Him

Fadzul decided to buy it as a gift.
Ning happened to pass by , and saw how he instructed the shopkeeper to wrap it, and then walked out of the shop with the gift in his hand.
' Hey,' Ning said. ' What is the gift? '
Fadzul had a start. He looked sideways at her. A busybody. He pursed his lips and  gave her a look of rebuke.
'Come on,' Ning persuaded.' who is the lucky girl?'
Fadzul sighed.
' Well, you are right. It's for a girl.'

Fadzul did not look back, and took out the remote switch of his car.

Yeah, it was for Zubaidah. She would be surprised. As for the others, they did not deserve to know why he had bought it. Today was a special occasion for her.

At her house, Zubaidah filled a glass with water for Fadzul. He tilted it down and after a slight pause, handed her the gift.

Zubaidah was bewildered, and she made a dry laugh.
'Why? It's not even my birthday.'
'Open it and see.'

She obliged and after some tearing and rustling, she was rooted to the spot, totally confused.
It was a mirror. She could see her surprised look in it. The mirror was a basic one, round in shape , and framed by a white rim.  The next thing she heard was the clicking sound, coming from behind, followed by a report.

The mirror fell. Amidst the scattered fragments were her smeared brains.

A few days later，Ning came across the death of Zubaidah in the paper. She had the shock of her life. Who would have the urge to kill such a mild tempered girl?  She  quickly performed a mental check on the people Zubaidah knew or possibly knew, but none raised a suspicion. Suddenly, she remembered the scene at the  shop. The suspicious looking Fadzul. Had they been in some sort of a relationship?

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Creative Writing Workshop

Image
I attended a creative writing workshop in Kota Kinabalu, Sabah last Saturday. It was organized by Jude Day, president of Society of Performing Arts Kota Kinabalu Sabah(SPARKS), The invited speaker was Robert Raymer, a Sarawak-based American writer who is a lecturer of creative writing at Universiti Sarawak Malaysia. He is the author of 'Lovers and Strangers Revisited', 'Tropical Affairs', 'The Boy Who Shot Santa' and 'Spirit of Malaysia'. It only took me ten minutes to get to Wisma Anglican, the workshop venue from my hotel on shanks's pony. I felt honored to have met Mr. Robert Raymer in person.He exuded a quiet air of confidence and patience. I bought a copy of his 'Lovers and Strangers Revisited' and got it autographed by him. I was thrilled and could not help smiling from ear to ear. I picked up a lot of knowledge during the workshop. First, Robert Raymer expounded the essence of creative writing.Next, he showed us how to organiz...
Read more

Article on My Art Lessons

Image
The title is originally 'A Realisation As An Overaged Art Student' but it was changed to something cringeworthy. Many young children between the ages of six to fifteen hunched over the tables in the sitting room, sketching and painting.   At the age of forty-five, I was by far the oldest student, overweight, too, and somewhat shabby looking.   Sitting in an inconspicuous corner, under a freezing air conditioner, I surfed the Inter­net on my ipad to hide my discomfort. One by one, more kids poked their heads around the door, entered the house barefoot and took their seemingly pre-assigned positions in the sitting room. When Vaz, the elegant art teacher in her late fifties arrived, she frowned at where I was sitting. “This is not where you sit,” said the lecturer cum artist, while beckoning me to follow her into a little room beside her office.   She handed me a beginner kit and frowned again when I told her that I had forgotten to bring my coloured penc...
Read more

My Life as a Boarder at St. Patrick's

The first time I came to Kuching was in 1990. Failing to secure a place in government schools after the SPM, I enrolled in the sixth  form  at the now defunct school on Stampin Road, St. Patrick's. It was my first time away from the comfort of home, and I was staying in the school ’s  wooden boarding house, naturally fe eling  emotionally challenged. In the first few months of my stay, I was wrought with unmitigated homesickness, which sapped my confidence, energy, and optimism for life. My weight plunged, and it took a toll on my health. One time, I was so delirious with fever that the world was almost dead to me. My fellow boarders took turns looking after me, bringing me food, sponging my feverish forehead, and washing my sweat-soiled clothes. I finally came to my senses when a boy named Simon  warned me that if I continued letting my emotions control me, I would disappoint my parents. Like me, he had come all the way from Miri to study. He...
Read more