Revamp in Progress

Sporadica

Welcome back to Sporadica. As you are well aware, we are in the middle of a major redefinition of our blog. Ngiammy has been kind enough to promote me from guest columnist to co-contributor, and just after one post too! The changes to background, the name and soon, the actual url link to the blog have occurred and will occur to that end. But enough of logistics. Onto the content of the post.

I have started another short story and am going to publish it in parts like I did with The Transcriber. Unlike that story, which I knew would have 13 parts, I have not yet planned out the structural elements in its entirety. How long it goes for will probably be in part be determined by the response from readers and the popularity of the story so please do leave comments and thoughts if you are interested. I've recently finished reading both Dostoevsky's Notes from Underground and Murakami's The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (both excellent texts which I may write about later on if I get the inspiration to). I just thought that might explain some of the stylistic tendencies of the story. I probably am still a bit too influenced by those texts but whether that's a good or detrimental thing, you'll have to judge. A final note, because I'm publishing these as I write them, there will not be any regular timeframe between parts. But I mean, that is the whole point of this right?

Story:

1

It didn’t seem like much of a burden at first. There was no uneasy, uncertain feeling this time, which I usually felt when I had accepted other similar offers. I admit I had prepared myself for its arrival, like it had so many times before. There was always a pattern it followed, a strict inviolable progression of taunting. It would calmly establish itself in the deepest recesses of my stomach. It made itself known to me but faintly, as if my other bodily sensations could overpower its presence if I did not concentrate on it. It probably started much earlier than the first time I can now pinpoint it existing, but eventually it became a familiar and recognizable perception. Once it could tell I was aware of it, and don’t ask me how I know this, but I honestly believe it could tell when I did, it would always then linger. The amount of time for which it would stay varied from anywhere as short as two minutes to as long as three hours. The more I tried to ignore it, the longer it stayed. I knew it was simply trying to irritate me, to provoke some reaction just to see me fail. It was like an intruder in my own body that was both intangible and unassailable, and it would always see to it that I could not successfully struggle against its superiority. Yes, that was it. It had to instill that realisation every time. It would not matter how long it took. Sometimes when I was tired and worn out, I would yield almost instantly, but there were those days when I felt like drawing things out, testing it and seeing if I could realistically put up some resistance of endurance and willpower. But it never went away when I tried this. Nor did the feeling intensify in response. It was as if my act of defiance would not and could not incite a similar reaction, and that I had to know this too. It was because it stayed the same that I broke. Every time. It was the perfect enemy because nothing I could do would faze it.

Dissipating after this initial recognition, or should I say capitulation, and because it always did, dissipate that is, it would lie dormant for different periods of time. It did not need to manifest itself with greatest potency until it needed to, and predictability was something it could simply not afford. Even then, I would still be haunted but this time by its absence, by the very thought that its reemergence was imminent and that it could happen at any time. Now by ‘any time’ maybe I am taking things out of proportion somewhat. I have noticed that during everyday existence it seems to leave me alone. Why it does this, I have no idea, maybe it wants me to feel indebted to or appreciative of it for this gift of leaving me alone during what can only be described as my regular routine of tedious monotony. Indeed, in what could to my surprise almost be construed as uncharacteristic consistency, I had been afflicted with its most prominent and striking materializations every time I went to meet Mr. Takai to receive and most of the time, accept whatever new offer he had at the time. For whatever reason, it simply did not deign to treat me with its presence at any other point of my illustriously significant existence.

It took me a while to realise that those visits were the common link between all the occurrences, but even now I struggle to figure out how they figured into everything. I remember asking Diana, an attractive associate of Mr. Takai’s, the one time, about whether anyone else had mentioned any similar complaints or exhibited any such symptom. Her quizzical and simultaneously dismissive expression said it all. She had no idea what I was talking about, but what really left an impression was that she didn’t care. And why would she have? A random stranger spouting nonsensical questions about tactile minutiae. Needless to say, from then I kept it to myself. I figured I’d understand when I needed to. I left empty-handed that night. Mr. Takai didn’t show up for our appointment. It was the first time that had ever happened. After all, he initiated contact and arranged meetings only at his convenience. I was always expected to be present at least 15 minutes beforehand. Punctuality, organisation and commitment were things he expected most from me. And every time he would arrive at the agreed time (well, more like the stated time) on the dot. This was admittedly strange, but things got back to normal the very next time it happened. His next call for an arrangement came just two days later – usually I would have to wait at least a week and a half. He opened with an apology for his absence that night and then proceeded to set up the next rendezvous. And so I thought nothing more of it.

Much later, I was told by some people – who they are is irrelevant at this point, it will simply confuse things - that change, however small, is the only thing that precipitates further change. It’s just that sometimes, like that ghastly, haunting feeling, we can notice it and at other times, it escapes our attention. But one thing inevitably leads to another, and I attributed much too little significance to that discrepancy.

I apologize for the way in which this has all come about. My mind is still struggling with how best to put things in their rightful place. Order is not something that comes naturally to me. And never did I think to prepare for such a moment where I may need to draw on everything that has happened to me. I write all this down now because it seems the most opportune moment for such reflection and transcription. I mean it only to be read by those who can see this through to the very end, to experience the journey that I have experienced yet cannot make any sense of. At this point, I know only myself that fulfills that criteria, but I suppose my earlier apology represents the hope that one day someone will find this and take interest to the very end. Are you, dear reader (for at the very least if I am the one reading in the future what I write down now, that I am the dearest of readers), that someone who is both able and willing? Punctuality, organisation, and commitment. They were the things that Mr. Takai required of me. And they are the things that I now hope to receive from you, whoever you are. If you have gotten this far, then I implore you to continue. This is only the beginning of my story, and while I understand your hesitation, I beseech you to stay with me. However, I cannot warn you enough about the consequences of false intentions, deceit and a pretense of dedication. If you are not truly prepared to discover what lies in the pages ahead, then put this down and walk away. You cannot underestimate the gravity of the task before you. It may not seem like much of a burden at first, but I assure you that will change, I am certain of at least that.

I will not be disappointed, for what hope do I possess at this point of such an eventuality? If it is your decision to relinquish any traces of these writings, I ask only that you do not burn it. It may not have been meant for you, but if you were able to find it, then I choose to believe that someone else will as well. If despite my admonitions, and your best judgment, you are committed, I am grateful. Read on, to the next chapter and beyond, where I will explain things as best I can. Things will not always be in their order, but I know it all began. It began the night I came home to find Katherine cooking fish for dinner.

Till next we sporadic,
Cynic