Archive for the Creative writing Category

A message

Posted in Creative writing on January 5, 2012 by Tales from UPD

“Wolf, here, remember, this didn’t happen, understand?”

I took the envelope and slid it in my pocket. “Go. I don’t know you.”

I watched him limp away in his crutches. Bob should have never taken this job, sooner or later the Pack is going to want to remove him. Better stay away from him from now on, or the Pack’ll think I’m softening up.

“Overwatch, Wolf here, package received from contact, I’m coming home.”; I looked at my watch. Beth’s old, but she still gets the job done. I looked around the alley, Overwatch is somewhere here, watching from the rooftops. “Oh, and Overwatch, I need a ride, I’m dyin’ out here.”

“Overwatch copies, Puppy’s your ride. Over and out.”

I sighed. My breath was so visible in this cold winter night. I guess I shouldn’t have brought my gun along, I really didn’t need it right now, but better safe than sorry, right?

Minutes later, I called the Pack. “Fort, Wolf here, Puppy still hasn’t arrived, he should’ve been here ten minutes ago, so where the hell is he?”

“Fort here, Puppy left Den seven minutes after you did, said he’ll be the one to bring your ass home, he should’ve been with you. Anything wrong, Wolf?”

Overwatch. Shit, the traitor! “Break radio contact! I have been compromised! Overwat-”

Bullets suddenly started flying. It was an ambush! I ran for cover behind a dumpster and realized that Beth had been hit. Now I knew why Overwatch insisted that I leave my rifle behind, the asshole. But there was no time to dally, there were five men shooting at me, and from the looks of it, they were Grundy’s. I took my rifle out and started returning fire. It took me 7 bullets to neutralize them all. Surprisingly, Overwatch was provided sniper support. “Guess I have to think about him for awhile.”

Beth got screwed, so I didn’t have any contact with the Pack for a while. I found Puppy in an alley a few blocks from where I was, strewn with bullet holes from the head down. Suddenly, I saw Overwatch emerge from the shadows.” Didn’t know we were blown, sorry, Wolf.”

I fought the urge to shoot him on the spot. “Well, we gotta get back to the Den, report to the Pack.”

We hid Puppy in a body bag in the trunk and drove back to the Den.

“Damn, Puppy, why? Why!”. Fort and Puppy were real close, so he took it hardest. “If you didn’t screw around in that alley, Puppy’d still be here!” and he raised a fist to hit Overwatch.

Mech stopped him. “Back off, Fort, no one knew they were compromised, Puppy lost his edge and got unlucky, got it? No one’s to blame for this.”

I butted in their little talk. ” To think of it, Puppy never made radio contact with any of us, did he?”

“But I did, before you met the contact. That’s why I knew he was your ride.” Overwatch said coldy.

“So you must’ve been blown while you were with the contact. Quite convenient, isn’t it? Wolf talks to the contact, Overwatch listens, and Puppy just waits somewhere no one knows and gets killed, Wolf almost gets done in, too. If you ask me, that contacts dirty.”

I knew they’d want Bob sooner or later, but isn’t this a little too fast, even for Mech? I tried reasoning it out. “Watch it, Mech, Bob’s been with us for 3 years now, and he’s yet to be dirty.”

“Well then, Wolf, I suppose it was one of the Pack that blew you, ain’t it? Can’t even trust your team now, can you?” The look on Mech’s face was smug. I would’ve wiped that smile clean off along with his face, but he was right. What if Bob blew us now? Or maybe he’s been all the time? But I remembered the intel, he always gave reliable intel, and this was the first time we got blown with Bob as the contact. “Check the intel.” I said smartly. “We can check on the intel and then we’ll know if he’s dirty.”

“On it.” Fort immediately forgot about Puppy and started encrypting the intel. “We got it in five. Wait for it.”

I noticed the envelope had something written on the inside. I didn’t notice it earlier with the disk in it, but now I do. I cleanly swiped it off the table without any one noticing. Then Fort finished the encryption.

” Darcmann and Grundy in cahoots, will do business at port next Friday at dawn. Heavy weapons for something. Don’t know what, yet.”

I slid out the envelope and started reading. I stared in disbelief in what was written in it.

Son, we’re still here. FFS.

Felix and Fortia Strife. Damn, man.


Character Sketch: Selim Strife

Posted in Creative writing on January 5, 2012 by Tales from UPD

I am Selim Strife. I live in the cold, hard streets of San Fierro. I used to live in Serene City,  with my sister, Vicky, until she  was abducted. My parents are Felix and Fortia Strife, both of whom are brave police officers who gave their lives in protecting the streets of San Fierro. My father was a SWAT Team commander, and one of the best in the force, if I might add. My mother was an undercover investigator, helping my father weed out Kidd Darcmann’s smuggled weapons syndicate. My sister and I were forced to move away to Serene City when the operation on Darcmann was getting dangerous. We heard little from our parents since the move, and 3 years later, the day I earned my bachelor’s degree in Military Science from the Serenity College in Serene City, we received word that both our parents were killed in the line of duty.

I am a stone-cold hunter. I have been tracking Darcmann for years, killing and maiming many of his thugs and goons along the way. He has taken everything from me, my parents, my sister, everything. I have little time for trivial things, because for me, there is only nothing but the next objective, the next mission, the next target. I am a man of few words and even fewer friends, for they are liabilities that will only hinder my pace. The day Darcmann took my sister, I ceased to exist. No documents, no certificates, nothing. I am a man who exists solely as a ghost to haunt Dartmann, with no other aim than eliminating every trace of him. I have honed my senses to track, to hunt, to kill. And I will stop at nothing until I complete my final objective.

But I am, somehow, still Selim Strife. I still love my family, or what’s left of it. If ever Vicky is still alive, I will rescue her. She is my only weakness, and if ever Darcmann uses her against me, I will have no choice but to follow his moves. Until that day comes, I am another man, known throughout the modern underworld as a merciless predator, cunning and swift. And through because I don’t exist, I go by the name they gave me, a birthname given by the prey I sought to stalk.

I am Wolf Pierce.

A midnight melancholy

Posted in Creative writing on November 19, 2011 by Tales from UPD

“Good night.” she said, and the line went dead. I sagged in my chair. Things haven’t been going well for us lately, and I’m at a loss to find the right thing to think about. It had been another argument, and, as with the other phone calls before this one, another dead end. I thought about calling again, but when I looked at my phone I realized that the battery went dead. Oh well, I thought with some degree of relief. Saved by the battery, I guess. If I called her then, it would almost surely be another argument. And besides, it was already 11:30 pm, so she was probably fast asleep by now. I went to my room and pondered deeply about what happened.

I wanted to sleep, but couldn’t. I tried counting sheep, but my thoughts were someplace else. I gave you the chance, but you didn’t come….bye. That stung. Hello?…so what?. That hurts. But what stung the most is having to listen to almost 10 minutes of silence, when I could not even fully grasp the nature of the quarrel. Trying to apologize, starting a light conversation, and even silencing myself as well- didn’t work. Let’s face it, I’m way in over my head, and have become numb due to the fact that I feel too many emotions at the same moment.

A few minutes, which seemed to me like hours, of thrashing around in my bed made me decide that I should go somewhere, although I knew full well that even if I went someplace far, I can’t and won’t escape the torment inside in my mind, eating away at my rationality. But I had to do something, even a little distraction would do. Finally, I went to the nearest internet cafe and started doing my writing assignment in creative writing, although I admit that I also opened my facebook account for no conscious reason. I was just beginning to finish my blog, so I went and checked who was online at facebook. Somehow, though unsurprisingly, she was there, online, for a brief moment, and I started to type some words to send her when suddenly, poof!, she went offline. I limited myself to deluding that she also couldn’t sleep because of the quarrel, but with women, you never know.

The cafe was crammed with people, some playing and some spectating. But I felt alone. And miserable. And cold, not just because of the airconditioning system installed in the cafe, but because of the feeling that I was just ignored, nothing more, nothing less. After finishing my blog, I went back home, feeling even more depressed than before, because I was back to reality, back to that dismal room where I spent my existence trying to think of something to do for tomorrow. Still, I felt that this time, I could sleep, finally ending a miserable day in the hope of having a fresh start at another miserable day. But then, my phone rang. In a split second, I weighed my chances of having even a glimmer of decent conversation. Considering the day, the choice was simple. I answered the phone. Silence. I tried greeting her. Silence. For 5 more minutes I listened to silence, never daring to cut the line myself, as part of a pledge I made and intend to keep. The line went dead. Finally, I can rest and try again tomorrow. I went straight to bed and as soon as my head hit the pillow, the throbbing headache from 30 minutes of online blogging hit me, although it wasn’t as bad as it sounded, because sleep came rather quickly.

I dreamed. I knew I was dreaming, yet I couldn’t bring myself to wake up. I usually have control over what I do in my dreams, and this dream was no different. But, it was already haunting me for many nights now, recurring again and again and again. In it, I was driving on a road, in a cramped old van with a bunch of people that I don’t know but who apparently know me. After a few “minutes” of driving and horsing around, our van stopped. It was then, I realized, that I came out of the car alone, and the road we were driving on was empty, although I could hear sounds of traffic in the elevated road opposite ours. I followed an apparently seldom-used trail that lead to a small town. Surprisingly, the town, or city, had absolutely no signs of life or activity, and I walked around till my feet “hurt”. I had never felt so earnest to see another soul, anxiously watching every nook and cranny for any signs of life.

I woke up. I felt a little dizzy and a little weirder than usual. I didn’t finish my dream, but I never do anyway, so there’s no sense in fretting over a cryptic hallucination. Looked up at the clock. Damn. It’s  2 am, and I have classes today. I tried whistling myself back to sleep, but it was no use, so I might bas well fix myself up early. I cleaned myself up and got dressed for school. Dressed for school, yeah, right, there’s no such thing as a standard dress code where you study, anyway. I was irked because of everything that happened prior to the midnight bell, with not being able to fix things with her, and more importantly, with myself.

Two long, boring hours later, I turned my radio on, all the stations were broadcasting songs from times past when one song in particular caught my fancy. It was a song I held special to myself, and hearing it helped boost my hopes for the day. I listened intently, feeling the song pierce my heart and reverberate through my mind. I was almost in tears when Ely was singing my favorite lines of the song: Lift your head, baby don’t be scared, of the things that could go wrong along the way…we’ll get by, with a smile, you can never be too happy in this life…

Beautiful. It’s absolutely perfect. After the song was finished, I looked at myself in the mirror. I still hated the person I see looking back at me, but, I was smiling. I looked at the time. Just in time, it’s almost five, I thought. After washing my face, I thought about my dream for a while. Alone. You are, and will always be,alone. Wrong. Time to man up and stop sulking. Pitying myself will never work. I loved the song, but treasured the message it gave me. I was about to look at my watch, but then changed my mind. Stop worrying, idiot, everything’s going to turn out just fine, I promise you. I truly believed myself in thinking that. Five hours later, I went to school and enjoyed the rest of my day, which was a very eventful day indeed.

Later that night, before going to sleep, I washed my face, brushed my teeth and went to bed. It had been a beautiful day, and I was sure that tomorrow would be just as fine. I took out my phone and dialed her number.

“Hello?”, she answered. I loved hearing her voice. Smiling, I answered back: “Hi, love…”.

An author’s introduction, according to himself

Posted in Creative writing with tags on November 18, 2011 by Tales from UPD

They called him Emil. And Alex, Martin, Tristan, Connie, and Gray, among many other misnomers he hides behind. People usually stayed away from him and he usually stayed away from people. He firmly believed that other people were simply too engrossed in the pursuit of fortune and would only look for friends that they need, which, he swore to himself, that he would never be like.

He was a “wonderer”. At least, to himself he was. A few days ago, he was a time-traveler, closely observing the battlefields of Berlin and Manila, and even commanding his own unit in Bastogne. And a few weeks before that, he was a visionary, leading countries and and men to greatness. But that was before. Now, he wonders about everything and anything, spawning ideas to fuel his always-freshly-inspired self. Of friends, he had none, but of enemies, he knew he had many. He always took things very critically, which some people, including some of his friends and family, found annoying. They told him that life wasn’t meant to be analyzed, but he always begged to differ. He liked being different, even if it meant going against others’ principles. And he valued freedom above every other virtue this world had to offer.

They always told him that he was smart, but  will never be able to get anywhere because he was disobedient and unpersonable. He hated that. He never bragged about himself and never wanted to get close to people that he knew weren’t good, but for them to say that he will never get far in this life, that did it. He was doggedly determined to prove to himself and to everyone that he would be, in some degree, having a good life.

His family was, in a way, both a pillar of support and a source of psychological disarray. Growing up without a father, he, along with his 3 siblings, had to discipline themselves in such a way that their mother would at least be able to support them without much cost to herself. Sadly, life isn’t always like that. His two younger brothers were a constant source of chaos, and he himself was schooled very well in the juvenile art of vexing others. Nevertheless, along the way, he learned to behave and grasp the reality of his responsibility, that he was the first in line, and as such had the burden of bringing his dysfunctional family up.

That was years ago. As of now, he is pursuing a degree in Communications Research at the University of the Philippines, as an irregular freshman (talk about luck! I can tell you how he got to this, but that would be a long story for another post.). Despite how mature he thinks he’s grown, the reality remains that he is and wants to grow more, physically, mentally, and individually. He now cherishes his self-proclaimed profession of being a “wonderer”, and revels in his newfound love for Philosophy, a subject he feels is truly for him, a person who loves to ask questions and is never content even upon hearing the answer. In a way, he knows that there is nothing in store for him in the future, save for moving ever-forward in life, pursuing a goal that he knows not yet and at the same time knows very well. In the end, his story will be, as with an overwhelming majority of us, who passed on, is living, and is-going-to-be, a chronicle the world will never know, an existence little noted, and one of the greatest stories never told, written by an outstanding author: the individual himself.