I took a stare at the sky.Clouds pregnant with water hovered over us, ceased the day as they ate the sun and its rays. The deep blue sky turned a dark grey and was beaten into individual lumps,each fluffed at the edges. An inverted ocean, blackened to its core and wide to the mile,tarred our gazes above, ready for rainfall.My eyes soon descended to a side of a shoulder, heads were seen bobbing as we plod a steady gait. We,a band of friends clad in loose t-shirts and crumpled pants, were walkig twards a building as we witnessed creaking cracks of dry paint and charcoal smudges of sut w on its aging body.It was an elongated crimson coated apartment block, one of many that rose repetitiously at this Mcallum residential zone.It stood looking unapart from the others, as each comformed to the bored cuboid shaped construction and the sleepy grey concrete surroundings they were planted at. A dear friend's house was located within it,his place of solitude and refuge, now in the process of becoming ours' as well. A silent gloom was flt. The static air was whipped into wispy curls, the cold,damp interior of the clouds was furled on to the ground. The wind caught us and we sensed the descending chill,our skins wet as if we were within them touching the condensing vapour.The heavens were plump and were ready for gravity. Soon luminous branches of light streaked through the clouds, the massive shroud was diced in anger. The sun was mad. Mad at the lost of its dominion and so spitted lightning.A loud roar alike mountains splitting struck replying the affront. A clash was unsuing, and so we ran in. We dashed towards the open lobby and with our lungs puffed, stood gaspingly on its bare cement floor with our hands against the tile plated walls. An instantanious crackling cut through the damp calm, ears were brought to the lobby exits. The drains were awash with deluge,it slithered wildly with its wavy slashes broken only by raindrops.A lift was available,its box quiet and empty, and so it marked suspicious gazes on our faces. It welcomed us with a bare interior which was as still as the narrow Georgetown alleys on a moonless night.A sly predator patiently waiting obliging prey to enter. A trap. I carried a leg in. Its floor plmmetted down sharply, then hopped up violently. Our instincts seemed to be telling.A predator, in wanting of flesh to eat,in waiting of fresh crimson meat, or in the case of our skinny friend Henry, bone marrow. Our blood gushed as loudly as the downpour outside.Veins pounded the skin as did the continuous beads of droplets on puddles in the streets. The body was screaming, shrieking as loud as the storm, saying danger! The nude, coarse dynamics of its springs and ropes and the foul, draught smell made that box a heart stopper. And yet we entered it within a beat.Both fet were brought in and, in spite of the swollen bounce from the ground, Henry punced the button carelessly, without inherit worry or danger. The doors clamped hard chopping the air. A guilotine slicing through phantom heads. Years of public transportation had made us insensitive if not reluctantly accepting of roug, unrefined joults and jerks. Our bas minis were second only to the Russians in simulating zero gravity after the Russians, taking off on speed-bumps, and the third might be this elevator if it snaps.We were jumped to a hurried stop. The doors slid open. A quick dash with our bodies thrown in a hurry resulted in an unstudied leap,done before the monsther clenched its teeth. There we turned left and took the stairs up a level, as that mesh of springs and screws and scares (that lift) only stopped at odd floors. We plod our way up. We took large steps and climbed the stubby steps stiffly. Our hands slid through the broad railings, it took up an entire palm. The staircase was a piece with the wall, connected ceaselessly to it as if the ascending steps were carved out from it. To our left the stench of settled water, salted and rotting, overwhelmed us enough to ask for a stare. The stairs were hanging from the wall,and so allowed us a view from the other side. A large marsh, muddled, rich bron at its driest areas and a murkyne green at its lowest, strangely hosted a row of wooden, zinc roofed houses. Parallel planes of planks plastered together on top a rippling flat surface, made of thin tree barks tied together. Simple and skeletal,a home to a community of poor fisherman, surrounded by the sea and the town under the monsoon pour. It was an exposed ruler, bloated with huts, surrounded by still water. An eyesore with the negleted infrastructure and the uncleared fallen vegetation decomposing, ready to be swallowed by the urban cement and asphalt of 'progress' boasted by a town which had been decaying itself. A porcupine of jumbled pines, unlike a disorganised pile of matches, staked the left end. It had already begun.My eyes twitched, my brows knitted together as I responded to the stench flowing in my nostrils. What added to this fury was a wet pile of garbage, left heedlessly to the flies, which took up ground near a faded signboard, which letters were still readable. It stated "BUANG SAMPAH MERATA-RATA, DENDA RM500". A joke came up in my mind."Georgetwn, in Chinese, is called BinCheng,but the locals prefer it to be ChewCheng". My right foot then landed on the last step and at last,we were there. It was finally time to intrude into a friend's privacy.Without a thought and without a twitch Chang reactively bent his neck, both arms levelled with his jaw, peeked through the dropping parallel window panes. A stretched, ascending sylabble was yelled; "Cccccccciiiaa!". A character popped out, eyes hazy, shoulders slumped betraying the thinness of his neck, replied in a reducing tone with his lips refrained from lengthier gaps. A key was produced and he spirinted nimblely towrds the lock, absent-mindedly twisted it open then rushed back with a mechanical spurt back to his room. We stomped heedlesly in his direction. We walked towards his abode and stopped at the corridor for a glance through. There he was, spine receded, body sloutched, arms anchored to his sides,with his right hand been snaking around with an occasional, incessant pressing of a finger on a mouse. His legs were unhinged below a wooden desk.He sat there as firm as stone upon a chair. His face was equally frozen, as stale as expressions go and as still as nature went (zero Kelvin?), with eyes glared deeply into the screen, that gave him the illusion he attained Buddhahood under the Bodhi three. He was betrayed only by the spotting of fighting murlocks, gollems, anthromorphied bears, boars, bulls and birds as they hacked each other within a virtual three dimensional world displayed through a two-dimensional flat screen.A violent click decapitated a man-boar resulted in a crimson fountain of blood as it splattered the grainy trail. Chang alluded to this and to CK's obsessive, self-depreciating, unhealthy behavior, grabbed up his voice in a assertive tone while he grinned his brows in mock-seriousness,and said"Dota Membunuh. Setiap klik membawa padah!"in an obvious satire of the Health Ministry's latest anti-drug propoganda posters. (Dadah Membunuh. Setiap hisap membawa padah)A slight bolt of life arose across his broad cheeks,it blushed with a slight giggle. He was concious of his friends indictment of his situation."The next time CK goes to a farm, he won't find cows, only Tauren Chieftains!"Was the next stinging rebuke of his passive slide into virtual reality. Rising chests accompanied by bronchritic laughter burst through the silent daft, air particles were pressed upon to form "hahaha" sounds and CK's solid trance was equally brought to its edge.His faltering concentration and undulating smirks, just short of forming full laughs,gave notice to his faltering denial and so we continued on"Hmm...There's stillness in the air. Silence is 1500 gold, zero wood.""He's in a 'Killing Spree" Someone call the cops""Change your name to Mr Dota, so that one day after you did something great you can be knighted and be given the title "Dato Dota". IF you cannot do great things just buy it from pirates for 1500 gold"Our heads then rolled to Tai's, we landed devious marks on him. We stretch our lips, slit crescents formed on our eyes. A low smile broke, followed by a whispering of mischievious "heee heee heee" notes."You're next!""No I'm not""Yes you are"He turned a cheek on us, his head rolled from our sly looks and his eyes up into the ceiling. A quick giggle rustled his words, his disinterested fascade betrayed. Knowing well Tai's aversion from even slight vulgarity, I proceeded:"What Freudian slip did Tom Welling commit when he first met Kirsten Kreuk?""When greeting the hot lass,he introduced himself 'Hi! My name is Dick Swelling"Tai turned the other cheek, ready to receive another blow.Too bad we didnt have another one. An explosion of mouth wadding saliva drenched the room as H20 did outdoors. Amilase, gathered in congealed blobs on the lacquered floor, polished it further to a fine glaze, gave off a dim reflection off Chia's diaproving feutures."There are no flowers here to water please! Close your sprinkles."The hahahaha continued followed by more hahahahas. I'm tired of writing, its 1.43 am so i'm stopping right here. I'm just very sleepy.