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.

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.

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.

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.

Mobile Dreams

a canopy of stars
swirls in your yogurt cup
ocherous straw wines
crashed bits of gravel
all drenched in the silver sky
mobile dreams
ready to be pluck by anyone


Friday 5: crash, yogurt, straw, gravel, ochre

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.

A tale of two broken hearts

She was a pleasant looking woman with dark hair and dark eyes, her skin a milky sheen. Most would call her a natural beauty, many would call her the most beautiful woman in the world. But she wasn't the kind of girl who would just fall in love. No, she wasn't the kind that can be easily persuaded. But she just fell. Madly.

There he was, hair like the desert, eyes like the sea, just standing there waiting for a taxi in his black business suit. She was standing close by, waiting to cross the street. He saw her beautiful face and offered her his taxi, holding out his smooth hand. Without thinking she placed her hand in his and entered the taxi. She was far away before she realized what just happened.

They ended up on the same sidewalk again the next day. He struck up a conversation about the beautiful weather. She smiled at him like a crazed schoolgirl, entertained by her first boy crush. A spark began to glow between them.

A year later, a wedding in the summer heat of July, committed their love to each other. There was no separating them from each other. But one day, a car accident left something that changed his perspective on her.

At the hospital, he tried his best to be the supporting husband. But when he finally saw her face a few weeks later, he could not hide his disappointment. He tried but could not love her anymore. He busied himself with work and often told her he would make time for her but never did. He smiled so sweetly at her each time he apologized, she easily accepted it.

One rainy day, she saw him coming out of a hotel, arms around a buxom blonde. She called his name but he turned away, avoiding her. When she asked about about the blonde, he just shrugged it off and said she was a client. She knew then things had changed between them.

Now, for him to think of her as an equal was an impossible task. When he finally could not ignored her anymore, he took her out to dinner. Over sweet strawberry short cake, he tried to say what he had rehearsed but what came out was completely different.

As he stared at her scar, he could not help himself, blurting out the words that sent sharp pains inside her. To him, her beauty was gone, she was no longer the woman that he loved. He just could not look at her anymore. He didn't want anything to do with her. Vanity had stolen his sympathetic side.

Hurt by his blunt words, she ran out of the restaurant. Back home, eyes full of tears, she made the decision that would changed her whole life. She packed her bags and left for the other side of the world. She promised herself to not let him hurt her anymore. It took awhile to mend her broken heart but his face soon faded from her memory. Her days went pleasantly by after that.

He, on the other hand, had found more sorrow than his heart can contain. His refusal of her love had cheated him of happiness and created a hole in his heart, tarnishing every woman that he ever known or potentially loved. His looks left him older than he was. Lines and spots started to appear, continuing to do so even after he realized how much he loved her. But it was too late, she was gone from his life.

Ten years later, they passed each other on the street. He stopped, amazed by her sudden appearance. But she walked passed him without even a glance his way. She was so beautiful at that moment, so desirable. He started to call out her name but she had already walked too far away.

If she had heard him, would she have stop for an old man wearing a faded shirt? He stood there staring at her beautiful back as she continued to walk farther away, a smile on her face.


Fiction Friday: Describe a time your character gave up; and how it affected them for the rest of their life.

Wednesday Morning

Read Part 1 here.
Read Part 2 here.
Read Part 3 here.

A strange scent fill his nose down to his lungs. Smoke, the kind only a fire can create. He can hear Aurora coughing now. His lungs aren't doing any better. He can barely breathe.

Smoke filled the elevator and Aurora's panic heighten. Sean seem so calm but his face now has a worry look. Aurora bang on the elevator's door, calling for help. Is there no one out there?

Aurora's delicate voice shouted for help. Sean can hear her banging against the elevator doors with the umbrella he gave her earlier. He needs to do something. What was it they tell you in school - to drop and roll? What use is that in an elevator? Sean can hear a fade siren traveling near. The air is getting increasing hard to breathe and yet Sean try to keep himself calm. He can sense Aurora's panic, hear her uneven breathing. She speaks loudly on the emergency phone but there's no answer. She drop the phone with a soft bang and slide onto the floor.

Emergency alarms echo from outside the elevator. On the floor, Aurora pull her legs to her chest and wrap her arms them. She could barely see with only one emergency light on. Sleepiness continue to consume her body.

Sean could hear her breathing getting worse. Should he try to comfort her? What could he say or do? He can't even see her. She probably couldn't see him in the smoke. He carefully slide down next to her. The low humming of a Patsy Cline song whisper through the thick air.

"It's "crazy."

"I know. What are the chances of being stuck on an elevator in the dead of night in a small apartment building with barely any real architectural structure?"

"No, what I meant was, the song, 'crazy.' Patsy Cline. You were humming that tune."

"Was I? Sorry." Aurora didn't feel strange or embarrass but didn't want to continue humming. Her father had always told her to stop that habit.

"Don't be sorry. It's beautiful. You voice, I mean. I'm not just saying that because we're stuck in an elevator. I really mean it." Sean can tell she was not calming down now but it could be the the smoke. Her voice is now less shaky.

It was not a confession but to tell someone you barely know your hopes and dreams - that is just plain mad but Aurora feels she can tell him anything and it would matter to him.

Sean listen to Aurora's voice carefully as she tells him of her many failures. Her voice soon trail off after a while. She couldn't stay awake, her body feel so tired, so sleepy.

Sean try to keep her awake with his own story, his denial with his blindness. Her long hair briefly touch his cheek now and then to signal her sleepiness. He would call her name loudly every now and then to keep her awake.

But soon when Sean call her name, there's no respond. He even repeat it again and again, louder and louder, shaking her shoulder. No answer. Her head finally falls on his shoulders. She must have lost consciousness. He can hear slow breathing. He wants to wake her but then hears the sound of the elevator doors being pry open. "Over here!" he shouted at them.

It was twenty minutes after midnight, officially Wednesday, when the doors to the elevator finally open. Together, Sean and Aurora, awake after a couple of urging from Sean, escape the cage that is the elevator.



For Fiction Friday: Start your entry with a fire.

Tuesday Morning

He can feel her breath soft against his back, a steady rhythm of gentle wind kisses. Her song whisper quietly in his ear. Her voice gliding from syllable to syllable, word to word. Each sound following each other like permanent companions on a long journey. Her voice fades as morning comes, unwillingly.

Sean awakes to sounds of someone else's voice - his new neighbor, singing in the shower again. He can hear the water running in unison with her voice. Always a different song but always the smooth, delicate vocal. These thin apartment walls had always drove him crazy but this he didn't mind. He would wake up early in the morning just to hear her sing. Usually on week day mornings and sometimes late at night when the neighborhood seem to be in utter silence.

Sean pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans, slowly, so he could hear the last part of the song. His lips set in a smile but when she finished the song, he sighed. Another day to begin again. He feel so restless, so tire of all these day to day minute activities. He wish he could just stay in bed listening to song after song. It wouldn't have matter who was singing.

It was his mother's song that cured his insomnia but now without her around, he couldn't help but sing her song to himself. Though he could never sleep the same way again, he still dream of her voice. The absent-minded part of him could not always remember all the words only this line: We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.

He could have punch himself for forgetting the words but after almost fifteen years, what little bit he remember, he would cherish. He finally found where the song had came from just a few weeks ago when he had to go through her belongings. It was in one of her journal, filled with her day to day writings, almost all the pages had his name on it. He had his half-sister, Cassidy, read them to him. The song was something she had written for him after he was born. He was a restless baby, never seem to be able to sleep until she started singing to him. Though he had never quite understood why her voice was so comforting, he always knew it would never fade from his memory.

At his kitchen table, Sean slowly eats his cold cornflakes, each bite a long pause for his thoughts to reveal themselves. At the last bite, he hesitate, as his neighbors' voice ring through the air. He sit still, listening to her humming but they soon fade away follow by the sound of her front door closing with her keys jingling. One of these days he's going to unravel the mystery that is his neighbor. He will, he promised himself.

His phone rang but he just let it be. He can hear the clouds forming in the sky. He walk towards the window to listen for their incoming sound. He can always smell the rain before it begins to fall. It was one of his talent - the only one he knew he was not ashamed to admit. His mother was so proud when she found out. Being the only parent to him, she was not content to let him just be any ordinary kid. Whenever he felt stupid or whenever he found his many faults to be too much, she would comfort him with a song and an occasional chocolate cookie fresh from the oven.

Sean put his coat on, then fumble in the hall closet until he felt the smooth wood of his faithful companion. He had a habit of throwing it in the closet each day he came home. It was not intentional at first but after a while the habit formed. Sean reach for the umbrella from the hanger next to the front door, tuck it under his arm and pulls his door tightly shut and lock up. He walk the dark hallway and out of the apartment building. The noisy sounds of cars and voices doesn't diminish his thoughts of being outside. He breathe in the cool air, then place his glasses on, and park his cane in front of him, ready for another day even if he didn't feel it would go well.


Read Part 2 here.

For 3WW with the words: Punch, T-shirt, Unravel. Also for Fiction Friday: Insert this song lyric into your fiction: 'We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.'

Daydreaming

Artificial clouds zooms all around the stage and the entire arena. Her deep voice echoed from a microphone. She exhaled the words to a divine song in front an audience of thousands. Their tiny faces filled with sweet tenderness as they cheered and sang along. As she soothingly sang all the words that she had written when she was young and rebellious, she kept her eyes closed. It was an illusion as she was not herself. She was a bundle of nerves not ten minutes ago. Now on stage, with the music blasting and the fans screaming, she knew she can do this.

She paused in mid-verse, getting ready for a planned stunt. She was to fly above the audience wearing wires and white wings made from artificial fur. She pulled her wings upon her shoulders and arms while two guys in black attached her to a pair of hooks. She was ready.

The crowd was waving wildly and screaming her name. She smiled, staring out at them, she wondered if she was dreaming. She stepped out, close to the edge of the stage and spread her arms, ready to jump off. She glided off the stage and was carried high above the audience. She felt like a bird, flying for the first time. She continued singing sweet words.

She felt a tug on her left side but continued singing. The crowd was even louder as she passed by them. She looked down and knew she was too low. The audience started to grabbed hold of her, pulling at her wings and legs but she smiled and kept on singing. She realized she was going to fall when she heard a snap sound coming from her wings.

She was grabbed by the arm but couldn't free herself. Before she can react, she fell down onto a few people. She rolled onto her side, feeling thousands of eyes upon her. She heard the grasps and pitiful sounds coming all around her. The music was stopped. Her body, limp as she laid there, mortified. She closed her eyes and wish it was a dream.

She opened them to see she was on the floor of the cafe where she worked as a waitress. She had jumped off the counter and fell onto the floor. Her boss, Mel was staring down at her, grinned and then said, "Get back to work." He pulled her up off the floor. The crowd that had gathered went back to their seats. She started to pour coffee in people's cup, avoiding their stares, knowing her face was all red. It was business as usual.


For Fiction Friday: Your character was lost in her own thoughts. When she snaps back to reality, she realizes she was singing out loud. Unfortunately, she wasn't somewhere private. How embarrassing... Take it from there.

Get the Fiction Friday code. About Fiction Friday.

Flightless

He couldn't remember when the change came. It swept up everything that was sad and hurtful, good and happy. It swallowed everything like a piece of cheesecake that went down like silk. The intensity of the change found its way to the owner and preyed on him endlessly, turning him into candy floss that slipped between the wind and the stars. It ceased to stop even when it hit a great wall. It climbed over the wall and chased after the owner as he ran into the night. Finally the owner fell down and could run no more. He let the change took over him and turned him into a flightless dark bird.

The dark bird had forgotten everything good and happy but also everything that made him sad. His wings grew back in the summer and he flew around the world without any memories of what happened. His mind a blank canvas but still full of intense emotions that he cannot decipher. He often had dreams where he was a man. He did not understood why he had those dreams, only that their images lingered long after the dream was forgotten.

He often wished for a companion but his loneliness kept him trapped in his caged heart. He cannot helped but keep to himself.

One day he saw a beautiful woman with long red hair walking along the shore. He wanted so much to speak with her but he had no voice of his own. He flew close by but she didn't notice him. He was but a bird.

The woman suddenly smiled and waved to someone. Her face shined so brightly, it almost glowed like the sun. The dark bird's mind suddenly filled with tender images of this woman's face. He made a sound that caught the woman's attention but she soon turn away towards the man that was running to meet her. The dark bird flew towards the woman, making more sounds but the woman just ignored him. She waved her arms for him to go away. The man with blonde hair came and shooed him away, putted his arms around the woman and rushed her away in a red car.

The dark bird had no choice but to fly away, back to his lonely home in the sky. He watched from above at the moving red car, following it with his eyes. He nearly flew into another bird.

That night he dreamt of the woman. In the dream, he was a man holding the woman in his arms. They laughed and kissed with no care in the world. The feelings for this woman was so strong, it triggered a memory in the dark bird.

When the dark bird woke up, he knew instantly that the woman was his former true love. She had left him on a dark and cold night when the rain fell down in heavy successions. She had changed into someone new, someone unfamiliar to him. She had fallen in love with someone else, she told him in a cold voice. He was just not right for her. She wanted someone who can afford luxury cars and big houses with high ceilings. She said he was a loser, someone she could never be with. He had no words to say. He knew he couldn't make her stay.

Then came the final words that cut deep into his subconscious, "I never want to see you again." She walked out the door where a man was waiting outside for her, a blonde hair man with vacant eyes and a flashy, red sports car. He had peeked through the curtains and saw them kissing before driving away.

It was then that he had wished to be someone else. Someone who wasn't him. He cried himself to sleep and when he woke up, he remembered nothing but the one dream where he was chased by something, something that completely changed him. All he knew was, he was a bird whose wings had been clipped.

Now the dark bird wandered the sky. His heart, heavy as stone, his mind, full of memories that he cannot erase. He wished he could go back to the moment when he made that wish. But as the days go by, the allure of the sky pushed those memories farther away. Soon the dark bird's memories faded away, leaving only a faint dream.


This is for Fiction Friday: Write a scene that ends with your character saying: 'I never want to see you again.' Get the Fiction Friday code. About Fiction Friday.

And also for Friday 5: floss, intense, prey, cease, swallow.

Gone

This entry is for Fiction Friday. This Week’s Challenge: What is the first New Year's Resolution your character breaks? How soon? Why?

Get the Fiction Friday code
About Fiction Friday


She was better off without me. I told her so many times. I was a monster, an utter image of self-destruction, a sight no one should have seen. She tried, many, many times to save me. It was her way of protecting me.

She searched for me sometimes, in the spaces only she thinks I would be. What she didn't know was that I often stayed, hidden behind her, her shadow, I call myself. It was the best way I knew how to live.

She shouldn't have tried to help me, her poor, pathetic baby brother. She was trying her best to stop me from doing another stupid thing. If only she hasn't been there. If only she hasn't found me. If only she wasn't the responsible older sister. If only there was some way to turn back the clock to the last two months of my life.

She should had know better. Or I should have know better. Why was I so easy seduced by a bottle with liquid that can erase myself, my thoughts, my painful mistakes? Why had I made the one and only resolution if I wasn't going to keep it? It was two months ago that I went back to the bottle, to the comfort of numbness and dreams. I stumbled and fell onto myself. In the hours of midnight, I drove the car that shouldn't have been. I stepped on the gas and drove myself and her, into a tree, a harmless tree.

She was gone, in just a moment, a flash of the mind, a split second that cause so much pain for my mother, my father and myself. Forever trapped inside herself, in a body that refused to wake up, a body that ceased to exist in this world. And me? I only lost the one thing that was important to me - my sister, the one and only person who ever believed in me.

She was there all the time even when I screamed at her, even when I hurt her, physically and emotionally. She was there to keep me alive in this weak body that refused to change. Now, there's just me to stop myself from destroying myself.

Here, in this moment, my brain, my body, continued to yearned for that elusive thing that makes me fly high above the clouds, away from the pain, the memory. But I had put a stop to that. For now.

Letter from Isabelle 9

This entry is for Fiction Friday. The Challenge: Your adult character just got a guitar for Christmas -- a gift very out of character. What changes, if any, does this cause in her life or personality? (You may adjust the instrument if a guitar would be out of place or time in your story.)

Get the Fiction Friday code
About Fiction Friday

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8

Date: December 27, 2007
Dear L,

One of the Christmas gift from Joy were piano lessons. I've never been good at learning instruments but somehow the idea of learning to play the piano was so intriguing that I had to try it. L, you were always good at learning even without any teaching. I remembered how I had envied you when you learned to play the piano in just two weeks. Of cause I was given the chance to take lessons but I just could not bring myself to go - how can I ever play the same way as you?

I can now almost see everything clearly enough to go outside by myself. Yesterday was my first lesson. I decided to walk the few blocks to Mrs. Winter's place by myself. Joy had showed me how to get there a few days ago.

I felt like I was following your every step. Here in the dark street, I can see what's ahead of me - lights, cars, trees, buildings but no, you were not there. Not next to me, not walking beside me. Not there blocking the chilly wind from touching my face, not there to tighten my hat, not there to stop me from crossing the street blindly before a car stop dead in front of me with the owner cursing me out while you scream at them for being crappy drivers.

You were not there. I wanted to cry but my eyes, they just refocused on the street lights. I could not feel any tears coming or anything stuck in my throat. Just a bit of loneliness that seem to settled around me as I walked the streets. My legs wasn't completely healed so I had to walk with a cane. I moved slowly along the sidewalk, hoping not to fall. But of cause I did. I fell against a man who fell down along with me. I guess I must have tripped him with my cane.

I apologized endlessly, just babbling away words. He helped me to my feet and wanted to know if he can help me. I can smell the scent of fresh soap and felt a familiarity with him. I know I must have seen him before but couldn't decide where. His face was slightly blurry. His voice was calm and soothing. I told him I was fine and that I have done this hundreds of times. He laughed lightly as if delighted by my independence. I tried to smile but I knew I wasn't smiling at all.

I apologize again and walked away, trying to go fast but was unsuccessfully. He followed me, placed his hand on my shoulder, saying he remembered me from the train. I can feel the warmth from his hand on my shoulder. I said "What train?" Then he said,"The one where you fell onto the tracks? Don't you remember?"

I stopped walking, gripping my cane tightly in my hand. I remembered - the man with the green eyes. I remembered his face - the way he looked at me. I have seen him when the old man died on the train and often afterward, riding in the same car. He was always only a few steps away, always polite. If he looks my way, I would quickly turn away. But his green eyes were ingrained in my mind. In those rides, I often daydreamed about speaking to him, even getting to know him but those were just wishful thinking.

I have never felt so awkward around anyone before but this man kept my heart jumping so fast I could barely hear myself think. I wanted to make an excuse, to escape but my mind clear itself out as if it didn't want me to think.

I said thank you and rushed away. I heard him calling me to stop but I kept on going. At Mrs. Winter's place, I felt calmer. The cool touch of the piano keys kept my mind at ease. I can see the keys but they weren't clear. I knew my hand were shaking. It felt strange being the only student but Mrs. Winter was so pleasant and her voice was delicate and calming. It was awkward at first, but I managed to learned the keys but reading the music was not something I can do but Mrs. Winter told me I don't need to read the music to play it. She was very patient with me.

After the lesson, I felt I had accomplished something worthwhile. I knew I would not be an expert at it but just learning and going through the process is enough for me. How I wished you could have seen me, sitting there, my fingers on the keys. You would be proud that I didn't run away when it got so frustrating. Now I have something to look forward to each day.

I often wondered where you are, if you are thinking of me, if...L, if you're out there, I hope you are well. I know I keep going around in circles but I am trying to stop. I can't always break free when the past kept pushing me in that direction but I will try. You've always said, "Forget what had already happened, focus only on what's in front of you." I'm trying. Every day, I am trying.

Isabelle

Read Part 10 (last part) here.

Reverie

Fiction Friday: This Week’s Challenge: What happens when your character is dragged to a Solstice celebration?
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So there I was at another party dragged to by my friend, Eric, who probably needs to get out more than me. It was a friend of a friend of a friend's party. Who knows how many friends, knowing Eric, it could be tons. I'm not much into celebrating this year but it was the first party before the Christmas season rolls around and I really didn't feel like staying home alone.

"Hi," a skinny redhead holding a tan glass of beer said to me. She was clearly drunk with her eyes wandering back and forth. She smiled, then sip from her cup, then smiled again. I said hello and then she fell to the ground. I caught her by the arm but she fell down anyway. All that disappeared when I saw her.

There, among the drunken crowd was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. With her dark closed cropped hair, skin as pale as snow, and eyes like the moon, she was like a dream. Wearing a black dress that was clearly made to fit her body, she walked up to me and asked me to dance. I could only nodded my head as she led me to the dance floor.

Before I knew what was happening, I was holding her gently with one hand on her back and the other grasping her soft creamy, cool hand. She was casually smiling. Up close, her skin glisten like a million stars. There wasn't much talking as the music played. It was perfect - slow jazz filled the air, enclosing us in serenade of sounds.

I swore she looked like some actress who had died many years ago. Her long swan-like neck was bare, shinning in the soft yellow light. She leaned against me as if she had done that all her life. The bare skin of her back felt like silk and I can smell the scent of...of what? I don't know but it was faded, almost like something out of the past. I brushed my lips upon her bare shoulder and can hear her gentle breathing sound.

She kept her head on my shoulder until the music stopped. Then she lifted her head up and kissed me on both cheeks. Her lips felt cool but soft. With a smile and a gentle touch of her hand on my cheek, she said, "Ciao."

I was too numbed to even stopped her as she walked away into the crowd. Before I can snapped out of my reverie, she was far away, a few steps to the outside chill. I ran after her out of the house and into the parking lot but she was gone. I walked around a bit hoping to see her but there was no sight of her or anyone else. The bitter chased me back inside.

Inside I asked Eric if he had seen the girl I was dancing with but he didn't seem to know what I was talking about. I guess he was too drunk to even noticed anything.

Did I imagined her? Was she a dream? There was something strange about her and yet it felt magical. As cheesy as that may sounded, that was the one word that can really described that night.

"Joslin, you're such a fool," I kept telling myself. Why the heck didn't I even ask her name? Was I even awake at the time? Was I too drunk from her intoxicating scent to remember her clearly or maybe I did drink?

Whenever I am near that same place, it always brings up images of her. I can still remembered her face and the scent of her never left me. Images of her always seem to be through a cloud of white smoke, like a faded memory that was mine but at the same time, it felt like it was someone else's.

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.

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.

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.

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.
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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.

Past Regret

Fiction Friday: Theme: Give a virtuous character a sordid past.
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In a small town like Morningstar, Dr. Jacob was the man everyone wanted their children to grow up to be. The perfect gentleman. Always polite, never rude, always with a pleasant smile on his face, always helpful in any way he can. He was the doctor for the local hospital who also volunteer as a firefighter on weekends. No one knew how he had changed his life and his outlook. No one thought any worse of him even when they knew what kind of person he used to be.

Jacob's life was saved causing another to be lost. It was his selfish acts that caused him to be drowning in the water. He was being egotistic, showing off again. Out in the water on his surf board, when others had gotten out. The tide was high as skyscrapers but Jacob went out anyway. HIs board flipped over after only a few seconds and then he was down in the cold ocean floor.

The cold liquid entered his mouth quickly consuming his lungs. His legs got caught on a groups of seaweeds and being egotistic that he was, he didn't cry for help. He struggled and struggled but couldn't get free. Towards the end when he thought it was the end, he felt a pair of hands pulled his leg out and then he was out in the open air, breathing again.

He looked around but couldn't see the man who had saved him. The waves was still going strong. In the moving water, he can barely see what's in front of him. He dived under and saw the man all covered in seaweeds.. He pulled the man out of the water but it was too late. He was gone. There was nothing to be done. He stared in disbelief at this kind face who was now still as a wooden board. This man who saved him when he didn't deserved to be saved.

He cried like a baby when he realized what this man had done for him. He was an older lifeguard who had worked at this beach for many years. He was known simply as Joe.

Joe's daughter slapped Jacob on the face when he saw her in the hospital's waiting room. He apologized but could find no other words to soothe her pain. He felt guilty for being alive. Guilty that he was not the one laying in the hospital bed with the white sheets over his head.

As Jacob stared around his big house, his big empty house, he realized this was not the life he wanted. An inheritance from his deceased parents was all that he thought he needed. WIth no other family, he thought he can be selfish. All those years just sailing by ignoring the consequences, doing whatever he wanted at the expense of others. If only he can erased that last moment of his life. If only he wasn't so selfish. Who was he trying to impress, some woman who he only known for a few hours and will probably disappear out of his life the very next week?

After a month of searching, Jacob was ready to do something with his life. Starting over wasn't easy but in the end it was worth it. He had learned to live without the things he was used to. He gave his fortune away to a charity for orphan kids under Joe's name. He gave his house to a homeless family. His car, to his cleaning lady. The last few hundred dollars he used to started over.

In Morningstar, he find himself useful again. He had gotten his PHD but never actually used it. Living in a tiny apartment near the town's recreation center, he would wake up every more listening to the sounds of children laughing and he would smile to himself. He started working as the town's, Dr. Frank's assistant. When Dr. Frank retired, Jacob got promoted. It was not a rich town but the people were kind and generous. They didn't question his motives or why he was there in the first place. They see him as a man who who can be trusted, who can be there when they needed him.

Still after all these years, Jacob still could not fully forgive himself. Joe, whose life he had stolen, will forever remain in his memory as a reminder that even he can change for the better.

Mrs. Brady

Fiction Friday: Theme: Pick an unusual phobia and explain why a character has it.
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He runs inside into his apartment as if being chase. In his small bedroom, Greg hides away. The windows are tightly closed with thick curtains. Sunlight slits through the small opening of the curtains. Its beam falls onto his legs. Greg moves farther away from the window, away in the corner of the room where the shadow hides his thoughts.

In a quick move, he rushes to the window and pulls the curtains close. He stares at the surrounding darkness. The bed is pushed against the wall, away from the window. The floor is cover in white sheets over the blue carpet. The only other furniture besides the bed is the small desk with one pencil and two blank pieces of paper lay out on it. Plus an old wooden secondhand chair.

The room, a reprieve from daylight, keeps Greg sane. All bad thoughts gone. He sits in front of the desk, a little calm now as the sounds of the afternoon whispers its distance voice from the outside world.

Less than one hour ago, Greg was at a book signing. You would think at age 30, Greg would have gotten over his phobia but not quite. He waited in line with the old ladies and the beard men. When it was his turn, Greg slowly walked up to the desk where she sat, her round cheekbones was at its fullest caused by the wide smile on her face. As her smiling face and her big eyes came into focus, Greg stood there staring. He tried to say something but nothing came out. Sweat fell from his forehead. He held out his hand with the book, hands shaking. She said hello to him in her motherly voice. As Greg tried to form thoughts in his head, he suddenly ran towards the exit and out the store. He heard her calling him but ran faster.

Back at his apartment he felt foolish for running away. How was he to get over his fear this way? He waited two years to meet her and to get over his fear but now in this dark room, he knew he could not succeed in conquering his fear.

It was supposed to be a temporary solution but soon turned into something else. Greg, born with a rare disease, had kept him away from sunlight. Once his aunt took him outside on a sunny day. He was only six but the pain of the sun's touch stayed with him. He was in the hospital under going grueling treatments that lasted two weeks. HIs skin stated in its red state for two years before it finally subsided. Sunlight was not the problem as he soon developed the proper immune system to go out in the sun. No, sunlight was not the problem.

All those years of living inside had caused him to fear that lady from the Brady Bunch television show. Yes, he's afraid of Mrs. Brady. Whenever he saw her on the tv screen, he would try to avert his eyes. The cheekbones and the strange hair would cause him to freak out. He would lose control of his mind and thought of nothing but running away, far away from her.

His mother had constantly watched the show and had make Greg watched it also. Since he couldn't go outside to school, Greg's mother had taught him using the Brady show. His mother had a thing for Mrs. Brady. So many photos of her hangs around the house. His mother even got the same hairstyle and when Mrs. Brady changed her hair, so did she. His mother did looked like Mrs. Brady and usually would wear almost the same outfits from the show. Greg would get freak out sometimes whenever she would try to be motherly towards him.

Greg's mother who likes to be called, Mrs. B., did everything Mrs. Brady did. Even raised her two children, Greg and his twin sister, Marcia, exactly like Mrs. Brady. It was fun when they were young and their friends like it. But when the show got cancelled, Mrs. B became strange and abusive. Greg's father left the family to go to Hawaii with his secretary but Mrs. B. continued on as if he was still there. Everything has to be done to just like the Brady's. Mrs. B. even make her children wear 60's clothes but it was the year 2000. Soon Mrs. B. was sent to a facility while her two children went to live with their aunt.

Greg sits at his desk in the wooden chair and starts to write a letter. To Mrs. Brady, he writes. He never thought to sent them but thought of them as a healing process. Each letter he writes, he includes childhood episodes of his life hoping the words would ease his fear.