In the attempts to read or taking a step in building up that solace through reading, I have failed and uncharacteristically decided to put books aside for the time beingand seek any form of relaxation with the availability of the Internet.
I admitted to myself, I do not have that sense of imagination or perhaps it hasn't been built up over the years of non-reading, which is kinda sad because books are undoubtedly extremely portable. Maybe I should be more specific in terms of what I meant by reading. I find joy in reading non-fictional books the ones that talks about a journey of someone's life, cultural related books, journal articles, documentations, research papers or simply self-help books; they entertain my easily curious mind that questions every aspect of a situation and putting a simple opinionated perspective/intuition of my own seems to justify every tiny detail that seemed flawed. It is seemingly also very easy to come to a settlement that at that point of time, with the current knowledge and form of upbringing, why is it that someone would write about this. In my own consensus, there is some value and meaning that somehow drove a person to write something; it was that thing that I could relate to no matter how mutually exclusive the situation may be.
However, fictional books feels like everything is made up, there would always be some loop hole. It may be the fact I don't have a sense of imagination. I need at least a visual screening of someone or some place before painting the whole scenario. I remembered struggling through reading a book on Enid Blyton when I was much younger. Funny thing is that I can only read a fictitious book if they screened it in the movies and I would clearly misread every single section that was not aired in the moving pictures, which is kind of sad huh. I guess having little short stories like adventure book and the occasional pictures like they had in Roald Dahl (in which I only finished one complete novel with 50% understanding on what was happening) did help, which is still kind of, pathetic.
I do not really see the clear line on how I've managed to overcome that fact that I still manage to improve my sense of intuition and understanding with such little encounters with reading, putting up linkages one text after another. Nevertheless, the learning does not stop in a moment of many failed attempts and I seek to continue to attempt to faithful finish reading something fictitious one day.
I did though, thorough enjoyed reading one of the short piece my friend Ben wrote awhile back to another friend which was sent to me. Perhaps because a friend is too someone I could really relate to.
I suggest you to read this, it's a pretty thrilling one.
THE CARNATION
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Bali. A tropical island paradise.
At least, that was what the travel brochure advertised. Said travel brochure is now soaking wet with your sweat, having been used as a makeshift face towel as you stand fuming and literally melting in the blistering Indonesian heat.
You are currently standing in line with a huge crowd of tourists in Bali's immigration and customs checkpoint, located in the ferry terminal, patience fraying as you await your turn to get cleared and pass on through to the heavenly white sands, clear waters and fresh coconuts beyond. Unfortunately, with the holiday season in full swing, Bali has been literally invaded by hordes of sun-seeking tourists, yourself included. The three hundred or so people of a dizzying variety of different nationalities, all decked out in colourful beachwear, stand as a testament to this fact.
You rip out your left earpiece, temporarily cutting off Demi Lovato's "Cool For The Summer", and stretch your neck out of the queue in an attempt to check your remaining distance from the counter. With a sigh you see that three gigantic families still stand in your way between-
WHAM
The impact knocks the wind out you and throws you backward. Your sunglasses fly off your face and you flail your arms like a pinwheel, shrieking in surprise and fear as you fall. But before the ground can rush up to catch you, a pair of hands do. Just a split second after the collision, you find yourself safely gripped in the strong and firm grasp of a young caucasian man. Your eyes dart over to him and take in his medium-length head of wavy golden hair, strong jawline and piercing blue eyes, before moving downward to his broad shoulders and rugged torso clad in a ruffled Hawaiian shirt. A pair of faded shorts and slippers completed his look and confirmed your suspicions that he was a typical American tourist. Your initial shock at nearly being run over by this stranger quickly gave way to anger and annoyance.
"Did you just-"
"Sorry miss!"
Quickly letting go of your arms, the young man flashes you a cheeky smile, showing off two rows of perfect white teeth. Playfully waving goodbye with his right hand while picking up his fallen backpack with his left, he speeds off, slippers slapping loudly across the tiled floor.
You let out a huge huff and stoop down to retrieve your fallen sunglasses. Straightening up and dusting it off, you notice the other tourists around you slowly turning their attention back to their loved ones and resuming their conversations, having already forgotten about your encounter with the American. You tilt the sunglasses to face you, checking for any damages on the lenses as well as taking the opportunity to examine your own reflection.
All your clothes seem to be in order, from white form-fitting spaghetti strap top all the way down to short denim shorts and sandals. You know the new floral bikini you have on underneath is definitely still there, so you flip the sunglasses around and slide them back onto your face. Still looking good. You shake your head at the rudeness of the guy who just knocked into you, tossing your long hair about behind you and in the process dislodging the bright pink flower that was in it.
Wait what? Flower?
You frown and pick it up. You do not remember ever sticking any flower into your hair. Your mind suddenly clicks and you furiously realise that the American must have put it there when he caught you.
Hang on. You prise the petals apart and see a small slip of paper tucked into the centre of the carnation now in your possession.
Taking it out and unfolding it, you freeze and your eyes go wide at the single word written on the paper.
RUN
With a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach you glance warily around you but can see no impending danger. Is this all a trick? Some elaborate prank pulled by that stranger? No, no. There is definitely something going on here.
You sling your small backpack over your shoulders, pick up your surfboard and leave the queue, making a beeline back to the ferry. You have to get off the island.
A shout rings out across the crowded hall and two mean-looking guards step out in front of the exit to the ferry, weapons drawn. Tourists around you scream and drop to the ground at the sight of the guns. Heart racing, you see out of the corner of your eye more security personnel advancing on you. You are going to be trapped.
FIGHT GLADYS FIGHT. The small voice in your mind pierces through the fog of panic and confusion and you make your move. Taking note of the fact that only the guards in front of you are armed, you pick up your surfboard and swing it, smashing it across both their faces. Surfboards are made of tough materials, making them much tougher than human noses. With a yell of pain, the one on the right goes down while his accomplice is knocked out instantly. The force of the impact rips your surfboard in half and you quickly chuck the remaining piece at the three guards behind you. Spinning about on your heels, you snatch up one of the guards' fallen pistols and make a break for it. Seeing as more armed men are pouring out of the ferry, you decide to dash toward the counters. Leaping over the frightened tourists and officers, you clear customs with a single jump and then burst out of the building into the outdoors.
Emerging out into the bright sunlight, you quickly take in your surroundings. You find yourself at a taxi stand, the sight of the gun in your hands enough to send the taxi drivers all scrambling for cover and all their potential passengers fleeing in fear.
Cool. Free rides.
You fling open the door of the nearest taxi cab and get in, slamming it shut behind you. Your heart sinks as you realise that it is a rather old vehicle, operated manually with a clutch and gear stick. Although you are most certainly a certified driver, your car back home is an automatic one and therefore driving this taxi would be a challenge. However, the situation is dire and it would have to do.
"Sorry Denny Susanto." You nod at the driver's license taped to the dashboard and floor it, sending the taxi lurching off out of the lot. You race for the exit, heart beating rapidly as the sound of angry shouts and gunshots echo behind you. Just as you smash through the barrier of the ferry terminal and screech onto one of the main roads of Bali, you see two police cars turn out of the junction ahead and roar down the road toward you, sirens blazing.
Yes! The police! You are saved!
You slam the brakes and get out of the taxi, tossing the gun you had earlier acquired into the passenger seat. No reason to cause a misunderstanding and have the police shoot you instead of the actual bad guys.
You run toward the police cars, which have stopped further down the road, waving both hands above your head.
"Help me!"
BLAM
When the bullet smashes into your thigh, you do not feel anything at first. It is only after your mind registers that the policemen actually shot you that the excruciating pain then shoots up your brain stem and sends you collapsing to the pavement, screaming and clutching your leg in agony.
Through the tears of pain in your eyes, you can see your whole leg covered in blood from the gunshot wound just above your left knee. Suddenly, a new wave of pain courses through you, this time originating from your head. One of the 'policemen' is dragging you back to his car by your hair, gesturing wildly to his colleagues with his gun.
In no shape to fight back, you watch helplessly as more of them arrive and pick you up, unceremoniously dumping you into the backseat of one of the police cars. Just before you lose consciousness from shock and blood loss, you overhear one of them speaking rapidly into his phone.
"We have The Carnation."
==============================
When you awake, a few hours later, you find yourself in an uncomfortable metal chair, in the middle of a damp and stuffy cell, probably somewhere underground by the looks of it. You realise that your wrists are bound tightly behind your back and your ankles are also securely tied together by industrial tape.
Starting to panic, you struggle as hard as you can in a futile attempt to free yourself but only succeed in tipping over the chair and falling over onto the cold floor of the cell, landing on your side in a truly unglamorous position. You yelp in surprise but when your voice comes out all muffled, you realise with a shiver of disgust that you have what tastes like old socks in your mouth, with more tape plastered over your lips to keep you from spitting them out.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
You blink rapidly and breathe heavily through your nose, trying to make sense of the situation. You appear to have been captured by those fake policemen, who are most likely in cahoots with the men at the ferry terminal. Fear rises within you when you realise that the American's warnings were true, and that you were really in danger. But why? How?
You jerk your head up as the rattle of keys and footsteps are heard. The cell door swings open to reveal a thickset man in his late forties. Of imposing stature, the giant of a man stoops down to leer at you, narrowing his eyes and taking in your current position.
"Trying to escape?" Your jailer growls in heavily-accented english.
"Mmph! Mm!"
You shake your head furiously, fearfully trying to shrink away from the almost two-metre tall Russian.
Satisfied with your answer, the man ducks out of the cell and allows another man to enter. The shirtless newcomer is barely thirty, and could be considered quite handsome if you weren't in such a terrifying situation. You assess that he is most likely Thai, and is powerfully-built with rippling muscles across his shoulders and enormous biceps. His chest is well-defined and abs even more so from possibly years of practicing martial arts. A menacing tiger tattoo graces the left half of his torso and you find it hard to look away.
You squeal with fright as he suddenly reaches out to grab hold of you around your shoulders, hauling you back onto the chair in one swift motion. Seconds later, he violently rips the tape off your lips and removes the soaking socks from inside your mouth, leaving you gasping and coughing.
"AH! Ouch!" You exclaim, feeling the lower half of your face starting to sting.
"Sorry we had to do all this." The Thai is all smiles as he drags another chair over to sit opposite you. "But some of my colleagues did not believe that you would be cooperative."
You glance at the Russian standing behind him and shiver. "D-don't worry I won't-"
The Thai claps his hands together. "Good! That's what I want to hear!" He waves the Russian away and you let out the breath that you had been holding.
You shake your head to clear your thoughts and take note of his excellent, British-accented english before speaking.
"What is going on? Why did you kidnap me?"
The smile disappears in an instant. Your interrogator shoots out with a hand and grabs hold of you roughly by the throat. You don't even have the chance to scream.
"Now, that's not what I want to hear. I know you are The Carnation. So why don't we stop playing games?"
He glares icily at you for a couple of seconds, seemingly enjoying the pleading look you are giving him as you start to run out of air before letting go.
After a violent coughing fit, you manage to squeak out that you really have no idea what he was talking about. "I swear!"
At this point, the Thai seemed to lose his mind. Exploding from his seat, he grabs hold of you by the front of your top and flings you onto the bed. Crying out in fear whilst bouncing on the old and mouldy mattress, you struggle to right yourself, no easy task when your hands and feet are tied.
"Stop it, please! I don't know anything! I don't know what The Carnation even means!"
The Thai advances on you with his gun drawn. Climbing onto the bed, he pins you down and presses the cold barrel of his Glock-26 pistol against your nose. You can feel the raw ferocity and ruthless killing intent coming off the man in waves and have never felt so afraid before in your entire life. You stare wide-eyed in fear at him down the sights of his weapon, lips trembling and palpitating heart threatening to jump out of your shuddering chest.
When you still do not answer, the Thai screams and strikes you across the face with the butt of his pistol. Hard. Your head snaps to the side and you gasp, stars exploding in front of your eyes as everything in front of you seems to spin. You can taste blood.
"Where is my money?"
The Thai was absolutely livid. His entire face was red with rage and you could see the veins bulging on his neck.
"FUCK YOU! WHERE IS MY FUCKING MONEY?!"
He strikes you again and this time cuts a gash on your lip. You whimper and shut your eyes, tears forming and streaming down your bruised cheek.
The Thai stops and collects himself for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is even, but had lost none of its edge and menace. "Heh. Up till now, I still have no idea how my entire operation was fucked up by just one stupid girl."
You warily open one eye to see him putting his weapon back into its holster on his waist and removing another object from his back pocket.
"I looked at your ID card," he said, holding out your NRIC. "Your name is Gladys and you're not even 21. Just a student at some university. Or is that all just part of your cover too?"
You freeze as he draws a nasty-looking combat knife from his boot.
"Here's what I know. You are a spy sent undercover to get into my syndicate. You have been feeding information about my activities to Interpol and tipping them off at every single turn. You even managed to hack into my bank accounts and made off with thirty fucking million dollars of my money. And to top it all off, you think you are some cool shit, mailing me carnation flowers after every raid, every attack on my operation."
The Thai examined the knife in front of him with great interest and twirled it about expertly in his hand.
"I must say you got me worried with those carnation pranks of yours. I switched my safehouse location every time we got hit, but still the flowers kept coming in. You were like telling me that you could end me at anytime, that you always were one step ahead. Well, I guess not anymore eh?"
Your captor turns his attention back to you, and you are starting to get uncomfortable about the way his eyes are roaming over your body.
"I think normal torture is not going to work on someone like you. No, in order to get what I want out of you, we have to do it the hard way."
At this, the Thai slashes downward with his knife and you scream, shutting your eyes and expecting the worst. However, you are surprised when the knife instead cuts through the tape on your ankles and frees your legs. But the surprise quickly turns to terror as the man atop you roughly spreads your legs apart and starts unbuttoning your shorts, making his intentions clear.
Up till this point, you had been feeling nothing but fear, pain and confusion. But now, despite understanding nothing and still having no clue whatsoever about what in the world is going on, you know that your captors had crossed the line.
"GET OFF ME!"
You lash out with your legs unexpectedly and smash them into your would-be rapist's jaw, with strength that you did not know you possessed. Dislocating it with a loud crunch, you send the Thai sprawling. He was unconscious the moment he hit the ground.
Frantically, you flip yourself upright and make your way over to the dropped knife, wincing every step of the way due to the recent gunshot wound on your thigh. At least they had been kind enough to bandage it for you, you smile wryly to yourself. After much effort, you manage to position your wrists over the blade and start sawing through your bonds. In seconds, you spring up to your feet, free and rubbing your sore wrists.
Time to get out.
Not sparing the Thai a second glance, you pick up his gun and slam the cell door open, eyes and ears alert for additional enemies. Hobbling your way through the decrepit corridor you find yourself in now, gun raised and at the ready, you start searching for the way out.
You duck into an alcove when a shot rings out, loud and jarring in the cramped confines of the underground prison. A body hits the ground seconds later and you grip the gun in your hands even tighter. Footsteps approach your hiding spot and you hold your breath.
"You!"
You gape in amazement as you come face to face with the same blue-eyed stranger you met at the ferry terminal.
The American is all smiles, a smoking gun in his hands and still dressed in his beach attire.
"I took care of the Russian. Glad to see you are alright! Sorry for the mess, I really am!"
For some reason, his rather cavalier attitude towards the present situation unnerves you, but you hide your unease and only let your anger show through.
"What the- can you explain what is going on here?! Why did you tell me to run at the ferry terminal? Why did you give me that flower? And who the hell are you?!"
"Okay, okay, relax-"
"NO!" You shout, shaking your head furiously. "I have been chased, shot at, physically abused and almost raped! I want to know- I deserve to know what is going on!"
The American appeared stunned at your sudden outburst, but then quickly grins at you in that same annoying way as before.
"I guess you do. Firstly though, I must say that you have done me a huge favor by leading me to these guys. Now that they are dead, their entire organization will collapse.
I am a spy for the CIA codenamed The Carnation. I was assigned to infiltrate this international crime syndicate and bring it down from the inside. I was highly successful but perhaps a little too careless. You see, I like to leave carnations at the scene of my activities, think of it as a calling card or a giant middle finger to all the criminals I have helped bring down over the years. As you can expect, I have developed quite a reputation in the criminal underworld.
But anyhow, I got careless and didn't realize that these guys were starting to sniff me out. With them being that close to my tail, I had to quickly bail and escape. I also knew however that the leaders would never stop looking for me so I had to set a trap and take them all out permanently.
That's where you came in. I planted the carnation on you to make them think that you were me, then followed them when they gave chase and captured you. I tracked you down to their Bali hideout here and voilà, saved you in the nick of time!"
You lean against the wall, head spinning and overwhelmed by the information overload. The gun slips from your hand and clatters to the ground. You smile, exhausted, battered but relieved and alive. Everything made sense now.
There was a loud click.
You look up to see the man who called himself The Carnation level his gun at your head.
"Of course, you weren't supposed to survive your capture. And even if you did, I can't leave any witnesses behind. Sorry. This is just how it works in my world."
Flabbergasted and speechless, the swift betrayal leaving a horrible taste in your mouth, you stagger to your feet and look your savior-turned-killer fiercely in the eye.
"How could you do this-"
BLAM BLAM BLAM
You scream as the gun fires from behind you, striking The Carnation right in the chest three times, red exploding outward like fireworks. As he falls, the American fires as well, hitting the Thai who had regained consciousness and fired his other concealed weapon from where he lay in the cell. The bullets from the American's gun rip into his head, killing him instantly.
You rush over to The Carnation's side, who just grins at you while wheezing and coughing up blood.
"Well, shit. I guess this is karma at its finest."
He coughs violently and starts to shake uncontrollably. Reaching into his shirt he produces a USB thumb drive and holds it up to you.
"Take it. I was not being entirely honest with you just now. I stole some money from them. The CIA doesn't know about it. It was meant to be my retirement fund, a little secret stash for my troubles, but it looks like I won't be able to use it now."
You do not move and just stare dispassionately at the dying man in front of you, unable to comprehend this new development.
"I'm sorry, I really am. For all this and all that's happened. Take it and use it well. Forget about me and all this. You-"
The Carnation breathes his last and dies with that same big smile on his face.
==============================
Two days later you are relaxing in your floral bikini, on the balcony of your presidential suite in Bali's opulent Mox Imperatrix Astono Resort.
Letting out a contented sigh, you stretch like a cat on the expensive redwood deck chair and reach for the coconut on the side table.
Swirling the contents of the coconut about with the straw, u take a sip and relish in the cool liquid flowing down your throat. This is the life.
The coconut is getting empty though, so you promptly set it down and order another through the phone.
On the beach, you can see families milling about, children laughing and playing merrily. The sea breeze lightly tousles your hair and your tan is coming along nicely thanks to the bright sun overhead.
Bali. A tropical island paradise.
You are interrupted by your personal butler who hands you your requested coconut. Bowing respectfully, the muscled local leaves through the glass door but not before winking at you, making you blush through your sunblock.
Turning your attention back to the coconut in your hands, you almost drop it in surprise.
Sticking out of it, in place of a straw, was a fresh pink flower.
A carnation.
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