for a good start,
Your true color is Yellow!
What's Your True Color?
Brought to you by Tickle
yeah. that's it.
you can provide comments if you want to.
or at least, tell me your colour.
credits go to my buddy, carroty! a.k.a chin heng under links.
links has been updated.
as per requested.
as per not requested.
whatever, it's been changed. so yeah, that's it.
let's see.
sunday, there's a party going on.
or gathering.
don't know what you call it.
that's as far as i can think now.
haha. it's 12:24AM on my watch.
and it's still ticking.
seconds fly by, my eye lids shutting.
but! i still want to do this.
i want to continue.
i want to type something.
and of all things, i decided to attempt to re-enact a crime scene.
The Perfect Couples
[Chapter 3]
In front of Raffles Hall MRT station, a woman screamed.
It was four forty-four afternoon. The digital board announces four minutes.
A second woman turned her head to look, and she screamed too. The man beside her exclaimed,"Holy shit." Then, all ran for cover.
Something very bad was happening. The chain reaction of fear and confusion quickly cleared everyone. Everyone, except for three people.
One, was a fat indian man with dense sideburns, thinning hair, and a dark mustache. He was dressed in an ill-fitting brown shirt, khaki pants and slippers. On the ground, by his feet, was a medium-size suitcase.
Next to the fat man, was a chinese young woman, perhaps mid-twenties, attractive. Hair straight, down to her shoulders. She wore a short brown skirt and a white tank top.
That indian fat man and the young woman couldn't have looked any more different. At that moment, they were connected.
By a gun.
"IF you come any closer, I'll kill HER!" barked the fat indian man, with his thick Tamil accent. He jammed the cold barrel hard against her temple. "I swear, I'll shoot her dead. I'll do it. In a second. No problem."
The threat was directed at the third person remaining. A guy standing maybe ten steps away, maybe more. He was wearing khaki pants, white holiday shirt, like a very typical tourist from China. or maybe Malaysia? or Indonesia? even Thailand. Somebody that is trying very hard to be tourist anyway.
And then, he pulled a gun.
The Tourist took a step closer, his gun pointed at the forehead of the indian fat man with the mustache. Dead center, at the red dot, actually. The Tourist didn't seem to care that the young woman was there.
"No problem for me either," he said"
"I SAID STOP!" said the indian fat man. "Don't come any closer. Stay where you are!"
The Tourist ignored and took another step.
"I swear, i'll fucking kill her!"
"Oh no, you won't," said the Tourist calmly. "Because if you shoot her, i'll shoot you." He took another step.
"Think it through,i know you can't afford to lose what's in that suitcase. But is it worth your life?"
The indian fat man suddenly looked to be in great pain, thinking about what the Tourist had said. Or maybe not. Then a maniacal smile filled his face. He cocked his gun.
*tick
"Pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee," begged the young woman, trembling. Tears pouring from her eyes. She could not stand anymore.
"Shut up! and stand up!" the indian fat man yelled. "Shut the fucking hell up. I can't hear myself think!"
The Tourist's eyes locked on one thing: the indian man's finger.
He saw it twitched.
The indian fat man was going to shoot the girl, wasn't he?
That is just not acceptable.
"WOAH," the Tourist howled. "Take it easy, my man." He took a few steps back. Chuckled to himself, "No way i could be sure to get you and not the girl. I'm no sharpshooter."
"That's right." said the indian fat man, hugging the young woman even tighter with his fat right arm. "now, i'm in charge."
the Tourist nodded, "Hell, if you want, i'll lay my gun down on the ground, okay?"
The indian man stared hard. "YOU don't fucking tell me what to do!"
He paused, "put your gun on the ground. slowly."
The Tourist giggled,"of course, of course."
The Tourist began to lower his gan, and a gasp could be heard under a Starbacks umbrella nearby. A lady who'd run for cover but still had to watch the events unfold, like a drama serial.
Don't do it. Don't give up your gun. He's going to shoot and kill you! and her!
The Tourist bent down and placed the gun.
"See? Nice and easy." he said, "Now what?"
The indian fat man begain to laugh, the mustache bouncing up and down his nose. "What do i want to do?" he said. The laughing grew even louder.
Suddenly, he stopped laughing. His face went rigid. The man removed the gun from the side of the young woman's head and aimed it straight at the Tourist.
"die."
That's when he made his move.
The Tourist.
In the blink of on eye, fast, effective, efficient move, he reached up his pants, and pulled out a handgun from his shin. HE whipped his arm forward and fired. The crack! (commonly known as piang) echoing before anyone knew what had happened. Including the indian fat man.
The hole in his forehead was about the size of a twenty-cent coin, right through the red dot.
Bullseye.
For a moment, he froze like a statue, an overweight indian god. The lady screamed under the umbrella, the young woman fell to her knees.
Thud! the indian fat man collapse, blood oozing like a fountain.
The Tourist packed his guns, stood up and walked over to the suitcase. He picked it up and carried it to a black Mazda6 that was illegally parked on the street. The engine running.
"Have a nice day, ladies and gentlemen," he said to all those people who had been watcing him in stunned silence.
"You're a lucky girl," he salutes, then drove off.
with the suitcase.
_____________________________________________________________________
that's it.
any coincidences.
i wish you, the best of luck.
if not...
Zzzzzzzzzz...
sign off. *coughs coughs
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