Short Stories | What's your story?

That through which we see

It’s something that enters your eye when your cries first echo into the world. Everything is blurry and unknown, and yet there is something bright, letting you know you’re alive. It’s something you see on top of a cake, as you blow it away with all your wishes buried deep in your heart. You look up and see everyone you love whose eyes reflect it. It’s something that illuminates the room when your alone crying, your hand clutching at a picture that you once lovingly looked upon. When everything seems like the opposite of it, you look up and you see that it was never gone. It is something that irritates you when your hangover kicks in, causing the throbbing in your head to worsen. You try to turn over and ignore it, but it creeps at you, trying to push you off your bed.

You feel it when you’re hugged tightly by someone you love, as your heart hammers inside your chest. You hear it when you’re in a beach all alone, as the waves crash into the sand. You taste it when your girlfriend kisses you, as you lick your lips to relish the feeling of her lips on yours as you drop her off at her house. You smell it in a flower patch or in a bakery, as it seeps into your nose and conjures up memories long forgotten.

It is something you see when the church doors open to reveal the love of your life walking down the aisle. You see it glitter in her eyes as you slip in the ring on her finger, and you see it again in her smile. It is something you see when you see your child for the first time, as you lull him/her in your arms. You feel like a big giant compared to them, but you don’t care. You’re going to give them everything anyway. It is something that escapes you when you see your wife happy with someone else. You feel robbed and fooled, as you hold in the tears that threaten to fall. But when you see her again it’s like it never happened, and you love her just as much.

You feel it when you see your child fussing over her wedding dress, as she tries to hide the excitement she feels. Although she is being taken away from you, you don’t feel it. Because you know she has chosen well, and she’s happy. You hear it when your daughter’s child giggles when you hold her, the way she babbles nonsense words at you. You taste it when your favorite food collides in your mouth, as you chew it slowly, savoring every bitterness or sweetness.You smell it in the morning as your wife hums slowly while clutching the spatula in her hand. You never notice the way her voice breaks, or the tear stains in her eyes. You just know you feel happy with her in your home.

It is something that you see fifty times on a cake when your kids come over your house. It’s something that reflects on your eyeglass when a flash illuminates the faces of your kids and grand kids. You see it in your her eyes, but sadly it is when she stares at her husband. Your heart breaks a little, yet you smile at them, letting them know that it’s okay. It is something that dances in your living room as it catches the curtains of your house. It is something that spreads into your house, as you desperately try to escape the suffocating air.

You smell it when you’re finally out of the house, although you cough several times. You taste it when water finally enters your mouth, satisfying a thirst you never knew was there. You hear it from her voice, coaxing you to stay awake. You feel it when she holds your hand, vanishing all the pains you’ve felt all these years without her.

It is something that you see, a small dot, a small tunnel. You try to grasp for it, you try to reach it. You hear her voice somewhere, but it doesn’t matter anymore. You try to reach for that something, afraid it might go away. And when you do reach it, you breath in the new air, as your cries once again echoes for the first time into the world, this time as another soul.

Light.

All My Favorite Words: Naive

It was our first big fight.

You said the wrong thing, and I said some bad things too. We didn’t know each other well. We’ve only been in one other serious relationship before we met. We both were going into a battle where we were blind and deaf, both not knowing what makes the other tick. I exploded like a time bomb and you took cover, diving into trying to draw pity.

It was just one wrong word. One misunderstood word. But the next thing we knew I was ignoring you, and your were flooding my phone with texts.

We both didn’t know what to do. We were running before we even got the chance to stand up. We never got to try on our new legs. We just ran like a couple of idiots, trying to outrun the other without any particular reason.

And then it ended.

We ended.

We were a glorious mess, each of us trying to figure out where the other stood.

There was no bloodshed, no need for medical attention.

I thought it was the end, I thought I would never see you again.

You thought you lost your chance, you thought I would never go back to you anymore.

But then the next day, the next moment, we were side by side, gasping for air.

And then we rolled around and turned to each other, then slowly lifted each other up.

We didn’t know what we were doing, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

Then we began to walk. Together. Side by side. Our broken legs mashing together like a perfect piece.

—————————–

This is the second chapter of All My Favorite Words on Wattpad. If you want to read more, go to the link. 😀

All My Favorite Words : Happenstance

The first time we met.

If I weren’t so hyper that day, I wouldn’t have gone into your room. If you weren’t in class that day, you wouldn’t have seen me. If I wasn’t so friendly and nosy I wouldn’t be friends with your friends. And if you weren’t so bold, you might not have come up to me to introduce yourself.

But then the series of great and powerful things happened. I was hyper. You were in your room. I was friends with your friends. You were bold and confident. We shook hands.

It would take years before we were ever together, but we’d always go back to that day. We would speculate on how different it would have been if we met a day later, or a week later, and so on. If you had someone with you, or I had someone with me. We would have gone past each other in school and never know one another. A series of things falling into place.

Happenstance.

Later on you would tell me that you were as nervous as hell and you couldn’t sleep that night and you refused to wash your hand. You’d say that was the day you developed a little crush for me. Later on I would tell you that I really don’t remember much of that day because I just thought you were another friend.

But then you’d take out your hand and reach it out to me, and then I’d smile and shake it.

“Hi.” You’d say.

“Nice to meet you.”

And you’ll prove to me that you weren’t just another friend after all.

—————————————–
This is the first chapter of All My Favorite Words on Wattpad. If you want to read more, go to the link. 😀

I wasn’t supposed to..

I wasn’t supposed to wake up like this.

I was supposed to wake up to shivers and longing for my blanket, my body splashed all over the bed. I was supposed to see the blinding light of the sun as it painted my room, since I once again forgot to close the curtain last night. I was supposed to wake up to an empty kitchen, void of anything healthy and warm. I was supposed to see empty pizza boxes and a million and one take out boxes and food that I didn’t recognise. I was supposed to open the TV and watch it all day long, with nothing better to do. Then at night I’d bury myself with work, not allowing myself to think for a moment of why the hell did I forget to lock the door, but I was too lazy to get up. I was supposed to fall asleep with the curtains open again, staring onto my window. I’d count stars that twinkle at night, till I fall asleep to a constant tossing and turning.

But today, I didn’t.

Today I woke up to the warmth of a soft skin brushing against mine. I woke up to the sound of giggles as someone brushed their nose with mine. I woke up to the sound of her laugh, as we both fell off the bed. I woke up to the sun directly looking at me, her brown eyes shinning as there’s that pause when you think, This is perfect. I woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs, waiting patiently on my computer desk. My kitchen is now filled with a variety of food, most of them organic. The TV was now untouched, only used for those Tuesday movie nights where she’ll sob at the sight of Channing Tatum suited up for war, but will snuggle up against me. Work was more productive, with only the distraction of her lips as she craves for attention every once and a while. We fell asleep talking to each other like teenagers, murmuring jokes, the sheets tangled up around our bodies. The curtain was now closed, so I didn’t get to see the stars. But I knew, right here, I had one of my own.

I’m never waking up to a day without her.

————————————

And I’m just, ugh. I got this story written at like 5 in the morning when I was supposed to be studying. Someday I’d wake up with my future husband beside me, and he’d never want to sleep alone ever again too.

Blind date

I woke up with a heart ache and a massive pile of tear soaked tissues.

Not the best way to wake up, but when your boyfriend got delayed in coming home again, crying all night can become a habit. Especially when you haven’t seen each other for more than a year.

I remembered his pained face when he told me that his study contract had to be extended. He was graduating from his masters, and his professor made him stay two more months so my boyfriend could “tweak” his thesis. He was frustrated and homesick-just like me. He has always been my home, no matter where he was. And I was his.

Thank God for modern technology, the way I could see him every night and hear his voice like he was just beside me. But technology could only do so much.

I couldn’t feel his warmth, they way his breath would tickle my ear when he hugged me from behind. The way his nose would brush mine just before he kissed me. The way he’d hold my hand when we crossed the street like a kid, and he’d never let go at once. His hands would just linger its touch, sometimes with his thumb brushing mine.

I missed his unfunny jokes, the way he’d make me laugh over the most stupid things. I missed the way he never stopped singing so badly when I tried to ignore him, knowing that soon I’d give attention to him anyway.

I hated being so far from him, and I felt like we were growing apart.

Sometimes the thoughts would run in my head wildly like forest fire.

What if he was different now?

What if I wouldn’t recognise who he is in the inside anymore?

What if he’d thought that I was different?

I can’t imagine how I feel around him anymore. What if everything was different now?

Sometimes I secretly wished he stayed where he was, just so we wouldn’t get awkward when we meet again.

What if he didn’t love me anymore?

We haven’t talked in two weeks since he had to concentrate on his thesis. Endless days of overthinking and crying and hoping to see him again.

One night my friends wanted to get me out of my funk, and tried to coax me into going to a blind date. After refusing a lot of times, I gave in, with the promise of telling him about it.

My friends blind folded me, saying it was the whole point of having a blind date. They led me somewhere I didn’t know, made me turn around three times, then made me sit down. I took off my blind fold and there he was, in a suit and tie, smiling like an idiot. There was white pasta in front of both of us, and a candle at the side.

“Hi.” He whispered.

“Hi.”

“I’m Ken. You’re Kelly right? Your friends were right, you are very pretty.”

I couldn’t help but smile as he played on with the “blind date”

“You look pretty handsome too.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do this in person, but will a flying kiss do?”

“I don’t kiss on a first date.”

“Will a handshake do?”

He extended his arm out, and I reached for it.

I held in a tear as I pretended to shake his imaginary hand, and he did the same. The screen between us felt like we were boxed, yet he smiled at me brightly.

“Nice to meet you Kelly.”

“Nice to met you too Ken.”

—————————————-
Not so good, I know. I’ve been in this funk when I can’t write because my meds make me sleepy. Bugger.
Original, all mine, and fiction.

Imagination

12am and I still can’t sleep.

I imagine lying down beside you, your arms around me. I imagine you kissing my forehead while I close my eyes, your breath ticking my nose. You slowly lull me to sleep, making me smile all the while.

But in the end it’s all just an imagination.

In the end you’d still be ten feet below me, together with your slut of a mistress. Bloodied, and never meant to be found. Just like the knife with my prints on it.

——————–

Scaredya didn’t I? (insert evil smile)

Twelve in the morning

Jake

Twelve in the morning and I was thinking about her.

Again.

If my brothers knew about this, I was going to get a real butt kicking for thinking about a girl.

But how couldn’t I?

She had the smallest hands a sixteen year old could have, so fragile yet coarse. She has the same hands with my mom after she comes home from the restaurant, but smaller. When I kissed her hand, it was like nothing in the world made sense. I didn’t know how I lived without kissing her hand, a small part of her.

She had cheeks that would turn pink whenever I catch her looking from the other side of the classroom, when everybody should be reading. She had cheeks that would turn pink when I called her name. She had cute cheeks.

And her smell. She always smelled like a flower garden, the way they do when you just bought them from the flower shop. Whenever she passed by me in the bus, or decided to sit beside me, all I’d do was smell her hair. She made me feel like I was floating, just by her smell.

Twelve in the morning and I was thinking about her.

And I knew I was in love.

Hannah

Twelve in the morning and I was thinking about him.

Again.

My dad would get mad at me for thinking about boys when I was supposed to study for Honors Class.

But how couldn’t I?

He had this smile that would make butterflies feel like eagles in my tummy. He had a pink upper lip, and a brown lower one. And when he kisses my hand, he closes his eyes, like he could never get enough of kissing my hand so he has to concentrate on it.

He has a way when he reads, the way his eyes never seem to leave the page unless he has to turn it. When he reads it’s like he’s melting into the book, but only looks my way when I stare too much. But then I’d notice his eyes, how it softens when he looks at me.

And his voice. Whenever he talks to me it’s like he’s singing to me, and when he sings to me it’s like my ears were made to just listen to him. He speaks from his diaphragm, and he sounds strange when he has a cold. But he makes me melt with his voice, like a fire that’s never dangerous to touch.

Twelve in the morning and I was thinking about him.

And I knew I was in love.

——————————

So, I submitted this to a competition, didn’t get in, so I’m letting YOU guys read it! A writer needs feedback after all.

The one who was always left

They leave.

They always do.

Whether they’d leave tomorrow or the next day, they leave. No one cares enough about me more than I do. Heck, I sometimes want to leave myself if I could. I always roam around life, with a lot of masks, a lot of faces. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I don’t even recognise myself. They all say I’m afraid of commitment. But I’m really not.

I’m just afraid of being left behind.

Sometimes they have a reason why they do it. They make up stories how we could never work out, or that they found someone else. They’s be sweaty and fidgety when they tell me, trying to tell me that they had a great time. They’d try to make me feel better, telling me how beautiful my hair is, or how smart I am.

The worst are those who don’t explain. Everything is happy one day, and then suddenly they don’t have the balls to tell you it’s over. You just stare at your phone whole day, wishing it would come alive all of the sudden. You throw your phone across the room when it’s a spam text, or you don’t answer your mother’s calls because he might call.

But in the end you know, all of them will leave.

Until he came along.

At first I never wanted to believe he existed. But the more I pushed him away, the more he wanted to be with me. He made me believe in fairytales, the once I puked over when I was a little kid. There was something different about him, they way he said my name, they way he held my hand, the way he kissed me. I found myself getting annoyed of his texts, and he texted me all the time.

“Karen.”

He’d text.

“I’m outside your window. Open up.”

But I don’t. I don’t let anyone in anymore.

He’d just wait outside my window, sometimes all through the night. Then I’d hear him talking to his mom, making him go home. He’d always leave a rose on the window sill, and it always smells better in the morning.

But one day, the roses stopped.

The texts stopped.

And when I was yearning for him for some reason, I found myself sitting in front of a gravestone.

Left alone, once again.

————————————————-
Fiction, originally written by yours truly.

My chocolate

I was thinking about him again.

I knew I really shouldn’t, especially since he loved to tease me that he can’t fall asleep with me thinking of him all night.

But something about him, I don’t know what, drives me crazier than chocolate. And that’s saying something. I love chocolate; dark, white, melted or frozen, but he’s..more.

Like when he holds my hand, sweaty and all, I sometimes forget which was mine and which was his. Like Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks in Sleepless in Seattle. I don’t know why I held the hands of other guys before when he made me feel like this.

And when he met my parents, oh gosh, I thought I was going to die. My dad kept asking where his parents worked, and I knew that he was poor. But I smiled when he stood up in the middle of dinner when dad asked again.

“With all due respect sir, I know my family is poor. But we work hard for what we have, and that’s how we like things. Grime and all. My father is a construction worker, my mother a maid. But I’d never exchange them for anyone.”

He sat back down, trying to keep his cool. But I was the only one who saw his shaking hands. By the end of the night, my dad patted his back and told him that he’d love to see him more often.

I groan as I turn around and face my pillow, trying to hide my squeal. When he was leaving that night I walked him out like a proper lady, and leaned it to kiss his cheek. But at the same time he was leaning to kiss my other cheek, and we ended up kissing. Kissing.

I knew my mom was peeking, especially when I heard her squeal, but I was already a goner. He smiled in surprise, and kissed my forehead after. He left sparks that made my tummy feel so queasy that I couldn’t sleep that night, and the next morning he complained about not getting enough sleep cause I was thinking of him.

But deep inside I knew, he was thinking about me too.

I bit my lip to hold back a laugh when I saw my phone lighting up, his shocked face on the wallpaper. He complained all day about the flash on my camera being in the way of his eyesight all day, but he let me kiss his eyes in the end anyway.

“Hello?” I whispered. I knew I would be in so much trouble if my parents knew I was still up this late, but I couldn’t help it, he was addictive.

“You’re thinking about me again.” He says, his voice having that hint of smile that made me feel all giddy inside.

“You’re hard not to think of.”

I began to have these sensations all of the sudden, the same ones whenever he was near. It left me feeling like I had the best chocolate in the world.

“Go to sleep already.” He tried to say with a serious tone, but came out with a chuckle.

“But how?”

“I’d give you chocolate tomorrow. A whole bag of them.”

“Okay goodnight!”

I turned off my phone and closed my eyes tight, trying to fall asleep. Maybe I still loved chocolate more than him after all.

————————————

Fiction, written by me and nobody else but me. <3

(Plagiarise this and you’ll be digging your own grave. [dun.dun.duuuuuun])
This post only made me crave for chocolates, which I couldn’t UNFORTUNATELY have because I have asthma. Huff.

The muse and the device

The constant clacking was my symphony, the occasional bing! was my song. I weaved lives in front of me with meticulous nature, making sure that each was made with a touch of reality. My brows were furrowed together as my heart constantly kept me alive, although my perseverance was dying. As I ripped out another paper and tore it to pieces, I bang my head on the table, careful not to damage my device. I groan, trying to paint the things I wanted to see.

“You can do this Darlene. If anyone could do it, it would be you.”

I whispered to myself, echoing the same words he spoke just hours ago. I began playing with my nails, picking at the easily rubbed off nail polish. My head was still stuck on the table, mulling over falling asleep here or hoping off to bed. It was another hopeless case, another crumpled paper.

I desperately needed something new to see before me, another place and time, with new characters for me to love. I groaned again as I decided to do the latter, of jumping off to my bed onto sleep slumber. Just then my phone vibrated, indicating that some other monster was awake at this ungodly hour. My eye bags have already reached to level three, my hair in dire need of a bath.

“Hello?” I sleepily said, my left eye barely seeing the screen.

“You have the phone upside down again.”

I fumbled with my phone, shocked that a voice echoed in my yawning mouth.

“Hello?” I repeated, hoping I got the phone in the right position this time.

“You’re giving up again aren’t you?” He asked pointedly.

“Yes. No. Maybe. Tomorrow again perhaps.”

I fluffed my pillow, as he began to rant off about how I always put things off when he knows I could do it now. I kept nodding though I knew he couldn’t see me, then mumbling an “uhuh” and “mhm” now and then.

“You’re already sleeping on me. How do you suppose you would finish your work if you keep dozing off the moment you run out of ideas?”

“I’m almost there. Just a little patience. I am just short of a few words before I’m finished.”

“Yeah. Finished. With chapter ONE.”

I buried myself into the pillow, screaming my frustrations out.

“Why do you keep annoying me? If I don’t want to write, you can’t force me. I give up.”

I turned off my phone, slowly feeling light as a feather. I’m going to stop writing. It’s as easy as that. Just as I was dreaming of guys who didn’t bug me about writing, my door slowly opened, making that awful creaking sound.

There was only one person besides my mother who had my room key, and to be honest I’d rather have my mother visit me than him.

“Darlene?”

Too bad it wasn’t my mother.

“What?” I replied.

“Why aren’t you writing?” He asked as I felt the bed dip.

I refused to look at him, afraid he’d see right through me like he always does.

“Is it because I’m leaving?” He whispered.

Tears began to involuntarily spill from my eyes. Traitorous liquid. I immediately felt his arms around me, a welcome treat for me.

“Shh. Don’t cry.” He murmured to my ear. “I’m here. Don’t worry.”

“But your leaving.” I said, chocking on my own sad words.

“But it’s for us. For both of us to have a better future.”

“You can find work here. Where you don’t have to go for a whole year. I could find two jobs. I don’t want you to go away. I don’t want you to forget me.”

I was sobbing into his arms now, my words all meshed together. He kissed me forehead and hugged me tighter.

“That’s why I need you to keep on writing. You could send me every chapter you wrote everyday, or even just a chunk of it. If you keep writing I get to read what’s on your mind, whether it’s me or anything else.”

I didn’t say a thing, but I slowly calmed down. Thoughts of him smiling as he read my stories filled my mind, a smile painting itself on my own face. Soon we were both sitting up on my bed, both facing each other.

“I could buy you a new laptop so you would stop using that old thing.”

He pointed to my beloved typewriter, which was twice as old as I was. The prospect of not having to waste paper when I got an error sounded appealing.

“Deal.”

“Would you write for me please?” He asked, eyes wide.

“As long as you’re my muse,” I said, holding back another tear, “I’d write a thousand stories till you come home.”

—————————————
Fiction is <3.

Just a side note: Less Than Three is now available on Kindle for $6.99! Click here: Less Than Three
It is also available on Lulu, a soft bound book, $12.60 at 10% discount till February 10. Less Than Three
I am also looking for someone to review my book on their blog. Don’t hesitate to email me at lean.lacaba@gmail.com.