10 word story #11

"Even in my sleep, the pain still feels very real."

Blowin' In The Wind

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
How many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

Yes, how many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, how many times can a man turn his head
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

Yes, how many times must a man look up
Before he can really see the sky?
Yes, how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

Here's a toast for you.

The people in my life are all so kind and I hold them dearly for that. Sometimes, they would blurt out that a relationship has many phases, this being just a part of what "we have." I get that they mean well but I can't help be scathed with that type of forced kindness.

I always tell them to stop since their effort of well-wishing is futile. You can't pick up a million pieces of broken glass in hopes to stick them all together to return a figurine to its original form. You will just get wounded in trying. It is a regal attempt to salvage what is left but just stop. 

You can't expect me to dive another thousand meters when I've already drowned for ten scores of that depth. And honestly, I don't want her back. Not that way. She is gone. She lives but she is gone. There is no good in mourning the dead. You don't mourn their loss, you celebrate their life. And as for us, we died a long time ago.

LomoLit: Cleaning up

“You owe me, buddy.” Jay told Amer as he wrapped a frosted glass ashtray in bubble wrap. “You owe me big time.”

“Owe you? For what?”

Photo by lighttomysoul

“For helping you pack all of this stuff without a moment’s notice. You should really work on your planning, dude.”

“Yeah, yeah. But I knew I could count on you, bud. Your beer is on me after we finish this.”

“You know I don’t drink.” Jay kept on wrapping other fragile items like trophies and frames in bubble wrap. He was getting good at it, he thought.

“Well, look here. Isn’t this the shirt we got from that party we went to during our first year at work? It still has holes from the time you got so sauced. I had to pull you up by the collar and the shirt ripped open!” Jay was still ecstatic.

Photo by cryboy

“O god, yes. That night was just… I don’t even have the words to describe it. It was a blackout,” Quipped Amer.

“And this! This thing!” Jay struggled with the words but couldn’t quite find it.

“Ah! That thingamajig we looted from that art opening! I swore we could have spent the night in jail for that stint!”

Photo by clownshoes

“Yes! Yes! Why on earth did we do that for again?”

“I can’t remember exactly. It had something to do with a bet…”

“Wait, I remember. The first one to take a thing out of that boring art event would get to pick the attire of the other for his wedding!”

Photo by neanderthalis

“Which one of us won that bet again?”

“You know who it is. That’s why you’re wearing a tux instead of a beach-wedding inspired suit to your wedding.”

“I still haven’t agreed to that, man.”

“A deal’s a deal.” Said Jay quietly.

And a deal was indeed a deal. Jay was holding onto a clear plastic bag containing a wallet, a ring, a broken watch and a small notebook and he let out an empty sigh.

“A deal’s a deal, man. But this wasn’t part of it. You said I was gonna be the best man at your wedding.”

Jay kept on packing the things inside a box neatly as Amer would. A cracked helmet was put on top of the box like a crown.

Garlic

Let me tell you a story, and like many other stories, this has a boy, who is a lot like other boys but a lot different too. And it also has a girl who is a lot like other girls but a lot different too.

There were no sparks when they met. Just “Oh there he is” and “Oh here’s another girl.”

But strangely enough, the way strange [things] happen when a child tastes ice cream for the first time, they found their way home together.

And somewhere inside [between] the stone’s throw between their houses, something started. Like a bud blossoming, opening its petals to meet the wind.

And in each day after that [the] first day with no sparks, they had more firsts and seconds and thirds and a lot more.

They had their share of seasons, too. With the coolness of spring giving way to the warmth of summer, and autumn’s leaves falling onto the sheen of winter’s cold earth but at the end of each sunset, they’d be where they began – which is spring.

And now, after living near and living far, the ties that bind them have bloomed, and strangeness has became magic; the kind that grips you at the whiff of sautéed garlic, the kind that signals the start of something good.

###

In one summer time, they didn’t know what was happening. There was no assurance and no hint. Maybe, there was but neither of them nurtured the seed.

In another summer time they were face to face, laughing, smiling but still no water to shower the deeply stuck flower in hiding. They drank, they smoked, they became the young adults they were eager to become. Well, one became that. The other was not ready.

In a different version of summer, rains frequented. They rarely saw each other. They talked less, too. They grew farther than what they were used to. One cared, the other not minded, killing the feeling before any started to happen. They just did not know what was waiting for under the earth.

Summer is the orange ray that watched that flower bloom. From a stray droplet to the shooting stems and leaves, to the dew that collected from early morning mist. It was far too sweet when it all began. Though they just don’t fully know where it will land. Will the wind carry their petals off to other earth, will they wither to the back to the ground that hid them from light, rain and sky?

They just don’t know. Who will? Who does? Will their petals reach the fettered kite the lion saw from a distance?

They know what they want, though they want what they do not know. Maybe, the cards will be greater than it seems now. All that’s certain is that there is that fighting chance.

Let’s not waste the past summers and the coming seasons. Let us not forget that one summer.