Posted in Short Story

Ending Ties

“It’s over…” she said carefully “isn’t it.”
As they sat a foot apart, on the edge of the old stone bridge on where they spent their lazy Sunday afternoons, she felt the air of their relationship stifle a bit – something that usually happened before a big fight, which didn’t happen often… but then again, nothing has ever stifled their air this thick before.
“I guess so,” he replied.
Rapt silence falls on the ex-lovers‚ the realization that this would be the last time of something is heavy on their lips‚ limbs and hearts. She turned her gaze towards the river‚ crackling water breaks where rocks begin while he turned to look at her‚ memorizing…the honest beauty of her.
“You know I’ll always love you‚” he blurted‚ as if this would help. As if these words could mend her heart‚ as if by uttering these words he would be absolved from any guilt. But then again‚ he was oblivious to another reason why they were ending ties.
“I cheated on you‚” she replied‚ as if this would make it less painful‚ as if this would make them even‚ as if this would make them feel goddamn something for each other again.
He bit down hard and then swallowed. “Good to know‚”
“I’m sorry‚” he added.
“I’m sorry too‚” she looked at him now and their eyes caught each other‚ still saving each other‚ even now.
Especially now.
The truth was out. He fell out‚ she cheated. Yet there was no anger‚ no shouts‚ no blame-games just… the ruin of their relationship and reluctant acceptance.
And‚ as the wind blew past them‚ trying to shake away the aura emitted from two secretly broken people‚ even the bridge where they spent most of their happy moments‚ felt lost‚ and tried to apologize and tried to forget.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Short Story

Eros Brew

There were blurs of light, music and drinks that disoriented Tanya. It made her body spaz with energy. And with heart and head throbbing in sync with the electric tune, she had no care in the world.

She was the world – a sweaty disco-crazed diva in the middle of the dance floor.

“Hey!” someone yelled in her ear, though it was faint with the music bombarding her eardrums. The stranger eased in front of her, dancing. Leaning over quite subtly, she tried to take a whiff of his cologne. (Tanya loved the smell of men’s cologne) Though, the tinge of alcohol in her mouth made her nose numb and her tongue tasted like bile but it was the least of her problems.

“Hey,” it came out as a slur and she laughed it off. The man laughed with her and the exchange became less awkward.

No, that wasn’t it. Nothing was awkward about this. Tanya just couldn’t find the right word to describe the meeting although it was like this every other night. Some guy would think it was their lucky night and would try to pick her up and yet, a year of coming in and out of this bar, getting wasted to the point of crawling or passing out on the chaise lounge, no one had succeeded in getting in her knickers.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he shouted.

“Yes!” she said without hesitation and the man grabbed her wrist and helped her maneuver towards the bar counter and then on the bar stool. As soon as she sat down, her head slumped on the counter and she laughed again. The man had disappeared.

And then he reappeared behind the counter. Tanya propped herself up, resting her chin atop her palm that connected to her swaying elbow while her heels clicked to the bass of Icona Pop.

“I thought you were going to buy me a drink?”

“I am,” he smiled, teeth gleaming in the low light.

“Then why are you behind the counter like you’re the bartender?” Tanya asked accusingly, like the man was some sort of con-artist trying to impress her. “Mikey!” she hollered. “Hey, Mikey!”

“Yes, Miss Tanya?” A tan muscular man came into view, looking amused at the sight. Mikey has been the bartender who usually served Tanya drinks.

“Is he new?” she pointed at the man. Mikey laughed as the man suppressed a shy smile.

“Alright, serve those two ladies over there. I’ll take care of Miss Tanya,” the man said and playfully shoved Mikey towards the other direction. Eyes fluttering shut and then snapping right back open. She observed the back of the man who dragged her from the dance floor. It was damn sexy.

“What’s your name?” Tanya blurted. He didn’t face her. He was still busy with her drink. A moment later, Tanya knew he wasn’t going to answer, so she tried again. “What’s your name?” The man looked over her back and held a finger against his lips, shushing Tanya, and smiled before going back to work. Tanya blew her hair out of her face in impatience, she needed another drink. Sitting upright, or what passed to be upright, she fixed her hair and then propped her hands on her legs like a proper lady would do. Silently impressing herself, Tanya smirked. She had become a wasteland and then demure the next. Finally the man turned around and placed a hot cup of coffee in front of her. The strong bean scent managed to bypass the numbing barrier through her nose, allowing the alcohol to take a bit of its toll on her head.

“What is this?” she asked dumbly. Late in noticing that the man was resting his elbows across the counter and watched her.

“Coffee,” he said plainly. “To clear your head,”

“I don’t want my head to clear, it’s hurting already.” Tanya held her temples. “And I don’t drink coffee this strong,” at that, the man frowned.

“It’s not that strong, really.” he sounded offended.

“Yeah? Then why is it messing with my head?” she groaned, feeling her head throb harder than her usual hangover migraines.

“You’ve just had too much alcohol, just drink it. I promised you a drink, didn’t I?” he shrugged. Head clearing up, Tanya did her best impression of a girl who was sober and pouted her lips. Her lipstick was smeared on the right side of her face, hair disheveled like a bird’s nest and dress strap hanging precariously by her shoulder that threatens to commit suicide and even then the man said nothing, offered nothing but this single cup of coffee.

“You sure, you didn’t put any drugs in it?” she asked.

“Nope,” Shrugging, Tanya took a sip, eyes never leaving those dark ones, that again, she failed to notice earlier. The bean scent wafted into her nostrils more insistent, bringing her senses back to life and her head, despairingly, to a throbbing headache, but as she downed the last contents of the cup, admittedly, she felt better.

“Cameron,” he said. Tanya looked up, more aware of her surroundings than earlier. The deafening dance music slammed at her but she heard the man – who now had a name – clearly.

Posted in Short Story

4

I was crying on the toilet, bare of any article apart from my skin which trickled with sweat and despair. Tears kept sloping on my cheeks as I gripped my hair at the ends and tried pulling my head apart. I stifled my screams for fear my brother would hear me.
Breath ragged.
Heart cracked.
The slow and accepting pace of the water from the faucet fills the pail with light and escape. Dragging the pail in front of me, I said a solemn goodbye and kissed the water neck-deep—

Posted in Short Story

Staring Contest

A pair of green eyes looked pointedly at me.

Sitting comfortably on my window ledge in a red-knitted sweater and sweat pants, my hair in a messy bun and bowl of oatmeal in hand, I asked the expecting little monster “What?” raising a brow in hopes to intimidate him.

He didn’t speak.

He just kept staring at me while he sat on his snow-kissed bum. His whiskers twitched a bit as his tail propped up and swayed like a bobbly head on the dashboard of a car. Green eyes still regarded me with anticipation.

My tongue rolled to the side of my mouth, bulging from the outside, and matching his stare defiantly, I put the bowl down and shifted my seat. Arms between my legs and hands gripping the ledge, I narrowed my eyes and exacted my gaze on his.

He just sat there and gazed right back, tail – now – curling and unfolding and still maintaining an eerie sort of calm. I could feel pinpricks climbing up my spine. Determined not to show any weakness, I folded my arms on my chest and put on my best bitch face – which consisted of a soft, virgin duckface and currently narrowed eyes.

Nothing happened.

My butt was getting itchy from sitting on the ledge, I took a sideway glance at my bowl of unfinished oatmeal, annoyance crawling up. Groaning, my hands flew up in the air “Fine!” I conceded, jumped down and stomped off to the kitchen.

Upon my return, his eyes had shifted, still looking at me but there was a twinkle that wasn’t there before. I could swear he was smirking at me. Putting his bowl in front of him, he stood up and did an infinity between my legs, purring and mewling and then dug into his breakfast.

 

 

 

Posted in Short Story

Deception

 A prologue from a STILL pending novel of mine…seemed like a vague short story. *shrugs*

(Last modified: July 22, 2013) Yikes.


 

         I finally broke away from my binds and the song outside is killing me as it reverberates my insides. Dashing through the house’s halls, to the living room and out the front door, I have never felt so free.

Air, sweet sea air. The orchestras of angelic voices summon me. I walk in a trance-like pattern through the neighborhood, away from the street lamps, away from civilization. There is nothing but me and the song. The beach gets closer and I can smell the salt, it takes almost everything in me not to bolt straight into the water.

         The song speaks, telling me a story. My hunger grumbles for their stories, it’s driving me mad.

         A glimmer of gold shoots up from the water but it quickly disappears. They’re here for me. I dip my feet into the ice cold sea and wade there. The water stings me, sending rushes of adrenaline that course through my body. I take in a deep breath and sing my tale to them.

         Cool breaths, sweet hisses.
Black Water,
New moon.

         I push myself forward until the water is above my waist. I keep singing, they accompany me with second voices accentuating my melody.
Beautiful.

         It was like a concerto and I was the lead instrument. Splashes of black surround me as they sing to me, as they sing with me.

         “Sister,” one hisses and then I see it.

         Majestic.  

         I can’t feel my toes anymore and my legs are giving out on me.
        This is what I want, a voice in my head says for me. Before I could even counter the thought…

         They dragged me down.

Posted in Short Story

Ice Cold

I pulled my jacket closer to my body as if it could harness more heat to repel the scalding wind that’s been prickling my skin. The sky was a dreary bluish gray in contrast to my awkward orange boots, mulching in the puddles as I walked in this rainy February morning.

Hmmm… at least my toes are toasty, I mused.

Walking down the familiar street to my apartment building, doors and windows were right where I left them – shuttered in. Sleep didn’t come to claim me the night before and I thought a morning stroll would satiate this churning stomach of mine.
I had tried to eat bread but I would just throw it back up. So, I gave up on that endeavor altogether.

My ulcer has been getting worse.
No.
I have been getting worse.

Slowing my pace, I counted the gravel littering the paved road, brought by the wind from the construction site two apartment buildings away. The familiar patterns and cracks of the cement summoned even more pain on my belly. And, I couldn’t help but remember…

I remembered when he used to be next to me, walking back to our apartment – when we were still roommates.

The heat in those eyes when he talked about his girlfriend, like the big bang happened all over again. The colors, the collision, the explosive passion and desire that lit him up made my chest squint often enough that breathing felt rewarding. He was this glow that captured the attention of everyone with a smidge of a smile. A blazing hearth that just refused to die.

But, then the west wind blew him my secret…

He rushed me against the wall and slammed his fist on my jaw. Shock grabbed the steering wheel, then disbelief, then anger, then confusion until suddenly I could hear him again. And with a pinch of courage, I met his black eyes, ice cold; seething as the morning I’m trapped in and dead serious with loathe, “I never want to see your goddamn face again,”

A cold gust swooped in and – sighing – I realized I was standing in front of the bakery where I last saw Michelle. Mr. Garcia had just raised the lock; open for business at exactly 5am.

“Good Morning, Mike” he greeted.
“Cold Morning, Mr. Garcia.”