The tunnel

This week's words are: Phone, Stumbled, Windy. Read other 3WW here.

Sara walked inside with her dress blowing behind her, her red hair flapping around her face. As she walked closer into the darkness, she flicked her flashlight on but the battery was low, only showing a dim light. She stumbled on something small on the dark ground. She flashed the light in that direction to a small rock. The walls seem like new with the coat of white paint untarnished. Then the flashlight burnt out.

As she fumbled in her jeans' pocket for her cell phone, she heard something dropped onto the ground. Click. It was her cell phone. She bent down to pick it up but couldn't feel the silver metal. The wet ground felt cool and smooth. She searched her jeans' pocket for some tissue but found none. Adam had teased her for wearing jeans under her dresses but she didn't care. She liked it.

It got even darker, if that was possible, as she walked down farther. She turned around but could not see the opening now. She was too far away. Maybe she should turn back, she thought. She took a step forward, standing tiptoes, looking ahead but saw only darkness. Her sneakers hit something on the ground. It was her cell phone. She picked it up and opened it. Just her luck, the battery's about to die. She used the temporary light of the phone to walked farther.

A few moments later, the phone beeped and then it shut itself off. Back in darkness again, Sara cursed herself for forgetting to charge it this morning. Again she mustered the courage to go ahead. Still in the dark, still walking with uncertainty. She can hear the echoes that her sneakers made each time they touched the ground. Her breath a little steep now, almost in synch with her heartbeat which was beating like mad. Strange sounds were coming behind her. She turned around but saw nothing. Sara tried to keep her mind blank, driving the fear far into the back of her mind.

She can see a light ahead. She rushed toward it and hit a wall, realizing the light was only a crack in the wall. She peeped through it but saw nothing. She continued to walked hoping to reach the end soon.

Sara grew frustrated and started to run. She glazed her hand on the wall for guidance since it was still very dark. The tunnel was curvy and every few steps she took, she had to make u-turns. Round and round she walked like some circus carnival ride. She started to wondered why she took the dare to walk through this tunnel - a bridge tunnel which hasn't been used in years. Cool windy air seem to be coming from nowhere making Sara shivered. The sweater her mother told her to wear was outside of the tunnel with her friend, Adam.

Is that an opening or is that her imagination? YES! It's an opening! She ran toward the light and soon she was outside in the bright afternoon sunlight. There, sitting on the bench nodding off, was Adam with her sweater in hand. She pulled the sweater out of his hand and started to run. She heard him calling her name but she continued to run, giggling along the way. She knew Adam was right behind her. She can hear the squishy noise his sneakers make.

Haunted

This entry is for Writers Island.

spiraling down
dreaming of images
all in array of colors
all without endings

in this hallow breathe
I stumble into
through the dark corridors
I walk hardly breathing
faster I go
I falter and fall onto the tile floor
crying out your name
only echoes reply
in backward babel
they grow silent as the darkness became light

I walk once again
into the open sunlight
your arms I feel
reaching for me
I cry without joy
to see your face all lost in the shadows

turning around, you walk away
leaving me behind
tears of little comfort
lost in my hands
I see your back fading away into the dark

I woke to a reverie of old memories
of forgotten words
your words
so strong in my head
thudding away

I sleep once again
hoping in dreams
to see your face once more
haunting me

Hospital

Read other Sunday Scribblings here.

The stranger touched my cheeks, my forehead, then checked my pulse. He then sticks a thermometer into my mouth. His white sleeves brushed against my cheeks. I can smell his after-shave, the flavor of vanilla and a touch of green tea.

A smile appeared as he turned to speak to my mother. I can see the concerned look on her face, almost in a panic. Then it lighten and she turned to me with a smile. I heard the word, "flu" falling from the doctor's mouth as he turned to smile at me. I supposed the flu is no big deal these days. He left to attend to the sick girl across the room. My mother went back to her secretarial job. She kissed me on the cheeks before she left.

As I laid in bed with the thermometer in my mouth, I checked out my surrounding. We were in a small space with white curtains dividing the room. There were three other girls - my roommates. Men and women in white were running back and forth between beds. Spending a few moments at each bed.

A moment later, a pale looking woman in all white, a nurse I supposed, came by and took the thermometer from my mouth. She smiled at me pleasantly and then checked the temperature. Normal, she said and walked out of the room. I said nothing.

A coughing fit seem to have captured the girl next to me. It took a while before she stopped. I tried to sleep but the odd noises from all around the room kept me awake. I tossed and turned all night. The bed was uncomfortable and I can hear whispers throughout the night.

When I opened my eyes the next morning, men and women in white coats were rushing around the room. The girl next to me had turned for the worst. She has tubes all over her and they were all surrounding her bed. Soon she was move somewhere else. I don't know where but she is not here.

In the middle of the night, another girl was moved. I was awake when they took her. I did not know what's going on but this other girl also was coughing. I didn't ask the nurses what had happen. They probably would not give me a honest answer.

When I woke up the next day, the third girl was not in her bed. I was the only one left. The pale nurse came by with my medicine. I look suspiciously at her face, checking for some kind of signs but her smile was pleasant, same as yesterday. There were no other nurses or doctors around. The quietness of the room was eerie and frightening. I wonder if I am next as I pulled the cover up to my face, hoping to go unnoticed.

During bed time, I can hear whispers from outside the room. I caught the words, "flu", "goner" and "too bad." I wonder if they were whispering about me. I tried to do what they told me but the nagging, frightening feeling kept me awake at night. Mother hasn't visited me these three days. I'm worry.

Finally the doctor came by to check on me. I was coughing a lot and my temperature had risen during the night. I tried to appear to be in good shape but my sore throat kept me coughing. Soon some more medication was given to me. I hesitated at first but then Mother showed up and told me to listen to the doctor and nurses. I had no choice but to comply.

In the morning I was taken away. I was in bed, too weak to move as two men in white carry me onto another bed and strolled me and the bed out of the room towards a dark hallway. I was panicking but what can I do? Soon I was in a brightly lit room. Too weak and too sleepy, I soon fell asleep to the scent of red roses and chocolate cake. When I woke up the next morning, I was feeling better and stronger. Now I realize I am in a nice hospital room with my original three roommates. Flowers were all around the room and the bed seem oddly comfortable. Mother came by with chocolate candies.

"Sofia, you get to go home tomorrow. Isn't that great?" Mother said as she pinched my cheeks and kissed my forehead. I was glad that my imagination didn't enter into worse scenario. I hugged my mother and was glad everything work out fine.

Celebrating my 100th post and other thoughts

So here is is my 100th post, well, not really. The Fiction Friday post was the 100 post but I thought I make a post for this small accomplishment. To celebrate, I am doing...what? I don't know. I guess beside posting this post, there's really nothing much to do.

Anyway here's a list of of my 10 favorite posts. Reading them again makes me want to go back and edit every single one of them. All of what I write are unpolished, unedited works so the mistakes are still there.

1. Renewal
2. Her Words
3. The Key
4. Three Word Wednesday 08
5. My Imaginary Life
6. Writing
7. Three Word Wednesday 01
8. Phenomenon
9. Wicked
10. Moon Blues



Learn anything?

Here's 10 things that I have learned doing blogging:

1. Do spell check when posting comments, you never know what strange meaning can come out of words that are wrong for what you're saying

2. Your words means something to someone

3. It's easier to praise someone's post than to insult them

3. Don't leave comments when you're in a dazed state, you might accidently post information about yourself that no one wants to know

4. Don't leave comments when you're angry, you might say things you might regret later

5. You can never have enough blogs

6. You can never have enough blog friends

7. Contest are fun

8. It's okay not to comment if you don't want to

9. It's okay to make mistake when writing a post/story

10. Promoting yourself or your blog is not always necessary


National Novel Writing Month

I am participating in National Novel Writing Month in November so updates can be sporadic at times. I'm looking forward to it but I have no idea what I am getting into or if I will finished it or not. I guess if I don't try, I'll never know right?

Since I have no writing process, there's really nothing for me to prepare. I write on paper or on the computer screen and that's it. I do have a dictionary with me occasionally. I have no special pens or sitting position. I just write. Two very good words to write by.

I am reading Reading like a writer at the moment. It's a helpful book with many examples of wonderful writers. Of cause reading is easier than writing. I am not preparing in any particular ways. Just reading a couple of books and trying not think too much.


Thank you!

I guess I should warn you, if I turn out to be particularly clear, you've probably misunderstood what I said. -Alan Greenspan, 1988 Speech to the Economic Club of New York

I present to you my dear readers some virtual roses (see photo below) as a token of my appreciation for dropping by, leaving a comment or two, for giving words of encouragement, maybe even a little knowledge that I often lack and for reading through all the typos and mistakes. I like also to thank my blog group - She Who Blog. I like to say something clever here but I could not think of anything so just - thank you and come again!

Heavy price to pay

Fiction Friday: This Week’s Challenge: Write about an Auction.
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Only did I see with my own eyes did it became a reality. There it stood ready to be auction off to any fool that comes along. It was too late to bid. The closing amount was too great to even mention.

In a moment of panic, I swiftly ran on the stage, grabbed the painting and went out the door. The stunned silence told me of their utter surprise.

The guard was sleeping and drooling onto his front uniform. Silently, I walk pass him, all the while making sure the painting was properly handle. Though it was a small painting, about the size of a 8 x 10 picture frame, it felt heavy in my hand.

Admiring its beauty at the hotel, I wandered awkwardly back and forth, worrying about what just happened. Then a knock on the door sent a panic in my heart. The knock sounded heavy and urgent. I almost screamed as I quickly hid the painting in the cabinet under the sink in the bathroom.

It was room service. I had ordered dinner a few hours ago after checking in. I guess I was too distracted to remember. I tipped the guy with a twenty dollar bill and hung the "Do not disturb" sign on the knob.

I was too nervous to eat and only managed to eat half of the turkey sandwich with a sip of the ginger ale. I should have order wine.

Moments later a cop came by to asked some questions about the painting. Since I work there and was the curator of the auction house, I guess they wanted some information about the painting. I remind calm and told them what they needed to know. I saw no suspicion in their eyes as they said goodbye.

On the plane ride to California, I stare out at the clouds, their ever-changing formation. This was not planned. Taking the painting while disguised as a blond was a last minute decision. I could not and do not want anyone to own this painting. It was the last piece of work of art that my family had owned and since I couldn't afford to buy it back, well...guess now I have to see about getting a new job.

Quiet Weekend

This week's words are: care, unexpected, weekend. Read other 3WW here.

Wearing knee-high white socks with black flip-flops, I strolled across the lawn dragging the two trash cans to the curb. At 2 am, it was not the ideal thing to do especially since I was only wearing a pair of shorts with a short sleeved t-shirt. As the chilly winter air blew against the thin fabric, I wonder why I was so foolish to do this at such an ungodly hour.

As I rushed across the lawn toward my front door, I slipped on the sheen pavement and fell on the wet ground. It had rain a couple of hours ago and everything was still wet. As I stood up, I realized the front of my shorts got wet. I cursed at the weather.

I turned the knob and pushed the door to open but nothing happened. It seem to be stuck, unlocked but stuck. It must be the cold weather. Again, I turned the knob and pushed it to open but it was still stuck.

I called for my wife, Lucy, but she's always been such a deep sleeper, she probably didn't hear me. I yelled louder just in case but heard no sound from inside the house. I tried the door again but no luck. I walked around to the backyard and checked the windows. All of them were tightly closed. Then I remembered the attic window has no lock.

I climbed up the walls slowly, careful to avoid looking down as that would sent my head spinning. I was glad I haven't install a lock on the attic window yet. I managed to get to the window and open it. I ducked my head into the window and tried to squeezed inside. Midway through, I couldn't move. I pressed my hands against the edge of the window and tried to move again. I even sucked my stomach in but it was no use. I was stuck.

I could guess how it would have looked to the neighbors if any of them were awake at this hour. A pair of white shorts sticking out of a window followed by white socks and black flip-flops. I yelled for Lucy but got no respond. I didn't know what to do next. Then I heard something unexpected - sirens. They seem to be coming closer. It stopped at my house.

I was pulled out by two heavy-set cops. I didn't have to see their face to know they were laughing at me. I can hear their snickering when they were pulling me out. I was all red in the face and the wet stain on the front of my shorts didn't help. I was too embarrassed to even said anything. I didn't get a blanket or anything as they drove me to the station. I guess I should be grateful they didn't handcuff me. Some of the neighbors were at their front door watching me. I lowered my head in shame. At the station I was offered a hot cup of very bad coffee but I was grateful to get something warm inside me.

Lucy came to get me with my wool winter coat. She was the one who called the cops. She thought I was a burglar. All those years of her always in such deep sleep, never once did she wake up, not even when the neighbor's loud car alarm went off and this she wakes up for and to have me arrested. I stared at her blankly as she tried to smothered a giggle. I supposed it was very hilarious from her point of view but I couldn't care less as I was too exhausted to even think. No charges were made and I was free to go home.

"Gregory" she said, "what happened?" Her big brown eyes stared at me still with some hilarity. I would explained it to Lucy what happened but I was too exhausted. I fell asleep on the couch as soon as I sat down. This was not the peaceful weekend I wanted.

The Stranger

This entry is for Writers Island.

Our order would be taken by an old waitress with thick glasses, always wearing the same blue green apron over white shirt and skirt with white sneakers. She would write down our order while diving her face into the writing pad. He would have a burger sandwich, medium rare with black coffee. And I would get my well done with curly fries and strawberry milkshake. Sometimes diet Coke when it rains. He rarely changes his order. At the Blue Cafe near my house is where we have our lunch day. Every Saturday unless something comes up.

We would chat about our day-to-day but mostly we would end up barely talking. How the minutes just ticks by so slowly, so unimportant with each of us silently chewing our food while trying to think up things to say. I would awkwardly twirl my strand of blond hair around my finger. He would check his watch now and then.

I would sometimes study his face for signs of something to say. Those rugged lines upon his face would change each time I see him. Those same blue green eyes would dart back and forth between my shoulders and my cheeks and sometimes my eyes for just a second or two. The thin lips that would speak slowly and softly. An hour and half every lunch date but very little gets said.

Words would fall out of our mouths, sometimes lingering in the air, resting on the diner table where all our conversations would fall. Any meaningful words we might say would slip away silently as soon as they came.

We would said goodbye with no more than a handshake and few exchanges. "Goodbye, Maddie, see you next week" he would say. And my reply would be, "Bye, Dad." No hugs or any lingering looks. People who sees us would think we were total strangers who just met. And in fact that was sort of true. We had just met again last year but only recently started these lunch dates. "To get to know you better, Maddie," he said when he first suggested the idea. I would smile knowing that's what I wanted. He is still a stranger to me but in time, I will think of him as my father who never left.

Wishing

days go by without a word
they rush pass us like the wind
covering the holes that once was open
the leaves, they fall like teardrops
onto the ground
where once laid a new beginning

to our hearts we weep
deep inside
sorrows that cannot be broken
lost in our endless dreams
wishful thinking as always
as opportunities fly pass us

Her Face

Fiction Friday: Theme: What happens when a character, while cleaning out a house before moving out, finds a roll of film?
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It had weathered for many seasons but still very well preserved. The brownish film had some brown spots and stains on them. In the dark room, after washing them out in liquid, Alex carefully cut the film in strips. Finally it was ready to print.

Alex craved the lives of those unknown to him. Their faces, large or small always shown so much emotions. He can't help but wonder about them - what they might be going through, whether or not they are happy.

As he enlarged the image onto the paper, he saw her beautiful, big eyes staring out at him. He stared at her for a moment, daydreaming. Those eyes, they leave him wanting more. It may be the chemical odors in the air but Alex sworn he saw her wink at him. He blinked in disbelief. He dismissed the idea quickly, telling himself how foolish that was.

Alex secretly make triple prints so he can take home a third set. Obsessed? Him, no way. He had never been obsess about anything in his life. Not ever. Still those brown eyes stayed with him. He flipped through the prints. He saw her face so clearly now. Porcelain, almost, shiny and smooth round off with those big brown eyes. He saw her sadness, the way she doesn't smile at the camera. In the ones that she did smile, they would not quite there, just a little more movement and she would have been frowning. Alex wondered about all the hardship she might have been through, those agonizing times.

He remember his own painful past. Memories that are kept inside still after all these years of hiding. He often brings them out from its shoebox and look at them once a in a while. They reminded him of where he came from and where he might be going.

Due to the high price of rent, Alex had decided not to continued the business. After all digital had taken over but he was reluctant to switch as he favor film more. He had ran this shop for many years, all by himself, printing out memories that were not his. Yet he felt those lives whom he had saw had some impact on his own life. Faces he can never forget as some lingered in his mind. The sad ones he remembered the most.

It had been two months but the prints were not being pick up. He called the number but got no respond, just a deafening sound. The name on the package was listed as Gloria. He remember a short guy with thinning hair had dropped it off, saying he needed the prints by the end of the month. He walked out before Alex had the chance to ask what size prints he wanted. All the information that was given was the name Gloria and the phone number, no address.

Flipping through the images again, he saw her smiling, a real smile, next to a young man whom Alex assumed was her son. As the photos continued to show this woman throughout her life, Alex searches the photos carefully for any clues as to this mystery woman. In his mind he knew this woman had been gone for many years and that these are her life memories. He saw her as a figure who had lived and now those who were left will see these images and wonder about her. The last photo show her almost eighty years old with two young girls - must be her granddaughters since they both look very much like her.

Alex's parents were long gone and any relatives he might have disappeared. He felt his shop and the people who dropped off their films - their treasured memories for him to take care off - were his family. Many of his clients were his closest friends whom he sometimes had lunch with.

He sometimes dream of meeting a wonderful woman and spending his days worshipping her and loving her. There were many women he had met and thought about but none of them interest him. Still working with film, they thought he was archaic and old-fashion. Alex thought the actual film, though old for its time, still convey something that digital cannot. Touching the actual material and going through the process had make him closer to the people.

Pulling down the photos off the walls, Alex takes in their wonders. Those faces he had seen, their smile - infectious. The last of the prints got picked up. Except for the Gloria prints. He tried the numbers once again but still no respond.

Finally, just as he was about to closed shop, a woman in her early thirties came by to picked up the prints. Wearing an old-fashion trench coat, the woman smiled at Alex warmly, dripping water onto the carpet, shaking her umbrella. It had started to rain in the morning, now heavier.

Alex smiled at the woman. An familiar face from the photos. Gloria was her name. She apologized for not picking them up earlier. Alex brush off her apology and said it's no problem. He handed her the prints. He felt her warm fingertips touched his hand as she took the package.

He watched her as she walked out the store and into the night rain. He wanted to call her name and asked about the pictures but he could not bring himself to do it. He stood there watching, cursing himself for being so dumb. He thought about her face and her eyes, they reminded him of why he should take a chance.

He quickly locked up his shop and ran after her. His face all wet, he reached her and touch her hand. She paused looking up at him. One smile, that was all it took for him to get up the nerve to speak to her. In the dark, wet streets, Alex smiled at this woman, this beautiful face whom he knew was the last face he wanted to see for the rest of his life.

The Escape

This week's words are: Field, Hide, Second. Read other 3WW here.

A few seconds that was all it took to get to his secret hiding place, running straight from his house through the fields of corn, among the tall sycamore trees, right there close to the water is where Joshua sits down crossed-legged, to read his stories. Into the world of dragons and fairies and little creatures with magical powers where anything is possible. It is the only place he can hide from his older brothers who would often beat him up or hang him upside down on his underwear on some impossibly high tree. Joshua often sits there almost every day after his chores were done.

The slow summer sun, high in the sky, lights the words that he escapes to. Joshua read while eating roasted peanuts that his mother had roasted the night before. He turns to the next page, hurrying to his next adventure.

Within moments the sun had set and it was too dark to read. Not in any hurry to get home, Joshua got out his flashlight and shine it upon the pages. He continue reading until he heard his mother calling his name. One more page to go. He slowly gets up and gather his backpack all the while still reading with the flashlight in his hand.

At the steps of his house, he finally closed the book and felt excited at the thought of reading another one tomorrow. He washes up for dinner and sits down to eat quietly while his father, mother, and his two older brothers, Andy and Stuart, chat around him. Joshua enjoys spending time with his family, gathering around the table having a meal together.

As the conversation leads to college for Andy and Stuart to their mother's wonderful cooking to their father's hardware store, Joshua tries to follow their thoughts but said nothing. Joshua smiles to himself as the adventurous words from his books fill his thoughts. He twirl around the mashed potatoes on his plate with his spoon, imagining his father fighting dragons and saving his mother from getting eaten. He chuckles to himself. Andy hits him on the arm and laughs. Joshua didn't might as he imagine a dragon swallowing Andy into its mouth.

At bedtime, staring at his starry ceiling, Joshua imagines being in some strange universe where magic existed and where knights fight for justice and even for some glory. He fall asleep dreaming of knights. Into his dreams, he went.

While transporting the King along with the King's men, a band of bandits came running out of the brushes and starts to attack them. Joshua wearing his knight's uniform, pulls his sword out and stands in from of the King shielding him from harm. He swing his sword left and right, blocking whomever comes near the King. Taking a small stab in the chest didn't stop him. The King's men runs off into the woods leaving only Joshua and the King. Still Joshua continues to fight the bandits. He knew he should protect the King even if he's only one man. The King grows frightful now with the bandits surrounding them. Joshua rest assures the King that he will protect him to the end.

All of a sudden a big gush of wind came rushing down upon them. It is a dragon flapping its wings, frightening the bandits, sending some in various directions and eating a few that was too slow to move. Joshua stares at the dragon, from its claws up towards the long neck, towards the bright red nostrils and big eyes. Fearing that he might not be able to protect the King, Joshua ushers the King to run to safety but the King stands there like stone, pale as a white rose, fear covering his entire body. Joshua gently pushes him to move towards the woods away from the dragon. As the King runs away, the dragon dives down toward his direction. Joshua strikes the dragon's head with his sword, hoping to distract it long enough for the King to escape.

The dragon, fierce at the gesture, starts to huff up his cheeks blowing smoke out of his nostrils. Joshua can tell what the dragon was ready to do. As the fireballs comes rushing out of the dragon's mouth, Joshua quickly rushes from tree to tree. From left, then right almost getting burn. Still the dragon continues spitting out fireballs. Joshua manage to avoid them. After growing tire of missing Joshua, the dragon dive down his head ready to engulf Joshua into his mouth. Joshua quickly runs toward a huge tree, sending the dragon to knock his head against the tree trunk. Joshua laughs. "You missed me!" he shouted at the dragon running all around the dragon. Still the dragon comes running after him. Joshua with his light feet, quickly avoids the dragon again and again making it madder as smoke steams out of its nostrils.

As the dragon's head came crushing towards him again, Joshua thrust his sword straight into the dragon's neck, causing it to shriek and pull its head up with the sword still stuck in its neck. Joshua hides behind a tree as the dragon wanders back and forth in agonizing pain and soon falls flat crushing the trees beneath it and causing the ground to shake. Joshua slowly walks up to the dragon. He sees no flames or smoke coming from the nostrils, no movement of any kind. He pulls out his sword from the dragon's neck and place it in its case. Walking away, he heard a screeching sound. He turns around and sees the dragon coming towards him. He quickly pull out his sword and pierce the dragon right between the eyes with a great force. Out of breathe, Joshua struggles to pull out his sword from the dragon. As soon as he got his sword out, Joshua runs away just as the dragon was falling forward. Down it went again, shaking the ground. With his heart still pounding like mad, he stabs the dragon a few more times, making sure it is truly dead this time. As a token, he cuts out one of the dragon's tooth.

Joshua finds the King hiding in the brushes, still pale as a ghost. He safely gets the King home to his castle. He is award the position of Head of the Knighthood along with his own men and two chest of gold. A celebration is also thrown in his honor and as the crowds cheer and gather around him, Joshua feels like a hero, like he was drunk in heaven. He drinks and tells them how he slay the dragon and soon falls asleep.

When Joshua wakes up the next morning with a dragon's tooth in his hand, he thought he was still dreaming. The dragon's tooth seems real enough. it is almost as big as his leg. He even have a small wound on his chest that was not there the night before. Did it really happen or was it just a dream? In either case, Joshua was happy as he had the adventure of his life even if it was a dream. All day, Joshua smiles to himself as he did his chores.

Message In A Bottle

This entry is for Writers Island.

Curled up inside the bottle, the piece of tan paper drifted from side to side as the bottle, ever so slowly, swam toward her direction. It stopped, landing at her blistered, bare feet. She stared down at the bottle, wondering if she should pick it up. She had spent many days gathering objects that had swam out of the water. Many times, they were useless to her.

She pulled her tattered sweater closer to her thinning body. The bottle float there waiting. The cold water splashed against her legs, still the bottle remained in its place, next to her feet. She picked it up and stared through the bottle at the ocean. Shinning in the bright early sun, the tan paper go from light to dark as she shook the bottle. She twirl around holding it high above her. The glistering glass shined brightly, producing rainbows onto her face. She washed off the sand and dirt before taking it home.

At her home, she took the bottle and set it on the floor. The tan paper was torn at the edges but in good shape. It was held inside by a piece of plastic wrap around the opening tied with a red rubber band. She pulled out the paper slowly, uncurling it. It was longer than she expected.

She sighed after recognizing her own hand writing. But a closer inspection made her realized it was written by someone else. "On island. Alone. Help!" She smoothed her hand on the black lettering, at its roughness. She laughed at the thought of being rescued by someone who was also stranded.

Just before sunrise, she woke up in a restless state and walked to the edge of the shore holding the bottle with the paper inside. In the semi-darkness, the moon shined high above. She had dreamt of seeing the moon on some yacht or a boat without ceilings. But that dream was many moons ago.

When she first sent out her bottle, she was so hopeful. But the days had drifted by without any sight of boats or planes. She did what she could with the things that was in her suitcase. Why was she so foolish to go sailing by herself? She could have waited for her Father but her restless heart had failed her again. She found some comfort in the thought of seeing her family again. Hope, she always thought was for desperate people but now she knew she was one of them.

She stared out into the water, the endless water that she had tried to swim but lost her strength, kept moving from side to side. She wanted to cry but the tears refused to flow as they had been used up by many sleepless nights. She screamed up at the sky.

She had never walked more than a couple of miles from her spot. She did not want to find what's hiding in those dark trees. She had set her limit so that she may be found in the same spot where she landed.

Just the thought of maybe someone else was on the same island, made her brave enough to walked past her limit. She slowly walked until she got to the other side of the island. There was no one in sight. She turned around and around but saw no one, no movement anywhere. She continued to walked farther. Maybe there is someone else here, she thought to herself. Still no one. She screamed hoping someone would hear her and come out of hiding. She went farther, this time running. Faster and faster she kept running, circulating the island. At last she saw someone running towards her. A man, an unfamiliar face, but nevertheless, a face, not a dream. She knew this because he was carrying her bottle in his hand.

Lacking the strength to stand, she sank to her knees and smile with all her might, waiting for the man to come to her.

Not this time

Fiction Friday: Use this quote as the spark for anything you want: "I'm not one for sentimental endings. Not this time." In case you're curious the quote is a lyric that caught my fancy from the song Jack and Jill by The Lift.
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"I'm not one for sentimental endings. Not this time." Laura said, looking up, straight into his eyes. His hand falls onto her face, causing her to fall on her hands and knees.

Laughing with his glossy white teeth all sparkling in the street light, he stands there waiting for her to make her move. Toss aside like a bag of garbage, Laura stares up at him again, determine. Her eyes spill no tears. Her heart, no longer wanting to feel the anger. He was so arrogant, so spiteful. When his phone rang, he takes it out of his pocket, chatting away like any normal day.

With one swift motion, she jabs the knife into his left knee, than the other. He screams with such tragic sounds making Laura cover her ears. He falls onto the cement ground, dripping away. Laura slowly gets up onto her feet, standing tall, looking down at this pitiful man whom she once loved. She points at him with the knife in her hand, shouting the words that he doesn't want to hear: "You do not own me!" She drops the knife on the ground. She walks away dragging her left foot.

In the darkness of the night sky, Laura looks up to see a plane go by. Out on this highway with rarely anyone in sight, she gathers her thoughts. The pain inside no longer makes her weak. She erases her mind from thoughts of anger and pity. There will be no pity tonight - not for him and not for her.

Her face was sore with bruises everywhere but she didn't care. She won this time and there's nobody around to tell her she was wrong. Nobody to said, "Laura, be reasonable. He is your husband." No one to make her take him back. She turns her head to look back at him but all she sees is a dark shadow next to a unmoving car. She smiles to herself. This is the end, this is it. She was grateful for the gift that her friend, Katie had given her. A birthday gift, so forgiving. A one way ticket - to where? It doesn't matter as long it's not here.

Edward

This week's words are: Initial, Knock, Weather. Read other 3WW here.

The weather was not sunny as the weatherman said it would be. Instead, raindrops kept falling down even as the sun came up. Soon it started to pour heavier and heavier. Edward was almost knocked down as the crowd rushed to the nearest shelter. Edward grunted at them as one by one rushed passed him without any word. He struggled with his umbrella. The thing just refused to open. After much muttering, he finally got it open. Then, just as he was crossing the street, it stopped raining.

Edward paused in the middle of the crosswalk and stared up at the sky as the clouds separated themselves into small clusters. The blueness of the sky sneaks through along with the sun. Edward, in his initial irritation with the weather, muttered to himself and continued to walk at the same time as he tried to close his umbrella.

"Edward, honey, just pull that thing...no, no...that...thing..." Edward's mother tried to help him but brushed her off. Finally he got the umbrella closed and stuff it in his backpack which his mother was carrying for him. She gave him a stern look and took it out, scolding him as she folded the umbrella properly. "That is not the way to treat your umbrella, Edward."

At the school entrance, Edward's mother kneeled down and kissed him on the forehead as she gave him his backpack with the umbrella safely tucked on the side. "Be good," she said, her face soften. Then she walked off. Edward sighed and wonder when he will be old enough to walk to school by himself.

Renewal

This entry is for Writers Island.

I fold myself in little pieces as if invisible
toward the inside I go
unintended for the world
I choose to go back to
the beginning
it's not a exit
but an entrance

Buy a friend a book

UPDATE : We have a winner. Here's how it was picked:

1. Numbers were assigned by when the comments were posted. These numbers were then, written on pieces of paper


2. Stuffed into a piggy bank



3. Shaking the piggy bank until papers comes out, eliminated, then shaken again



4. Until one piece of paper was left. And the winner is number 3 which is Frances. Congratulations! Thanks everyone for playing.

Buy a friend a book

I am participating in Buy A Friend A Book week during the first week of October. It's about buying a book for someone for no good reason. Go here for more information.

Just leave a comment to enter to win a book of your choice from Amazon.com ($20 maximum). Winner will be announced here and will be notify by email. Contest ends on October 7th. Below is a list of recommended books:

01. The River King by Alice Hoffman
02. The Bonesetter's Daughter by Amy Tan
03. On Writing by Stephen King
04. The man who ate the 747 by Ben Sherwood
05. Never Hit a Jellyfish with a Spade: How to Survive Life's Smaller Challenges by Guy Browning
06. The opposite of fate: Memories of a writing life by Amy Tan
08. Hardboiled & Hard Luck by Banana Yoshimoto, Michael Emmerich (Translator)
09. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
10. Local Girls by Alice Hoffman

Other BAFAB contest:

Write from Karen
Welcome to My World of Dreams
Verbatim
Hello, My Name Is Alice

Visit BAFAB on Del.icio.us for a list of BAFAB-related posts, particularly BAFAB-related contest announcements.

What Did I Dream?

Fiction Friday: Theme: Use the first line of a nursery rhyme (your choice) to start your own story. Below is the nursey rhyme that I like.
Get the Fiction Friday code
About Fiction Friday

What Did I Dream?

What did I dream?
I do not know;
The fragments fly like chaff.
Yet strange my mind
Was tickled so,
I cannot help but laugh.


What did I dream? What memory laid deep inside that seeped through me and into my dreams? What, if any, trapped thoughts that was lost or instantly forgotten that might show up now? In a hazy, crazed state, I dream.

The sky, a rainbow of colors - yellow, orange, red, purple, navy, green - all blended together in harmony. Above the clouds, I flew toward the nearest exit down to earth, in my childhood home, I flew. Down there, where the concrete ground meets my feet in a soft touch, like cotton. There in the misty air, a child of eight with two dark ponytails braided like ropes on each side ending in yellow ribbons in bows. She walked toward me with a smile that was all at once familiar and sad. As she came closer, her smile faded and was replaced by a permeant frown.

I waved at her as she was coming near. She walked slowly as if she herself is in a dream. Finally I looked down at the cherubic face and wonder why her eyes were so sad. Then it occurred to me, her father had passed and her mother had left her with her grandmother who was neither kind nor cruel but just in between ignorant and selfish. She stared up at me with those big brown eyes. She was holding her Raggedy Ann doll closed to her chest. She stretched up her hand at me. I looked at it and saw a chain watch, all shiny in the bright light. I held the watch in my hand. Then she ran off before I can asked her anything. She left her Raggedy Ann doll on the ground. I picked up. It smiled at me, then winked at me. I dropped the doll. The doll ran off after the little girl.

I call out for her to wait but no sound came out. Just a squeak sound, followed by a helpless yip. I looked down at my hand and the watch. There were no hands on it. The numbers, they started to move around like they were preparing a puzzle. Soon the numbers disappeared into the edge of the watch, not a single one left.

I sighed wondering what it meant. Up in the sky, the colors had ran off as well, replaced by a dark sky with heavy clouds. Water poured down onto my face, soaking me. Then it became heavy. I ran for shelter but found none. There were no houses, no trees, not even grass. Just concrete grounds. I ran and ran but find no shelter. At last, I found a tree and stood under it. The rain stopped. I stared up at the sky, now all blue and light with fluffy clouds.

I stepped out of the tree's shadow and looked up. The little girl with the two ponytails was high up in a balloon. She waved at me. I waved back. Clouds covered her as they passed the sky. The girl and the balloon disappeared once the clouds has passed to the other side.

Whiteness began to covered the air, the sky, the ground below me and soon me included. In the white light I saw a light glowing, like a candle. The light became brighter and brighter and soon, I woke up in my white bed surrounded by white furniture and white curtains. Even the carpets were white. As I stared around me, a blue hue fell from the ceiling and started to cover everything in sight. I felt strange but serene. I closed my eyes for a moment. Then I opened them to see I was back in my apartment with not white furniture but all blue this time. Soon the blue became yellow, then red, then purple. As the purple took over the entire space, I looked down at my hands to see them in a lovely shade of pink. Again the pink began to cover everything, taking me along with it. In the pinkness of the room, I thought I saw a piggy wondering around, sniffing things. Soon the pink got taken over by a grass green color. It poured itself all over the place and soon I saw I was green as green pea.

I blinked and in front of me was green pea soup, which I detest eating and yet my hand holding the spoon was soon up to my lips. I tasted the green peas but soon a sweet sugary taste covered my mouth. In front of me was a man all in green, eating green pea soup also. I giggle for some reason. Then I remembered this was a dream.

I woke up giggling and didn't remembered why. All day, I was giggling but could not remembered the dream, not even a single detail except for all the bright, vibrant colors that filled my mind with joy.

Writing Her Words

This week's words are: Feather, Misplaced, Useless. Read other 3WW here.

Emily had once misplaced her feather pen. How strange that it showed up in her mailbox, folded inside a big sheet of paper with no return address. Just her own name scribbled across the center. The script was quite elegant making her name seem so important and urgent.

The feather pen was a birthday gift from her late grandfather. It didn't seem like anything Emily would own but when her grandfather passed away, it was the only thing that reminded her of him. In her mind she had thought, "This will be the last gift I will ever receive from him. How sad to think of this." She shook her head and wondered why she did not cherished this gift when he was alive.

She remembered at the time it was quite useless to her. The ink would dry up as she ponders what to write. The feathers, too soft to be hold in any other way but gently. The words she would write gets smear simply because she was too impatient to wait for them to dry. If she's not careful, the ink would drip and seep through the paper and onto her dress. Still, Emily continued to use this pen, learning its gentle ways and eventually learning to love writing with it.

The feather pen seem to have a mind of it's own. With its white feathers and gold tip, it was a wonderful sight as she woke each morning, staring at its beauty. Each day, she couldn't wait to write something with it. She would rush to get dress, put her hair up and eat a simple breakfast. At her desk, she would get the ink out and practice a few strokes before actually writing. It was a temperamental thing, always seemingly runs out of ink just as her thoughts came to her. It would sometimes pour out words she didn't know she could say and words she thought she never knew. She had written with this pen, many things she thought she couldn't write. Her words, so elegantly put down by this feather pen has somehow transformed her mind. Her thoughts seem to linger where they don't use to. They stand by as if waiting for a reply. Every stroke on paper creates a memory in her mind.

When she had finished writing something, Emily would look at the words, their beauty she would feel with her hands and her eyes. Then she would read them using her voice. She recognized them but at the same time they were all new to her. If there were any useless, misplaced words, she would cross them out in an instant without even allowing the words to settle in her mind.

The words, they stroke the pages, every single crispy letter, laid bare. Her own misguided thoughts as she described them. How strange to know how to do this - this writing down of words - familiar and yet foreign. Even as she robbed her eyes as the sky became dark, she could not believe she had written these words. These elegant words that she seldom use in the presence of others. How very distracting that the candlelight focused on these words like spotlights of sunshine.

Emily would not let anyone read her words until they are ready. She dare not allow them to be read in their raw form if they are not put together in their proper order. Why should she even have to share them in the first place? Of cause, she wanted to be praise and admire even smirk at a little, she would not have might. As least it would get read. At least they are out there, in the open field, ready for anyone to breath them in, to enjoy, to be amuse by, to savior the thoughts that would swept the mind away. All these, her very own words and nobody else's.

The Journey

This entry is for Writers Island.

covering her tracks by talking too much and leaving in a hurry
she runs, hoping for a reprieve
music runs through her head
looking for refuge at the surrounding areas
she runs

at last she's here in the dark and empty place with
the bed at the corner
the desk with one broken drawer
the lamp still on the desk
all covered in white sheets
as if to hide the emptiness

one window with thick curtains
closed but the sun sneaks through the slit opening
she stares at the sunlight pointing straight to the floor
in a quick move, she pulls the curtains close tightly
completing the darkness

she flips on the light switch
she pulls the sheets off the bed
revealing pink fabrics with daisies and rainbows
she pulls the sheets of the desk, off the chair, off the lamp
with a swift move she drops the white sheets onto the floor
dust clouds the room

under the mattress she still find
her diary from long ago
with its gold plated lock all worn out
she feels the smooth fabric of the pink cover
she pulls it open
flips through the pages
over and over again
nothing but thin brown lines
not even her name
not even a childhood memory
it was not what she expected

she throws the diary against the white wall in anger
white specks falls onto the sheets
angry tears falls to the floor
as she crumbles to her sadness
she looks up around the room
hoping for some inking of herself

there on the wall where she just threw her pink diary
a small opening
she lifts herself up and stares at the hole
she press her hands against it
more white specks falls down
inside an opening, a hideaway
she pulls out a diary
blue with no locks
flips through the pages
sees herself between the dark lines
she smiles and remembers
the journey that got her here