growingstrongorsomething

[growingstrongorsomething]

5. A Mute Spellweaver

Original Prompt: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bpxp37/wp_magicians_have_to_say_the_name_of_the_spell/ The man is moving his hands furiously.The shopkeeper is looking at the hands. His eyes are bulging from trying to get the signs. 

“Yes, seven kuais. You think it’s five, well, it’s because the sale was going on. No, no, we are not lying.”

The man pops the knuckles in his fingers before continuing.

“I give you six kuais. It is already too close to our cost, and we can’t do sales every day. Yes, thank you, may Capitalist Ceaser profit you too.”

The man is checking out the new handwand. It is like the short version of katar sword, but made of wood, and slender. He puts it on and aims to a pair of shoes thrown to an electrical wire.Zzap! The shoe received the magic quanta. But the shoe isn’t falling down. 

A boy is puzzled by the man. He tugged the man’s shirt. The man looked at him.

“Brother, brother, you want the shoe to fall?”

The man nodded. He signalled for help.

“Sorry, brother, I can’t read Hand Tongue.”

The man mouthed the word for help. The boy points to the shoe. “Jatuh!”

The shoestrings unravelled from the wire. It plopped on the cobbled road. The boy fetches the shoes and hand it over to the man.The man lifted a metaphorical hat from his head. 

The boy smiled. “You’re welcome, Mr...?”

The man mouthed his name. Dawai.

“Mr. Dawai, you’re welcome. Bye!” 

The boy enters a shop where his mother is already waiting for him at the door.The man tries to signal the boy for his name, but the boy is already gone. Dawai sighs. 

Dawai walks to the magic field gym. Many people are playing there. One is throwing a boomerang and keeps the flight on with his wanded magic, his mouth muttering all the time. A few strong young men and women are throwing and kicking rubber balls at each other. They wear thick cotton armour. The crowd keeps the ball in field with their wall magic, taking turns muttering the incantations. 

He keeps walking to a section of the field. The section is bordered with a tall fence. Balls, discs, and sticks hit the fence from both sides. Dawai looks at the door of fence, with the sign ‘Disabled Magicians Only’. A guard on a wheelchair smiles at Dawai as he shows his disability card. 

The guard smiles brightly and opens the door. “Come in, come in! New wand I see?” Dawai nods.“Come with me! They have installed new disc brands to shoot at. Try it out!”

Dawai tries to knock the disc. Took him three tries. A man shouts at the top of his lungs, and manages to knock a line of twenty discs. Well, when his aim is true. Most of the time, it just flies away, flinging an unlucky person or bird once in a while. 

His assistant gives pointers to aim without eyesight. The blind man knocks more discs over time.The blind man sniffs the air. “Dawai is that you? Clap once for yes, two for no!”

Dawai clapped once.The blind man hugs Dawai. “Well, am I glad to see your silhouette? How’s life?”

Dawai taps on a magical tablet. The words shine and the tablet speaks. “Fine, James. I just got a new wand.” 

“Now, isn’t that awesome? May I look?” Dawai moves the wand very close to James’ face. He squints very hard. He takes some time enjoying every crafted runes and decorations on it. 

“From what I see, very pretty.” James raises his head from his crooning position. “Well, I have to go now. Exercises do have a way to make you tired. Bye!”James laugh at his own joke as his assistant leads him away. 

Dawai keeps shooting at the discs.

The next day is work day, and Dawai is in one line. Some workers practice their stances. Some mouthed their spells. Others stretch their bodies, while more are squatting or sitting cross-legged on the floor. There are two other lines of workers, flanking both sides of the loom. Gari waves at Dawai, he is assigned to the left flank today.

The horn sounded. The factory manager marches to the front of the line, placing himself directly in the middle. 

“Line, ready!”

Everyone stands up straight.“Ready wands!”

They point their wands to the loom.

“Drummers, play!”

A troupe of drummers knock their drumsticks to the side of the drum, giving a wooden sound. A few seconds later, they start beating the drum skin. The music starts and the drummers play by perfect beat.

The manager takes a stance. “Workers, by my lead!”  

The line forms the same stance.The manager starts dancing, and the line joins in almost perfect choreography. Quantas of magic fly in a volley to the machine’s receptors. The loom starts to weave the threads slowly, gaining speed as the give of the thread increase, slackening the spool. 

The dancing line sings as well. The first song of strengthening, to make cotton as strong as steel. The cotton may still be cut in this stage, but after making the main cloth, more spells will be added to strengthen it to the final form. 

Dawai doesn’t listen to the music. He feels the song through his bones. A, a, a, TA! A, a, a, TA! The dancing line throws quantas every fourth beat, gaining a bit of sweat on their brows. Their hands remain pointing at the loom, as the loom starts forming a sheet of fine cotton cloth, magic literally weaved into its formation.The dance takes an hour before the electricity takes over. 

Dawai is already panting at thirty minutes. At forty five minutes, he is losing step. When the hour horn blows, everyone stands still. Except Dawai who is already on the floor. The thump makes everyone look at the fallen spellweaver.

The manager jumps to check Dawai’s breathing and pulse. “Someone get the medic!”

Dawai is awake in a hospital bed.An old man looks at Dawai, his face saagging from age and concern. 

“You feeling alright?”

Dawai makes a flurry of sign. Well, as much of a flurry an exhausted man could.

“Mom is worried about you. Yes, you want to be independent. But, you should go home once in a while.”

Dawai can only nod.

“Remember, we always love you.”

Dawai makes more signs. The doctor comes in to check on Dawai.

“Yes, see you this weekend.” 

The old man kisses Dawai’s forehead again before leaving.

The doctor’s diagnosis is that Dawai is magically exhausted. But the prescription isn’t the usual lemongrass, sireh, and kelulut honey tea. Instead Dawai is referred to a magical teacher. 

Dawai is signing furiously. The doctor shrugs. “I can’t read you. Slow down.”

Dawai repeats himself, slower but the fury is punctuated by each time his hands clap each other.

“You have been using too much magical energy to do what normal people do with less. This doctor, called Teacher Hashim, knows a way to strengthen your magical focus. It’s controversial, but in your case, you may benefit a lot from it.”

Dawai signs about money.“Not too expensive. You have applied for insurance?” Dawai nods.

“Disability benefits?” Dawai shakes his head.

“Well, it will be a bit more expensive. Usually he asks for two hundred kuais, but now he is having a promotion. New classes begin next week. For now, rest.”

The streets are not busy with traffic, but the buildings are filled with people. Dawai scratches his head as he tried to understand the directions. Some are helpful, but others are rude.

“Why don’t you just use the map board?”

Dawai makes mouth movements, telling that he is ill and can’t use a lot of magic yet.

“Your problem, not mine!”

Dawai finally gave up, and use a half-kuai to buy a magic pellet. He presses the pellet on the map board, types the address. A direction is given... to the next city. Dawai sighs.

The doctor laughs until hoarse. “Ahahahahahah! Oh gods, you really fell for that!”This is not a good time to incur extra medical costs, but Dawai could not help but make himself have hypertension from that laugh. 

He stands up, huffs, and prepares to leave.

The doctor stands up from his cross-legged position. “No, no, no, no, you really ARE in the right place! I am sorry for laughing at you.”

Dawai is brought back to where he sat. The doctor pours more tea for Dawai. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but there are two cities named Flew, and our government haven’t agreed officially on how to rename both of them. That city you were lost in, it’s called Flew of the Birds. This city, it’s called Flew of the Concords.”

Dawai drinks the tea, still fuming.The doctor lets a few laughters out of his system. “Alright! As an apology, I will give you further 10% discount. So, your discount will be 20%. That should come to 160 kuais. You agree?”

Dawai considers a bit. He nods.

“Excellent. Finish your tea, then I give you an overview.”

They go to the side of a low cliff, facing a forest. The doctor looks over the scenery. It is filled with trees and shrubs, and a creek flows across the field. Save for a few craters, the scenery is majestic.

“Now, observe. Usually, when we throw quantas of magic around, we use words. For example,” the doctor points at a crater then swings as if throwing a rock, “Tumbuh nan sebatang.”A tree sprout slowly. A few minutes later, they are both drinking more tea. 

“Well, the demonstration shows that speaking magic words lets you throw magic quanta. Now, if you do this,” Teacher Hisham points to the crater. He contorts his body as if to throw a javelin, then inhales a full lung of air. After a second of delay, he shouts, “TUMBUH NAN SEBATANG!”

The crater receives the quanta and a large tree sprouts. The earth around the tree cracks to accommodate the mighty roots.Dawai instinctively clap. The teacher makes a slight bow. 

“But, that wasn’t my point. Now, observe as I do the same thing with one difference.”The teacher points to the crater. He contorts his body as if to throw a javelin, then inhales a full lung of air. After a second of delay, he exhales as if he is shouting. No voice came out however. 

But the quanta of magic flies as strong as before. Another tree appears and the crater ceases to be one as the tree roots ploughed the soil and break the crater’s rim. “You see, Dawai, you don’t need to utter the words to throw magic quantas efficiently. You need,” Teacher Hashim draws and then exhales breath, “to breathe.”

Dawai and Hisham is jogging the early next morning.“Keep up, Dawai, you already paid for this course!”They jogged for an hour. After that, they immediately start the meditation class. It is hard to keep his breath calm and controlled when he has to learn to blow it out of his mouth.

“You need primer on meditating too? Just remember your studies back in middle school. Only this time feel the air in your throat.”

Dawai studied keenly under Teacher Hashim for a week. On the eighth day after jogging, Dawai is instead brought to the cliff the other day. “So, Dawai, you’ve learnt a lot. Shoot my tree.”

Dawai aims at the tree. He swings the wand. In the same tempo of launching the quanta, Dawai exhales his breath with force. The quanta falls only a few dozen feet away. “You’re holding back. Exhale like you’re shouting.”

Dawai repeats the stance and this time, he shouts. Of course, his voice cord being damaged, there’s no sound. The quanta zooms through the air and slams the tree, exploding part of the crown to shards of wood and leaves.

“Good, good. But remove the wand, I want to see your power without it.”Dawai repeats the spell without the wand. The magic quanta instead falls short a few hundred feet from the tree.

“Needs a few weeks of practice. Remember what I taught you. Spend the rest of the day calibrating your output. Don’t want to destroy your workplace now, don’t you?”

After three more days of sick leave, Dawai is back at the cloth factory. He joins the dance, with not much of sweat or heavy breathing like he usually had. 

After the dance, Gari touches his shoulder. Dawai makes a hello sign.Gari replies in sign too. Dawai is amused, and asked where he learnt.

“Just starting. I learnt from my nephew’s Orb 2. Such a rich kid, managed to buy his own horse last year.”

Dawai and Gari talks in sign language when suddenly the loom makes a sound it’s not supposed to. 

“Is the loom breaking?”

Spools are flung away by the springs. The threads tighten and break. The loom machinery begins to fall apart, with the wires snapping wildly with electrical charges. Emergency personnels move quickly to shut off power and reduce damage. 

But the frame holding the loom breaks with a sickening twang and the loom falls. Dawai’s right hand reaches for his wand as everyone runs away. He aims at the loom and exhales with a heave. 

He manages to whisper out a very hoarse word. “Angkat”

The loom bounces up with a great force. A dozen magicians throw quantas to the loom to stop it from reaching the roof. It merely scrape the roof before it falls. The magicians moves to stop the loom from crushing the ground at force.

Dawai walks to a safer part of the factory. Gari points at the loom. “Dawai, you managed to lift it! How could you do that?”

Dawai tried to make a sign, but his throat feels a great pain. He coughs a spittle of blood. His face can only show panic.

Gari is waiting outside the hospital. Dawai comes out with a mask on his face.“What did the doctor say?”

Dawai makes signs.

“Too fast, I can’t read you.”

Dawai makes the sign slower. Gari says what Dawai is signing. 

“You can’t follow Hisham’s technique too much. You can get your throat hurt. Learn to throat speak, but after two months. What does it mean?”

Dawai brings out the tablet and scribbles. It says: “I need to take two more weeks of sick leave. I can’t make magic as powerful as this morning, or my lungs can explode. I am lucky it’s only a slight injury on my throat.”

Gari nods. “So how do you eat? Your throat is hurt.”

Dawai unravels a pipe from within the mask. He sets one end on a jutting pipe on the base of his neck, and the other on the rice and chicken Gari brought. Dawai slurps it in and the food magically pass through the pipe smoothly.

“Huh, the wonders of medicine.”

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#redditprompt fantasy magic

[growingstrongorsomething]

I need to learn to write good, shorter stories.

Merc; James | The Office

James stood at the ready, standing behind a cheap, white wooden table, dressed in the full set of black over alls, pockets and pouches buttoned up tightly. He held his gun up cocked in front of him, the padded stock digging into his shoulder. His mouth open, teeth openly gritted, his tongue dragging across the ridges of his teeth, tensing against the ridged spike of his molars, his eyelids drug to a squint. Past a row of white office desks and  black roller chairs, stood a simple marble stairway that lead down to the first office area, at the side of the staircase a large glass pane that looked out into the suburban, classy streets, parked cars and other warehouses and offices. The occasional car would drive past, ringing a chill through James’ spine.

A small earpiece held tight onto his head, barely adjusted and rubbing against his skin uncomfortably, pressing against a recently clean shaven jaw line. A small, static click came from the mini speaker inside. “Got a van comin by.” The dull, monotonous lazy voice of Laina’s perked up into James’s ear. A small sense of both relief and anticipation washing over James. He cracked his neck from side to side, and pulled his right foot back to push against the floor further. His elbows anxiously tingling, his finger tips growing colder against the ridges of a polymer grip.

His brow grew stern, frowning while his eyes looked away from the staircase, to the glass pane, then back, anxiously jumping from sight to sight, before settling on the window. “Yeah well, whats the fuckin details?” James voice perked out from the silent office space, echoing lightly in the small break room he guarded. “Uhhh…” Laina groaned through the headset, “Black?” She queried, her voice still dull and broad, though perking up higher at the end of her question. James sighed out to himself, readjusting himself once more. He was always put in the front of it all, every damn time. “Y’know if there comes a fuckton of them, I’m just gonna be shot to fucking pieces.” He snapped out, without a thought behind it, each word that he spoke scratched an itch in the back of his head, and settled down that tingling in his joints. “Yeah, that’s why I’m here dickhead.” Sam spoke back, her voice muffled and quieter than Laina’s, the sound coming from the headset filled it with a bare sense of static; Still audible and clear, though minute compared to Laina and James. His face scrunched up again, and he felt that tingle come back to his elbows, the pins and needles in his anxious fingers, his index finger dragging loosely against the fine trigger of the rifle. And almost instantly, before it had a chance to affect him, he spoke again. “I’m just fucking bait for you guys.” He debated, his eyes looking to the floor, his head loosely shaking, his lips started to give a slight, anxious quiver. The headphone perked again, even for the smallest of vocal reactions. “Mhm.” Laina mumbled, as well as a “Pretty much.” that came from Sam’s feminine voice.

James’ lips perked up just slightly, and his brow became something anxious, a nervous whisper of laughter crumbling from his throat. “This fuckin…” He laughed quietly, shaking his head, he could feel a rush of cold go to his head, and near a bead of sweat go against his temple. “Shut it.” Came Smith’s voice. Dull, aggressive, low and commanding, always speaking in just a short burst of anger or disappointment.

“Yeah you’re not the one facing the fucking entrance of the fucking thing” James could hear his voice snap out before he could even feel the anxious wriggle of his toes within his sneakers, or the throb of his heart punching out against his chest. He found his  mouth was left open, taking in small, louder inhales that brushed against the back of his throat harshly, and out came an unbalanced shuddering exhale. “Calm down there, Fido.” Laina mumbled out again.

He pulled his eyes back to the centre of the staircase and stared at it, with all last fibre of his being. His heart slammed against his chest, again and again, almost threatening to break out of his chest, his veins surged with a constant high pulse, his skin grew colder, and his teeth lightly ground together.

And just as he heard the front door’s hinges whine as the door pushed it’s self open, and the shuffling of careful, practiced footstops, he felt his heart sing, his shuddering breath catch harsh in his throat, before quivering out harder. His hands grew strong and firm in grip, and he readjusted his aim.

And he smirked, even as he sat in utter horror, he smiled.

“Look alive.” Sam spoke.

[growingstrongorsomething]

4. I have a robot inside me.

Original prompt: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bo0yiq/wp_youre_a_little_slower_than_others_but_its/ If you like my story, please support me on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/storyforger

“The whole time you have been whispering. You are scaring people off.”

“What, I did?” Walid looks at his boss. Her face is filled with wrinkles, some from old age, some from worry.

“Yes, you are also looking at Waruna. She is crying in the freezer because she thought you are still angry at her.”

Walid slaps his face a little, trying to mold it to a more presentable look. His face now has a bit of a smile, and his eyes doesn’t gaze as sharp as before.

“She already paid for the damages. After all, I wasn’t angry at all. I just...”

Now Walid’s boss is the one massaging her face, mostly around her forehead. “Whatever it is, hold it in for now okay? We are all on the rush season. I will close this bakery for a week after Festival. Deal with your problems, get a psychiatrist, or meditate or something. Okay?”

“Yes, Mdm Kamisah.”

She holds Walid’s face and smiles broadly. “Work hard. The Festival is just three days away. I promise, we will get a big fat bonus, hm?”

“Yes. Well, I need to carry the pastries.”

“Good! That’s the spirit.”

Mdm Kamisah enters the office. Walid turns to the tray of tepung puluts. The smell of glutinous rice and pandanus flour mix in the sweetmeats are alot for him to handle. Walid thinks he is going to eat it all.

If you eat it all, you will have stomach problems again!

Walid sighs. “I am carrying food,” talking to himself again.

Oh you will, see the puddle you will flip!

[I won’t wait what oh god!]

Walid slips and almost fall flat on the tray. The floor where cakes are baked is made rough to prevent slipping, but the floor to the presentation aisles are made from smooth tiles. At least the cakes are safe.

Hamid takes the tray from Walid and places it on the counter. He then lifts Walid up, whose legs spread too far for his level of joint mobility.

“God you’re heavy!”

“Oww, oww, oww, my thighs.”

Hamid steadies Walid, who is groaning slightly from the gymnastics. “Well, I’m sending the tray.”

“No, wait.” Hamid gets a dry towel and wipes the floor from the accident to the aisle until it’s dry. “Ok, go.”

“Thanks!”

Their work that day is rather hard, and all workers are tired. Walid isn’t as tired, but his limping isn’t making things more comfortable either. At least the cleanup is made easy by the dishwashers and bots.

“That’s a wrap for the day. See you tomorrow!”

“See you!”

Walid hails a Grab and lets himself be carried to his flat. The city lights are pretty at night, especially when we are sleepy. The Grab driver thanks Walid too soon. Walid grumbles his thanks and clumsily walks up the stairs.

[Oh yeah, elevator] Walid goes to the elevator only to see that it is under maintenance. “Augh! Today?” He really wants to kick the door, but the last time someone did, that is how the elevator stopped working. Dejected, Walid winds wearily to his bed and falls asleep without even changing clothes.

Yo, how’s life?

[Life-threatening, thanks to you.]

You slipped, and I’m to blame? LOL GG.

[You’re my subconscious. How do you even know what is LOL GG?]

I am not blind when you control this body. I see what you see, I learn what you learn, I am aware of what you are aware. Well, and other things.

[What do you mean?]

We. Need. Diagrams.

Walid’s dream now forms a room. It is cozy, with two blue long sofas facing each other and a lamppost standing guard next to it. The table in between the sofas has a jug of lychee drink. Walid knows it by the smell. He pours a cup and pours the liquid into his mouth. The sweetness slams his tongue, and it flows into his body, making him... happy. He sits on the sofa, drinking more lychee juice.

You like what you’re seeing?

[Yeah, pretty much.]

Now! I will introduce myself. The subconscious slithers from behind the sofa and towards Walid. It is like the root of a ginger tree, only that it has a single straight shaft and many root fibers jutting through it. One of the larger root fibers extend a hand, as if in greeting. Walid shakes it. It does not show its face.

Subconscious, glad to meet you.

[Walid, pleasure’s all mine?]

The ‘ginger root’ slithers to the other sofa, its body reclining regally upon the sofa. Tired, Walid lies down to imitate the ‘ginger root’.

I think you have a lot of questions.

[Are you a ghost? Will you kill me? Is this poison?]

No. I need you alive. I can’t really tell you what I am yet, it will only create more questions. But I am ready to show you.

Walid thinks of the ginger root unzipping its costume and a pretty woman’s leg jut out of it.

No, unfortunately, I am not that sexy. But let me show you.

[How are you going to do that?]

I am going to take over your body. Just for a day. You will have my word, you can get full control of it once I have done my business.

Walid chugs down the lychee. The entirety of his life’s lessons flash before his eyes. All his life, his parents never told him what to do when your subconscious wants to take control of your body. Don’t open the door if the parents don’t expect guests, don’t touch other people’s breasts (and dicks once he came out), don’t steal, don’t show your private parts on the internet, and most importantly, if the offer is too good to be true, turn it down and run like hell.

I am twenty and honest to God, I need an adult.

[As frightening as it is, I am an adult. I assure you, your good health and functioning body is in my best interest.]

Come to think of it, the stress of his life isn’t going away anytime soon either. He still have to work hard tomorrow at the bakery. And he had to take Chinese exam next week, just so employers will consider him a worthy job candidate. Walid pours another cup. He raises it. To the last possible day of me being the conscious mind.

[To a more fruitful Walid.]

They both chug down the lychee. Walid sees the ‘ginger root’ face for a split second before the dream ends.

The next morning, Walid finds his body to be moving to the fridge. It dips some wholemeal bread into the black coffee and sends the bread into its mouth. Walid tried to move his body but it can’t.

Ginger root, are you controlling me?

[Yes, I do. You want answers. I am in the process of showing you. But first, your body needs some fuel and coolant!]

Fuel? Coolant? I am not a robot!

[Oh you’ll understand. By the way, you have a sick leave today. Convenient!]

Convenient for what? Hey, why are we walking?

[To the Doctor!]

The body washes itself. It washes its muscular body with water, then lathers soap on it. The body cleans everywhere, including the nether regions. Walid feels a slight pain as that area is stil a bit overstretched from yesterday. Walid can feel how clean his body is. And how it hurts to almost slip again from water puddles.

The body then pats itself dry with a towel. Walid tries wipe his face a bit more but the body doesn;t listen.

Ginger root, wipe my face!

[Alright, fine!]

Walid feels the intrinsic itch to his soul scratched for now. The body wears a tight T shirt and a sports trousers. Walid always feel comfortable wearing the trousers, but the tight T shirt is chafing his nipples.

Can we get a looser shirt?

[No, I always want to show off this awesome body.]

Walid would like to huff, but it only manifests as the word ‘huff’. He spies to the side of his eyes. There are numbers and letters, some jumbled.

Are those coordinates, distance in kilometers, and name of The Doctor?

[Yes! Now be quite and observe!]

The body hails a Grab and calmly enters the car. The body chats with the driver a bit. Walid thinks the mouth is moving but the language isn’t what he is used to.

“Ni de shangban meiyou mang ma?”

“Aiya, zui mang! Quanbu ren bu yao mai che, he quanbu de shangdian hen yuan la!”

And they both laughed. This son of a bitchy ginger root, he actually knows Mandarin!

The chat ends as the car arrived before the clinic. The sign says ‘The Doctor’s Swig’. This isn’t a clinic, this is a bloody pub.

Wait! I am a Muslim, I can’t drink alcohol.

[Oh come on, we’re meeting a doctor, not drinking!]

This is a pub!

[Oh god, just watch!]

The ginger root moves the body. Well, the insides is a pub. People are eating sunflower seeds and pistachios while watching the news. And drinking beer. There is a blackboard with a chalk drawn picture of a jar and ‘Lihing Limited Edition’ hanging above the bartender’s head.

“Bear with me bro, I need a help.”

The bartender winks. “What help?”

“Health Care.”

“One sec.” The bartender gives a call. “Number?”

Ginger root gives a small paper. The bartender whispers to the phone, and burns the small paper. The bartender then whispers to Ginger Root. “The Doctor is available now. Please come in.”

The Ginger Root smiles and nods. The back of the pub has three doors. Two unisex toilets and one closet. Ginger Root presses the code and the closet door opens. He enters the room, which is littered with brooms, mops, and scoops for the dust. Ginger Root places his hand on a brick, and pushes. A door swings open, away from the body. The body bravely marches through the darkness.

The dark path isn’t very dark to Walid, but he’s still afraid. He instinctively makes command to jerk his foot, but the body remains stoic, moving forward without flinching. They make their way down some stairs and more dark alleys, some branching.

Ginger Root, where are you taking me?

[Oh I’m Ginger Root now? Well, like I always said, just watch. We have a checkup AND a job.]

Walid is too afraid to complain further.

The darkness ends at the end of the tunnel, where the body pulls the door open. Inside is a room. Bodies of men and women are hung, suspended from the ceiling with ropes and hooks.

AAAAAAAHHHHH!

[Stop shouting, I almost jumped!]

A young man, barely 20, rushes forward and shakes the body’s hand with much enthusiasm. “I am always honoured to service you sir.”

“Hello to you too. Please check this body first.”

“Yes, this way.” The room of bodies gave way to a few beds. Ginger Root lies the body on an empty bed, the eyes pointing upward.

“Sir, we are about to begin checkup. Please leave the body.”

And Walid lose consciousness.

SYNCHRONISING NERVOUS SYSTEM... 100%

SYSTEM ERROR? ... RESOLVING... 100%

MUSCLE MOVEMENT? 100%

AUDITORY SYSTEM? 100%

VISUAL SYSTEM? 100%

TOUCH INPUT? 100%

STARTING AUXILIARY FUNCTION...

AUXILIARY FUNCTION ON. ERROR?

...

...

NONE. SYSTEM STARTING.

Walid finds himself still unable to control his body. The body is strapping some belts and pouches.

Wait, what time is it?

[10 am. We have a mission. Rescuing hostages.]

Wait, I am not a soldier!

[I am. Sit tight, you’re my mecha. Switching off auditory output, Auxilia HI.]

Wait, don’t shut me... And Walid can only see and think, not form words. The eyes emits a small screen of the ginger root. His face like an odd, jagged, jack-o-lantern, but Walid doesn’t feel a thing from it.

[I need you to listen closely. I am on a high risk mission to rescue fellow, well, ‘ginger roots’. They are stuck in some continents away. You must trust me that I will bring us alive okay.]

Walid would like to say yes, if only from desperation.

[We may get injured. Yes, even me in this cockpit. You will have extra functions in the fight, but mostly for your brainpower. Just remember, even if you lost all four limbs, you can be repaired.]

[Switching on auditory output, Auxilia HI.]

I thought I was human! Well... if I survive whatever comes, I need a lot of questions answered.

[OK, fair enough. I need to concentrate, so... Switching off auditory output, Auxilia HI]

Ginger Root meets with a few other people. Men and women, they are well-equipped with weapons and body armour.

“Listen up, our hostage situation has turned sour. The kidnappers decided not to further negotiations, and will kill all hostages this midnight. We have to save them. We do not have to kill all of the kidnappers, but we will kill anyone standing in our way. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!” Their voiced are lowered, but their voice are filled with fire.

“Good. We Drive Humanity Forward...”

“... So Our Survival’s Assured!”

The team raced to a truck and is driven to an abandoned building. There they dismounted and fan out to secure the perimeter. “The police has been notified of our mission and they will not stand in our way. If you see any uninfected policeman, rescue them. Reports shown that some are held hostage after a failed assault.”

“Our target is 200 meters southwest. We will have to secure a rooftop entry, Damit. Then, Hamidah, Rizal, Shafwan, you three enter first and get a foot hold. We will enter as soon as it’s clear.”

The team races to the top of the abandoned building. To the southwest, they could see three men chatting and drinking coffee on a rooftop balcony. Damit scopes with the sniper rifle. “Three men, mostly bored.”

“Are they armed?”

“No, I don’t think so, Ikhlas.”

Walid knows the name doesn’t refer to him, but Ginger Root. Ikhlas eh?

Ikhlas looks intently with a binocular. “They are, I could see their rifles resting on the wall, behind the sitting man drinking.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Shoot the sitting man first. Then the two.”

Damit pushes the sniper stock close to his shoulder, aims at the sitting man’s neck. He holds his breath, and shoots.

The sitting man falls on the rifles and the two other fumbles to grab their guns. Damit shoots their heads clean off with one shot.

“Double headshot at 200 meters. Easy gg lol.”

Damit sighs. “That isn’t how humans speak.”

Ikhlas writes down the kills. “I know. Still funny though. Shafwan, the rappel.”

Shafwan shoots the rappel rope with his crossbow. The bolt buries deep into the wall. Shafwan slides down first, with some equipment. The others slide down one by one, Ikhlas being the last. They switched equipment amongst each other, as they had carried others’ equipments too.

Walid sees the map screen appear before his eyes. Ikhlas gives the signal to huddle.

“Everyone have maps and possible enemies?”

Everyone nodded.

“We stick together. Rizal at front, Shafwan and Hamidah center, me and Damit behind. Get to the target, fight our way out to the ground floor. Then we evacuate.”

Ikhlas points at the door. Rizal rammed the door with the butt of his gun and the rest streamed in. They move quickly downstairs, but stop before the first door facing the stairs. Two gunmen gets out from the door, laughing along the way. Rizal throws a smoke grenade.

Instead of shouting ‘Boogies’ or something, the two writhed in agony. Their bodies twist and turn, coughing out blood and mucus. Soon, some organisms escape their mouth. It tries to wipe itself clean from the smoke, but it drops as it shouts a small screech of pain.

The two gunmen lays unconscious. Ikhlas’ team moves forward. A few minutes later, they are stopped by three kidnappers running to them. The team manages to take cover behind the walls as the kidnappers shoot to kill. They only stop to reload.

Shafwan takes the opportunity to shoot them in the head, but they do not drop. Instead, they keep firing. Shafwan remains unfazed as a bullet rips through his right upper arm. Some wires frayed out, but his movement isn’t hindered as he reload. Hamidah is about to throw another smoke grenade, but Ikhlas stopped her. Ikhlas waits until they reload again, and turns to shoot.

He aimed at the stomach of the kidnappers. They drop dead as soon as the bullet hits them. Damit moves forward and pumps another bullet in the temple to each of them. Rizal takes the forward position and the team keeps moving forward.

Rizal raises his fist, a signal to move forward. They stopped before the turn of a hallway. Rizal watches the other side with a mirror. “Four men. Standing guard.”

Ikhlas nods to Hamidah. She hands over a defragmentation grenade to Rizal. Rizal removes the pin and moves forward to throw it. The four guards points the gun at Rizal.

They centered their fire Rizal’s head, but Rizal ducks while throwing. Instead, his right arm is severely riddled with holes as the grenade flies. The four is about to jump, but the grenade explodes. The four disintegrated into the smoke. Ikhlas’ team fires forward, as Rizal slings his rifle. He looks at the uselessly hanging right hand. He rips it off. The fingers wiggle uncontrollably as the hand is separated from the body. Rizal holds his rifle on the left hand and joins Ikhlas.

Ikhlas leads the team forward. There seems to be no more kidnappers left. It’s... too quiet. Walid begins to feel uneasy. He wants to ask Ikhlas what is going on, but he can’t say anything. They entered an open courtyard, with doors flanking it.

The silence is finally interrupted a few minutes later. Two kidnappers storm out of a door, but Ikhlas manages to shoot them both before they could open fire. Ikhlas is about to walk forward to the target area, but he is suddenly thrown away by an explosion. Ikhlas almost lands at the other side of the courtyard wall.

A large man, about 9 feet tall appears before the team. Rizal fires his rifle at the man’s face. Its face is chipped away as the bullets ricochet off from the metallic skeleton. The rest pumps their gun dry to the robot. But all their bullets do not even dent it.

Hamidah jumps to give the man a flying kick.  Her shin hits his neck. The man calmly grabs her leg and throws her straight through a wall. Shafwan jumps to the man’s shoulders, stand on it, and pumps a new magazine worth of bullets between the chest and the shoulder blade. The man grabs Shafwan and slams him a few times. Sounds of twisting metal can be heard from Shafwan’s body as he tries to stab and sever the wires in the robot’s hands. The robot throws Shafwan and he is impaled on a pole by the left chest. Shafwan tries to remove himself.

The robot is shaking, it finds itself hard to straighten its body. The robot walks to Shafwan, but he isn’t as fast as he was a few minutes ago.

Rizal and Hamidah pumps more bullets into the robot. But this time, they try to aim at the joints. Hamidah fires all her bullets into the left knee, circling to the front and back. The robot swings his fists to Hamidah but Hamidah can easily evade the robot. Rizal aimed at robot’s right shoulder. The robot turns his attention to Rizal and is preparing to launch himself to him.

The robot sprints towards Rizal. Rizal turns to run away, and the robot is running at full force.

Suddenly, the robot’s trajectory is thwarted by a shot to his head. Damit fires more sniper rounds at the robot. The robot turns and runs towards Damit. He holds his ground, but the robot still charges forward.

Ikhlas bodily throws himself at the robot, pushing the robot away. The robot is flat on its back, and Ikhlas desperately tries to reach his shotgun. The robot grabs him by the leg, and pulls Ikhlas towards him.

Walid feels all the past actions of his flood back to him. His killings of animals, his bullying of other kids, his angry rants against his parents’ He wants to say sorry for all he has done, and he can’t even say in it his inner voice!

Ikhlas the Ginger Root is sweating in its cockpit. He can feel all the anguish that Walid has. Added to his own, he is almost mad from all this. None of his training ever prepared him for this, and none of his experiences ever will. What can he do?

The robot tries to stand, but the connections in its body is too damaged to command his legs for the proper procedure. Instead, the legs dig into the soil erratically. The robot grabs Ikhlas by the neck and raises him up.

“Damit, its elbow!”

Damit aims at the elbow. The robot’s right hand plops uselessly as the bullet hits the joint but Ikhlas still can’t remove himself. He drags the robot’s right hand with him as the robot tightens its grip. But the grip gets looser and looser with each wire ripped from the robot’s hand. Ikhlas’ team gives the robot a wide berth.

The robot tries to stand up with its remaining appendages. But it only ends up wriggling and writhing.

Ikhlas looks for something in his back pouch. “Hamidah, you have anymore grenades?”

“I only have two, and it’s all used up.”

Shafwan has extracted himself from the pole. He hands to Ikhlas one smoke grenade.

Ikhlas throws the grenade to the robot, and it gives out a lot of smoke. When the smoke clears, the robot is still writhing.

“We have to deactivate it, it’s not an exosuit.”

Damit pumps a few sniper rounds to the robot’s left shoulder joint. Shafwan ties his bayonet to a stick and cuts all the wires from a few feet away, far from the robot’s grip. The robot’s hand almost come dangerously close to snatching the stick, but Shafwan deftly retracts it. Soon, the robot is uselessly moving its appendages. Rizal steps forward and jams his left hand to the robot’s neck. He pulls the here and there a bit, and soon the robot stops writhing. Its eyes loses its blue colour, fading to transparent black.

The hostages are brought outside by Shafwan, while Damit checks the perimeter. “It seems like all the kidnappers are dead or have fled. The hostages are just behind me.”

One of the hostages rushes forward to hold Ikhlas’ hands. Ikhlas raises his hands to meet it, but the right hand doesn’t budge.

The hostage looks at Ikhlas’ right hand. Shee shakes her head, but then shakes Ikhlas’ left hand vigourously. “All you have risked your lives to save us. I assure you, the High Root will reward your team well.”

“Thank you, madam, but we aren’t necessarily in the clear yet. We should get out of here quickly.”

They allow the hostages to leave from the front door. The police receives them and hands them to the healthcare unit stationed behind the blockade. Ikhlas’ team goes to the back gate. Along the way, they passed through one of the guard’s body. One being of goo is breathing weakly as the body writhes weakly.

“This... isn’t... over... We... will... be... victors...”

“It never is.” Ikhlas shoots the goo with his pistol.

The team gets into the extraction truck. Rizal holds his severed hand, while Damit ogles Shafwan’s large hole in the chest. Shafwan slaps Damit’s hands as he try to touch his dangling wires.

[Switching on auditory output, Auxilia HI.]

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!

Aaa... Aaa... Aaa...

Walid could hear a small screeching on the screen. Is that the ginger root shouting too or the echo in the suit?

[Well, any questions?]

Lots. Wh... Well, what the fuck? I’m a robot? Was my memory real? Did I signed a waiver? Why does all this have anything to do with me?

[Your body is a robot. Your mind is from a human brain, taken from your body. You signed a waiver, but it’s because you are losing all use of legs and hands. It had nothing to do with you, you are just my mecha. Your service to us is how you pay back for the surgery. You also get some money on the side, but from bonuses or bounties.]

Bonuses? Bounties? So I am what, an army equipment? Whose army?

[Yeah. You’re a medium grade military equipment. We are the military arm of Court of Mother Zingiber, Grand Commandery of Lady Goddess Halya of Earth. We have branches in other planets. But in recent centuries, battles are mostly forged here.]

[That goo organism you see is one of our enemies. Just call them Oozes of Doom. As if we want to call them by their regal name, hah!]

So, what happens to me?

[You will be repaired of course. I always intended for you to know about this sooner or later. Having a human on our side helps us to blend in. We can mimic human behaviour, but we aren’t always successful.]

This is too much for me to take in now. You’re in charge I guess, Ikhlas. But can I ask one thing?

[What is it?]

I want to be conscious to see the repairs. I need to see for myself what I am.

[Okay.]

Ikhlas takes the body down to The Doctor. Walid sees the ginger root climb out of his abdomen. The Doctor sets up the machinery as they chat. The language isn’t like any on Earth, so Walid stopped bothering to listen.

The Doctor then starts checking Walid’s right hand. He massages the hand to find where to slice, and starts slicing. Soon Wires are pulled out, reattached, and returned into the body. The Doctor continues with repairing the rest of the bullet injuries. Finally, the damaged body tissue are removed and pastes of new body cells are placed on spots.

The operation as a whole is quite soothing. Walid doesn’t feel any pain, and The Doctor’s movements are as smooth as silk. Soon, Walid’s body is as good as new. Walid extends his right palm to Ikhlas and Ikhlas creeps on to the palm of his hand.

“So that’s how I got my muscular body.”

“These days. Even before the surgery, you’re rather muscular.”

Why I didn’t remembered that? But Walid remembers another thing.

“Why I didn’t feel pain during the firefight just now, but I felt pain from my fall yesterday?’

“Pain reception can be switched on and off. Usually when we take over the body from you, we shut off the pain reception so you won’t go mad from it.”

“Can you make it stay off?”

“No, we want to blend in, and includes you having to feel pain in normal life situations. Can I get into your body now?”

Walid shrugged. “Sure.”

The ginger root presses some buttons on a small key that he holds. Walid’s stomach split into two, and door hinges opento both sides. A small podium with a seat extends out. Walid places his palm before the podium and Ikhlas takes his seat. He presses a button, and the podium pulls back in and Walid’s stomach closes shut.

Walid can move his body again. “Hey, Ikhlas, you there?”

Yeah. Enjoy your bodily autonomy for now. We may be called for next mission later.

Walid sighs. Now he has two jobs, one a part-time back breaking work, and the other a part-time body-breaking work. At least this one has good healthcare benefits.

The team is escorted by The Doctor to a door. “Well, this is goodbye for now. I am always honoured to service you. Your pay will be sent to your accounts by this week. And here are the MCs you require should your bosses question you.”

Walid takes a piece of paper from The Doctor. An MC from... Yang Yang and Co. Clinic?

Walid fishes out his handphone from the pocket. Funny how it survived the carnage. Walid hails a Grab and lets the car carry him to his flat.

#robots #alien exosuit #cyborg #male asfr #asfr #scifi

[growingstrongorsomething]

I would like your help.

I am setting up a Patreon. I need to start gaining some money, and I am most confident in my writing skills. If you find my stories to be good, please donate to my Patreon, If you find my stories to be bad, please tell me where I did wrong.

I will make an effort to write one story everyday. Please look forward to reading my tales.

https://www.patreon.com/storyforger/posts

[growingstrongorsomething]

3. Prime Minister of Superheroes

Original Prompt: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bkdvu9/wp_in_a_world_where_everyone_has_superpowers_one/

"I COULD HAVE BURNED THAT WHOLE PLACE DOWN!"

"I! I AM THE ONE WHO SAVED THE HOSPITAL FROM THE LIKES OF YOU!"

"BY FLASH FREEZING EVERYONE? IT'S A MIRACLE A SUPERHEALER WAS EVEN SENT TO US!"

The two greatest superhero of all time. Winter's Inevitable Call and Sun's Bright Blessing. Their sophisticated names does not relay their real behaviours however. Bickering over small and large matters as if the whole world is shattering apart. And the base IS cracking apart. Their fights freezes and heats the cement too quickly. The government find this situation dire enough that funding for rebuilding is approved quickly and the building has to be complete in a year.

A secretary flies over slowly to the left of figurehead seated behind the opulent desk. His jug of coffee is warm, the waft of the smell calming the man elected as a leader by the most powerful men of the Earth. Earth Emperor, Heaven's Influencer, Songstress of Reality, even Red Herring, the one whose powers changes at will. All decided an invalid, a cripple in all but appendages, is worthy to lead an army of mountain breakers, mind fuckers, and eyes that shoots laser.

The secretary places the jug of coffee down on the desk, and pours coffee to a cup. The coffee flows smoothly while he bobs up and down, calm amidst the uproar just two meters away.

"Thanks, Stephen." The leader sips the coffee, then plugs his ears with vibranium earplugs. He clicks his fingers to the figure standing to his right. Siren of Israfil draws a deep breath.

"PLEASE CALM DOWN!" Short and strong. Winter's Inevitable Call and Sun's Bright Blessing flies over the room, slamming the wall just over the door. The cement cracks a little. The leader sighs.

The leader, Prime Minister of Superheroes, beckons the two to come back.

Both of them stands before him, and kneels in crisp motion. Or at least, they try their best while still aching from the attack. "We are sorry."

"No, I am sorry." The Prime Minister of Superheroes stands and walks to the two. "I am made your leader, yet you have failed to respect me. Who taught you it is proper conduct to bicker before your leaders?"

"Mr. Winter here is at fault! He's the..."

Prime Minister raises his left hand. "That should be the matter of Superhero Judiciary, and they find that the case is trivial. Were anyone injured from Mr. Winter's blast?"

"No."

The Prime Minister holds Sun's shoulders. "All is well that ends well. Alright? Don't beat yourself up by beating others up. That isn't your job. That isn't even proper conduct. And Winter's Inevitable Call..."

Now Winter's Inevitable Call turns to The Prime Minister, still kneeling. "Prime Minister!"

"All is well that ends well. But you should consider when it doesn't too. Why do you blast the whole hospital with coldness?"

"Sun's attack..."

Sun is about to speak but the Prime Minister holds him down. Winter continues.

"Sun's attack is of fire. Usually lesser superheroes can smother it down as they fight. But the battle this time is too tough, and Sun throws his fire everywhere. It is about to reach the oxygen line. So I thought quickly and freezes everything. Unfortunately, the villain escapes."

Prime Minister shakes his head. "The villain too often does. Sun, I recall that you left the conference room in a hurry before the briefing is over. Is that true?"

Sun stoops lower. "I did."

"I will have to punish you." The Prime Minister returns to his desk and types on the computer. The computer prints out two letters. After it is done, he carries the letter and recites it like an edict.

"Sun's Bright Blessing, under the authority of myself as Prime Minister of Superheroes, as supported by Superhero High Judge Saint Sacred, we hereby punish you with stipend reduction amounting to 500 pitises a month, for seven months. This reduction will be transferred to the Hospital of Pinggan Terbang for repairs and reconstruction purposes.

"Winter's Inevitable Call, as you have performed a heroic act, you ought to be rewarded. However, your actions have caused harm to other people you are supposed to protect, and that ought to be punished. Hence, you will receive neither reward nor punishment."

"This concludes the letter." The Prime Minister hands each of the two letters to the two heroes. They stand and bows slightly.

"Sun's Bright Blessing, Winter's Inevitable Call, you are both mighty heroes. Those words may mean nothing from me, someone with no powers. But your might are known even to the Great Parliament. Don't waste it on bickering and pettiness. Do you understand?"

Mr. Winter sniffles. "All right." They both walk out of the room, slamming the door a little less forcefully than when their first entered. The concrete shakes, and a bit of dust drops down from the crater on the wall.

"I am conflicted if I should have it fixed."

Siren of Israfil breaks from his straight pose. "We should. People may visit at any time."

"And they may break it. I wish I have cement repairing powers. Coffee?"

"Yes, please."

The Prime Minister smiles and pours another cup of coffee for Siren. He gladly chugs it down, and coughs from the heat. The Prime Minister snickers.

"Don't you start!" Siren slaps Prime Minister's back and he yelps.

"Sorry."

"Never mind. Been used to it."

[growingstrongorsomething]

2. A cat and a jobless man.

Original prompt: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bjjqe5/wp_the_most_sought_woman_in_the_town_has/ The cat scurries down to the bed while its chaser clumsily has his head hit the side of the bed. The guy slumped over while the cat hisses, ready to strike.

Cheng Jian has been trying to chase the damn creature for many days now. Now that the cat somehow enters his bed, he thought he can have his break. But instead, he only earned a few scratches and an angry cat that throws its fur around.

"Hey cat, why are you so angry?"

The cat hisses.

Cheng Jian shuts his eyes. Better to sleep than doing a wild cat chase. His eyes are shut, but his brain is actively working. It shows all the troubles he have had in life.

"Cheng Jian, your resume is excellent. We will tell you of the result later." Which is an email saying he can't be hired; the competition is too fierce.

"Cheng Jian, you are overqualified for this work." He remembers at least seven baristas saying that.

"Cheng Jian, please do not come again." He has only worked as a pesticide pumper for three days.

He sighs, and slowly closes his eyes. The cat's fur still stands on its end; a sign of fear. Or is it anger? Cheng Jian opens his eyes slowly. Being tired does make you sleepy.

The cat's fur begin to drop. Cheng Jian can't sleep now; the cat is just under the bed! He opens his eyes again, rather slowly. He massages the side of his eyes with his fingers. The cat closes its eyes again, slowly. It begins to walk a step forward.

"So, you want to come to now?" Cheng Jian now yawns, his eyes closes shut even more. The cat starts to come towards him. The cat looks at Cheng Jian, its sapphire blue eyes covered slowly by its eyelids.

Cheng Jian finds this intriguing. He tries to slowly shut his eyes. The cat gets closer. Cheng Jian pets him.

"Hello kitty, what's your name?" The cats meows. Cheng Jian slowly picks it up. There is a collar with a key and a tag.

One side says "FeiMao" with health information. The other side says, "Whoever founds this cat, please bring this cat to Wang residence." along with the address. Wait, Wang? As in Grandpa Wang?

Cheng Jian sighs. "I can't marry my cousin!" He lifts the cat so their eyes are level."I'm bringing you to my grandpa. If he says how useless I am for not having a job, vouch for me. Hmm? Hmm, you cute, stinky cat."

Cheng Jian sniffs it; it's not very stinky. "Well, let's have a bath."

[growingstrongorsomething]

1. A Letter to Future Aliens

Original Prompt:

https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/b0pesi/wp_all_humans_on_earth_voted_to_assign_you_the/ “Now, we will turn to New York City, where United Nations assembly are reviewing letters and emails from the shortlisted candidates.”

My family are watching the news stream live from my computer. We lounged about in front of the computer, as it is placed on a coffee table. We aren’t very rich, but I managed to turn a small profit from blogs and Youtube channels. Truth be told, there are also a lot of professional writers, journalists, and philosophers sending their applications. Their names are listed on UN website, and my name is the 1065th.

“Thank you, Azizah. As you can see, the world leaders are busy reviewing the papers. I was told that eloquence of writing isn’t the only prerequisite to be selected. Prospective writers to this letter must also have active participation in aiding the hardcore poor and marginalised communities throughout the whole world.”

“The list will further be shortlisted to fifty best choices, and anyone throughout the whole world are free to vote for the best writer.”

My younger brother lies down on the tiled floor with a huff. “Mom, it’s boring. Why do I have to watch this?”

My mother lightly grabs his head and squeeze it a bit. “So that you know how the world works.”

The wait is filled with speculations by some experts thinking who could be the chosen fifty. Many names are from Africa, some from Europe, and a few from China. I think JK Rowling are also discussed, though I am more surprised that George R.R Martin aren’t included. He’s a sci-fi writer, he should at least be considered.

“The results are in, Azizah. We are now ready to broadcast the names chosen to be voted on by the Earth’s population.”

And the names are read aloud by UN Secretary General Antonio Guterres. He says many names I don’t know about, and a short list of their achievements, which I often see on Facebook or Instagram. The news is getting long, and my mother is already at the kitchen getting some fried banana fritters and black coffee to pass the time.

It took an hour before we turn our heads back to the stream. There has already been thirty names. “And for the thirty first name, we choose Januarius anak Idrus, a citizen of Malaysia. Born in Sabah, he has aided a lot in educating stateless children through the use of wireless connections and even funded internet availability for extremely rural areas.”

They took my bluff! It’s just my grandfather’s village. But my parents are esctatic, hugging me tightly and do I hear a sniffle?

The streaming continues, but my family are already too excited to bother.

“Start writing the letter, son. We will see Januarius name soar across the world!”

“We will help you all we can, but be quick, later people will beat you to it.”

I sleep soundly, too tired to take in the stress. My parents are laughing and loving each other throughout the night.

My younger brother wakes me up the next day. “Jan, jan, wake up!”

“What, why Felis?”

“Newspeople are coming! They want to interview you!”

The journalist is a petite woman. She sits in a single person sofa, comfortable in her seat. I on the other hand, is rummaging through my hair so it will look a bit more presentable.

The interview is embarassing. I barely have anything to say, haven’t researched anything, and worst of all, my face is sagging like rumpled carpet when they took my picture! By the way, what should I write anyway?

“Hello, my name is Maisarah. So, is your name is Januarius bin Idrus?”

“No, it’s Januarius anak Idrus.”

“I would like to ask a few questions. Firstly, how did you knew about the contest to write a letter to the aliens?”

“Well, me and my friends are browsing the internet when one of them, Saiful, shows me a Facebook post. It shows the contest, but I thought it’s a joke. So I write just a generic email and send it to them. World peace, economic equality, less pollution, all the good stuff. I also have to send some resume, so I hope I got at least a job out of it.”

“Will you send the same letter to the aliens, or will you rewrite a new letter?”

“I think I will have to. Apparently NASA does have correspondences with the aliens, but I have no idea what exactly they are offering.”

“Will you be consulting anyone to help with writing this letter?”

“Of course! I have no idea how to start this time. I don’t think I can answer you any more questions, since I haven’t prepared anything yet.”

“That’s alright. Will you let us interview you, next time?”

“Yes, yes please. Please give me a call first.” I wrote down my phone number and give it to her.

Now the problem of what to write is getting bigger in my head. Should I ask for world peace? End of poverty? Beginning of space travel? The silent whirr of my laptop fan might as well be a loud engine hum. Everyone is at work or school, and I am here staring at a blank Word document. Might as well call a friend.

“Hey, Hisham, can I go to your place?”

His place is a school. Not of brick and fresh paint and strong zinc roof. But of throwaway planks and board, lacking paint and old zinc roof with holes here and there. But the school is filled with children singing the alphabet song. Hisham is leading them, his smile shining bright from half a mile away.

I waited until his class is over. Hisham grabs me by the shoulder. “Hey, you have become fatter! How have you been?”

“Been healthier every day. Have you started building new school?”

Hisham leads me to a chair by a table. “We have just contacted a social advocacy group willing to help build one.”

We ate a few fried banana fritters as we chat. Hisham keeps spilling the beans. “Of course, we do have our own money, and have free volunteers too. You want to join?”

I would like to reject, but I haven’t been carpenting for weeks. “I will when I am free. If you are about to start, tell me.”

“Of course. But, what brings you here?”

I don’t know my face is obviously showing when asking for something. “Well, I have been chosen by the UN to write a letter to aliens, asking for help.”

Hisham pours more coffee to his cup. “You know our situation here in Sabah. You should speak about that.”

“But I am representing the Earth, not just Sabah.”

“There are many marginalised people. Stateless, minorities, hardcore poor, culturally oppressed, you name it. I do my little part. You expand it to the whole world.”

The visit is good, but I am not satisfied with the answer I get here. I walk back to my car when a kid is cupping his hands to me. I give her a ringgit. She shouted, and a horde of children suddenly appeared. At least, I still have enough money left for oil.

And now I am staring at the damn blank page. I try typing something. “Dear aliens ...”

No, too darling.

“To aliens of Planet Xenoniah I humbly...”

Eugh, grovelling.

“Greetings to leaders of Planet Xenoniah ...”

Isn’t that too formal? Am I supposed to be formal?

I am about to ram my head to the tabletop, but laptop is in my way. So I move it forward, then introduces head to desk. The pain is fogging my sight even more. Mentally, fortunately. My eyesight is still as clear as it always been without glasses.

Searching Google about child education is quite a chore. Half of it is about how to develop a child’s mind. Which is rather useless as my little brother taught me middle-school level math.  Then I searched about education for stateless and hardcore poor in countries throughout the world.

Many groups are already working on it. One research even shows how older children can help younger children learn English with apps and videos. But there is something missing in all this.

I try to find what the children do or became after they’re adults. There seems to be some classes on entrepreneurship for adults, but they seem to not bring the children in.

The next day, my handphone falls on my head. It should only be a small nuisance, if not for the fact that my handphone is the brick phone Energizer recently launched.

“Hello?” I can feel the heft of my phone on my forehead and cheek.

“Yo, congrats on your short selection! Have you wrote something?”

“Is that Eric over there?” I look at my phone screen. “Of course you are. I have no idea really.”

“Have you tried writing about poverty?”

“Poverty’s too big an issue. Can you be more specific?”

“You know microloans? Try to ask for that.”

“You want me to write a letter so they lend us a hundred dollars?”

My phone erupts with laughter of many people from the other side. “Try that. For the lols.”

“Heh, lol.”

Eric talks some more about how the soup kitchen he is running isn’t actually lacking in potential food waste. But they lack cars or trucks to carry all the leftover food quickly before they become prime source for compost.

“So I should ask for faster than light travel?”

“Wormholes. Something like Doraemon’s As-You-Like Door.” Eric is referring to a door gadget which opens immediately to a new location.

“Well, I try to make it sound formal.”

My parents return home for lunch, as usual. My sister cooked them some chicken in soy sauce and onions. And the vegetables are sauteed cabbage. The smell is heavenly. And the lunch is somewhat calm.

My father breaks the silence. “Have you started writing?”

“Nah, I don’t know what to write.”

My mother swallows her rice. “Try writing for world peace.”

“Isn’t world peace up to us?”

My sister removes the chicken bones from the flesh. “Try asking for a lot of money to pay both sides to be at peace.”

“I don’t know, that makes us look very greedy.”

“You’re saying we aren’t?”

Well, now I have three ideas. Education for marginalised, wormholes, and money.

The next interview with the journalist comes a few days later.

Maisarah points the microphone a bit too close to me. I readjust myself to the back and she gives some distance. “Please tell us what your letter is about.”

“I want to ask for tools to build a type of school.”

“School?”

“Yes, it’s an odd school. Children went there to learn how to read, write, and count, the usual. But adults learn how to do crafts, such as carpentry, weaving, smithing. Some schools may even teach coding and business basics.”

“Don’t we have the same system here?”

“Well, the schools we have now are for the citizens of our countries. There is no infrastructure for the stateless of our countries. There are classes set up by social advocacy groups, but it’s for children and they don’t have enough funds to teach more people. There is no funds to buy tools and supplies to teach adults.”

“So, you want to ask for funding to build schools? Will it be any different from our system now?”

“Yes, for one thing, we receive outside funding, literally! Secondly, the schools are going to be borderless. Any stateless people or hardcore poor can join in from anywhere.”

“Anywhere, even from other countries?”

“Yes.”

“But, how will they travel to the schools?”

“For one thing, we know Planet Xenoniah can make wormholes. Set up some wormhole doors so people can travel from their villages to schools by literally walking a few hundred meters away.”

We don’t watch the final selection on TV, as we are invited cordially to Geneva to witness the event. At the end, the judges decide to compile three most popular letters to one. The end result is this:

“To our friend, the leader of Planet Xenoniah Coalition, Babluk Xinaphah Waristi,

We thank you for your offer of help, and we have prepared with our requests.

Firstly, we ask for wormhole technology, some funding and supplies, to build schools to teach our marginalised people skills and carfts to help them provide their communities with jobs and products.

Secondly, we would like to learn your knowledge on terraforming. We have chosen our first step to be the atmosphere of Venus, while we build Mars to be more Earthlike. Hopefully, we could expand the reach of our species and provide more resources for further advances.

Thirdly, we would like to visit your fine planet and host you. We would like to know how your culture functions and the history.

We thank you again for your aid, and may our alliance blossoms for as long as our civilisations exist.”

For my problem, I get a goodie bag with some Swiss chocolate and kopi luwak. And the letter will be sent by Chris Pratt, aboard a provided spaceship. Unfortunately, he’s just the one to give the letter at a mothership stationed near Jupiter, not the one actually piloting it. That is other people’s job.

I never think about the letter after that day. I am still rather jobless, helping around with social advocacy groups, and sometimes teaching at Hisham’s school. But one day, just as I am watering the plants, there is a sudden flash of light. Hisham steps out of the light, which have transformed to a gate.

“Hey, come! Class is about to begin!”

“You better start paying me.”

“How does RM 3 000 a month sound?”

Well, I have no excuse now. I grab my wallet, phone, and some books. “Let’s go.”

#short story #r/writingprompts