Photo.

Perhaps it was time to try her first cigarette. Gulp down a large pitcher of hard alcohol.Would it be better to swallow an abusive substance?

Stevie Gane was the 6th editor who turned down her expose.He may after all be the last one. Being chief editor of an independent alternative paper, Gane's rejection of her explosive expose spelled the end of her faith in the fourth estate.

What the hell are they afraid of when this expose is backed by solid evidence?

What she imagined long ago had came to pass now: that both sides of the media - mainstream or otherwise - have been co-opted. The former, by unscrupless and power greedy politicians, the other, by their own self interests and fear of being sanctioned by the state.

True, the Internal Security Act is the kind of sword media practitioners do not want to mess around with. But what is more unsettling for them is the Printing Presses and Publication Act which can guarantee a newspaper out of business for good.

At the end of the day, newspapers are nothing more than a business entity.

Those who harbored thoughts about its nobel cause,of it playing the role of a watchdog of the government, or an independent voice of the masses, can kiss their hopes goodbye.

They are all merely cowards, cowards, she chided herself as she left the building. She walked in haste, her footstep matching her racing heartbeats.

She left Ganes office feeling suicidal. In her handbag was the most controversial photo of the century.

She needed a so-called 'credible' media to have it published. As a freelance journalist, she needed a medium for her work. Yes, she has a personal blog, with a steady following.But this expose needs the widest, possible coverage.

So she turned to Malaysia Daily, an online outfit who had always adopted an unbias, unfliching, critical and agressive stance. But today her faith in the free media came crashing down. She felt it crashed on the windowpanes of the light transit rail she was riding in, with a loud bang.

Bloody hell! This controversial piece of evidence may well change the landscape of the judiciary, even governance of this country, she thought aloud. But it seems no one, not even an award winning and supposedly fearless editor in chief like Ganes was interested.

She was on her way to the bus terminal in Pudu Raya. She needed to go home to see her mother in Penang. The usual fillial daughter visits to her mother.
In her handbag were her travel tickets alongside the daming photo of the Chief Justice with the murdered victim.

Yes, the beautiful and glamourous African student was smiling langrously beside the CJ Shane. The time stamp on the photo showed the photo was taken a week before she was mysteriously blown up into bits by a bomb blast strong enough to destroy a four storey building.

When a group of Indigenous people found bits and pieces of human flesh strewn all over a jungle clearing near their ancestor's land, they called the police immediately. Horrified. Forensic experts later confirmed it was the remains were flesh and bones of Arista Dominique, a foreign exchange student at the Suntech College in Kuala Lumpur.

She went missing a few days before her death. The only thing she left behind was a note:"I am finally going to be in his arms. S told me he loved me today".

It exasperated her that the whole nation was willing to let this case die a natural death. The CJ, mired in countless scandals and allegations of corruption continues to deny his involvement in the death which rocked the country two years ago.
He was a prime suspect as witnesses saw him with the young woman just hours before her horrible death.

The legal circle was well aware of the torrid affair between the two.
Even Mrs Shane, the CJ's wife had made an appearance in the Palace of Justice.
The ugly scene left an indelible mark on many.

Despite endless calls for him to step down and allow himself to be interrogated by the police and the court of law, the CJ persists in deluding the people that he was, indeed, above the law.

That he rules the law, and therefore can enjoy special status laden with impunity.
The concept of rule of law it seems was alien to this country.

As she entered the terminal, she realised that she needed to get a drink. It was the migrane, it would attack her when her spirits were low, as it was now.
She decided against it. She had exactly 5 minutes to rush to platform 8 where her bus leaves. She did not want to miss her trip.

As she approached the platform, she thought she heard some call out her name. In that instance, she heard a loud explosion. The last thing she remembered, was her handbag sliding from her arms.

Who needs freedom of choice?

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With some people the boundaries are clear and yet you lose a sense of individuality, like you are not so conscious whether you're man or woman, you forget about your race, your skin color, you know the language you speak is a language the other person understands.

With these people you feel you are on equal plain.

After all he or she is merely human.

In spite of all this, you can hide the truth about yourself.

The boundaries are so clear that you impose no threat or demands on the other.

With some people you can experience total freedom of choice.

With this person, the boundaries are blurred and yet I am totally conscious of myself.

I am so aware that I am woman and he is man.

I know my body and all its parts are capable of responding to him in the most outrageous manner.

That if he were to look into my eyes, they become glaziers, melting into pools of clear, blue waters, so clear he could see a reflection of his nakedness in them.

That if he were to touch me, my skin turns into silk, soft as cotton that you could strand all the pieces and I would cover him like a garment or a frock fit for a prince.

That if we made love, the color of my skin would glare so obviously against his color and yet we would blend into different shades, shades as wondrous as the rainbow, as our bodies merge like the hands of time when it is twelve o'clock.

That if he were to speak to me, I would lose myself in his voice, that his language would sound mysterious to me and I would experience fear.

Fear. Can you imagine?

I do not even fear God. And yet I fear him. Fear what he might think of me, fear that I would lose him, fear that every moment only brings him further from me.

Fear that one day when I wake up I no longer remember his face or his name.

Fear that some day he would need me and I may no longer be there. Fear of the known and the unknown.

Fear as if he were God himself. As if he were a spirit or an angel of death that would deny me my life and take me away from earth.

With this person, there is no chance to hide the truth or the untruth. For both would plead for release from the bottomless pit like doves trapped in a cage.

Like if you held back the waves for a hundred years and finally explode the dam, how the waves would avalanche.

It would be like the sun exploding.

Yes, my truth and untruth will leave me naked, to the microscopic detail of my skin, bones and blood.

That I could hide nothing from him is the ultimate truth, save the actual moment of my death. For only the Gods know when or where.

Friends, if I were mad, please tell me so. For my sanity has taken leave. Perhaps my sanity, my consciousness, my education and my awareness have all staged a revolution and rebelled against their leader.

Like I would stand by my religion even if you violate me, even if you dragged me by the hair or threaten to burn me at the stakes.

I would still venture into uncharted seas with hope, faith and love in my heart. With him there is no freedom of choice.

But who needs this phantom called freedom when you have made your ultimate choice?

The river of fire

She watched the leaves fall around the garden. She felt she was a candle burning in the wind. She thought of a river flowing like a tongue of fire. Then she thought of what it was like to be God.