Deceptus

Deceptus.

2009-04-01T03:38:00.000-07:00

Hello my loyal followers (all one of you). I am going to suspend this intriguing tale indefinitely. It's not that I don't want to continue, but I actually see this story going somewhere. So, I'm going to see where it takes me.

Thanks for all the comments and the follows. It was fun while it lasted.

Sorry Guys.

2009-02-06T10:37:00.001-08:00

For the lack of updates. I have been extremely busy.

But rest assured that I will not abandoning this little project. I am already done with the last chapter and most details of the plot.

Chapter 7

2009-01-29T10:33:00.001-08:00

The two men went on with their conversation, conversing just for conversation's sake. Neither the governor nor Richard liked each other, yet both embellished their mutual disdain.

"Well then, i have to go, you have a great day."

The governor concluded the conversation and went off. His speech was wrought with lies. He did not care what kind of day Richard was going to have.

Richard replied using paraphrased phrases from the governor’s speech, his amount of sincerity rivaling the governor.

Richard finished his cigarette and lit up another one. He watched the governor walk towards and sit down with his group of friends.

Richard waved for one of the attendants to bring him his food. The attendant nodded with a smile. He turned around to get Richard’s food while muttering several “fuck you”s.

Several acquaintances walked past. Some waved and some nodded, but all were mere acquaintances. They sat down at their own table and went about with their own little conversation. It was as if their acknowledgment of Richard’s existence never happened.

Richard just sat there, alone and smoking the imported cigarettes he so loved. He was already more than used to this. They exchange greetings when they meet Richard; they ask about his wife and his children; they ask about how his adoptive mother was doing. The conversation that seemed to encompass everything in Richard’s life, but yet the conversation was about nothing. Outside of this lame small talk, they do not talk. Nobody invites Richard to the regular gatherings down at the pub; nobody bothers to notify Richard of trivial matters such as weddings and birthdays.

Forever an outsider, Richard fit in nowhere. Richard was perpetually alone.

He constantly met people, communicated with people and even established long lasting respect with some. But all were working relationships; they were not friends, all were mere acquaintances.

Chapter 6

2009-01-26T04:14:00.000-08:00

Richard sat down at the canteen table. He lit up another cigarette. Distance stares from neighbouring tables almost swallowed him. Smoking wasn't allowed in the canteen.

The rule came into effect early last year, drafted by the governer after reports of the harmful effects of smoking came out. The governer was a health-nut.

It was stringently enforced but like all rules, there those like Richard who stood above it.

As the liason officer between the colonial government and the locals, he reported directly to the governer. He was beneath one man but above thousands.

Richard was also the adopted son of the previous governer. With a privileged position and a priviliged past, Richard was untouchable. Sometimes, even the governer had to give in to him.

"Richard! Good day!"

It was the governer. He was medium built and had a full head of barely existent hair. He was a good decade or two older than Richard, with a good greying beard to show for it. He frowned slightly at the sight of Richard's cigarette.

"How are you this fine afternoon?"

The governer was shaking Richards hand and patting his shoulder. Almost like a broher would. But behind his eyes, his displeasure was not very well hidden. He had no intention of being Richard's brother.

"Saintly."

Richard replied through a forced smile. Though wide and full of teeth, it did not extend past the boundaries of his lips.

Richard knew the governer had no intention or being his brother.

"So, how did the meeting with that local fellow go?"

"Boring."

The governer chuckled. Richard squeezed out a few deliberate laughs.

After work, the conversation went on to family. With both men feigning interest and inserting well placed laughs between sentences. It looked almost comical.

Chapter 5

2009-01-23T00:30:00.000-08:00

This contempt that Richard had for the local population was mutual. The Chinese did not see him as one of them. To them, he was a deflector; a snake. Despite corresponding constantly with the locals, he had zero Chinese friends; he was permanently an outsider; a regular "banana", yellow on the outside and white on the inside.

That was exactly what Boon Hock had called him.

When he was younger, Richard might have been agitated, he might even have struck Boon Hock. But twenty years of hearing the same thing does wonders in dulling one's temper.

Sometimes, he did not even mind that label anymore.

Richard got up walked to the door. At the edge of it, he lit up another cigarette before walking out and towards the canteen.

He liked smoking while walking. As a child he was socially awkward and extremely self-conscious. In the presence of other people, he would suddenly become aware of his entire body. Where should he place his hands while seating? How about standing? How wide should he open his legs? How often should he shift his gaze?

His movements were awkward and unnatural. As a result, he had few acquaintances and even less friends.

He hated walking past people. Under the perceived stares of the crowd, his strides open to scrutiny, he felt naked and exposed. He would feel very self aware. All thoughts of his would be focused on his bodily movements, like how big a stride to take or how to swing his arms.

Maybe he should just keep them in his pockets and not swing at all.

But cigarettes changed all that. The elevating euphoria of tobacco made him forget himself. A stick in his hand was like a royal decree; he felt empowered and larger-than-life. Like all the cigarette welding heroes of films and real life, he was invincible.

Chapter 4

2009-01-16T06:50:00.000-08:00

"Thank you for your time. I will take your opinion into consideration. The welfare of the coolies is our utmost concern."

Richard interrupted Tan Boon Hock rather abruptly.

Momentarily, Boon Hock was stunned, his mouth opened and closed, his language center trying frantically to translate his thoughts into English.

All this time, Richard did not look away. He stared hard into Boon Hock; He saw every involuntary movement Boon Hock was making. He saw Boon Hock's constant fidgets; He saw the big goblets of sweat making their way down Boon Hock's forehead.

He saw Boon Hock squirm at the word "coolie".

"We are done now, Mr. Tanne."

Boon Hock squirmed again. There were flashes of displeasure in Boon Hock's fat face. For a few seconds, it looked as though he would voice them.

But Boon Hock did not; he slowly got out of his chair, took one last look at Richard and made his way out. He muttered something under his breath. It was inaudible and in Chinese.

But Richard knew exactly what he had said.

He lit up another cigarette. He smoked slowly. It was lunch time and as much as he was hungry, lunch was not something he was looking forward to. He was going to eat alone, just like how he always did.

Though Richard wanted and tried desperately to be British, Richard was Chinese. No amount of Western education could change that fact. So what if his received pronunciation was so fucking perfect? He was Chinese; He was a member of a race whose language he could not speak.

Richard knew he was different. Despite the overwhelming amount of tea and crumpets flowing through his blood, his skin was yellow. They don't trust him; they talk behind his back. To his face, no one says anything. But Richard knows; he reads people.

Richard knows he only got his job because he was Chinese. As a liaison officer with the local trade unions, he met constantly with his equals. Especially then, when the governor was drafting the Chinese Protectorate, a bill in which Richard had little interest in.

Richard did not care about the rights of the local population. He could not be bothered to give a God damned flying fuck about the welfare of those motherless savages.

Chapter 3

2009-01-14T09:20:00.000-08:00

The room was dusty. The fan droned on noisily. Above it was a light bulb, its dim light flickering with every rotation of the fan.

Smoke and the musty smell of tobacco filled the room. Richard was a heavy smoker. In just an hour, sitting at his desk, he has already finished a pack.

At the front of his desk was a wooden sign proudly displaying his name. "Richard William Simeon". The name was distinctively Caucasian and clashed obtusely with his Oriental features.

Richard Simeon was not born Richard Simeon.

His given name was something that even he did not know.

As an infant, Richard was left in a gutter and for dead. His life would have ended prematurely if not for the charity of a British family. Richard was adopted.

Brought up and educated in Western society, Richard's given name was something that he would not be able to pronounce.

Richard took a deep drag of his cigarette. He loved his imported British cigarettes. Despite the climate, Richard was wearing a tailored suit. His hair was gelled back. He loved being British.

Richard looked at his watch. He was waiting for someone, a certain Tan Boon Hock. It was eleven. Boon Hock was late. Not only that, his name irked Richard. "Tan Boon Hock", it was a name filled with crude and disjoint syllables.

Richard's given name was something that he did not want to know.

There was a knock on the door. Boon Hock came in. He was short, plump, and a representative of a local trade union. Originally expressionless, his features broke into a smile upon recognition of an Asian face.

"Ah good day!" The fat man said in Chinese, "How are you?"

He extended his hand heartily. His weight seemed to perpetually rock back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Richard did not shake his hand, nor did he smile. He did not even get up.

"Mr. Tanne, take a seat", Richard replied in perfect received pronunciation.

Boon Hock's weight stopped rocking back and forth. His extended hand dropped to his side. Boon Hock sat down.

"Now, Mr Tanne, how can I help you?"

Richard did not look as though he wanted to do any helping.

"Ah, I come here ah, is talk about the salary of worker."

Boon Hock started speaking in English. Richard's usage of English has dictated a shift of language.

Boon Hock droned on. Richard was listening but barely taking anything in. Boon Hock's speech sounded chunky, uncultured and contained numerous grammatical errors.

Richard felt a wicked sense of superiority. He loved being British.

Chapter 2

2009-01-08T10:54:00.001-08:00

But there was none.

"Anything I want?"

Simon's cool demeanor was eroding.

"Can you undo what you did to me?"

Simon bellowed. His fury echoing throughout the hollowed hallways.

"Can you resurrect the lives you destroyed? Can you?!"

The old man made an involuntary whimper. He was an accomplished reader of people and in Simon 's rage-contorted features, he saw only murder.

The old man opened his mouth to speak but Simon' s pistol was already in his mouth.

"Fuck you old man, fuck you. Tonight you will answer for all that you have done."

The gun was in deep. The old man could feel the acrid taste of gun metal caressing his tongue. It was not a pleasant feeling.

"Simon, killing me wouldn't bring them back."

Simon's eyes narrowed. He cocked the hammer.

"Simon, I can help you get your life back."

Simon was silent, his finger was already on the trigger.

"Simon, for God's sake! Don't do this. This... this isn't justice."

"Justice? You dare talk to me about justice? Are you stupid? Or do you think I am?"

Simon shoved his pistol hard against the back of the old man's throat.

"Your victims, were people abandoned by justice; scorned by society. The courts did not save them; the system only helped you. Yet you stand here, talking to me about justice! This isn't justice I serve. This is vengeance."

Simon's finger squeezed the trigger. The old man's body hit the floor with a thud. It echoed for a while in the hallway, desperately clinging to a shard of existence before disappearing into nothingness.

Chapter 1

2009-01-08T04:31:00.000-08:00

His thin lips narrowed into a menacing sneer. His eyes, beady and unblinking, bore hard into the quivering figure before him. His gaze was steady and heralded several moments of unearthly silence.

Before his still frame, stood an old man. The man gulped , making a valiant but futile attempt to hide his fear. He was a good sixty years old and half a head taller. Thin and lanky, his now frail frame betrayed a body that was once well-built and muscular. His face was weather beaten and if not for the scars, almost handsome.

His features alluded to numerous tales and countless trials. Fear was not something that came easy to a man like him. Yet, his wavering eyes dared not even meet the deadly stare that greeted him. His beating heart struck upon his ribcage like a drum.

"Simon, ", the old man said and then paused, "Don't... don't do this."

Simon was silent. His sneer grew wider and his stare, more intense. His eyes were disturbingly penetrating but yet lifeless; his features were sunken and his skin sallow.

"Don't do this. Just... just stop right now. I can give you anything you want."

"You know I can do it."

The old man finished his sentence, but his mouth did not close. With wide eyes and a quivering lower lip, he searched Simon' s face desperately for signs of acknowledgment.