The One You've Left Behind

I walk through door after door, room after room, each dimmer than the one before, and yet, what exactly am I looking for? My memory begins to fade and fail me. I have lost track of time and purpose as I stand here, in this final destination, a pitch-black void, waiting...and waiting for something, someone, to show me the way. There is nothing around me, not a single soul. 

'Touch this and you'll die.' 

A voice speaks in my mind. 

Hey! I see another door but my feet refuse to walk towards it. It's clearly the way out, dammit, and yet the mind refuses to believe. This feeling I have felt before, so long ago. I don't dare to open the door. What is behind the door? Why do I fear it? I hear the others, many voices, even laughter. The rest of the world is behind that door. I used to be on the other side. But now... Just go open it. No. Never. 

Wait, who left me here? When did I start walking through all these doors and all these rooms? How did I end up here, alone, abandoned and left to fend for myself? But at least I feel safe here. It's only me. Well, and the darkness. It's just me and darkness. I can deal with the darkness. I like the darkness. I love the darkness.

Jigsaw

"You're the one in seven billion puzzle pieces that I've yet to find."

Silly Little Boys

Oh silly boy, you mock, you play with fire
Did Mama never warn 'Don't be a liar'?
So after all these years you haven't learnt
that one fine day you will be terribly burnt.
Your sad lame life will flare up into flames
While Karma makes you suffer, take the blame
I will be there to watch from shore afar
to add some smoke, some sparks and ugly scars.
To silly little boys who don't share toys:
'Quit being such divas, heed your mamas,
get off your high horses, stop the drama!'
Next time not so easy I'm not this coy.
May dues be paid to end your kid charades
Perhaps the wicked taste of hand grenades.

Misinterpretation

You laugh because you do not understand. You never understand.
      How can you? You have never felt what I have. You have never seen what there is to see. You have never bothered to perceive what others have wished to hide from the world. The surface is easy enough to read. But have you ever really looked at it closely? If you did, you'd have seen its history - the lines, the wrinkles, the spots, the scars - that make up the story. You'd have pictured the little, unspoken paths that have been tread all through these years. You'd see how they all mysteriously point towards a dot, connecting all the tales, whether lies or truths. 
      I do not blame you for your misinterpretation. 

Indifference

“The opposite of love is not hate but indifference.” 
      To truly love and hate are difficult to do. You have care to love. You have to care to hate. Indifference, however, is the exact opposite of both. You just don’t give a shit.

"The Little Mermaid"

Who could possibly understand her foolishness? 
      This was her fate until the very end. She would not scream. She would not cry. There was not a single sound to be uttered: nothing worth hearing. She would continue treading down this path she'd chosen for herself. Although each step was filled with pain and agony (so unbearable!) that she could barely understand, she walked and smiled. Bubbles, dreams and love long-forgotten. She would drown for her ideals and call it Love.

Blind Admiration

Love is blind admiration for a reality. Infatuation is blind admiration for an ideal.

***

      Suddenly, it was clear. It was not love she had felt for him for she never accepted his flaws. To her, he was an ideal: an image that she had carefully crafted and had failed to protect. He was an obsession. In her mind, he became everything that she had ever wanted. Yet, in reality, he was a projection through her ill-chosen lenses: an inverted image, a fake larger-than-life object in excessive focus. He was an optical illusion and she no longer believed in magic. She was finally free.

The Burial Part 2

It was nightfall when he finally regained his consciousness. The cool, dampish sand was refreshing against his back. He was in so much discomfort that he wished he had not woken up. It had been two days since he last had a bit to drink. His mouth was parched, making it painful to swallow. His eyes, inflamed and crusted with discharge and dried blood from a cut near his temple, were congested from the lack of sleep. He had known for some time that his left leg was infected but he had not sensed the agony of rotten flesh until now. He laid there for several minutes, registering the slow deterioration of his body. He gradually pried opened his eyes and allowed them to adjust to the moonlight. How long had he been asleep? Could he afford to waste these last precious hours? There was still plenty of work to do. He had to find water. Then he had to finish digging. His head was faint. The blood loss from his arm was more detrimental than he had predicted. His grip had loosened in his sleep and he could barely feel the tips of his fingers. But he was sure that the large gash in his left arm had formed a decent clot. He was not dying just yet. He tried to squeeze his left hand into a fist and not to his surprise his fingers barely moved. He was about to quit when he heard it for the first time.
  At first, he thought that his mind was playing tricks. It did that quite frequently these days. It could barely tell time. It took an effort to even remember who and where he was. He was so malnourished that full-on hallucinations were common occurrences. Several days ago, he could have sworn he had heard a helicopter whirling above him. When he had strained to hear it more clearly, he woke up and realized that the noise had been a part of a dream. Dreams were frequent too. Now that he was nearing his end, everything and everyone from his past seemed to come to life in the most vivid forms when he shut his eyes.
But he was sure this time. He was awake and this was not a dream. From a distance, someone screamed. Almost a faint wail. It could have been something screaming. He could not quite decide. He could not make out its source nor the direction whence it came. The stifled cry could have come from an animal, a woman or a child. Somehow he was sure that it was not a man. Instinctively, almost upon cue to hearing the sound, as if to protect himself from further harm, his hand tightened into a fist, ready to fight.

Untitled

She felt the lingering effect of her last drink pounding inside her head. She gripped onto Ethan’s arm as she gathered her centre, then pulled herself out through the door of the taxi. It took all of her energy to stay balanced on the steep slope in her gray suede pumps. The air was sticky and humid, how it always was right before a thunderstorm. It was difficult to breathe. It was even harder to stand up straight in her sweaty heels. Along with the alcohol, the heat and moisture made her want to throw up. She would have precisely done so if it were not for what happened next. 
  She was still pointing at the departing taxi, wondering why it had left without Ethan in it, when he pulled her in and planted his lips onto hers. He had taken her completely by surprise. It wasn’t the usual friendly peck on side of her cheek - the kind that symbolized nothing more than their stable, mutual, platonic friendship for the past two decades. This kiss definitely fell into the suspicious category. There was no mistaking his intention. Knowing this, her body went limp. She couldn’t do anything but stay still; she had no idea how to react. Her mind pulled a blank. He took her stillness as an incentive and began to further the kiss. Against her reason, she lost herself in the moment and kissed him back. For a while, it seemed that they had both lost track of time. It look her a full minute to recover. Just as abruptly as he had began the kiss, she pulled back suddenly and struggled to free her arms from his grip. He was the one holding onto her now. He was not backing down this time. 
All she could do was stare at him.
What the fuck had just happened?
      It was the look on his face that caught her attention and that look sure as hell pissed her off more than anything. There he was - her best friend, the only person whom deep down she knew she trusted - standing there, all innocent and clueless, clearly taking advantage of her drunken state. What shocked her the most however was the silent determination she read in his eyes. He knows exactly what he is doing! He’s not drunk at all! She might have had one martini too many but it wasn’t nearly enough to make her forget this in the morning. Still, it look her several seconds before her groggy mind was able to semi-process the kiss and what her reaction should be. She didn’t have much of a choice. He was way stronger than she was. There was no way she could break free of him. In her twisted, inebriated logic, there was only one thing she could do. Without any warning, before he had realized that his advances were not completely welcomed, she raised her right fist and sucker punched the side of his face. 
"Shit, Andy! What was that for?" Ethan cried out in pain, finally letting go of her arms.
"To wipe the stupid smirk off your face! Ethan, what the hell was that?" Andrea demanded, as she staggered backwards. 
Ethan didn’t reply. He touched the side of his face and winced. The edge of her brass ring had sliced into his skin. Blood was seeping through the gash. Instinctively, she moved closer to him as she pulled out a tissue from her clutch and pressed it against his wound. She was furious at him yet she hated the sight of him in pain.