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

You must remember this

Ariane sits alone in the dark theatre, a bottle of water in one hand, a bag of chips in the other, waiting for the screen to light up. The sound of the film projector starting, turned her thoughts to the weekends she used to spend watching movies with her father. She could still feel his rough hand holding her small one as they waited in line for tickets, his face full of excitement exactly mirroring hers. He would let her hold the ticket stubs which he always said were leftover gold stardust from the silver screen, magical dust that can take her to any place she desires. As the giant title splashes across the screen, Ariane let out a chuckle remembering the funny, green rimmed eyeglasses he used to wear, the huge cup of orange soda they loved sharing and the stale popcorn that somehow still tasted good all the while their eyes stayed glued to the screen. Tonight, on the tenth anniversary of her father's passing, Ariane, still mesmerized by the black and white pictures, could not help but spill salty tears that fell onto the ticket stub in her lap causing it to glow like the sun.


3WW: funny, remember, theatre

The edge

Close to the edge, George's black loafers move steadily but slowly, sliding downward, he sits, careful not to look below. He wanted to see the sky before he leave Chicago but now sitting here, fingering the necklace with the baseball token, his thoughts drift off. He stare across the sky at the clouds that dance in rhythmic motions, changing their colors around in the dull space, getting ready to shower the people below. It was just yesterday that he questioned himself and thought it was the end for him but something has change. Emerging from the clouds, a black jet suddenly flew passed George causing him to fall, dropping the necklace, his hands grip the edge, barely holding on. This...is...not...my...day, he thought, seeing his lonely face reflected in the glass windows as he struggles to pull himself up back on the roof, changing his life completely.


Three Word Wednesday: Glass, Question, Token

Walking Home

Street in Venice, 1882 by John Singer Sargent

Her faded yellow skirt barely touched the pavement as she walked the quiet streets home. Night began to fall forcing her to gathered her black coat tighter around her blocking the wind from seeping into her skin. The echo of a train momentarily broke the silent night as street lights were lit up by men in black coats. She quicken her strides, hiding her dark eyes behind her coat collars, her bruised red fingers holding on to her long dark hair and loosed red ribbon. Passing muddy white picket fences, ignoring stares from two drunken men simpering at her as they kissed their bottles, she sped up the pace again, almost running towards the vale of her streets. She sighed with relief at the sight of her house's brightly lit windows.


Friday 5: kiss, train, fence, vale, simper

On the train platform

On the train platform, he kissed her goodbye, his breath sinking into her chest, long and tender. She slowly left his arms and climbed onto the train, spreading her arms like wings, calling his name as the train began to move. He ran after her with his cheeks burning red but his eyes never left her face, mouthing the words, "I love you." She reciprocated by blowing air kisses that he tried to catch, lost his balance, tripped on a suitcase cart that sent him colliding with the concrete floor. He gingerly picked himself up, simpered and waved as her face disappeared in the train's mist. The train conductor fenced his laughter behind his notepad, knowing their vales of goodbyes every weekend.


Friday 5: kiss, train, fence, vale, simper

The Cure

Every day she would try a new search but everyday, nothing new to add to her discontent. All those sites and blogs she searches through seem to fume her loneliness and demises more of her self worth. In her mind, the long-absented companion cease to exist. Rushing toward bleak conclusions, she plunders her wreath of being. Oh, there were hopes here and there, but in the end, all of them would lose their flame, their excitement, smothering down to boredom and hurtful regrets. Still she stay in pursuit of the never-ending cure: happiness.


Read the part 1 here.

Best Friend

She was surprised by a distance whalesong, a sound so haunting yet so mesmerizing that it caused her to jumped in fright, falling into the river. He looked up to see her head just barely out of the water. As he ran towards her, he slipped on the aged earth but got back up on his feet in time to see her golden coat moving along down the river. The fluidity of a gray spot flashed before her eyes as she tried to stayed afloat, breathing in pieces of air whenever she managed to keep her head above the water. He waited for the right moment before jumping in, pulling her up before she can sink to the bottom. They moved like a pair of synchronized swimmers towards dry land with his arm around his furry, best friend.

This is for Friday 5.

Her words

Entry for Six Sentences.

She spends her days writing short verses and stories to post on her blog that only a few would read. Each new post brings new words of encouragement and new ways to un-praise herself. She searches for answers but knowing she couldn't find any, keeps her just a few spaces between her and the rest of the world. In her words, she speaks of her loneliness and doubts but left her heart open for interpretations. There are no messages too contrive, too wordy or too emotional for her not to deliver. Lost in the images and links of anonymous bloggers, she wanders but rarely pause long enough to leave her words behind.


Read part 2 here.