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my mind has been wandering lately. it's not focused at all. i'll forget something happen. i'll forget people was there. i talk to no one. time lapse. i'm having time lapse issues. what is happening.

Who Wanted to be a Rabbit?

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you used to write stories, Ash.
you used to write them.
i know your feelings and cluttered mind prevents you from fully expressing these stories.

because what is a crooked story without a crooked writer?

alright, i asked a favor from Denise and she graciously obliged me with a sentence:

 The sound of waves is heard in the distance, salt wind sprays in through the open window and (insert name maybe?) closes (gender) eyes.

Who Wanted to be a Rabbit?

by Ash Musa

 The sound of waves is heard in the distance, salt wind sprays in through the open window and Clementine closes her eyes.

It was time.

She slipped her gloves on, fixed the tripod next to the only window of the beach hut and mounted the Ak-47 on it. She scraped a crate nearer and settled a knee on it to help her line of vision and when the eyepiece clearly settled to the starboard of an opulent 3 million dollar ship, she breathed in and waited.

From the eyepiece, a man with a beer gut burst through the mahogany door, talking unreservedly loud on his phone, waving a uniformed attendant away. His face was ruddy; he was angry over something, no doubt about the embezzlement money that mysteriously appeared in his account. She could actually make out his mouth saying : FIX THIS, YOU HEAR ME?
He deserved it, from what she analyzed from his case profile, rightfully so. But passing judgement was not what she was paid for. Someone who already did that gave her the next step: the punishment.

Desultory was a plague to her, and she'd avoid it at all cost. Much like the people who hunt her down. But can't they see? This was necessary. Punishment was essential. Staining her hands and cleaning them off with corpse's money was her job, and so far, she was doing it well. Why would she quit? Say that she has no moral compass but she threw that away into a sea much like this one long ago. Everything changed when she signed the contract. She was a weapon, and for once in her life, she was glad that she was of use. She's not empty, not really. She was loaded with bullets, she wanted to die guns a blazing. 

Her employer once marveled her for that quality, "My, what a determined little fox you are." He stopped and pursed his lips, "But you're not special. In a forest of foxes, there's wolves. And do you know who they are?" She did.

This was not a story of sympathy, 
it was a story of principle.

Her target moved and she snapped at herself for not focusing. She chided herself and aimed for the carotid. She breathed in and squeezed the trigger. A rabbit went down. She stayed  still for a few seconds, watching her prey bleed down the deck. She couldn't quite describe the feeling she has after a kill. It was a job done. She packed up all her equipment  lighted a match and threw it to a pile of gasoline-sodden newspapers at the corner of the hut.

When she was in her small, black rented car, she could see the smoke trailing up from the rock-beds from her rear-view mirror. She took a small remote device from the passenger case and pushed the green button next to the red one.

Frank Cosser,
Head of Cosser Medicines,
Chairman of Cosser Foundation,
Philanthropist, Father of 3,
was found dead on his own ship
near the Pacific Isles after the
release of reports that shows
transactions of his account with
embezzled money.

That wasn't his.
Clementine closes her eyes and ease settled down her bones, despite the looming executive crumble of the biggest private medical supplier in the world at her hands.
In the world of foxes, wolves and rabbits,
she was a fox working for a wolf.


Of course, this piece is purely fictitious. 
No relations to either the living, the dead, the fox, the rabbit or the wolf.

This piece was....meh. I kind of hijacked Denise's assassination story though, hehe, sorry. But I just kind of caught up what it would be like in a mindset of one. Albeit, a fictional one. I hope you like it.

but you don't hear what little men say: a memorandum

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i should start being an overachiever. i know that's saying a lot. i've been being a lazy sloth for all my life, thinking that grades and success is a birthright. (i know, how messed up is that kind of mentality?) so i think, dammit, for scholarships, i think it's time for me to become an overachiever.

staying up late even though my roommates have long gone to sleep. mindblow my tutors, lab assistants, lecturers, event organizer etc etc.
corrupt my body, stay spiritual, drain my emotions. it's time to.

it's time.

dammit, it's time to be noticed.
everything needs sweat. blood. tears. oh my God, so many tears.

God help me.

seriously nothing better than this

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egg sandwich
pirates of the caribbean


love is a sickness, can i get a witness

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i'm lazy unsure to upload these on my blogs and dA.
someone forgive me.

also, an added bonus for this blog because i find it too R-rated

(lmao, it isn't.)

i have a two week holiday before the next semester starts
and good God, i try not to say it but i'm nervous for my results.
and i'm craving for ice-cream for soooooo long.

to let out the worry, i'll just sketch and draw.
also, wallow in sad songs that gives me inspiration to draw.

dance practice.
(though not mines, i surprised everyone by showing up
and i had to refuse profusely to dance because
i'm only reserving it for an audience of one: my laptop.)

but the weather these days....

i love it.

coincides with the beating of my heart

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outstretched arms, open hearts
and if it never ends then where do we start?

things to get over with:
1. ICT assignment
2. this week.
3. finals.
4. driving lessons


love how you it hurts every time

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it's familiar. this ache. it's all i've known.

who's going to change it though?