I Am Victor: Book 2

By Nasrul Haziq

“You can’t kill anyone, you are weak, you are NOTHING!”

Victor Lied on the ground, as blood was flowing out of his neck, where the piece of metal impaled him. Just as life was leaving his body, he began to experience flashbacks about his younger self.

There was always one question in his mind: What made him the psychotic murderer that he was? Never in his entire life, he would imagine that someone would be able to end his life. After all, he has always been the killer, not the one who is killed.

His flashbacks reminded him of his childhood memories, some that he would pay a lot to get them erased from his mind. As his flashbacks continue, he started to feel that maybe he wasn’t dying after all.

Seeing that Alexia, the person who tried to kill him is now dead, he began to wonder if he has any form of connection to her, other than being her son-in-law. He decided that if he is going to die, he would at least try to figure out why Alexia was murdered.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Jan 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781543756050

Nasrul Haziq

Nasrul Haziq has been into writing since he was a young student in school. He often gets into trouble with his principal and teachers because they deemed his writings as violent and offensive. Being a staunch believer in the freedom of speech, he expresses his ideology in his writings.

Book preview

I AM

VICTOR

Book 2

NASRUL HAZIQ

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Copyright © 2020 by Nasrul Haziq.

Library of Congress Control Number:     2020900424

ISBN:                        Hardcover                   978-1-5437-5606-7

                                  Softcover                     978-1-5437-5604-3

                                  eBook                           978-1-5437-5605-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

www.partridgepublishing.com/singapore

Contents

PART I

(Victor)

In The Beginning…

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

PART II

(Mark)

Craziness

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35 (Victor)

Chapter 36 (Mark)

Chapter 37 (Victor)

For Dims,

Who Inspired me to write this

And for my principal,

Who said my writings are too violent

PART I

(Victor)

In The Beginning…

Prologue

I   lied on the road, staring at the sky as blood pours out of my neck, where the piece of metal impaled me. I could barely breathe as I enjoy the view of the sky and its glory for one last time. Never had I imagined that someone would be able to end my life, especially when I had always been the one who does all the killing.

Looking to the old woman who will be the one who kills me, I saw that she was lying on the ground too, lifeless. I wondered who killed her. It couldn’t have been me. The gun was not loaded anymore, I said to myself. That was when I saw her new friend walking away with a piece of glass in his hand. Life is a bitch after all, I said to myself, laughing as I saw the sky, probably for one last time.

Chapter 1

I   woke up on my bed as usual. I had never known who would have the strength to carry me up those stairs, but I had never bothered to ask anyone. People kept on telling me that I need to be in bed before 10 or I wouldn’t be able to wake up on time for school, which is a place that I had always hated. It’s useless, I would tell my mom whenever she drives me to school. She would always say things like, It’s for my future, and that if I don’t get a proper education, I will end up being a cleaner or a factory worker. To be honest, I do not see any problem of becoming one of those. After all, someone needs to take care of society.

Being a seven-year-old, I couldn’t comprehend why those jobs are regarded as something so disgusting, it’s almost a taboo. Some people just like doing their jobs. I don’t see anything wrong with it, I would say. People say that I’m talking and knowing too much for a boy my age, but I don’t give a damn as what I say doesn’t affect them the slightest. Sure, I can talk all I want, but ultimately, I’m just a kid who has zero influence in the real world. I had been warned many times not to question somethings and just go with the flow. That is another thing that I just couldn’t make myself comprehend.

Authority must always be questioned, I heard a politician on the radio say. When I asked my mom why the politician said that, she simply replied, Oh, don’t mind that fools. They are just radical morons, not that I understood what that meant. I want to rearrange your seats, my class teacher said. I want all the boys to be at the front and the girls at the back, she said, and everyone just followed, not asking why. Since I knew better than to voice out my opinion again, I kept quiet to avoid getting sent to the principal’s office once more. In school, since I spoke too little, they thought that I’m stupid and illiterate, causing them to involuntarily enrol me into these so-called ‘enrichment programs’ charging my parents extra in the fees.

Those bloodsuckers will lick the floor if it means that they would be earning more money. The extra class was full of kids, mostly from wealthy backgrounds who were too lazy even to do their homework, though I liked the teacher. She tried to make everyone happy without giving us any extra work to do. Still, then again, it may be useless to do so anyway. Sometimes I feel sorry for her. She would spend an hour trying to make the students calm down and another hour to try to teach them some posh English words or whatever, not that they even bothered to pay attention. As for me, I would just stare at the whiteboard, pretending that I know nothing just so that she won’t be going nuts after a few class like the former teacher after I asked too many questions.

He started to scream and throw things everywhere. So scary, in fact, that they had to call the police. One of the teachers told me that he’s staying in a room for a while. He will be there until he’s happy, sweetie, one of the teachers explained to me when I asked her. It wasn’t years later that I learned that he hung himself after two months of being in a psychiatric ward. He’s happy indeed, I wanted to say to the teacher who told me that but couldn’t cause she was in a car accident exactly one week after telling me that while driving back home drunk. Her body flew 200 metres away from her car. Oh boy, I said when I heard the news. She must have been thrilled,

I looked at my watch and saw that it was only half-past three, which meant that I need to stay in the haunted, crappy school for two more hours for my extra classes. I walked towards the classroom and saw that it was