Letter of Pain

Dear you,

I close my ears, for noise pierce through them, each surge of noise sends a surge of pain right through my head, and there is nothing I can do about them.

I close my eyes, hoping to see nothing, so that I will stop seeing the association of everything with you. I want to blot you out of my senses. I want to purge myself of you.

Filthy you.

No, filthy me.

It must be this pair of filthy hands that you refuse to hold which caused the building blocks of love and friendship scattering right before our very eyes. It must be this ugly smile that flashes whenever my eyes see you that caused you to run in horror. It must be this very horrendous face that make you scream in horror whenever I come near you.

I don't blame you. Filthy me.

It's time to give up. It's time to let go everything I've once believed in, because of you. If I were to believe in what you taught me to believe in, my mind would be filled with you, and I would have to slowly heal again from the torn scar on my chest, which has pretty much shriveled by now.

I don't blame you. I blame myself. Filthy me.

I have a request, however. Can you please hurt me once again, once and for all? Can you please take a knife and plunge it deep into my heart and make sure I die in front of you? That way, you not only rid the earth of a horrendous monster and also rid yourself of me, but also help me to not hurt anymore.

That way, I can stop hurting, and I will find myself in paradise, emotionless. That way, I am filthy no more. That way, I will be able to come clean.

Please rid me of me. Please rid my filthiness of this earth, from your life.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Your discarded one.

Used To

He used to be able to pn his thoughts into stories, shoving his insecurities under words so that they could blanket what he thinks beautifully. But such an ability is lost. No more can words do such wonder for him to soothe his insecurities and fears.

He lost his story.

He lost his words.

He lost his ability. 

To write. To storytell. To describe.

To cast all insecurities to something he could rely on. 

Questions

Where are you, my angel?

Where have you been all these while?

Why do you leave me without telling me?

Why do you just go and not care to whisper to me that you love me?

Why do you not come back and everything will be fine again?

Why do you choose to let me hurt on my own and not compassion, which you used to preach so much about?

Why? 

Do you know it hurts so much to be alone, longing for your presence?

Do you know it hurts to love you?

Betrayal, Revenge, Destiny

Betrayal | Revenge | Destiny 

The Trinity Trilogy

Fiona McIntosh

Ugh!

That would be my response to this trilogy. 

Having read more brilliant authors like Terry Goodkind (author of Wizard's First Rule, Stone of Fears, Blood of the Fold...) and Diane Settlefield (author of the most mesmerizing The Thirteenth Tale), I couldn't help but shake my head at the following while reading this trilogy:

- Language

- Recurring themes

- Plot

While I have nothing to say about the setting, it is obvious that the setting Terry Goodkind has forged for his books are more appealing and captivating that what Fiona McIntosh had tried; hers was dull, I must say. 

Her language wasn't captivating; it doesn't draw the reader into the story. Instead, the reader has to take the effort to be interested in the story. If you were wondering why, then, am I 

reading it when I have to force myself to love it, my answer for you would be: because I spent RM 10 on each book, and hell I will definitely finish it no matter what. 

And noticed I have for many times the usage of "beautiful" and "pretty" to describe both men and women in her story. I can't help but wonder if her vocabulary was that terrible. I am sure there are many more ways to describe beauty, and for somebody as established as she, shouldn't she at least have a better command of vocabulary? 

Either way, her language isn't captivating enough. I don't think I would be interested in reading her books in the future, let alone purchasing them, unless something miraculous happens, or I forget about her totally. Haha!

Next, the recurring themes in her novels are rather acceptable, just that she loved to use sex as a way to spice up the story, when there could be much more ways to spice up a story. I mean, read Terry Goodkind's books! They are brilliant, and not throughout he goes around saying this girl yearns that boy and that boy desiring another girl when he laid eyes on her. Come on, get something new! Although sex sells, doesn't it bring down the image of your book?

The plot of the story could be better. 

Another reason why I insisted on finishing the book because I wanted to see how the story would turn out to be. The result? Well, nothing surprising. 

I love books that keep me guessing, guessing and guessing. While tons of detective stories are available, I have found them boring. But Diane Settlefield's story did the miracle. I was dumbfounded, awestruck. 

Terry Goodkind has this effect too, just not as well as the way Diane Settlefield structured her story. 

But Fiona McIntosh... I think she needs more practice. Perhaps this is why people tell me, it is more difficult to wow than to "okay, not bad."

All in all, it was an o-kay experience reading this book. 

Rate: 3/10