Wentworth Went

Wentworth was the littlest duckling in a small family of little ducklings. Like most ducks, he could not afford the excessive rental prices of a medium-density residential area, so he lived in a tiny pond found in a miniature park on the shortest street in the smallest village in the— Well, Wentworth was not really certain that there could be anything larger than the village so he did not think about what the village might be in because he was a duck, and ducks did not give much time to speculation.

From very early on Wentworth knew that he was not a typical duck. For one thing, he had a name — something that none of his duckling siblings seemed to have. He would never mention it of course, but Wentworth could not even tell if his kin were girls or boys and usually relied on how masculine or feminine their “quacks” were when it came time to buy Christmas presents. Another thing that made Wentworth different from other ducks was that he celebrated Christmas and could use words like “masculine” and “feminine” correctly, even if it was only in his internal monologue.

As he was the littlest duck in a small family of little ducklings, Wentworth always brought up the end of the line when wandering with his brothers and — he assumed — sisters, because they inexplicably arranged themselves in descending height order. From his position at the back, Wentworth had a lot of time for observation. As he dodged away from, and occasionally squelched right through, the nervous leavings of siblings scared by a sudden breeze, he observed that ducklings have surprisingly little control over bowel movements. As he waddled his fastest to keep up with the others, he observed that his wings were little more than fluffy nubs that did nothing to soften the fall when he stepped into a gap between bricks beside the pond. As he struggled his way out of the hole, he observed that ducks and ducklings do not look behind to see if all of their number are accounted for. As he scurried with uneven ducky steps to ensure his family did not leave without him, he observed that the wind was getting colder.

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(Source: blog.rakuli.com)

Her adonis

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Lost inside

He sat on the floor in the corner of his darkened room, hugging his legs, unable to remember when he had stopped rocking, unable even to remember if it was his choice to cease the movement. In truth, he did not know whether he could move if he wanted to; every breath seemed to make his ribs creak like a dead tree in a strong wind and with his eyes planted firmly on his knees, his neck felt rigid and brittle. 

He tried to ignore the voices — acknowledging them gave them more power, made them more real — but they pressed on without his assistance as though trying to show him the futility of his ignorance. I sit in audience to a meeting of voices in my own mind. That thought made him laugh audibly, but he cut it short when he realised what he was doing. He returned to concentrating on each breath, inhaling and exhaling, focussing only on the sound of air through his nose and mouth. They would go away if he ignored them. 

“I don’t know what to do about him any more,” it was a female voice and he knew the him was himself. “Four days like that, two days since he moved more than breathing, and that laughter. I just can’t—” the voice cracked at the last, as though anguished. No; they would not show anguish, it must be frustration. At least he knew how long he had been fighting now, four days. Breathe in. Exhale. Breath in. Exhale.

“We’ll help him, Jasmine,” a second voice, male. His lip curled up and he snarled silently to himself. They have named themselves have they? Named themselves after those closest to me? Name yourself after my mother, but I will still not bend to you! His silent cursing was enough to drown out the voices for a time. When his internal litany subsided he thought he heard the first voice — Jasmine. Not my mother! — weeping. No. Why would she weep? Breathe in. Exhale. Breath in. Exhale.

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(Source: blog.rakuli.com)

Renegade commuter

I knew it was going to be her. I’m usually able to spot them and it’s easy once you know what you’re looking for. I was halfway back in the single file queue of about thirty people, she stood toward the front yet wasn’t in line. From the moment she had arrived and taken her position leaning against the bus stop wall, like a brand name lamp post, she hadn’t looked up from her phone. To a casual observer, she looked like just another passenger waiting for the bus to arrive — albeit a passenger whose expression suggested the world disgusted her. But I saw her for what she was: A renegade commuter. The tension in the line increased, someone had obviously spotted the bus approaching and started the redundant pushing from the back with the futile hope that this would somehow get them a seat. As is my usual way, I didn’t move forward and let the people behind me bunch up in a commuter concertina. She could see what was happening too, the movement in the queing masses had signalled that it was time for her campaign to begin. Whether she was dialling someone in actuality I cannot say but she raised the phone to her ear and she began to gossip. The bus brakes squealed as it slowed down at the stop, it overshot the head of the queue as is often the case and the renegade commuter used this as her time to shine. With elbows held out like fleshy tripwires and speaking loud enough to not hear the polite “excuse me”s and sorrys coming from the queue behind her, she headed toward the bus door about a step ahead of the person who held the line’s rightful number one position. She moved in a very nonchalant way, ambling as though she had no destination and swivelling with reckless abandon so anyone within her personal space had to duck and weave to avoid a thump from her bracelet-laden arms. Her back was to the crowd and her elbows stuck out like pale chicken wings. Her incessant chatter on the phone was at a volume that she could credibly claim not to hear the angry mutters behind her; leaving people the choice of physically shoving past or holding back in silent indignation. As the doors of the bus opened, she glanced up and stepped right on. Still talking, she dipped her ticket and walked up the aisle, bumping and brushing passengers now needing to get past her to alight. After essaying the seating situation and seeing no spare seats toward the back, she sat down in the disabled passenger seating area without a moment of hesitation. From my position outside the bus, I could see a surprised look cross the faces of commuters who were having to stand in the aisle and had been standing in the aisle when the bus arrived. Among those standing, I could see a couple of elderly ladies, an elderly gentleman and a lady in the deep stages of pregnancy. None of the standing passengers looked unable to handle the upright ride, but considering the next stop was forty five minutes away, I was certain the disabled seating area could be better utilised by one of them. As I stepped on the bus, I was relieved to see that seats had been offered to all of the standing passengers I had concern for, one of the elderly ladies was politely declining the offer as I squeezed into the crowded aisle. Amongst all of the shuffling, the renegade commuter didn’t budge. She squawked into her phone and stared transfixed out of the window, mouth pouted and nose turned up like she had simultaneously sucked a lemon and smelled a foul odour. When the bus departed, the sudden movement started a ripple of stumbling through the standing travellers. When the wave reached me, I was pushed hard to the side, barely catching myself before I fell right on top of the renegade commuter. She paused mid-sentence and glared up at me with a look that should be reserved for someone who has committed child genocide. I apologised with an embarrassed smile before steadying myself for the journey. After about twenty minutes, the nattering beside me ceased and I felt a tap on my knee. I looked down into the angry eyes of the renegade commuter. “Where is this bus going?” she asked. “Express to the city” I replied. “Shit! I’m on the wrong bus, I should have been going in the other direction!” she growled at me as though I was directly responsible for the bus’s route. She pressed the “Next Stop” button but the driver switched the light off. She repeated this a few times with the same result. She began cursing and muttering loud enough for me to hear before she raised her phone to her ear again. I heard her yell into the phone “I’m on the wrong fucking bus. No one told me! Fucking assholes. It’s going to be hours before I get there.” I couldn’t help but smile and hum to myself for the remainder of the trip as she cursed and spluttered into her phone. I didn’t even mind when she aggressively pushed her way off the bus after it reached the city. My day was made … and in a way, so was hers.

(Source: blog.rakuli.com)

Quadruple entendre

… I thought I should continue it.
_________

“Lift up that skirt and show me your pink bits” I said. She pulled her dress up so I could see her reddened knees. “It looks like carpet burn, what have have you been up to?”

“You know!” she said cheekily “I spent a lot of time on my knees last night”

“That you did” I said with a wink “Chasing around the poor kid you were babysitting. He was so hyperactive when his parents picked him up.”

“Can you touch me in that special way you do?” she asked in almost a whisper.

“You know you don’t have to ask” I said “I’m always writing poems for you …” <Luke, this is terrible — Editor>

” … and can you stop waving your pussy in my face? We’ve got a whole night of debauchery and sin ahead of us.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk about it that way” she replied putting the cat down “It’s just dinner with my parents, no need for sarcasm. I know they’re strict Catholics but they don’t foretell our eternity in hellfire as much any more.” 

She sat on my face while I was playing with her breasts. “Can you get up? You’re sitting on those portrait shots of me.” I said “And are we marinating these or crumbing them?”

“I’m going to come …” I said.
“All over my face” she cried.

We both stopped and laughed. “We’re always speaking at the same time” we said in unison.

“I’m going to come to that work night out of yours next week” I said once we were over our amusement.

“Great!” she said “All over my face. Look, pimples.”

“Can you put your dick away please?” she asked “My parents will be here soon.”

I reluctantly put the spotted dick I had made for dessert in the fridge.

“Come on, let’s get your ass out of the kitchen and into the bedroom before they get here” I grabbed the donkey’s reins and started leading it out. “We should trade this guy in for a new pet, really.”

“Maybe” she said “Anyway, when you get back we can roll around in the hay for a while.”

“We need to get a better floor covering … and a better way of flattening it down”

“We can have sex while we do it though” she said.

“Oh okay” I replied “Cool”

And that’s why they call me …

For those (specifically a few anons today) who wonder why I call myself “Rakuli” online.

___

Luke was a little bit unsure about the whole the whole thing really. All the reports he had heard from his friends were positive but somehow he didn’t have the enthusiasm of everyone else. He’d eventually succumbed though.

So, there he stood outside his friend’s place on a cool Saturday afternoon. He had been to the supermarket and purchased everything on his list, everything resided in the plastic bag he held in his hand. To be safe, Luke checked the contents one more time.

• Corn chips
• Bag of lollies
• Ample supply of caffeinated beverages
• Notebook
• Pen

It was all there and accounted for. With a deep breath he walked up to door and knocked.

Luke’s friend Ben answered the door and ushered Luke inside to a table in the living room. Around the table sat six people; two more of Luke’s friends and four lads who Luke hadn’t yet met.

“Luke” said Ben “I’d like you to meet Rolf Hammersmith, he’s a berserker dwarf.” 

Luke nodded a greeting toward Rolf before Ben said “And these two fine gentlemen are Rimulus Browonli, a paladin ranger and Kramer Nutcracker, an elf fighter” gesturing at two more of the unknowns seated at the table.

“Finally” Ben continued “This is Tulsa, he will be our Dungeon Master for today”.

“Hi guys” Luke said with a shy smile “So. Table top Dungeons & Dragons huh? Hopefully I don’t hold you guys back and take too long to figure it out.” Luke’s eyes glanced worriedly at the array of dice on the table as he finished speaking.

“You’ll be fine, it’s going to be great fun” said Tulsa “First thing you need to do is create your character. Name, race and class”

Luke spent a little while being educated on the various ups and downs of each race and class. When he was done, he sat down to play.

“I am Rakuli Shaka, half-elf archer” Luke said tentatively.

Tulsa rolled the dice…

___
Many years later, Luke sat down at his brothers computer. He was excited that he finally had a chance to use the internet; he had the house to himself so nobody would need to use the phone and interrupt his browsing.

He was planning to set himself up with an email address and possibly enjoy some of the “Instant messaging” his friends were sp33k1ng about.

Luke waited a few minutes while Windows 2000 tried to establish a dial-up connection and then loaded Netscape Navigator. The program opened to Yahoo’s webpage. Luke congratulated himself on finding what he was looking for so quickly and began to sign up for a free Yahoo email address.

“The username ‘Luke’ has already been taken. Perhaps you would like to use Luke_au, luke15627 or 1Luke?”

“I don’t want those names” Luke said to himself.

He sat at the computer for a while, face locked in deep thought before he started typing again. Eventually the monitor said.

“Thank you registering with Yahoo mail Rakuli!”.

(Source: blog.rakuli.com)

The game

I loved visiting Grandmother, I would have seen her more than just once a week if I was able to make the trip without the rest of my family. I could remember the way to get there but my Mum would not be happy with me riding my bike all that way on my own.

Grandmother’s place always excited me. So many nice old people would smile at me as I walked in with my family. Some would even give me sweets when I smiled back at them or said “Hello”. I think it was because, when visiting, I was always dressed in the best clothes I owned. Mum made certain that my hair was neat, my collar was straight and my shirt was tucked in. I didn’t enjoy getting dressed up normally but Grandmother always told me how good I looked when I saw her; I liked that.

We were all sitting in Grandmother’s room. I was on the floor as there was nowhere left to sit, Mum was sitting on the end of Grandmother’s bed holding my baby brother and my eldest brother was sitting in Grandmother’s wheelchair, rolling backwards and forwards .

I heard Mum say my name, it brought my focus back to the conversation in the room.

“Luke won three gold medals in swimming last week, he set two records too,” Mum was saying with proud smile.

Grandmother, laying in bed, smiled warmly and turned to look at me “Really? Well done Luke!” she croaked. “I swear that you get bigger every time I see you. I hope you’re still doing well at school too?”

“Yes Grandmother. Of course I am!” I replied with a laugh. She asked me the question about school a lot. I always answered the same but I thought it was funny — perhaps she was trying to catch me out?

Grandmother turned to look at my brother, Joseph, and asked “How’s your soccer going Joseph? Did you score any goals on the weekend?”

“Yes, I scored two goals but our team still lost,” Joseph said flatly. He sounded a little out of sorts. 

Grandmother looked tired, so we sat in the room in silence for a little while. After a time Grandmother looked back at me “Luke! How you’ve grown!” she said “How’s your school work going? Are you still doing your swimming?”

I laughed. Grandmother was playing the game again. I couldn’t control the giggle in my voice when I replied “School is great Grandmother and I won three medals last time I went swimming!”

Grandmother smiled but something in her eyes looked a little strange, like she was confused — maybe I had scored a point in the game? I saw her shake her head slightly before turning to Joseph and asking him about his soccer. I don’t think Joseph liked the game because this time his answer was very short — the first few times he told Grandmother about scoring two goals, he sounded quite proud of himself as though losing the game had hardly mattered.

Grandmother congratulated Joseph on his soccer again and looked at baby Sean in Mum’s arms. “He’s so adorable and he’s got your eyes, Crystal,” she said “How old is he now? Three weeks?”

Mum sniffed and when she spoke her voice was shaky “No Mum, he’s four months old now and growing up fast.” Tears were streaming out of Mum’s eyes. I don’t think she liked the game at all and this made me sad — it meant that we were going to be leaving Grandmother soon.

“Come on guys, say goodbye to Grandmother now,” Mum said with a beautiful smile that shone with the stream of tears running down her face. “I think she needs to have a rest, we’ll come back next week.”

The complete tales of anonymous

This story started with a single message from anonymous and ends with a beautiful revelation.

I thought it would be a good idea to pool it altogether into one epic short story. A collab between myself and… well you’ll see.

So, I think you’re my first tumblr crush. You’re just too quirky and brilliant, to say the least.

Luke giggled and blushed. He was not used this and was never expecting such a message to arrive into his hands. He found that his eyes were unable to focus on anything and subconsciously began twirling tassels of his hair on his index finger.

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