Short Stories.

A few shorts I wrote down when I felt like it. For now, it's completed, but if I had a gorgeous idea, then I'll add to it. Thank you for reading.

Thank you. Muah.

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1. In The End

I didn't belong anywhere.


I was outcasted all the time, labeled as the one who didn't fit in any category. It hurt me, but they couldn't see it. They had healthy eyes but they still couldn't see it.


At first, I thought it would be over when high school would finish. But I was wrong. And getting my hopes up brought even more disappointment, even more pain. I was the outcast, and one day I learned to accept the identity, but it was too late.


The outcast. In school. In work. In any social goup.


***


My mother looked down at me sympathetically. It wasn't the reaction I wanted to see from her -from anybody- and it made me cringe.


No.


I knew what I just delivered was crucial, but I didn't want this reaction. It just reminded me of the reality that was to befall all too soon.

Her eyes glistened as tears welled. She didn't wait any longer but just hugged me and started sobbing on my shoulder. She muttered undeciphited apologies. Murmered regrets. Tears that represented her sadness.


I bit my lip as to force myself from not crying. I didn't want to tell anybody else. I couldn't bear to tell anyone else. My fists were white and shaking terribly. My vision became blurry.


No.



My life was slipping away from my hands like sand. I couldn't control the speed. I couldn't control the capacity. It was precise. Calculated.


I've always craved the sanctuary of death. It would feel like sleep from a tiring, busy day. It would feel like the holidays after endless weeks of work. Like the darkness after blinding light. 


My life was never my own. People lived it out for me. People wrote down the events. They made me into who I am at the moment. They made me wish death.


What a horrible society we live in. A place where you're merely judged by your appearance and the music you listen to. By your background and what brand your clothes are. It's no longer about personality. No, that word is just a shell of the things we admire. A mask to hide our cruel ways.

In some sort of way, my wish materialised. I was hospitalised because I was involved in a car accident. For two months, I was absent from this disgusting world. For two months, I experienced the equivalent of death. It was peaceful. Very peaceful. It almost made me wish death again.


Vibrant dreams visited me. Of my past loved ones and precious. Voices echoed in the darkness. I would almost feel alive yet it was all under the long shut of an eye.


Yet I woke. My body responded. I had the urge to experience life again, to see, to hear and feel. I bored of the inky darkness that was my coma.


I lived.


Many months past by, and I had come down to the hospital to get a check-up once again. I went through scans, regular checks. Nurses past me, new patients, I couldn't keep up, but the doctor explained everything to me.


I had a monster growing inside my head. All a result of a careless accident. It wasn't the car accident that made me unconscious, but the tumor. The ugly monster slowly expanding and making a home in my head.


Perhaps shock is too little to describe my feelings at that time. I couldn't face anybody without thinking whether this would be the last time. I began to appreciate everything more. Every small detail, every small happening, became visible to my blind eyes.


I no longer wished death. I saw through the despicable humanity. I cherished the nature behind it. I appreciated everything else. Every small stone on the street. Every leaf growing on a twig. Every feather lost from their beautiful owner. That kept me living. I learned that there's more to life than love. There's balance.


Humanity ruined balance. We say love is the most important thing. The most important feeling. But it's balance. If there was too much love then burden befalls. If there was too little love then problems arouse. Our life isn't a roller coaster. Rather, it's a see-saw. Two people share it for it to work. And it needs to be the right person, otherwise one of you would fall and get hurt. This is how life should be.


I was always alone on the ground. Nobody was supporting me. Nobody was playing with me. Nobody bothered to sit and bring me up. They all worried about their own lives.


I would wonder around, looking at faces of people. Trying to remember them. I would look at the sky. I would keep looking up. It reminded me of the pain. Of death. I would be limited in my grave. I wouldn't be able to see the blue sky. To see the faces of my beloved people. To see my precious nature. I would only see darkness.


I was informed I had less than a month before I lose this long battle. One month seemed too short for me. But it was even less than that. The doctor doubted I would last three weeks even.


The beach was beautiful. The peaceful waves as they lapsed against the shore. The cries of the seagulls. I savored every moment as if it was my last.


The cafe was one of the regular places I visited. It allowed me to see people. People I never knew but so badly wanted to get close to. I would sit outside, the sun shining, and look at the passing people.


They were all different. Each had their flaws and differences. In my new eyes, my thoughts of humanity changed. They were unique. Each and every was not the same. They created the balance. If we were all the same then what would happen?


I learned to accept my fate.


So I told my mother. My dear mother who brought me into this world herself. She had every right to know about me leaving. Her expression was killing me itself. It hurt me more than anything else. I was a result of my parents' love.


My father died when I was young. I was to die now. My mother got all the misfortune. At least when I would die, I would have no feelings. But my mother...my mother, she would suffer. I would no longer see her smiles. I would no longer hear her laughs. Comfort her about my father. She would suffer the loss again. The same ugly feelings.


Both her husband and daughter died. A husband she married and a daughter she bore from her own skin and flesh. I wondered which hurt more, but one thing I was sure of is that I never wanted to experience any of that.


She took me to the nearby park. I saw all the children, the fresh innocence on their faces. Their new view of the world. Their excitement in learning and revealing.


My mother sat me on the swing. She began to push me softly and I heard her cries become louder and quieter as I came back and forth. It created a rhythm with the swaying of the swing. The creaking. The whistling of the wind.


It felt cold against my face. It made me feel alive. I bit into my scarf, suppressing a wave of tears. I haven't cried once since I was delivered the news. I didn't want to. I wanted to be fearless against the masked face of death.


We sat opposite each other on the see-saw, balancing each other as the both of us hung in mid-air. My mother was whom I shared my life with. She was my partner. She helped me fight the dawning end.


But death came all too soon.


I was seated upon my bed. The warmness of the sunlight basked me as I held a frame of my father's picture. I began to think about him. To think about his grave, my grave. Next to his. I would leave a person to join another. He always told me to think about the positive things in life.


I began to think about the positive things in death. I searched and searched but I couldn't find anything. Life was a precious gift. One that should be given to those who deserve it. I started to think that this was all because of my death wishes back in the past. That wishes do come true someway or another.


My mother knocked on my door and I let her in. She popped her face in. Her eyes were sunken and red. Her lips were paler than her white face. Her cheeks were hollow. If this happened while I was alive, what would happen when I would be dead?


She never slept, I knew because never did too and I slept next to her, replacing my dad's place, and I would always hear her sigh and turn around. I felt sorry.


I was sorry.


She would turn again and face me, and I would scoot closer to hug her. I felt her relax under my embrace, which made my limbs relax too yet there was the gnawing thought at the back of my mind that soon this place would be empty too.


"It's your dad's memorial service." she said, her voice a bit dark. I nodded, understanding. It's been seventeen years since my dad died. I was four at that time. Innocent like those children in the park.


I dressed in black, we would be visiting the cemetery. We did this every year. Every year we would see his grave and pay respect. We would put flowers and my mother would weep silently. Would she do this for me too?


The car swerved harshly and my head ached again. This time the pain was more excruciating. It felt as if I was being stabbed hundreds of times in the back of my head. The pain was white yet burned red. I couldn't sense anything. The tears threatened to fall over but I wiped them away forcefully.


But I got through it.


Thankfully my mother hasn't noticed. She was probably overcomed with thoughts.


We finally reached. I tried to see everything as familiar. I focused on remembering how the upward world felt like. I tried not to think of decaying, rotting bodies beneath my footsteps. I wanted to remember the cemetery as my future home and not a prison that's trapping me from life.


The tomb was located in the center. I saw a fresh grave dug up next to it and guessed that was mine. A scowl escaped my mother.


"I told them to do it a week from now. Not today." She whispered, oblivious to the fact that she said it out loud. I could tell that my mother lost a string of sanity every dawn of another day. But it was good she was preparing. I didn't want it to come across as a surprise.


She looked at me then smiled sickly.


"Recite your...condolences." She said then pointed at the tomb. Her eyes widened and her voice was high. She was going to break down any minute now.


I didn't do that. Instead I neared my future grave. I looked at the depth. I couldn't even see the ground by how dark it was. I didn't know what I felt. I felt my heart tugging me to jump in and relieve myself from all the pressure. I felt my heart back away and break at the knowledge that I neared my deadline. I felt my heart cry out in displeasure at everything.


I started to cry. For the first time, tears flowed endlessly from my eyes. All that I've kept inside me was poured into ekes of water. I wailed. I shouted. I screamed. I cried. I couldn't breath anymore.


I didn't feel the presence of my mother anymore. My mind has set away everything yet there was one strong thought.


No.



A flash of pain. Red and white. It felt as if a spear was thrown at my head. As if a bullet was shot through my brain. It felt as if the beautiful blue sky was falling down. The pain was impossible to ignore. I could hear that my sobs stopped for a brief second then started louder and harder. Zip. It felt as if somebody opened the door of pain.


I clutched my head in my hands. This couldn't be it. This couldn't be the end. I didn't want to die the same day my dad died. I didn't want to burden my mother. I didn't want to join the shelter of my grave.


The pain swiftly succumbed. It became less and less as darkness engulfed me. It separated me from the world. It separated me from humanity.


I wandered in the foggy space. This was my end. This was it.


I died where I belonged.

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