Seven Senses
Grandma always told me there were seven different senses.
One. Touch. Gentle stroking of the palm. Feeling the ropy, grainy branch pass through my grasp.
Two. Smell and taste. They’re virtually the same thing. The melding of two trusting hands holding onto you, and when it’s time to go, you ask them never to leave.
Three. Sight. A curtain drawn over the mind. Dapples of light sprayed through blinds, bleeding through like freed canaries.
Four. Hearing. Rhythm pulsing like a sinusoidal wave, up and down across the crimson waters, sloshing into the valleys of the cranium, bouncing off of cave walls and into the deep-matter aquifers.
Five. Humor. A cardinal extending its wings, strewing feathers upon the forgotten land below, soaring higher and higher till the laugh breaks the clouds and glides on the surface of bliss and nothingness.
Six. Nostalgia. The strange, tangy, nasal taste of day-old wasabi dipped into heavily-steeped green tea with a light afternoon breeze.
Seven. Soul. Back and forth, the swaying of swish-swish of long switchgrass rolling in endless waves, riding winds dancing along the tumbling prairie.
 
One. The arching of the branches, the twisting of the tissues, the rough appendages spreading desperately outward for the final beam of light.
Two. The brine-flowing water and the brine-soaked air wafting in circles, in spirals, in loops, in patterns, in waves.
Three. The last streak across the sky and the last note of the swan as bird and star call their farewells for the evening, shadow against the bright.
Four. The symphonic heartbeats of thousands of creatures: crawling, swimming, slithering, man, some thumps, some throbs, some thunks, some think.
Five. The glimpse up at the mountains, the azure, the ocean way up high. What might have and could have been and what now is nothing. Mirth launching from body to sky.
Six. The moldy-moist hardwood pier guiding souls slowly, slowly, slowly toward the edge where planks yield to feet and memories yield to keys.
Seven. Melding into the darkness as I hear the echoes. Calling, calling, calling, calling. Calling, calling, calling. Calling, calling. Calling me in as I arch the branches, sniff the salt, steady my pace, look up, drop. Drop and unify with the waters. Where I should be, deep down below.

Renewals

There’s something to be said about new things. In new things, there’s something to cherish. They fill holes, bridge gaps, instill motivation. There is one condition, though: new things must be perfect, creaseless, and spotless. If there is only one brick out of place, the bridge collapses.
I was picked up because I was perfect. After eager hands pored through imperfection after imperfection, I was selected to be the companion of choice. Out of all others, I was the best. I did my best to be modest, but I don’t think I hid it very well. It was only mere seconds before triumphant arms carried me out, and grumbling fingers fumbled through pocketbooks digging out change (ka-chink ka-chink ka-chink).
And so the little fingers stroked my smooth, brown, tassled fur. Little curious eyes peered at my smile. A grin would form on his face. Then a laugh. He would throw me up high in the air (whoosh), but sometimes he wouldn’t catch me. And (plunk), I landed on the hardwood floor. But that was okay, because he would apologize and stroke my fur, tug at my ear, and I kept my perpetual plush smile in earnest.
I tumbled on grass, fell on tables, flipped my bear body end over end while cascading down stairs. I was dirty in the end. Of course, I didn’t care. All I was waiting for was the characteristic march (thump thump thump) and for a hand to pick me up and take me somewhere else.
He took me to the library one day. Shelves and shelves of books everywhere. This meant I would be leaping over great distances and sitting on leather couches and smiling all the way, even if I got hurt. And he smiled too, which was the most important part.
But I was left behind in a dark corner. I waited for the reassuring hand to pick me back up, swing me somewhere else. It came, but not the hand I expected. It was a larger hand, firm and calloused. I was swinging back and forth, unsure of where I was going, when there was a (plunk plunk) and I lost half of my vision. In the corner of one eye I saw a small black bead tumble on the floor. Then I was placed in a room of misfits, of old things left behind like me. No longer new.
And the next day, I saw the eager face again. He scanned the room. I knew he was looking for me, but alas, I could not wave my arms. I could only smile and see through one eye.
But he didn’t see me. He looked at me, but he did not smile. He cringed in disgust. And then he left with a frown and a teary face. There was babbling (He’s missing something, missing, missing!) and more fumbling of pocketbooks (ka-chink ka-chink ka-chink). And then I never saw him again.
And I couldn’t do anything. All I could do was smile. But inside, the little plush heart was crumbling like ashes swept after a fire. So insignificant. Fragile as a bundle of cotton.
Day after day, all I saw and heard were librarians renewing books (stamp stamp) and faces of children who stared at me in fear or shock (Mommy!). Little eyes open wide, little arms clutch warmer ones. And I could not help but wonder why. But each time those little faces would walk away unsatisfied, tearful, I wanted to break out of this fluffy husk. I wanted to stop smiling and run to them and cry with them.
Why does no one smile here? Why can’t I see smiles and laughs and grins like before?
We constitute shelves and shelves of those left to waste away, left for the dust monsters to swarm all over us. We all wish someone would come toss us in the air, free us from the itchy sensations of particles settling on our bodies.
Sometimes I wish I could get stamped by those librarians.
Renewed, it would say, due date: never.
——-
(thump thump thump)
——-
“You belong here.” He beat the leather seat with limp palms, breaking into a wide, braced smile. “Here. And look! I found it!”
He pushed the glossy, fractured black bead into the side of my head to no avail. Push. Push. Puuuuush. Frown. Frustration, like an architect, unable to shove in the last brick. No, I don’t want to see a frown.
I smiled. For a lack of better expressions.
He grinned. “Oh well.” And he tossed me into the air (whoosh). A cloud of dust freed itself from the confines of my brown, tangled curls, like the flight of a phoenix chick; a blanket of down gliding down to earth to commemorate a birth.

Electrical Signals
I’m surprised.
Well, not really. Not genuinely surprised. (What is it to be “surprised?” Be startled? I do not think I’ve been startled in a long time. I suppose no one cares about that anymore.) Just the fact that I do not know. Many people do not understand that it was simply a small incident that caused some mental trauma, as the doctors related to me. At first, there was nothing irregular, but later on, I began to realize something was different. Still, it didn’t bother me in the slightest.
It’s hard to describe the feeling, but although everything was orderly and functional in my life, something was off. I first recognized this feeling when I was eating a sundae; my tongue licked the creamy, smooth ice cream and tasted the sweets and the tarts, the ins and the outs. Hmm, I thought. The ice cream is absorbing the heat from my tongue. Thermochemical equations… allow me some time to recall them. But that’s all I remember. Nothing more.
And then some companions of mine one day sat with me in a corner of the library and began to whisper to me. That’s when I definitely knew something was amiss.
“What’s wrong with you?” More curiously rather than inquisitively.
“Hey, shh! Shush.” Turning to me. “There’s nothing wrong with you, don’t worry…”
“It’s just that lately… you haven’t been smiling… or, err…” Mumbled words get lost.
I shook my head. “What is there to smile about?”
He faltered, and then he failed to speak coherently. “It’s just… never mind.”
After a while, I still did not understand what they were trying to make me do. I figured this was a waste of my time, so I promptly left. After all, tomorrow a project was due in English.
“Don’t give up, though! It’s only a matter of time before he gets it all together again.”
“It’s been weeks now, and it’s not going to get better…”
They must have thought I have a problem of some sort ever since I returned to school. What problem, that I cannot tell…
What did I do wrong? I’m not sure. Better get to class.
——-
“Don’t you remember me?”
I stop my writing, raise my head, and turn to a small boy toying with his fingers tentatively.
“No, I’m afraid I really don’t,” I replied. “After my incident, I was found to have some amnesia. Who are you, then?”
He looked down at the ground. “… well, I used to be your friend. You were the guy who sat next to me at lunch. Even though everyone else doesn’t.”
I pondered his appearance for a while. “Are you in high school?”
He tried to stand up as tall as possible. “Of—of course I am! Hey, you didn’t care about my height before! Why do you care now?”
“I don’t care.”
“… oh.” And he stayed with me for a while and then left. “W-well… okay. I’m gonna go now… so…” He picked up his belongings and left quickly, stumbling as he went.
I felt a deep chasm well up within me, but I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. Just… pulses through my head. Like electricity flowing through wires and circuitry… electrical signals. My flow of blood became irregular.
This troubled me for the rest of the day. Well, not really. I ingested some painkillers the doctors prescribed, and the feeling evaporated like fog being swept away to street corners by the sun.
——-
“Excuse me, but do you have a moment?”
This time, I eyed a long-faced girl donned in a black sweater with bright fractal patterns.
“I’m studying. You should be too.”
She helped herself to a desk beside me. “I don’t think you know me. Well, you used to.”
“People have been telling me that a lot.”
“Yeah… well… I was just wondering what happened. To you.”
“I don’t exactly remember.” I thumb through pages of a book, noticing that my focus is wavering.
“… you don’t? Hmm.” She ran her fingers on her left hand through her fingers on her right hand like cheese through a grater, again and again. She straightened up.
“You don’t… you don’t remember me at all?”
“I’m sorry I don’t.”
She rushed through her next words, stuttering along the way, inhaling more breaths quickly. “That’s okay. Let me know if you want to talk, okay?” She brushed away her hair around her eyes. Her fingers came up moist.
“Sorry. I just want you to be normal again.” She left.
Something was missing in that conversation, something so subtle and insignificant. Yet without it, things felt incomplete. There was something pulsing… keeping beat like a drummer in a song. How much resistance is in my body? I noticed my focus wavering once more. Painkillers, I thought. 
——-
Satisfied with my work, I left the premises.
A girl flung her arms around me, embracing me tight. “Hey again!”
“Hello.” I was not sure who she was.
She paused momentarily and released. “Why aren’t you ever happy anymore?”
“I am happy. I am here, aren’t I?”
“That’s not being happy. You’ve forgotten. I know you have. I’ve been watching you for a while.”
She sat down, but unlike other people I’ve talked to, she didn’t walk away until a very long time later.
“I’m just going to stay here, is that all right?”
“I see no problem with it.” It was nearly lunchtime. Study hall was useless if I had nothing to do in there. It might be beneficial to stay a bit and rest. However, I should consider working on calculus next period…
She took out a sandwich and bit into it. Ham, lettuce, tomatoes. It appeared slightly appetizing. “I’ve always wondered what would make someone forget who they loved.”
“Are you referring to me?”
“No. Of course not. Why would you ever do that?” She laughed.
Something was unsettling inside me. I decided to pursue the question. “Why would I do what?”
“Forget. You don’t care about anyone anymore.” She continued to munch.
Rising tension. I felt pulses through the vessels of my hand, all converging toward my chest. “I never said that.”
“It’s pretty damn obvious, if you ask me.”
More unsettling pulses, forming an irritating lump. As if it was about to protrude from my body.
“But I didn’t. Why does everyone keep bugging me about it? Why can’t they just stop?”
The precipitate or lump or whatever it was lodged deep into my rib cage. I’m not sure. It’s difficult to locate these… strange products of some reaction inside me.
She turned and looked at me in mid-chew. “Good!” she said excitedly, muffled through her hand over her lips.
I did not know what she was talking about.
“I think you got the hang of it. I’m not so worried about you anymore.”
And she sat there for a long while. She then discarded the foil sandwich wrapper. In the meantime, the lump slowly but surely evaporated like the other troubling sensations.
“Here.”
And the girl handed me an envelope and left.
——-
I stare at the envelope. I decided to carefully open it with a knife when I arrived home, and now I shake out the contents.
What are these? Pulses come almost immediately.
“I thought you might want these. The doctors took them away from you when you were sent to the ICU after the whole incident. I just asked for them back. Hope you feel better!
- Your cuz forever, Kasha.”
Pictures of the fractal girl and me. We were at a restaurant. We were at the movies. We were sitting in a park. That short, awkward boy was there. And that girl who said there’s something wrong with me. Kasha was there. They were all there, in some photo or another.
Pulses. Stronger ones.
I spread all the photos out onto my desk. I see hugs and kisses and…
I see a smile on my face. I see laughter on my face, too. I sift my hands through each other, rubbing my thighs, trying to do anything to rid my appendages of this tingling feeling.
The pulses are getting stronger, uncomfortably so. Too much. I try to settle them, but it’s too much. What are these circuits and shocks coursing through me…? Painkillers, I thought. But wait.
More pictures: Poses of all of us next to a tree.
The sensations become more relaxing, as if they were gently massaging me, small hands pushing against my muscles. I become disturbed. I need those painkillers now…
Yet I remember that tree. It was the old, aged tree that I always used to swing on when I was little. I thought it was fun. And it was my only friend. Well, no. I had others. And all that time we spent with the tree… where did all that time go? Where did my friends go? When did I even do that?
The sensation fills my nose like strong horseradish and blemishes my eyes. It sinks deep within my brain and warms my body. Shivers run through me. Like electrical current. Electrical signals imploring me to awaken from a deep slumber.
I bite my lip.
Is this…

Genie in a Bottle

“You can have anything you want,” a genie said. He turned to his young master. “I will grant you anything you wish.”
The girl wondered and wondered for a long time. “Umm. I think I want a pony.”
And off the genie went to get the pony. And within a short time, there it was before her.
“Yay!” cried the little girl.
“I’m glad you’re happy,” said the genie. And he patted the girl on the head.
A while later the girl came back. “Can I have a flower? I want to give it to Mommy.”
The genie was more than delighted to do so. In fact, he delivered it directly to the girl’s mother, who was presently surprised and ecstatic.
“Yay!” cried the little girl.
“I’m glad you’re happy,” said the genie. And he patted the girl on the head.
“Hehe,” said the little girl. “One more thing. Can I have some crayons?”
“Of course!” said the genie, and he promptly produced them.
The girl drew a picture of the genie and her and her mother. “Together,” she wrote at the top.

The girl came back again. “Mommy’s getting upset, and I don’t know why. It’s about money.”
And so the genie took care of the bills, taxes, etc. and noticed that the family was steadily running out of money.
The genie argued with the mother for a long time.
So long that the little girl hid in her bedroom.
When the genie finally came back, he smiled and said that it was all taken care of.
“Yay!” cried the little girl.
“I’m glad you’re happy,” said the genie. And he patted the girl on the head.
“But I want something from you,” said the little girl.
“What is it?” asked the genie.
“Please don’t argue with Mommy anymore. I don’t like it.”
The genie hugged the little girl tight. “I promise I won’t.”
The little girl smiled.
“I’m glad you’re happy.”

But after a while, the financial problems became increasingly severe. The family could not afford to pay their loans.
And the little girl asked the genie for help.
“What is it, little girl?”
“Mommy is complaining about money again.”
The genie smiled. “That’s all right. I’ll go talk to her. We won’t argue, I promised. I’m glad you’re happy.” And he patted the little girl on the head.
He started toward the mother.
“No, stop.”
He froze.
“I wanted to talk to you about something else. I wish for something else.”
“What is it, little girl?”
She shook the glass bottle the genie called home. “I want you to escape from the bottle.”
The genie smiled. “What are you talking about? I’m free already. I have you, and you are a good master to me. I love you.”
“No, you don’t.”
The genie was confused.
“If you really loved me, and if you really cared about me, you would’ve already escaped.”
The genie shook his head. “But that means that you would no longer be my master.”
The little girl started crying.
The genie hugged the girl tight. “Shh, shh. I care about you. Please don’t cry. I will do as you say.”
The girl wouldn’t stop crying. “I don’t want a someone that brings me flowers and ponies and miracles. All I want is Daddy back.”
The genie was confused.
The little girl grasped the genie tight and shook him violently.
“Where is Daddy? Where is Daddy? Where is Daddy? I don’t want a genie. I don’t want to be a master.”
“What are you talking about, dear little girl?”
“I don’t want any of that. I want you to be Daddy again. I want you to escape the bottle. You’re trapped. You’re drowning in that sour thing everyday, and you don’t know what I really want. You’ve stopped listening to Mommy, and you don’t really pay attention to me. All you do is pay for things for me, but we’re running out of money, too.”
She stopped crying.
“You’re trapped in that bottle. That’s your prison. I don’t own you. The bottle does. And I want you to be free. Please.”

And so on that day the genie granted the last wish he would ever grant.

Salvation

When I was little, I swore against it, and that was a promise. Just a promise that I’m now breaking.
Why?
You’ve taught me something. Something very valuable to me.
It’s like… pudding. Pudding that wobbles and jiggles but is so light and fluffy. Yes, I suppose it is like pudding. A sweet and sugary delicacy, but it’s over so quickly because it just melts in your mouth and disappears.

Someone said that my life had no meaning. Here I’m going to prove them wrong. Because suddenly I’ve opened my eyes and see that I have potential. I know that’s ironic. My eyes are always open (and that doesn’t change a damn thing), but that doesn’t matter.

Remember when you stopped in the road? To feed that dog? So helpless on the street, with no one to take it home? It looked ruffled and dirty, as if it had been lying there for days. So when we were about to leave you took it home, and we named him Angel. And that day we saved a life.

Remember when you paused in the street? For that little boy and little girl? So young and innocent, the twin babies. I said we couldn’t support them. But you refused to abandon them. You took them in as your own. And now I’m so glad I got to meet those two bright little souls. So happy that you kept them alive. And that day you saved two lives. And gave me two children.

Remember when you found me?
I had a choice. It was at night in the pool. No one would care anyways. Just me and a little bottle. All I had to do was swallow. Not hard, right?
But as someone once said, I’m a coward. I couldn’t do that to—heh—save my life. How ironic. That day you saved a life.

Remember critical kidney failure?
And you were there to donate your kidney right beside me. And then you said, “Now a part of me is inside you.” We smiled that day and went on with our lives. You saved the life again.

And that brings us to today. It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? That it’s finally over. This time, I don’t have a choice.
I said I can’t see you cause I’m blind. I said I can’t talk cause of a brain lesion. Well, that was a lie. I can see you as bright as day now that the curtain has been lifted, and I can speak to you because a part of me will be inside you.

I just wanted to say how that I’m glad I got to know you. Like our dog and our children. I’m thankful that you bothered to save me more than once. Me, so useless. But you know what? I learned from you. You showed me the miracle that is giving. You showed me the miracle that is salvation. You saved me from myself, and what’s more, you showed me how to save. That’s what I’m most thankful for. That’s why I’m here now, reaching for your face, writing words on the palm of your hand.

I promised that I would never love, but isn’t that what’s happening? I always broke promises. So there. I love you. Although it was too late in this life, I promise I will be the savior in the afterlife.

I just wish pudding lasted a little longer. Then I could give some to you.

A Touch

A malevolent shadow is cast over a budding flower in the meadow of sun.

A boy dreams on the fringes of the woods as the hungry shadow approaches. Horror enters his mind like a bullet enters the body. It splashes into his brain like poured thoughts and ripples throughout his body like methamphetamine infused with frostbite. He tries to run away, but fear seizes him and despair presses his bruised face against the forest floor covered with wet, spinning, rotten leaves. Icy chills like the onset of winter embrace his heart and lungs. He hears laughter in the fog and the darkness, but no mercy or remorse as the attacks continue, more brutal and brutish. Tears are neither ward against nor food for beasts, as the boy knows, yet he cries anyway, as disturbing appendages  appear and disappear in his mind, invading his body like filthy goblins stealing gold from the treasury. The world whirls around uncontrollably as the touch slips up into him. He is filled with shock when he realizes it does not seek to kill him, but to do far worse.
Cold winds pass over his body. Breezes feel ever more cold without a shell to protect the pupa, so lost within a foreign world it is not ready for. The boy screams for sun, something to caress him and hold him away from the rough, brutish shadows pressing against him. He feels claws like carved knives digging into him and skin like sandpaper pushing against him. A soft wood, he feels his green flesh bared, left like open wounds. The carved letters leave impressions forever. The shadow snickers in the otherwise quiet woods, otherwise isolated. The boy feels there is no chance of escape into sunnier meadows.
His screams are muffled, his tears mingle with the rain pooled in the leaves, and his shivers become ever more convulsive.
The icicles subside and drip on his clothes. Just like that, the touch is gone and a cold shadow slips away into the meadow, but he knows it will last for all his life.
The boy hides within the shattered remains of his chrysalis, groping for warmth.

A malevolent shadow stumbles off as the petals fall away, exposing the flower and leaving nothing but mere sepals as proper shields to life.

A Memory

I get home, I lay on the couch, and I wait for my dog to sit on my lap.
My head is all clouded with memories with what happened earlier today. I say, “Fuck that,” and I turn on the TV and watch the chronicles of some random kid. I change the channel. Then I turn off the TV and sit with my hands wrapped around my head in my lap.

What have I done?
I keep a shadow locked up inside me. If anyone was to ever find out that there was this shadow, they would instantly go out of control. Kill me, scream at me, send me to the police. I might plead and say it’s not my fault, but it doesn’t matter. That shadow becomes me. It seeps into my soul and takes control of me. Everyday I fight to control it and restrain it. Everyday there is a war inside me.
They denounce people like me. I can’t blame them, for all the terrible things we’ve done. We all have shadows locked up inside us. We’re all in this same damn ship headed straight toward hell, and I can’t say that I don’t deserve it. I don’t know about everyone else like me, but I can’t.

What have I done?
The shadow inside me has sated its hunger. It licks its lips for the next victim, but I must keep it back with my bare hands, pushing it back. I have witnessed what it has done to that boy today, and I must stop it from claiming more innocent souls.
That boy.
That poor, innocent, defenseless boy. What have I done to him? The shadow knows. “You crushed his soul and destroyed his meaning of life. You have done something worse than murder.”
How was I supposed to know? Maybe I know because he cried and struggled against me and begged for mercy. Or maybe…
Because I had been in his shoes years and years ago, when this hungry shadow first entered me.

I know what I have done: an inexcusable, unforgivable act. I have killed a boy and replaced him with a dead husk. Like me. I have stolen away the feeling of time, the joys of emotion, and the meaning of life from that child. And as I lay crying on the floor, begging for mercy from the shadow, I know that this memory will haunt me forever. For I am living with only sepals as protection from the harsh world, defenseless and groping for warmth. I am in sunnier meadows, but that doesn’t change a damn thing.

Rocks for Shoes

I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of me. Actually, I’d prefer it if you never heard of me. I wonder what would’ve happened if the three of us never existed in the first place.
But once upon a time, in a castle far, far away, there was a family living in a modest household. I think we sort of lived together fairly happily. At least, my sister and my mother. When a widower married our mother, we were very happy for sure. You don’t understand—my father had been dead for years. It was hard for us to accept someone else. Or rather, two people.
The man brought his little daughter along with him.
We loved playing with her, me and my sister. She was a sweet little girl. She would pick daisies for us, and we would watch the sun set together on our thatched roof.
The only problem was that she complained a lot. Our mother kept insisting on maintaining a clean and respectable household, even though our house was a small hovel at best. She made us clean the chimney (and every other part of the house), gather firewood, keep the garden healthy, gather berries… all this work. My sister and I got used to it since we were little, but that girl never did.
Our favorite time of the year was Christmas, when the widower would give us all gifts. One time he gave my sister and I two lovely, elegant ballroom dresses. We were ecstatic… to say the least. His daughter didn’t get anything that year.
My sister and I decided to give her a little something since she never received any gift. We cut roses off the bushes and of course daisies, her favorite flowers. We made bouquets. And then we gave them to her.
She never touched those bouquets.
No matter how hard we tried, it seemed as if she would refuse to acknowledge us. This made our mother quite furious, and one time she drove her out of the house.
That night, I went looking for her. She had run off to a remote corner of the woods.
“Come back Cindy,” I whispered. “The wolves are coming (but of course, there are no wolves in the forest, but I didn’t say that). We have to get back. Come on.”
All I could hear were her cries, and I all could see were wet, salty leaves on the ground and tattered lace strewn all over the forest floor.
“Oh no,” I said, “your dress is ruined. What about the Prince’s ball tomorrow?”
“I don’t care!” she screamed. I reached for her tentatively. “You can all go. Don’t touch my dress! My daddy gave it to me!” I stood back.
I walked away, but I stayed behind the trees to keep her in sight. At dawn, she came back home.

Come the Prince’s ball the next day (oh how fortunate we were to have been invited!), my sister, my mother and I donned our elegant attire and headed for the ball. We advised Cindy to stay at home. There was another ball coming up a few months later, anyway. We would mend her dress for her by then.
All I could hear as I walked out was the sobbing of a desolate little girl.

And that night we came back to find Cindy in a stunning blue ballroom dress.
My mother thought she stole from us. My sister and I hid in our rooms as we heard the argument escalate.
That day, I wish we didn’t hide in our rooms.

Who knew that the Prince had danced with her that night? That the fateful glass shoe fit in her foot exactly? To this day, I have no idea what happened that night.
All I know is that now I can no longer see my mother or my sister again. That we escaped the city and parted ways. And now my dress is tattered and worn by bushes and mud and moths and my shoes are none but the ground beneath me.

“By the Prince’s decree, we order you to unlock this door!” The banging grew louder and louder.
“Quick,” my mother said, “you two must hurry. Go quickly!”
My sister had just finished packing her things. “But no, Mother, please—”
“Go, it doesn’t matter what happens to me or the house or the chickens or, well, just go!”
By the light of the frowning moon, we opened the barn door and fled to the neighboring town while we heard our door burst into hundreds of splinters.
I clutched our death sentences in my hand. You have been sentenced to exile… by order of the Prince Charming and the Princess Cinderella, our Great Guiding Forces…

We began tumbling on the hill, bedded with round and smooth rocks. It started with my sister shrieking, and in an instant later, we were on our backs rolling and rolling… it seemed like an eternity of blackness until I was awoken by the prodding of blades and torches.
Dazed and shocked, I kept running and running on that rock bed, past the ravine and the lakebed. All I had for shoes were the round, smooth rocks beneath my feet, but I blessed whatever gracious entity had decided to provide them for me, whatever fairy godmother I had… if one even existed.

Now I just sit here on this bench waiting for a soul like you to pass by. It may not look like much now, but once, a long, long time ago, this dress was beautiful. And my face was full and ripe. And these wilted flowers were just blooming, but were thrown away along with the rest of the bouquet.

It was the third village we had escaped from. It seems that you can’t run from your reputation. It seems that some stories are etched in stone. And it seems that sometimes, stories will live with you forever. A lie lasts far longer than the truth.

Cube Overboard
 
Fleeting days and fleeting nights
Within glass walls burning bright
But the cube I have and hold all day
Stays with me, in glass walls we play
Time may pass and time may stand,
But this from the cube I demand (if you so please)

Remain in this broken room
Makeshift refuge from what may loom
Count the days of time that pass
Erase and forget all that may last
A beast, a monster, an eye all-seeing
But if I protect you
Then life still has meaning

Forever and ever the cube will be
A peg in the gap none yet see
Great depths and great danger aside
The cube I can behold on this lonely ride
Time may pass and time may stand,
But this from the cube I demand (if you so please)

Remain in this forsaken world
And by this fire we shall stay curled
Mocking that which we once obeyed
Now powerless to enforce the request conveyed
That witch, that nightmare, that eye all-seeing
But if I protect you
Then life still has meaning

Yet the cake in the room so burning bright
Entices the glands and keeps rooms alight
Where all I hold dear may be gone,
But cube overboard, its blood I don
Time may pass and time may stand,
But this from the cube I demand (if you so please)

Remain in my world of dreams
To repair my soul and mend its seams
Fuel my vengeance beyond glass walls
Where I shall escape when endless time falls
The dark, the impassive, the eye all-seeing
But if I protected you (from me)
Then life would still have meaning

{See Portal by Valve.}

Numbers

I heard that 2400 and 2310 got into a big fight yesterday. Apparently it was really something. I wish I was there to watch. Oh right, and there was 98 and 89. It’s finals week, of course everyone is riled up. Sometimes, though, I wish things were different.
Me? I go by many names. Some call me 67. Others call me 1360. Some guy calls me 460. Either way… it’s not very good. Man. The looks I get from people when I tell them my name. “Oh hi, I’m 1360.”
Their entire facial expression changes. They were grinning and all of a sudden they form their mouth into a condescending “o,” like, OH. You’re that one. Right.
My very presence started to upset some people. “This is a club for 700s and above,” they say, or “I really have to go, I’m going to talk with 110.”
Scratch that, I’ve never heard of someone talk with 110. Seriously, how is that possible? How can someone be named 110? It’s really not possible. Because of that she’s the only one eating by herself at lunch. Well… there’s me.
I’m sort of in the middle. I’m not good enough to be above the 90s, the 700s, or the 2000s. Those kids boss around others. “Bah, I’m superior to you.” And then there are the 30s, the 300s, and the 900s. Those kids don’t really care what others think.
It’s starting to confuse me, with all the names everyone has. People are getting new names all the time nowadays.
One day it struck me. I think I should go talk to 110. She looks really lonely, all by herself.
So I did.
I know, I know. Unprecedented, right? Especially since we’re so different from each other. You can just tell by our names. 67 and 110? We’re worlds apart.
“So… where’s your next class?”
“It’s in the AB complex. Mechanical engineering,” she said, not pausing while eating her sandwich. So 110-like, I suppose.
“But you’re only a sophomore! How could you be taking that high of a class?” I asked, a little dumbfounded and fascinated by her engineering talent. She had a knack for something. Everyone just hears my name and says, “You really aren’t talented, are you?” I have to agree, unfortunately. I can’t think of one thing that I’m good at.
“So? It’s not as if it’s outside of the course catalog.” She looked at me suddenly. “Why do you care anyway? And… why did you come talk to me?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. You looked lonely. I don’t have a place to go anyway.” I pulled out the leftovers I packed for my lunch.
“Well. You can sit with me. I don’t mind. It’s nice for a change.” She took another bite of her sandwich, and we sat in silence for a minute.
“Say,” she said abruptly. “What’s your name?”
“Oh, right,” I said. “I’m 67. You moved in here recently, but I know your name already. 110, right?”
She stopped eating and looked at me. “What? What kind of a name is that? Ah well. My name isn’t 110. It’s Kira.”
I sat there, confused. There I was, with my mouth open and the smell of mozzarella and wilted tomato in the air.
“Yeah… okay. I’m… Gordon.” The name sounded funny in my mouth, like cobwebs.
She laughs. “I’m happy. Really glad.”
“Why?”
“No one else got it when I said my name. They just sort of looked at me weird and walked away. I’m happy someone finally got it. Isn’t it stupid? Since when did everybody become numbers?” She smiled, the most puzzling and yet astounding thing I’ve ever seen. “Hey, I think we probably have a lot in common.”
“You think so?” I thought it was absurd.
“Hehe. Of course. That 67 really got into you, didn’t it? Well, here’s the thing. Numbers don’t reflect your personality. They don’t say what talents you have, unless your talent is bookwork. Nothing wrong with that. But my point is numbers are one-dimensional. You?” She patted my shoulder. “You’re far more than that. You’re three-dimensional—flesh and bone—and you also have personality, hobbies, talents… et cetera. Can’t say that about a number, can you?”
I nodded.
She nodded back. “You’ll get it eventually.”
She became my first friend. We’re Gordon and Kira. No numbers necessary.

The Song

All I hear is
The song song song
Stuck in my head head head
As it sneers and it snickers
And it taunts and it torments
Buried in lead lead lead

As numbers dance dance dance
On the pages pages pages
Spinning round round round
And the song, sing-song, sing-along
Creates the barrier
To bar the merrier
Side, I will never
Achieve, just a fantasy

Lone lone rabbit in a
Dark dark hole
Gazing at the meadows
Where the other ones roam

All I hear is
The song song song
Lingering hate hate hate
As it scoffs and it chuckles
And it beats and it crushes
Hunger it can’t sate sate sate

As it chimes, rings, sings
Never to be anything thing thing
Gone gone gone you will be
As others
Laugh, they do not bother
In bliss, you’re only fodder

Lone lone lighthouse on the
Seas seas seas
Crumbling and tumbling into
Dust dust dust
The rocks below it
Can’t trust trust trust

All I hear is
The song song song
Residing in my mind mind mind
As it sears and it burns
And it hates and it lashes
Singing “die, rot, cry”

The angels hark hark hark
In the sky sky sky
Failed failed prototype
To be tossed
Away, without thought
Won’t do, square one again
No worth, redesign sign sign

Lone lone child on the
Street street street
And the song song song
Hums in concrete crete crete
Your efforts and your wishes
So fruitless hopeless worthless
Futile futile futile

As I sing, sing-song, sing-along
Everyone will be
Happy joyful cheering
When you are
Gone gone gone
Stuck in the woods woods woods
Are you you you
Ha ha ha
As you die, rot, cry
Never worth more than worthless

Lone lone straggler
On their bloody bloody knees
Gripping flightless wings
That they never will seize

All I hear is
The song song song
Stuck in my head head head
As it sneers and it snickers
And it taunts and it torments
Buried in lead lead lead