Retake Part 1

      "I'm fine, Hae. See? Barely a scratch. Stop fussing. I'm already late for this meeting."
"That is not a scratch. Let me take a look at it. It'll only take a few minutes. I‘ll spray some disinfectant on it, wrap it up and we’ll have a peace of mind."
“You’ll have a peace of mind,” Sadie said under her breath. She didn’t want hurt Hae’s feelings but sometimes he can be so overbearing.
As the duo argued over Sadie’s wound, Jon sat in the meeting room. It was bare, brown and basic. The fanciest thing in the room was the Build Abroad brochure in his hands, the one that Rex had given him as they waited for the lead volunteer to arrive for their meeting. Rex had hurried out of the room the moment Jon’s butt had touched his chair, muttering about how something bad always happened when she was late. Rex didn’t look worried, just annoyed. Jon assumed that this lead volunteer had a knack for creating trouble. He was about to flip the brochure open when the two voices spoke again.
“Hae, I mean it. This is an important meeting. It’s all Kayi talks about. I want to do it right. He hasn’t got much time. I haven’t got much time. I don’t want to disappoint him after what happened up in the Hills. I promised I‘d get the legal rep to be a little more, well, collaborative.”
“That little boy smiles up at you and you forget how hard it is to change anything around here. You want to know what I think? That old guy was a douchebag. You think it’d be any different for, what, the fiftieth time around?”
Sadie studied Hae’s face with amusement. He was two years her senior but conversed like a twelve-year-old. The man might be brilliant with a scalpel but Sadie was positive that his language was not what got him through med school. “It’s only our fourth meeting. Besides, they’re sending someone new this time. He’s supposed to be younger, around our age.  Maybe he’ll have a fresh perspective. He might even like some of my ideas.”  She noticed that Hae was not convinced, so she added, “I promise, I‘ll let you bandage up my arm after.”
The female voice that passed through the doorway from a distance caught Jon's attention. He had always been good with voices, especially female ones. Straining to hear better, he looked up from the black and white brochure and closed his eyes. The voice was not familiar but it was one that he had heard before. He could not quite pin a face to it. The conversation continued between Hae and the girl and their voices became louder and more distinct. Their footsteps were making their way down the hallway towards the meeting room. In sync with the rhythm of their steps, Jon's memory clicked and began to narrow down the voice, screening it to match the list of girls he had met in the past, one by one. Several faces surfaced in his mind like the ill-sequenced PowerPoint presentations he had seen so many of for the past few days. Finally a face settled in his mind like the dust on the wobbly, rusty table in front of him: little specks of light and dark dots forming a blurry contour.
Jon scarcely had any real memory of her. All he could clearly picture was her smile - she was real pretty when she laughed - and her name: Sadie. He recalled thinking the name too old-fashioned. A long time ago, he had met Sadie through Max (Jon’s best friend) and Chloe (Max’s now ex-girlfriend) when he had re-visited his hometown after quitting his first paid job. They had hung out one night, amongst friends and friends of friends, at a soju lounge somewhere on Main Street. He thought she was cute but too reserved and awkward. The night did not amount to anything and they never saw each other again. Wrong girl, Jon concluded. She went to a boarding school for Christ’s sake. The girl barely added up to a hundred pounds. What the hell would she be doing in the middle of Ghana? Girls like Sadie blossomed in vibrant, metropolitan cities with their short, edgy haircuts and sun-blocked faces but did not stand a chance in a village like Akropong, where hot water and a roof were considered fancy luxuries.
      Yet there she was, standing right in front of him, as cute as ever. Jon immediately recognized her. The edgy, self-indulging short layers were gone, now replaced by flowing tresses of black, velvety hair that ran past her shoulders towards her waist. Her visage was deeply tanned but the darkness made her features more distinguished. She was still barely a hundred pounds (to this, Jon silently smiled) but it was a woman who now stood before him, not a girl. A remarkable-looking woman at that. Somehow, over the past six years (Jon made a quick mental calculation), she had transformed her social awkwardness into an effortless ease in manners. There was no trace of the childish energy that she had possessed before, no sign of the privileged life she had led for the first two decades or so of her life.
She remained standing by the door, having yet to notice Jon’s presence in the room, as she continued her argument with a blond Asian man whom Jon assumed was Hae. Jon gave Hae a once-over and instantly disliked the man. Hae’s feelings for Sadie were blatant as he ogled at her like a pubescent school boy, hanging onto her every word. Jon re-focused his attention on Sadie, who was dressed in a grey wifebeater and a pair of khaki green shorts and was covered mostly in grime and dirt upon closer inspection. To his surprise, Jon found the mud and paint stains quite attractive on her. He had moved on and was studying her mannerisms when Rex barged into the meeting room once more, interrupting Jon’s train of thought. Quickly, Jon looked away and stared into the brochure in front of him. He could not remember flipping open the pages but there she was, smiling at him, a 2x2 photo of Sadie in the centrefold, next to a paragraph introducing her as the lead volunteer of the project.
After sorting out some papers on the table, Rex finally spoke, “Allow me to make some introductions.”
Jon stood up and prepared to shake hands with Sadie and Hae.
“Jon!” Sadie blurted.
It was all Sadie managed to utter and she was not even sure Jon had heard her call his name. It was more of a weak whisper. Sadie froze in her spot, speechless. She was almost sure it was a hallucination until Hae leaned forward to greet the newcomer. At once, her mind flew to a hundred places and yet it was impossible to formulate a single, coherent thought.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Sadie suddenly interjected, as the men shook hands. It was an accusation, words she had instantly regretted the moment she had spoken them. One look at Jon left her defenceless and faint. In a split second, Sadie reverted to the old self that she had tried hard to break free from for the past six years: presumptuous, impulsive, rude and frequently inappropriate.
What did I just do? Six years of work, right down the drain. I am not ready for this. I’m supposed to be better than this. I have changed; this isn’t who I am.
      Crap, I have paint on my face. 
I smell terrible. 
I look terrible. 
Jon looks clean. 
Gorgeous actually. 
More handsome than before. 
And clean-shaven, which is important. And just really, damn cute. And that smile. Those lips.
Shit, am I staring? I am so staring. Look away, now! Why is he smiling? He remembers me. Does he remember that night too? Oh God, wait, he probably doesn’t remember me and I’m assuming that he did! This is so awkward! Someone say something! Why is he stepping towards me? Don’t come any closer! I can’t do this…not now…I can’t breathe…why is he here…I can’t…Don’t…you…dare…
No one saw it coming but that was how Sadie Mathis collapsed into Jon Beranger’s arms for the second time in her life.

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. 

The Departure

She looked up. The bright, cheery sunlight took her by surprise. "This isn't so bad afterall," she whispered quietly to herself as she carefully laid down a small flower by the dock. This is where she had met her friend for the first time, back when they were both children. "Stupid children," she thought. After all these years, she has come to realize the truth of what happened. Ironically, when she finally found out, the truth did not matter anymore. She was never coming back to this dock again. This was the last time. Silently, she walked back to her car and drove off into the horizon.

Trauma.

The light is blinding. The world is standing still. The light is the main focus. Everything else, however, is blurry, undefined, completely out of focus. Where is this light from? What causes it? What is the source?

It is impossible to reason. It is impossible to understand. Is the ground beneath moving? The earth is shifting yet everything else remains calm, saturated and nauseatingly unidentifiable. It is easy to lose the sense of direction...the feeling of belonging. Footsteps approaches from behind. They grow with urgency. Five figures, all blue, advances.

The Burial Part 1

He dug his hands into the bare, white sand and tightened his grip. The sand was hot, but not scorching. It was painful but he could take physical pain. There is a threshold for everything and that line has not been crossed yet. He pulled his hands out, damaged and broken. He felt a sharp, searing pain shoot up his arms and straight into his brain. He struggled to stand up and took several steps towards his goal. Moments later, his entire body was in shock. His muscles were seizing and his body became paralysed. With a loud thump, his rigid frame fell sideways onto the sand. His grip still tight, blood came trickling through his fingers, forming little red puddles in the sand.

The Leap.

"How long?" someone once asked me. I thought: "When it's time, I'll know I've had enough." Time is relative; it always will be. Some years later, I heard the voice again. My lips didn't tremble. My hands did not shake. My heart did not beat faster. My mind paused for a minute. Time to let go it told me. I did. I leaped. My heart followed. I'm still falling and the landing is mysterious and distant. All I know is that I should have jumped a long time ago.