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I'm Joel Mo Jiaming. Born in 1986, 22nd July. Speaking about birthdays when I say 'it's alright' or 'anything's fine', don't take my word for it. What I really meant was 'get me ANYTHING nice and expensive, it's FINE if you get broke, I don't really care. Hah. Kidding duh.
Occupation? Defending Singapore from the scum of the universe. I rule the battlefield with my trusty telephone! NO COMMS NO WAR! RAHH
I believe in JESUS, the one true saviour. No witty comment needed here, cuz just mentioning his name is already oh so cool.
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Sunday, January 25, 2009

'What's your name?'

'Donald' he said. And then, 'But they call me the Runt. What's yours?'

The boy hesitated. 'Dearly,' he said.

'That's a cool name.'

Dearly said 'I used to have another name, but I can't read it anymore.'

They squeezed through a huge iron gateway, rusted part open, part closed, and they were in the little meadow at the bottom of the slope.

'This place is cool,' said the Runt.

There were dozens of stones of all sizes in the small meadow. Tall stones, bigger than either of the boys, and small ones, just the right size for sitting on. There were some broken stones. The Runt knew what sort of a place this was, but it did not scare him.

'Who's buried here?' he asked.

'Mostly okay people,' said Dearly. 'There used to be a village over there. Past those trees. Then they built a railway stop in the next town, and our village sort of dried up and fell in and blew away. There's bushes and trees now, where the town was. Nobody goes in them, except me. And some animals, sometimes. I'm the only kid around here.'

'I figured,' said the Runt.

'Maybe we can go down and play in them,' said Dearly.

'That would be pretty cool,' said the Runt.

It was a perfect early-October night and the full moon dominated the sky. You could see everything.

'Which one of these is yours?' asked the Runt.

Dearly straightened up proudly, and took the Runt by the hand. He pulled him to an overgrown corner of the field. The two boys pushed aside the long grass. The stone was set flat into the ground, and it had dates carved into it from a hundred years before. Much of it was worn away, but beneath the dates it was possible to make out the words

DEARLY DEPARTED
WILL NEVER BE FORG

'Forgotten, I'd wager,' said Dearly.

'Yeah, that's what I'd say too, said the Runt.






10:11 PM