If you'd like to hear from me

Ah... well... am sad finding out that she has someone else in mind now... Hope my emotions wouldn't go severer... Here's a tribute to this depression...

A dream shutter

A guy who came for his daily dreams,
Before him was a door, it seems,
There followed behind him, a thousand doors,
A young lady, which he adores,
He paused a moment, idling and hesitating,
After it, would be the opening,

He twisted and open that little door,
It would as much for a little more,
Be hurtful, and too much a disappointment,
To the door had brought no enlightenment,
But the darker words he knew would hurt,
Him, notwithstanding, to just divert,

She appeared before him, behind the door,
He saw her leaving before him, being an ignore,
Then she slammed the front door shut,
And he gave a mighty roar knowing what,
After him that moment, ran away,
He fell silently, for what he tried to portray,

Within his mind, he was dead,
All he knew, it from the inside bled,
But soon came to rise,
Which was a sudden surprise,
When she slammed the front door shut,
Lots of others opened up, being abrupt,

And so did his eyes, that he could see,
That she never was the best for him to agree.
~KangHo

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Adieu

Maybe something you'd like to explain :]

This is a story I wrote since long time ago, I hope you like it. A tribute to depression :]

1-Lost IntroSpection

It was probably him, or his thoughts that brought him here. In this white, empty room filled with gloomy lights out from the window forming a creepy call of the dead night. That poor guy sat with his knees tucked close to his body, hunching his back attached to the wall with that pair of eyes filled with despair and tears.

“Perhaps that’s the effect of grieving…” he thought, without any disturbances.

“A decoration would be very helpful in this solitude…” came fading into his mind.

What is the motive of being in an empty room? Seeking for answers he went raising his arms as usual with his sleeves torn on the elbow. Stood still is he, crawled and scouted.

“To where would this bring me… this place has no end…” he was devastated.

Could he ever use his imagination and reassemble originality? The debate went continuously in between black and white in his mind. The door without grease made a rusty sound for receiving such force.

“Is this an abandoned villa? There are spider webs and dusts; the whole place seems to be very old…” he spoke, silently.

Light came creeping into the house, as the moon shined.

“Statues don’t express themselves! They cannot talk!” he shouted.

In came a melody, it was not north, south, east or west. Neither was it from the diagonals. Thudded on his face as he left more of his footsteps from that room. There were no exits; all that was contained was an exact copy from the previous scene.

“What is that tune, I don’t have that glossary in my dictionary.” he doubted.

Yet, another picture that looped from the beginning. There were no one and each room consisted of two doors.

“This place is dull; I’ve been trying to find the exit. But there is no one or anything here.” he questioned.

“Move forward…” awkwardly, he said.

Door by door opened and there came one immediate thought.

“Limit exceeded… Fatigue seems to have brought me down…” he said merely soundless.

The situation looped over and over. Twisted his spinal and sprained,

“Ouch! This whole place is repeating all over!” he recalled.

Possibly, there were no exits. There was no clue or tool that could bring him out. He turned and saw a row of looping opened doors. Down went his weak, skinny body in front of the window as he peaked out and found himself inside a villa without any surroundings.

“What? Am I dreaming? If I am, please wake up! This place knows nothing about nature!” he thought, with full of frustrations.

All he saw was a blank screen out of that invisible frame. The whole canvas was filled with a big, black cloth with a paled sphere in the middle. That poor guy paid fruitless effort opening infinite doors, ended up stranded in the very spot where he stood.

“What seems to be the construction of this place? A maze perhaps?” he eerily doubted.

All of a sudden opened a vacuum from one of the walls, and then came a man from the inside of that abyss. He turned his head and saw a tall, black figure dressed with a broad, cozy tuxedo and a long, red necktie with a pair of long, black branded pants and a pair of dark, black working shoes. A scent was carried along his body, he had a broad chest. That scent had a fragrant, pleasant smell. As the man stepped out, the melody echoed faintly throughout the room and faded. Footsteps getting louder approached with a black shadow creeping sluggishly. This man is Eric.

“Who are you? What brings you here?” he mysteriously questioned.

With Eric’s involuntary,

“I am your future, Eric.” sorely, Eric spoke.

“I am confined in my atmosphere. I can no longer manipulate myself.” said him with full of depression.

“Perhaps things in you are too in depth, all way beyond time.” mentioned Eric.

“I received a mental seizure, something that hinders me away from reality.” said him.

“What makes you think so? Reacting towards something with past experiences? That’s an insane thing to do, don’t you think?” said Eric.

“I do know that, I’m trying to look for the chain that enables me to get to someone, at least.” he said.

Not for a chance, without effort and determination. No survivor exists without patience and effort.

“Well, burn the match and light the candles then. It would give you a clue. Because, every time a candle is lighted, makes the room brighter.” said Eric.

“Your face shows no sign of anger or happiness; you seem to have no emotions. Savage manners seem to be intolerable for you and looking at your face gives me the disapproval of having hatred. So, what are you?” he questioned.

“I would show no mercy to negativity because I have overpowered them.” said Eric.

“I appreciate your advice but…” he said.

“It is your turn to roll the dice now, play the game, fair and just. Thus, you’ll find it. Logically, something significant.” advised Eric.

“I’m feeling your heat now!” he shouted motivationally.

“That’s the spirit…” said Eric as he coughed.

“One question… why are you here to help…” he asked as fast as he could.

Unfortunately, before time sufficiency, Eric faded away.

“Open this last door…” said a mysterious voice out of nowhere.

So he did, thus dragged by an unexplainable force into the room. Right in front, was a swirling, blue gradient space. That guy, with hope, stepped forward to discover what was inside that space. But, there was an obstacle, something placed right before him but invisible.

“What? Let me out!” he shouted.

With his fist charged, full of force. He swung heartlessly and punched the barrier. There was no sign of an effect towards it. His hands swelled and the bones in his fist broke. He cried and shouted in pain with his injured hand. So he sat, and recalled what had happened, crying.

“What is the possibility of breaking this barrier?” he doubted.

“Not physical strength…” he questioned.

“Use not the strength, but the heart! The heart opens up every possibilities, this is what it was meant to be! I get it now!” he said with burning passion.

Hence, he stood up and focused. Deep within his heart, he felt sorrow, anger and despair. Full of regrets, grieving over the past. It was time for him to eliminate them, not so much about himself but every agent that he would meet. But he would need to use black and white to separate negativity and positivism.

“I perceive the frail side of man, which is therefore defective, sympathetic. Every player comprehends, to be restrained by fiends is to be retained, grasped by a premeditative homicide which exhibits profound mental retardation so do we understand the virtuous side of the greenly sphere. Thus, I am in my proper atmosphere.” he thought. So he was, now determined to give way to a conclusion.

Therefore, the barrier was opened and he swirled into a white empty abyss. After everything happened in a dash, he woke up from his sub-consciousness, into reality.

“Who was that Eric guy? Would it by chance be me?” he seemingly doubted.

©~KangHo©

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Keep checking for more updates~!

Love Poem :]

Here's something that should give you a warm hug, :] enjoy!

Honey, I am yours

I've sang the song you've composed,
I've felt the breeze you sent.
I've immersed in the wind,
You swished me through as light.

For I forbid what's below,
Relieve what's been in dread.
Just to make it true, I grow,
I promised you to what I bled.

With scones and butter,
I swipe, spread and clutter.
To what my belief, or,
As even I shall suffer.

I love you,
As honey's bittersweet.
Like candies in the view,
All propelling in sight.

As you love me, timely severs,
It's none more of a taboo.
To contradict within declinations,
As I love you too.

Embrace my grace,
For my flesh is faithfully, in place,
To my heart is truly, in no replace,
For I am yours, I kneel and salute.

To my only phase and phrase!
You are my pace!

~KangHo

Sorry for not posting

Sorry for not posting for the past 2 days, haha here are two poems, one, my own, one, my admired author(Rudyard Kipling). Enjoy,

Mine:

Courage and Bravery Within
When you have fallen into diversity,
Or being isolated from all without you,
When all that remains falls within memory,
And you are depleted, don't greet a loner too,

When all Man fail you, and you do the same,
Or when all about fame, and you are worth none,
Or be a reject, and you are a shame,
And so be a virtue and only one.

When you are mortified and be made a disgrace,
Or if executions are dejected,
And all that gives you is a displace,
Or all reasons and courage are neglected,

If every about movement, restrains onto you,
Or even be despised, don't reach out to acquire,
So, do the will which ignites the being within you.
[Inspired and picked from "If" by Rudyard Kipling]
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Rudyard Kipling's:

[IF]

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

--Rudyard Kipling

That's all for today folks, ciao

Poetry for the young

Here's one for the all of your entertainment, a piece that I wrote months ago, enjoy, a life lesson

Adapt the Scattered Pieces
O' ay' we learn from people who've,
Left us broken in heart,
So, o' kid my ay' learn to fail and leave,
And to re-wear your failure's ache, young elite,

For all o' dejection ya' have sacked in,
Is bliss and will come to bud again.
-KangHo

Years Of Significance

Here's something for you of mine, I'll post the remaining ones, one-by-one, you'll see'em all later on :D

Years of Significance
Although motherly year gone you are,
For you are what filled hearts,
And heavens have laboured more to bare,
For in all that's where he haunts.
-KangHo

Haha, back to where I am, despite being hated >_>

Well back I am, here in this place? Happy? Don't see anyone inviting me ._. OMG *cries*

A Story of a lady

Here's something someone sent me on msn :P. Hope you like it. Not saying that I'm stealing, author-Vonny Derbishire

A Story

Once there was a married woman. Her days were soft – her activities light and unchallenging, since the technologies of easy consumerist society had long ago removed the mantle of hardship that women had borne for centuries. From the time she aroused herself from sleep till she put herself back to bed at night, not a moment of resistance or effort would impose itself on her body or mind. She had become so adept at avoiding the merest hint of strain, that she had pushed her husband to seek employment far more remunerative than he would ordinarily have aspired to, so that she could afford the luxuries she required for her life. Their contract of marriage was, in her mind not for any other purpose but to make her dreams come true, and her life one of ease and luxury. To this end she spent months reading books on ‘motivational psychology’ to perfect her techniques of persuasion and manipulation, so that she was able to ‘persuade’ her uneducated, ’rough diamond’ husband to get into the stock-brokering business. At this he did reasonable well, and would no doubt have become a millionaire in a few years, but for the wife’s endless pleasure seeking, which required more cash than he could ever hope to bring home. The more he earned through his exploitation of third-world farmers in the ‘futures’ trade, the more her need for self-aggrandisement demanded expenditures on unnecessary and duplicated luxury products. Her luxuries included a maid to do her housework, a nanny to mind her children (although she prided herself, years later, on being able to say that she personally always supervised the children's bathing), a swimming pool in the backyard, a fully concreted yard so as to avoid the need for gardening, and every domestic convenience appliance known to modern kind. But she went further: the more her household became replete with every gadget under the sun, the more her need to be ‘up-to-date’ with everything. Over the years it became an accepted culture in the house that no matter what technological wonders a particular appliance embodied, be it a refrigerator, a stereogram or a Satellite linked rear-projection TV, it arrived in the house with its in-built obsolescence presumed to arrive along with the packaging. In short, the moment it was unwrapped it had already lost its pristine quality of being the latest, and was destined within a few months to be on its way to the tip as an object of no more value than last weeks newspaper.

The husband went to work each day, and came home with his depression tucked away under a blank exterior, feeding himself on plates of hot-dogs and bowls of ice-cream after having prepared a meal for the family on the day the maid hadn’t managed it, or there had been no take-aways ordered. It was necessary for him to present an untroubled front to the world, as once before, when they were younger and his realisation of her unquenchable appetites had begun to sink in and he’d been at a loss how to feed that insipient monster, he had succumbed to a despondency that cost him his modest job. It had also cost him dearly by being subjected to his wife’s full attention, being her ‘subject’ as she read the self-help manuals and set herself up as his judge and therapist to speed him on his way to better performance in his next position. He could not think of that time without experiencing the gut-aches and the bowel contractions that normally attend primal fear – and his ‘treatment’ at the time had been the catalyst for his retreat into a shell so thick, the rest of his life felt like a hazy trip in a cotton-wool cocoon. He could not afford to permit himself the feelings that attended the utter denial of his emotions her treatment entailed. He learned that ‘feeling’ anything at all was bad, and being strong and manly was good, and that good husbands don’t have insecurities and self-doubts that interfere with their capacity to bring home the bacon. Such as it went, the message was pretty much the current wisdom in modern American society – had he wanted to escape his marriage because of the stifling restrictions it placed on his soul, he would only have found himself the subject of wider scrutiny and condemnation from society at large. Although he was uneducated, his gut instincts told him this, and he accepted this as the rules of fate to which he would have to adapt. He could not question the underlying assumptions inherent in this viewpoint without thereby doing the unthinkable, unpatriotic thing; questioning the capitalist culture of America, and its claim to be the best society in the world. His security depended on his acceptance of the rules. He could not deny his wife a single one of her whims for the same reasons – although in his early years of marriage he did attempt at times to curb her spending. He was put straight in these pathetic episodes with such devastatingly undermining lectures from her as a result, that he soon learned to keep quiet. He did not want to become her ‘subject’ for reassignment of emotion/thought/priority values again. He would just be good at his job, and bring home more bacon than she could possibly have use for. His largest regret as the years went by became the fact that he had failed her in that objective – he never could earn more than she could spend, and he knew that he had been a bitter disappointment to her after all. Even though he was a man of simple tastes who could not have cared less if he’d made toast on a campfire, he unquestioningly acceded to her ever demand in his quest for approval. Their ‘compact’ consisted of their silent agreement not to let their secret become common knowledge. Her friends all required that she would keep up the façade of unlimited access to consumer goods of ever-increasing sophistication and for them to be replaced at ever-shorter intervals. These possessions and habits were, after all, the only things that gave proof to the world that she had not married beneath her status, as her overly critical family had always hinted, and that she was as good any day as her sister, who had been naturally blessed with gifts and talents she could never hope to emulate.

Her husband’s lack of success in keeping her credit cards topped up to the desired limits was therefore hidden behind the permanent habit of dipping into the equity of the family home, with the result that after 40 years of marriage the debt on the house was about ten times the amount they had originally borrowed to buy it. Refinancing was usually achieved under the guise of renovation work, over-quoted to allow substantial increases of surplus cash to be available for more immediate concerns. So, on a twice-yearly basis there would be another overhaul of a major nature to the kitchen, the bathroom, the pool, the heating or air-conditioning system, or a new car. Several University educations also were financed under this scheme, and the prevailing belief grew among her friends that her husband was indeed a very successful man, and for herself she gradually came to accept that even though everything ultimately was borrowed, it didn’t matter as long as the bill would come later. She had the pragmatism to reason that once she died there would be no further inconvenience to her if there was nothing left but a pile of debts, and if there was no inheritance for the children. She always expected to go first anyway, having eaten herself into a state of advanced obesity by the time she was in her mid-thirties. By the time she was fifty she had developed polyps, diabetes, heart problems, shortness of breath and an almost total inability to move her limbs. Her social agenda dictated that she attend lunches in restaurants around town every day of the week, often following on from specialist appointments, and her dinner routine normally involved making the difficult choice between making the husband cook up something on the barbeque or phoning for take-away Chines, Japanese, Mongolian, Jewish or Italian. Her choices were invariably fat-laden, but disguised under the sophistication of some exotic spices and foreign name. He, on the other hand, rarely partook of these expensive delicacies, helping himself to a few hot-dogs from the freezer compartment after he had served up her meal to her satisfaction. Her obvious enjoyment in filling up her plate with serve after serve while she held court on all her important gossip from around the ‘higher’ end of town was his pleasure. If she was happy, he was happy – if for no other reason than that if she wasn’t happy he certainly wouldn’t be permitted to rest until the source of her displeasure was eliminated. Such is the nature of many a marriage I am told, and in hind-sight he could honestly tell himself that it could have been infinitely worse: she might have had a yen for jewellery, fine clothes and travel – and then where would he have been? How could he have financed that? At least her pleasures were mainly indoors, and her oversized television had spared him many an evening when there might have been an occasion for conversation had the room not been totally dominated by the monstrous screen and the demands made on the occupants of the room by the arrangement of the seating around the television as though it were the benches around an altar in a temple. So he congratulated himself whenever he saw his old girlfriend around town, who had kept her youthful figure and was draped in furs and jewellery even when attending the most mundane of locations, that he had struck the better deal. His wife, being embarrassed about her weight, lately kept indoors unless she was meeting the select few friends she still went out to lunch with – people who had themselves such immense health concerns that her problems seemed trifling by comparison.

And so, after forty-four years of silently battling the odds, the old man suffered a fatal heart attack while attempting to make a huge deal on the futures market. His President, in starting a war against the hapless Iraqis, had turned world opinion regarding the US economy temporarily in a downward direction – confidence was low – and the expected revenue from new investments had failed to materialise. As if on cue his over-ride system took effect – the wife would need to have access to his death-plan if she was to pay the debts – and obediently his body took a dive from which he did not have to wake. He went to his long-deserved sleep, blissfully relieved from all further responsibility for her comfort zone, and his own deep-seated knowledge that his life had basically been one big fuck-up. No more thought, no more chance to break the rule of silence.

Damn I feel that I'm friggin stupid compared to this one, anyway, I'm not gonna give up. Just see *at least* *gulp*

What's the best thing in life? Finding out that dad has a problem with work?

Chapter 8: Hope or the best of nothing?

A few months have passed, and it’s the best season ever. What a great deal, the mid-term holiday! I got myself a new hair and remade my whole look, now it’s a fresh start! It appears that I have been suffering from many events that were stacked in the wrong scene before. Soon began the next day, 27^th of May. The best holiday ever, it has a lifespan of 90 days. What a great time to relax, no homework and without the voice of the teachers.

The next morning, I woke up happily and sat down the chair beside my bed and took out a piece of paper. I examined the whole “holiday” and decided to get myself some new items for the sake of school. The immediate thing that ran into my brain was about money, “No money, no items!”

“Looks like I need money!” reflected in my mind.

Suddenly, I heard a scream coming from downstairs.

“It sounds like mum, hold on let me check it out” whispers in my brain with full of questions.

As soon as I went down, I found out that mum was screaming because she was afraid of rats. Damn you rats, we need someone to clear them up.

“I will exterminate them,” I told mum.

“I’ll pay you if you can, I don’t want give my fortune to a rat exterminator!” replied mum.

“Don’t put high expectations on me, I might come in handy. However, I will try my best.” I responded.

“We’ll discuss about the pay later, now get rid of all these irritating rodents! Quick!” shouted mum with a desperate expression.

It seems that I have found an unexpected weakness of mum, what makes her hate rats? I wonder… That nostalgic feeling started replaying in my mind.

“Where is dad? He never came back since March… His last word was that he needed to work for 2 months, but until now I still don’t see a sign of him… Where has he gone?” I deeply wondered.

I had to seize the day and help out mum so I came out of my subconscious and took out a broom and grasped it tightly. I swung the broom with full of intensity and crushed those little creatures; finally a few of them were killed while some others escaped. They crawled swiftly, beneath the chair and slides under the carpet to the bottom of the door and finally a sweet escape.

“Phew, they’re all cleared up… Where’s the pay?” I questioned.

“Ha-ha, you expect a pay from me?” said mum with an evil smile.

“What… so you were fooling me?” I responded.

“Of course, looks like you made a wrong move, forfeit?” replied mum.

“Ah… never mind, wasn’t expecting anything anyway…” I answered.

I was not aware of mum’s trick, guess she was trying to use me as a tool to get rid of her fear.

“This is the only way left!” that voice ran into my conscience.

I turned around with evil-looking white eyes and told mum,

“Fear me!” I shouted.

“Stop fooling around!” she said nervously as she has never seen such an expression on my face.

I was about to use a secret technique, “the rat”. I swayed my hands holding a little rat inside my closing fist and showed mum my five shaggy fingers. Mum held a little shock in her face.

“What are you trying to do?” said mum nervously.

As the clock ticks life away, I paused for the few little moment and said with a pair of confident eyes.

“It’s called… the rat.” I replied.

“Like I said, stop fooling around!” came a swift of light from mum.

A little rat popped out of my fist and dropped down on the floor. Then, I questioned,

“Where is my salary, my sweetest mum?” I said with a pleasant, unusual smile.

“Kill it! Now! I’ll pay you the money after you kill it! I promise!” said mum with some drops coming from her eyes controlled by gravity.

“Oh… really? Are you only fooling me? I presume that you’ll escape before I even ask.” I questioned with full of doubt.

I knew that mum had this fear plus her hot-tempered attitude; she would never be so courteous. Who says that life is simple? It is never temperate!

“Should I give her a second chance?” this question crumbled in my mind.

“Okay! Okay! I surrender!” cried mum with tears rolling down her wrinkly cheek.

Mum’s watery eyes captured my sympathy. So, I smashed the rat into a flatten insect. Looks like mum developed a new weakness towards rats… Why was she so afraid anyway? We should never be afraid of nature; some times it might sting us with its prickly sting. Soon, mum stopped crying and I started cleaning the floor. Mum gave me fifteen-bucks with a dim expression. I was so excited, now, I guess I can save up and grab that shiniest star in the dark upper air with the pale moon beside it. I received the pile of rough paper and ran upstairs to keep them. All the hard work was worth the shot! Looks like I have to get a job for myself, I went back into my room and kept the fifteen-bucks into my “piggy bank”. I referred back to that piece of paper that was on my table and took out a bundle of pencils and chose the sharpest and longest among all of them and trashed the remaining ones as they were too blunt and short. I planned the whole scheme with my intuition. Everything is set, now, all I have to do is fill in what work should I be doing. Seems like fate has a strange way of working, I ran toward the door as soon as I heard the bell ring. It was dad!

“Dad! Welcome…“ I paused with handful of uncertainty.

However, he seemed strange. An unpredictable expression pasted on his face, intolerable. Was he angry?

“I need more pocket money though…” came creeping into my mind.

It was unreasonable that he could feel that, I could barely smell contentment in him. How could such thing get into him? What overtook or possessed him? Questions swirled inside my mind as I walked back into my room. Seems like there will be the occurrence of thunder and storm… a havoc! Something opposing is bothering me!

“I see grief in his eyes!”

Seems like things are refusing to turn otherwise! I could not do anything and stood up my chair. I rounded my whole room for a few moments wondering what dad was up to.

“Looks like I have to find out what is going on!” ignited the flames in me, fiercely.

There is an order in this planet that brings the rat to the cheese. Looks like it is way harder than it seems, I do not know what dad did in his disappearance. One instance paused as I stopped looping. I walked down and went to dad’s room, I peeked into the door and saw dad being depressive. He held his rock solid fist and smashed the table, crying. It seemed like there was no remedy that could cure this sickness. Dad did something wrong! I did not go into the room as I was too afraid to approach dad for his current mood. I decided to ask mum for answers. Thus, I went to the dining room where mum was sitting down folding the clothes that she took in this morning. The day turned shiny and I started to question mum,

“Why is dad so? Is he sad or something? He lost his job?” I asked.

“He’s lost, I don’t know what to do with him!” said mum with a down expression.

“What happened? What happened to him while he was working?” I questioned.

“Don’t you think that kids should not question adult much?” she responded.

“What do you think?” I said.

“He’s been like this, his disability totally blows him away!” mum replied.

“Have you ever thought of the factors that are making him so?” I asked.

“Nope, I don’t even think that it will go otherwise!” said mum.

“What makes you think so? Temptation?” I asked.

“Maybe not… pressure or is the task too discouraging?” replied mum.

“Motivation perhaps? Or was my prediction wrong? Devastating indeed!” I shouted and replied.

“This will go no further… we’ll have to move with the pace!” said mum.

As soon as the door opened, we stopped talking. Dad came in and sat down and I left. I went back upstairs and sat down on my chair. I flipped the paper and grasped my pencil tightly, sweat dripped onto the paper and rippled.

“I’ve found the answer! This is it! This is just simply… fascinating!” I thought bursting with flames.

“One bird cannot fight a thousand wings!” I came out with a conclusion.

To be continued…