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

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

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

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

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

Waltz of night

a virtual memory delayed
her mind diving close to the edge
catching rays of terrestrial impulses
in the deep end of her bi-ocular mind
dreaming in an ocean full of alien words
moving through an unfocused waltz of night
soon to be waken by the daylight of tomorrow


3WW: delayed, edge, focus
Writers Island: Impluse

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

The madness of nothing

my mind torn asunder
barely touching on any real cognition
evading thoughts
visible in every open syllable
I fumble through
hoping for reprieve
but will I soon find myself
in the second stage of disbelief?


3WW: Touching, Visible, Stage

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

Fortune

all your sorrows will vanish
stars will align parallel to your dreams
your fortune will bounce back to you
revealing all your mysterious destinies
the only problem is
you will be lucky in love


Poefusion #6 and 3WW with the words: parallel, bounce, mysterious

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

Summer and Rain

She was born on a dark and rainy afternoon, so full of stillness that her parents thought her breath had been stolen away. Then the rain stopped, sunlight spilled through the window landing upon her porcelain forehead. Her eyes, one blue and one brown, opened then as if the thought suddenly came to her while her little hand reached out for the sunlight. She yawned and fell asleep bathing in the warmth of the sun. Her parents relaxed in two sighs of relief. They gave her the name Summer.

The years came and went, Summer grew to staying outside until the sun sets and even then, she would stand in her bedroom window watching the sun dive into the dark horizon. Not once did she tan or burn from the sun. Whenever her mood falters, somehow the rain would show up. She didn't necessary understood why she enjoyed being in the sun more than others but it makes her happy. On days when she didn't have any chores, Summer would run around the field, swimming in the warmth of the sun. Life was sweet.

At eighteen, Summer was still living the easy, carefree life. Her parents, Augusto and Autumn, did not pressured her into marriage. Even at this age, they felt she should make her own decisions. While many girls her age had already married with children, Summer remained by her parents' side. The thought of separation from them always pains her.

But one day, Augusto fell ill. Pneumonia, they said. He was gone after two days of being bedridden, buried next to his mother in the church's cemetery. The next day, Summer grew ill and the weather grew cold and rain for many days. From her bed where she laid, she can see the dark clouds covering the sky. For days, she spent in bed, hair all tangled, tears streaking down her cheeks, refusing to eat or sleep. Her mind was constantly occupied by her father.

Soon Summer grew weaker and the rain came down even harder. One night, Summer woke up and thought she heard the sound of thunder inside the house. She got up, lit a candle and wandered down the stairs, towards the kitchen where the sound seem to have came from. There she found her mother laying on the kitchen floor, pale as a sheet. She called to her but Autumn laid there all still, eyes closed, hand still holding half a pot of rain water. Blood was spilling out from underneath her head. She had fallen and hit her head trying to stop the roof from leaking.

Summer ran out in the rain, to the doctor a few doors away, the same man who came for her father. Together they rushed back to her mother but it was too late. She was gone. Summer fell on her body and cried. The tears flowed endlessly as the rain pour down like floods outside. She felt the doctor's hand on her shoulder but that brought no comfort to her. Loud thunder rang out in the sky. The rain continued its descend the next day even as Autumn was being buried next to Augusto.

Summer hid in her bed, drained and unable to carry on. The days slowly drifted by. Knocks on her door went unanswered. She did not know how long she been sleeping, only that it was snowing outside her window when she finally got the will to wake up. The dark days had weathered her skin with fine lines but hope spread in her heart as the days grew warmer. Her father always told her, no matter what happen, we still must carry on. She wiped away the last teardrops off her cheeks as the faces of her parents lingered in front of her.

The next day, Summer cleaned the house from top to bottom, washed everything she could see. Her body grew stronger as winter slowly faded into spring. But food was scarce and she need to do something to keep herself alive. Her mother had always taught her how to clean and cook, and her father constantly occupied her mind with new ideas but by herself, it was harder.

She ate the last supply of bread and milk, sold the two cows to her neighbors for some leftover tidbits and vegetable seeds and started work in the small field, planting all the seeds, working almost every day until she could no longer see in the dark. But her hard work soon paid off. The potatoes grew big, the tomatoes luscious, the cabbages a vibrant green, all ready to sell at the market. She gathered them up in a wicker basket made by her mother a few summers ago and slowly walked the miles to the market, stopping now and then to rest. Her hands were red and swollen by the time Summer got to the market. She was tired but hopeful.

She set up a blanket near a fruit stand and spread out the vegetables. It was a small space but that was all she needed. The busy market swarmed with people going in and out in every direction. The sounds of voices bounced here and there. The sun was still out but a small drizzle began to fall. Summer smiled her friendliest smile, waiting. She wished she had untangled her hair but at least her clothes were clean.

The crowd grew bigger but no one stop to even look at her or her vegetables. Summer felt disappointed but kept on smiling, hoping. Then she saw a dark figure coming near. A man carrying a large basket full of fruits and vegetables was walking straight towards her. The man set down his basket and pulled off his hood revealing a handsome but rugged face. He proceed to checked out the potatoes, holding a few in his hands, admiring them like work of art, then placing them back down. Summer tried not to stare. She was not used to strangers but his face was kind. She was proud of her potatoes but she could not speak as boldly as she would at home. "How much for two?" he asked, his voice thick but gentle. She couldn't get her voice to work so she held out two fingers. His lucid gray eyes fell on her hands and then to her blue and brown eyes. She lowered them just as the rain came down harder. Summer barely noticed it as they fell onto the man's coat.

The man pulled out five coins from his coat pocket and placed them in her hand along with droplets of rain. Then he grabbed two large potatoes and dropped them in his basket. The man refused as Summer held out more potatoes. He gently pushed her hands away and said, "Enough," pulled his hood on and lifted his basket with both hands. He gave her a smile and walked off. She can still feel his warm hand on hers as she watched him walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

Summer held the coins in her hand and smiled like a young child. She wiped the coins dried on her skirt, fingered its smooth surfaces and placed them into her pocket. She felt so proud of herself for making her first sell. She had always came with her father but never directly had to handle a customer before, always standing on the side waiting for her father's instructions. Now she was doing this by herself. She blinked the tears away and remembered how her father always told her to smile if you want to sell.

Soon she realized that it was raining. She looked up at the sky. The rain was coming down but none fell on her. She looked at the crowd running for shelter, left and right. Then up at the sky again at the rain falling like wooden sticks. But she was not wet nor any rain fell on her vegetables. Summer smiled to herself and wondered if she was dreaming. She pinched her cheeks and felt them flushed. She stuck her hand out but the rain steered clear of her fingers, going out of their way, instead splashing water onto the nearest lady carrying a big umbrella. She tried again but no droplets fell onto her hand. Summer shrugged it off as more people stopped by, some with umbrellas, others wet with tiresome eyes. It seem she was the only one with dried vegetables to sell. Towards the end of the night, she had sold everything. The rain had subsided by then. Summer skipped all the way home, jumping on puddles now and then, carrying the empty basket, her pockets' full of money, jingling happy noises.



3WW: Money, Tangled, Understood.

The piano player and the fly

His long, slender fingers graced the black and white keys, tenderly pouring out sweet, timeless melodies. The room's quiet voices, sounds of plastic spoons and wrapping papers soon faded away.

He fingers effortlessly moved from key to key, his mind inside the music. He kept his eyes open, enjoying the view of the cloudless blue sky through the tall, large glass windows. Sunlight filtered through splendid spots of colors onto his hands.

The tranquility of the moment was temporary disturbed by the appearance of a black fly. It flew here and there, landing on the piano and then on the keyboards and finally on the thin skin of the piano player's left hand. It stayed put and each time the player shook his hands to get rid of the fly, each time it came back, more determined than before. When the music ended, it flew away.

It came back again when the player started on a new song, this time landing on his right hand. The piano player kept on playing even when his fingers itched. After the song was finished, the fly flew away again. The player scratched his fingers and started on another song.

He kept his eyes closed this time. He didn't noticed the fly was back until he felt something nipped his finger. He opened his eyes to see the fly on his right index finger. But he kept on playing. After that song, he smashed his other hand down on the fly. He lifted his hand to see a tiny bits of blood where the fly used to be. He wiped the blood off with his handkerchief.

The piano player was exhausted. He decided to take his break then. He climbed down the ladder from the balcony where the piano always stood, a small corner of the restaurant, up where anyone can see him. The ladder was the only way up and down. Four hours each day was all he ever stayed up there. He called it his temporary home away from home, his tiny apartment where he and only his piano lived.

He took a walk and had a hot dog before finishing up his last hour. His head was spinning slightly when he sat down in front of the piano. But as he began his song, he was soon feeling better. His fingers felt like liquid against the keys. His feet, soft against the petal. Still he continued to play, completely engrossed in the music.

Then the music was gone. He realized he could longer reached the keys. He had shrank to almost the size of a small dot. With his voice almost gone, he shouted but no one could hear him. He jumped and jumped to get someone's attention but with no success. He felt numb and disoriented. He saw his reflection then in the glossy surface of the piano. A tiny dark fly. Was that him? He stared and stared and finally knew, he was no longer himself.

The he heard the loud sound of the piano, booming out his music. He looked up and saw himself or an image of himself, sitting there playing the piano, enjoying his music. He could do nothing but stay in his spot. Soon the music seeped into his ears and soothed his mind. He started flying around the piano.


3WW - the words are Apartment, Began, Numb.

Tuesday at Midnight

Read Part 1 here.
Read Part 2 here.

Not wanting to go home yet, Aurora wander the empty sidewalk. Sean's umbrella neatly folded in her hand. The rain had ceased but the grounds still wet. She steps on a big puddle of muddy water crossing the street, letting the water seep into her shoes. She could not feel the liquid dripping in and onto her skin. As her glass door entrance.

Waiting at the elevator, Aurora hears a clicking sound coming from behind her. Turning her head to the sound, she was surprised to see Sean. Wasn't he home before her? She check her watch, almost midnight. His face coming nearer, embarassed, she turns her view down to the dirty tiles. The clicking stop next to her.

Aurora's eyes dart down to his canvas sneakers, black with white trimmings and white shoelaces. They shine from the wet rain which is now dripping down onto the tiles. The sounds echo in the air or is that her heart? He turn his head and a pleasant smile splash across his face as if he suddenly notice her. Does he know she's staring? She quickly turn away again, pretending to admire the artwork that is the elevator button. How crazy is this, he can't even see her!

"Hi." His voice a pleasant half baritone. He is close enough to smell her deodorant. Baby powder, he thinks.

"Hi." What a stupid respond she thought. A small giggle escape her lips. She hope he didn't hear that. It was twice now that they had been in contact and both times she felt like a fool.

"I'm Sean." His hand, white as a sheet, stretch out to her. She hold it as if holding silk, shaking it gently. "What's your name?" Pause. Sean pretends not to know her name even though he had heard people calling her many times near the elevator. Then, "Don't you live next door to me?" That was stupid. Of cause, she live next door to him. Hasn't he bumped into her at the elevator when she first moved in?She probably doesn't even remember him.

Sean, you dummy, quick, think of something smart to say. Sean's mind skip through many images but could not find anything worth repeating.

"Uhm, yeah. I mean YES!" Aurora almost shouted her reply, squeezing her eyes tightly shut for a moment. Why is she so stupid? She opens them again and told him her name.

"Goddess of sunrise." Sean's smile send hot and cold tingling down her spine. His face only an a few inches from hers. He can feel himself blushing. To Aurora, it felt like his brown eyes were looking directly into hers.

"I'm no goddess." She left out a nervous chuckle as she said this. The urge to kiss him run through her mind. Why is she thinking that? She brush the thought quickly away as the elevator doors begins to open.

She walks inside to the corner of the elevator while Sean stand on the other side, placing his cane to his side.

A few seconds into the ride, the elevator suddenly give a jolt, stopping their thoughts for a moment. Panic run amok in Aurora's mind. What if the elevator drops?

"That's just not logical as we are not even on the second floor yet." Sean's voice cuts through the air.

Did she said that allow? Aurora's voice shake as she spoke. "Uh, yeah, illogical."

How dumb is that, Sean? Sean shouldn't have answered. She wasn't even speaking to him. Though there was no one else on the elevator. 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?

Read part 4 here.


3WW words are Rest, Sidewalk, Twice.

Tuesday Night

Read Part 1 here.

Sean knew it was coming. The scent was so strong, so vivid that that he can almost see it in his mind - the white lights of thunder, the splashing of the pouring rain coming down like sheets of amber. He can hear people rushing about, one last mad dash for dry shelter, their shoes echoing on the hard pavement. Shouts and giggles follow each step.

Sean stood in the middle of the sidewalk, black umbrella in hand, cane at his side. He listen to the sounds of the heavy rain, each droplet a musical note to savor. Twenty past eight, with the dark streets emptying themselves, the rain keeps falling harder and harder. His lips curve in a permanent smile. He loves these noisy nights. He can hear and feel everything around him.


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Aurora, one of the poor souls running for shelter, didn't see it coming. It seem to be one of those nights where things that would go wrong, went wrong. After work, she had received another rejection letter, this time the comments were more precise - unpersonal, no vivid imagination, not polish enough, not something we want to publish.

Of cause, when she told her father during dinner, he again, wondered why she even tried at all. Her failures, he would always point out but her victories always get ignored.

Aurora's apology for her failures signal yet another outburst from her father. Why don't you give it up, he said, it's not like you can be a writer. Aurora restrained the tears that started to form in her eyes. She can see the distant clouds from her side of the table, behind her father's head. The sky have not settled into night yet but the light rain drizzled down like diamonds. Aurora considered agreeing with her father but kept silent. She didn't want her father's unsubtle remarks to keep her down but the bitter taste of her father's words stayed in her mouth, trapping her doubts and anxiety in a tiny cage.

The dinner went quickly as her father wanted to spend more time with his new baby girl. He drove off without much of a goodbye, leaving her in the rain, shaking in her own disapproval.


She search in her bag for her umbrella but then remember she had left it on her kitchen table along with her rejection letter. She run towards the bus stop but couldn't find her Metrocard. She search and search but couldn't find it. Her bag, a complete mess as paper notes scatter onto the pavement. She pull and pick them up but the wind took them away.

She slip on one of the paper, skinning her hands and knees. Streaks of tears present themselves down her cheeks as she lay there staring at the ground. Her sorrow felt like a big truck upon her body as the rain continue to cover her from head to toe.

Suddenly she felt a pair of gentle hands around her waist pulling her up. Her eyes follow them as they slowly slip off her. She turn to see him, a bright face in an otherwise dark night. His eyes sparkle somehow in the yellow street lights. He pulls out an umbrella, open it and hold it out, shading the rain from her. She feels numb but takes the umbrella. Did she scream or cry out loud, is that why he's here? She doesn't remember.

Then he pull a cane out and starts walking away. Aurora wants to follow but her feet would not move. Umbrella in hand, she stood there letting the rain pour away her emotions all around her. She stare at the falling rain, following it down to the ground, down the holes of the sewer.

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Sean keeps his head high as he walk home. He hope she doesn't catch a cold with all that rain falling on her. He wish he could do more but he knows she's better left alone for a while. He can hear her silently crying, the rain falling still. He heads home hoping he will see her again.

Read Part 3 here.


3WW words are Apology, Consider, Distant.

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.'

Dream Days at the Hotel Existence

I always have my head up in the clouds chasing after memories that I cannot follow. But what I don't remember stays with me, following me everywhere I go around this strange hotel as I struggle to invade the living. I only exist partially here in this world as I have no real body. I don't remember when or how I got here. All I know is that I had been here and now is still here.

Sometimes I dream I was lost and running from some unknown black shadow that keeps chasing me, forever in a loop of discontinuation. I can never see the shadow but I know it's behind me as I run from room to room looking for refuge. I can feel its eagerness coming closer and closer. Just as it was about to touch me, my eyes will then suddenly open and I would feel cold and strange, unsure of where I am or what I am.

Now and then some guy would bring his girlfriend here for some afternoon delight. And why not? The furniture are all intact though covered in cobwebs and dust. In their haste, they may glimpse an image of me in a dusty old mirror or some shiny object. The guy would jump in fright and run off with his pants in his hand, leaving his girlfriend by herself. She would leave feeling more angry than fearful. I don't mean to frighten them but they scare me more than I did them.

There were many nights my true love and I stood at the window wishing on the same moon in these large hotel rooms. Our secret rendezvouses were the sweetest days of my life. But the images are cloudy now, their details hidden behind some dark curtains. The look on her face, the feel of her body against mine - all gone from my thoughts. The more I try to remember, the more it drives me mad. But one thing I could never forget was her name - Serena. She used to sign her name with the "S" in long curves shaped like a woman's body. I am here waiting here for her. I don't know if she's ever coming back but I do know I am not leaving here without her. I wander the halls like a lost child, searching for her, hoping to see her face once more.

Here in this abandon hotel, I am alone among the ghosts that sticks close to the peeling wallpapers and keeps me as their unwanted companion. The daylight hours lingers on, lasting longer than usual. Whenever I see the shadows on the wall beginning to drop to the floor, I know night has come to seek my nightmares and daydreams.

Who really cares if I existed anyway? Nobody sees me. I am slightly out of sync with the rest of the world - surviving on what little memories I can rob from my own, fractured mind. I have a long way to go before I can leave this place. Each day I would open my eyes and find myself still here, still forgetting. The hidden black tears shed themselves without my consent. They drip down my invisible cheeks singing a ballad of a dead man. I'm constantly drifting further away from the real world, each time I feel less and less like me.

I would go down by the dam sometimes and stare at the still water and dream of Serena. I can still taste bits of her sweet presence here and there. Remembering one moment and forgetting the next - my mind see-saw from one image to the next but never seem to settle at any one place. If only I can hold on to these memories like capturing home movies that I can watch, moment by moment, frame by frame of the life that I had forgotten. There were times when I thought I could leave this place but I fear I will forever be haunting these empty hallways, passing other leftover dwellers - waiting. I shudder to think of what had gone on in the past and what will continue even now as I wait for the end that might never come. I imagine it to be a terrible moment in time where my existence is of no importance to anyone.

For Three Word Wednesday.

I'm always looking for new ways to dictate my writing so here I am trying something new. I randomly pick an album with a title that I like from the Wiki pages and use the track listening in the story. The titles are from an album called,"Dream Days at the Hotel Existence" by Australian rock band Powderfinger. I'm not familiar with this band but I really like the album title. The titles are highlight in blue.

The end of the breakup

In your burnt heart of sorrow, you lingered in the cracked lines of your despair. The keys to your cherry red heart no longer fitted. Discarded in the cold winds of winter with three little words, "I'm leaving you," it no longer resided in the same spot. A shift, a little to the left had been made. And yet you lingered there, in your broken home, tangled up in loose emotions.

It was three months ago that it happened.

He had cracked open a bottle of beer so casually, so unemotionally as he spoke to you at his place. He discarded the caps onto the floor along with burnt matches and cigarette butts. As he told you the reasons why, he continued to sipped bottles and bottles of beer as if it were any other day.

He asked for his keys back. You pulled it out of your purse, slowly preserving the moment of owning such object. He started to take them from you but you held them tight. He nearly ripped them away from your hands. His cheeks flushed cherry red by the gesture. You remember the day he gave them to you. It was your twentieth-seventh birthday and also the second anniversary that you were together. You cried tears of joy which he had casually brushed away with his fingertips.

After the last bottle of beer was gone, he grudgingly drove you home, blasting Elvis Presley on the radio, humming along to "Love me tender." You sat beside him, numbness taking over your body as you realized - he didn't want you anymore.

He said,"Bye" without looking at you and drove off just as you barely slammed the car door shut, hurrying away as if he was escaping something horrifying. You watched as the faded, green Honda disappeared into the cracked horizon.

As you approached your home, you noticed how smooth the pavement leading to your front door was and wondered why they never looked that way before. You also noticed your front door was now an odd shade of red. You couldn't remember what the color was before.

You fumbled your keys as you looked for the big, silver one. Your hands trembled as you turned the lock. You touched your cheeks only to realized it was wet. You flipped the switch but the light bulb burnt out after two seconds. You cursed the darkness.

You went to take a shower but halfway, the water suddenly turned bitter cold causing you to keep turning the faucets but the water remained cold. You finished up anyway.

Then the phone rang. It was him. He wanted his things back. H