"It's only through writing that I've ever been able to suppress life's personal disappointments. When I can't write I feel anxious and out of sorts and am easily riled, though I'm usually able to control my emotions..."
- Pramoedya Ananta Toer (The Mute's Soliloquy: A Memoir)
["Hanya dengan menulis aku mampu menekan segala kekecewaan peribadi hidup. Bila aku tidak menulis, aku merasa cemas & tidak keruan serta mudah gusar, walau selalunya aku bisa mengawal emosiku..."]

Saturday, April 10, 2010

HOMICIDAL LOVE: A FAGGOT'S CONFESSION

WARNING: 18SG rated storyline.
NOTE: I almost forgot I wrote this story in 15 minutes for a purpose to test one of my fellow employee on his English creative grammar. Not really sure when but I guess more than 7 months ago? Found it while I was reworking on my freelance works filing system at home office. Enjoy reading it!




I went to the funeral. The funeral of my best friend who died of homicide. Everybody was there; his parent, siblings and related people... such as me. I cried. They cried. It was such a sad scene. Too sad to tell... as if the feeling faded away with the mourning. Before they buried him, I saw his face. I saw his face back at his home, when his father and a few relatives folded him with white cloth. That pale face. I saw the neck. Line of cut, a rounded his neck. Still red against his bloodless, pale skin.

What in the world happened? He was such a nice guy. A very soft one. I was at the scenery. My room, our room! The policemen were there. Everybody too. They looked scared. Me either. I saw the room covered with blood. The floor... the wall... splattered with red sticky blood. One of the students claimed he heard something weird coming from in our room. Another saw my friend's head laid on the bed. The body was left alone at a corner of the room. The detective took the reports. No weapon found. But the report claimed it must be an ax or big sharp item. But not a gun obviously! The head was severed from the body. What a ridiculous crime for a college teenager.

After the funeral I kept thinking of what had happened to him. What was it that someone might want to kill him? Was there something bad about him? For years... let say 10 years I had been with him, I never knew about his enemy. Is there any? The thought makes me feel cold. Maybe... I am next?! Who knows! The thought still prying my head. Yet I couldn't let it out. This is sick!

My murdered best friend... he was a man. A very cute man. Girlish kind of look, originally. Both genders love him; male and female. He had a girlfriend, Shelly. But he left her. Reason? He said the girl got to find a proper man. Not like him who wasted most of his time juggling around with funny stuff like games, comic books and drugs; Just like me. That was why we were best friend.

Then, a guy... 'non-straight' one came to him and took care of him. The guy, physically looked 'straight' to me. Older than us. About 3 years older. Well built. Handsome. At first we were all just friends. Met in club. Hung around. He brought us around with his metal blue Porsche. He said he came from a wealthy family. Got just a few friends and he hated those among his level (wealthy kids!), "Bug-ass!" he said. So he hung around with us. Usually every weekend. After that he kept fetching my best friend at college, without me! Left me aside for no reason. No hard feeling from me. But I was quite jealous though. He took my best friend!

One day, my best friend came to me and tell me a secret. That wealthy man was in love with him! And he used his money to seduce my best friend. He sucked my one and only best friend with his money! Though I know my best friend's financial difficulty, coming from a poor family. To survive in college, he had to do a few part-time jobs. The offer from that 'bastard wealthy-boy' would really be a savior for him to secure his study. But not to me. My friend was drugged by his money!

So they went on. Being together as a couple. Physically looking normal to everybody else. Normal as two guys hanging around together having boyish-fun on the street. But basically they were having a bullshit affair. In my heart, I cried for him. For my best friend. What in the world was that wealthy-boy thinking? He bought my best friend just to have someone stick around him? Stick up his ass man! Absurd!

As days went on I just be the best friend I've always been. But something changed. His attitude. His style. He was a crook to me before. But after being with that wealthy-boy, he was more of a Don Juan to me. Straighten his curly hair and lighten up his skin with those creams. What they called lightening cream (more like sticky shit to me!). What was he thinking?! Still a man but grooming?! Ouch! Out of that fucking bases dude! No more 'grunge' to settled with.

I asked what went wrong. Maybe change of mood or what?! He said he wanted to get clean. Yea... clean my ass! Then more trouble came by. Not only that wealthy-boy wanted to stick up his dick into him but more... ! Girls got heavily crushed on him. Non-straight boys (fucking faggots!) got on him too! Straight boys felt wanna screwed his ass to death. Jealousy took part but it ain't looked like a reason for homicidal thing. Yea... everybody was crazy for him. Such an attractive young man. Pretty face with such a slender manly figure.

Furthermore I was disturbed to know he hung around at those wondrous clubs. Faggots' club. I opposed to his act. He said don't worry. Life no matter for all these junks. Have fun with it. Get along. Feel free to taste everything and live life to the fullest. It did sound good to me. But in a way I just replied "Yea, then try taste Round-Up to your fullest. Maybe you will know how it breaks down your insides." But he smiled and acted like my words were just rhythmic lyrics that stringed on his ear. Then there was he, stoned again.

A year passed. We got to second semester of the final year. He was not bad. He got good grades. Me too. With his lifestyle compared to me, I should be ashamed. Even he was so busy fucking around with those faggots, babes and nightlife but he still can achieved the best in his study. But me... not much of ado only stick to the possibility.

He told me to stick with my vision as he was to his. Yeap! We both wanna go out there. Out of this nightmare college and live out there, find a job and be the best of human being. Get a life; a car, a house and a family. He said maybe this time (this college time), he went through a lot of pain. Survived the hard time of being a poor student by playing dirty games, even though he admitted he never liked it (minus the guilty pleasures!). After all this was over, he'd promise to leave it all behind. Yea... right! They were your words my friend. I believed it. As I believe it now.

But what is fate, we can never know. I never knew someone would want to kill him. Someone has the guts to kill him. Me myself can't afford to do so. Is it maybe because I'm his best friend? I who loved him as my most precious... friendship? Companion? MFEO? Or say 'Love With Dignity'?

I believe even that wealthy-faggot-boy also didn't have the strength to cut his head for his love to my best friend is far greater than me. I knew because I met him a day after the funeral. He cried heavily in his precious hall-like bedroom. That was the first time I ever got into his house. Sure do, he's the son of a wealthy family of jewelery empire business. He told me about how he missed my best friend until most of his speeches lost in his own suffocated breath. Such love and care he gave to him. All the time they spent together and watched him study (no wonder he survived for the exam. He studied with faggots too!). Such a clever way of surviving, my deceased best friend!

All along I met his friends (not my kind of friends); Those faggots and babes. They told me how he was the star of the night. Everybody loved him. Adored him. His charming appearance really brought up the value in him. Everyday he got someone. But he was so loyal to that wealthy-boy.

The thing is there was this one girl, a babe. A pretty babe kept hunting him. Not so sure who. But she came over every night to the club. Where there was him, there would be her. The girl kept giving him a not written 'I Love You Forever. Till Death Do Us Part'. As long as they could remember, the girl miraculously appeared out of nowhere. Sometimes she came alone with black one-piece, wearing dark eye shadow like The Crow or maybe came with a girl (kissing and hugging her as her loving couple) and let the girl send out the note. He said my best friend hardly could described her look as she came only during night-club scene.

I know now. Fate of love as I call it. Finished at first hand. It was Shelly. Two days after the funeral, medias brought out news about Shelly's death. Someone fucked her throat with a kitchen knife. Such a tragedy. Now I can never live by understanding the birds are flying free, the wind blows smoothing the air and the grass gets greener everyday. I keep seeing the dark-side of my life. Fuck the whole system of judiciaries. No one to blame for what had happened. No judgment to make anymore. They paid their own cost. As I paid mine. I killed Shelly. I killed her because she killed my love, my best friend.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

like it..tanx for posting this..^^

Fakhrul 'Ayour' Anour said...

Alhamdulillah... thanx ^_^