Writing is fun. If you think you’re born a writer, the Internet should be your potential market on where to sell you writing skill. You might be happy here, that you can also become publisher, something that might hardly happen in real life.
You can write from small topic until serious one. Let alone, if you have a sense of humor. By sharing your funny idea here, you will, on the one hand, please your own fancy; on the other hand help people cope with stress.
If you’re still new in this field, you’d better learn from other writers. Learning, improving and reviewing are advisable.
Click my other blog here if you want to focus your writing on humor and learn some tickling style:
http://www.man2tickle.blogspot.com/
Not a newcomer? Click here if you want to learn more about how to earn money through writing: http://www.man2brich.blogspot.com
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Write about what's going on in life and share with others
Wretched
By Muhammad Nurman
Skinny Oji expected no more misfortunes, as a minivan had just hit him. Luckily, he had not been killed, but he had a terrible pain in his side. The driver had run away and left him there, alone on the street. Oji, unfortunately, had not noticed the license plate number, and no eyewitnesses had seen the hit-and-run.
Oji grumbled, ruing his carelessness. He would have really liked to take things easy for a while, to have a great time outside his normal routine, but how come things had gone so badly just now!
He groped at his pocket to check whether his mobile phone was broken, and it beeped suddenly. To his surprise, he had received an unusual SMS.
Congratulations! You have won a grand prize of Rp. 20 million!
Someone named Hartono had sent the message, but it was noted that the sender was with a credible phone service provider.
Although Oji thought it was believable luck, he became doubtful that he was near escaping the long plights of crises he had been through.
Oji was one among millions who were suffering from global impoverishment. The government had given most of the people a bad time, as it had increased the fuel price again for the second time this year, followed by soaring prices of many goods, mainly basic needs. A great number of people would thus have to bear greater burdens.
The poor were getting poorer and poorer, and mental asylums received more newcomers, those who had been undone by such conditions.
Luckily, Oji was accustomed to being downtrodden. He was stoic when it came to worldly matters, even though he had ambitions to become a self-made man. Now that this fortune was there for him to grab, he tried to rid himself of all doubts.
He would use the windfall for so many things, for all those things that he longed for. It would be great moment for him when he could behave just like the haves, like buying luxury goods at malls, or going on a vacation at lavish tourist resorts, and more.
A bachelor like him didn’t need to think of making ends meet. Neither did he care about expenditures, since he had no family to support, no child to feed and such like.
He would plan to have a little party with some friends to celebrate this bliss. A Padang restaurant or Bakmi Margonda would probably be the proper eatery among the more expensive ones for this.
He was also thinking about renewing his worn-out shoes, getting a 29-inch flat-screen TV and accompanying audio system as well, and buying a four-stroke motorcycle.
Apart from all these wishes, though, it was questionable that getting so much money during the difficult circumstances of today was so easy. Was it a daydream?
In any case, he preferred to be silent about his win. It was too premature to let anyone else know about him having such unexpected big money. What he was afraid of was that some friends might only take advantage of him later.
As had happened before, they would abandon him when he became broke, leaving him alone in distress.
First, he would have to make sure about his fortune. So Oji dialed the number for verification — but his mobile phone run out of credit, so off he went to a public phone.
In the heat of the sun, he passed by the crosswalk where traffic was creeping along. Some poorly-clad beggars groaned at him, but he only stared, promising in his heart that he would come back to them as soon as he cashed the prize.
He made it to a public phone and dialed the number right away.
“Hello, can I help you?” a deep male voice answered.
“Ah… Yes, I received your message that I won a great deal of money. Is this true?”
“Your name, please.”
“Oji… Syahrozzi.”
“Hold on a second, Mr. Syahrozzi, let me check, okay?”
A few seconds was all it took to make him jumpy.
“Yes, you’re right. You are one of our customers to win this periodical lucky draw. Congratulations! And to avoid deceit, we will transfer the money to your savings account.”
Oji wanted to let out an outburst of excitement on hearing this. He felt as free as the wind, wafting high into the sky.
Some impulsive joy was about to explode and might overflow, but his self-possession said not now.
If only he had memorized his savings account number — he would now have to go home and find it and tell the man.
It was very simple.
***
However,things were not as simple as they seemed. When Oji called back, he turned pale.
“What?” he gasped.
“That’s the prerequisite,” the man stressed.
“But you didn’t tell me before. Why should I buy some phone vouchers first and send them to you? Winners should not forfeit any charges … oh, my goodness! You’re making a fool of me!”
The line cut off abruptly. He rechecked the provider number on his mobile phone and finally, he realized it had been manipulated.
He stood there, mouth agape. The sudden realization was like thunder in broad daylight destroying all his hopes and dreams at once. Calling from a land line, he had to pay around Rp. 20,000 for a call of a few minutes to a mobile number.
“How could I be so stupid?” he sighed.
***
Oji’s immediate superior was sorry to hear about this the next day at the office. It was not pleasant, but soon everyone was giggling when they heard about the fraud. Most of the employees there were jerks, and they enjoyed ridiculing others. As with all jests, Oji remained indifferent and carefree as usual.
But deep in his heart, he thought, Oh God, I’m a loser! Am I destined never to have money? How can I survive this situation? When will I get married? Is there one out of the thousands of girls out there who might be willing to be my soulmate when I only make very little earnings?
He would continue to berate himself: Oh, look at me. I’m only a janitor who’s not entitled to lead a decent life. Who sees pretty girls in mini-skirts every day, but hardly have them in real life. Who envies white collars who always look well groomed and content.
***
Just as with all early mornings, Oji had to squeeze onto the city train and join the other commuters. Today, however, he was in a completely bad mood. The overcrowded train jolted sporadically as he dozed off among the crowd. He was accustomed to the situation: to standing among other passengers, to seeing beggars singing and walking from car to car — some were blind, some disabled, others were lousy mothers carrying a baby, or vigorous youngsters in a band — and to gasping whenever he saw beauties around.
Once, it dawned on him to consider the idea of taking part in this hustle and bustle by becoming a busker. He was sure that his voice was not bad. He simply didn’t have the guts to sing in a strange place. Yes, he had his pride, not wanting to be caught in the act!
Yet somehow, he felt this job was much more dignified than “fund misappropriation”, alias corruption.
He usually put his mobile phone in his bag whenever he took the train, because he didn’t want to take the risk that it might be stolen. So far, it had been safe there.
Only the other day, some pickpocket had succeeded in stealing someone’s belongings and Oji had stood there, knowing what was happening but unable to do anything. He had blamed himself for being hesitant and sluggish.
Most people today, though, would probably react the same way for security’s sake.
His mobile phone was far from sophisticated — it was out of date. He could finally afford it after saving up five months, and it wasn’t for showing off.
Finally, Oji got a seat after a lanky young man got off at the next station, the fifth since had come on board.
His phone rang suddenly, and the anonymous number appeared on the display. Fraud again?
“Hello.” he answered.
“Guess who?” said a male voice in glee.
“Who’s speaking?” Oji said, cautious.
“How could you forget me? Am I that easy to forget?”
“Who’s this?”
“It’s me, Yono, your old friend.”
“Oh, what’s up?” he replied, apprehensive. Yono was the man who had betrayed him once, and whose unpaid debts had estranged them.
“It’s been a long time, Ji. And now I’m back to share my happiness with you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Come on friend, join me. I’ll pay you back and you’ll be rich as well!”
“Oh really?”
“I’ll tell you if you come by my house. Talk to you later, okay? ‘Bye.”
***
Six days passed and Oji hadn’t considered Yono’s offer. But in recalling the very many bad experiences that he had been through and not wanting to be considered a born loser all the time, he finally decided to meet his old friend to make things up.
Despite the betrayal, Oji preferred to start over again with his pal, taking every misery for granted. Their reconciliation would probably make for an easier life ahead.
He was only a few steps from Yono’s house and it was quite dark along the path. When he arrived, he found Yono’s mother wailing and her two daughters trying vainly to calm her down. Some curious neighbors had also approached.
“What’s going on?” Oji asked.
Nobody answered.
He looked round. The living room, which was also the bedroom, was a mess. Clothes were scattered on the floor, two cupboards were not in their right positions, and the glass dining table had a crack in it. It looked as thought there had just been a raid.
Now Yono’s mother was scolding him for coming at the wrong time. Oji was apologetic but curious, so he decided to stay anyway.
He soon learned what had happened from people speaking badly about his childhood friend. It turned out that Yono was involved in drug trafficking and was highly wanted by the police.
Oji didn’t care whether it was true or not, nor how long Yono had been in this dirty business.
Brooding over his future, he sighed and left, faltering in the dim light.
The author was formerly a freelance writer with Semarang-based Hello English magazine. This is his first published work of fiction.
By Muhammad Nurman
Skinny Oji expected no more misfortunes, as a minivan had just hit him. Luckily, he had not been killed, but he had a terrible pain in his side. The driver had run away and left him there, alone on the street. Oji, unfortunately, had not noticed the license plate number, and no eyewitnesses had seen the hit-and-run.
Oji grumbled, ruing his carelessness. He would have really liked to take things easy for a while, to have a great time outside his normal routine, but how come things had gone so badly just now!
He groped at his pocket to check whether his mobile phone was broken, and it beeped suddenly. To his surprise, he had received an unusual SMS.
Congratulations! You have won a grand prize of Rp. 20 million!
Someone named Hartono had sent the message, but it was noted that the sender was with a credible phone service provider.
Although Oji thought it was believable luck, he became doubtful that he was near escaping the long plights of crises he had been through.
Oji was one among millions who were suffering from global impoverishment. The government had given most of the people a bad time, as it had increased the fuel price again for the second time this year, followed by soaring prices of many goods, mainly basic needs. A great number of people would thus have to bear greater burdens.
The poor were getting poorer and poorer, and mental asylums received more newcomers, those who had been undone by such conditions.
Luckily, Oji was accustomed to being downtrodden. He was stoic when it came to worldly matters, even though he had ambitions to become a self-made man. Now that this fortune was there for him to grab, he tried to rid himself of all doubts.
He would use the windfall for so many things, for all those things that he longed for. It would be great moment for him when he could behave just like the haves, like buying luxury goods at malls, or going on a vacation at lavish tourist resorts, and more.
A bachelor like him didn’t need to think of making ends meet. Neither did he care about expenditures, since he had no family to support, no child to feed and such like.
He would plan to have a little party with some friends to celebrate this bliss. A Padang restaurant or Bakmi Margonda would probably be the proper eatery among the more expensive ones for this.
He was also thinking about renewing his worn-out shoes, getting a 29-inch flat-screen TV and accompanying audio system as well, and buying a four-stroke motorcycle.
Apart from all these wishes, though, it was questionable that getting so much money during the difficult circumstances of today was so easy. Was it a daydream?
In any case, he preferred to be silent about his win. It was too premature to let anyone else know about him having such unexpected big money. What he was afraid of was that some friends might only take advantage of him later.
As had happened before, they would abandon him when he became broke, leaving him alone in distress.
First, he would have to make sure about his fortune. So Oji dialed the number for verification — but his mobile phone run out of credit, so off he went to a public phone.
In the heat of the sun, he passed by the crosswalk where traffic was creeping along. Some poorly-clad beggars groaned at him, but he only stared, promising in his heart that he would come back to them as soon as he cashed the prize.
He made it to a public phone and dialed the number right away.
“Hello, can I help you?” a deep male voice answered.
“Ah… Yes, I received your message that I won a great deal of money. Is this true?”
“Your name, please.”
“Oji… Syahrozzi.”
“Hold on a second, Mr. Syahrozzi, let me check, okay?”
A few seconds was all it took to make him jumpy.
“Yes, you’re right. You are one of our customers to win this periodical lucky draw. Congratulations! And to avoid deceit, we will transfer the money to your savings account.”
Oji wanted to let out an outburst of excitement on hearing this. He felt as free as the wind, wafting high into the sky.
Some impulsive joy was about to explode and might overflow, but his self-possession said not now.
If only he had memorized his savings account number — he would now have to go home and find it and tell the man.
It was very simple.
***
However,things were not as simple as they seemed. When Oji called back, he turned pale.
“What?” he gasped.
“That’s the prerequisite,” the man stressed.
“But you didn’t tell me before. Why should I buy some phone vouchers first and send them to you? Winners should not forfeit any charges … oh, my goodness! You’re making a fool of me!”
The line cut off abruptly. He rechecked the provider number on his mobile phone and finally, he realized it had been manipulated.
He stood there, mouth agape. The sudden realization was like thunder in broad daylight destroying all his hopes and dreams at once. Calling from a land line, he had to pay around Rp. 20,000 for a call of a few minutes to a mobile number.
“How could I be so stupid?” he sighed.
***
Oji’s immediate superior was sorry to hear about this the next day at the office. It was not pleasant, but soon everyone was giggling when they heard about the fraud. Most of the employees there were jerks, and they enjoyed ridiculing others. As with all jests, Oji remained indifferent and carefree as usual.
But deep in his heart, he thought, Oh God, I’m a loser! Am I destined never to have money? How can I survive this situation? When will I get married? Is there one out of the thousands of girls out there who might be willing to be my soulmate when I only make very little earnings?
He would continue to berate himself: Oh, look at me. I’m only a janitor who’s not entitled to lead a decent life. Who sees pretty girls in mini-skirts every day, but hardly have them in real life. Who envies white collars who always look well groomed and content.
***
Just as with all early mornings, Oji had to squeeze onto the city train and join the other commuters. Today, however, he was in a completely bad mood. The overcrowded train jolted sporadically as he dozed off among the crowd. He was accustomed to the situation: to standing among other passengers, to seeing beggars singing and walking from car to car — some were blind, some disabled, others were lousy mothers carrying a baby, or vigorous youngsters in a band — and to gasping whenever he saw beauties around.
Once, it dawned on him to consider the idea of taking part in this hustle and bustle by becoming a busker. He was sure that his voice was not bad. He simply didn’t have the guts to sing in a strange place. Yes, he had his pride, not wanting to be caught in the act!
Yet somehow, he felt this job was much more dignified than “fund misappropriation”, alias corruption.
He usually put his mobile phone in his bag whenever he took the train, because he didn’t want to take the risk that it might be stolen. So far, it had been safe there.
Only the other day, some pickpocket had succeeded in stealing someone’s belongings and Oji had stood there, knowing what was happening but unable to do anything. He had blamed himself for being hesitant and sluggish.
Most people today, though, would probably react the same way for security’s sake.
His mobile phone was far from sophisticated — it was out of date. He could finally afford it after saving up five months, and it wasn’t for showing off.
Finally, Oji got a seat after a lanky young man got off at the next station, the fifth since had come on board.
His phone rang suddenly, and the anonymous number appeared on the display. Fraud again?
“Hello.” he answered.
“Guess who?” said a male voice in glee.
“Who’s speaking?” Oji said, cautious.
“How could you forget me? Am I that easy to forget?”
“Who’s this?”
“It’s me, Yono, your old friend.”
“Oh, what’s up?” he replied, apprehensive. Yono was the man who had betrayed him once, and whose unpaid debts had estranged them.
“It’s been a long time, Ji. And now I’m back to share my happiness with you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Come on friend, join me. I’ll pay you back and you’ll be rich as well!”
“Oh really?”
“I’ll tell you if you come by my house. Talk to you later, okay? ‘Bye.”
***
Six days passed and Oji hadn’t considered Yono’s offer. But in recalling the very many bad experiences that he had been through and not wanting to be considered a born loser all the time, he finally decided to meet his old friend to make things up.
Despite the betrayal, Oji preferred to start over again with his pal, taking every misery for granted. Their reconciliation would probably make for an easier life ahead.
He was only a few steps from Yono’s house and it was quite dark along the path. When he arrived, he found Yono’s mother wailing and her two daughters trying vainly to calm her down. Some curious neighbors had also approached.
“What’s going on?” Oji asked.
Nobody answered.
He looked round. The living room, which was also the bedroom, was a mess. Clothes were scattered on the floor, two cupboards were not in their right positions, and the glass dining table had a crack in it. It looked as thought there had just been a raid.
Now Yono’s mother was scolding him for coming at the wrong time. Oji was apologetic but curious, so he decided to stay anyway.
He soon learned what had happened from people speaking badly about his childhood friend. It turned out that Yono was involved in drug trafficking and was highly wanted by the police.
Oji didn’t care whether it was true or not, nor how long Yono had been in this dirty business.
Brooding over his future, he sighed and left, faltering in the dim light.
The author was formerly a freelance writer with Semarang-based Hello English magazine. This is his first published work of fiction.
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