ABHIMANYU WORLD

Chapter XIX: The Bald Monster

Since being ridiculed as ‘malas’ by Mr. Anto Darsono, lecturer of image duty, the spirit of what was once warm chicken shit has now begun to flare up. I'll prove him wrong. I'm not as lazy as he thinks. Self-esteem feels denigrated by that name.

From childhood, you never taught to laze. There's no lazy word in my dictionary or hanging someone else. Everything has to be done on its own while you can. Abstinence from bothering others.

When I was eight years old when my peers were playing football, I was living in a cage with cows. Maybe that's where my madness comes from.

I don't know what kind of madness, I started talking to the cows. No matter they just answer with a sigh, millions of words remain kuobral. Once again, the beloved cows were just moaning.

Its chat themes. Starting from the light to the heavy. From hobby to philosophy of life. In fact, the cows I listed as one of my best friends. Maybe this sounds crazy.

I don't give a shit.

That afternoon, my mother suddenly brought back news about the cows. The phone rang as I was busy working on the drawing task in the deserted image lab.

“Bi, mom wants to sell her cows huh?” said mother.

I put down the drawing pen. There was a struggle to give the cows a drink. Not a trivial thing. Her fragrant tail made me full before enjoying lunch. Especially when the cows take a shower.

Prepare your best mentally or you will feel the torment of a painful world.

Now, my mom says the cows are going to be sold. Of course this makes me a little upset. Don't you know the source of my madness comes from the cow?

“Why sale, Mak? Do you need money?” my many.

“Not need money. But even pity the cows - no one has taken care of since your father died,” continued the mother.

“Asks who please no yes, Mak.”

“Current children on styles. Where to take care of cows?”

“Ya don't sell all to, Mak. We keep it from small. Baby right?”

“Yo wes..”

Mom closed the conversation. A little relieved. At least the fireplace problem can not interfere with concentration to complete the drawing task that has passed this deadline.

I realized, as far as I could tell, that even if I completed this drawing task on time, the inhumane insults of the heartless Mr. Anto Darsono would still heat my ears.

Secretly, I thought evil. Maybe the lecturer had a problem with his family or got social bullying with his balding that is not at all fashionable?

I don't know.

I looked at the clock on the wall of the laboratory. It's approaching 22:00. There are no Homo sapiens in this place. The quiet atmosphere of the laboratory, flew my fantasy to the horror stories carried by Farhan. One of them was a wrinkled-faced girl. The sound of crickets in the swamps adds to the horror of the atmosphere.

Maybe I should go home.

I hurriedly tidied up my drawing equipment. It must be very nice if tonight can take a warm bath, drink a cup of hot ginger, listen to the golden voice of Phill Collins, and enjoy the smile of Lusi that is not easily removed from the mind. His charms still tear down souls. Even as this heart is surrounded by a wall as solid as the Bastille Fortress, it will also melt into pieces.

The eyes of Lusi who was as sharp as an eagle were able to tear my heart apart. Her graceful and intelligent attitude could not compare to any girl.

Especially Dahlia.

Imagine that!

Though, what less good is Dahlia to me? Like the word that Dahlia I told jump into the well he must obey my will. Unfortunately until now still wondering about what Dahlia's motive really is? Does he really like unpopular guys like me?

I'm not sure.

My detective's soul is in revolt. With a spirit like Sherlock Holmes, starting from the beginning we met at the Language Headquarters some time ago. There was not a single hint of feeling that I would be this close to Dahlia.

Or perhaps, Dahlia was aware that it was rare for a man to be interested in her that she made me the last port? Than no one wants to be with him?

If that's true, unfortunately my fate is Gusti....

In short, Larasati is the perfect role model for typical housewives.

Which one did I choose?

Live first all three, off one by one. It will hurt, but what is my power is just an innocent man who is too naive to demand perfectionism in the affairs of a mate.

***

“Lumayan compared to yesterday! But there is still a lot of wrong and it needs to be fixed. A job like this is still not worthy of B!”

Mr. Anto Darsono carefully observes my drawing duties. I sat tensely like a patient. This hand suddenly froze. Urgent-village urinary sacs ask to be emptied. This face lowered, and mentally had dropped first to thousands of feet at the bottom of the ocean.

Then sadistically doodled the drawing paper, no matter how full of struggle I was on the task.

“You must have been working overtime on this. Right?” guess Mr. Anto Darsono.

I'm nodding.

“I'm quite appreciative of your duty this time. While the tasks that were yesterday are not worthy of being called tasks. Random and reflecting the laziness of students,” his sermons.

I'm stuck. A little sleepy to hear his chatter more boring than Mario Teguh.

“Where are you anyway?” inquiringly.

“Jombang, Sir.” I replied timidly.

“Pantes. Ndeso!” his ridicule with a sinister smile was painful.

Can't I throw this ashtray in your balding, sir? My inner.

The rather painful interview made my hatred for Mr. Anto Darsono even more ingrained. Who is that fool? What does city origin have to do with someone's laziness? I really want to refute his argument by giving an example of several global ndeso figures.

Please open the biography of JK Rowling, Gregor Mendel, Oprah Winfrey, or even President Soekarno! Less ndeso what are they?

Know what a bald monster is about ndeso?

As usual, the ice beans worth of the bell will cool my body that feels heavy. Darwis took me to the central library, but I refused. Notifications of messages from Dahlia I ignored. Just want to focus on the future. Undeniably, the affairs of these girls a little draining concentration, so the task of the image is metered.

It would take at least three days to refine that image task, with overtime in the image lab. I even had to stay there last night. It doesn't matter that I've been hugged by a wrinkled-faced girl all night!

I don't give a shit!

My pride has just been trampled on and I can't keep it. But since I couldn't finish on my own, I had to wail to Darwis to help me.

“My image is not good either, Bi! You're wrong,”.

“Then I asked who did you help, Dar?” whinek.

“There's the heck I'm an acquaintance, but it's not free.”

“You mean, paid?”

“Iya. You want?”

In the past, I was being very idealistic. I don't like cheating things like this. But my fate is now like an egg on the tip of a horn. Self-esteem is at stake. I want to disagree with the proposal from Darwis. By weighing various things, officially my drawing task is done by others in exchange for some money.

Actually, financial matters are my most complex problems. Extraordinary things like this could cause a prolonged monetary crisis in my wallet.

Ah, but is there Dahlia?

***