Cemetery Seekers

(A part of a short story collection of mine titled Ambiance. This is simply one of many that I wanted to share with the growing views of this blog.)

gravescaper@launchpad.com

<19 September 2007>

aaaaah junior yeaaaaar – all the work’s going to cut into my cemetery-time for sure… ugh. but hey on the bright side you’re finally getting skype so i'll finally get to see that ugly face of yours (don’t deny it, that’s your only viable excuse for avoiding video chat for all this time).

god, who knows if i've been talking about graves to a serial killer for three years.

oh and btw i lost that email with your address. are you serious about this pen pal thing? it just sounds like a crapload of work to me.

tm_wake@vmail.org

<September 20, 2007>

First of all, I’ll say this now: if you complain about your workload while I’m working on my extended essay, I will hunt you down in that frozen wasteland you call a country just to punch you in the face.

Cemetery Seekers

December 22^nd, 2010

It’s gotten cold. Makes sense, since it’s winter and all, but it’s even colder here than it is back at home. Probably isn’t as cold as where you are, though. How you survive so far up north, I’ll never know. And before you start, I don’t want to know. I like my temperate climate just fine.

Still, I guess a change in environment isn’t too bad once in a while. Even though the winter here is so dry and frigid, even though they’re all wearing mantles of snow, the trees here are still green. That’s why they call them ‘evergreens’, I suppose. The forest is astoundingly dense, as if they’re all huddling together to brace against the wind like penguins. If you’re laughing, shut up and let me attempt to be poetic for just three damn minutes.

Here, it’s different from the cemetery back home.

A Summer Dream

(A part of a short story collection of mine titled Injection. This is simply one of many that I wanted to share with the growing views of this blog.)

I have heard that once, back when the internet was new and technology still scarce, rich or poor, privileged or not, everyone was able to dream.

Why was that right not protected?

A Summer Dream

                                                

He did not feel remorse.

It was neither a psychological condition nor a twisted code of morals. I was familiar with those, and what drew me to him was that he was different. Different from other criminals. Different from other people. Different from myself.

I was drawn to that inexplicable allure of impulsivity, the unpredictable nature of both his character and the life he led. He lived a complicated life in a simple world where sensible humans desired simplicity.

This profession and position exists because it is simple. Being a lawman, after all, is ridiculously simple. There were rules in place in the world and what a lawman did was uphold those rules. Like things should be, there is no grey area. The rules are adhered or they are broken. No bending. No loopholes. My job is to apprehend and punish those who break them.

By the time his case came into my hands, he’d become quite renown. Robin. That’s what he called himself, at least. His government-registered name was equally simple but quite different.

Though I hold pride in my mnemonic aptitude, it fails to linger in my memory. If anything, I’d cite the cause to that encounter – my first and last encounter with thief called Robin.