The Mary Celeste Massacre

Lady Beatrice was devastated when she heard the news. A month ago her only son had boarded the HMS Mary Celeste, one of the grandest ships her sleepy town had ever seen.

One morning, Lady Beatrice was out gardening and was surprised when a boy came running to her breathlessly. "The ship, ma'am..." he gasped. "They... they found the HMS Mary Celeste near the port..." She immediately set off for the port while the poor boy was still catching his breath. They found the HMS Mary Celeste. Found? What did he mean by "found"? 

A motley crowd was already gathering near the port and Lady Beatrice squeezed through the crowd with difficulty. Apparently, everyone on board was found dead and the ship had simply drifted back to the port. The bodies had already started decomposing and it was concluded that they were dead for at least two weeks.

That night, Lady Beatrice sat on a cliff overlooking the port. The moon shone down and the ship lurked in the dark almost sinisterly.

"You killed Matthew and everyone on the ship, didn't you?" Someone behind her said. "I saw you that night, sprinkling poison into the tea leaves and I didn't know you were planning on murdering them!"

Lady Beatrice turned around slowly and found herself staring at her son's sobbing fiancee. "Stop this nonsense and come closer, child. Let me see you clearly." Catherine stepped forward into the light reluctantly and screamed when she was suddenly pushed over the cliff.

"My Matthew was a good boy," Lady Beatrice whispered to herself, tears glinting in the moonlight. "He was a decent boy until he wanted to become part of the crew and leave his mother alone in this godforsaken town. I just want to be with my little boy... Forever..." She peered downwards at the crashing waves for a moment and jumped.

I'll always be with you, my Matthew... 

The Bridge of Sighs

"Mais, Grandmere... Pourquoi? Why can't I go to the bridge now?" I remember whining. My grandmother had sighed and said, "You know why, Alice. I've told you the story before." I shook my head defiantly and told her to tell me the story again.

When I was young, I loved my grandmother's stories. Even then, I was enthralled by the eerie, macabre stories where the heroes and heroins in the stories die because of love. I was enchanted by the dark and foreboding background of the stories and I begged my grandmother for them every night before bed.

My grandmother had then smiled at me, relieved that I had decided not to be difficult and pulled me onto her lap. She cleared her throat as usual and began telling the tale. "Now, there was once a young lady who was very much in love with this young man called Demetri. However, another boy, Aidan was also in love with Valerie.

"When they got engaged, Aidan was mad with rage. He swore revenge for his unrequited love and eventually came up with a simple but destructive plan. He sent anonymous letters to Demetri claiming that Valerie was having an affair with the local goldsmith." Here, my grandmother would stop and explain what 'affair' means.

"At first, Demetri disregarded them and did not mention the letters to his fiancee. But one day, Valerie had went to the goldsmith's and had him make a beautiful golden bell with Demetri's name carved on it. Demetri, who was passing by jumped to the wrong conclusions and was furious with her for betraying his trust. He followed her to the bridge where they first met and confronted her. Frightened of her suddenly livid Demetri, she took a few steps backwards and fell headlong into the river.

"Demetri jumped in to rescue her but it was too late. She was already dead. He loosened her tightly clenched hand and was overcame with remorse when he read the inscription on the golden bell. Demetri never remarried."

"And that is why you are not to go to the bridge after dark, macherie. Valerie still haunts the river and they say she would pull little girls into the dark water and watch them drown and sigh with vindictive pleasure. "

I solemnly promised my grandmother that I would never go to the river at night and let her kiss my forehead. That night, when I was half-asleep, I heard the wind beckoning me to the river and I shivered. "Come, Alice..." the wind whispered, "come to me..."

The Lady Of The Sea

"One more story, Grandmere, s'il vous plait?" I would beg. "Tell me the one about the Lady of the Sea?" My grandmother would then sigh and say, "d'accord, one last story and you go to sleep, ma cherie."

When I was young, I used to stay with my grandmother in France every holiday. She had the prettiest little cottage by the sea and I loved it. Every night, I listened to the thrashing sound of the waves when it hit the sand and then wait for it to recede only to crash headlong onto the perfect white sand again. Sometimes, I sat by the window and marvelled at the reflection of the moon or the diamond sparkles glinting off the surface of the smooth water.

My grandmother would tuck me deeper into the bundle of warm blankets and finally begin her story. "Once upon a time, there was a lovely maiden whose name was Helena." She would pause here to tuck my hair behind my ears. "And she had long, dark auburn hair like yours. Now, there was this handsome young man, who was madly in love with her and had asked for her hand in marriage.

"Helena's father, who was the chief in this little village did not approve of their relationship for Etienne was a poor boy who could offer nothing for his daughter. In an attempt to get rid of this boy, Monsieur de Volange, Helena's father, sent him on a war with the other young men. Promising Helena that he would be back, he gave her a stalk of rose and set off." My attention would then automatically shift to the vase of blood red roses on the table by the window.

"For months, Helena waited for her beloved Etienne. She would creep out of her house every night and wander aimlessly along the rocky shore." Here, my grandmother would turn her gaze to the opened window and stare at the sea for a moment before giving a secret little smile as if she had just seen Helena wandering past.

 "Years passed by and Helena had finally accepted that her Etienne was never coming back. She had given her heart and soul to Etienne and when his ship sank, her heart had also drowned with him. "Brokenhearted, the girl plunged into the dark water one night and they never found her body. Legend has it that she had finally joined her lover under the sea where his ship lies. Some people even claimed that they saw her wandering by the shore and out in the sea a pearly white ghost ship had resurfaced from the bottom of the ocean floor. And so, Helena and her Etienne are together again. People have since then called her, The Lady of the Sea."

My grandmother would lean down and kiss my forehead gently. "Sleep, mon amour. And never may your fate be as terrible as Helena's." It was in those nights, that I would dream of Helena, with her long flowing gown of blue silk, billowing in the wind like waves. Only in my dream, I was Helena and I never saw my Etienne again.

Till Death Do Us Part

Come past the nettles that mark my grave,

As the dawn of midnight strikes,

And fulfill your promise to keep me safe,

Under the moon so bright.

Poisoned wine flows from my parted lips,

Come kiss the pain away,

Onto my gown the blood wine drips,

Dead, on my wedding day.

Oh, come to me, my love,

The poison cuts my heart,

And let the phrase mean no more,

"Till death do us part".

P.S. Her name's Annabelle. She's pretty, right?


P.P.S. All poems are written by me unless stated.

Dato Maharaja Lela, "Pejuang" Kebangsaan Perak

This is for all students of Form 2 or above. (Of course, first formers are welcomed to read it as well because you're all going to study about it eventually.)

Right, remember the 7th chapter in Form 2 History text book? It's the chapter talking all the bullshit (excuse me) about heroes fighting for their -our- country. Oh, you know - the "heroes" who sounded more like terrorists, "heroes" who attacked the British because they had "menghilang kuasa untuk memungut cukai danmentadbir" or because the British had "melucutkan gelaranmereka". Yeah, I know! The British are plain atrocious, aren't they? These "heroes" have perfect reasons to attack the British, I tell you.

I mean, they got a warning letter from the British for not paying their taxes! What were the Brits thinking?! The office for paying taxes are located in towns. What did they expect the villagers to do? Walk out of their kampung to the nearest town (probably 1 or 2 kilometers far)once a month just to pay taxes? Why, how utterly ridiculous!

Alright, sarcasms aside. I've just been reading about DatoMaharaja Lela, "Pejuang Kebangsaan Perak", and did a search on the Internet. (For those who are really rusty in History, he's the one who killed Birch who was taking a bath. Seriously, how cowardly can he be? I mean, Birch obviously had no weapon with him - when he's taking a bath.) And, I found out that apparently Mr D. (Dato Maharaja Lela, for dimwitted eejits) captured and sold the Orang Asli as slaves to maintain his gleaming pile of gold. Birch, though hypocritically, abolished the practice of slavery and therefore cutting his steady income, was killed by Mr. D, the cowardly dog -I mean, ahem, hero.

Seriously though dudes, this chapter is very interesting. Especially when you look at it in the unpatriotic way. You'll be laughing to death like we did. Enjoy studying, third formers! Freedom is weeks away! (That is, if you survive the battle.)

Good luck, my sweet readers.

Ring Around the Roses

"Ring around the roses,

A pocketful of posies,

Ashes, ashes,

We all fall down."

As I walked by the playground, I heard a group of little children chanting this rhyme at the top of their voices with their hands linked to form a circle. I guess this is perfectly normal child behaviour. The thing is, when I was small, my grandmother never let me sing this rhyme and warned me to never join the other kids playing this game.

Orphaned at a very young age, I was brought up by a fairly superstitious grandmother. One day, I came back from kindergarten and starting to sing one of the nursery rhymes the children had taught me. "Ring around the roses, A pocket-" My grandmother came out from nowhere and screamed at me to shut up. I had never seen her so frightened in my life. She was always the calm and composed lady.

I was told to go to my room and was forbidden from singing that rhyme ever again. Later that night, my grandmother came into my room and comforted me for I was still badly shaken by the previous event. When I asked her about the rhyme, her jaw clenched but after a long period of silence, she told me the story.

The rhyme was badly associated with death, caused by the Great Plague of London in 1665. The first sentence, ring around the roses, basically meant to gather around a bed of roses planted on a grave. Posies from the second sentence refer to a kind of herb that was carried everywhere as protection because it was said that posies could act as a prevention from the disease. And the third sentence, ashes, ashes, is claimed to be referring to the cremation of the dead bodies. Finally, the last sentence, we all fall down, obviously meant that everyone died at the end.

Since then, whenever I hear the rhyme being sang, I see a horrible image in my mind. Four little children were in a huge, dark forest. And they were forming a circle with their hands linked and chanting the rhyme at the top of their voices. And then one by one, the children fall dead to their feet...

The Seduction of Water

The woman clutched her Afghan blanket around her more tightly, desperate for warmth in this frosty winter night. Her night gown billowed in the cold breath of Jack Frost.

It was the middle of the night and she had woken up from a nightmare. It was her again. The little girl with the raven black hair and piercing green eyes that looked too intelligent for such a young face. Her lips, so like the lovely petals of a pink rose opened and formed a word. When she woke up trembling, the familiar voice was still echoing eerily in her ears, "Mummy, save me..." It was as if her daughter was still alive.

She had looked out of her window at the lake in front of her house. There was nobody there. No white arms protruding from the surface, no violent splashing of the green waters, nothing. Just the voice of her daughter ringing in her mind, calling her out to the lake. And just as the she was about to turn away from the window, she caught sight of something. It was her daughter's ribbon, floating in the middle of the lake like a water serpent.

It was too much. The water lapping at the shore, the gentle cry of the wind, the voice that haunted her night after night and finally the ribbon... Her daughter's ribbon. She grabbed an Afghan blanket and made her way to the lake. Her heart throbbed against her ribcage and she could hear the water lapping in her dreams. The lake had called to her, just as it had called to her daughter. And in her mind came that poem, "I will arise and go now, for always night and day; I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; I hear it in the deep heart's core..." Hadn't her daughter said it was her favourite one by the Irish poet?

She walked to the rocky shore of the lake, climbed up a huge one, and peered into the black depths of the lake. A white face stared back at her, her green eyes dead and lifeless, her lips was washed white by the cold water but the lips pulled itself into a gruesome smile. And the woman let out a terrible scream.

Napoleon Bonaparte

God, I absolutely bloody love Napoleon Bonaparte. Yes, he's the brilliant French general who eventually became the King of France.

He was not only a man of politics and clever strategies; he was also consumed by passion for his lovers. And that is what I love about him. Here's an original letter he wrote to his wife, Josephine de Beauharnais:

Dec. 29, 1795

I awake all filled with you. Your image and the intoxicating pleasures of last night, allow my senses no rest.

Sweet and matchless Josephine, how strangely you work upon my heart.

Are you angry with me? Are you unhappy? Are you upset?

My soul is broken with grief and my love for you forbids repose. But how can I rest any more, when I yield to the feeling that masters my inmost self, when I quaff from your lips and from your heart a scorching flame?

Yes! One night has taught me how far your portrait falls short of yourself! You start at midday: in three hours I shall see you again.

Till then, a thousand kisses, mio dolce amor! but give me none back for they set my blood on fire.

P.S. Mio dolce amor means my sweet love.

P.P.S. Wasn't that sugary sweet???

P.P.P.S. It was said that his last words were: "France, the army, Josephine..."

Announcement

Beloved readers, due to an extremely useless and absurd examination in the start of October, I am therefore unable to post as much as I used to.

I promise that I'll catch up after the examination and I'll miss you guys. Please be patient because I know that you guys are the best. Love you.

Here's a nice poem from Alice Cary (may I write like her):

My soul is full of whispered song,—
My blindness is my sight;
The shadows that I feared so long
Are full of life and light.

And another from Lord Tennyson:

O love, they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.

Wish me luck!

Dumb Attorneys

I received this from an e-mail and according to it, scenarios below are from a book called Disorder in the Court, and are things people actually said in court, word for word, taken down and now published by court reporters.

ATTORNEY: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all? WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: And in what ways does it affect your memory?
WITNESS: I forget.
ATTORNEY: You forget? Can you give us an example of something you forgot?

ATTORNEY: What was the first thing your husband said to you that morning?
WITNESS: He said, 'Where am I, Cathy?'
ATTORNEY: And why did that upset you?
WITNESS: My name is Susan.

ATTORNEY: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?
WITNESS: Did you actually pass the bar exam?

ATTORNEY: The youngest son, the twenty-one-year old, how old is he? WITNESS: Uh, he's twenty-one.

ATTORNEY: Were you present when your picture was taken?
WITNESS: Are you shittin' me?

ATTORNEY: So the date of conception (of the baby) was August 8th? WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: And what were you doing at that time?
WITNESS: Uh... I was getting laid!

ATTORNEY: She had three children, right?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: How many were boys?
WITNESS: None.
ATTORNEY: Were there any girls?
WITNESS: Your Honor, I think I need a different attorney. Can I get a new attorney?

ATTORNEY: How was your first marriage terminated?
WITNESS: By death.
ATTORNEY: And by whose death was it terminated?
WITNESS: Now whose death do you suppose terminated it?

ATTORNEY: Can you describe the individual?
WITNESS: He was about medium height and had a beard.
ATTORNEY: Was this a male or a female?

ATTORNEY: Doctor, how many of your autopsies have you performed on dead people?
WITNESS: All my autopsies are performed on dead people. Would you like to rephrase that?

ATTORNEY: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What school did you go to?
WITNESS: Oral.

ATTORNEY: Do you recall the time that you examined the body?
WITNESS: The autopsy started around 8:30 p. m.
ATTORNEY: And Mr. Denton was dead at the time?
WITNESS: No, he was sitting on the table wondering why I was doing an autopsy on him.

And the best for last:

ATTORNEY: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for blood pressure?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for breathing?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: How can you be so sure, Doctor?
WITNESS: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.
ATTORNEY: I see, but could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless? WITNESS: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law.