Tomorrow

Furious words invade her mind as she scribble her latest discontent. She imagines breaking every bone in her body with just one fall down the long flight of stairs that leads outside. Each breath she takes cause her to throw more frustration into her hands and onto the faded yellow pages.

If she wasn't so weak, she would be outside searching for new air that might breath inside of her. Alone in a huge house possessed by darkness, she often drag herself towards any area with light.

She sat at her old desk surrounded by all her books. As the sun dives into the horizon, she pull the handle to the single lamp on the desk. All day her hands keeps scribbling, the left hand then the right hand, words that might mend her or break her.

The lamp flicker once then fade out. She continues in the darkness. Thousands of screams echo in her head, one louder than the other, each fading slowly into stillness until there's a slight blur of memory, greying in her mind.

The lamp flew back on, lighting her thoughts, scattered below and above the blue lines. She try to read them but couldn't make out the odd shapes and long lines. Her head clear of thoughts now had stopped spinning.

Sleep drives her body as she crawls between the sheets. Tomorrow. The word pops into her head. How strange it sounds to her now. Tomorrow will be the day. Tomorrow she will start living again.


Fiction Friday: Write like Fireworks…write fast, write down random thoughts, hurry through it. And don’t even reread it today—you can always come back to it tomorrow.

A different world

Charing Cross Bridge by André Derain

There in front of him is the orange door with no knob. He walks closer and saw in the darkness, surrounding the door was a pile of door knobs. Each a different shade of silver, all shining with urgencies. Jonathan stood, puzzled, unsure which knob he should be using to open the door. He was told by a old man with cat whiskers to go here - here where he will be able to get home. All he has to do is open the door with the right knob and he would be back home, in his own world.

As Jonathan walks near the orange door, he wonder if he should leave at all. As he ponder his decision, an old man wearing an orange jumpsuit came and starts sweeping the knobs into a pile. Jonathan started to scream at the old man but stopped. What would it matter? Did he really want to go home?

The old man pause in his task and stare at Jonathan, leaning his hands on the top of the broom, indifferent to Jonathan's cries.

Jonathan wanted to say something but he couldn't think of anything reasonable. He stood there unsure of what he to do. He wave his hand signaling the man to continue.

The old man started to sweep the knobs into piles and then pour them into a wheelbarrow, then went off walk off with the knobs leaving one silver knob on the ground.

Jonathan picks it up, examining its silver, smooth surface. Then he place it against the door, feeling a magnetic pull as the knob begin to glow and hiss, opening the door. A blur at first but then he could see his house not far from him. The large apple tree he planted in the front yard, not ten years old, his beat-up truck in the driveway, his blond-hair wife laying in the front yard, getting a tan, her back facing him, bikini loose underneath her.

Does he want to go home? Is this what he wants? How could his mind change so fast in only forty-eight hours?

Forty-eight hours ago, he was just another married man living in a house with his wife and no children. But then he was swept into this new world where everything looks like a work of art. He didn't know how he got here, he only remembered he was here the moment he hung the replica of a André Derain painting in his small library. He was admiring the colorful textures with his fingertips when he suddenly found himself inside the painting. He assumed he was dreaming so he wandered farther into the painting.

Everywhere he turned, the colors seem to grow brighter. The pavement seem to be made of soft cotton and yet solid underneath his feet. He wiped his eyeglasses on his shirt tail but find he didn't need them to see which was unusual considering he's totally blind without them.

A yellow bird flew past him and he dropped his eyeglasses but it didn't crack like he thought it would. He picked them up and decided to place them inside his shirt pocket. He felt cool and relax even with the sun beating down on him. The sky was the most magnificent blue and the clouds, well, he just couldn't think of a word that's good enough to describe it. It was overwhelmingly calming for him to be in such atmosphere.

Jonathan felt thirsty and as he looked around the place, then a street vendor appeared with ice cold juice, his favorite flavor in fact, raspberry-lemonade. He wanted to paid for his drink but the vendor boy shook his head. As Jonathan walked farther, he felt hungry and there appeared a cafe serving his favorite - tuna salad on rye. Again, he didn't need to pay.

As he wandered the colorful streets, strange people started to invade them or rather they appeared out of no where. A few wearing the strangest hats like a Picasso painting. Others wore such bright clothes almost straight out of a Chagall work of art. Jonathan felt like running around and shouting with joy at the top of his lungs. He was surrounded by the most surrealist images and yet they all seem to make him smile more.

As the sky grew dark, Jonathan slept under the moon on the softest park bench, softer than cottons. When he woke up, he was reminded of what's awaiting at home. He has a mortgage, a wife he couldn't afford, a truck which he cherished but unable to drive since his wife insisted that she needed a spa weekend and that he can get his old junk fix another time.

As he wandered back, he got lost. An old man with long gray whiskers told him the direction without Jonathan ever asking.

Now here he stands a the threshold between this world and his. Does he really belong there? Did his wife even wonder where he was for two days? He watch her bare back as she turn her head to the other side away from the sun. From what he can remember, it is a Sunday, a day he usually stick himself in his library which was more of a small closet since his wife insisted that she need a recreation room for herself. He thought he would miss her but not one moment did he thought of her. Jonathan smiles and takes a few steps backward. Back to the place he was happiest.


3ww: Indifferent, Pour, Reason

A Split Second

The crowd rush in as my name was whispered through the thin air of winter. Time seem to pause in the split second as the last part of my name was pronounced.I turn around but the crowd of faces block every direction of the streets. Feet off the bike petal, I search for the face voicing my name.

A white blur caught my eyes but it disappeared as the snow came down hindering any thought that might have crossed my mind. A burst of uncontrollable eruptions enter my chest and travel to my eyes and outside of me. My view soaked by the very emotions that I tried to avoid, I wipe away the spills of silent tears.The snow falling heavier now, covering the gray pavement wrapping the city in white feathers. I look up at the sky, feeling the cool touch of frozen rain on my cheeks.

A sudden warm wind swept the atmosphere. I hear the calls of sirens passing by - a faded sound of desperation. Placing my feet against the petals, I continued on with the snow following me.

This came out after seeing the Japanese movie, Love Letter.

Yellowed polka dot dreams

I can’t breathe. I pause at the swirling stairwell, at the second step. I took a deep breath, absorbing the dull smell of antique furniture and floor polish. Lingering onto a sudden image of crisp yellow sheets breezing in the sun, my mind grab onto that image. On the third step, my mind grew blank. I couldn't remember where it was I had wanted to go. Then the telephone rang.

I'm suddenly jolted out of my thoughts making me forget whatever secrets I thought I had a grip on. I blink in the bright sunlight's dust, listening to the ringing of the telephone. Once, twice, a sudden silence. Just as well.

Memories, they appear daily but none would stay long, most would leave leaving a stain of uncertainty. Like dried-up rolls of film, they sit in the dark attic waiting to be develop but never could be found among the leftover miscellaneous objects of yesteryears.

The doctors prescribed Prozac but my mind refuses to calm down from the exhaustion that are my memories. I seek no solace in medication which will only hinder my mind for a few hours at a time. Flashes of yellowed polka dot memories encircled this old heart, sometimes taking it for long rides down dark roads. Beyond that, there is only darkness.


Friday 5: doctor, roll of film, stairwell, telephone, secret
Fiction Friday: “I can’t breathe.” Now keep writing.

Spontaneous

Here I am hanging off the basket of an hot air balloon, barely able to contain my fear. How did I get into this much trouble in just a few short hours? My hands are becoming sweaty and I'm about ready to just let go and get it over with. I stare up at the clear blue sky, at the world that is increasingly becoming bigger. If I look down, I might just see myself falling to a sudden death. I could almost imagine the ridiculous rumors at my funeral. The bride jumped off an hot air balloon to her death rather than go on her honeymoon. The bride's ex-lover kidnapped her in an hot air balloon and she was willingly going along with it. The bride lost it and decided to knock herself off from an hot air balloon.

Dammit! This wedding dress is getting heavier by the minute. What was I thinking? A two feet train and decorative flowers all over it? Why did I let them talked me into this dress instead of the one with very thin fabrics?

Hang on, the man inside the basket kept saying to me, looking down at me with sky blue eyes and crooked eyebrows, one bigger than the other. If my dress wasn't caught on the wicker basket, he would have lifted me up and I'd be safe inside. He smiles with reassurance but I knew even he thinks I'm doom. Doom to be fall off an hot air balloon shaped like a giant heart.

It was only a few hours ago that I said my vows to the man of my dreams. At least I was told he was the man of my dreams. We were saying goodbyes to our relatives and was all ready to get into the hot air balloon for a short trip to the airport. I was ahead and was standing close to the basket as I watched my new husband and his relatives.

It was going great one moment and the next thing I heard was this voice shouting to me to get out of the way. I didn't think it was calling to me but as usual, I didn't pay enough attention, too engrossed in dreaming about the miseries ahead of me.

I was eight or ten feet up in the air before I even notice where I was. I heard my name being shouted about a million times and yet there was nothing any of them could do. I wasn't worry at first but then my shoes fell off and I knew I was in big trouble. I watched them becoming smaller and smaller until they were white dots no more. I managed to grab onto the edge of the basket somehow though I do not remember doing that. I felt the basket shake as the wind blew a few loose hair hair into my face. I tighten my grip. I looked down again to see where I was and saw nothing but green water. It scared the dickens out of me and made me wished I could fly or at least sitting inside an airplane.

As I contemplate just how stupid it was to plan such an idiotic thing as a hot air balloon ride, I heard the guy telling me I can let go soon. The hot air balloon wasn't my idea but somehow I got talked into it. I was never spontaneous, everything was always planned ahead of time. So I thought this was something I wanted to do. I was wrong! Dead wrong!

I look upward towards the man with the crooked eyebrows with a surprise look on my face and he pointed behind me. I didn't want to look but knew I had to. There it was - the ground not so far below. I sighed with relief as my nylon feet touch the softness that is grass. I heard a tear and I knew my wedding dress was torn in the most embarrassing place.

He lend me a quarter to dial home or whomever I wanted to call. I thank the guy, shook his warm hand and knew I shouldn't have said my vows.


3ww: Rumor, Shake, Spontaneous

Ms. Ivy

"Young lady in a tricon hat" by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo

In a dark hallway of an abandon house where the walls are splatter with old bills and monotone wallpapers, hangs a painting of a woman who lived there one hundred years ago. Her beach plum face peeks out from behind a black veil, a somber smile drawn on her pale, pink lips. Her dark eyes appear to be looking straight at you and yet they are slightly askew as if she was distracted by something in the far distance. Her right hand, the color of olives, holds a folded fan, posed and ready to drop at any moment as if lacking strength.

Ms. Ivy, was how everyone addressed her, was a kind, delicate woman whom was known to make pies that only taste sweet after the last bite. And she was well known for being an expert in gardening. After her husband, a dog trainer, died from poison ivy, she never came out of the house again. Neighbors said they heard screams coming from her house the night her husband died. There were rumors that she had killed him to be with her lover but there was no evidence to prove that.

Some said her ghost still haunts the place every now and then. If you ever drove pass the place, you could almost hear a whistle blowing as if her lover was still calling her name. If you dare to walk inside, you may just smell the scent of one of her cherry pies or hear her delicate voice singing a gray tune.


Friday 5: dog trainer, bills, beach, pie, whistle

She

If her words are too hard to understand, it's because she speaks too quickly. If her mind spills out provocative thoughts twisted in its meanings, it's because she choose to say them. If her eyes are too wide open, it's because her energy never escapes her. If she asks you to bring your intaglio for lunch, you would bring it for fear she might just throw stoney words at you while intoxicated with ill, careless emotions that she stole from you.

You responded and brought your favorite intaglio, something that you were sure she would like. As you sit with your intaglio in hand, ready to please her with your intelligence, she looked at you with such big eyes that seem ready to rip you apart, a vigor force that you immediately knew you brought the wrong thing.

She cradled her words until your emotions filled your whole face. She knew just when to jump at you, when to cause your heart and mind more harm. Not with mere words but sharp, endangered, overbearing words that cut through you like you were made of tissue paper.

Her artistic side could swindle you into total happiness. Her mean side could sidetrack you to a road of tears and mangle rays of crushed dreams.

But she surprised you with her gentle wit and compliment. How lovely, she said that you brought what she asked for. She held you in her big arms and told you what a wonderful young man you turned out to be. How grateful she was your grandmother and you're her grandson.

You thanked her for her words and enjoy this moment with her. You knew there wouldn't be many moments like this since her mind got twisted into old age. If she was anybody else, he would have never come at all.


Fiction Friday: Without looking it up, use the word Intaglio in your [Fiction]Friday entry.

Hot Day

It was a typical summer day, a Wednesday, one of the hottest day of the year. The sky was constantly threaten to rain but the heat never left the streets. The asphalt slathered in hot steams. Even with thick soles, the heat would still manage to slip inside your skin.

Sam wore her red flipflops that day, the ones that had the chocolate ice cream stains on the heel's surface. The brown had turned to gray since last summer. She painted her toenails a bright purple, her favorite color, the night before. She pulled her white baseball cap on and pulled the heavy, metal front door open and walked out to the streets with the sun beating down on her head. Her long red hair braided in two, down the side of her shoulders. Wearing a thin black t-shirt and blue denim shorts, Sam decided to head to the beach to cool off.

She frequently go to the supermarket for bottle waters and that particular day was no different. She waited in line behind a old couple bickering about pickles. She smiled at the old lady when she looked in her direction. Someday, Sam hope she will have someone to bicker about pickles.

She came out with the water, took a sip, closed the cap, looked towards the blue sky, then veered off to the direction of the beach. But she never got there.

When the storm came, she ran for cover under a cherry tree. But as the rain grew heavier, Sam knew she needed to go to some place with a real roof. The rain seeped into her skin as she ran.

As the sliding doors opened, she dived inside the supermarket. She walked up and down the aisles and felt someone was watching her. She turned her head slightly but couldn't see anyone. In the large round surveillance mirror, she saw only herself - a skinny thirteen year old, her red hair matted to her face. The music overhead was playing "Smoke gets in your eyes." Somehow Sam fell in love those oldies music through her grandparents.

Her thoughts drifted off to the sound of the water dripping off her clothes. She pulled off her cap and wrapped her braids in her hand, squeezing the water out. When she placed her cap back on her head, she noticed the market was empty.

The music suddenly stopped. Sam looked up at the small speakers in the ceiling. A tapping sound unlike a needle running around an empty space where a record should be, bounced on and off as if someone was deliberately pulling at the needle. Sam felt a chill running down her back. She thought maybe it was because she was in the ice cream isle. She wrapped her arms around herself and walked towards the cookie isle but the chill stayed with her.

The music started to play then stopped suddenly. Then it play again. Then stopped for the second time. Silence seem to enveloped the whole place and her mind. She could not hear any sounds, not even her own racing heartbeat.

The music suddenly started again causing her to jumped in fright. Sam still could not found anyone around. Not even the red-faced manager who usually follows her when she shops. She thought she saw a raven flew passed her her but when she ran after it, it seem to have disappeared.

Strange sounds came from the speakers. She looked up at the florescent lights as the chill slowly crept into her chest. She felt someone was behind her. She turned around but there was no one. Through the dark window shades, she could see it was still raining outside. She decided to walk around a bit and wait it out. The music started to scrambled, the words sped up, bunching together then slowing down, screeching to a halt.

She saw someone in blue ran passed her. She followed it but found no one only a blue apron lying on the white tiles, almost as if someone had left it there in a hurry. She dared not pick it up. Sam knew she should leave but the rain hasn't stop and her clothes were still wet.

She felt a chilly hand grabbed her shoulder. She wanted to scream but then it was gone. She slowly turned to look at her shoulder but there was nothing there. Over the speaker, she heard the music playing again. She turned round and round but the place was empty. A thick voice boomed from the speaker repeating, "Get out!" each time louder than before. She covered her ears with her hands but the voice continued.

Suddenly she couldn't move. She felt as if her feet were glued to the floor. She pulled at her legs trying to get them to move. She thought she saw white glue underneath her flipflops. Finally she got free and ran out of the supermarket holding the scream inside her. She felt relieved as the doors slide closed behind her.

The rain had stopped, the sun was out. Already the pavement was dry. No signs of rain anywhere. No signs of people either. She tripped on a sewer cover and fell down in the middle of the street, skinning her knees. One of her flip-flop flew off her feet.

She heard a ghastly voice calling her name but when she looked towards where it came from, there was no one there. She could still hear the voice echoing in the silent street. Not a single person to be seem. She got up without a sound and started to run, leaving her other flipflop behind.

It started to rain again but Sam kept on running, passed her house, passed the neighbors' houses, passed everything. Her feet burned from the hot pavement.

Sam never got home that day nor any other day. No one knew where she went. It was believed she melted into the asphalt as the heat got worse. Some even believed she got suck up into the sky when the storm came rushing down an hour before she disappeared.


Inspired by this photo and 3WW: Frequent, Open, Someday

Twisted

He twirls the black ring around his index finger, unaware of how it sounds against his rough skin. His small brown eyes dart here and there eventually landed on my right shoulder.

Nervous laughter exudes from his lips which he keeps licking. He exams the white coffee mug, taking small sips, smiling at me now and then. A small succession of coughs escapes his throat.

Through the cafe window I can see the morning sunlight fading away as clouds cover the sky, darkling the cafe. I felt like I was nowhere, having all this empty space and all those empty chairs around us.

The sudden clanking sound of dishes falling onto the wooden floor awaken me from my sudden thoughts causing my body to jump. I turn my head in that direction and back to his tan face which was calm as a an unread book. I started to tell him I wanted to break up but then he interrupted me with the clearing of his throat.

He took a sip of his coffee. Then said he always admired my beauty and my brain but that I didn't arouse his interest enough. He had been in other relationships where the woman used to make his nerves jump but not me. I barely keep him interested. He wanted someone who he isn't so comfortable with. Someone who doesn't seem like a sister to him.

He slip his words out like musical notes, lowering his head to face me. In his thick southern accent, he tells me he had found someone else. Someone who fits more of his needs. Someone old-fashion, someone unlike me. He always wanted to marry a woman who would let him be the man, the bread maker. A woman's woman, he said. I wanted to correct him but decided against it.

Instead I said I didn't get what he means. He shakes his head as if he pity my confusion. I sipped my ice cold coffee through a very big red straw, twirling the straw against the melting ice. I try not to smile, holding my laughter in.

He turns around then and tapped the only other customer's shoulder. "I like you to meet my fiancée," he said with a shy smile, holding onto the woman's hand as she walks around to him. "Her name's Hilda." I smiled, pretending I was hurt but at the same time that I was okay with it all.

As she sits down next to him, a sudden thought came to me. Is she really a woman? Her face was creamy with too much powder and her eyes were covered in black mascara and fake eyelashes. As she said hello and shake my small hand with her large one, my suspicion rises. He, on the other hand, seem quite content holding Hilda's hand with a huge smile on his face.

I stood up, congratulated them and walk out to the rain. It was simpler than I thought.


Cafe Writing: Option Two

Death by Consciousness

Josephine used to worked as a social worker but the stress had turned her into a nervous girl. One day she ended up in a run-down hotel room typing out her thoughts with demons along side her. She was unaware of anything outside her mind. Never once did she stop to sleep or to eat or even to go to the bathroom. Nothing could have break her from her spell. Not when she heard the beeper from her wrist watch telling her it's time to leave. And not even when the fire alarm rang throughout the air. Smoke came into the room through the windows and the cracks beneath the door but she continued typing, fingers pulsing on each key. When she finally finished, she sighed with relief. Finally she was free from her own thoughts. But soon her body could not support her. She melted into the dirty, green carpet, a useless body with a vivid mind. It was two days later that the maid came with a big mop, cleaning up the mess that was once Josephine.

Friday 5: social worker, mop, hotel room, beeper, fire alarm

Half Living

Charlie Edgar dreamt he was in the arms of the most gorgeous woman in the world. A slight breeze chill the hairs on his arms disrupting the very moment he was about to kiss her. The bright sunlight of a new morning shadowed the woman's face, forcing him to wake up from his dream.

The sound of chipping birds arouse his senses as they continued to drone on. He went back to dreaming but the birds got on his nerves. He had no excuse but to wake up.

Stretching his arms up to the sky, he yawned lazily, swipe his eyeglasses from the dresser and continued on into the bathroom. He can still hear the birds as he got ready for the day but now they seem to be closer than before.

At the breakfast table, he had forgotten he hasn't any milk and ended up eating dry Cherrios. But then he remember his fridge doesn't working. The outside noise suddenly grew louder but he drown them out by turning on the his portable tv. He bang the top of the tv when the screen flicker wildly.

Today's forecast looks like rain. Charlie will have to make sure to cover his furniture with plastics so that the rain won't get to them. It had been raining for three weeks now and looks like it might never stop.

Charlie turn and stare at the big hole in his living room wall covered in plastics with dirt and grind in patches. He can see the sky becoming dark.

At least he got the better half of the house. It was strange at first but now he had gotten so used to it, he didn't even think about rebuilding the other half.

It was two months ago that his ex-wife had half of their house demolished. He was sleeping and having one of his erotic dreams when he woke up to the sounds of bulldozers. At first he thought he was dreaming but then the sound grew louder and louder. He got out of bed and was he surprised to see the other half of his house being torn to bits.

He started to shout for them to stop but it was too late. The half of the house was destroyed. They handed him a bill for the demolition when they were done.

His ex-wife's name was on the order but it was billed in his name. He wanted to call her but as he looked for the phone, he was reminded it was on the other side of the house - the side that was now a pile dirt. He brushed away some of the debris that had fallen into his half of the living room and sat on the ground and cried.

In the end, he paid the bill and rented a truck, filled it with the debris of half of the house straight to her new home and dumped it all in front of her yard. He was slapped with another bill but it was worth it.

It wasn't easy at first but Charlie got used to living in half a home. Sure he couldn't get electricity or gas but he didn't cook and who need lights when there's a street light in front? So he just put up plastic wraps around the hole and nailed it down with staples.

The neighbors came and questioned him but he resisted talking to them. He got stares whenever he goes out to pick up his mail. Some guy paid him fifty bucks to take photos of his house. He said why not? Those photos got into the local paper but he didn't received any perks after that.

A few days later, he was fired from his job. HIs boss said it was nothing personal but Charlie knew it was because his boss wanted his son to replace him. At least he had some money saved up.

As Charlie sat there waiting for the rain, chewing on his Cherrios, a strange feeling came over him. He got up and walk closer to the opening and saw a faint light in the sky skipping in and out the clouds. Then a splash of light came straight at him. He try to duck under the table but the lighting stuck him and he fell onto the blue carpet.

When he woke up, he hit his head on the table and fell unconscious. When he woke up again, he saw that the plastic was burnt but his house was still intact, nothing else was touch. What does it mean he thought? He doesn't know and so he started to get ready to go out to dinner.


Fiction Friday: Sketch out a character with wildly bad luck. Make it a character you like, as we will use her again.

Leaving Sara

Wearing a large pink shirt that hung loosely upon her thin, barely five feet frame, Sara step outside, ready to tend to her garden. The pink bangles on her wrist clang together in union as if singing a sweet lullaby.

Sara pull up the pink sleeves and put on her canvas gardening gloves. She didn't care that the shirt might get dirty or that her bangles make so much noise that she couldn't hear herself think, she was determined to finally finish her garden. With her new trowel, she started to dig.

Her head hid under a large red baseball cap, barely containing the red curls that keeps falling onto her face. It sported the Red Sox's logo, her daughter's favorite baseball team. The red had faded with each wash cycle, almost becoming pink. Once in a while Sara would pull at it to keep it from falling.

For a moment, Sara felt dizzy, everything was spinning around her. She pull herself up and adjust the cap but decided to take it off instead. She look up at the clear blue sky and saw a blimp with the message, "Smile" slowly passing by.

Sara smile even though she felt the opposite. She could still picture her daughter, Sara, waving at her from across the street, telling her to hurry up. Sara, nicknamed "Pinky" because of her love for all things pink, was always a charismatic girl, always a smile on her face. A total opposite of Sara. She didn't know why she named her daughter after her even after seeing that her face resembled her husband's.

She could never forget the sound of Pinky's breathe on her shoulder as they ride the bus together to the spa. Pinky slept so soundly that Sara had glanced her way once in a while, still making sure she was really breathing. She always felt like a new parent even after twenty years.

After the spa, they planned on going across the street for coffee. As always Pinky was ahead of Sara. Sara's short leg couldn't match Pinky's tall ones. Pinky used to joke that Sara was the daughter and that she was the mother and even made her called her Mama once.

A group of tourist were ahead of Sara hiding her view of Pinky for a moment. Pinky fell down almost without a sound as the car hit her straight on. Her body twisted in an odd way before she landed on the pavement. A crowd gathered even before Sara reached Pinky. She cradled Pinky in her arms, holding her and telling her to hold on. But Sara knew she couldn't hold on. She wanted to scream but she kept her calm. Pinky was determined to hold on for her Mama, to stay alive. Sara could see Pinky wasn't going to make. She whispered into her ears to let go if it was too hard. Soon when Pinky couldn't hold on any longer, her eyes rolled over and closed as if it was so natural. Her long blonde lashes flicker once then stopped.

Sara could still remember that very moment, a moment that she kept playing over and over in her mind but now she knew she needed to change her memory of herself, of Pinky. Sara smiled, her daughter's smile lingering in her mind.

She heard the jingle of her husband's car keys and knew he had come home. She could imagine the look in his eyes when he sees what she was wearing. Again. But this time, she knew it would be different.


3WW: Change, Dizzy, Key

Market

Down the supermarket isles, a little boy with a dirty red towel wrapped around his neck, pushes a cart full of torn pages of food ads like a child with a destiny. Traveling faster than necessary, he rolls down this way and that way, barely avoiding shoppers and food shelves as he laughs gleefully. Towards the ice cream isle, he paused to check out the sign with the singing teddy bear, taste samples of chocolate chip mint ice cream and mini hotdogs. Then he went on his way, turning just in time to miss the cart heading his direction, towards the back of the market. After going through the last isle, he turn around to see the mess that he had left behind, a perfect smile on his lips. But he soon realize he was only dreaming, still inside the cart while his mother keeps telling him to sit back down.


Friday 5: little boy, torn page, market, cart, dirt

Drunk on a daydream

He stood so close and yet so far off that she could barely hear him when he speaks. His words fly towards her like a gentle breeze, blocked only by air. She glanced at him now and them, her focus on his smooth skin and his grey blue eyes. People passed between them but she didn't seem to noticed.

As he droned on about his ill-mannered co-worker, she caressed the thought of his ruby lips on hers. She pouted her lips together as if in anticipation but then even them out. His voice kept on, barely stopping to breathe.

More people brushed passed between them and the inches between them stretched farther and farther as he continued to take a step back each time. The train swayed back and forth as if luring her into his arms. Her focus stayed on his face, a smile on her dry lips.

Soon his words was too far away, she can barely distinguished whether he what he was saying. A sudden drop in altitude sent her crawling on the train floor. He helped her up, walked passed her and out the train, his arm around a tall woman. Her lips turned downward, disappointment written all over her face.

She stared at his back as the train door closed, cutting her daydream in half. If only he was talking to her.

Fiction Friday: Drunk on _________. Fill in the blank, then write a quick description of your character in that state.

Permanent Cold

His birth was delayed by 30 hours, almost the exact time it took for his mother to decided to abandon him. Right away, PJ learned nothing is permanent. His father was unknown to him and yet PJ never once thought of him or his mother.

Raised in various foster homes, PJ knew not to step too close to the edge of things. His focus was always on target. Mistakes were never made, at least not by him.

Though he was an average student, PJ managed to get into one of the best school he could afford. When he caught a cold the same year he graduated college, he thought nothing of it. It will go away, he thought at the time.

Not until it began to invade his every waking hour even in the middle of a dream. Prescribed cold medication help stop the sneezing and the headaches but they only last a few hours at a time. Still he managed to get marry to the first woman he fell in love with - Sherry, a make-up obsessed girl with pink eyeshadows and a huge desire to be rich. Sherry didn't seem to mind about PJ's cold. In fact, she carry boxes of tissues in her big bag whenever they go out. In between sneezes and bless-you's from the wedding guests, PJ said his vows. During his honeymoon, PJ went looking for tissues and cold medicine while his wife lounged around the hotel. He was desperate enough to buy illegal drugs from the bellboy which knocked him out for three days.

It was work as usual after the honeymoon. But soon it was evident that PJ's cold had become a problem. He went to a dozen more specialists who proclaimed him to have a permanent cold - not allergy - but a cold.

Still PJ sort for ways to ease his problem but no solution could be found. Spring became fall as summer was completely overlooked by PJ. Going outside was never a problem until he had to search for tissues and excuses to stop Sherry from leaving him.

On account of bad luck and bad choices, PJ went home early from work one day and found Sherry kissing a strange man with a "w" mustache on the doorsteps of his house. He scratched his head, took off his glasses that was blurred by the cold air, wiped it and then placed them back on. Walking passed Sherry, he sneezed once and went inside his house without a sound.

PJ flipped the light switch but the bulb went out a few seconds. He lighted a match to get to the fuse box outside. It was a cold night but PJ didn't feel the cold until he rubbed his neck, feeling the coolness of his skin. He got the light back on and went back into the house. He took some cold medicine to calm his sneezes.

As he poured water into the tin pot, PJ sneezed twice. His mind a total blank. He could not think of doing anything else but keep pouring water into the pot. He blew his nose and continued to stare at the pouring water.

A week later, they signed the divorce papers in a big office with low lighting fixtures which PJ kept sneezing on. Sherry got nothing and PJ gave nothing, nothing of value to her anyway.

A few days after that, PJ, armed with boxes of tissues and cold medicine, went into the emergency room early in the morning. He was feeling feverish and the medication prescribed by his doctor didn't helped him.

Having been awake for two days straight with his cold, PJ collapsed in the entrance landing hard on the hospital's marble floor.

He awoke to forgotten dreams and lost days but somehow feeling quite wonderful. He was able to breathe through his nose and did not have any urges to sneeze. His head, light as a feather, no longer consumed by headaches and dizziness.

A beautiful doctor with long black hair named Mel Brooke had unintentionally cured his cold but even she had no answers as to why or how it happened. PJ took this as sign that as usual, nothing is permanent. But one thing that made him changed his mind was Mel Brooke. He took one look and knew something must be permanent.


3WW: this week: Blurred, Illegal, Match and the week before: Average, Neck, Scratch

Postcard

Veering towards land, a seashell covered in vines and rubber soles sits between the sand and the edge of the blue sea.

As I gathered up discarded soapboxes, comic books and magazines into a box, I saw the postcard that you sent me hanging by the fridge. Just as I was about to reach for it, it gingerly fell to the floor sliding underneath the fridge. As I crawled on my hands and knees to reach for it, I am reminded of the dental appointment that you will miss today.

I can feel the rough texture of the paper as I pulled it out. A few bits fell off, landing on the Spanish kitchen tiles that you so eagerly installed last spring. I opened all the cabinets and drawers but found no scotch tapes. The echoes of the drawers slamming shut rang through the air. And I knew then that it was finally over. It was only yesterday that I thought of you.

Spots of water fell upon the blue edge of the postcard as I stared at it. I realized they came from my eyes. For ten minutes I stood there crying, unsure why the tears came. But they soon stopped. I tucked the card into the back of my jean's pocket and proceeded to carry the box outside, dumping them into the silver trash can.

The postcard was the last part of you - which you have sent to me while you were on a business trip. I received it in the mail the day before you told me you've found someone else. I pulled it out of my pocket, stared at it for a moment, then tore it to pieces and dumping them into the can.


Friday 5: shell, comic book, discarded soapbox, rubber soles, postcard

The star

Abstract by Haironie_91

She was built among the stars to shine upon the millions of humans below. The day will never meet her. The night fumbles alone without her. Her colors are infinite, spreading across the universe, shining where there's no light. But she was alone and uncatchable even as a falling star. She burnt with only one desire - to be among the humans. As she sailed across the sky watching over everyone, her sadness could not be contained. Her tears fell to earth like rain but they evaporated before they even touched any surface. And yet even as her heart longed to leave the sky, she stayed put knowing her desires can never be set free. She knew her purpose and leaving was never an option.


Monday Mural

Her other self

On a good day, Zoey Elizabeth Wolf can have some moment of clarity and a touch of happiness. On a bad day, her mind and body would get garbled up by her other self – the uncontrollable one that always emerges when she gets extremely frustrated or angry but often helped her when she was in trouble. But sometimes she wished she could be someone normal and human then maybe she can be like everyone else.

Growing up, she was teased enormously because of unexpected hair growth in unexpected places and sometimes even under her fingernails. Her family knew what she can do and yet they would always teased her. Whenever they pointed out hair where there shouldn't be, her eyes would glowed a bright red and their faces would froze in fright. She would calmed herself down and smiled mischievously without even realizing it.

Now with her family long gone, Zoey tends to keep to herself. It's easier that way, she keeps telling herself. Being cautious keeps her safe. She does not want to lurk in the shadows like a creature of the night but you would never see her pouncing around in bright clothes and a smile plaster on her face. Oh no, not her, not the girl who's too stubborn to care.

It was not her intention to saved him — or her — but that was what happened. BJ was his name though she could never remember what they stood for. He used to made her cry every other day in elementary by making fun of her facial hair. She grew to fear showing her skin by hiding her head in books and wearing long sleeved shirts even in the heat of summer. Even when her facial hair began to disappear she could not stopped herself from laying on the clothes.

Zoey was on her way home from a long day of serving tables and certainly couldn't care less about saving anyone not even if they are innocent. A dark group of shadows was in her peripheral vision and she could not help but take a look. Three guys in dirty business suits were beating some guy to a bloody mess. She walked quickly hoping to pass them unnoticed. It was just a two second glance but she knew they had saw her.

They chased after her with hunger eyes. When she heard their fast footsteps beating behind her, she ran as fast as she could but they grabbed her waist and pin her down to the ground with their dirty hands. She screamed but it was muffled by dirty fingers stinking of liquor. Their faces looking feverish and mad as they pulled at her clothes and searched through her bag pulling one thing after another. She started to scream again and one of them punched her stomach. She bit his hand a bloody red. He punched her face causing blood to spill out of her mouth. Anger raised into her subconscious rewiring her thoughts as her body began to react. Hair began to grow on her face, hands, legs and feet. Her eyes fermented into a deep red. Her teeth stuck out in sharp points and whatever she still had on got ripped to shreds. Even before her transformation was completed, she threw one guy away from her causing him to yelled out in pain. The other two guys were backing away from her. She stood up, towering over them. Their faces full of fright as she growled at them. They started to run but she was faster. She grabbed them and threw them around like rag dolls against the pavements. It was a blur to her, watching her hairy arms and hands and yet she could not stop herself. Her rage continued until their bodies had all gone limp.

An hour later, she was on the ground, feeling weak. Her memory was fuzzy but lacking no knowledge of what she had done. Laying around her were the three men in a pool of blood. Dead, she supposed but then she didn't want to check. She saw the last of hair disappearing from her hands as she gathered up her things and the pieces that were her clothes and stuff them into her bag. It's a good thing she remembered to keep some clean clothes with her. After all these years learning to control her anger, there will still be moments like this when control would escape her grasp just when seem to be in trouble. But the guilt of dead bodies remained in her subconscious.

Zoey put on a clean shirt and jeans and walked towards where BJ was laying. His eyes flicked open suddenly and she was ready to run but he pulled at her hand. Only then did she realized there was someone else beside BJ. A girl with curly blonde hair, blood spilling out of her head.

"Help Rachel," he said pointing at the blonde, before falling back into unconsciousness. It was 2 am and not a single person in sight. What was she to do?

She woke up BJ with a slap on the face that she throughly enjoyed even at that moment. Together they carried, mostly dragged Rachel to the hospital. BJ fell a couple of times and Zoey had pulled him up and sometimes dragged him along.

When they were finally at the hospital entrance, they fell to the ground in exhaustion. Zoey watched as the nurses and doctors took them away before dragging herself home. She will certainly not gonna stick around for the cops to ask questions that she could not answer. One thought ran through her mind as she walked home. Dammed it! She needs to buy new clothes again.


3WW: Cautious, Human, Maybe

The dollar bill list

Was it destiny that led you to me or was it the dollar bill?

It was a shopping list that I had written onto a dollar bill when I couldn't find any paper. I hadn't noticed I had dropped the bill as I rushed from one level of the mall to the next, trying desperately to find those perfect gifts for my nieces and nephews.

Two weeks before Christmas and the mall's already completely full. It required acrobatic maneuver down the highway of isles among the crowd of hurried shoppers in order to get anywhere.

I've been taking the list in and out of my bag due to my bad memory. I was on my sixth of the seventh gift and was much too distracted to even notice anyone was calling me. Near the toy store where the shelves were nearly empty out, I heard my name flowing around but didn't think it was for me. Forgetting what the last item was, I dug into my bag for the bill. But I couldn't find it. I checked my bag again but still it wasn't in there. I tried to recite the list in my mind but couldn't remember. So I decided to traced back my steps.

I must have been running around the mall for three hours at least. Yet you followed me having been ignored so many times. Up and down with millions of other voices overlapping in the thick air of Christmas. I felt a hand on my right leg while I was going up the escalator and without much thought, I rushed towards the top not looking behind me. Then I heard a scream and a few cursed words.

I turned around and I saw you laying on the ground looking very much like a man in agony surrounded by a few people. A large lady had swayed her bag at you, sending you crawling onto the mall's glossy floor. I stared at you for a few minutes before recognizing you from my brother's Christmas party two weeks ago. I rushed down the escalator but I wasn't sure what would happen.

The crowd dispersed as I walked closer to you. Your green eyes stared up at me, smiling but in pain with your right hand holding your stomach. I helped you up and laughed wondering what you must had gone through the whole three hours chasing after me, bombarded by perfumer pushers and mall employees.

I said nothing as I waited for you to speak. It took a while but finally you stuck your hand into your coat pocket and pulled out the uncrumpled dollar bill. This is yours you said. I smiled as I took the bill and said thank you, quickly checking the list before tucking the bill inside my bag.

I offered to buy you coffee as an apology. That's when I noticed how your eyes sparkled among the colorful mall lights. Your ruby lips curved in such an inviting smile that it made me all gleeful inside. I thought it was kind of romantic but at the same time kind of insane. What guy would go through such an ordeal just to return a dollar bill? I guess you would.


3WW: Empty, Highway, Ignored

Sleepless Sleeping Beauty

Reflected in the dusty mirror, Neola could see her weary face, clouded in sorrows and fading lines. Her golden brown eyes trace her image up and down. She stretch her tired hand up to her face, feeling the rough texture. Is that really her? Is that the face she has been living with? She turns away, unable to look at herself any longer.

Instead she turn her view to her antiquated home where almost everything are covered in dust. Mildews on her dresser, cobwebs between the doors, around the ceilings, and dirt layered on the cobbled stone walls and floors. It has been many years since she was first brought out here in this remote place with only few of her servants accompanying her. The years had passed so quickly, she could barely remembered what she did.

She parts the faded curtains to see the sun peeking out of the horizon. She yawns, then sighs as her lips turn to a frown. Another day ends but what will tomorrow bring but another disappointing arrow through her lonely heart?

Neola lay back down in her warm bed, pulling the sheets up to her chest, ready to sleep another day away. She closes her sleepy eyes but her mind continued to stay awake. Underneath her dark eyelids, there was peace. Only sleep.

She had spent many restless nights walking the dark halls exhausted but wide awake. Everyone around her were in various stages of sleep, some even laying on the floor, eyes half closed as if to remind her that the world had forgotten them. They will not be tending to her needs anymore. Neola makes sure they are comfort even as their body resisted the urge to stay awake. Often she would cover them in blankets whenever the nights gets too cold. The wind often sweeps through the thinning walls like sandstorms. Even the days blended together as if they too had forgotten themselves.

She wakes up a moment later but doesn't know why. She check the sky and saw the sun had settled into darkness. The moon hides behind sycamore trees. She watches the fading sparkles that framed the dark sky. Once she had made a wish on one of those tiny dots on a very cold night much like tonight. It wasn't anything too hard to forfill but her wish had gone unanswered.

Should she get dress? She started to call out her chambermaid's name but stop when she realized she would not come to her. Even if she did, she would not have the energy to help her. Neola falls to her knees, sadden by the thought.

If no one had come in the hundred years that she had waited, what are the chances they would come now? She sob into her silk gown, too tired to even think. The tears came down so often and yet they still refused to leave her. Another hundred years, what would it matter?

She had pictured so many times what she would say or do if someone did come but those images had long since dissipated in the clouds. She has no more energy for dreaming, not every daydreams.

By the time Neola stopped crying, morning has come. She lift her head up to a splash of sunlight, almost blinding her. Pressing her hands on the window sill to steady herself, she pulls herself up and wipes the last tears off her cheeks.

Something is out there. She can see a blue blur moving, coming near. She try to focus her eyes but the bright sunlight flare out her view. She shade her eyes with her hand but only saw the blurry blue coming closer and closer. Then her heart almost burst out of her skin when she realized what it was.

She runs around the castle, almost skipping, shouting for everyone to wake up. Then she saw what she was wearing and race to back to her room. She will wear her favorite dress, the one with the blue laces and white bows, that always makes her feel the most beautiful. Excitement jump around in her mind. The day has come! It has finally come! One hundred years wasn't such a long way. No, not long at all.


3WW: Picture, Reflected, Stop