Showing posts with label perihal menulis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label perihal menulis. Show all posts

Thursday, October 5, 2017

APRIL DAN GALLANT (cerpen)




Jadi gue punya dua karakter yang sangat menarik; namanya Aprilianda (April/cewek) dan Gallant (cowok). April pernah muncul di sini: https://logikatanpacela.blogspot.co.id/2014/11/lol-cerpen-untitled.html

Di kisah utamanya, mereka berdua umurnya masih 19 tahun, sempat sekelas di kelas 12 SMA, tinggal di kompleks perumahan yang sama hanya berbeda jalan saja, dan ketika upacara kelulusan, April dengan santainya menyatakan perasaannya pada Gallant—yang tentunya adalah cowok paling populer karena dia ganteng dan ramah—membuat Gallant terbengong-bengong nggak nyantai karena, hei, sejak kapan teman sekelasnya yang merupakan salah satu cewek paling kalem, paling murah senyum tapi tidak pernah benar-benar ikutan menggila bareng, cewek yang tidak mau pergi ke sekolah bareng meskipun Gallant tidak keberatan untuk memboncenginya ini… suka padanya?

Dan lagi, apa-apaan si April?! Dengan santainya menambahkan, “Gue cuma mau ngasitau aja. Lo nggak usah jawab apa-apa, begini udah cukup.”

Nah.

Klise, tapi biasanya si cowok yang ngomong begitu. Bukan si cewek.

Tapi ya namanya juga Bamby.

MuahahahahHAHAHA.

Dalam rangka membangkitkan semangat menulis dengan Bahasa Indonesia dan #31HariMenulis, gue mau mencoba membuat baaanyaaaaak skenario untuk kedua orang ini! Semoga terwujud! Skenarionya tidak berkaitan satu sama lain! Semacam cerpen yang bahkan lebih pendek dari cerpen! Skenarionya ada yang gue ambil dari Tumblr ada juga produk sendiri~









1: HOGWARTS
Untuk Azka



            “Hi.”
            Cewek itu menoleh ke arah Gallant yang sudah siap dengan Cengiran Tampan Khasnya, dan ia balas tersenyum dengan manis; bibirnya yang tipis berwarna merah menyala dan kedua matanya yang bulat besar itu membentuk separo bulan sabit.
            “Hi,” katanya singkat, kemudian mencopot sejuntai kabel putih dari telinga kirinya.
            Gallant melebarkan pintu kompartemen dan bertanya, “Kosong, ya? Gue boleh duduk bareng lo?”
            “Silakan,” jawab cewek itu dengan santai, mengangguk pada bangku kosong di hadapannya. Gallant memerhatikan ada sebuah koper berukuran sedang di atas kepala cewek itu, berwarna sama merah dengan bibir tipisnya. Ia tidak tahu apa fungsi dari kabel putih yang cewek itu pakai di telinganya, dan apa benda yang tengah cewek itu pegang; sebuah perangkat muggle canggih, mungkin? Bentuknya kotak, tipis, pink.
            Thanks, kompartemen lain berisik banget.” Gallant memilih alasan paling masuk akal yang bisa dipikirkannya, dan ia menutup pintu dengan pelan.
            No problem,” kata cewek itu lagi, masih dengan santai, dan Gallant berpikir mungkin karena pembawaannya yang kelewat santai inilah yang membuat teman-temannya merasa perlu untuk mengerjai Gallant.
            Untungnya Gallant juga kurang kerjaan.
            “Anyway,” Gallant berdeham, “gue Gallant. Gryffindor tahun ketujuh.” Ia menyodorkan tangan kanannya dan cewek itu pun menyalaminya dengan mantap namun singkat. Tangannya halus dan wanginya mirip apel.
            “April, Ravenclaw. Tahun ketujuh juga.”
            “Masa sih kita seangkatan? Gue kayaknya belum pernah liat lo, deh!”
            “Maksud lo belum pernah lo cium kali?”
            Oh, shit.
          Gallant tertegun. Jantungnya berdegup tak keruan—kepalanya kosong dan tenggorokannya mengering. Biasanya… biasanya tidak pernah ada cewek yang mempermalukannya seperti ini; biasanya setelah Gallant menyatakan kalimat pamungkasnya tadi, seharusnya, cewek-cewek lain akan merasa perlu untuk menarik perhatian Gallant lebih jauh lagi dengan cara menyentuh lengannya atau tertawa keras-keras ketika Gallant melontarkan lelucon tak lucu sama sekali—karena mereka melihat sebuah kesempatan untuk bisa jadi lebih dekat dengan Muhammad Gallant, kapten tim Quidditch Gryffindor yang sangat populer, bukannya menyatakan kalimat pamungkas balasan yang justru mengalahkan upaya Gallant untuk membuka celah dan memastikan reputasinya sebagai Yang Tak Pernah Ditolak.
            “Ahh…” Gallant meringis, menggigit bibir bawahnya dan mengusap tengkuk lehernya; tidak tahu harus berbuat apa. “Kedengeran, ya?”
            April tertawa kecil, mengiyakan tanpa berkata apa-apa. Pipinya yang penuh itu membulat, membuatnya terlihat sangat manis. Ia tidak tampak gugup sama sekali, hanya masih menatap Gallant dengan santainya, seolah ia menantang Gallant untuk melanjutkan apa yang telah dimulainya dengan sangat buruk.
           “Sori banget,” Gallant berkata dengan suara sangat pelan, “gue sama temen-temen suka gabut kalo baru masuk.” Ia tidak berani mengangkat kepalanya. Ngomong-ngomong, April memakai sepasang sepatu muggle yang sangat keren. Pergelangan kakinya yang putih itu dibalut kaus kaki transparan. Gallant teringat akan mata pelajaran Muggle Studies dan ia pikir fashion muggle kadang sangat aneh.
            “Nggak apa-apa.”
            “Seriusan, sori banget, ya.”
            “Iya.”
            “Lo mau jajan sesuatu nggak? Gue beliin, ya?”
            “Nggak usah, gue bawa Oreo.”
            “Oreo?”
            April tersenyum dan Gallant menangkap kesan bahwa ia luar biasa senang dengan topik baru ini. Ia meletakkan benda muggle kotak tipis pink di bangku, dan mengaduk isi tas punggungnya yang berwarna sama merah dengan bibir tipisnya.
            “Oreo itu biskuit. Ada isian krimnya,” kata April sambil merobek bungkus biru Oreo. “Cobain deh, enak.” Ia mengambil satu keping biskuit bulat dengan isian krim berwarna ungu dan merobek lebih lebar agar Gallant bisa dengan mudah mencicipi.
            “Eh, iya.” Gallant terbelalak setelah satu gigitan. “Kok dingin gini, sih? Agak asem juga.”
          “Enak, kan?” April tersenyum. “Gue stock Oreo banyak kok kalo lo mau lagi, cukup sampai akhir tahun. Biaya pengiriman ke Hogwarts mahal banget soalnya.”
           “Lo dari Indonesia, ya?” Gallant bertanya, menjilati jempolnya. “Gue juga orang Indonesia, sih. Tapi mami papi udah dua puluh tahun di London dan udah jadi warga negara Inggris.”
            “Hmm,” April mengangguk, “pantes aksen lo native banget.”
          “He he iya.” Gallant nyengir, senang karena tidak ada rasa canggung yang tersisa di antara mereka. April benar-benar santai dan kalem, meskipun Gallant cukup yakin kesan pertama yang ia berikan jauh dari kata ‘menyenangkan’. Apabila posisi mereka ditukar dan ia adalah April, ia tidak akan mau meladeni seorang cowok kurang kerjaan yang menerima begitu saja tantangan teman-temannya untuk mencium cewek manis yang duduk di kompartemen 31.
            Gallant mau dicium Dementor saja rasanya!
“Erm, apa nama kampung halaman lo di Indonesia?”
            “Meikarta.”
            “Meikarta?”
            Tiba-tiba April mendengus. “Nggak, sori,” ia terkikik geli sendiri dan Gallant khawatir ia akan tersedak Oreo. Ada semburat pink di wajahnya dan setitik biskuit hitam Oreo di ujung bibir kanannya. “Sori. Gue dari Bali. Mungkin lo pernah denger?”
            Gallant memberi kode pada April dengan cara menyentuh ujung bibirnya sendiri dan April mengusapkan punggung tangannya ke bibirnya, mengangkat kedua alisnya yang digambar rapi.
           “Udah ilang,” jawab Gallant, “mami gue bilang mau ngajak liburan ke Bali kalo nilai-nilai O.W.L. gue minimal Acceptable.”
           “Emang nilai lo apa?”
           “Beberapa ada yang Poor, ada yang Acceptable.”
           Exceeds Expectations?”
           “Nggak ada bahahaha!”
        April berhenti mengunyah. Ia menelengkan kepalanya seolah berpikir keras, dan akhirnya bertanya dengan gaya Santainya, “Lo mau belajar bareng gue?”
            Gallant tergagap-gagap, “S-Serius?”
            “Serius. Siapa tau gue ketularan populer kalo kita keliatan bareng di perpustakaan.”
            “Pasti lah, lo kan manis.”
            April tertawa lebar. Bahunya terguncang dan ia bertepuk tangan girang. Deretan giginya putih dan rapi dan seperti dirinya secara keseluruhan; mungil.
Gallant dibuat melongo, tidak yakin dengan pemandangan luar biasa tidak biasa yang terjadi detik itu juga.
Cieeeee gue dibilang manis sama Pangeran Hogwarts.” April mendengus, terdengar sangat bangga dengan lelucon privatnya. “Kapan lagi, kan?”
Sebenarnya Gallant tidak masalah jika harus sering-sering mengingatkan April betapa manis dirinya, tapi mungkin lain waktu saja, lihat nanti bagaimana ke depannya.



END



Sunday, October 1, 2017

#31harimenulis: INTRO


upaya membangkitkan blog ini kembali is so real.
gue bingung pake bahasa apa *edan*

mungkin di beberapa postingan coba bahasa indonesia yang baik dan benar, ya? hitung-hitung latihan menulis novel yang seharusnya sudah ada dari dulu.

dulu.

ah.

baiklah ini intro.

selamat menikmati sajian #31harimenulis/#31dayswritingchallenge. jangan lupa berikan komentar! terima kasih.

Friday, June 26, 2015

ini prosa kali ya? monolog? also in english


Kalo lo bisa nebak prosa/monolog/rambling ini tentang apa, next time we meet, I’m gonna kiss your face. Suwer.





Alma, matters

You were always just there
On endless papers, alive on pretty abc’s,
Out of my mind
    (and maybe theirs)
I was inside of you (they probably never were)
For quite awhile and I
Was quite keen to get out
    Was I wrong, Alma?
I wasn’t wrong,
Look what I did to
You for a while
And I’m sorry,
    I really am, for
You’re always just there,
As you should be (for as long as I will always be),
Waiting,
Knowing—patiently that
You
And I?
We matter
We do
    Together


    First of all, she wasn’t my anything. She poised just like a newly formed mole around your mouth that popped out of nowhere after you stayed in one particular place with its particular weather for quite some time. Say, four and a half years. Because you made a bad decision, got lost, and it took a while to get back on track again. And suddenly, she’s there, on the left corner of your top lip. But that’s not the point. Or maybe it is? Because now that you think about it, those extra, unnecessary days had worn you out you were way too keen to leave her behind. Remember those bleak hours when you got stuck in your head, when voices were screaming at you to book the first flight the next morning back to where you began. Was it hatred you felt towards her? Hate is a strong word. I can never hate her, I know that for sure. She’s lovely, Alma. Different.

    ***

    My cousin introduced us. She was older than me, and so was Alma. When I said she’s different, Alma, that is, I meant it. Alma was already well-known among others for her humble beauty and superior brain and in spite of her rich background, she possessed an ability to blend in with the crowd and she never was conceited about it, unlike me, who was young and confused because everything was so new and although not quite overwhelming, like everyone had assumed, but it was close to make me lose track like I told you before.
    Alma was always just there. I never paid her attention, to be completely honest. I was probably only one among her other million admirers. Hell. I didn’t even admire her. I just had the opportunity. And they say you’re gonna miss her when she’s gone, only the irony is that she’s not going anywhere, it was me who left her, remember?
   
    ***

    So, I left.
    Can’t blame the revulsion I felt for her back then. It already happened, I can’t change anything. I didn’t hate her, but I’ve had enough of her. Of her kindness and vast knowledge. Of her blinding sight and how she made me feel alone. Of her hot and cold and her—my—our friends. I’ve had enough, and it was time for me to leave anyway.
   
    ***
   
    “Alma? Wow, okay,” they often say when I admit I was with her. “Okay, wow.”
    It takes me a couple of their, my new acquaintances who have never met you, awed exclamations to realize that you’re the only one, Alma, you will always be the only one with me because they never got the opportunity. You matter, Alma, please forgive me. It was never your fault, Alma, it was mine, you’re always you with your humble beauty and your superior brain and maybe I was only bitter because why couldn’t I be myself without you? If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be me, I get it now, Alma, I’m so sorry. Look at me now. I love you, I do.

THE END

Saturday, June 20, 2015

cerpen english (mungkin romance mungkin bukan)

(dan mungkin, sedikit nyata baaahahahahhaha.)



Innocent Fire
(Not) a love story

    Have you ever been really, really into someone you actually think you’re on the verge of hating them?
    I did. I do. I don’t know.
    She’s pretty, I have to admit, the kind of girl who will always make you blink in wonder whether she’s bundled up in cardigans or surrounded by daisies and roses on her summer dresses. The thing is, she wasn’t in my radar at all. I doubt that I was even in her radar as well, not with the fact that we’re coming from different departments and she’s not staying at the dorm because she’s always riding her cute, brick-colored bicycle with a basket attached on the soft-angled handles to and fro her house, which is only fifteen minutes tops on sunny days.
    Me? I’m staying at the dorm, five minutes walk to and fro my building. And I don’t like to hang out after my classes, I’m unfamiliar with the green grass decorating our university’s main park, I don’t know what books the stone statues trio on the fountain are reading forever.
    I met her in the library.
    Her name is Krisan.

***

    I’m an only child. My cousins are all younger than I and they live too far off from here. They’re alright, just like how I find any other younger kids who will grin at me when I ruffle their heads in passing. This certain aspect of my life shaped me up to be a gentle boy; I’m always careful with the power I possess in my big hands and they, the younger kids and especially my mom, also say that I have a gentle smile. They like my smile. According to a little girl about six, some years ago, she felt safe when I smile.
    Maybe that was why Krisan smiled at me first.
    “Thank you so much,” she said as I handed over the text book she was reaching out. I couldn’t remember what the book was about. Everything, now, is a blur but her pretty smile. What was I doing in the library that day? Why did I go near the management section? Yet, somehow, I could remember that her lips were stained peach-like, similar with the apples of her cheeks. And her coffee-colored irises were reflecting the lamps above us. She was only about my shoulders, her black hair curling around her collarbones. She wore a cute peplum top and skinny jeans. She smelled like orange.
    Yeah, I mumbled, and still smiling that pretty smile, she continued,
    “It’s really you. I thought to myself, ‘I swear I’ve seen him somewhere before!’ Tell me, how was the little boy? Did his parents finally find him?”
    What?
    “The little boy you helped last week! At the mall, remember? You were so gentle with him he didn’t want you to leave him with the security guards. Did his parents finally find him?”
    Oh. Right. Enggar. His twin brothers found him not long after.
    “That’s a great relief!”
    Yeah.
    “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” She giggled and her eyes disappeared. Kind of. “I’m Krisan.”
    We shook hands and I told her my name.
    “Emil? Like, from the children book?” she put a strand of hair behind one cute ear. Her fingernails were painted in turquoise.
    I was surprised she knew the origin of my name. Emil was a character from my mom’s favorite childhood books. I’ve read some. He was a naughty boy with a clever mind and good intentions.
    “You don’t seem to be a troublemaker like Emil,” she giggled again, “I should go. My next class is about to start.”
    Oh, okay, I said. I wasn’t even disappointed at that time.
    “It’s very nice to finally meet you, Emil. I couldn’t shake off the picture of you holding hands with that little boy. You stood out just like that among the crowds!” she touched my left forearm. “Have a great day!” and I wasn’t even attracted to her back then.

***

    It’s not funny that Krisan was the name of a Japanese comic character’s favorite flower to be buried together with in her funeral. She got her wish fulfilled. Her krisan was all yellow, I remember it now. Krisan? She’s never just yellow. She always glowed.

***

    I fell head over heels for her when I really stared at the slope of her cute nose and the way her bony elbows moved as she tied up her hair in a neat ponytail. I asked her phone number and she always texted back within a heartbeat. Her laugh? I found a perfect song to describe her laugh and she laughed when I told her to listen to the song. I liked her. I was really into her. And then I saw her with one particular guy multiple times around my dorm, and I realized that the guy lived in the same floor with me and I remember I didn’t understand a thing.
    So I asked.
    “Ahmad? No one.”
    No?
    “No, Emil. We’re just friends, like you and I.”
    Hm.
    “Weren’t we going to eat? I’ve got something for you.”
    She’s a great cook. I forgot my awkward attempt at jealousy as she presented a hearty feast of broccoli frittata with smoked beef and cheese, her homemade tomato chutney, and lemon-cream mini donuts.
    Do you also cook for Ahmad?
    Krisan paused and she pouted like I broke her heart, not the other way around.
    “Aw, Emil, don’t be difficult.”
    It’s just a question.
    “Well, stop asking,” she whined, frowning. She added as an afterthought, but it’s effective anyway, “Please.”
   
***
   
    Girls tend to adore my towering height, followed by my hipster glasses and lastly, maybe they like my face; I’m not really sure.
    Did Krisan ever have a feeling for me? I didn’t know, so I asked. And her eyes were so lovely, all wide and confused and that was it, I was so sure that was the end, I was so ready for it to end, but of course I was wrong.
    “I’m so sorry,” she said, sincerely, but somehow I doubted it. She, at least, was aware of my act of paying for our apparently-not-dates and lending my favorite jacket for her when she had flu last week. I would never lend my favorite jacket just for any girl who swooned over my height and my glasses and maybe my face—no. She must have known. I was pretty obvious about it.
    But then again, not only I was Emil but I’m also stupid.
    Don’t be, it’s okay, you have Ahmad.
    “What are you talking about?” Krisan snapped, thoroughly insulted.
    You know what I’m talking about.
    “Why are you like this?” she frowned. I remember I never liked it when she did that. “What do you want from me?”
    Yeah, what was it again? You didn’t even know what you wanted back then, right, Emil? You liked her, that was the truth, but then, what? You broke up with your last ex because you thought what you did with her was useless, and you had really, really liked her, remember? Was it the thrill of the chase? If so, why did you ask, you goddamned haywire shithead, you got her answer, yeah? And what was it that you planned to do after hearing her exasperation? After realizing that she’s not into you? Have you ever been really, really into someone you actually think you’re on the verge of hating them?
    I did.
    I did.

THE END

Saturday, November 29, 2014

cerita zombi 3

 > > > ternyata belom eksyen. chapter 4 yach.

tapi lebih banyak dialog.

tokoh-tokoh baru gitu.

suspense.

komen yak sodara-sodara. mungkin disebarin ke temen2 (penerbit) juga LOL.

p.s. gue baru tau kalo 'i am legend'-nya will smith ternyata diangkat dari buku. berhubung nonton pelemnya asal-asalan, boleh lah kucari bukunya untuk referensi. world war Z dan prekuel-nya juga. hm.

met baca! > > >













There’s nothing much you can do as it is. You either sleep, help around, train, cry, freak out, or talk, and talk and talk.

It’s been exactly two months ever since it all began.

Even for a boy like Ezra who literally never minds basically anything, the unchanging routine is killing him.

But not today though. Today he finds his washed pants and t-shirts are gone from their usual spot on the communal clothesline on the northeast building. There’s a folded A4 paper pinned with the wooden clothespin and it has his name written in bold, block letters.
if ur so great,meet us @ da southwest backyard
We have ur posesion
x
   
“No shit.” Ezra mumbles and shoves the letter into the pocket of his cargo pants, because if anything does go south, all pun intended, he will have it as a proof that he’s not the one initiating shit. After scanning the empty rooftop, he kicks the metal door open with his misplaced strength until it meets the wall and gives a loud bang!

What he’s going to face? It won’t be his first confrontation. A boy like Ezra was misunderstood way too often he didn’t even try to stop pretending that he cared anymore, because he didn’t (doesn’t, will never) give a damn whether his lack of facial expression was annoying a bunch of upperclassmen or whether his choice to be alone was mistranslated as an arrogant I’m-holier-than-thou act from his peers. Like, wasn’t that what they want? For him to be out of their lives? Then why did they always seem to make a hobby out of calling him to ‘have a talk’ right after school at the deserted, public gymnasium where teachers or adult alike wouldn’t know what kind of ‘talk’ they were going to give him? Of course Ezra had had enough of the typical yapping and the following memento of bluing skin on his torso or hips or upper thighs. He’s no less human than them, he didn’t deserve the ‘talk’ at all he made sure he had their regular recorded in his smartphone the last time a dozen of upperclassmen called him to have the ‘talk’—because earlier that day, Ezra remembers vividly, probably because he made sure he stared seconds longer with his soulless, haughty eyes—their words not his—to the upperclassmen’s gang leader who wasn’t even that tall or big, during recess. And that was enough to get his ass dragged to the public gymnasium. He had to stifle his smile while they taunted him with their dull NGAPAIN LO NGELIATIN GUA TADI SIANG, HAH? LO MAU NYARI RIBUT?! LO MAU RIBUT SAMA GUE? LO BERANI RIBUT SAMA GUE?! BARU KELAS SATU AJA LAGAK UDAH KAYAK RAJA—and for the first time ever, and the last, he begged for unheard mercy in between their laughter and mocking HAHAHAHA BARU SEKARANG LO MINTA AMPUN? TELAT NJING!!—assured that his smartphone which was taped tightly on his left ankle, hidden by the pipe of his grey slacks and white socks, had been recording their voices. He went to the principal office the next day, still with fresh bruises on his cheek and stomach, with the voice recording and a sprinkle of victimized sobbing, successfully kicking all of his upperclassmen tormentors out of their school in disgrace, and nobody ever messed with his poker face and his unfriendliness anymore.

He will do it all over again. Zombie apocalypse be damned.


*



When Ezra is lying idly on his bed, hours later, he hears the stomping first before the person owning the expensive boots is appearing on his room’s door without knocking. A boy, short, furious.

Ezra is good with faces, but he’s not good with names.

“What the hell are you doing here?! Nakula’s been waiting for years you dickhead!” Yeah, not this one. Who is this anyway?

Ezra sits up and raises his eyebrows. “Who?”

“What—!” the boy’s mouth forms an O. And then he’s gaping like a fish out of water. “So what they say about you is true. Shit.” Suddenly, he’s laughing without a mirth on his trembling voice. “It’s not funny, you dickhead! Come out and follow me!”

“Why?” Ezra asks again.

“Don’t you want your clothes back?!” the boy is almost shouting by now.

“Oh,” Ezra makes a face, and shrugs. “It’s almost dusk. I’ll go see him after dinner. You didn’t write a specific time at that paper, by the way.”

My god,” the boy spits it like a curse, “I hope you die!” he points a finger at Ezra and runs.


*



Tonight is fried rice day. Ezra sits at the corner of the dimly lit dining room and only gets four spoonfuls before unfamiliar shadows are falling over him.

“Get up.” Says a pleasant but cruel voice from his right side.

Ezra looks up and squints. Is this Nakula? He recognizes Pipit smirking among the human barricade, and the boy who wished him dead, but the rest, not really.

“I’m eating,” Ezra declares the obvious.

“No you’re not.” Probably-Nakula snatches his paper plate with a lightning speed. Tch. Ezra likes fried rice, he does, he could eat fried rice his mom cooked for a week straight a long time ago. “You’re coming with us, now.”

“Okay.” Ezra stands up and finds he’s eye to eye with Probably-Nakula. Good. He knows being tall is a threat for the nearest self-proclaimed leader like Probably-Nakula, and he’s glad he’s not losing in that petty aspect.

Probably-Nakula starts to walk without any word, still carrying his paper plate, and disposes it at the huge trash bag situated by the entrance. He’s not stupid, then. Ezra tells himself to be extra careful.

They’re heading to the southwest backyard as expected, and Probably-Nakula says conversationally in his mostly pleasant voice, no cruelty detected,

“Jakarta’s sky without pollution for two months, huh?” he speaks to the rest of the group, nodding at the starry sky above them. “It’s beautiful, right?” and echoes of agreement are parroting his statement.

Except for Ezra, who prefers the ocean and its haunting beauty over anything.

“What do you think?” Probably-Nakula is smiling when he addresses our protagonist like they’re old pals from birth.

“Me? Nothing.” Ezra blinks, and hears the sneering and scoffing from Probably-Nakula’s toy soldiers surrounding him.

Probably-Nakula chuckles. “Sure,” he slows down his steps to clap Ezra’s shoulders, “how are you, Ezra?”

“Hungry.” And Most-Likely-Nakula laughs out loud. See? Ezra can be hilarious, too.

“Sorry about that,” Most-Likely-Nakula claps his shoulders again, “but you won’t be hungry anymore once you play with us.”

They arrive at the southwest backyard, protected by ten feet tall black wall and wired fence as cherry on top. About twenty meters behind is the south guard post, currently occupied with fried rice-eating watchmen, their AK-47s are poised ready toward the street outside.

What kind of game are they going play here?

“So!” Verified-Nakula whispers to them all, telling them to crouch down underneath the big rambutan tree. “Who’s excited?”

Hands shooting up so fast Ezra wonders if their muscle joints are alright.

“Who would like to play tonight?” Nakula hums as he scans his eager toy soldiers trying their best to look the most appealing. “Pipit, you’re in, then you, Tyo, David, Ambar, and of course our honorable guest, Ezra.”



T B C . . .

Sunday, November 23, 2014

cerita zombi 2

  •  jatohnya (masih) character study nih.
si ezra kayaknya bukan psikopat, tapi mengidap asperger syndrome. hmmm.

kuberpikir action nanti di chapter selanjutnya.

big thanks buat joce, dhita, abong, dan zetra yang udah baca dan komen dan brainstorm di FB. iseng-iseng aja ini biar otak gak karatan.

  • jangan lupa komen yach!













Before this shit went down, Ezra had to go to a psychiatrist twice every month, usually on Fridays right after school with his mom driving his dad’s SUV, making small talks about her colleagues and asking a lot of things about his day.

Ezra’s mom is (was?) a tall woman. She speaks in a low volume and her tinted red lips are always curling up as if she smiles all the time. She only eats chicken and she only reads fictional politic novels. Actually, she’s five years older than Ezra’s dad, who was (is?) an avid comic book reader. Ezra doesn’t even like to read anything, so that’s pretty much heartbreaking for his dad. Now that he realizes his dad’s comic book collection is probably nothing but ashes thanks to the demolition, well, the left side of Ezra’s chest clenches uncomfortably.

“What are you thinking?”

Ezra glances to where his psychiatrist, Dr. Fulan, is sitting cross legged on the cold, tiled floor.

It’s like a deja vu, because Dr. Fulan would ask about what he was thinking before he asked about what he was feeling, back then in his cozy office with the dimmed lighting and a dozen of bronze plaques for his dedication, accomplishment, and recognition as a renowned psychiatrist. The only different thing is, now Dr. Fulan is dressed in a frayed sweater, a pair of turmeric colored chino, and black sneakers, of all things. His hair is longer, too, unkempt, and his frameless glasses are crooked.

“Me? My dad’s comic books.” Ezra answers, shrugging.

“Oh? What about them?” Dr. Fulan links his fingers together, clearly intending to reestablish himself as Ezra’s former psychiatrist.

“Huh, nothing,” Ezra decides to play along. “They’re gone.”

“And how do you feel about them gone?”

“Nothing. They’re my dad’s.”

“Is there any knickknack of yours that you left behind, Ezra?”

“Yeah, my laptop.”

“Would your laptop help you feeling better in any way if you brought it along?”

“Of course not. It’s not a weapon.”

Dr. Fulan nods, and he sighs.

“Do you think help will come?”

“I don’t know, doctor.”

“Do you miss your parents? Your friends?”

“More or less.”

“Aren’t you worried about them?”

“Eh. No.”

Dr. Fulan leaves without another word and Ezra continues sitting down on the cold, tiled floor, tuning out the bristling all around him at the government’s shelter, and falls asleep.


*


Before this shit went down, Ezra didn’t have to do house chores other than keeping everything neat and clean after usage. Now he has to wash his own clothes, learns how to build something other than Lego, and, weirdly, smiles like everything is alright 24/7.

That’s a lot of work for him.

There are boys and girls around his age, too, and they seem to have a silent agreement to always stick together. They’re loud, they’re giggly, and they get angry when they understand that Ezra is not interested to play with their little merry go round circle, by ostracizing him.

Not that Ezra cares.

The Virus is still incurable. Ezra is good with faces but not names, and he’s been in the government’s shelter for five weeks. So far, he counts less than six people are missing. Or, who is he kidding, ha ha, they’re dead because they showed the symptoms and were quarantined and never came back. Ezra is scared, obviously. He doesn’t want to die, no matter what. The shelter is too crowded, and virus, according to his Science class, travels fast. Even breathing in the same air with the virus bearer can heighten the risk of you getting infected. What the heck, right? Nowhere is safe. For now, Ezra makes sure he lives in the separate headquarters from those unfortunate, dead people (zombies?), keeps his own spoon and fork, and ties a handkerchief around his nose and mouth day and night.



*


Before this shit went down, Ezra spent his leisure time watching TV. He watched everything; ancient football matches, music videos, cheap reality shows, the news, detective/horror series, cartoon adaptation from his dad’s favorite comic book, movies, animal documentaries, culinary reviews, talk shows, even the home shopping channel.

At the government’s shelter, he does nothing. When his chores are finished, he sits down on the cold, tiled floor right across his room, and just exists like that. He doesn’t mind. His hobby is not reading or talking or playing half-assed basketball. He liked his 60” high definition flat screen his dad bought only, what, half a year ago. Now it turned to ashes and he doesn’t know where his dad is.

Half a year ago, huh? He wasn’t seventeen yet. He was eight inches shorter, too. But the numbers don’t matter now.

“Hi.”

Ezra looks up and sees a pixie haired girl smiling down at him. Basically, her t-shirt swallows her upper body and her denim shorts are baggy. She wears a pair of pink sandal. Her toes are, somehow, tended beautifully.

Ezra nods, and uncrosses his arms.

“Can I sit here?” she points at the empty space next to Ezra, and her fingernail is pretty, too.

“Yeah.” Before this shit went down, Ezra didn’t think too much about girls in general. They’re alright. They’re easy on the eyes, they smelled fruity, and they seemed to favor his aloofness.

(Which was kinda ironic because his parents didn’t, thus Dr. Fulan.)

The pixie haired girl then plops down next to him, keeping a distance, and her smile is not blinding or what, but it’s a nice smile.

“Hi, I’m Pipit.”

“Ezra.”

Ezra doesn’t want to shake hands. The Virus, remember? Pipit raises an eyebrow as she pulls back her right hand with a giggle.

“What’s your story, Ezra?” she tilts her head and rests it on her folded knees.

“What do you mean?” Ezra has to readjust his handkerchief around his mouth so he can talk like a normal person.

"Who are you, why are you here, with whom, for how long... The usual.” Pipit smiles again, encouragingly.

"Me? I got here with the federal truck. They destroyed my home. I think I’ve been here for almost six weeks now.” Ezra says with a frown because if he were Pipit, he’s sure he wouldn’t want to know anything about himself.

“That sucks,” she shakes her head, and after a minute or two she bursts out laughing. “Don’t you wanna know about me?”

“Eh,” Ezra mumbles. “Go ahead, I guess.”

“Okay then, say it.”

“Say what?”

“The questions, of course!”

“What questions?”

“About me!”

Ezra can’t decide whether he’s annoyed or not interested, so he gets up and walks away.





T B C. . .


Friday, November 21, 2014

cerita zombi



* iseng. untitled kayak si april.
tapi cerita ini bisa jadi gua bikin serius sih.

setting di jakarta, sejauh ini.
ezra, tokoh utama kita, umurnya tujuh belas tahun. laki-laki. (kemungkinan) psikopat BAHAHAHAH maklum baru nonton film 'nightcrawler'.

eh apaan lagi ye.
semoga jadi bacaan yang kece.
dan bikin lo mikir.

emang sengaja cliffhanger, btw.
soalnya mentok segitu aja lol.
komen ye kalo udah baca xixixixixixi*





When this shit went down, Ezra was at school, sitting absentmindedly on his desk with nothing going on in his head while he was supposed to finish an assignment. He can’t remember what class it was, but he’s sure it was history.

He liked history.

Right now he can’t be absentminded anymore. If he so much loses concentration of whatever is going on around him, he’s going to be some zombies’ dinner. That would be stupid, because he’s survived this far, miles away from his home, smart enough not to make unnecessary noises and stabbing the zombies’ rotten brains with the broom’s handle, a stolen property from his classroom, at first, before switching to knives and a hammer. Besides, those zombies? They’re just stupid people getting killed for panicking and screaming and generally being useless. Ezra is not stupid. Sure the world is messed up, but he doesn’t want to die. He’s only seventeen.

And he’s alone.

Not that he’s complaining.

When this shit went down, he grabbed his bag and took the classroom’s one and only broom with him. Instead of rushing to the main gate to get back home along with hundreds of distressed fifteen to eighteen year olds, he went to the empty canteen, raided every packaged foods he could find, lots of plastic bags, and foolishly so, three bottles of mineral water. He swore he would pay for everything if the shit was only an issue. It isn’t, now, is it? So...

Ezra went home then, his motorcycle was brimmed with gas, but he stopped by the, again, emptied gas station and rummaged through for a tank. He filled two, and the main street was chaotic. People were rushing, private cars, public transportations, buses... all were honking impatiently. There were accidents, too. That made Ezra focused on his motorcycle, and soon enough he was at his housing complex, which was also chaotic because family cars were trying their fastest to get out of there. Ezra’s parents were at work, their offices were next to each other in the city central. They had phoned him and said they’d be home ASAP.

They never showed up.

When this shit went down, Ezra holed up in his two story, minimalistic home with all the doors locked and windows shut. He didn’t turn on any lights at night. He kept a backpack ready within his reach; clothes, foods, water, money, his mom’s jewelries, lighter, flash light, batteries, knives were—some still are—stuffed inside. He monitored the news on muted TV and his class’ group chat on social media, getting some vague information about taking shelter at the president palace or at the nearest police station, hospital, or just stayed home until further notice.

Ezra opted for the later until he got woken up by a blaring siren and a very, very loud vehicle stating that the area, including the housing complex, was going to be demolished in fifteen minutes. That all citizens still living in their houses to get on the federal trucks because they would be evacuated to a safer place.

Ezra remembers the news were speculating about The Virus. Don’t get bit, no matter what happens, they said. Aim for its brain, they advised. Symptoms include coughing, bluing skin and nails, reddened eyes, and pain electrocuting your whole body you’re going to have a hard time breathing. If one of your kins is having those symptoms, better get out before it’s too late, they insisted.

When a little kid sitting right behind the driver in the truck where Ezra was evacuated showed those symptoms, and her parents were looking extra guilty somehow, Ezra stood up and swayed, hauling his bag on his shoulders and ignoring the protest from the people around the cramped truck as he excused himself to move nearer to the door. He thought of asking the police officers assigned to guard their truck to get off, but he scolded himself because no way the little kid would turn any minute now. Besides, there was an annoying woman who kept on asking when were they going to arrive every goddamn second, and the police officers never got tired of telling her that they were only—

That’s when the screaming began.

Ezra remembers a blur of movements, then people shoving him to unlock the door and more unnecessary noises as the little kid chewed on her dad’s bloody arm. The convoy stopped, the police officers were ready with their guns, and when the leader commanded to take down the little kid her mom pleaded to spare her family’s lives. At that point her husband was surely going to turn, and the leader said they couldn’t take a risk.

What made Ezra wonder how fascinating everything is was the way the dad shook his head at his wife and climbed out of the truck holding his daughter tight so she wouldn’t attack the other citizens. He was crying, his wife was wailing, and then he walked away to the direction of a dark alley. The police officers urged them to get back into the truck, but they refused due to the blood on the floor. The leader instructed the floor to be splashed with water and Ezra sure as hell was not going to get back into that truck, hello, The Virus, and moved to the last truck of the convoy, stationing himself near the door again.




Wednesday, November 19, 2014

lol cerpen untitled




When April was fourteen, she had a boyfriend.
    
He was the head of the class; loud, with almost a constant laugh on his pleasant face and he was really terrible at math. April? April liked math, and so when he helped the math teacher to distribute last week's test results and saw April's glaring 95 score, he went to one knee right there and then next to April's desk and asked April to tutor him.

April shrugged. She had thought it'd be cool to befriend the all around nice guy every single girl in her class seemed to fancy, because at that time she didn't really feel anything about him and she also thought that his determination to get a better score at math was admirable.

One day, as they stayed in the library after school along with a bunch of solemn-looking ninth graders cramming for tryout, he whispered, "You're really different from any other girl."

April looked up from her notebook, eyebrows raised, a teasing smile her father always said will hit a boy in a tingly way was ready on her small mouth.

"How so?" she asked, genuinely curious and conscious that her navy blue tie was askew and her long hair was tied up messily.

"I don't know," he grinned sheepishly. "You're awesome."

"Thanks." She held up a thumb and continued to review what was taught in trigonometry just hours ago.

There was a pause.

"Hey, want to go to Mc Donald's?" he nudged April's shoes with his. "My treat."

"Nice." April nudged his shoes back. "Now?"

"Sure, only if you become my girlfriend." He was sitting across the table and he made a crooked, mismatched half-heart using his pens, a mechanic pencil, and a black eraser. He looked nervous when he threw his hands in the air and whispered again, "What do you say?"

April didn't need to think, this time. She pulled out her pens and pencils and completed the half-heart into a whole replica of what heart was supposed to look like.

She nudged his shoes again.

"I'm so happy right now!" he exclaimed, loud, like he’s supposed to be, and leaned forward to pinch the cleft of April’s chin affectionately.

THE END



Wednesday, July 30, 2014

sudah diputuskan

gue bakal pake 'scofield' buat pen name. wait for me on your nearest book stores.

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

#27 dongeng patah hati (ini judul buku bukan judul entri)


entri ini ditulis bukan untuk menyakiti beberapa oknum tertentu, kayaknya sih bukan. entri ini lebih menjurus ke sebuah "kritikan tak mendasar seorang penulis yang setelah karyanya sempat ditolak gagasmedia kemudian dia pikir dia getir sama penerbit itu padahal enggak sama sekali karena dia macho."

kira-kira begitu.

satu hal yang bisa gua simpulkan setelah membaca kumpulan cerpen dongeng patah hati (KCDPH) adalah betapa populernya sudut pandang orang pertama yang digunakan oleh 18 penulisnya. gua pernah nanya sama ichahoo dan yoyon tete kenapa mereka lebih milih pake 1st POV itu; soalnya jadi lebih gampang buat menyampaikan emosi si tokoh utamanya.

kalo gua sesungguhnya geli sama 1st POV. geli dikira pembaca gua sebagai penulis menginvestasikan separuh/seperempat/sepertiga diri ini ke dalam sudut pandang tokoh utama novelnya. cih. dan kadang gua sebagai pembaca, yah, gua emang sering curiga kalo memang begitulah yang dilakukan oleh penulis-penulis cerita teenlit tersebut. mereka curhat dengan sarana - dengan wadah yang tidak konvensional; melalui tokoh utama novel mereka. nih gua kasih muka si cony,

do you get my point? curhat. ew.

KCDPH gua beli (dan gua baca) semata buat ngeliat pasar penulis yang nembus penerbit gagasmedia karena sampul novel-novel dari gagasmedia selalu oke punya selalu keren dan jempolan pokoknya.

ahem.

setelah membaca KCDPH, ego gua sebagai penulis pun lumayan terhina. sehina nyaris semua cerpen yang ada di KCDPH, karena gua harus akui ada tiga/empat cerpen yang semestinya nggak disandingkan sama produk-produk hina di situ; semestinya tiga/empat cerpen itu punya buku sendiri, maksudnya. dan hina disini tentunya sesuai dengan standar hina yang bamby usung karena belum tentu kita punya standar hina yang sama; dan gua mau ulang sekali lagi, gua beneran terhina waktu ngebaca KCDPH.

gua mungkin nggak bisa terlalu sok kalo menyangkut soal plot, karena gua tau gua rada lemah di situ; terlebih plot cinta-cintaan antara cewek dan cowok. jadi yang bisa gua tekankan mengenai kenapa gua terhina itu…lebih ke gaya penceritaan dan pemilihan frase dan eksekusi plot mereka.

intinya, mereka nggak se-pro mbak anastasia aemilia penulis katarsis. kecuali yang tiga/empat cerpen itu.

gua nggak bilang gua pro. sejujurnya gua bingung bikin plot percintaan cewek dan cowok yang nggak klise dan nggak maksa dan nggak bikin pembaca bete kayak gua waktu baca KCDPH. lalu apakah gua lebih baik daripada mereka? nggak juga, karena mana bam lo seperti ngemeng doang nggak ada direalisasikan novel perdana lo itu. ah. kesal, mungkin? yaelah. terheran-heran? nah, bisa jadi gua terheran-heran. sampah begitu bisa diterbitin, di gagasmedia pula, sementara elo yang masih terbelenggu rasa heran itu bakal terus dibikin heran karena lo nggak juga bergerak dan menggebrak.

makasih, bam.





oh ya teman-teman ini ada cuplikan dari chapter satu novel gua yang kayaknya mau gua…nggak lanjutin soalnya ora ono tokoh ceweknya (maaf, kebiasaan akut yang tengah berusaha diubah, suwer).





Summary:
    Enggar pikir beginilah dia akan melewati usia tujuh belasnya; belajar untuk Ujian Nasional dan kadang-kadang nonton film di bioskop dan jogging keliling kompleks perumahannya sebelum adzan Subuh berkumandang.
    Enggar pikir, di usia tujuh belas, tidak akan ada apapun itu yang mampu mengalahkan kedahsyatan kematian mendadak adiknya tahun lalu.
    Tapi tentu saja bukan begitu aturan mainnya.




PENA Enggar terhenti di . setelah mengisi kolom Tempat/Tanggal lahir dengan Jakarta, 31 Desember 1995.

    Dia pikir ‘membaca’ atau ‘mendengarkan musik’ atau ‘basket’ atau ‘sepak bola’ atau ‘berenang’ atau ‘nonton film’ bukanlah kegiatan yang bisa dia tulis sebagai jawaban untuk kolom Hobi yang tertera pada formulir pengenalan diri yang dibuat oleh wali kelas barunya.

    Karena...yah. Karena mereka bukan hobinya. Dia hanya, seperti manusia pada umumnya, melakukan kesemuanya selama kurang lebih tujuh belas tahun hidupnya; begitu saja. Berulang-ulang. Beberapa memang mengharumkan namanya dan menghadiahinya trofi-trofi berkilauan, terpajang di rak kayu di ruang tamu rumahnya, tapi tidak ada gejolak berlebih yang lantas mentahbiskan salah satu dari sekian banyak kegiatan dalam kehidupan Enggar Ananta sebagai hobi.

    Enggar mengintip formulir pengenalan diri Stefan, teman sebangkunya yang sudah sampai pada kolom Universitas impianmu.
   
    Hobi: Fotografi, edit video, main gitar :)
    Universitas impianmu: UI Teknik Elektro. ITB.

    “Eits,” Stefan nyengir sambil menutupi formulir pengenalan dirinya dengan lengan dan bahu kanannya. Enggar tidak balas nyengir tapi justru menatap serius Stefan, terus menatap selama beberapa detik lebih lama, dan akhirnya kembali pada formulir pengenalan diri miliknya.

    “Kenapa?” Stefan mengangkat sebelah alisnya dan duduk rapi seperti semula. “Beginian nggak penting, ya?”

    Kali ini Enggar hampir nyengir.

    “Gue nggak sekeren yang Gallant bilang.”

    “Ah.” Stefan mengangguk maklum. “Emang dia tuh suka sama lo. Sedih banget nasib lo, Nggar.”

    “Asal dia seneng.”

    “Hahahanjirrr.”
   
    *

    Pada akhirnya Bu Rita memanggil Enggar ke Ruang Guru sepuluh menit sebelum bel istirahat kedua berbunyi. Beliau mempertanyakan kenapa Enggar mengosongkan kolom hobi, universitas impian, dan motto hidupnya.

    “Saya―” Enggar mengernyitkan alisnya pada setumpuk formulir pengenalan diri murid-murid kelas XII-A yang ada di meja kerja Bu Rita dan teringat bahwa Bu Rita adalah guru Bahasa Inggris berusia tiga puluhan yang baru saja menikah.

    “Just because, Ma’am.” Enggar tidak suka mengangkat bahu di saat dia tidak berminat untuk menjawab atau menimpali atau berinteraksi dengan orang lain―aspek krusial yang membuat Gallant yakin kalau dia adalah cowok ter-cool seantero jagad―karena buat Enggar, mengangkat bahu terkesan mendegradasi tingkat intelijensinya. Tapi dia juga tahu tidak menjawab pertanyaan Bu Rita barusan adalah sikap tidak sopan yang bisa saja menjadi stereotip yang akan Bu Rita hadiahkan untuknya selama beliau menjadi wali kelasnya.

    Jadi, menjawab dengan subjek yang adalah bidang utama Bu Rita menjadi pilihannya. Dia menambahkan, berharap terdengar cukup demokratis, “No reason.”

    “Alright,” nada bicara Bu Rita terdeteksi geli-namun-tertarik, “would you like any help to determine your field of interest?”

    “That would be―” alunan Fur Elise dari Beethoven memotong kesediaan Enggar menerima bantuan Bu Rita. Satu menit lamanya Enggar mengedarkan pandangannya ke seluruh sudut Ruang Guru.

    “Gimana?” Bu Rita masih tersenyum dan Enggar mengangguk singkat. “Nice! Kalo kamu udah siap, langsung aja konsultasi sama Ibu, oke?” Enggar mengangguk lagi secara otomatis.

    Seolah memahami kebisuan dan kedataran wajah Enggar adalah murni, beliau dengan ceria mempersilakan Enggar untuk menikmati waktu istirahat.

    Enggar mengucapkan terima kasih, mengantongi kedua tangannya di saku celana ketika berjalan menuju pintu, dan mendapati Gallant, Stefan, dan Ical sudah menantinya di koridor.

    “Kenapa, bro?” Stefan mengedikkan kepalanya ke arah Ruang Guru.

    Enggar menggumam.

    Gallant tidak membuang waktunya untuk segera merangkul bahu Enggar, lengkap dengan senyuman genit mengerikan yang tidak pernah absen membuat Ical terkikik dan Stefan menjulingkan matanya.

    “Kangen deh sama Enggar,” kata Gallant.

    (Enggar yang minggu lalu akan menghempaskan rangkulan Gallant tanpa ampun, tapi ketika menyadari resistansinya hanya membuat jeritan-jeritan fansclub Gallant(1) semakin menjadi, dia pikir mungkin tidak ada salahnya untuk ikut andil dalam Permainan Homo-Homoan ini.

    Ini baru hari Senin, minggu ketiganya menjadi murid kelas dua belas, dua hari yang lalu dia dan Gallant masih pergi Jum’atan bareng. Siapa yang bakal keluar jadi pemenangnya, bahkan seorang Enggar yang-katanya-Gallant-itu-cool pun penasaran.)

    “Kok lo nggak nyikut gue, Nggar?” Gallant menghentikan langkahnya. “Biasanya, harusnya, gue udah kena sikut lo dan gue sok mewek. Sementara elo dengan kerennya nyuekin gue,” dia memeriksa suhu badan Enggar, “lo nggak sakit, kan?”

    Stefan menggeleng-gelengkan kepalanya. Ical menertawakan Stefan yang entah kenapa sangat terganggu dengan Permainannya Gallant.

    “Harusnya lo bisa terima gue apa adanya,” Enggar melingkarkan lengannya ke pinggang Gallant. Pose mereka cukup malu-maluin karena mereka berdiri sama tinggi, dan Stefan dan Ical mulai menjauhi mereka secara konstan. Koridor lantai satu masih dibanjiri lautan siswa dan siswi kelaparan yang bereksodus ke kantin, dan tak lama, teman-teman Gallant dari kelas lain yang kebetulan melihat―dari kelas sepuluh sampai dua belas karena Gallant adalah Cowok Paling Populer, Supel, Humoris, dan Jangan Lupa Ganteng―bersiul-siul iseng diikuti dengan cekikikan cewek-cewek fans beratnya Gallant.

    (Biasanya, harusnya, Enggar tidak suka dengan keramaian―terlebih menjadi pusat perhatian―tetapi melihat Gallant yang pembawaannya nyantai mendadak gelagapan, yah. Lumayan lah.)

    “Anjir anjir,” Stefan mendorong Gallant lepas dari pelukan Enggar. “Anjir, kenapa gue punya temen goblok-goblok gini?!”

    “Stefan trauma kayaknya.” Ical dengan damai berkomentar, dan Gallant menyikutnya. “Aw! Nggar, pacar lo nakal nih!” Ical mencibir, tapi dia lari mencari perlindungan di balik badan Enggar ketika Gallant mengangkat tangannya lagi.

    “Njir, Cal, lo jangan ikut-ikutan!” Stefan membelalakkan matanya.

    “Sakit njir...” Ical mengelus-elus dadanya sebelum dia tancap gas ke kios nasi kuning yang berada di ujung kantin.

    Mereka berempat mengantri di sana; Stefan sibuk dengan ponselnya, Ical bercanda dengan ibu penjual, dan Gallant menepis semua gosip yang dilontarkan padanya dengan senyuman paling memikat yang sering dia gunakan sementara Enggar diam tepat di hadapannya. Berani taruhan, Gallant tidak akan pernah kapok dengan tingkahnya yang memang layak menjadi bahan gosip satu sekolah, dia hanya sedikit terkejut terkait seberapa kooperatifnya Enggar tadi.

    Mereka mendapat meja kosong di dekat kios nasi kuning tersebut, dan benar saja, Gallant duduk di sebelah Enggar; menggeser bangku plastiknya sepersekian senti lebih dekat lagi sampai kedua lengan mereka bertempelan. Enggar kidal, Gallant tidak, dan sepertinya Gallant cukup senang dengan ketidaknyamanan yang diciptakannya.

    “Anjir.” Stefan menciduk sesendok nasi kuning dengan kekuatan yang tidak perlu. Ical dengan acuh menambahkan sambal kacang banyak-banyak ke piringnya.

    “Ini makhluk mulutnya perlu dipasang filter,” Gallant berkata prihatin, “Fan, kenapa sih lo bete banget kalo liat gue mesra sama Enggar?”

    “Anjirrr...” Stefan menarik napas dalam-dalam, tetapi tidak terpancing oleh keabsurd-an yang di otak Gallant adalah topik yang tepat untuk membuka obrolan ringan di siang hari.

    “Kalo gue nggak tau lo naksir berat sama Maya gue ngeliatnya lo jeles karena gue mesra banget sama temen sebangku lo.” Ical menyambut ajakan tos dari Gallant dan Stefan membuat tanda salib dengan terburu-buru, kemungkinan besar berdoa tidak ada seorang pun yang mendengar ocehan Gallant tentang Maya atau berdoa agar dikuatkan imannya supaya dia tidak membunuh Gallant dengan garpu yang dicengkeramnya.

    Enggar menonton teman-temannya bertingkah, karena kalau Gallant adalah leader nyeleneh mereka dan Stefan adalah Si Kurang-lebih Normal dan Ical punya Mental Anak TK, maka Enggar adalah Penonton Setia yang masih belum paham alasan kenapa Gallant, Stefan, dan Ical tiba-tiba mendatanginya di hari pertama mereka menjadi teman sekelas dan mengajaknya jajan di kantin bersama. Bahkan Stefan―setelah kalah main hompimpa―menawarkan diri menjadi teman sebangkunya Enggar dan membawakannya amplang keesokan harinya.

    (Enggar punya beberapa teori Kenapa. Mungkin dirinya terlihat nelangsa sendirian mendengarkan musik di iPodnya, duduk diam di bangku barisan paling belakang kelas XII-A yang ramai oleh jeritan-jeritan senang asyik-kita-sekelas-lagi! Mungkin Stefan yang memang datang terlambat tidak kesampaian bertempur untuk mencari bangku dan/atau teman sebangku yang bukan orang asing, dan hanya Enggar yang tersisa. Mungkin Gallant benar-benar suka padanya? Ha ha.)

    Enggar mengerjapkan matanya ketika ada sesendok penuh nasi kuning datang dari arah Gallant, yang tengah tersenyum penuh harap. Dari sudut matanya, Enggar melihat Ical menodongkan iPhone berhiaskan stiker Shaun the Sheep milik Gallant di udara, siap mengabadikan momen yang hanya bisa terjadi kalau saja tidak ada seseorang yang menyenggol badan Enggar sampai dagunya terantuk sendok yang akhirnya jatuh ke lantai kantin.









(1)
adjective: |ˈgalənt| (of a person or their behavior) brave, heroic.

noun: a dashing man of fashion, a fine gentleman.


















gimana, sodara-sodara, cuplikan novel-yang-kayaknya-kurang-potensial-buat-pasar-indonesia punya gua? komentarnya ditunggu; masukan, kritik, ih bam keren, dan saran.

atau apa gitu kue gua juga mau.

p.s. itu judulnya "anak laki-laki" dan gallant bukan tokoh utama keduanya. sayangnya. haha.







Monday, June 10, 2013

#26 katarsis, sebuah novel oleh anastasia aemilia


gua akhirnya menemukan sebuah novel indonesia yang nyaris sempurna.
sempurna sesuai selera gua, maksudnya.



gua baca novel ini tadi siang. 261 halaman gua abisin dalam waktu kurang lebih tiga jam. gua nggak niat buat baca dengan khusyuk, cuma "ah beberapa chapter aja sabi terus bab 1," tapi lol. bab 1 apa?



dari profil singkat penulis, dikatakan kalo mbak anastasia awalnya pengen jadi seorang travel writer tapi banting setir jadi penulis psychology thriller dan bangke emang katarsis beneran novel psychology thriller yang gua kasih 4,5 bintang dari 5 bintang.

ini dia beberapa alasan solid kenapa katarsis cocok sama bamby;

1. gaya penulisan mbak anastasia.

gua baca katarsis layaknya baca novel terjemahan, lo bakalan bisa banget membedakan gaya nulisnya mbak anastasia versus novel teenlit yang belom lama ini gua baca (dan bakal gua angkat jadi topik besok). usut punya usut, mbak anastasia ternyata udah kerja lama di GPU (gramedia pustaka utama) sebagai penerjemah dan editor. dahsyat gan.

    "Tubuhku tak bisa merasakan luka. Tapi setiap mendengar psikiater itu menyebut nama Tara, atau ketika mendengar Tara menyebut nama Alfons di peron pagi itu dan meminta izin padanya untuk makan malam bersamaku, aku mulai mengerti dengan apa yang dimaksud ibuku soal kebahagiaan yang getir. Asalnya bukan dari luka-luka di lenganku, tapi di sini, di dadaku. Aku membenci rasa itu, tapi juga sedang menikmatinya." (hal. 186)

    "Dia benar. Biasanya polisi selalu benar. Dan kalau tidak benar, biasanya mereka keras kepala dan sok tahu, dan lama-lama menjadi benar. Tapi mungkin dia benar." (hal. 232)


buat gua yang kalo baca novel indonesia seriusan milih-milih alias high maintenance baik dari segi cerita, gaya penulisan, dan keseluruhan novel itu sendiri, well, katarsis jelas nomor satu. 5cm? lewat. dan hujan pun berhenti? nyampah.

2. karakter utamanya.

adalah cewek belia. tara johandi. digambarkan cantik berambut panjang dengan pipi berlesung pipit yang sayangnya memudar. didiagnosis sebagai sosiopat/psikopat yang nggak bisa berempati, pintar membaca suasana dan karenanya jago ngibul, kejam, smart, sepanjang cerita beneran nggak minta dimanja/berharap ada orang yang 'mengerti' dirinya, sinting, dan pada intinya dia adalah gambaran ideal tokoh utama cewek yang semestinya bisa muncul di novel-novel gua. oke, mungkin nggak separah tara, tapi kurang lebihnya begitulah kawan-kawan. haha.

tapi gua pikir apa yang lo barusan baca nggak mampu mendeskripsikan seberapa unbelievable-nya si tara ini. lo harus baca sendiri biar lo bisa paham. dan ini gua yang ngomong, gua. yang alergi punya tokoh utama cewek di novel yang gua tulis sendiri, jadi tara yang berhasil bikin gua memuji dirinya, well lo beneran harus baca katarsis.

3. efek tak kasat mata yang gua dapatkan.

darah. daging yang busuk. tulang patah. penggambaran adegan-adegan sadis yang detail dan nyaris―nyaris―bikin gua yang macho ini ngilu. dan itu tadi. nuansa kelam sepanjang cerita yang nggak bisa lepas selama gua membaca katarsis. dari sudut pandang gua sebagai penulis (ayo semuanya bilang amin), kalo lo bisa ngejaga satu sensasi tertentu ketika lo baca sebuah buku―sensasi yang langsung menyergap lo dari halaman-halaman awal buku sampai halaman terakhirnya―anjir itu yang namanya penulis berhasil, konsisten, profetetesional, dan jelas tau banget dia lagi ngapain.

mbak anastasia tau dia itu nulis novel psychological thriller, dan emang ada percikan romansa yang dia sisipkan, tapi bahkan romansa―yang selalu manusia cari dimanapun, dalam bentuk apapun, dan kadang justru ngerusak plot―romansa yang ada di katarsis ini pun sifatnya destruktif, bung. destruktif, posesif, berada di luar batas nalar lo soal romansa yang biasa lo baca di novel-novel teenlit iya gua lagi sarkas.

4. sampul depan.

ya maksud gua, lo tau lah biasanya sampul depan novel-novel indonesia terbitan GPU seringnya menjurus alay, norak, bikin mata bete. tapi katarsis? lo liat kan itu ada anak kecil cewek ngangkat boneka yang kepalanya copot? nah, itu dia.

5. alur.
mbak anastasia. ah gua jadi pengen kenalan sama embak. sayang dia nggak mencantumkan email atau FBnya. diri ini ingin banyak bertanya padamu, mbak anastasia. haha.
so. alurnya.
cepat, dinamis, nggak bertele-tele, jelas, dan melompat-lompat dari present time ke past - dan waktu ganti bagian (bukan chapter), ternyata point of view-nya pindah ke tokoh cowok utama bernama ello. dan ada chapter yang beneran selang-seling dari tara > ello > tara > ello lagi. 4,5 bintang gua nggak sia-sia.

6. judulnya.

katarsis. kata serapan dari bahasa inggris catharsis yang lumrahnya diterjemahkan sebagai suatu bentuk pelepasan emosi yang ditumpuk-tumpuk dengan cara entah mecahin piring, meninju tembok, berteriak di ruangan kosong, atau kalo sampai tingkat ekstrem ya mungkin bunuh orang atau menyayat pergelangan tangan.
satu kata aja itu judul novelnya mbak anastasia. katarsis. udah gitu doang. tapi wooow nggak sanggup lah silakan baca artikel ini, http://youarenotsosmart.com/2010/08/11/catharsis/







gua bilang katarsis ini nyaris jadi novel sempurna. nyaris. berikut beberapa alasan kontradiktif buat pujian-pujian di atas;

a. psikiater-nya si tara, namanya alfons, diceritakan punya tunangan. tapi cuma muncul sekitar dua paragraf dan nggak pernah disebut-sebut lagi padahal (spoiler, sori nih) si alfons m_ _ _ woy. sebagai tunangan bukannya doi kudu nangis meraung raung mempertanyakan dan heboh sana sini. tapi mana doi nggak muncul sama sekali tuh padahal pemberitaan kem_ _ _an alfons semerbak di media. dan nggak ada isyarat kalo alfons memutuskan tali pertunangan atau gimana.

b. daun mint yang fungsinya apaan nggak jelas. apakah aromanya bisa menyamarkan bau daging busuk termutilasi di gudang rumah lo?
air putih menyegarkan yang selalu alfons kasih ke tara, apa gunanya? apakah itu air putih biasa? tapi kenapa selalu diceritakan dengan detil di setiap kali tara meminumnya? jangan-jangan air putih itu ramuannya si alfons biar tara waras?

c. plotnya.
lo boleh panggil gua sok (biar sepakat sama mami gua), tapi plot katarsis ini ketebak. buat gua yang sedari jaman jahiliyah udah melahap novel-novel agatha christie, katarsis...yah...sebenernya biasa aja kalo yang nulis bukan si mbak anastasia yang notabene adalah orang indonesia. tapi karena yang nulis adalah orang indonesia (plus enam poin di atas)―4,5 bintang bukanlah sesuatu yang berlebihan buat katarsis.

d. alasan tara membenci orang tua kandungnya sendiri.
katarsis ditulis pake point of view orang pertama, pake "aku", dan harusnya kalo pake POV begini si tara bisa  menceritakan jauh lebih dalam lagi kenapa dia benci namanya sendiri, tara, yang adalah gabungan dari tari dan bara; mama dan papanya.

kalo soal kecenderungan psikopat/sosiopatnya si tara, udah keliatan dari waktu dia berumur lima tahun, tapi kenapa―seriusan tete ayam―kenapa dia benci mamanya yang lembut itu? yang dia b_ _ _ h di tangga rumahnya itu? papanya sempat disebut "memukuli mamanya", oke fine, gua bisa terima, tapi terus apaan? (soalnya diceritakan sambil lalu aja, perihal papanya memukuli mamanya. kurang detail. atau emang si mbak anastasia sengaja nggak membeberkannya?).

menurut gua, isu ini harusnya bisa digali lagi - atau bahkan dieksploitasi sebagai titik nol latar belakang tara si sosiopat/psikopat. untung aja (maklum gua pembaca high maintenance) si tara nggak pernah bersikap kayak cewek-cewek korea yang melenguh manggil "oppa" mereka pake suara sengau menggelikan. untung aja.










apa lagi yang bisa gua bilang tentang katarsis? bahwasanya masih ada novel indonesia yang nyaris sempurna buat selera sok high maintenance gua? bahwasanya bamby bisa bikin entri berkualitas macam bedah/review buku kayak gini yang mungkin bisa menyelamatkan muka logikatanpacela dan mungkin mengantarkan bamby ke takhta pemenang kompetisi 31 hari menulis? haha.

oke besok gua bakal bedah/review novel teenlit keluaran gagasmedia yang pernah bikin gua memaki di status FB dan BBM. besok.

sekian dulu.






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