The Green Jacket ResumesThe March

Hey hey hey, dear friends, countrymen, readers and assorted thoroughfares, i have returned. Thats right, ive gone to the land where bravemen ermm train? and im back for some action(at least till the 18 th). So how has everybody been? heres an update on my side:

1) Ive lost 7 kgs.
2) im much darker. People mistake me for a sinhalese these days.
3)I still love green(haha)
4) Im slightly fit(i used to pant after a 5 min jog. Now i can just about manage 6.)
5)Im praying for entrance to OCS, and i might be signing onfor the next 3 years.
6) my english has degenetrated into guttural moans and wdf's, always culminating with the phrase "Eh, you knock it down!"
7)I have mastered the art of using the f-word as a noun, adjective, verbas well as adverb.
8)I have madelove to my rifle(with my rfle.. haha)
9)I missmy drama people, yellow Chair members who seem to be doing well without my presence.(funny thing..)
10) Im not as funnyas i used to be(right? right???)
11) I realise that when your very shagged, you tend to laugh at anything( tho seeing my friend falling through the jacobs ladder, twirling in mid air and grabbing the step before letting go and crashing to the ground was pretty funny.)
12) I wanna continue writing.

After such a long hiatus, im going to sharpen up my pencils and start on a fresh story, or chapter. As You all know, i don't reallylike to write in chronological order, so im just going to write the first thing that pops up in my head.

Don't hold your breath yet... :)

ps: 13) I love Naddz veri mucho!!

PICTURES from my last day in Sembawang..

Sembawang students, awaiting eagerly for the pictures, heres the link.. Knock yourself out, download all you want, and enjoy.. :)


Click HERE to get the pictures!

Lessons

"Ilyas!"

Ilyas's head shot up, eyes bleary and blood shot. He blinked thrice, his hazel eyes slowly focusing on Mr. Lee who was frowning, his hand grasping a red marker pen. Ilyas slowly noticed the glances his classmates where throwing him. Hastily, he wiped his lips, which, to his chagrin, were wet with drool.

Mr. Lee shifted onto his right foot, arms akimbo, and fixed Ilyas with a cool stare. In the haze that was gradually lifting, Ilyas realised a reply was expected.

"Err.. hmm?"

Mr. Lee was not amused.

"Stand," he growled, eyes cold as salted ice. Ilyas got to his feet, his chair scraping noisily against the parquet floor. He seemed to regain his senses faster now the entire class was staring at him. He felt like the woman with a beard,the man with three legs. He envisioned a cage around him and a big red neon sign that read " The first boy to cross The Most Scary Teacher in the school" while his classmates threw peanut shells at him and called him the Green Jackass.

"Do I bore you, Mr Ilyas? Should I juggle balls for you? Pierce myself with large needles and call myself "Spike" Lee?" The dimunative teacher was gathering momentum with his sarcasm, but Ilyas knew better than to answer. He remembered how Mr Lee had dealt with one such student a couple of years back who was foolish enough to say something lame. The police still had trouble looking for enough body parts to identify the body.

At least that was what Mark said. Ilyas remembered the other thing Mark was so convinced about: that the singer Aliyah was still alive and had engineered her own death to run away from bad debts and a forced marriage to Micheal Jackson.

As you can see, Ilyas still has not completely cleared his head. He begin to imagine Micheal Jackson moon walking around a tree and serenading the ghost of Aliyah with Hee-hee's and Ow's. His attention was harshly snapped back into focus as a a red marker pen came flying at him, thrown by an angry Mr Lee who was fuming at the non-chalance Ilyas was displaying.

It never touched him.

With a speed that defied the eye, Ilyas' right hand moved with blinding speed, intercepting the pen as it flew towards him. The loose pen cap, stopped abruptly in mid-flight, came off and fell towards the ground. It clattered loudly in the silence that followed, as all eyes turned from the surprised boy to the furious teacher.

Cold, blue eyes contrasted with the burning red face as a trace of insanity flared to life, before dying suddenly. Mr Lee seemed to want to start screaming, but amazingly he got a hold of himself, and breathed normally again, face not as red as before but the vein in his temple throbbed obscenely.

"Give. Me. Back. My. Pen." He held out a shaking hand as he spat out the words. Ilyas had timidly dropped his hands behind his back, but at the command slowly shuffled forward. The drama was back on. Ilyas somehow felt that what Mark said had a grain of truth after all. He felt as if his death was imminent.

Mr Lee gazed into his eyes, and Ilyas fidgeted, breaking eye-contact almost immediately. He braced himself for the beating that would ensue.

"Detention," Mr Lee growled, before grabbing the pen and truning his back on a silent Ilyas.

Sketches: a true success!

Thanks one and all.

Thanks so very much for Nurul for the wonderful script.
Without which i would have been editing air.

Without the crew, i would have been struggling with the scene changes, with the costumes, with the timing and with the precise running of the show.

Stand up to applause, Nadiah, Nurul, Faizal and the chief, Zul.

Most of the crew took time to learn their lines and came in with steady performances in support of the main cast. Thank you again.

The guy with the need to be a queen, and a desire to perform as a big purple dinosaur. You have been a wonderful foil for my comedic stupidity, and your comebacks are getting better and sharper. :)

Stand up to applause, Yihan.

Without an excellent cast, i would have floundered through many a rehearsals. Your hardwork, dedication as well as your willingness to work long hours over a short period of time have reaped wonderful benefits.

Stand up to applause, Shahdon, Nadirah, Dhaniah and Yazid.

For the man who inspires, encourages, harangues, scolds, loves, sings and smiles... You have been my inspiration to do well, and my motivation to try to achieve what you have. In many ways, you are Sir Alex Ferguson to my Roy Keane, Obi wan to my Anakin, and Gandalf to my Aragorn. Thank you very much.

Stand up to raucous yet slightly amused applause, Shai.

Sketches is over, but Yellow Chair will carry on. We are still climbing the steps that began with Tainted Flower, followed by Bella, and now Sketches, and we will continue to climb ever higher but with our feet stuck firmly to the ground. Thank you all, and may we march hand in hand, till the very end.

Taufiq

Sketches: A Story of Hope

In support of the Yellow Ribbon project, Yellow Chair Productions Presents,a Black Box Concepted Production:



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Date : 16th September( 2pm, 5 pm and 8pm)
17th September(2pm and 5pm)

Venue: Tampines Central CC, Room 3 F on the 3rd Floor.

Cost: $4

Whats it about?

See the world through the eyes of Danial, an ex-convict who faces professional failure, a total marriage breakdown and an ailing Grandmother as he fights to regain his lost dignity and love. Feel his pain and loneliness as life throws him a bad turn, and rejoice with him as he finds a path to final redemption.

Is a man judged but what he has done? Or is he judged by what he can do? Can Danial finally lay his past to rest, and build a better future?

Come on guys, its my directorial Debut! Contact Mr Yazid for booking Details as soon as possible.

91274745 (Yazid Jalil)

See you there!!!!

Something New

EXAMS ARE COMING!

I found that Miss Pei is gone! oohh.. damn.. Angie, if your reading this block, on behalf of sembawang scondary, we are going to miss u loads! juast wanna say you never fail to make me smile with your innate goofiness and really really lame comebacks. Good luck with your future endaevours, and mayhap we'll meet again in future.

No no.. im not THAT short.. just crouching a little..

Here are more pics from the teachers day dinner, before i forget..

Mrs Azwizah discovers that the rock melon is really HARD.

"Wait, the spoon is the one with the tines right?"

Seriously, Angie, im not THAT boring..

This is what happens when you forget to take pictures in the hotel itself. This picture was taken under Inda's block after the 'wild' party. The Three Stooges!!!

Inda and Siti

Now that night was really fun, considering that it was my first teaching event, and first adult party ive been to.. makes me feel 10 years older being around refined and tasteful chaps like Mr Sim and Mr Raja.. I suppose teachers are like that some how.. they have this strict guidelines of how to become a good teacher and they follow those guidelines to set a good example everyday that theybecome it. Thats why they are soooo nice , these teachers.

Another thing i realised is how there is very little backstabbing going around in the staff room. Its not like an office.. the teachers are not like office workers climbing the ladder of ambition. They have no enemies within, because in the staff room, its like a bastion or a castle where the teachers rally after battling the students all day long. They regroup, re-arm and refresh themselves with chocolates and stuff, but most importantly, they talk to each other about the kids. They gossip . They laugh at the kids. express anger and tears, show how touched they are when a student does something unexpected. There are only 2 sides in this war. Students agains the Teachers. There is no place for backstabbing politics here. Thats why teaching is so cool..

Anyway, im pretty tired now, and my language is slipping into the red zone.. so ill go.. laterz den..

Update..

Heres a very overdue green jacket story that has been bugging me for sometime. Unfortunetly, its not in chronological order, but its basically ilyas meeting up with his beloved green jacket for the first time. It was written for those of u who have been hounding me to updat my blog, and also cause i wanted to put down this major part of the legend. Hope you like it.

Ps: I drew inspiration from the lesson i thought my students about suspense and ghost stories, so i hope you can feel ilya's fear the way i meant it to be like. Do comment.

The Wearing of the green jacket

The short dusty walk up to the attic was beginning to be pretty scary. The stairs creaked under his feet, rickety steps of an old house. He breathed slowly, fear deep in his belly as he gripped the spanner tight in white knuckled fists.
Ilyas stopped. He heard it again. That singing. It was faint, but unmistakable, a soft but familiar voice, wafting from the attic.
There was someone in there.
" Hello ? Is someone there?"
Ilyas gulped the big ball that was suddenly in his throat, and he uttered a prayer. A deep breath, and he pushed the door to the attic open, ready to swing away.
The song stopped.
Ilyas faced a darkened room, musky with dust. A small window let in the light of the moon, shining down on a wooden chest. The wooden chest was beautiful, Ilyas noted silently. His eyes wandered silently through the inlaid carvings, and momentarily, he gaped at how beautiful it was. The spanner in his hand grew heavy and his grip slackened but he didn’t drop it. His fear fell away like a second skin. He felt sad. The chest had a mournfulness that he couldn’t place.
" Hello?" he uttered again, but his attention was riveted on the chest. Slowly, without fully realizing it, he moved towards the chest. He was suddenly upon it, hands trembling as he fingered the carvings, feeling the cool, smooth wood. The need to open the chest filled him, and this time the spanner fell as he knelt, worked the old lock with the key he found in his father’s room. It opened with a sigh. He pushed the top away, and it fell back without a creak.
He pushed aside the myriad of papers and trifles that filled the chest. He knew it was inside, whatever it was, but he couldn’t find it. That song. That eerie, sad song that filled his dreams each night. The source was within.
He found nothing.
Ilyas felt tears run down his face. Frantically, he searched. He tore apart papers, trinkets that were worthless to him, yet he couldn’t find what he sought. Where was it?!
He started to sob, with a sudden pain, he fell back. He ached. He knew it was there. Where was it?
As he sobbed into his hands, a figure started to rise from the chest, a grinning, dark figure forming slowly as it stood from the nothingness in the chest. Ilyas looked up with tear filled eyes, and this time, his fear was unmistakable. A scream died in his throat as the grinning shade drew a dagger from nowhere.
" Looking for something, your majesty?"
Like shining doom, the dagger came down hard and fast, straight for Ilyas’ throat.

* * *

"No!"
Ilyas jerked awake, the song in his ears fading slowly away. It was a dream. Just another dream.
But there, on his table, shining in the early dawn sun, was the key he took from his fathers room.
Untangling himself from his blanket, Ilyas made one of the rashest, most unplanned thing he had ever done.
He picked up the key, and headed straight for the attic.

No one was awake yet, the cool morning air refreshing in the pale sun light. Ilyas noticed nothing. Echoes of his dream reverberated within him, and he suddenly felt the need to be armed. He reached for the neares thing available as he walked through the living room, towards the stair. A spanner. In his dreamy state, he failed to notice the irony of his choice.
One step at a time, creaking stairs following his every footstep, Ilyas advanced up the stairs. He gripped the spanner, white knuckled fists tensed by his head. The door loomed darkly before him. He hesitated. It had all been a dream, right? He didn’t feel too certain about that. But this time, he would not let go of his weapon.
The door was locked. Ilyas tried again, unsuccessfully, turning the handle as hard as he could. He cursed, anticipation sour in his belly. Slowly, it dawned on him. He inserted the key. It fit. With some difficulty, Ilyas turned it and heard a satisfying click. Without meaning to, Ilyas pushed open the door a little to enthusiastically and it banged hard against the wall, making him jump.Steady, steady. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. No monsters, no grinning villain, just musk and dust and a whole lot of old rubbish.
Right where the sunlight filtered through the grimy window, was a pile of folded clothes on an old chair. There was no chest.
Ilyas stopped short. He felt silly. It had been a dream after all. He took a deep breath, and laughed weakly. All the suspense for nothing. He threw the spanner into the open tool box where he had fetched the spanner from earlier, and threw the cover down. It clanged loudly. He yawned mightily as he realized he still had a couple of hours left before he had to get ready for school. Might as well get some sleep.
It was then that he saw it.
From the corner of his eyes, he saw the jacket lying topmost on the pile of clothes atop the chair. It was folded nicely, the red lettering brilliant on dark green, and Ilyas was drawn to it. He cocked his head, studying the unreadable script on the jacket. It looked a little like some Indian writings he had seen on his friend’s Tamil language composition. He went closer, examining it with his eyes, then tracing it with his fingers.
No, he thought, it was similar but not the same.
Curious, he picked it up, holding the shoulders of the soft, green material and allowed it to fall open. It was beautiful. Holding it up against the bare light of the window, he grinned at his wonderful find. He unbuttoned the jacket, and slid it on, feeling the cloth( wool?) against his skin. It fit him as if it was made for him.
Ilyas buttoned up, and caught sight of the top of a full length mirror behind a couple of boxes marked ‘fragile’. He freed it without incident, sliding it on its wooden frame and looked for a good place to put it. Propping the mirror against the door to take full advantage of the weak light, he regarded himself in the mirror.
"Wow", he whispered, as he shifted from side to side. The jacket was miles ahead of his grey one, which were loose and could grow itchy if exposed to rain. Ilyas could not imagine this jacket being anything but comfortable. He nodded and threw himself a happy wink via the mirror.
But then, he froze. The jacket was exquisite, but what if it belonged to his father? It was just like the old man to deny him what he truly wanted. Especially if it belonged to him. He remembered how hard he had to work to convince his father to lend him his tools not so long ago. His father had only consented after Ilyas had shown his exemplary Ordinary level marks and his invitation to join St Albert’s. And even so, his father had insisted he supervise Ilyas to make sure the tools were returned in good condition.
Ilyas looked at himself in the mirror again. He admired the smooth cut of the jacket. He lifted his arms, tapped his shoulders and pulled on the attached hood, and pushed it off. It was decided. He would keep the jacket. To hell with what the old man thought. He smiled once more at his reflection, yawned again, and made to leave the room.
As he closed the door behind him sleepily, a thought crossed his lethargic mind.
"If only it wasn’t green, then it would be perfect."

Lets be truthful..

Lets be truthful for once..

1) I borrowed this book from Jag.. and its in pretty bad condition even after he made me swear itll be fine, or he will use his sikh powers and throw me into a raging river. iwas saving up to buy him a new copy but a) im broke, and b) the world doesnt seem to have that edition anymore...

2) I havent smoked for ages. almost 2 weeks. the last one was a few days ago, but that was a few puffs from a stolen cigg( sorry bro) and other then that ive been smoke free. Not much cravings tho. im kinda bored of having to breathe deeply all the time.. tho i think once im loaded again ill turn into another chimney.

3) Ilyas is going to the dogs. Meaning ive run out of ideas. Theres plenty of ideas flitting around in my cranium i really dunnoe what to write down. Sad hey?

4) I can wait for NS. seriously. im looking forward to leading. I dunnoe y. I have my sights set on OCS(officer cadet school) and i hope i get in. Although i am kinda lazy, i wanna be a man like sharpe, and have men respect me becos im calm under fire.. i wanna test myself, and not be found wanting.

5) I have worn, two shorts, that do not belong to me, without underwear. They belong, repectively to Messrs. Khamal and Harrison and im really sorry guys, but theyre realllllyyy comfortable.. gets wind up me err.. ballacks if u noe wat i mean.

6) I have been a bad brother. I somtimes wonder if im being to 'adult' with taha.. too many foul words, throwing things at him and throwing him around, hitting him and stuff.. but he always gets me back. harder. Like playing roughly with him is just escalating his sense of violence.. im not surprised hell end up as a gangster one day, or head of a syndicate or a lawyer even.. cos hes going to be smart that one. mightily smart. The best of the jailani's, thats for sure. Maybe i can live off him or something.. haha..

7) i think italy are damn lucky to win the world cup, to get through to the next round even! They should have succumbed to australia, but that cheating, lying scum of a Grosso went flying at the right moment. A whole nation of Naval fools, i think.. think they can dive their way to victory..

8) I have the flu. Hence, i have phlegm. And i am uber sick. Since the phlegm irritate me so much, i kinda check how much plegm i remove after every blow. thats right. i grab a tissue, blow my nose.. and check how much green stuff i got. The more the better, right? so i can breathe without sounding like vader. And theres been a few colours.
a) the green: Standard colour, easiest to dislodge. the lighter the better.
b)the colourless: these are the most difficult to remove. they normally stay between the mouth and the nose, and are more sticky then wet, thereby forcing one wait for the opportune moment to blow it out. Very very irritaitng.
c) red streaks: the dry weather and nosepicking inevitably leads to blood as the inner skin is abraded with constant digging and/or blowing. not very normal.
d) the yellow: the rarest. i just got a sample.. i think it was the tea i was drinking.. kinda sick eh?

Anyway, u noe when u have absolutely nothing to write about when u write about phlegm.. so ill keep plugging away and think of a good story to write.. maybe ill write a story about a useless twenty something with nothing to do with his life( technically im still 19, but who's counting?)..

A quickie!

Now heres the skinny: im bored. world cups over, and italy won. I now have 4 mnths till i enlist, im getting pudgy, lazy and bored(again!) i havent written a thing about ilyas in months, and i have a script i have to work on forn Yellow Chair(hush!) with two others and i have absolutely no enthusiasm cos i suck at writing scripts and watever i write turns out lyk a novel.

epic.

Harry's gone. Hes gone to the police academy and left me behind. The last of my bestfrens are gone. I miss bella a lot, tho i doubt she rmbrs me. I would so love to be friends again, but after what i pulled, i suppose this was always the outcome.

Silly me.

I wanna give a shout out to nadiah, who has been pressing me to write something. At least theres someone to encourage me. Thanks for that dear. I miss u. anyway, ive made up my mind.

Ilyas must go on.

So i will write, the script and Ilyas. So stay tuned to this channel. Cos the best is yet to come.

Mahdi vr Seya,
Taufiq

concerning Chpt2

I have no idea how to begin the next chap.. Ive had a few thoughts but they don't seem to be very cutting edge.. i like the lois thing tho.. gives it a whole cool teenage thing going on in the seriousness of the world..

I think im gonna continue Ilya's story.. at least for now.. and pretend Sade is hiding behind a screen somewhere till i call him out.. :)

Here goes...

Seba Strikes Back

I have succesfully beaten back NS for a whole month! So , if things go well at the CMPB, ill be going in July, instead of the stipulated 8th of June!!! So ill be able to watch...

Yes! the glory of winning the world cup is back! This June, the most expensive world cup( for the viewer that is) will be the hallmark of the world. People from afghanistan to papua new guinea, from france to thailand, from australia to new zealand(ok, bad choice) will be talking about Brazils winning goal, or how big makelel really is, or if crouch can reall ever couch, or if Togo has any pogo sticks.. people all over the world will be eating futball, drinking futtball( and beer), sleeping futtball(the women will be so pissed. i mean no sex for a month?) and even breathing futtball( ive tried this, and it does hurt, so dont ).

I mean look at the ball! its damn nice lah. Notice the joke played on the german guy( ie: hey look, its BALL-ack!hur hur hur).. and germany.. hooofff.. its a beautiful country!

And my favourite stadion? it has to be the olympiastadion..

i tink i might have mixed up two different stadiums, but wat the hell, they both look wonderful..

well, i have to go.. till den, do have dreams about fussball, and remember, the world watches with you. so please dont hog the couch.

laterza..

Update

Now thats all for chpt 1. Im going to start of slower now, and gradually up the tempo. Not bad rite>? haha.. tune in to see what happens to our hero.. and by the way, theres been sum glitches so if u see sum weird symbols, there prolly mean an aprostaphy( i hope this is how u spell it).. so enjoy! thats the end of chpt 1, by the way.. the first part is in the febuary section, so do check it out!

As for the pics and the new blog layout, Sharmeel Adam rajaratnam is helping me out on this score. Sharm and i go way back, and hes totally enthusiastic to get his photo taking skills into play! HIs few shots, unedited have been wonderful, so im like waiting impatiently for his next magic act.. haha..

Dis jacket is damn nice rite? im going to get it made.. too bad its like a womans 's jacket lah..

I love the buttons lah.. the cut is wonderful.. ill get it made one day, prolly in thailand where its cheaper.. haha.. and how about this arty thing? Kinda got me thinking...

I have no idea how this picture correlates to my story, but its about a guy in a green jacket( albeit with a bird) so i guess it does have some meaning.. haha.. laterz

Chpt 1- Part 2

Ilyas walked dejectedly through the screaming mass of bodies looking around for an empty seat. Everywhere, students in the maroon uniform of St Albert’s or still in the uniforms of their respective secondary schools were smiling, laughing, having a fun time at break. A second year boy with his maroon shirt un-tucked was flirting shamelessly with a girl in a light blue uniform, probably from Louis Batton Secondary. The girl laughed, lightly picking at the sleeve of the boy, who was showing her his biceps, with manly pride. His friends were riotous, shouting encouragements, some even throwing bits of food at him.

Ilyas ignored them. He yawned, and the tray in his hand jiggled. He felt as if his eyes were on fire, and had been feeling it since he got up this morning. His body ached badly; he thought his part-time job over the holidays seemed not to have agreed with him. With watery eyes he searched lackadaisically for a place to park, but all seemed chaotic and full to him. He sighed. Class had been difficult. He had failed to grasp anything the teachers had said, his mind seemed to be dulled by his fatigue. Twice, he had caught himself from falling asleep. He was lucky, though. The entire day had been about administration: school rules, school song, school uniform. Nothing much of importance. Only Mrs Lee had begun teaching her subject, Advanced Maths, and Ilyas had her pegged for a psycho ever since she dragged him to the principal’s earlier that morning.

Well, who could say now that he was a boring person with no fun experiences? At least he had some worthy anecdotes to introduce himself to his new classmates. Not that it mattered. He saw his classmates sitting in relative quiet, an island of solitude if you will, and thought of joining them. But they were deep in conversation, and Ilyas suddenly felt rather alone. He had missed out on the orientation camp before school term began, having to work on those days the camp was held. He regretted his decision not to take a leave of absence to attend that camp.

It seemed that everyone knew everyone else. Ilyas checked his step as a group of boys in green joyously backslapped a boy in white stripes on black, calling him an unfanciful name as the boy in stripes blushed. Ilyas tried to maneuver around them, and nearly bumped into a girl who timidly tapped a boy, and hugged him with a wide smile when he turned around, squealing in recognition as they boy looked quizzical.

He stopped beside a group of second-year girls sitting in a group of six. They were gossiping loudly, voices punctuated by giggles. He wondered whether he should get on a table and really scout the area. It seemed to him his vantage point at the moment was yielding the same result as the previous one. There was not a single empty seat to be had. Ilyas began to frown, as he swept the room with his hazel eyes.

The long rows of table were mostly clean, but getting messier as students ate the wonderful food. In the brochure that Ilyas had picked up back in secondary school, St Albert’s was renowned for their canoe-polo team, horse riding, fencing, archery and their food was constantly billed as excellent. Ilyas glanced at his tray. The steak looked good, but the salad looked quite damp and weak, the dressing clear. The drink was green, and he gave a distasteful look at it. Who ever heard of a green drink? He hated the colour, anyway. Made him think of the vomit he had regurgitated from Aunt Elly’s Salad the other night.

He looked at the salad again, studying the weedy appearance of the vegetables. With haste born of disgust, he chucked the entire dish into the nearest bin, and breathed a sight of relief. If he had taken any longer, he would have been unable to eat anything at all. Weakling, he thought to himself.

Once again, he looked up, searching for a place to sit. He noticed a few spaces, but they seemed to have been reserved for mates who were queuing up. He was starting to wonder when he would actually begin eating, when he noticed one of the girls from the gossiping group looking at him. She was staring at him, unblinking, drinking a milkshake in a clear glass, her lips formed in an ‘O’. Her big expressive eyes seem to devour him, and Ilyas suddenly felt pretty warm in the air-conditioned hall.

She seemed to stare at him for ages, and Ilyas tried to keep his eyes on hers, but somehow, every few seconds he would feel the urge to look away. He tried to look for a seat again, but his glance kept wandering to the girl, who drank her milkshake steadily, eyes still plastered on him. She finished her drink with a soft slurping sound, and then burped into a napkin. She resumed looking at Ilyas, making him feel his cheek warm up with sudden heat.

"Hello." She was talking to him! She seemed to speak with very little effort, as if from a dream, but Ilyas could hear her over the billion-decibel noise. Her friends were still giggling, all of them slapping their thighs or covering their mouths at a redhead who seemed to be telling bits of random gossip with enthusiasm, doing impressions of who the gossips were about. She ignored them. It seemed her whole attention was fixed on him, and only him.

Ilyas felt his mouth go dry. He tried to swallow, to get some juice into his mouth but he couldn’t. His feet began to sweat, and his stomach started to tingle. He tried to look cool, to ignore that quaking feeling from the pit of his stomach. With much effort, he steadied his hands and nodded at her, trying a smile on for size. A student from East Anglican High saw Ilyas’s face from across the hall and guffawed at his constipated look, signaling to his friend beside him who joined in the merriment.

"What’s your name, handsome?" she said in a voice that was poured honey, playing with her straw while still looking earnestly at him. The simple action of twirling was suddenly very beautiful to Ilyas, and he seemed to be hypnotized by it. It took a moment for him to realize a question would require an answer. Unfortunately, he didn’t remember what the question was about.

"MMhhm?" was the best he could do, and he silently kicked himself for being so good with words. He vowed he would do better, so he cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry?"

Ilyas noticed the sudden quiet. The laughter had subsided, and the rest of the girls were looking at him, some interestedly, some with smiles. The red head was frowning at the girl who was talking to Ilyas. She saw the look on Ilyas’ face and shook her head slowly, her frown seeming to deepen, and she chucked her napkin forcefully into her empty bowl.

"She asked you what your name was, fool." The red-heads voice was gravelly, though Ilyas guessed she could sing alto if she wanted to.

"Ilyas," he said, looking at the girl with the big eyes. He felt like it was the right thing to do, so he bowed, his tray infront of him balanced well between his two hands.

Some of the girls started to giggle behind closed mouths. A tall, attractive girl with long black hair had her face covered but her shoulders were shaking. Ilyas didn’t notice. He was riveted to those enchanting eyes. The noise had become a distant squeak, and the crowd of students had vanished. It was only him and her, and he felt a sudden joy that he fiercely quelled. He had to keep it cool.

The girl, stood up, and motioned for the rest to do the same. "We’re done here, Ilyas. You can sit if you wish." She was a little shorter than him, but she seemed to radiate a sort of warmth that he hadn’t felt the entire day. His hands were clammy now, and his throat was slightly wetter, but his stomach was still doing jumping jacks.

The girl walked towards him, and smiled. The effect was dazzling. The pearly white teeth complemented her milky white skin, and her dark hazel eyes topped it all off. And those lips! Ilyas suddenly felt a crazy urge to run his finger along those lips. He returned her smile slowly, wanting to stretch the moment. As she walked past him, eyes still on him, he smelled her perfume, light but wonderful and his head spun.

"Its Lois," she smiled, fingering the lettering on his grey jacket, gazing deep into his eyes. "You know, like Lois and Clark? Do you like it?" At his nod, she tapped his nose gently, and Ilyas nearly jumped at the contact. "Ill see you around, huh?"

Ilyas nodded once, entranced. She turned her head away with what he fancied was reluctance, waving goodbye as she turned away. The rest of the girls followed her, glancing at him as they walked by, some smiling, others winking. The red head though, was last, and she didn’t look at him at all. He had smiled to all of the rest, but when he flashed a quick smile at her, the red head turned away. But as she came nearer, she appraised him with deep green eyes, looking up and down and shaking her head as if she disproved of his dress sense.

"Nice jacket, fag." She rolled her eyes, and patted him daintily on the shoulder. "Try harder, eh? Grey’s not your colour." She smiled, very brittely, and suddenly shouldered him aside with a sudden strong body check that took Ilyas completely by surprise.

Ilyas staggered, overbalanced, his shoe stuck in some spilled jelly. He managed to save his tray with the grace of the Almighty, his tray dancing as he tried to find the balance for himself and the tray. Unfortunately, the cup of green goo he couldn’t save, and it ended up flat on his tray, casting itself onto his expensive grey jacket. He watched aghast as it began to drip onto his pants, his light grey jacket stained dark green by the offensive mixture that was in his cup.

The girl turned, and saw her handiwork, and she preened, awfully proud. She laughed, a loud rash laughter, and shook her head. "There you go! Green Suits you much better, fag. Ill see you around, loser." She turned on her heels and walked away, explaining in a loud voice to anyone who would hear about what happened.

He stared angrily at the redhead. He was made to look like a fool! He spied the Lois looking over her perfect little shoulder and flashing her pearly white teeth as the tall, good looking girl told her what the red-head had done. Ilyas felt himself blush. He threw his tray on to the table. Quickly, he glanced down at his plate, and forced himself to eat. His hunger had totally disappeared, and he felt almost burning hot. Ignoring the laughter that was being directed at him, he took off his jacket and dropped it onto the bench beside him.

The jacket was a mess. The stain would never disappear, and he looked sadly at the jacket he had bought with his last paycheck. He had worked everyday, waking up at five in the morning and slogging through to late evening, sometimes till ten at night. It had taken him a month to get that jacket. Now it was just so much thrash.

He felt his stomach growl, but he didn’t feel like eating. He tried force-feeding himself, but it was no use. Dirtying his jacket, his only possession of worth, had taken away his appetite and given him ominous tiding for his Junior college life. He tried to calm down by taking deep breaths, and succeeded. Probably Mr. Tien at the dry cleaners could get rid of the stains for him. He regularly did wonders for Ilyas’ mum when she had stains on her office clothes. He felt his stomach rumble again. He needed to eat! He tried a mouthful of the steak, and nearly threw up. He dropped his fork in disgust, as the bell rang, signaling the end of break. Perfect, he thought. What else could go wrong?

He heard a loud rip behind him, and saw an elderly woman wearing a cleaning uniform, forcing a green grey cloth from beneath her trolley laden with cleaning equipment. Ilyas nodded at her, turned to get his ruined jacket and go. It wasn’t there anymore. He did a double take, and his jaw dropped as the old woman gave a sheepish smile, one tooth gold while the rest where yellowed with age.

"Is this yours, my son?" said the cleaner apologetically, as she handed Ilyas’ a pile of rags that was once grey and now was green, and torn practically in half. Ilyas sighed, picked up his tray, and stood up. He didn’t look at the woman.

"You can keep it, Auntie. I think you’ll need it more than I do."

As Ilyas walked away, the woman smiled to herself. The cloth would be excellent on Principal Mormon’s windows. She always had trouble getting the birds dropping off, but with that cloth it would be easy. She whistled tunelessly as she pushed her trolley towards the principal’s office.

Here it is!

wow.. i love this. Its times like these that really make me wanna write! take a gander, and i would bet many of u out there are jumping in ur chairs.. i mean wow! thats what u call a superb story! haha.. ill write more like dat.. i wanna thank bernard cornwell and Dean Koontz for teaching me to write with purpose. Haha.. Enjoy!

Ilyas- One twist

Ilyas stood still. Very still. In his hands, the silver tray was laden heavy with cups and seemed to pull him down, making him smaller. It didnt. Instead he prayed that he could be smaller. Anytime now, the person (or persons) on the other side of the cellar door would hear him.His heartbeat was absolutely pounding.

There was a hissing sound. He peeped through the crack in the cellar door, praying his white uniform wouldnt give him away in the darkness. He neednt have bothered. The two men clothed in black robes where hissing softly but vehemently to each other. They stood together, face to face, not four feet from Ilyas, and their intent was not kindly. Definitely. The naked blades in their hands was a testimony to their unkindly thoughts.

"Sade said he would be here!"

Ilyas's eyes snapped away from the knives, and his eyes widened involuntarily. Sade! That name. It was the second time he heard that name, and he felt cold. The cups in his hands started to tinkle as his hands began to shake. The last time he heard that name, Sade had been synonymous with death. This time, he knew, the death would be his.

"He is here. I can feel him." The taller of the two, presumably the leader hissed. He tensed, cocking his head, and sniffed the air. Ilyas jerked back from the door, and by the almighty, managed to keep his hands steady enough that the clinking did not penetrate the heavy wooden door of the cellar. He set the betraying tray aside, and waited in heart-bursting suspense, waiting for the door to explode as a group of men in black broke through, knives singing in the cool air, eyes gleaming with hatred as the did their evil job on him.

But no. There was nothing. Ilyas could wait no longer. He counted to twenty, then moved with infinite caution to look through the crack again. There was no one there.

He knew he should get back to work. But he was afraid. Those men were waiting out there, possibly at the gents, or under the buffet table, or heck, they could be one of the guests he was serving. " A chardonnay for you ma'am or errrrkkk!" and theres a knife in his gut, and his hopes of searching for his father's killer would be in vain.

At the thought of his father, he felt his blood cool. His heart rate slowed its beating, and a calmness settled over him. The panic he felt before turned to a numbing coolness, and he felt his eyes narrow. He would not be afraid. The Greenjacket will walk again.

He grasped the release for the doors, and swung them open with a bare minimum of effort. He had oiled the joints when he came in that morning, the door opened with nary a sound. Light flooded his retinas yet he did not blink, or tear. Instead, his eyes roved the vegetable counter, to the ice box on his right and the wine chiller to his left. No sign of anyone.

It wasn't surprising. Not many waiters liked to head to the cellar area, the furthest reaches of the restaurant. Spooky they said. Once, long ago a man had been chopped to little bits by his wife when she caught him cheating with her sister. She chopped them both up actually. They said she had kept them within the mansion grounds and the staff frequently came to the conclusion that the body was in the cellar, somewhere. The older staff loved to send the new ones, in this case, Ilyas, to fetch bits of things from the cellar, and scare them silly with nasty pranks. But this time, it wasn't a prank. Unless your the type type to delight at your own funeral.

Ilyas glided through the door of the cellar room. he glanced quickly left and right, faintly aware that his pristine uniform and his polished shoes were a dead give away in the pale light of the corridor. The restaurant was a refurbished mansion which had been a colonial house built on a small hill. The corridor went right, slopped upwards to the kitchen then the dining room itself. To the left the slope continued down to the staff canteen, gents and ladies, smoking area and a new underground parking area. For a moment he was undecided. Safety of the kitchen or the answer to the mystery? Surely those men wouldn't have gone to the bustling and hustling of frenchmen cooking? Ilyas made a decision. He decided to go left.

A muted bang. Four shadows with barely a murmur in the silence of the corridor seemed to stream from the gents. Their blades were out, and somehow they did not gleam anymore, but was matte. In an act so sudden that even his voice sounded shocked, Ilyas found himself screaming.

"Stop! Who are you? Oi!" His voice sounded like thunder in the narrow confines. In his mind he imagined the men running away faster at the sound of his voice. He felt power. The power of fear. He saw that in fear, men will do anything if pushed. So he roared even louder and began to gave chase.

Unfortunately, the men werent really filled with fear. The tallest one, the one who had smelled Ilyas turned and uttered a sibillant tone to his comrades and jutted an arm at the carpark doors. The three scampered off. Then with a mocking bow that Ilyas half saw in the dim light, he drew back and something came flying at Ilyas that was so fast that even blessed with wonderful reaction time, Ilyas could barely duck as the bloody blade tore through his shoulder. He screamed, half in anger, half in excruciating pain, and he felt his knees collapse and he pitched head first into the polished linoleum floor. The pain was intense. He panted like he had ran a thousand miles, his lungs bursting for air and his eyes blurring with tears. He sat up, back against the wall just in time to see the door to the carpark close. Bastard. Ilyas promised himself that if they were to meet in different circumstances, it would be the Green Jacket who would be bowing in mockery. And Ilyas was pretty sure he wouldn't miss.

He forced his head to look at the blade half buried in his right shoulder. It was maybe a foot and a half long, the blade slender, the handle curiously ornate, with inlaid jade on its black ebony handle presumably ivory. In his pain he noticed the crimson stain of blood on his uniform and frowned at the spreading pool of blood. He had to remove it, apply pressure and pray the blood would stop bleeding or he would be very, very dead.

ILyas murmured a prayer to the Almighty, braced himself for the pull. His eyes were gripped shut, he willed his hands to move towards the knife. He stopped. Pulling it out might actually cause more damage than if he left where it was. As softly as he could, he touched the knife, and moved it infinitesmally around.

Pain. Fire and Ice. He gritted his teeth so hard he could almost swear his teeth had sunk in. A low moan escaped his shut mouth. Blood. He must have bitten the side of his cheeks. He spat it out, and decided to leave the blade when he realised something. The part of the blade that was sticking out seemed to be bloody too. The matte colour he saw earlier was actually dried blood. And it wasnt his.

He got up unsteadily, but with increasing haste. Ilyas could feel the effects of the jarring impacts of his feet on the cold floor on his shoulder. But there was nothing for it, but to go on. For up ahead, like tiny footprints of smurfs, a red trail starting from the gents led all the way to the carpark.

" Oh, no," he breathed, suddenly stricken. Sade had struck again.

Ilyas found him sitting calmly on the third cubicle toilet, his hands slack by his side his once clean uniform stained with blood. His legs were askew, as if he was having a bad tummy and was desperate to release his load. He was unrecognisable, a save for the name tag on his chest. His head was a stump, an empty neck where the villains had detached his head. His chest was a mess of blood, and Ilyas saw the moments before they took his life, and saw how the blood had spurted out of the neck as the heart continued to pump, before finally slowing, then stopping.

Ilyas felt tears on his cheeks. Rage. Sadness. Hopelesness. He felt the death of his father keener now than ever before. He had thought himself beyond tears, beyond any pain after the tragic loss of his father. He was wrong. Whoever the freak was, Sade had started the ball rolling. Now it was slowly consuming Ilyas' life, as it rolled ominously to bring his end.

Weeping like a child, not understanding his own actions, Ilyas took the name tag. He fumbled for a moment against the sticky object, the polished gold and black lettering catching the overhead lights for a moment, blinding him.

Ilyas wept. He prayed goodbye to his friend, kept the name-tag in his pocket, and made sure he didnt leave anything that might incriminate him behind. Then he waved at the corpse.

" Goodbye Wadi. Your vengeance will be swift and deadly. I just pray that HE will show me the way. Go with god."

With that, the Green Jacket, clad in red and white, walked calmly out of the gents, and ran blindly into the night.

IM AN ALUMNI!

Yep. Im an ALUMNI now.. haha.. I realise that for the first 1 and a half years in ngee ann, my life was a total bore. Not many frens, not many things to do. Then when i entered my second year, second semester, things got cool. Khamal was ard, and the EE guys got closer, as brothers are. Then there was ides and Dhan, and Nadiah, completion of Ides and the end of attachment.
Last sem was hardly felt. Seriously. Time just flew by, and now its over. Now im bumming. Heck, im bumming and doing nothing, cos thats how bad its become. Work eludes me still( not sure whether its my natural lazyness or my luck) but at least theres football to get me thru the day.

Have U heard? im Talking to Bella again. :) N im pretty surprised shes single.. and my fault too. I hope things get better for her. I just hope she rmbrs that im here, and use me as a resource. Thats rite. USE ME. Its weird sometimes when a woman flirts with u bigtime, and they start talking about taking off ur clothes and kissing u all over, and when u offer them wat they want, they come out and say " NO ".. its like they want u to come and take it or something.. take them. Bar that, they might just wanna talk about it. Woman. I wish i cud get a girl hus more like a man in some ways. Hu knows what she wants. hmm.. Den i dun have to explore so much.. :P

Ilyas is rotting, poor guy. Im late, but life is really pulling on me. I feel sick all the time, my tummy's getting bigger, Shabina might be coming back like real soon, bella's been promising me that she'll hug me when she sees me( since its legal for her now) and Dzul told me to go for the Raffles hotel Job. Well, all these things aside, im seriously bored. huh.

Oh well..

New Chapter

Its that time of year again, where i realise i have absolutely nothing to do, so i have to either go look for a job, or get down to serious Ilyas-ing. Im basically happy with the first chapter, but i absolutely hate the damn prologue! the beginning is weak, and i think i have to re-write.. like a friend of mine said it " doesnt catch onto the mind" so i will try to put hooks on it..

Anyway, things are back to its lonely best( haha) tho this time i think its really gonna be permanent. Its amazing really. U tell a girl ur falling for her and the next thing you know, your out on the streets. Weird. And i meant it too. I wonder why its easier to be with a girl whom youve lied to about this? Saying I love you in a fake way. hmm..

Funny story. Was in malaysia the other day, and i was talking about my play to my parents while Taha was asleep beside me. My mum asked if Yihan was 'lembut' (ie: fagoty) but i said no, hes more the innocent, cute, naive type. So we procedded on, and suddenly i thought of asking my mum her thoughts of Sarah, and her side splitting act(Marrriiiaaannn!!!) and then my mum cut me off as i did an imitation of that "MARRIIAANNN!" voice...

MUM: That Marian is a daughter of a Eurasian rite?

Me:(dumbfunded) err no mum. Her grandad's a Baba.

Mum: OH! No wonder she looks chineses, but her diction is superb.

ME:(trying to change the subject) WOW! look at that prata shop! Nice colours!

Mum: So what's her name?

Me:(no way out) Nazatul Syima.

Mum: Such a nice name. So arabic. But then, she (mimes a V{for vendetta} and mimes smoking a cigarette) hisap rokok (add smoking sound effects) like what only!

Exit Mum.
Cue Head banging against glass window.
End Scene.

What only siah. Why do people all ard me insist on talking about her when im accpeting defeat and moving on? I mean, two times rejected must mean something right? A good fren of mine, Zulhakim asked me, " So have you given up the fight yet?"

I shrug. My reply was simple. " I havent. But im not going to do anything about it. If God means it to happen, it will. We may choose, but its up to HIM to confirm things. So i wait. Terserah as the malay's would say. And pray."

If that answer was cheesy, i beg to differ. I believe in it heartily. I mean, if i can have these moments of othr-people-talking-about-her-syndrome, i bet she has the same thing going on, right? One can only hope.

I will return to ilyas soon. Now, its time for some gym.

Chao ancho!

Its done!

Yihan, me, Shahdon, and Mr Bahri.
The most eligible javanese Dude award.
Fashion disaster.

Woo hooo... the night was a resounding success.. it truly was! The lines came with a snap, the transition was quite smooth, the audience, interactive... it was an actor's dream! there were some grumblings at the stolen grave during the last scene (shame!) but it was great nonetheless!
I seriously wanna put up the pics but i have no pics to put up! Poor thing rite? ill go look ard for some pics, and steal them.. im sure Mr. Seeto(read: shahdon) has plenty, and quality pics at that too.

Thanks all, for coming. From Seba duvall with love.

Ps: This week was stressful and doubtful. This week will be filled with hope. Next week? inshaallah, things will be great.

Pss: this has been updated. Danke gern to Mr Shahdon who i have quietly stolen these pics from..

The Next Chapter

Today marks a very special day: where i will begin writing the next chapter of The Green Jacket: Masquerades( actually, just the next part. The first chapter will be complete in probably a weeks time.) and thats not all. Todays the day where I face a new stage in my life: ADULTHOOD. In other words, national service! I shall look forward with ardour fitting that of a patriot( yeah rite) and a man willing to face the world( only with a large army behind me, and preferrably around me as well). Hopefully, i wont disappoint my all those things that matter most to me.

For those people taking ur A level results, namely Chitra, Faizal, Sheema, and the rest of the world, good luck, god bless, and may ur futures be filled with long days and pleasant nights. Cos hopefully, ill get my damn diploma too. : )

And the Green Jacket walks again.

A tribute to a Great man

Sometimes its bad. And this is as bad as it can get. I put my hands together in salute, and prayer, and i hope God gives this brave man a chance to return to action. I cant say i know how it feels to have a broken leg. But to a footballer, breaking a leg is like losing hands for a tennis player, losing the dick as a man-whore or even losing the brain for a chess player. Its bad. really bad. Poor Smudger.

Well be here. Those fans who hated you for your cross Pennines switch are lying when they say they don't care about your current plight. We all love you, Smithy. You gave your heart and soul for Leeds, and we will never forget.

Respect? look at the blurred faces of the two managers in the background. See the concern on their faces.

Courage? "Alan has immense courage and he was showing it when he went to block the free-kick. It made the whole day doubly disappointing for us."-club captain Gary Neville.

Sense of humour? "When I looked down the leg was lying one way and my ankle was pointing towards Hong Kong - so I knew I was in serious trouble." (he can still joke at a time like this?)

Our Love? "Even though Alan was a little bit delirious as he was coming off, he was able to recognise that not just United fans, but a lot of Liverpool fans, were giving him a round of applause." - Smith's agent Mr Alex Black.

We love smudger. Get well soon, and youll be back terrorising players everywhere. God speed.

news.. News..news

heya all.. i noe there are people out there awaiting the next part of me epic.. har har.. but due to time constraints( ie: mugging, housework, dallying with a certain person, winning eleven 9 and basic sloth) i wont be able to continue the story till mayhap next month. So ilyas will have to wait a while longer. It seems my life will take precedent right about now. : )

Take care all. And as before, i apologise for any spelling errors that have occured within the hallowed confines of this blog. It is rather "unpolite" I did not mention this before, but i have to show "character" and come forward with this info.

Cheers.

first part of chapter 1

Heres the first part. im seriously victimising the poor boy arent i? haha.. dis is soooo fun.. apologies for any spelling errors, grammatical errors or any weird visualisations. Its still in its basic form. Enjoy!

Proposed Chapter 1

Dr Mormon of St Albert's Junior College was not incredibly impressed when Mrs Lee barged into his office during his morning coffee. In fact, he was peeved. He had his reading glasses on, the thick framed ones Mrs Mormon had insisted he purchase when his eye-sight became problematic. After all, he was sixty-two this coming March, and at that age he would expect to at least have his daily ritual of hot coffee his wife would make every morning in a silver thermos flask. She would bundle along a copy of the Maine Daily, knowing how her husband loves his news. Thus he would start his day, fifteen minutes of peace, filled with the pleasant aroma of arabica beans, and news that was hot of the shelve. But here was the peace breaker, a crow of a teacher who appeared to be manhandling a student into his office. He glanced up, just once, and you could almost feel the hot flash of irritation those dark brown eyes radiated.

" Principal, this boy is late!" Mrs Lee screeched. She had on her horribly pink glasses, which barely concealed the beady eyes beneath, and rested on a nose that would not seem so out of place on a pit bull. Her thin, severe lips were pursed in a sneer, and she had her arms crossed on her bright fashion-destroying pink cardigan, her feet tapping impatiently beneath her ankle length brown skirt. Quite a showing, thought the amused doctor, going back to the blaring headlines of " MAN FOUND HEADLESS IN ALLEY: Police follow leads". And it was only a quarter-past nine, on the very first day of the new term. Yes, quite a showing, even for this particular teacher.

"Good morning Mrs Lee," said he, his eyes still scanning the news written by the esteemed Jimmy Luis. " Would you care for some coffee?"

The heaving teacher looked scandalised. " I'd rather not," she sniffed, looking down her nose." I do have a class to attend to."

That statement was a thrown gauntlet, and the old man was taken aback at the woman's audacity. He decided he would not take such blatant disrespect, the insinuation that his fifteen minutes was time wasted shirking his job. But screaming with fury was not his style. Subtlety was his forte, so instead, he fixed the woman with an incredulous stare and sipped more coffee with a loud slurp to further infuriate her.

"You say you don't have time for coffee, yet you bring a student into my office at a quarter past nine on the first day of the new term? This boy seems to be a first year at that." He switched his gaze to the hapless victim. He was clad in a green sweat jacket, brown pants that probably made him a student of Napier Secondary School, in the North.

" First year, are you boy? Napier Secondary?"

The boy nodded somewhat forlornly, his face set in a submissive mask. Dr Mormon nodded, and and turned his attention back to his newspaper with an exaggerated sigh.

"Alright, Ill talk to him," he said. The curt dismissal had an immediate effect. Mrs Lee, who was obviously hoping he would take the cane to the boy immediately and practice his forarm swings, started to open and close her mouth like she was chewing a very tough piece of meat.He knew her type. They took 'sparing the cane' (this, of course, bastardised from that classic saying about spoiling the child. Sheepish smile from the story-teller) to whole new levels, and if they had their way, teachers would be dragging around canes the length of his arm to enforce discipline in the ranks. But it was still his school. His ranks. He stretched the silence, waiting patiently for the explosion that was bound to arrive, pretending to read whilst studying her from the corner of his eyes.

With a spluttering, mumbling, whispering, red-turning face, the old crow struggled to compose herself and come up with a quick comeback that was witty and wouldn't make her look like a fool. She finally had one(a full five seconds, mused the old principal), drew a breath to voice out her point in no uncertain terms, and was gleefully interrupted by the old codger, who was faster to the draw. He looked up, with nary a smile on his face, and said, " Don't you have a class to attend to, my dear Mrs Lee?"

When the door had slammed shut, the old man chuckled to himself(good riddance!), and settled down to continue his reading. He was taking his third sip when he remembered the boy who was still quietly watching the floor, probably counting the tiles in the room or counting dustmites, even. He put down his coffee, and cleared his throat. No reply. He took the time to study the boy. About 5 foot 2, with wide expressive eyes, thick eyebrows(a sign of power that, he thought, fingering his own) that tapered naturally, a small yet proud nose and hair that was longer than school regulations. He had on a pale green jacket over his Napier uniform, the soft material stretching over thin but wide shoulders and his pale face was still fixed upon the floor. This was boring. He preferred his students to be terrified in his presence. Time to set that point right.

"Whats your name, boy?" he asked gruffly. The boy was jolted by the coarse, phlegm-in-the-throat voice. He licked his lips, head now lower than before, and mumbled something unintelligible. At another prompt, louder this time with a hint of warning thrown in for good measure, the boy spoke up, his voice a soothing tenor. " Ilyas, sir."

Dr Mormon nodded, took out a cigarette pack of reds and his zippo lighter from the right drawer, opened the window beside his desk, with drew a small electric fan from the cabinet behind him and turned it on with its blades pointing out the window. He lit his cigarette and took a hard drag.

" Tell me, Ian, " he emphasied the name, knowing full well it was wrong and enjoying theway the boy was squirming, delibrating in whether to correct his superior or not. "Why were you late today?" said Dr Mormon, and blew smoke at the fan with abandon. The boy, now starting to sweat, had decided that the principal could call him Olly the Elephant man if he wanted to. He swallowed audibly. The smoke fairly flew out the window as the fan did its work, the smoke dispersing as it left the building.

Silence. "Well? Don't test me boy."

The boy's head was so low his chin was on his chest. He looked as if he had a sumo wrestler sitting on the nape of his neck(which is quite painful, by the way) " I woke up late, sir."

Dr Mormon took another drag. He had noticed the dark rings beneath the boy's eyes before, and he half believed the story already. The boy seems harmless enough though, so Dr Mormon decided to do his job educating them, like the school board paid him to do, and lighten up on the "gestapo crap", as Keanu Reeves so succinctly put it in 'The Matrix'. Like the proverbial apple a day, Dr Mormon was a man who believed in preventative measures.A lecture maybe? Something that would keep the little scoundrel away from his warm coffee and hot news. He sipped his coffee and made a face at how fast it was cooling. Damn first years.

"Son, do you know why youre here?" There was no answer. It seemed the boy took it as a rhetorical question it was meant to be.

"You are here because you broke school rules. You are late!" At this the aged doctor stood up and came to the front of the table, and plumped his behind beside the picture of his wife, and looked down at the silent boy, who still had that sumo on his neck.

"I agree, that you are here today, on the first day, of your first year, your first time in these hallowed halls even, but there are no excuses for your punctuality. Or lack thereof!" he narrowed his eyes.

"Classes start at half past eight, not nine. You cannot just come waltzing in at any time that suits you, and expect us to welcome you with open arms. Who do you take yourself for, the Maine Idol? That mincing, girl looking teenage boy who sings like a female and joyously wears make-up? You teenagers and your idols! With him around, we'll have a generation of pansies skipping about!"

He paused for effect, and took a deep breath. He almost felt sorry for the boy. Though only a little. He'd pay the little johnny for ruining his fifteen minutes.

He snatched the paper from behind him and dangled in directly infront of the boy's eyes, forcing him to look up. The screaming headlines flashed. "Look, boy! See all this crimes? These Murders?" he poked at the headline with a tobacco stained finger. Ilyas blinked, quickly. The view away from the linoleum was infinitely worse.

"Well, theyre probably fools like you who start off by coming late for school. Then they get smart, and start lying, and then some good old petty theft. Then they go on to robbery, assault and finally they graduate to full-blown MURDER!" The boy was riping nicely, and so the happy principal turned the screw.

" The police are going to sort them out. The Republic of Maine has the best police force in the world! President Da Silva has pledged to us Mainites that he would clean up the streets," he pointed at a photograph on his wall of a handsome clean-shaven, tanned man with a shining smile, a proud nose and intelligent eyes with the plaque beneath it reading 'the eleventh president of the Republic of Maine, MR Jonathan da Silva'.

" I voted for him your know." Dr Mormon said, beaming. "He will clean up this country. And those murderers, who have started out like you, a bunch of no good late comers, will havefront row seats to firing squad: The Movie! BOOM!" he slammed his palm on the table and laughed with maniacle glee as the boy jumped up five feet and landed on his chair with a ploop and airplane wheels for eyes.

He gave the boy his best Ive-got-my-eyes-on-you look. "You going to MURDER someone boy?"

Ilyas shook his head so hard his head was bound to fall off if he went any faster. His hands were gripping the chairs arm rest, leaving finger marks indented into the upholstry.

"Good! Because if you did," he growled low in his throat and thrust his face into the boys. " I'll be there to catch you. Now go back to class. The next time, you consider breaking another rule, ill be there, watching you."

He pointed at the door. "Now get read of that stupid jacket and the next time I see you walking around with that long hair Ill chop your ears off! Get to class!"

Dr Mormon watched in amusement as the boy yessired and scrambled to remove his jacket along with his presence. He tripped over the chair, righted it, dropped his jacket, picked it up, still mumbling yessirs and immediatleys. He got to the door, opened it on the second try and got one foot out the door just as Dr Mormon barked his name.

"Ian!"(and so Ilyas became Ian to the jolly old principal.)The boy turned slowly, afraid of more hairdryer treatment, the hand holding the door knob trembling slightly.

"Welcome to St Alberts."

As the door slammed shut, Dr Mormon chuckled to himself.

Damn first years.

concerning chapter 1

Now, ive been cracking my head this past few days and it seems i was going to end up screaming in mental pain cos i have no idea how to start the new chapter! yeah, it stings.. and stinks too. so, im going to go with my original idea: that is begin with Ilyas going to his first day in school. Itll be a sorta throw back to anyone on his first day, and ill make sure theres some love interest involved. A friend of mine insisted she be inside, so ill probably put her in sumwhere. haha.. anyway, here goes...

Prologue Done!!

Guys, pls doooo comment on my prologue.. its only a draft but it would be great if you guys could check it out.. As soon as you guys do ill work on the first chapter, and so forth.. enjoy reading! ive really tried to make the characthers pop into life, so forgive me if i took the liberty on names.. i havent been doing much reserch, anyway.. haha..have fun! and do forum me HERE.. ill try to make it link, tho im having problems with that.. catch u later!

Review here

There have been idiots complaining of how to review, so ive gotten a forum link so u can do it.. and dun worry.. ur a lovable idiot.. haha.. so click HERE to review. All reviews will be treated with all the respect it deserves, so do review, i tell u, cos its true(rhyme siah!) haha..

Proposed Prologue

Imagine a dark night, the moon hidden behind large ominous clouds and the wind growing stronger as the weather turned grim. Silence, as every door in every apartment in Woodgrove Town was shut against the night, the inhabitants afraid. The recent spate of unsolvable murders that have swept across the country-island of Maine left the police baffled and the people terrified.

Through the empty, dimly lit streets, there was a sound of pattering, steadily becoming thumps of heavy footsteps. The rapidity suggests someone on the run. Heavy breathing would follow, if the sound of them were not covered by those pounding feet. Someone must really be in a hurry.

Iskandar ran. He was afraid, of that you can be sure. He runs with a wild abandon, not looking where he is actually heading to but just wanting to get away. He risks a glance backwards, hoping in vain that his pursuers where gone.They had. They were no longer there.This took him utterly by surprise, and as a result, his footsteps slowed, then stopped. He was breathing hard, and the cool night air was cooling the sweat that had made his cotton shirt an unlikely home.

Suddenly, the danger that had manifested so suddenly did not seem so imminent.He had been reading at home, in an apartment that was five stories up, when he was attracted by some sudden urge to be outside. So he had gone downstairs, taking the old elevator that had served the block for many a-years, feeling it shiver slightly as in passed every floor. On the wall were the floor levels in nice rounded chrome buttons and above it a sign saying "$ 200" underneath a picture of a cigarette with a red line crossing it diagonally. Iskandar wondered briefly whether there was anyone foolish enough to actually smoke inside the elevator. Two hundred was a cool sum, and it was quite a lot in these troubled times, when crime was on the rise, with the rate of crime done to crime stopped being almost five to one, the sudden unemployment crisis, the hot words bandied about by the nation's neighbours, cigarette prices were going through the roof. And here they were, charging two hundred for a smoke in the elevator, when smoking outside was a much better idea. He shook his head slowly, took out his cigarette container, and counted the contents. Three left. He would have to get another pack the moment he was done with this one. Katy would not be pleased.

He sighed, and placed the container back into his pocket. One day he would have enough to make her his wife. He had been offered several wonderful posts that he had turned down, even though he knew they would have set him up for life. They would have given him a beautiful partner and the four babies they had planned for, two boys and two girls. But he had still turned them down. The reason? He did not know it himself, at least not consciously, for he had never voiced it out and ever his inner voice tried to stamp the very thought from his mind. But it seems he was destined for something. Something big. Snatches of a song kept playing in his head, in a language he did not know or understand, sounding mournful and yet hopeful at the same time.

With a chime and a sultry female voice announcing the first storey, he arrived below. The cold wind that blew and that faint smell of rain welcomed him, but as he walked a few steps he realised something. He did not know exactly why, but he felt that he had been called to go there.He was afraid, yes, but he was intent not to show it. In him there seemed to be liquid steel flowing through his veins. It does not mean he does not have fear in his vocabulary, but to him, fear was an enemy long past conquered. He was not lacking in courage.

Unfortunately, it was not his lack of courage, but an abundance of youth that proved his undoing. He was young. And the young, as the old would like you to believe, are reckless. So he had ignored that feeling, and stood his ground.He did not stand his ground for long. As he withdrew a cigarette from his pocket container, he felt the wind pick up. His long-ish dark hair was positively dancing, when a moment ago it had barely moved. He had taken three attempts to light his cigarette, finally hiding behind a wall with his left hand cupped to get it lit.

The first drag was heavenly. He had not smoked for almost a week, and he recognised the first feeling that came as guilt. He had promised Katy he would kick the habit, that he had kicked the habit, but he thought he had a very good reason to break the week long fast. For the first time in his life, even though he could not explain it, fear was overpowering him. It was as if the air around him had developed hands, and was slowly but surely squeezing the very air from his lungs. His own hands grew moist, and those normally steady limbs begin to shake. His knees start to quake. He was almost choking as he tried to breathe, retching silently.The cigarette dropped. The fear was started out as a whisper was screaming now. The half-finished cigarette with grey ash dribbling from its tip fell to the ground. If an Environment officer was around, it was a good bet that he would have been booked, at least a two hundred dollar fine for littering.

But he was past caring. Slowly, Iskandar felt himself being choked to death.He heard the sinister laughter, the mincing sound of a clown gone bad. He was, at this time, on his knees, struggling still to draw breath, his fingers tearing at the clamp that seemed to be upon his throat. He tried to look at the owner of the voice, but he could not. His vision was dimming like a lamp on board a train that is moving away from you during a dark night.

"Run, my dear. Run!” That voice! It had a rasping quality to it that was scary, but somehow reassuring. Like an old, familiar uncle who was handling a knife hidden behind his back, and an almost placating smirk upon his face, and his other hand beckoning.Like an Uncle who works as a clown. A clown gone bad.

"RUN!" And Iskandar did. He felt the grip lessen, and he stumbled on to his feet, and ran like a drunken monkey. His fear was nauseating, but it gave him strength to get away. His legs tried to start its pumping but it faltered as he tried first to win his breath back, half-succeeded, got his innate gyroscope working again, and off he went on the 100 metre dash. Only this time, he knew, he could not win, even if he had Thierry Henry's pace. The tittering, menacing yet friendly laughter followed him still. If he had a million dollars, he would bet that that laughter would still follow him had he transported himself to the other side of the world.He was being toyed with, and he knew it.So he had ran, and turned to find no one, and he had stopped. These thoughts had barely taken a second to bounce around in his mind, but even now, the fear was abating its domination of him, and the steel that was normally within was reasserting control. He began to forget that there was even a voice in the first place, and reasoned that the fear was probably the guilt about lighting up in the first place.

As he felt his panic ebb, the laughter began again. He felt fear assault him like a horrible wave, and he gave back, step by step. Through slitted eyes, hands over his face, he glimpsed six shadows converge on him, slowly gaining solidity from nothing, and revealed six figures of almost the same height, marching in step, similar ebony robes moving slowly in the breeze. They held parangs glinting evilly even in the dark, the only light being a flickering apartment sign "372 of Woodgrove Town District". It was then, that Iskandar broke. He did something that he had not done since he was a little child.

Prince Iskandar, unknown heir to the lost throne of Java (even to himself), blood descendent of Golden Alexander and the Great Salahiddin, who the infidels call Saladin, wept in utter anguish.He fell before their advance. Black despair filled his heart and bile rose unbidden to his lips. He retched till he could retch no more, but still the laughter continued. He stumbled backwards, weeping tears of fear so concentrated it was excruciating. In his blindness, hoping to escape the fearful torment, he crashed into the wall behind him and fell in a heap upon the cold and slimy floor.

He knew the game was up. He had nowhere to run.He lay a moment curled in a ball, his arms encircled around his heaving body, tears like rain falling onto the dirty pavement. Rats and cockroaches where nowhere in sight; they had fled at the sound of that (evil clown) laughter. Then, as if in answer to his cries the laughter ebbed away to giggles, and then silence.Iskandar recovered enough to raise his head. Through the haze of tears he saw a man in black, even darker than the six behind him (if that was possible), who now sketched a bow to him, still tittering as if the joke was over but the laughter still carried on. He seemed shorter than the rest, but he was powerful, more powerful than the six who stood in a semi-circle behind him. It was in his stature, every sinuous curve filled with evil menace, yet somehow, there was something hauntingly familiar about this apparition. He was wearing a hood which covered his face, but even in the dark Iskandar could fathom the sardonic grin beneath the darkness.

He began to speak.

"Ah, my Prince! I am glad you are well. No, no, don't get up, its alright if you continue to stay rested." At this the Evil man, no, thing, laughed and Iskandar cringed again. The thing held up a finger and shook his head. "Now now, no need to get all scared, after all a healthy sense of humour is always important."

Iskandar could make no sense of this tirade. In a soft, almost tired voice, he said, “Prince? What prince? Who are you? What do you want with me?" Senseless questions really, but even in his weakened state he desired to know what was happening. More importantly, he needed to know why this was happening to him.

"Why?" He cackled." Who? They didn't tell you? How quaint! I suppose they wanted to protect you from yourself. Stupid, arrogant fools." He giggled, and suddenly looked serious, if that could be contrived in the semi-darkness. “Well, you are a Prince of the Prophecy, but that doesn’t mean you are going to be the King," he barked his laughter. “I don't intend for you to be Him, anyway. You see, I’m going to kill you, and then I'm going to cut off your head and stow it as proof of your death. Someone very powerful wants you dead. And I, of course," he giggled girlishly," never fail."

Iskandar was trembling now. He knew he was at the mercy of this thing and his end seemed to have been set. But the thing was not done with him. No, it had one more thing to show Iskandar. The thing withdrew a black cloth bag and without ceremony tossed it at Iskandar. It bounced once, twice, and then dumped its contents in his face. Iskandar blinked in horror. His cousin Wan stared back at him with a slack expression on his face, and the evil thing burst into mirthless laughter.

“Gaze upon your guardian, your highness!" cried he, “look upon those who have failed to serve you! You knew him as Wan, but his true name was Bambangwan Hamengko, of late a Knight of the order of Java. In the High Language it means 'Warrior Protector', did you know? He might be named 'Warrior', but he wasn’t much of one when I swiped his head from his shoulders!"
Insane laughter ensued. “And by the time I was through with him, he wasn’t really a male, if you know what I mean!".

Iskandar did not heed this; he was cradling the head of his cousin in his arms, blood coating his hands and lap as he stared sadly at the eyes that always crinkled in laughter, that mouth that always held a smile ready or had a kindly word to say. Slowly, he looked away from the head and he tucked it into the crook of his left arm. His eyes swung forward, and a fire began to burn within him. His eyes were like exploding stars and the darkness fell back before him. His wrath concentrated before him like a raging fire, and the darkness despaired. The six guards, in their dismay, fell back a step, then another, and every step they gave he gained in strength, till he could get to his feet easily.

But the thing stood still, and began to laugh; using the evil it possessed to bring him down to his knees, to crush his resistance.But it was of no use. He felt a growl in his throat, the battle fever hot upon him. The laughter grew, louder and louder, decibel by decibel, till the very air was rank with fear and hatred and the residents in block number 372 of Woodgrove Town District screamed in their beds as the fear assaulted them too. But still, it mattered not. He was revealed now, the true Prince of the Line, every line shining with ancient power as he strode forward and roared.

"Halt you, thing of evil! You cur! You hinzir! You son of a motherless goat! You have no power over the light! I know you, Sade!" at this the creature whimpered and the laughter ceased as if a switch had been flicked off, “And as I know your name I know you to be a coward! Feel my wrath as I smite you into the ground, fool!" And the Prince leaped forward with his right arm cocked, on his lips a battle song of Kunsowong Bambang, his brow alight with the inner fire, inner light that was in his blood, was his heirloom from his ancestors and he called upon it to destroy this evil before him.And he found himself stopped a bare whisker from his target, stopped by some unknown force. He gasped and grabbed at Sade, drawing back the hood and staring in surprise at the truly familiar features of his own face. A mirror. A doppelganger. A clone. And the clone, laughed.

"You think you can defeat me so easily? I, who have hunted your kind for centuries, and drank the blood of your guardians, I have learned well, my dear Prince.” He smiled and began to sing a song, the song that Iskandar had been hearing in the darkness of his dreams, the song in the unknown language, presumably the High Tongue

Iskandar felt tears, not of pain but relief, for the song brought understanding and he felt lighter, more ready to meet his fate. For it was all over. He hung onto Sade, and stared deep into those eyes filled with hatred. He slowly broke the contact and cast his eyes down. The jewel encrusted dagger hilt was all that could be seen, the rest was within him.

"This weapon was crafted by the Siamese, and if ever there were a people I loved, the Siamese have won the jackpot!"

Blood began to pour as Sade said this, grinning. Iskandar felt tired, but still he did not let go. Again, he looked into Sade's eyes, and this time he smiled.

" You have not won, Sade. Soon, the one shall reveal himself, and he will be too powerful for even you to destroy." And he sang of the prophecy, the same song Sade had sung earlier, but stopped at a line, which he repeated in English.

“He shall be clad in green, and no mortal weapon will destroy him. You will never win."And with that the Sade laughed. He laughed, this time it was with pure mirth, and he laughed till his stomach ached, as the life blood of the prince dribbled out onto the floor like a red, red river and he laughed some more, till he was hoarse. Then he shook his head slowly and wiped the tears in his eyes with his shoulders, still holding onto the prince in a death embrace. He barked a laugh, and then seem to subside, smiling merrily, almost kindly.

"How little you know, my prince.” he twisted the knife, making the mortally wounded prince moan in anguish. And with one quick move, the Siamese blade, still hungry for Javanese blood after seven centuries, still as sharp as the day it was hauled triumphantly from a fire deep in the heart of Siam, was ripped out of Iskandar’s body. Swiftly, more merciful than he intended, Sade decapitated his prey.

He smiled, replacing his hood, and slowly licked the blood from the gleaming blade.

“For I, have already won.”

Khairul Azan-The Gangster

Every Hero has his enemy, but lets not forget that no man is an island, and Ilyas isnt either. He has a friend, a guy who has done a lot of wrong things but just about to do the worst: murder . During a gang raid or something on a shop, this guy, Khairul Azlan, or just Khai for short, is one of the front men breaking in. he takes care of the guards while the rest steal the stuff, and keeps a lookout. unfortunetly, a guard was not "taken care of" properly, came back to his senses and was shot one of the gang. The Leader, Someil, commands Khai to kill him. an eye for an eye, it seems.
But khai could not do it. He has a good heart this one, and even his broken home family, father wenching and drinking, mum disappeared with her old flame one dark night long ago, and a little sister to look after. So he looks at the guard, an old man who seemed so much like his dad who he loves but has stopped respecting since the old man took to drink, and ignored the profferred blade, a parang. Someil asks a second time. and at the third, he punches Khai across the mouth, and chops the mans neck. gone case.
Now according to clan rituals, Khai had disobeyed a direct order from the leader, in front of his men, during a mission. This only meant one thing, a sort of duel between him and Sommeil. Death if he loses, the leadership of the jangi(group of 12) if he wins. ultimately, he wins, but again his heart stops him. ill get to that, but let me introduce the ritual of.. errmm.. ill get back to this too..
The duel will be cool: a circle marked in the ground, one switch blade knife each, and a two belts buckled together and tied to both left hands of the opponent. Those watching were the rest of the jangi mates(for it was dishonourable to have other jangi's see u fight, see disunity in ones group) and if the combatants should have even an arm or a leg out, those around them are encouraged to hit them.
hmm.. im still thinking about it.. but Khai wins, but he cannot kill. he wounds Someil, but he cannot kill him. His heart, alas will not allow it, and as he hesitates, Someil stabs him in the leg. "Weakling," he says, and stands up with contempt. " now u die."
BUUUUTTT.. the green jacket saves the day! as the knife whistles down, the Green Jacket Leaps into the circle and blocks it on his sleeve(yeap, that jacket is impervious to anything.. well almost, as u shall see, dear reader). breaks the link, kicks the crap out of the jangi and took Khai away. he is unconscious, and now a Pariah of the jangi.. hated by all for his betrayal, and all his kinship with them severed when that buckle broke.
so now the green jacket saves the day again. but at a high cost. now he isnt alone.. not any more.
Khai is a streetwise, reckless and tough, but above all, he is loyal. Being raised to stay away from gangs and things like that, the brother hood between Ilyas and Khai has a big unnoticeable crack in it: Ilyas has been raised not to trust folk like this. that, tho small, is a recipe for tragedy.

The Politician

NOWWWWW.. we come to the best part.. the arch-enemy! every hero has one, so here he is.. i have no idea wat his name would be and im toying with just a "john Doe" or keep referring to him as The Politician.
Anyway, this guy used to be good. I mean REALLY good. Top student, best CCA record, takes care of his elderly grandmother, helps blind people across the street, etc etc. but there comes a time when he had a bad day( a really bad day), tries to help someone, gets arrested for trying, charged for something small( used as a black sheep actually.. the actual guy got away). spends sometime in prison, probably(or maybe not, depends lah) get raped.. u noe, a hu dropped the soap moment? thats not all, comes home, and his grandmother has passed away, slipping and hitting her head against the toilet floor when he was languishing in chains.. Then, he becomes evil. HAHA.. cool rite?
Ill follow his progression to when he gets older, how he became a grass roots man, trying to fight against unjust and corrupt law enforcers and wage war on gang leaders. He fights hard, but ever his sense of compassion was gone, for he lost it during that sad period i mentioned earlier. He quietly bids for presidency, and his goal was simple: he wanted to destroy the city that drove him mad by driving it into war against its neighbours, a war that they would never win. For he was mad. in his pain he sought a person to blame, and it was the city. i dunnoe if that sounds weak, but there it is.
anyway, as he was out gallivanting and plotting his rise to greatness, he meets someone who tells him the most interesting news of his career: That if he tries in any way to destroy the city, a king will rise of the kings of old, and stop him. This man ( Sade- The Black Jacket, or sumting like that, tho that sounds pretty cheesy to me, so ill keep working) tells him of the prophecy, so that when the time came, he would have his revenge. remember, its all important for him to destroy the city, cos its been in him since those sad times, and he needs revenge. well, Sade himself, always dark, always grinning or laughing, but always emanating evil.. seems to have some sort of ulterior motive that John Doe cannot clarify. In return for helping John kill these heirs of the Kings of old, he ask for only one thing: MONEY. yeap, he wants millions and billions, but John doesnt have that kind of money, even if he became president.. So Sade tells him, KILLL the gangsters and STTTEEEAALLL their enterprises.. and reap the benefits. So John agrees. By crime or War, or even both, John will get to destroy his city.

Ilyas- The Green Jacket

First up, theres are our dear hero, Ilyas. Hes an average kid, whose parent are really protective of him, and no wonder, cos his supposed to be the heir of the throne of Java(or something to that extent), but see, he is only one of the few heirs thats left, and according to the prophecy(ie: see The Prophecy) the heir shall become king through Fire and flame. The prophecy also states this will only happen ata point of time when things are getting bad, and thats where the evil arch enemy comes in(ie: see The Politician). But again im getting ahead of myself. i wanna talk about my hero.
As Yet, Ilyas does not have a last name. But he is just ending his secondary school days, starting on his first three months of his 17th year, and he really is trying to find himself. He wants to do art and stuff like that, but his parents, ever thinking of his future, wants him to strongly do something safe, like engineering or teaching.
Coming from a background of single sex schools, this is also a time to introduce girls into his life, of which i shall take much joy. ill add a few experiences of my own, and if its a little obvious, i beg ur forgiveness.. but itll be funny, i kid u not. :)
He is quiet when with strangers, shy when talking to girls,can be loud when with his mates, always cautious. He has a lot of good in him, yet has a naivete and innocence of a lost duckling( y duckling? i have no idea). But he is also capable of great things, only he lacks the self belief to do this. Thus, he has his two friends, the Gangster(i havent decided his name) whom he saves one day, and his mentor, a man who seems to (almost) pop up unannounced to give him advice and comfort when he needs.
Whew.. thats a lot. ill keep on thinking of Ilyas, and hope i can come up with more.. but as the great stephen king says, " Just write" (or sumting to that extent).