He sat around, as the wax from the candle kept dripping on the table and the wind violently shook the leaves outside. The paper absorbed every word, every letter, every mark he put on with an old quill dirty and gray with age. His hand shook as he got out the ink, leaving an ugly mark that the paper quickly drank up, ruining all the efforts of the day. He dropped the quill and buried his face in his hands, shaking, as the paper got wet with salty tears.

He picked up a photograph of the table and looked at a beautiful young woman smiling shyly in front of a bookstore, her raven black hair falling out of her hat and curling around her round cheeks. As he stared, tears ran down his cheeks and his lips shook, crooked and dry from days spent in violent wind.

"Loretta, my darling, I'm sorry, I won't come home again today." His thoughts drifted to back when he was a student in college, an awkward young man with empty pockets and incredible curiosity for everything in the world.

Less Than Human

                The figure reflected against the mirror that stared straight at felt alien to her.  She watched on as the skin around its mouth stretched out grotesquely and revealed a set of yellowing teeth. There it was again, practicing another hopeless smile. She had long ago already retreated into the depths of her skin, trying to put as much distance between herself and life. Her body continued to move as always, smiling at the people around her, working hard at it's job, the automatic routine that she had engraved into a husk by years of repetition. Days passed as she stared at a foreign life through a pair vacant eyes. Her soul had lost touch with the body, no longer able to feel anything anymore, her mind merely flickered through the scenes of the day as if watching a movie. What had happened to her? Why was she no longer satisfied with her life? Her life was fine: she had family, friends, and financial stability; there was absolutely nothing for her to be upset about. Yet every day she could feel herself become emptier as her emotions slowly faded away until all she could feel was exhaustion. And so, she buried herself away into the depths of her physical self, the only self the people around her could really see.

The End

“I had planned my entire life out when I was a child: I would graduate college with a science degree, work in a laboratory in a prestigious university, get married at 28, have two children: one boy, one girl, live in a buttercup yellow house with a red roof in a quiet suburban town, and die at the ripe old age of a hundred.”

“How did that work out for you?” asked Frank as he leaned back on the couch.

“Let’s just say my wacky plans never worked,” Amelia chuckled.

He let out a hearty laugh, “You seem pretty upbeat about that.”

“Well things never go the way I want them to, and I guess I’m finally seeing the humor in that. Being at the end of the line really puts things into perspective.”

Frank stood up and approached the bed. He grasped Amelia’s thin bony hand with one hand and held it against his chest as he tenderly stroked her face. A comfortable silence rested between the two as they listened the sharp beeping of Amelia’s heart.

Amelia squeezed his hand, “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to a hundred with you.”

“You’ve already filled my heart enough to last me a hundred years,” he replied, his gentle affection spilling over his words.

Amelia was on her death bed at the age of fifty.

A Kiss

                Last night, I kissed a girl. Hidden behind a thin curtain set in the midst of a rambunctious crowd, our lips touched softly for a brief second. Our nervous giggles vibrated in the small gap between our warm bodies while our inexperienced hands lay each others' innocent cheeks. Her soft breath tickled my lips and once again, our faces closed in. Our trembling mouths fumbled together as we tried to fit into the others' grooves. With my hands rested on her thin shoulders and her arms snaked around my waist, we shared a few short moments in heaven. Above the thumping music, a single voice called out her name and she pulled back, gracing me with a sweet smile. She started to move past me but I reach out to grab her arm, not wanting this to end. I was about to speak when she silenced me with a slight touch of her finger to my lips. I was left in a daze, entranced by her sweet smell as she left our secret rendezvous. I slumped to the ground, as the warmth from our shy kisses lingered around me. Peeking out of the curtains, I saw her and her cheeks that were flushed with embarrassment. I hid my face in my hands and grinned with the lips that could still remember the traces of hers.

Rainy Day Oneshot No.2: In the Clouds

                The cloud hangs over the city, shrouding it with its damp shadow. I watch the tiny ants of people, milling around, looking for a place to avoid the heavy rain that was beating down on them. I laugh from my place up in the cloud, watching them shiver against the cold that I had already conquered. I hug my knees close to my chest as I sit in my bed deep inside the cloud. How I got to the cloud I do not know; I had found myself in the solitary bed, on the heavy cloud from the start of my existence. My only entertainment is watching the little people living their days avoiding the droplets under small umbrellas and prodigious buildings alike. I laugh at their helplessness, their petty fright of the cold, and their constant search for warmth while I sit in my solid bed, immersed in the chill and forever unable to feel the heat of the earth or the sun.

                I cannot leave my bed in fear of falling through to the ground but I am always watching the tiny people travel from place to place in metal machines, constantly wiping away at their drenched windows. As I rest in my small island up in the clouds, I laugh at the people’s endless need to move around. I enjoy their feeble attempts to break through the downpour and relish their dismay when they realize that they are stuck inside. I laugh and laugh in the bed I cannot leave, embracing my superiority over the tiny creatures that cannot fight the strength of the cloud I sit upon.

                On the cloud I slowly crawl through life, the wind blowing me across old oceans and into new land where I can watch the flickering lights bounce off my cloud and shine back into their lives. Even through the night, people are constantly talking, chatting through invisible wires, vocalizing their own thoughts. I scoff at their never-ending crave to interact, their inability to enjoy their lives without others. I grasp into the cloud unable to feel anything but my own body and feel a twinge in my chest – proof that I know how to live out my own life devoid of anyone else. The wind pushes my cloud through the sky as I lay on my bed and revel in life, happily alone.

                The more places we travel to, the lighter my cloud gets. My fear of falling grows stronger by the minute as I see the ground more and more clearly. The bed under me becomes increasingly unstable and I hold tight to the frame in hopes I would not get tossed over. This continued for ages until finally the clouds broke apart and I fell. After a second into my descent, my fear evaporates. I see the inferior people grow bigger than I ever imagined, their eyes wide staring at the girl who is falling from the sky. The warmth radiating from the ground and the sun reaches me for the first time and thaws my frozen body. The exhilaration of leaving my bed for the first time grasps my mind and I scream in joy. “Look at me!” I shout, communicating with others for the first time as the twinge grasps hold of my heart and pumps it full of the relief of being heard. In the few seconds before I hit the ground, I feel everything at once. For the first time in my life I feel truly and utterly alive.

Rainy Day Oneshot No.1: The Life of a Single Raindrop

I fall from the clouds. I fall endlessly towards the ground. My body is fragile, I can feel it in my core. I can break from the slightest touch and I’m falling.

I was dropped from the clouds, just a single drop amongst the millions. I’m so insignificant, yet I’m not, I’m sure I’m not because I can feel myself and I know I’m alive. But I also know this is my first and last journey.

Born in the clouds one second and dropped without hesitation in the next, that is the meaning of my life. I have no say in anything. I just fall.

I freefall through the air, together with the millions just like me. They’re just like me but I know I’m different. I can feel it. I can feel it like I feel the pressure beneath me and the cold air above me. I can feel it by the lightness of my own weight and the heaviness of my descent. I am different. I am special.

Suddenly the wind catches me and pushed by the wind I dance; beautifully and gracefully my body moves in its cold embrace. For a while it holds me close, and I feel its existence with my own. I happily enjoy the soundless melody of my first romance as well as my last.

When the wind lets me go I plummet, the whistling air sings to me as if to comfort me. I am not sad I sing back. This is the meaning of my life. I was created to tumble through this world – through this sky. If death is failure then I cannot die because I was made to break.

The sounds of the city grasp me and I know that I’m getting closer to my destination. The air around me grows warmer as the body heat from the living beings engulf me. I am close, so very close.

I hear children, laughing and shouting; they must be playing in the rain. Listening to them I feel satiated. My presence has given them joy, my fragile body has become their playground. Ah, I feel, this must be the true meaning of my life.

SPLAT

I Found a Body

Late at night, in a dark alleyway, I found a body, propped up by the wall. It was disgustingly mutilated to the point that it seemed like the only thing still completely intact were the legs, sticking straight out towards me. Its skull was smashed in and leaking some dark, gooey liquid. On closer inspection, I realized that it was a little bit of slightly liquidized brain matter, seeping out from the warm, damp wound and onto the cold, wet cement. Its jaw hung loose, broken off at the bone and barely hanging on by a thin stretch of skin. Blood dripped out of the side of its mouth, staining its already dirty shirt. Its arms hung limply by its side; elbows twisted back with the wrists bending into the forearm at an uncomfortable angle. However, the most interesting thing was a gaping hole, roughly the size of my fist that sat at the left side of the chest, blood dripping from the top and seeping into the shirt. The cut was so clean that I could see the brick wall through the hole with amazing clarity. As I reached towards the torso to touch it, I bumped against its feet and tripped over its legs. I fell forward into its chest and immediately felt the still warm, sticky blood drench my face. I stayed still for a while letting the metallic taste spread into my mouth and smelling the still fresh sweat on the body. While I was letting my senses overwhelm me, I realized a sharp pain on my right knee. I sat up and looked down, watching the blood from my scraped knee mingle with the blood from the body. A strange sense of pleasure came over me as I felt myself become one with the death and decay that lay before me. Fittingly, the sky began to thunder, and rain started to pour down and drowned out all the sounds from the streets, washing away all the distractions until it felt like the two of us were completely alone in the world: just me and the body. I looked up to let the rain wash the blood off my face and sink into the metal sewer grates next to us. I leaned onto the body as it quickly lost its heat and fell asleep, using the cold, soft lump of flesh as my bed for tonight.

That Weird Girl