Hallmarked Fantasies

Hallmarked Fantasies

By Lefee Ouy

CONTENTS

Chapter 1
………………………….………………………….…………………………
…… 3

Chapter 2
………………………….………………………….…………………………
…… 7

Chapter 3
………………………….………………………….…………………………
…… 11

Chapter 4
………………………….………………………….…………………………
…… 13

Acknowledgments
………………………….…………………………
…………………….. 15

1

“
September 19.”

"This story is set on a certain small island,
somewhere remote off the east coasts of Malaysia, at a certain
academy."

The constant whizzing of air contrasted
heavily with the setting sun. Its solitary light slowly inched
itself into the tranquil bedroom.

"Due to a huge typhoon hitting this isolated
island's school during schooling hours, the students and teachers
are forced to barricade windows and spend a night together as the
tycoon continued to roar through the evening."

Once a room of monochrome hue became glazed
with a rich streak of orange that had now seemed to have pierced
itself through the open window and dark interior.

“
The
protagonist, a student at this academy, hears a cry for help from
outside the safety of the academy walls. Being a reckless boy with
a flourished sense of morality, the protagonist rushes outside
towards the fleeting voice in hopes of providing
aid
."

When considering how even the most minute
sounds could be heard, my voice also seemed to resonate
impressively in this quiet room.

“
After a long while of searching
for what was once an audible sound, a mysterious and beautiful girl
suddenly appears, unconscious and laying flat on large patches of
grass. The sight was almost surreal, the world around the girl was
filled with a slew of activity as the storm-drenched sky showed no
signs of calming, yet this girl laid motionless as her cascading
black hair continued to react to the wind. The protagonist stood
absorbing the scene before him, even as the rain beats down harder
on his uniform and heavier winds continued its attempt to knock him
off-balance.”

A surging passion, that similar to the flicker
of a match, seemed to charge itself through my very being and was
now giving life to all of this unnecessary text.

“
The protagonist did not recognize
the girl; he had also not recognize the situation around him. It
was only after a warm welcome from a nearby thundercloud that the
protagonist flinched from the sudden exposure to noise and was able
to regain composure of his surroundings. As the bellowing of the
strong winds rushed themselves back through his perception, the
protagonist swooped the girl up in his arms and mustered what he
could to heave the delicate body to a nearby toolshed.”

These passionate thoughts seemed to scatter
quickly alongside the subtle breeze present within my own
world.

“
Returning to
the school escaped the protagonist
’
s mind, what could he have done? He wondered if his friends
and teachers would worry over his unbeknownst disappearance as he
gently placed the charming girl in a position to recover on a large
table. The protagonist had various thoughts ring through his mind
asking who the girl was, if she was the one crying for help and
when the loud storm from outside would let down. And at that very
moment the protagonist had come to a sudden realization, dizziness
began to build within the protagonist and the world turned somewhat
fuzzy and gray. The boy had asked himself how he was able to hear
meek cry of a person from a distant in the first place when the
storm outside made it hardly possible for him to communicate
clearly with his teachers and friends whom had stood next to him.
How could any string of events had led to what was happening now to
this boy?”

I couldn’t even trust my luck this time
around, this one was subpar at best.

“…”

What does a guy need to do for some
inspiration? With a soft ‘bop’ sound, I had knocked myself in the
head and stopped the audio recorder on my phone. Glancing around
the room,

there really was nothing to glance at as the
room was pitch black.

“
Heh? What is this, am I
dead?”

Moving around my joints as they cracked one by
one as if to confirm my existence, I stretched myself out as I
stood up and begin shuffling through this all too familiar layout
towards the light switch. Immediately after recoiling from suddenly
being bathed by blinding light, I hurried myself towards the window
near the bed as my eyes continued adjusting to the unnatural light
around me. I closed the two doors on the window and secured in a
surprisingly firm manner and plopped down on my bedside.

I swear for the life of me that I was
elegantly thinking of a sunset all but moments ago… Letting out a
sigh was the only retort possible at the moment. Opening my phone
that had been in my grip throughout this entire scene I had gotten
a pop-up alert saying that my cloud storage was full and couldn’t
be backed up which was simply dismissed.

“
Almost 2 o’clock huh?”

I just sat there under a myriad of thoughts of
my own until one thought seemed to stand out more than the
rest.

Mosquitos.

It’s two in the morning and the window was
just closed— there must be at least one mosquito with the taste for
blood that wandered in here, right? That was the first conclusion I
jump to but I still forced myself up as I stalked around my room
and shook anything remotely black in color in an attempt to draw
out any mosquito, although to know avail. Scanning through the
surface of the compact pinewood desk placed in front of the bed, an
empty glass cup triggered a sudden quench as I acknowledge my
throat was dry and in considerable pain.

Forget about mosquito bites, a glass of water
and good nights sleep, at least what’s left of it, would be the
best course of action. In truth, I was just getting sick of looking
at every detail of my room considering I’ve been doing just that
for the last sixteen years; the resolve to get water and sleep was
simply me pandering to myself expecting tomorrow to come hold my
hand with a smile.

Quietly pacing
myself outside my room and through the narrow hallway, I reflected
on what had just happened almost subconsciously. I had gotten
intimate with those recordings again; ever since an innocent me
from back when decided to keep a journal (not a diary) for myself
through recording my voice. I still keep consistent with it today,
and to think that this all resulted from some playful suggestion by
a teacher who believed in being able to see oneself develop through
life by keeping tabs was exhilarating. Nowadays, all I’ve been able
to achieve with it is
incessant
ramblings of random fairytales; honestly, I
should gamble on studying scenario writing or become a novelist if
I enjoy sitting on my butt for a large part of the day screaming
into an abyss and recording the interaction for no one to
hear.

It’s all superficial when someone realizes
that its just me being useless to society by talking to myself by
crafting mediocre plots for stories. I may be somewhat well versed
in linguistics due to a mixture of class placement and these
recording, and I’ll also give myself points for being self-aware of
this stuff but they immediately get taken off by the fact that I
enjoy what I’m doing.

Reaching the silent and void kitchen I was
able to at least find the handle to the fridge and take out the jug
of water from inside it. Judging by the fact that the jug was
really not all that cold, dad must have boiled some tap water right
before heading off to bed. I silently thank him and mom for
replenishing the jug and regret the fact that I don’t interact with
them as much as I would like to considering that they come home
late if not at all since they both travel abroad for business trips
at varying times from each other or rarely even together. After
indulging myself in the satisfying sounds of fresh water being
poured into a cup of ice, I make my way to the stairs, albeit in a
much slower pace as if not to spill any water from the brim of the
cup.

Navigating myself through the heaven that is
pitch black darkness, I try my damnedest to pass the time by
describing this large house but no matter what I say to myself,
some divine force within me is saying that the house itself is not
important enough to use any mental energy on; it may be true
enough, people say having a house and having a home are two
different whole different things although this house is the roots
of my humble upbringing.

It’s already a little while past two when I
close my bedroom door while slowly sipping the now chilly
water.

“
Someday, someone will resonate
with the signals I send out. It’s not a bad thing if no one does
either; everything’s a win-win right now.”

After placing the cup down slowly on the desk,
I essentially leap into bed and hug myself as I display actions a
baby would do in bed. I’m splintering into various directions at
once—grief, followed by anger, then panic. The last thing I need
this late at night is to feel those either of those emotions again,
instead I force my thoughts to go the current place that would calm
me—sleep.

2

“
September 21.”

“
I remember hearing from some one
that it takes much less mental energy to condemn than to
think.”

I fidget my legs impatiently as I
run that quote through myself a number of times. Today my voice
trailed off much faster than expected, I could not even attempt at
recording anything meaningful.

“
I get the feeling that condemning
each and every aspect of my life until calling it a life anymore
would become a stretch is a great idea; at the least it would be
much simpler to do so than continuing to contain aspirations.
Imagine I would abandon everyone and everything that has supported
me throughout my life. What if I were to begin giving up on the
education given to me and not pay back the parents who raised me by
at least allowing them to know my life would not be dangerous
before their lives come to an end.”

The oven makes a high-pitched bell
sound to signal that the pizza was reheated and ready to be
eaten.

“
Why would any one something as
shameful as that though? If someone was given everything on a
silver platter and is given the task of finding their way to a
happy life, why would anyone opt out of that and instead decide to
find a faster way to the end of life? Is the fact alone that our
common goal is inevitable death enough for people to find happiness
by climbing through life only to find that their goal is to fall
back down? As long as everyone enjoys that climb, is it morally
correct to judge that they lived their life wrongly because society
and human history defines it as wrong?”

Nothing seemed acceptable at that
moment. I knew the pizza was ideal to be eaten in the oven, but I
refused to go retrieve it even though I was lounging around at the
kitchen table like I was a stubborn kid who was angry at their
parents for no particular reason.

“
Sometimes people can just be lazy
y’know, they forget about what they want at a given time and go
astray or they don’t think their goal is achievable and won’t
accept any alternative. Humans are selfish and I’m no exception to
that, sometimes I would think that striving to isolate yourself in
comfort is a much better goal than changing history; when someone
thinks like that, their wrong, right? Being able to live life with
no worries is delusional and avoiding reality to remain in your own
small world made by reality and not give back is even more so.
Maybe if someone changes history drastically enough then they’d be
able to afford being ignorant and living in their own small world
for a time. Knowledge maybe considered the basis of power but
ignorance itself could be considered bliss.”