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Showing posts with label Fable Fiction Workpiece. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fable Fiction Workpiece. Show all posts

Hackers: Malaysia.gov.my

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Tick, tock...

Tick, tock..

The clock strikes 7. And a half of course, at GMT.


The buzzing stream of activity hurls its way into the core of the site known as malaysia.gov.my.



http://i.imgur.com/PTFWh.png


Most of the Malaysians were asleep at that time. Apart from some late night city dwellers roaming in Mamak or the night clubs. Of course, not to be forgotten, the bikers, also known as "Mat Rempits", on their suicide trips to prove their mettle against each other. And one always wonder why is the blood bank running low most of the time.


Tonight, was a bit special. The hackers were looking for something political. Something to put their hands on the people of power in Malaysia. It was meant to be political from the first place. Featuring hackers from various countries, the site, and the country, was bound for doom. 

Or so they thought.


The first obstacle was language. The first wave of attack from Europe came to a halt. Fresh stream of tweets flew around the globe. "Why the heck are we hacking into a site with such foreign language where no one really learns it out of the country?"


And perhaps the Malaysian hackers, who preferred to be called the locals, weren't adequately competent. They blame it on the education system. It took them more of a translation task in the team, whilst their mastery of the language weren't exactly top notch. And the site's English was mostly a direct translation from Bahasa Melayu. It didn't make it any better.


After some time, they finally got through, with the password "Nasi Lemak". The hackers learnt from the locals that it was a delicacy. Maybe they should try that the next time they come to Malaysia. Put that on the top of the "to-eat" list.


Once they were in, it was found out that the site was based from a cheap server provider. Time was wasted to hack in directly to the site. The server provider would have been an easier prey instead. They figured that blogger.com would have a tighter security than that server provider.


Next was the access and retrieval. It was the most torturing night of all. The bandwidth was very slow. The locals told them it was the norm. Malaysian government has an extremely low bandwidth, perhaps just 1 Mbps. No wonder its always "Server Down", with its limited bandwidth, during their local University application, National Service inquiry, etc. The hackers thought that the Malaysia government was very brilliant, providing such a natural obstacle from hacks. They're in it, but definitely hard to get anything out of there. The hackers were all restless.


Slowly but surely, everything went through. Language wasn't really the main problem, but there weren't anything much inside. There wasn't much of the Economic Transformation Programme in it. Or any government secret revolving around the project. No one really knows who gets the job. The financial accounts don't tally, so was the budget. In fact, it doesn't make any sense at all. Malaysia's server network wasn't extensive nor connected to other agencies. It seems that each agencies had a tender for its own, at surprisingly exorbitant price for the various low cost servers and services. 


Finally, the hackers came to a unanimous decision. It was too much of a hassle to break in. Malaysia's system must have either been too top-notched, or someone had blotched it. either way, they did not get what they were looking for. No more political ploys. All they could do is just some amateur work: Disrupt the site and left their mark on the site.


It was a hell of a night.


They knew they should have targeted Singapore instead.


*Sigh*


*** This post is a piece of fan-fiction written by the author, inspired by the recent news of attack on malaysia.gov.my. Of course, fiction will remain fiction, but it sometimes allows us to explore the possibilites of what could happen should it really did happen.


For more on the news, you can read up in The Star: Hacker Group to attack Malaysian Govt portal.

There's Been A Death in the Opposite Cubicle

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There's been a death in the opposite cubicle,
Or two, I've lost count today,
I knew it from the counting rhythm,
From such cubicles, silent but urgent.


The family looking, in hope,
Though they knew the probable outcome,
Doctors and nurses hustling in,
Medical students joining unto the fray.


Hands laid down by the heart,
Pumping vigorously, mechanically,
To return that one last breath of life,
Into a soul bound to afterlife.


The rhythm counting from thirty to two,
Or sometimes twenty and hundred,of fleeting moments,
Shifting from one, and on to the other,
As the flailing chest move in recoil.


The drugs exhausted, so were the people,
Even shock paddles had done their duty,
As the minutes count to five and forty, or sometimes less,
A pronouncement made o' the minister of death.


Members of the house gathered around,
Bidding one final act of tears and goodbye,
Thanking the people who helped,
And a solemn moment of prayers around.

The flicker of life, extinguished eternally,
But not forgotten, engraved on the heart,
Knowing that she had loved, and been loved,
And those who would inherit her will,
Would carry the will of life, and would pass it on,
In this cycle of life, where death is just an old friend.


Frog in a Well

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Frog in a Well
http://www.freeprintablecoloringpages.net/thumbs/Reptiles/Sad_Frog.png
I am but a frog in a well,
In here lay my destiny's dwell,
Many say my head's nothing but a fine swell,
For I knew not o' the blue ocean well.

But my ol' friend please do not despair,
For life could never b' always fair,
The ocean and river could never b' my lair,
Yet I've dreamt o' the clear skies in d' air.

So long for d' shallow depth o' my mind,
Never would know the depth o' d' sea and its kind,
But the truth is, them and me shall never bind,
For the mesmerizing skies is where d' fate unwind.

Staring at d' turquoise sky my heart would glee,
Sometimes I'm glad I was not meant in d' sea,
For me d' serenading windy air truly sets me free,
For freedom is truly the one precious thing to me.


The Shark in the Ocean


http://dsc.discovery.com/news/2007/11/06/gallery/shark-324x205.jpg

I am but a shark in d' sea,
I fondle the ocean as d' fate binds me,
How I'd wish to meet the frog for tea,
To ask for guidance so I'd b' free.

In the ocean o' blood I struggled and fought,
To killed or b' killed or so I was taught,
As I looked up I saw d' freedom I sought,
An endless sky which I dreamt o' not.

A raven o' black thru the skies it glide,
The feathered wings was spread with pride,
Along the soothing wind it soared and ride,
And never its freedom was ever denied.

O' how I wish I could just fly,
And never to ask a question why,
I stood and watch as the raven passed by,
Just to wish my final goodbye.

The Reason for My Absence :P

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Well, here's the reason why. Try watch other videos.

Just mocking them. I just love creating creatures from Spore. You should try it too! n_n

Saturdays

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When I was 2:
Saturdays were the days when I get to walk the streets,
With my father's and mother's hand in my grasp,
Crossing the streets of the hustling city,
Cherishing the moments when we were happy together.

When I was 7:
Saturdays were the days when I stay at home,
Because my life of cartoons lives in here,
Watching in awe from day till dawn,
Dreaming of the heroes I'll soon to be.

When I was 12:
Saturdays were the days I look forwards to,
When PC's became the tools of games,
An hour or two would soothe my soul,
Before I fell into the doom of addiction.

When I was 17:
Saturdays were the days I always sweat,
Running and hopping from morning till noon,
Having Mamak or gaming on some days,
But still I call it the basketball day.

When I was 22:
Saturdays are the days of catching up,
Whether if it's assignments, studies or sleep,
And keeping in pace with the everchanging world,
And make it just like any other day.


I wonder how my future saturdays would turn out to be,
When there are Mondays, Tuedays, and many other days,
But what I knew is that Saturdays are sweet,
Because it is memorable for its difference from any other day.

The Cup which Stole Away Happiness

This is an exploratory continuation of a short story from the novel Kite Runner. Readers could kindly review the story and leave comments at the end of the story.


Ardal was a poor peasant in the barren lands of Ughkstan. Thin, lanky, but never lack the essence of boisterousness. He was handsome by his age, his dark haired coupled by his tanned skin, envied by the villagers around. They say that his eyes were bedazzling enough to charm even the beauties of Persian. But yet, he was loyal to his wife, Marla, who was his wife through a family arrangement which is nothing of peculiar between his father and his wife’s grandfather.


Whatever shortcomings Ardal had, it was never of his mood. Despite his not well-to-do situation, he was never frustrated. He would smile through it. He had never given up before. In short, he was a happy man. Never did he have ever shed a tear before. It was all his optimism that had push him all these while to live on. And no one complained about it.


Being happy wasn’t a sin, and everyone knew it. It was after all, his optimism that made him likable in Ughkstan. His jovial mood cheer every single soul he met. He was nicked as the ‘Saint Happy’.


On a typical hot day when the sun was at its prime, Ardal was plotting his land as usual. A normal routine so typical that his mind was wandering through the horizons of Ughkstan. How had he wished that he would be richer, so that he could provide Marla with a comfortable life. He was a happy man, but he would love to make his wife happier. Then he would be able to provide his future children a better life. Or so he had thought.


As if his prayers had been answered, suddenly, the ground felt solid. A clunk was heard as he swung deeper with his tool. He stooped, and scratched the ground away as he scanned the ground for the source of the discovery. There it was, a metallic brass cup engraved with a language he had known for all his life. The words were sketchy, but he had figured how to find his way through the soil-stained cup.


“Thou shall not weep in tears, for despair would turn thee into fortune.”


Long wondered by the cup, he brought it back to his wife. He was just incapacitated by the mystery of it.


“Perhaps you have to cry into the cup,” Marla suggested.


Now, this had been a hard part of him. He had never shed a single tear since he was born. He could just find something to be happy about. He pushed it for Marla to try, but it was in vain. No matter how Marla wept into the cup, there wasn’t any sign that the mystical cup had responded. So Marla pinched Ardal as hard as she could that finally Ardal shed a single tear. Whether it was a tear of pain or of sadness, no one knew. What they knew was it turned into a single pearl, the size and shape of a tear drop. They were so happy that they took it to the market to sell it. The pearl did fetch a hefty price, which the couple were happy enough and bought enough to celebrate a feast between the two. Marla had made Ardal to keep it a secret from anyone; for fear that the cup would be gone.


The first pearl had lasted him for a week. He needn’t do anything other than marvel at the cup. He even tried shedding some tears under the onions he had chopped to create that effect. Of course, it didn’t work out. Even the pinching did not work anymore, for he was very well aware of that tiny hurt that he could cause to himself.


There was a time when he tried to make himself sad. He tried breaking his treasured vase at home. It was his long accompanied vase. The first vase he had as a gift from his grandparents. Inheritance, they called it. It was nothing of a value. It was just a vase containing the memories of his grandparents he loved most. Of course, he wept. So many tears came out that it could basically fill the cup. The tears turned into pearls before it could reach the bottom of the cup, so that the tears never made its way to form a single large teardrop. But it was enough, enough to last him a few lifetime to live the way he is.


But just like every other man, greed had always found a way into a man’s heart. He built a big luxury house, with the grandest archway into his ‘palace’. He had a luscious garden which became the envy of Ughkstan. He hired gardeners to tend to his trees and potted plants brought from India. He had maids serving him and Marla. To him, life was like heaven.


But how could Ardal, a mere mortal, know the ways to manage his ‘richness’? Before long, his money ran out, and he had to think of ways to make his magic cup work again. He tried gambling, but it didn’t work. He wept not a single tear. He tried breaking as many vases as possible, but it still couldn’t work. He tried stabbing his thigh with a dagger, and it bled, but he never wept. How foolish it was, he thought, but he had no money left. He had to figure a way somehow.


It was then that the Devil had whispered into his ears. Ardal was desperate, the Devil knew it. How Ardal wished he could cry and mourn for his wife. It would be tears enough to last him a luxury life. How nice, he had thought. Limping his way, he went to the drug store. He requested for rat poison. The druggist sold the poisons; although he was wondering why Ardal had had need it since his house had practically no vermin.


It was a day when he had offered a romantic dinner with Marla. Marla didn’t know something was wrong. How Ardal could do anything to harm her? No wife would doubt her husband for sure. Ardal offered her the poison wine, and she took sip by sip without any suspicion. Even as she felt drowsy and fell down, she took her last breathe, and would never ever know what had happened. Never in her life had she thought that Ardal would do anything to harm her. Never.


Evil has nothing to be described. Ardal became the richest man not only in Ughkstan, but in the whole country. Many would have doubt how had he gain such fortune, but no one dared to question him. A djinn, one may suspect, but something of that mystic was a taboo to mention. So no one did really find out why.


Now, Ardal may be a man of great fortune, but he was never the same happy man as before. He was lonely. He had no one to accompany him, other than his guilt and his sins. Loneliness is the biggest fear of all men. And women perhaps. He was no long the ‘Saint Happy’ that he was, and he has been extremely depressed. Yes, fortune and fame meant the whole world to him, but what use does it make if there is nobody to share it with? He didn’t marry a new wife, for his guild had forbid him to. Every day, he just ate and slept, hiding himself from the world, until one day, he had decided to take the matters into his own hand. He committed suicide, with a dagger right through his heart. With that he left a note, that ask for forgiveness of his past deeds, and his fortune shall be donated to the needy ones. That was the end, at the least he could for the others.


And the cup. What happened to the magic cup? Ahh, no one knew for sure. It was gone for a long time, perhaps buried in the same place it was found, until another fool who would repeat the same thing.

***

Sometimes, we are human beings who are clouded by our greed that we had forgot to appreciate the people around us. Happiness is in fact, more valuable than the mass of fortune that we had. Never a person can be happier if he even had to worry about his fortune. This, my friend, I shall leave this story for you to ponder. Our family and friends around us are the treasures that had stay around for us. If you had time, do drop a message and call your loved ones. Greed, can be a hindrance of all happiness.


Note: This is a workpiece by the author in this blog. If you would like to use it elsewhere, remember to credit the author and link to this blog. Thank you.


For Nuffnangers, do Nang me if you like this story.

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For other readers, please kindly leave your comments. n_n


It’s a long chilling night. I just couldn’t stop my teeth

from harping a melodious clattering. The best I could do is to tuck my clammy hands into my dull grayish coat. Damn myself for leaving in a hurry this morning. I could be suffering from frostbite anytime now. The wailing sirens at the other end of the street sent some beggars scampering for cover. They are not to be caught, for their own survival. Funny, I reckoned. Perhaps it was their fear for the authority that made them do that, for they had done no crime yet. Or have they? That I wouldn’t know. What I knew, is that I would be late for my shift if I stood here, allowing my mind to linger aimlessly. I trampled and kicked up some snow dirt in a hurried effort passing through the Royal Opera House. The white building seemed as if it was fully covered by snow. It was a true beauty of architecture, although I had mistaken it as the US’ White House when I first arrived here. It’s unusual to snow in London, but I’m in no mood to enjoy the scenery. Descending into the Covent Garden station, I dashed to the counter to get my ticket, and board the train at the nick of time. The train was unusually packed at this hour. Why? Something struck my mind. They must have been from the London International MIME festival. I had promised to bring her there. But here I am, still stuck with my work. For these past 3 years, I had been breaking more promises than I could make. I figured I would make sure that I’ll be there for her this weekend. The MIME fest is up till this weekend anyway. It’ll be our 5th anniversary together. I’ll remember to buy some yellow carnations. That’s her favourite.

The train has reached Barbican. I got out and stride
swiftly out of the station, ascending the stairs. Bartholomew’s Med School is just across the Charterhouse Street. At last, I’m there. The lack of sleep for the past week, however, took its toll on me. Before I knew it, I drop on my knees, knowing nothing. The world starts to spin itself around me and I was slowly devoured by the world of darkness. The last thing I could hear was the horn from some vehicle, getting nearer and nearer… And I will never know what had happened..