A Bunch of Silly Tales About Glen's Surreal Adventures and Perspective of Life!

Monday, January 24, 2005

Our Third (And Final) Day In Kundasang!

And now, for all readers who are waiting for the final chapter of the Kundasang saga, here we have it on our hands (whoever misses Day One and Day Two articles can refer back to this website’s archives!). It was our third day in an almost isolated hilly place when something struck without warning. The whole situation changed our lives forever. The Poet Who Cares and The Boy In The Stick Hat tell their story.

Day 3

As my family and relatives were packing their clothes and stuff for a journey home, I took a single last breath while watching at the wonders above the clouds that continuously floating and changing shape above the hills with great speed. It was as though they were dancing with the souls whose bodies were long rotten in their graveyards. They were now together as one. I could almost feel their presence as I reached up to touch the air. Very emotional, by the way.

But something at the far end of the hill told him the secrecy that held the obsoleteness and the subtle greatness of Kundasang: a dying tree surrounded by telephone lines. There, a shining egg lay on the nest, glimmering in front of my eyes. Additionally, the egg also told me of the upcoming danger that would wipe the whole city with a single blow. What was it trying to tell me? Why is it lying on the dying tree, which was surrounded by lines of confusion? My sense of paranoia heightened.

(Is that guy high or what?)

Time to go back to our respective homes in Tuaran and Penampang. Exhaustion could be felt throughout our bodies despite having breakfast in the first place. As we all drove back via the twisted roads, the clouds suddenly turned violent, the winds blew harder than before. There then, the houses, the trees and everything on the hills were flown away into the swirling tornado. Funnily, though, it even unleashed heavy rainstorm in an instant, drowning all that survived the first wave. There was panic everywhere and we were very, very afraid indeed! At last, the tornado ceased turning, revealing its truest form, the Serpent Road! The concrete creature had recently ripped its long body out of the grounds, showing the possible fact that it was fed-up with the frequent car passes. Now at long last, all it ever wanted was revenge!

(What the heck? Hey, Poet, you are missing the point here! I’ve told you I really hate twisted roads on hills, but what you are telling here is just plain extreme and pure nonsense!)

Silence! You have no right to tell me what is right, Stick Boy.

(That’s The Boy In The Stick Hat, numbskull!)

Just ignore that poor kid, will ya? Anyway, back to my story. There was nowhere to hide from such malice so my whole families decided to hold hands together, chanting a truly strange language. The language of ‘Kinoingan’! (which in Kadazan means god). The egg in the far end of the hill cracked, revealing all in its full glory: The Golden Pelican!

Soon, it flew over the flooded hills, saving the survivors with its mighty beak! We were collected at the last minute as the tail of the Serpent Road smashed our vehicles into pieces. Whew! That was a close call. Soon, the two creatures went head to head for a final showdown as we cheered to raise the bird’s morale! Literally, though, the Pelican’s sharp beak hit the Serpent’s head by accident. Therefore, the Serpent collapsed and its concrete structure shattered into smithereens. Boy, some could have hoped for a longer fight but at least, peace had returned to Kundasang once again.

(Neither of that happened, ladies and gentlemen. Since we are running out of great stories on day three, this weirdo simply makes up stories just to attract your attention. You all geddit?)

*The Poet, losing his temper and patience, eventually hit The Boy In The Stick Hat on his head, rendering him unconscious. Poor, Stick Boy! Better not mess up with The Poet Who Cares! Hehe!*

And so, the Golden Pelican, with its mighty shimmering wings, brought the survivors (including my whole families, of course) to the nearest shelter on the other side of the state. As the sun readied itself for slumber, making way for its sister moon to roam the night, we all waved the Pelican goodbye as it flew into the horizon, never to be seen again.

“The Moon shone over the shores of the ruins,
The man-made Serpent Road lay dead on its shattered weight,
a result of industry, ignorance and a mockery of nature.
The Pelican, sleeping on its dying ‘mother’ for a mere millenium,
Finally rose to its occasion to save our vessels and souls from
complete destruction.
Soon, humans would realize of their mistakes, wishing that nature
would decide what was best for them:
The Golden Pelican is our only solution to all forms of messes.”

This poem basically ends the tale that exists only in the mind of Glen and doesn't exist elsewhere.

- Glen The Poet Who Cares


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Great interesting writing, truely enjoy it. Keep it up!

6:19 PM

Blogger pakatun said...

Part of is from Kundasang and I never imagine what I have just read. Great story telling!

3:54 AM


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