I had a baby bat as a pet. It was dark brown, had a soft muzzle and purred when I held it up with one hand and stroked it with the other. I was very fond of it.
I’m in a room where a crime is about to be committed. I have to prevent the crime with my cunning, but at the same time, I need to grieve for my bat. I had just found it earlier, neck somehow nearly snapped. It is in my hand now, suffering. I think maybe I can keep it alive, if I just straighten out the position of the body. The head is near the tip of my fingers, gasping for breath. The fur and skin is removed from its neck area, and I can see two tubes linking head to body, and they’re a bit kemeked. I keep adjusting the body so it can breathe better, but the tubes remain kinked — partially due to how hamfisted I am. I know I have to accept its death, but I can’t. It’s too sad, and the sadness looks so big I can’t walk into it.
There is a hot con lady, she is in the room too. I know she likes me. She is defending herself from others, accusing her of being a con. Someone searches her name and crossreferences it against the address she provided — she was telling the truth there. Everything she’s said was true. She has to still be a con though, just the advanced (unrecognisable) search engines had been gamed by her.
She has given me Parkson vouchers. I don’t intend to ever user them. I’ve given them to the electrician, an old Indian man on a motorbike. I notice later that for every RM10,000 you spend you get RM1,000 back. I walk the con lady out. I have to walk through a pool, while she is beside me, talking with me. I think I am under the impression here that we have something, but she is leaving. I tell her not to worry — I can always find her through her housemate. First crack in her confidence as she hesitates. She’s just realised her friends aren’t as savvy and she either has to leave behind the only people she loves, or stop conning. I will find her.
Guy on motorbike where I was walking jeered at me — I had taken the less smart path while walking near jln Sin Chew Kee. I asked him why he had jeered at me, at the top of the hump where IPK would be. We are waiting for the lights to change. He is Malay, looking down on me. I stare up at his hooded, expressive eyes . “Rumah saya kat sini, tau?”
He is confused, so I point at my house. It makes every sense I would use this road. He realises his mistake, holds out his hand, almost like I could kiss the top of it. What does he want? Salam? Apology? I awkwardly shake it. In my other hand, a baby bat is struggling for breath, and life.