I Give A Damn! Plus 6 Things You Don’t Know About Me

If you were wondering where I was these past few days, I was buried under 125 pieces of crappy 300-600 words essays and struggling to make them remotely interesting.

It’s always the fucking day job that takes time away from doing what you love.

It got to the point that I was so depressed and angry at myself and for what???—punishing myself just to survive in this economically depressed world where suddenly money is all that matters? Going two to three days without writing even a haiku on a greasy napkin is enough for me to put a noose around my neck and jump off a building. So I’ll take a moment here to thank Matthew Dryden for instilling my faith in teaching again by introducing me to those Taylor Mali videos. They have helped me through those tough times when I couldn’t read a single Chinglish sentence anymore and was sorely doubting my very own ability to formulate good English because of the amount of crap I was reading. Crap they may be but I now believe that I could help these students turn them into passable works of art.

It’s all about believing in them.

And that thought has relished me all throughout that hellish period of marking and preparing my materials for class. If I slush through these piles of essays with ambivalence, I’d just be one of those nameless teachers who dismiss their students and don’t give a damn. But I’m not of them. Because I do give a damn!

So even if I wasn’t writing my heart out this week, at least my students will have found their voice, let it sing from their souls and finally, finally be able to create art.

*

Let’s get to the point of this entry. Sal has tagged me with my first meme. It’s to write 6 random things about yourself. This kind of meme was fun to make although my students would make you snooze if they were to write this stuff (No Sara, telling me you clean your dorm twice a week is not something I’m interested.)

1. I’ve got a pretty boring life. That might be hard to believe since I live in China but work has domesticated me. It’s mostly home-school-home for this busy teacher. There’s the occasional rockin’ party like this weekend but it happens so rarely. The solution? Invent a delicious tale of murder, blood and mayhem of a guy discovering his friend’s murderer and try to get into his mind and live that life. Problem solved.

2. I know how Jesus felt during his crucifixion. Before I got lasec surgery, I used to be as blind as a bat without my glasses. When my aunt’s car was getting out of the garage, I jumped out of the way only to land in a bed of long nails that she put beside the driveway. I actually didn’t realize what was happening until I saw the slow trickle of blood pooling around my feet. These were great memories to dig into when I was writing earlier entries of The Devil Wants You Dead.

3. I was exposed to a lot of killing when I was quite young. We used to watch our cook lift the chicken on the chopping board. Watch it wriggle and struggle as she brought down the cleaver down its unfortunate head, splattering blood on our faces. One day she failed to chop it properly and the chicken broke free and flapped around with its head barely hanging on to its neck.

When I was five, I saw a kid my age ran over and saw the insides of his head spill out on the road. I thought it looked like pink jello at that time.

4. I love dirty jokes. Blame it on my cousin who has infected me with the love for sexual innuendos. My favorite potty mouthed colleague and I would often discuss holes, fingers and nipples over lunch. It hasn’t helped that my Chinese students often make mistakes such as ‘I love playing with myself all day.’ Of course, I had a hard time explaining what that meant without being too graphic.

5. I’m left-handed. It’s tough surviving in a world of right armed chairs, scissors and bicycles bells. Or when you’re writing longhand for a long time, you lift your hand only to discover it’s turned black at the side. Or the time you have to find another leftie to sit with in class or else you’d constantly be bumping elbows.

6. I love music but music doesn’t love me. I can’t go a day without listening to music. I’ve got to have it blaring whether I’m preparing for class or just doing the dishes. Naturally, I’d sought to create it. The first try was the flute. It came out as a screaming banshee. Next I tried the violin and the guitar. Both instructors were frustrated in changing their dominant hand to teach this leftie. My longest period of study was with the drums. The teacher threw up his hands when he discovered I’ve got dexterity issues not to mention a serious problem in hand and feet coordination. The day I decided to quit was when my neighbor complemented on my playing.

“Dude, you totally rocked,” he said.
“Really?” I beamed. Maybe all that practice was paying off. I could hold onto the drumsticks for two minutes now.
“Yeah, I was doing my homework last night and you were on fire!”
“Last night? That wasn’t me. That was my dad!”

Here are the rules of the meme and I just copied these from Sal’s (Sal, hope you don’t mind. : ) )

1. LINK TO THE PERSON WHO TAGGED YOU
2. POST THE RULES ON YOUR BLOG
3. WRITE SIX RANDOM THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF
4. TAG SIX PEOPLE AT THE END OF YOUR POST AND LINK TO THEM
5. LET EACH PERSON KNOW THEY ARE TAGGED AND LEAVE A COMMENT ON THEIR BLOG
6. LET THE TAGGER KNOW WHEN YOUR ENTRY IS UP

Here’s the list:

Wendy of Ask Wendy because she’s such a sweetheart and awesome mentor.

Melissa of Writing Forward. She’s such a great help and inspiration to the writing community. I’m wondering if I could see more layers of her.

Amanda of Becoming A Fiction Writer. We’re both in the writing journey and she comes up with these amazing comparisons between fiction and a symphony. I’m excited to see what she’ll spring on us.

Buds Vienna, Bev and Reggie because like me, they’ve probably never done a meme before and I’d like to see what they can come up besides cool things like headbanging, Twilight, snide political comments and goldiggers.

And just in case you’re wondering, don’t worry. The Devil Wants You Dead is going to be resumed shortly.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

The Devil Wants You Dead – 5

If you want to read this series from the beginning, click here. See all parts below.

That one moment of surprise was all it took. He quickly grabbed Susie and fled.

I rushed outside but it was too late. There was no trace of them.

“Suuuusie!!!” I screamed her name into the empty abyss but nobody answered me.

*

Charlie was inside his little kingdom –his kindergarten room. It was filled with bright alphabet letters, smurfs, Donald Ducks and other sickening paraphernalia.

He was teaching those six year olds the BINGO song when I snuck up from behind. I jabbed my gun hidden inside my jacket against his back and whispered, “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now for fucking my wife.”

“Okay kiddos, time to get your play doh out.” His cheerful voice didn’t waver a bit. You had to admire Charlie for his calmness. He was not the type to piss his pants in a life threatening situation.

His students shot curious glances at me while taking out their little jars of clay. I grinned back.

He turned to me. I was unshaven. I had cuts everywhere and my wrinkled shirt was untucked from my pants. “You stink.”

“I think my odor should be the least of your concerns.” He was holding me by the elbow, leading me into the teacher’s room. No one was there. He locked the door.

“How long have you known?” he asked, looking at the shiny chrome knob.

“Some time.”

Charlie didn’t try to deny it. He raised his eyes to look at me. They held but one emotion. “I love her,” he said. Just like that. So fucking simple. I wanted to smash his boyish face into the window over and over again for just saying that, see it scarred for life and piss all over it. I would like to see his blood in my hands.

But I needed him.

“Susie’s been kidnapped.”

His knees buckled.

“You didn’t know? That means that son of a bitch hasn’t killed her yet.”

“Who did it?”

“Johnson.”

“Fuck! This is no time to be joking, John!”

“Shit, Charlie. You know I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“You said so yourself you saw him.”

I waved the gun around. “I think it looked like him. It was just a fraction of a second. The lightning could’ve been playing tricks with me. I was under a lot of stress.” I looked at him pointedly. “A whole lot of stress.”

He didn’t flinch. “You knew this day would come. Retribution. You can’t escape God’s judgment.”

I laughed. “So God brought back the dead to torment us?” I stepped closer to him. “So you think Ben deserved to die? How about Susie? Would you like to see her tongue pulled out too?”

I saw his fist tighten. He wanted to punch me. Good. I wanted him to so I could forget the pain for a moment. Knock me out, you lying scumbag.

I took a deep breath and tried to put my thoughts in order. No, this won’t help my two faced cheating wife at all. God, I still love her. How pathetic.

I lit up a stick and inhaled deeply.

“This is a no smoking zone.”

“Fuck you. But then you already did that to my wife.” I exhaled. “Call the nuthouse.”

“Why don’t you do it?”

“I don’t exactly keep phone numbers of mental cases now, don’t I? Especially those who were once your former accomplices in murder. I know you keep tabs on him,” I said. “Since you were the one who put him there in the first place.”

He reached for the phone and dialed the number of the mental asylum. He spoke to someone for a few minutes and then his whole body went rigid. He replaced the receiver and turned to me. I had never seen him look so pale and frightened.

“David’s escaped.”

To be continued

Photo by federico

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Check out my guest post, I’m Not A ‘Ho from Bizarre Marriage. Here’s the awaited Part 4!

If you want to read this dark series from the beginning, click here.

After Charlie left, I made wild love with Susie. I wanted to erase the taint of his touch on her.

Her lithe body rocking above me, I pinched that plump lovely piece of ass. I turned her over and thrust harder, propelled by my jealous rage to the point of hurting her. I pinched her nipples and grabbed fistfuls of her hair, tugging them as my pumping became more furious, faster, faster, faster till she was tossed up like a rag doll. She moaned right next to my ear, her fingers desperately clutching the shaking headboard for support.

She seemed to be enjoying it.

Masochist bitch.

Then suddenly the glass in our window shattered. A hail of bullets rang into the silence of the night.

“Dammit!” I rolled off the bed dragging her with me. I grabbed the gun from the dresser.

Together we ran naked, the sheen of blue white moonlight bathing our bodies as we raced downstairs. More windows were blown apart. Our skin got pierced by jagged bits of glass, little tattoos of blood appeared.

We hid from behind the wall of the kitchen. Susie’s eyes had become glaring beacons of amber light.

The shooting stopped. An oppressive tense silence laid over us.

Then footsteps came, soft, cautious, the crunch of boots treading on the shattered glass. The intruder was coming downstairs. He didn’t know where we were yet. He was biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But I’ll be ready.

My fingers curled around the trigger. He was coming closer, closer.

NOW!

I stepped into the light and aimed the gun at him. It was then the lightning flashed, revealing the face I hadn’t seen for many years. The face I wanted to forget. The face of a phantom I had thought dead for so many years.

Mr Johnson.

To be continued

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The Devil Wants You Dead – 3

If you want to read this dark series from the beginning, click here.

There was no doubt about it. The killer was definitely one of us.

It was only a matter of time now.

Next to the tongue, someone wrote in blood: RETRIBUTION. It chilled me to the bone.

On April 10, 1998, five unidentified men killed an elderly farmer in his farmhouse. His body was found in separate pieces, his tongue pulled out. The victim, Mr Johnson was allegedly suspected of raping his neighbor’s daughter, Susie O’Donnell. Susie and the suspects have disappeared without a trace after the incident.

I have no regrets tearing that asshole’s tongue out. Not after what he did to my wife.

But at the moment someone was hunting us for our crimes. Now we were going to have to pay for our past.

“You think it’s David?” Charlie asked.

“David’s in the nuthouse.”

“He’s escaped?”

“We’ll check it out tomorrow.”

I exhaled a hazy cloud of smoke. It left behind trails of tantalizing fingers of nicotine. I noticed something on Charlie’s wrists. “What happened to your arms?”

Charlie hastily covered the bite marks. “Those six years olds got frisky today.”

I narrowed my eyes. Why would Charlie lie to me?

I pushed the glasses up to the bridge of my nose. I had to get out. The air was suddenly pressing down at me. It was getting hard to breathe.

“I need some air.” I went outside and inhaled the smell of wet autumn leaves. Ah, this was better.

I absentmindedly picked up today’s mail and leafed through them. One was a postcard of a warm beach: Get ready for the time of your life!

I could hear Susie from the porch. “I’m scared.”

“It’s going to be okay.”

I saw Charlie tentatively reach out and wrap his arms around her frail figure. She looked up into his eyes for a moment before she returned his gesture and embraced him tenderly, fiercely. Their faint hushed shadows from the window melted into one. And then in a second it was gone. They stepped away from each other.

How clichéd. My wife and my best friend. I dropped the cigarette and grind it with my shoe.

I hadn’t realized I was still holding the photo. My hand was shaking. The lightning cracked the still sky making the words etched in blood stand out and dance before my eyes.

RETRIBUTION.

To be continued

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Enjoy your weekend!

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