone, started the engines, dropped his wheels, wiped clean the seat and took off. He imagined himself a B-52 pilot on a death mission. He flamed Berlin like there was no tomorrow. He bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki with no remorse.

“Boy, got paper inside?” the cleaner auntie shouted, afraid she might have missed something in her daily to-do checklist. She felt guilty not mopping the place dry, thinking nobody would visit the hell-hole in this hour.

“Got!” He replied, annoyed he couldn’t be left alone in his moment of solace.

“HUH?”

“Got! Got! Have!” O shot back, and decided it was time he got back to work.