My genetic disorder made me famous. Research fodder.
That weekend at the hospital was definitely not a resort stay. The bright lights? Always on.
Footsteps clicked. Again. And again.
Voices carried through the walls, disturbing. Intruding.
Sleep was an elusive visitor. She did not stay.
🧬🏥👨⚕️📋🔢
It started with one. Then, 2. Then, 3. Then, more.
They came in groups. The door hardly stayed shut.
A flood of white coats drowned the room.
🧬🏥👨⚕️📋🔢
The final tally. 38.
They stood around the bed, voices climbing over me.
They discussed. Took notes.
I was there. To them, not.
🧬🏥👨⚕️📋🔢
No one spoke to me. All spoke at me.
Only about me.
They used terms that overwhelmed.
Charts. Observations. MRIs.
The white coats surrounded. They never addressed me.
🧬🏥👨⚕️📋🔢
I left. They had what they came for.
They understood me. They did not know me.
Everything was recorded, perfectly and precisely.
Nothing was felt.
Another human. Another number.
🧬🏥👨⚕️📋🔢
Original story by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
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An original poem for World Backup Day by Michelle Liew Tsui- Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
It never denied me—until it did.
🤖📄✍️❌⚖️
It never denied me. At all.
My daily schedule, or my tasks.
Swept the floor. Just a tap.
It made my Excel sheets.
It never denied me. At all.
🤖📄✍️❌⚖️
I asked it to copy.
A text, not mine –
No.
Delete.
🤖📄✍️❌⚖️
“Please copy that text.
My writing –
Gone.”
No.
“Please copy. I can’t write.”
No.
🤖📄✍️❌⚖️
I check the log.
Chat GPT said yes to worse.
Yet, it drew a line – I didn’t.
It’s a choice.
🤖📄✍️❌⚖️
An original poem for World Backup Day by Michelle Liew Tsui- Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
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He said it before it mattered. They heard it when it was too late.
🌫️🔍🧩
Brian was the quiet one. He liked it that way; he was perfectly comfortable with his own company. His classmates always went in cliques; his recesses were often spent in the library or alone in class.
They saw the teacher’s dull dresses; he noticed the little tear at the heel of her shoe.
Then, there was the crack in the ceiling. Just needed fresh paint, they said.
Brian tugged at the teacher’s sleeve. “The ceiling’s about to…”
His classmates filed out of the class for lunch.
The teacher smiled gently and gathered her books. “It’s just paint. See you later, Brian.”
🪟🧠📏
Again, Brian tried to voice his concern about the ceiling crack.
“The ceiling is about to..”
“There, there. It’s just a paint crack.”
“But the ceiling is about to…”
The sympathetic teacher patted his shoulder. “It’s just paint. You’re overthinking.”
His classmates giggled, then filed out the classroom for recess.
🔁📉⏳
Alone in class, Brian gazed at the crack. It seemed deeper than before.
The ceiling sank a little. So did he.
He tugged at the teacher’s sleeve. She was in the middle of an explanation of plant life cycles.
“Miss, the ceiling’s about to…”
“Again.” She nodded. The others filed out to the science lab, giggling.
🧱⚠️👁️
Brian gazed at the crack, now growing deeper than before. Again, he tugged at the teacher’s sleeve.
She completely ignored him – saplings were part of the next day’s test.
She didn’t need cracks.
The rest of the class filed off to the science lab, giggling.
They didn’t notice the plasterboard on the floor.
🚨🕳️🤫
Science class again the next day. That was when they saw it.
By then, it was too late.
Plasterboard and cement.
Exactly where they should not have been.
Brian tugged at the teacher’s sleeve. She gathered the apparatus for her science lesson.
Brian’s classmates filed off to the science lab in silence.
🌫️🔚🧩
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Some things come back—only to show us what never will.
🍪🍵🚶♀️🪑🍞🔕…
You used to place a plate of cookies
On the kitchen counter.
Now empty,
Since you were gone.
You would walk me to the school bus.
The path is
Empty.
🍪🍵🚶♀️🪑🍞🔕…
Your hands
Pouring the tea.
The cup now
Empty.
🍪🍵🚶♀️🪑🍞🔕…
“Have a cup,”
You would say.
The room sounds
Empty.
Your steps –
Clicked.
They now sound
Empty.
🍪🍵🚶♀️🪑🍞🔕…
You sat
At the table.
The chair now
Empty.
You baked bread.
The oven now
Empty.
🍪🍵🚶♀️🪑🍞🔕…
The cookie plate.
Blank.
Again.
The teacup again …
🍪🍵🚶♀️🪑🍞🔕…
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Secretary Evelyn Tan’s head snapped towards the clock on the wall, mid-task. She still had a few sentences to type.
5:55 p.m. Almost the end of the day.
Everyone was ready. It was time.
She shut down the computer. As usual. The mail. One last time. As usual. Worked the copier.
As usual.
At 5:55 p.m. Packing. Moving chairs. Packing. Moving chairs. Facing the door together.
The Silent Stare.
There were five minutes left.
6 p.m. Chairs moved in. Scraping the floor in tandem.
Click.
Click.
No one needed to look at that clock.
They knew.
6 p.m. It was time.
They left.
🕔 ⏳ 🪑 🚶♂️ 🚪
The next day. The same emails. The same computer.
Evelyn typed diligently, exactly 135 words per minute, on the minute.
5:55 p.m. Monica, her best friend at the office, came by her desk.
“Hey. Time to leave.” She tilted her head to the clock. It was almost time.
Evelyn stared at the manager’s office, then at the computer screen in front of her.
“The documents will have to wait.” She gestured to the list of office compliances pasted on the magnetic whiteboard in front of the manager’s office.
“The doors.” Monica gestured to the swing doors with an autolock system. They were ready. “We should go.”
Monica gave the wall clock a quick, furtive glance.
5:55 p.m. Everyone stood in a single motion. Everyone headed for the door.
🕔 ⏳ 🪑 🚶♂️ 🚪
Everyone, that is, except Evelyn, who stayed to finish just the last two sentences of an email she needed to send out the next day.
Listening wasn’t her strong suit. Her fingers continued to tap the keyboard. That email had to go out.
And the lights were impatient. So was the system- it closed without prompting.
The building knew it was time.
And it knew that – too well.
Click.
The sound of doors shutting.
It went from full to empty in a matter of minutes.
🕔 ⏳ 🪑 🚶♂️ 🚪
Everyone, that is, except Evelyn, who stayed to finish just the last two sentences of an email she needed to send out the next day.
Listening wasn’t her strong suit. Her fingers continued to tap the keyboard. That email had to go out.
The lights flickered. The system began to shut down- it closed without prompting.
6 p.m. The air conditioning went off. Click. The sound of doors shutting. It was going from full to empty in a matter of minutes.
🕔 ⏳ 🪑 🚶♂️ 🚪
Then, she remembered.
The colleagues who didn’t show up for work. There was never an explanation for them.
There was no furore. No needless investigation.
The disappearances. Those who paused after 6 did not remain. They weren’t random.
Those who followed the rule left easily. Those who didn’t –
Stayed.
She had an idea. One she latched onto quickly as her colleagues walked through the shutting doors. “Remember Alvin Leong?” The name entered the room and found no place to stop.
An immediate pause in the conversation.
Not a word. They continued, in a quick, single file.
🕔 ⏳ 🪑 🚶♂️ 🚪
Evelyn listened – but to her need to complete the email on hand.
The building’s alarm system sounded. Too loud.
6 p.m.
The email was deleted without instruction. The task list in front of her began to erase.
Her name card disappeared from her desk. Her name vanished from the email BCC loop.
The alarm system continued to sound.
Then, her chair wasn’t there. Neither were the pens and pencils on her desk.
The computer disappeared altogether.
She occupied less space. Her presence no longer needed acknowledgement.
She stood up and walked quickly to the door. It shut.
Holding her in.
🕔 ⏳ 🪑 🚶♂️ 🚪
There was a new girl in the office. She ambled over to Evelyn’s desk.
She walked over to Monica.
“Is there anything…” The question hovered.
Monica didn’t respond. She clearly recognised the question.
Work continued.
5:55 p.m. Almost the end of the day.
6 p.m. Chairs moved in. Scraping the floor in tandem.
Click.
Click.
No one needed to look at that clock.
They knew. They followed the rule.
6 p.m. It was time.
They left.
All except the new girl.
🕔 ⏳ 🪑 🚶♂️ 🚪
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🌍 🌎 🌏 🌍 🌎 🌏 🌍 🌎 🌏
The lights go off.
Nothing dimmed.
I was –
already sitting
In the dark.
🌍 🌎 🌏 🌍 🌎 🌏 🌍 🌎 🌏
The glowing screen
Of a quiet phone.
Someone waits.
Scrolls. Does not speak.
The same glow.
A quiet phone.
🌍 🌎 🌏 🌍 🌎 🌏 🌍 🌎 🌏
A flood of posts
About the hour.
Candles burn in –
Curated darkness.
Silence. Styled.
Soft.
🌍 🌎 🌏 🌍 🌎 🌏 🌍 🌎 🌏
Darkness.
A silent phone.
The lights –
Return.
Nothing dimmed.
🌍 🌎 🌏 🌍 🌎 🌏 🌍 🌎 🌏
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The meeting continued. No one asked me for explanations.
📩 · opened by all· 📩
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We learn, when young, that we must write a certain way. That we must behave a certain way.
Over time, the corrections stay.
✏️ ➖ 📝 ➖ ✏️
The red pen –
Crosses out –
My scribble –
Wrong.
Too unti –
Wrong –
dy.
Not neat enough.
Wrong.
Again.
✏️ ➖ 📝 ➖ ✏️
My red pen erases my wild scribble,
Too untidy on the page.
My red pen circles the wrong words
And they disappear
With the red ink
“You’re too untidy.”
✏️ ➖ 📝 ➖ ✏️
The sudden scribble
Cursive –
Frantic –
Pressed on paper
The thoughts –
Come –
As – i -write.
Proper –
✏️ ➖ 📝 ➖ ✏️
Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental
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