Hiro Budiwata

Based on a true story.

Hiro Budiwata was cringing in pain. He could not take it anymore. He needed the painkiller so badly… but what could he do?

It was 3 months ago when he had a hero’s farewell back in Medan.

“Bapak pergi Malaysia ye… mampu beli rumah nanti…” his friends told him with ambitious expectations. His family waved at him, hoping for a safe return and good fortune in Malaysia.

And now, he stares at the stalled Damansara City construction project – the cranes were being dismantled and the trucks made their way out. Hiro’s dreams were crushed. His life was as motionless as the graphs at the stock market.

Hiro and his friends wandered around KL – there were people in suits everywhere, walking proudly or driving around in their Beemers. He was determined to get the income he promised and go back to Medan and live happily ever after.

Hiro was pressing his forehead. He could not bear it anymore. Rusli had only one tablet left – the tablet that could free them from their depression. They looked at each other – faces pale and with fury.

The dimly lit hut near the Kampung Kayu Ara flats became their abode. Hiro, Rusli and Shaari met there everyday to share their earnings from car wash, cleaning and other odd jobs. It wasn’t their dream – it wasn’t as luxurious as the construction work job, but for now, they had to do it. They had people to feed in Medan.

Hiro shouted in agony. Shaari and Rusli were equally tormented but Hiro had become too dependent on the tablet. Day by day their earnings dwindled. Hiro eyed the brightly lit Damansara Utama housing area. His eyes were scarlet red.

“Kalo kalangan atas tak bagi, kita bolos sendiri!” Hiro declared, profoundly.

It was 30 days into joblessness. The three of them had found a way to cure their depression – the magic pill. All of them fell for it, especially Hiro. And their meagre income was now going for the pills.

Hiro dashed out and grabbed the nearby parang and the rest followed him. They took hold of the 3 bikes nearby and darted out into the territory of the “kalangan atas”

They swerved into the isolated Jalan SS21/18 as they saw a lady coming out of her Benz, alone. Hiro dashed near her car. She screamed and tried to close the door. Hiro put his parang into the opening of the door and forced it open. He kicked her in the face and forced her out of the car. Rusli and Shaari confiscated everything from the car, as the lady kneeled, crying helplessly.

Across the road, her Indian neighbour was fumbling with the keys to come out and see what was wrong. It wasn’t so clear, but he could only hear the screams. When he came out, they dashed across the road.

Hiro and gang quickly dashed across – not to escape, but to another house just across – and then another. Before the neighbours could come out – three houses were attacked and robbed by three foreigners who were ‘deprived by society.’

The neighbours were out - all of them in a state of shock, exchanging stories and gossips. There were accusations of bad lighting, useless security operators and past events. The neighbours gathered around the victims as the patrol car arrived, predictably late.

Hiro, Rusli and Shaari opened a fresh, new pack of tablets. There were radiant smiles on their face – a sense of achievement.

The Story That Never Made It

         The day was getting brighter as the sun set. The waterfall gushed furiously upwards and the rivers flowed upstream. As the dark cloud hovered above, the day got even brighter.

         Suddenly, it started raining. Streams of water rushed from the ground shooting up towards the sky like geysers. It was an odd experience, but I wanted to explore further into the land of mystery.

        I journeyed on into the countryside. There was a cute little hut with a chimney - sucking smoke into the hut. I went nearer and knocked on the door and a little boy opened it.

          In my heart I feared that he would speak with his rear end but thank God he did not. The thankfulness did not last long as he started speaking in reverse. Well not the real 'reverse' reverse but you know the Master Yoda kind of reverse.

"Help you how can I?" he said.

It sounded a little sarcastic though, but I knew it was a friendly gesture after all.

"Oh well," I chuckled. The boy stared, confused.

"What is this place? Everything is happening in reverse. Am I dreaming?" I asked.

"Inside please come," he said. Frankly, I felt nervous. I slowly stepped inside.

            Suddenly a mob of masked hooligans rushed in. But the boy remained calm. They came in rushing with large knapsacks and started arranging household items on the shelves and tables. The placed television sets, DVD players and expensive decorative ceramics.

"Why are they putting these things in your house?" I asked, puzzled.

"Thieves they are. Good things they bring to us."

            It was getting eerie all around me. It was very comical. Nothing made sense. And my brain was operating in speeds it has never before trying to think of other things that might be happening in reverse. The boy switched on the hall lights and it got darker in the cabin.

             I sat at the dining table sipping coffee, that, by the grace of the Lord poured OUT of the jug. Suddenly the boy's eyes turned bright red. He kept smiling, but his eyes got wider and blood shot. I asked him what was wrong. He said nothing.

             I got scared and a bit tensed because I could not go on. It was a very difficult situation now. The story I was writing has gone out of context. This is what happens when you sit down to write a story without a proper idea. Damn!

Odd Desmond

I met this guy, Desmond last week when I went for hospital visit. Frankly, my initial perception of him was quite unpleasant. I thought he was a cranky mad man. He wears worn out jeans and t-shirt, had an eerily unkempt hairstyle, and most importantly, he stared real hard at anything in his view.

But when I started to chat with him while waiting for my friend, my view changed completely. He spoke in a very professional manner and about various subjects.

"My young child wants to be a business psychologist," said Desmond David.

"How old is he now?" I asked.

"He just turned four last week. He reads all my psychology books," said the proud dad.

Sometimes you get this kind of feeling when you're not so close to the other person and you fail to give the right reaction. If he were my classmate or something, I would have just asked him to stop kidding me.

But Desmond had that incomparable serious look.

"Oh… Wow!"

"He just finished his ACCA last month. The results should be out anytime next week I guess," continued the lethal Desmond.

"Oh w…that's kind of unbelievable," I responded.

"What do you mean unbelievable?"

"I, I mean. For a four-year-old to finish ACCA… Don't you think?"

"Do I know you…" Desmond raised his voice.

I was taken aback. "Well…"

"We just met last week and you have the courage to tell me I am a liar?"

"No, I didn't mean to."

"Shut up. My son is a genius and that's a fact!"

"True," I stammered.

"Now you are making fun of me. That was clearly a sarcastic comment. Have you heard of the hare and the tortoise?"

I nodded, nervous.

"You are a tortoise man. You think the tortoise wins at the end? Never… never… never… never! My child is smarter than you, pea brains!"

"That's it! You are stopping it right there," I said.

Just then a hysterical lady came running around the corridor corner.

"Desmond! There you are! Come here, dear. I made your favourite cookies today. Look."

"Yahoo! Choco pops! Choco pops!" Desmond shouted in a childlike voice.

I looked at the lady, then at Desmond. Desmond looked at me, with puppy eyes. Then he crouched and slowly moved behind the lady.

The lady waved her hand slightly to me, apologizing for Desmond's behaviour.