Delima Kasih

The Blog(u) 6: And the Winner Is....

Hedonistics Anonymous sat quietly as her little idea made its rounds. The little sheet of paper stood up on KG's coffee table, curtseyed politely to her author then spoke its writing. The humour was so wonderfully direct that within moments, the little one was laughing as hard as everyone else.
The next haiku carried a little more barb but everyone loved it just the same.
plink's little pile of poems waved shyly from their place in line. plink had only just waved back when a familiar voice whispered, 'Are yours next?'
There was a cynical sort of smile on Fear's grey lips. 'They're nice people, aren't they?'
'Yours are nice haiku, aren't they?' Doubt asked over plink's right shoulder. 'Aren't they?'
plink's hand froze mid-wave.
‘Verbiage and Bombast aren’t very happy with you, plink. Seventeen syllables; what were you thinking?’ Doubt chided.
plink looked around: nobody seemed to notice plink’s tormentors. Suddenly cold and very much afraid, plink began to shiver again.
‘plink, are you alright?’ Kucing called from across the room.
‘Are you alright, plink?’ Doubt echoed mockingly. plink’s mouth was dry and when a sound finally came out, it seemed like someone else’s voice.
‘I have to go.’
‘Do you? Don’t you want to find out how your haiku did?’ Doubt smirked.
plink ran away.

They were close behind. Even though the little one ran as quickly as small sandal-shod feet would carry, Fear and Doubt were close behind. Flying silently but for the sound of mocking laughter, the two continued to taunt plink.
‘Writing indeed.’
‘Poetry? You ought to be jailed for even trying.’
Stung by the attacks, plink replied shortly at first. With yet more goading, the little one made longer and more strident arguments. Then there were four.
‘How nice of you to call us,’ chimed Verbiage and Bombast in unison.
Just then, plink burst out of the underbrush and into a meadow. The new-risen sun set the dewy grass afire with joyous light, but plink did not see. Fleeing four relentless tormentors, the little one ran hard.
A loud roar, the stink of smoke and screech of rubber, then a sleek, silver object slid to a halt in front of plink. The little one pulled up short and tried to run around it. A tall figure in white emerged from inside. In a fearsome voice, he commanded, ‘Halt! Go no further. You will die here!’
Blind with fear, plink turned to run away again, but tripped and fell. In an instant, the man in white was upon her, murder in his eyes. ‘Foul spawn of hell,’ he began. Then his face took on an expression of confusion. Looking more closely at the bedraggled, hopeless peasant under him, he asked, ‘Little girl, where are they?’
plink was about to answer when the one in white launched high into the sunlight above. Wheeling a full circle in the air, he delivered four solid blows to the four winds and broke the air in four places.
Far below, plink felt him strike her Fear, her Doubt, Verbiage and Bombast. The world spun once, then all was dark.

posted by plink @ 4:58 pm