June 2007

What's it like to be me

Fiction Friday: Pick a mythical person or creature (e.g., Santa, Thor, Easter Bunny), and explain through dialogue, essay, or anything else, why they are unhappy with their job or position in life.

Over the clouds and into the blue sky, I fly. Though it's only Tuesday, the muscles in my arms are weak. And yet I have to do this today. The 747 is in trouble. I knew the moment I heard the the plane make those awful sounds. Even from thousands of miles away. I was busy trying to write a story about a family and their tragic loss of their father in a car accident - which as I find out wasn't an accident. Good thing I type fast.

There's the plane. The enormous size did not scare me. I knew I could do. Wish I didn't have to. If only they had check the plane more thoroughly before take off. Are they trying to keep me in the 'saving-people' business? Looking at the plane, I felt a sudden urge to yell at them for being careless. Just like humans to be in a rush. I move closer to the plane and signal the pilots hello. I smile casually and pretend there is nothing to worry about. I move to the side of the plane and begin to life it up, high above my shoulders. Going back down to the ground, I search for an empty field. There on the left, a farm. The green grass shine brightly in the afternoon sunlight.

The plane took up almost the entire field, landing on the corn crops. I had no choice but to leave them there. My only job was putting them safety somewhere, not to do all the work for them. If I do then what would be the purpose of their existent? Father told me not to interfere but I felt otherwise and yet I did try my best not to do all the work for them. If I can save them, then I will. Who knows what my purpose is? My earth parents had been really good to me, taught me to be useful and never do anyone harm. I should always try my best even if no one knows it.

I wave goodbye at the faces in the window and fly up into the sky. I can hear their voices talking all at once. It was a good sound to hear but once again, no face to face talking, no close contacts. I know better than to stick around. All those reports questioning me, one in particular would have a field day if she knew who I was. To her I was just a reporter who has good manners with an awkward, clumsy way of behaving.

Pain shoot through my arms as I land at my apartment roof. Saving people is one thing but try doing my other job as a normal human being - is another thing. It's a harder job. I'm pretending, and yet a part of me is not. Yes, I like writing and telling other people's stories. But it never get any notice. The part of me that is out saving people - that's the part that gets notice. How I wish I can just be myself. You know, save a couple of people and then do a report on "why the police corruption went unnoticed" - the kind of human interest stories that I like to write. Saving people can put a strain on myself, even if myself consist of two people. One part of me loves doing it, the other parts of me wish I wouldn't be able to do it. You might say I have a multiple-personality complex. Somehow things just kind of work out and I always end up where I was before - a hero to some and a ordinary guy to others.

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Fading

tucking and pulling
this shirt, the edges frail and loose
long and close to my knee
covering parts of me
hidden away in the large shirt left by another
pulling away at the pieces, one by one
until there are no more strings to pull
nearly gone now
the crisscross blue pattern fading away
what's left is a little bits of him
his scent still linger inside the collars,
the buttons, loosen with threads sticking out
still shine brightly
still I wear it
every day
cold or hot
rain or shine
the scent now fading with time
still linger
forever with me

Smoke

It was a track fire. Someone had throw a cigarette onto the tracks from above the streets. The vents were open that day. It was Monday morning, and as usual, it was crowded on the subway. A man and his daughter were waiting for the train to arrive. It was quiet for a moment and then smoke came out of no where. People started to panic. There were screams everywhere. The man hand on to his daughters hand tightly, afraid she might disappear among the smoke and crowd. People were rushing in every direction. The smoke grew thicker. The man grabbed his daughter and held her in his arms. She was not breathing very well. Her asthma was causing her breathing to be erratic.

He slowly move around the crowd. The exit sign glowed in the smoke but there were too many people rushing towards it. The man went the other direction, to the other side of the platform. There, also are many people but the man manage to move among them. His daughter now heavy in his arms, has her eyes half close. He held her face against him as to shield her from the smoke. It was useless. Her eyes were closed now. The man tried once again to move among the crowd.

The smell was devastating and smoke were appearing everywhere. People all around him was either coughing or making strange, whimpering sounds. He looked around but found no one who can help him. His daughter was now unconscious in his arms. He felt helpless and wish the clouds around him were to vanish.

At last the smoke clear up a little and he saw a line of people in police uniforms motioning people to go a certain direction. He walk towards them. At last the exit was clearing. He follow other people out of the subway and out into the streets. There were emergency cars in every direction. Paramedic were treating people in various state of consciousness. He walk over to a woman with a stethoscope around her neck and asked her if she can check his daughter. She was breathing slowly in his arms. He was afraid he might lose her. Tears streak down his face as he speak. 'Help' he said over and over. He place his daughter in the paramedic's arms and collapsed into unconsciousness.

When he woke, he found his daughter awake and smiling at him from across the ambulance with a mask covering her mouth. The vehicle was moving. He held out his hand to her and felt her warm hands in his. He can relax now. Now that his family is safe.

I have a secret...

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I have a secret. There's no one to tell it to but myself. In my darkest hour, I would dream of that person who I would tell this secret to and what his reply would be. In my dream he would smile and say something so wonderful that I my heart would burst into a giant firework display for all to see. Everything would be great. But that was just a dream.

For him, his dream was in a different place. But he said he had thought it through. He has make his decision. He wants to marry her. And he's moving to California with her. Her family's rich and he's going to work in her family business. He had said those words with a smile on his face. Not a happy smile but a sad one. He had looked down on the linoleum floor of the mall. The patterns were triangular and dirt has filled the gaps. He was shuffling his boots from one triangle to another. His hands tuck into his jean's pocket. He looks up and straight at my left shoulder as he speaks. He wanted to said goodbye and thank me for being such a great friend. He also said he had always admired me and that he's grateful that I had helped him these past three years. I said it was no problem, he's my friend. I was glad I could help him. His last words were, 'Bye.' Just before he leave, he had looked into my eyes. He then walked off casually. Standing there at the mall with hundreds of other people watching. That was where we said our goodbyes. It was normally the place where he would treated me to lunch. This time it was just another place to said goodbye to an old friend.

That was his way. He didn't want to make a fuss. He didn't want any tearful goodbyes. It was true I was just a good friend. He had often said if I was a blond he'll probably go out with me. I wasn't his type or the girl of his dream. I wasn't someone who takes risk or had any spontaneous urges to jump out of airplanes or climb mountains. I don't have a fortune to my name. I don't drive. I don't have any families or friends to speak of. I just have a desk job and a crumbly apartment building that was left to me by my grandmother.

For the three years that I have known him, he never once said thank you or ask how I was feeling. I was never ask and I never brought it up. Now he's gone and I am left with nothing but my memories even if they were not particularly good memories. I had shelter and let him stay at one of the apartment without paying rent. I bought him groceries and helped him do his laundry. Occasionally we hang out at the laundry mat and speak of our childhood or our future plans. I didn't have much to said. He did most of the talking.

He asked for favors and I gladly helped him. He was always talking about getting rich and living the luxurious lifestyle. He often gamble on horses and lost many card games. His get-rich schemes never seem to work. He often came to my apartment all beaten up, sometimes even bleeding from places you never thought he could. After I brought him back to health, he would just left and start whatever mess he can get himself into. He always said he would pay me back for the rents but he never did. He often gave me small tokens - as 'gift of appreciations' he said. Little tokens like a tiny statue of an angel and a music box with a ballet dancer. He once brought me a new television set but then he was the one that broke my old one. Memories, what are they good for now?

To no one, is who I will tell these things to. What would it matter now that he's gone. I can only speak out loud what I could not said when that person's gone from my heart and mind. Even thousands of miles of space separate us cannot change the feelings that I have bottle inside me. For now, it is just another hurdle I need to get over.

Watching

Monday morning seems like such a pain. People jam themselves into trains and suddenly forgetting their manners. The guy in front of her seem to be reading some mystery novel and the guy behind her had his backpack close to her head. The woman with the extremely large bag stand so close, she can see her fake eyelashes. Riding the R train, the girl try to make space for other passengers. The train stop dead forcing people to shift forward bumping into each other. The guy reading the mystery novel brush against the girl, "Sorry" he said. She nod her head with a slight smile, hair falling into her face.

The guy is good looking with pale skin and a very nice smile. She can see his shiny white teeth for a brief second when he apologize. She can smell her after-shave. He went back to reading his book. The girl stare at him, forgetting where she was. How lovely his skin is - smooth and tan, just like those romance novels. The girl quickly shake herself out of her thoughts. How foolish to think of someone you don't even know. Yet she couldn't help herself as she stare at the side of his face. He turn around, letting someone move, facing her now, his nice, clean left hand holding on to the pole. The same pole her right hand is holding onto. Now his hand was only a few inches above from hers. She look down at his shoes. She didn't want him to think she was staring. He didn't even look up from his book as the train move, stop. In the motionless train, the girl try her best not to think negative thoughts. She stare down at her own shoes, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

The train started again this time moving people backward with a jolt. She grab onto his arm impulsively. Balancing herself, so as not to fall onto anyone. "Sorry" she said as she remove her hand from his arm. The guy said nothing. Another jolt and the girl falls into the guy's arm, apologize to him. He help her stand up. "Thanks" she said. Adjusting her coat and bag, the girl wish to say something else to him but could not think of anything. He nod his head in acknowledgment. She grab on to the pole. The train's moving in a steady pace now. Then stop. Once again the train move then stop. The girl was restless wanting to run away and forget about going to work. What's there for me anyway? She held on to the pole even though the train is not moving.

There was no talking. Quiet swept over the train. The distance sound of a moving train is the only sound that seem to be present. The girl look around her and back at the guy. The guy is still reading his novel. The guy was wearing a brown leather jacket and white Nike sneakers with faded blue jeans and a crisp white shirt. His hair is comb back, slick and smooth. He read with an intense look on his face, engross in the book. The girl try not to stare at him but could not help herself. She thought of talking to him or at least maybe stand closer to him. She quickly abandon those thoughts. How foolish, why would he talk to her, she thought. Her purse her lips together, she decide to forget it and stare up at the advertisement. Finally the train started to move again. The girl watch the guy as the guy walk out of the train at the next stop. She stare at the back of his head. The girl sigh thinking she will never see him again.

Bad News

Fiction Friday: Write the first thing that comes to mind when you read this line: Bad news cures all things.

If there is bad news, why would it cure anything at all? Oh, we all panic whenever there's something bad coming our way. The run to the drug store in the middle of the night, the 911 calls that doesn't get through, the constant sirens that rung in the middle of the night. All these can be a headache when you haven't slept in three days.

Robert was trying his best to forget the news he heard today. Even if it affected him so much that he almost broke down in tears right in front of the whole police station. Instead he walked quickly towards the locker room and sat there on the bench for two hours straight. No one talked to him. No one came to said they're sorry. It was what he wanted them to do. Leave him alone with his thoughts and maybe he can get through the rest of the day or maybe the rest of the week.

As he sat there thinking about his father, Robert couldn't decided who he should call first. His sister or his mother. It was all he could think of at that moment. His wife, oh, how he wish he had not agreed on the divorce. At least they had no kids. Alone in the locker, Robert thoughts drift towards his father. He was always a tough man to understand. He was very strict and demanded many things from his two children. Robert and his sister, Catherine got along very well but still they aren't particularly close. Many times they don't even speak to each other unless there was a problem. Usually there was none. Their father was a man of many talents but communicating wasn't one of them. Many times Robert and his sister were taught things from their father, many things that they do not understand but kept quiet so that their father would not think less of them. Even as adults with limited successes, their father still would not acknowledge they had accomplished anything. There was no pleasing him. Now, all these memories seem so distant to Robert. He had hope to make captain this year but the test did not came soon enough.

Robert had called his sister about the news with shaking hands. He can hear his nephew and niece on the other line. His sister grew quiet but there was no sobbing. They hung up without a word. Robert decided to take the rest of the week off. He told his boss and he had understood.

Now here in his apartment, at 3 am, Robert wonders how he's ever going to get any sleep. With the constant sirens passing by and the neighbors screaming, it was hard to get any sleep. Laying in bed, Robert try once again to sleep.

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The sky girl

Going down is easy, landing is the hardest part. Looking down at the tiny world, Anne felt a sudden rush of adrenaline straight through her heart. Her head was spinning and her hand was shaking as she held onto the rail. At the edge she felt a sudden fear. What was she thinking? Why this craziness? I should be somewhere else. What is this madness? Here I am with five of my best friends. Something that scares the dickens out of me but I am eager do this. Right? Anne look behind her at all the familiar faces. Each face fell with fear. Anne smile at them and raise her hand with her thumbs up. Anne look down once more at the tiny world and dive right out of the plane. Followed by her five best friends.

Floating in the air as the wind rush through her, Anne was glad her friends are with her. No fear seem to be anywhere. Any thoughts o her ordinary life was gone. She's free to be and free to dive into the deep end. Anne laughed with all her heart, glad at last she was able to accomplish one thing that she always wanted to do. Everything seem so unimportant at that moment. Anne smiled at her friends as they descent past her. Their happy faces shine in the early morning sun. All the way down, Anne promised she would do as many things as she wanted. She will ignore her parents advice and do things on her own terms. The wind blew her hair which tickle her face. Down she go. The sky was opening up and the morning sun seem brighter than ever. Whatever doubts she had in the beginning, it was gone. All gone.

Susanne

Fiction Friday: Write a story/poem beginning with this line: No one refused her offer.

No one refused her offer to played with her. She was a sweet child with no pretense and gave no problems to her friends, old or new. On the playground, Susanne was alone. She asked other kids if they would play with her. Everyone she asked said "Yes". Happiness was there and Susanne took it with pride and and joy. She did not wasted a single moment. Up on the slides she went with Kevin. Up in the air with Susie on the swings. Running around and chasing each other, Susanne and Peggy laughed and screaming all around the playground.

At last, it was dark and her friends had to go home. Susanne felt sad but her memories of that day, she will never forget. Everyone was so nice to her. So polite as not to said anything rude or obnoxious. It was the happiest day of her life. How she wished she had more hours in the day. How wonderful it would be if she can do this again tomorrow. Her Mom was so glad she had friends to play with. Her bright smile reflected in Susanne's eyes. How proud she was that her daughter took the chance to asked her friends to play instead of mopping around the house.

Susanne was not well for many months and the doctors told her parents they would have to care for her greatly. There were be many hardship Susanne would have to endure. Not being able to moved around at all was one the worst possible thing that could ever happen to Susanne. She was and still is only nine years old. Being in a wheel for the rest of her life wasn't going to make her sit still. Susanne was determined to make it work even if all she can do was talk and move her head around. After all, it's the brain the controls the mind, not her body.

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Blue Days

It was unexpected, a slap across the face without any words before it happened. Walking towards her, Gwen didn't realize it was going to happen. She was just walking on her own not saying a word. No mean gestures were given before Cassandra slap her face. The slap was full of force but no malice of any kind seem to be in it. Then her book bag was pul from her and thrown to the ground. Her books and school supplies scattered the sidewalk. Gwen looked on in horror as Cassandra step on her books with her dirty boots. She then tear out pages from her writing notebook. She pull at Gwen's red hair and push her down onto the ground where a puddle had formed from the night before.

Gwen was just walking. Just walking, not bothering anyone. She had seen Cassandra at school before but she had seem like a nice person. Gwen didn't even know her or have any classes with her. Why then did she slap her? Cassandra was a tall girl but Gwen looked up at her, straight into Cassandra's eyes and saw nothing until after the slap. Then it was a smug smile and sparkles in her eyes.

They ran off before Gwen could say anything. Gwen sat there on the same spot for hours. Her tear-shriek face now shiny from her tears. Her jeans soaked to through her skin. Neighbors were sitting there, just watching her cry. They did nothing. She heard an old man said, "Poor Thing." No one tried to talk to her or do anything to help her. She was alone in her anguish. She could not find the words to described how she was feeling.

Finally Gwen managed to get herself up and picked up her things. She walked home, all the while crying to herself and cursing Cassandra, hoping she ended up in jail or worse. Maybe Cassandra would lose her mind and have to stay in an asylum. Gwen shake off the these thoughts but could not help herself. She had wished that she had walked the other direction when she saw them walking towards her. Cassandra was with another girl. A shorter girl who had said nothing and did nothing but did sneak a smile when Gwen's eyes watered.

Gwen knew people make fun of her because of the burnt marks on her face and because her of awkward walk from a fire last year. Still many were kind to her. She did not blamed anyone for her pain. She did not raged against anyone. She was a strong-minded girl who knows she can't blame others for her own mistakes. After eight months of therapy she had went back to school and was doing quite well. All A's and some B's. She had hope to be a writer. Her English teacher praised her on her writing. Her grandparents were very proud of her for continuing to go to school. They knew it was hard for her and did not push her.

Gwen quickly open her front door and rush inside. She ran straight to her room. Thank goodness her grandparents weren't home. She would have never be able to explain to them why she was crying. Or why she wasn't at her physical therapy session. Gwen laid on her bed trying to stop the tears that kept coming.

Gwen was sure she couldn't face Cassandra at school the next day. But she forced herself to go. She heard whisper of what had happen. Kids around her looked at her and snicker a smile. She knew she had to show Cassandra and other people that she was not bother by this incident. But she did not slap Cassandra back. She just smiled at her every time she sees her in the hallway, in the cafeteria, in the ladies bathroom, and anywhere on school ground. Gwen smile at Cassandra no matter what. Somehow this drove Cassandra nuts. Cassandra eventually switch schools before the end of the school semester. Gwen was proud of herself for not using force or violence to get back at Cassandra.

Moon Blues

The moon followed me home today
Shinning down on me with its bright lights
I tried to avoid it but
Still it followed me
It asked me if it can come home with me
I said nothing and kept on walking
It moved along with me as I moved
So I started to moved faster
But the moon still followed along
My feet making no sound as my boots touched the pavement
All the way home the moon followed me
Finally it disappeared when I went inside
Once inside, I looked out my window
I searched the sky but it was nowhere to be found
The moon was gone

Watching from my window as the world go by
I fell asleep
Night fell and darkness came again
The moon shined as if to say "Yes, I have secrets. But I won't tell."
The moon's face laughed and laughed but no sound ever came out
I stared at its face for a moment
Then hid away into the darkness of my room where the moon did not shine down upon me
I could not find the words to say what I wanted to say
Quietness seem to be coming
The world's asleep now
No one's walking the streets
No sound to be heard
As I stared at the moon once more, I thought,
"What a mad way to live - to have no one to talk to. A singular being with no one to answer to or ask questions."
The bright roundness of the moon did nothing to satisfied my longings
The moon moved across the sky as if to say:
"What a lonely soul. What have he to live for?"
The moon disappeared into the dark sky, hidden behind a tall building
Since I cannot see it from where I stood, I left to go search for solace elsewhere.

Crossing the bridge

The train is crossing the bridge. Sunlight glides across the floor, onto the seats and the people who are sitting there. Sitting in the last car of the train, is a young woman with a pirate smile staring out the window. A small suitcase in the seat next to her. The train was nearly empty today. Sitting there watching the scenery as they go by, the young woman seem content to be there. Flashes of sunlight shine upon her wonderful clear face now and then. In that face, there's no sorrow, no pain, no discontent. People around her seem to be tense and tiresome. Their faces are a shade of gray. But not this young woman. Even when the train was stuck for twenty minutes. Even when the stuffiness of the train became unbearable. The woman remain untouched. Nothing's able to change her mood.

A few minutes later, darkness covers the window of the train as it pulls into the underground station. You can see her reflection, shinning brightly in the florescent light. The train was barely empty by the time when it finally reaches the last stop. Only four people left. As the announcer begin to talk over the speaker, the young woman got up and walk towards the doors. The train doors open wide with a hissing sound. The young woman step out of the train with her suitcase in one hand, the other covering her mouth as she yawns. She pause for a moment, looking around her, smiling. Her smile grew bigger as she stood there. The she turn her head slowly turn to the left and disappeared, out of sight.

The Silent Girl

Ask but you won't get much of a answer. Occasionally just a nod of the head. She speaks only when spoken to. Quiet as a mouse. Laughs a quiet laugh. Rarely smiles at you. Always a serious face, never a funny comment or a thought.

Words escape her. When she speaks her voice would be broken and loose. Her words soft and light. Each syllable would be pronounce in a nervous sound. No long sentences, just half sentences and short words. Mostly yes and no. Not too many words would be spoken out loud. She prefer to keep her thoughts to herself. Afraid people might make her outburst things she prefer they don't hear, she looks down as she walks the halls, her shoes clicking away.

Too much noise or loud sounds always turn her moody. She couldn't stand listening to train noises. She try to make her work commute as short as possible by reading or listening to music. She live alone so there won't be people around to talk to her. Even at home she would often listen to music on a headphone or wear earplugs so as not to listen to her neighbors. Often there would be screaming and loud bangs. Inside her home is one place where she would speak. Even just to herself. Her thoughts would be spoken out loud even when there's no one to hear them. Only then can she truly be herself.

Spicy

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That evening, the spicy food didn't agreed with her stomach. Down and out it went. Still the taste stayed on her tongue even after twenty-four hours later. She had dinner with a blind date. He insisted she try the sweet and spicy chicken. It was the special of the evening. She felt eager to please and so she ordered it. It was good and fine at first. But then she felt strange. Somehow the sweetness combined with the spiciness of the chicken, kept her stomach jumping up and down the whole evening. She could not concentrated on her date. His animated face and wild gestures seem to be endless. He didn't notice she had only said two words to him. He started to laugh for no good reason. She sat there with a smile. He spoke so fast his lips barely had time to touch each other. Whatever joke he had told her, she didn't get. He made some sounds with his hands and laughed again. Again she just smiled. Her thoughts seem to have taken over. All she can think about was when will the evening end. When he seem to have stop talking, she excused herself to go to the ladies room.

She stepped into the last stall and stood there, her back against the door. Her stomach growling. There she was, on a blind date. How she wished she hasn't agreed to it. Her friend, Allison had set her up and told her she should try to enjoy herself, have some fun. How Allison smiled at her when she told her about this guy. A stock analyst who plays tennis and visits the elderly on weekends. How she praised him and his accomplishments. How happy she was to be able to set this up for her. Finally her stomach settled and she returned to the table. She tried to pay attention but all she did was stared at the red sauce stain just below his mouth. He asked her a couple of questions about herself, she answered in short replies. He continued to talk but all she did was nodded her head. She didn't understand the things he was talking about. Who talks about stock markets on a date?

Her stomach growled once more. She felted ill and light-headed. Her head spin and all she saw was her date looking at her confused. Then she threw up her dinner back onto her plate. Her date stood up with a shock look on his face. Some of the food had flew onto his shirt creating a big stain. She felt embarrassed and stood up. Her date decided he should take her home. Without saying a word, he led her to his car. She said 'Goodnight' and got out of the car quickly before the man could say anything. Back in her apartment, she laid down on her sofa and waited for the night to end.

The next morning, someone was at her front door. She opened the door to find her date again. She had left her purse in his car. She thanked him as she took her purse from him. She started to close the door and to say goodbye when the man stopped her by holding the door open. He paused and looked down at his shoes. He was wearing the same suit as last night. He asked her a question. He was talking too fast so she asked him to repeat it again. "You don't like spicy food?" he asked. She shook her head no. "I was being a jerk wasn't I? I know had talked too much. I always talk too much when I am nervous." "It's not that," she said, while looking away from him. The man looked confused. She turn her head to face him again and said, "It's just that I wasn't feeling well from the spicy chicken." She paused for a moment. She felt compelled to explain to him and so she said, "You talked too fast. I could not understand what you were saying. You see, I am deaf," she said. The man looked stunned. He had no idea. He asked how did she know someone's at the door. She gestured for him to come in and pointed at the small light box just above the back of the door. "It blinks red when someone rings the bell," she said with a smile. He looked at her with such a sheepish smile that she had to laugh. They looked at each for a moment. His face was red all over. The man asked the her if she wants to get breakfast. It was 7 am on a Sunday morning. "And this time, no spicy food," he said. She smiled. She asked if he would like a cup of coffee. He nodded his head. As they talked the morning away, she realized he was a wonderful guy and he talked at a slower pace so she can understand him.

Meeting

His hair was comb neatly and swept to the left side. Straight as a arrow, hanging down onto his face covering his big brown eyes. A loose fitting jacket over a pair of fade jeans with a crisp white shirt loosely tuck. Looking like the superstar that he is, his face show confidence and no lack of snobbishness. He greets me with a smile and a gentle handshake. His voice sound happy to see me. Here I am a total stranger but you couldn't tell from the way he acts. He ask questions casually. "How are you and did you enjoy the show?" His demeanor cool and nice at the same time. I reply that I love the show and that his singing was topnotch.

Okay I didn't said that. I just kind of stare at him in awe and nod my head a couple of times. He didn't seem to mind or maybe he just didn't notice. I guess he was use to this from his fans. He said thanks as he hands me the CD. I was ecstatic and at a lost for words and only manage to say thank you. I smile at him and walk off with my souvenir. It was one of those once in a lifetime events that stay in your mind long after it is over. It lasted only five minutes but it felt like time had stood still for a very long time.

The Doctor

Fiction Friday: Write a story/poem about fatherhood with a doctor as the main character and a mug as the key object. Set your story/poem in a garden.

It was his favorite mug. From his 8 year daughter who only recently finished her first hospital intership. The mug said, "Best Dad in the whole world." Written in her handwriting in a deep blue. It was made at her school where a special class on pottery was held. It was uneven and liquid drips from one side but if you hold it just right, nothing would drip.

Plop, it drops onto the concrete hospital floor. Scatter in pieces that are not too big and not too small. The nurse didn't mean to break it. It was just too close to the edge of his desk. The doctor look at the nurse in horror, his eyes wide open. "How could you..." His voice trail off. He bend to pick up the pieces just as the nurse did. The doctor brush the nurse away. Waving his hand, signaling her to leave. The nurse look at the doctor feeling quite miserable. She quickly ran out the door.

The doctor stood there with the broken pieces in his hand. The "Best Dad" part is still intact. The doctor smile to himself and felt foolish for having yelled at the nurse. He turn around and there on the bookshelf are seventeen other mugs, all with the same message each one progressing with more legible letters. Now in pieces, he held the first mug his daughter have given to him. She's 28 now and ready to get marry. How time flies. He remembered when she had hand it to him on father's day in their backyard where the small garden his wife had planted that summer. He remember the toothless smile and the small box that came in. It was handmade and red all over. Wrapped in tissue paper with straw strings. He was surprise and eagerly opened the box without any thoughts. The summer breeze were blowing and the plants from his wife's garden were swaying away. She gave him a wet kiss on his left cheek that left a spot of lemonade.

The doctor gather the pieces of broken ceramics and put them into the last mug that was on the shelf. The 18th mug. It was the last one. The doctor was sad for a moment and continue on his route.

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about Fiction Friday

Argument

It was three in the afternoon. The rain has just started. The sky was getting darker. From inside the train, you can almost drown out the noise of the rain. Only when the train doors open did you hear how loud the rain's coming down.

The old couple sat close next to each other, whispering to each other. Like a pair of doves on still water, their heads almost touching. The whole train was quiet only with the occasion whispers here and there. At first you can hardly hear the old couple's voices but then the man's voice shouted out, scolding the woman.

As the train headed uptown, the voices of the couple became louder. Their voices created a echo around the train. Passengers look towards their direction. The man shouted "Go by yourself," he said to the woman, then stood up. He walked out of the train as it pulls into the underground station. Leaving the woman sitting there. Her visibly shiny face streaked with tears. One falling after another. Down her cheeks making hissing sounds all the while her shoulders moving up and down. Passengers look the other way as the train started to move again. The woman grew quiet and still.

A Simple Face

Read other Sunday Scribblings here.

A simple face with a simple smile. Big brown eyes with a speck of white that can trigger an emotional jerk by his thick eyebrows which sometimes seem to dance along his face. Soft pink lips that form a straight line when he's in distress. Lips that smile so wide when he's being mischievous. Long narrowed nose that ends in a curve and sometimes twitches when he talks too much. This simple face makes people smile and laugh at parties and get-togethers. This face that held million's attention is now lost in the damage of living. Along the jaw line now forms a line, big and humble. A scar that will never heal properly. It is a reminder that life is not simple but just on the edge of being complicated. Now his smile is only a half line with no twinkles in his eyes. No laughter will come out of his face. No speech will he make to break out laughter from others. Now his face will only reflect regret and pain. There are no words that can express how he's feeling.

Doctors can do miracles but they can only fix the physical body not the spirit. Yes, he can talk. No, there's was no serious damage to his vocal cords or his jaws, but his mind can never open up again. His body's able to move but where would he want to go but back in time to that moment when his life changes. In that split second before the other car hit his side window of his BMW, he felt his mind going numb. Blinding white light had flashed before his eyes. Now all he can remember are the white lights, nothing else. All he can do now is wait. Wait for his mind to open, wait for his heart to remember what he had forgotten. What he will remember can makes his face form a frown line. What he can forget will makes his face curve up in a smile.

Posted for Sunday Scribbling on May 27, 2007 on my other blog.

A fall

Here comes the train, full of noise and all the trappings of life. It seem to move quite slowly as if it's in slow motion. She felt someone's backpack brush against her back. She thought nothing of it as she watch the train move into the station. Another bump from the backpack sent her towards the direction of the tracks. Her right foot slip on the yellow floor as she felt herself falling into the pit of the tracks. Then her left foot follow. She felt herself falling down and was at once lost in the motion of falling. It seem to last for hours. Finally she landed on the ground, her face hit the steel track with a bang. Lost in the dark, she lift herself up slowly.

The sudden noise of the train came back to her, as the train's headlights flash onto her face. She heard someone call her name but could not make out who it was. She stood there motionless, her right foot and the left side of her face thumping with pain. Without any reservation, she quickly move back against the wall away from the train. She press herself against the walls as close as she can with her back facing the rushing train. The train rush pass her, then stop. Passengers in and out of the train. Only when the train has left the station did anyone notice she was down there. There in the pit where the tracks are. She was a small white figure with red hair sticking out. A mouse came and slip out into a hole in the wall.

She stood there against the wall not moving. The fear of what just happen came back to her. She felt as if a brick has hit her on the head and only now did she came back out of consciousness. Only to witness she had not died. She stood there against the wall afraid to move. Then a voice called her name. She heard her name being shout out again and again. She slowly turn her head and there in front of her - a hand - stretch out towards her. "Take it!" it said. She took the hand and was instantly pull up back onto the platform. It was her husband. The look of panic and fear pass over his face follow by a smile. He took her into his arms and held her tightly. She felt safe and relieve that she still exist to live another day.

Sounds like...

Splat. Pause. Splat. What's that sound? I looked up from my book. I look around and saw other people looking towards the middle of the train. I turn my head around to see what everyone's looking at. There standing near the doors, stood a woman, her hands pressed against the doors. She lean over and start to puke. Once then a second time. People sitting near her move away. Afraid. Not because of the sick woman but because of the puke that might scatter onto their clothes. Splat. One more time. No one spoke a word. The woman who looked pale but sickly, continued to stand in the same place.

A strange scent started to enveloped the train. The windows were closed and the doors only open once for each stop. Still the scent lingered. The woman walk out of the train a few stops later. By then that area was clear of people. Just a spot of mess from whatever her lunch once was.

About this blog

Read about the name change here.

These are just stories of fiction that I have written. I don't really like to edit so many of these stories are unedited works. Occasionally I would miss deleting or adding a word or two - usually 'I', 'the', 'is' so forgive me on that. I hope these stories are still comprehensible, or at least readable in some sense. They are written quite quickly - maybe 10-15 minutes. Pretty much a first or second drafts. Occasionally I would write in journal format - thoughts that I simply want to put down or pretty much anything that comes to my mind. Critiques and comments are welcome.

Hope you enjoy reading them! Thanks for your thoughts and comments.

Lissa.

The name "Walk to the left, walk to the right" is a title of a Miriam Yeung song. The story from these songs are one of the inspirations for me to write stories. There were a couple of version of this song which was released as an ep. A short story was included in the songs - each part are at the beginning of the story voice by Miriam Yeung. Here's the story translated from Cantonese (some translations may not be accurate):

Once upon a time, there was a girl who fell ill. A boy appeared with a bowl of rice congee that he had brought from the store downstair of her apartment. The girl thought this was the best tasting congee in the world.

The next day she got out of the bag that the congee came in with. She thought it couldn't have been from the store downstairs, the one she always visits.

So she went downstair to the store to eat the congee again. After tasting the congee, she thought that it was the worst she ever tasted. She thought to herself, no way, the one she ate yesterday must have been brought from somewhere else. It could also be the boy had made it himself. She hated those people sitting there, enjoying their congee.

From that day on, she decided to eat congee every day. She was determined to find out where the congee came from. With all those different varieties of congee, do they all taste the same or do they all have different taste?

Finally she finished all the congee in the store but could not taste the same sweet congee the boy had given her. Every bite tasted worst than the last. After losing her appetite, she suddenly thought, if there's congee, she will eat congee, if there's rice, she will eat rice. She doesn't have to fight with other people to eat congee. If she doesn't eat rice she can eat noodles, she can have as many varieties of noodles as she wants, including angel hair.

This story taught us, when we are ill, congee is just congee, but when we feel better, congee is still just congee. Eat or not to eat, you can't just eat any congee. Don't think eating congee is so alluring.