Seasons: Finale

First two parts were published last Tuesday and yesterday.

“This can’t be,” my mind whispered. But my heart and my senses knew, this is him.

When I finally looked into his dark brown eyes, words ran out of me. Anger and sadness left me. I am numb.

He stared back and looked through my eyes as his hand trace my arms and reach for my hand.

“Let’s go,” he finally said, softly. I am too weak to resist so I let him lead me.

Memories came rushing as we walk hand in hand towards the ancient wooden bench that we call, ours. This place is far too familiar to forget. It smells sweet during summer, fresh during spring, chilly during winter. Now, the atmosphere is filled with earth scents.

We sit silently, unmoving.

I stare away from his face but my body is wide awake as his finger trace the ghost of our engagement ring.

More shivers run through me as I felt his face moves closer to my ears.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he whispered repeatedly. His hoarse voice cracked as he softly say how much he missed me.

I slowly pushed him away. I faced him, eye to eye, with all my being. I am not sure if I am a soul now or what, but I bared my whole self to him as I look straight to his teary-eyes.

“Breathe. Please, breathe,” I reminded myself as the flood of emotions flowed through me. Anger. Sadness. Longing. Unbelief. Love. Yes, love is still there.

I am now looking again at the man I loved and still love so much. I am now looking at the man I imagined waiting for me at the altar. I am now looking at the man I dreamed of having children with. I am now looking at the man I have mourned for five years.

I am now looking at the man I badly wanted to be alive, again.

“Come with me,” he said as he wiped my tears.

“How?” I asked in between my quiet sobs.

He moves closer to me. “Just say yes.”

I looked at his eyes and let the windows of my soul express the words my tongue cannot utter.

Our stares are charged with strong love, anguish, sadness, confusion. Our eyes are like weapons that unveil the emotional turmoil happening inside us.

Just as the longing became unbearable, his soft lips finally met mine.

We are both cold but our locked-lips sent warm current through our whole being. His lips felt familiar and intoxicating. His lips reminded me of what I have been missing. His lips, oh, his lips.

My eyes remained close. I want to feel him and him only, until a strong electric jolt shocked me.

I resisted the strong energy trying to suck me away from him.

I tried… I tried…. I tried….

But I cannot resist the black-hole-like force that swallowed me.

My heart beats fast.

My body shakes.

My breath rushes back.

“Her heartbeat returned. She’s back, she’s back,” someone whispered softly but with urgency.

My eyes struggle to open up against the blinding lights of the operating room.

I am alive, again.

09.28.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 16 Assignment. This is my first-ever flash fiction series.

The Plan

I looked at the sky painted in pretty purple and pink.
I counted the building’s floors, trying hard not to blink and think.
Calm down, jumping is fun and surely death will swiftly come.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Steven Wei


In response to Sonya of Only 100 Words‘ Three Line Tales Week Thirty-Two.

If you want to join, here are the simple rules:

  • Write three lines inspired by the photo prompt.
  • Link back to this post.
  • Tag your post with 3LineTales (so we can find you in the Reader).
  • Read and comment on other TLT participants’ lines.
  • Have fun.

Seasons: Part 2

First part was published yesterday.

Chilling shivers crawled in my veins when I saw my bloody-self inside my wrecked car.

“So what am I now? Am I a soul now? Am I dead? Am I alive?” I shouted but no voice left me.

The ambulance arrived. Several medical staffs tried to retrieve my blood-soaked body. The unfolding scene is nauseating but I urged myself to think straight.

I collected myself and prepared to run to get inside the ambulance.

But I stopped as I felt a warm yet slightly cold hand touch my arms.

I am unsure if my heart is still alive but it surely beat fast once my skin recognized this hand.

This hand belongs to the man I was supposed to marry five years ago.

This hand belongs to the man I cried and yelled at when he was not able to see me on that fateful day of October.

I waited on our corner but he did not come because he died.

But this hand… is definitely….

“No, no, no, no.” “This is couldn’t be. This couldn’t be.”

But my senses say otherwise.

This is how his touch feels like.

And this is how he makes me feel.

I slowly turned around.

And urged myself to look up.

My heart stopped.

Because the hand resting is my arm is indeed… his.

09.28.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 16 Assignment. This is my first-ever flash fiction series. ❤

Seasons: Part 1

My soul still searches for you.

For five long years, I was able to avoid this street. I was able to forget this area. I wanted to avoid you. I wanted to avoid us until my car stopped.

It ceased to move, for reasons I don’t know. I guess it brought me here, to the corner we call our own.

Winter, spring, summer and fall, this bench was ours.

It was a cold December night when you found me in this corner. I said my name, you said yours.

It was a blooming April morning when you asked me to be yours. Of course, I said yes.

It was a hot yet so bright July afternoon when you gave me that ring. I said I love you and you said you do, too.

I waited for you on that fateful day of October. I can vividly smell the earth scents and feel the sky winds as I saw you walk towards me.

I thought it was you. But it wasn’t you.

I thought you will come for me. But instead, I went to see you. I waited for you on our corner. But you didn’t wait for me. It’s humid autumn, but you laid still, chillingly frozen.

“Enough,” I said to myself.

I went back to my car because I cannot stand to be in this corner anymore.

I ran, then stopped abruptly when I saw my bloody-self inside my crushed car.

09.10.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 13 Assignment. This is my first-ever flash fiction. ❤

Endings

I have to see her before the day ends.

I have to do it before the sun sets.

I am shaking inside as I slowly twisted the smooth metal door knob.

The smell of disinfectant welcomed me. My wrinkled skin quickly felt the cold and sterile atmosphere of the room.

I can hear nothing but the continuous ‘beep’ of the machine that I cannot really look at, yet.

I gaze around and took my time in perusing the benign prints painted with uplifting colors. No matter how many minutes I look at them, they remain ineffective.

I stared down at the almost-white and completely dustless floor.

My heart is racing. I don’t know if I am ready to take a few more step.

Inhale. Exhale. Deeply. Again.

As I went near, the smell changed. I know I am now near you because the sweet vanilla scent is now within my nose’s reach.

Oh, you smelled that way since I first saw you, 50 years ago.

I stopped at the edge of your bed.

Your mattress looks comfortable. But I know you still prefer to lay on the bed that we shared until that fateful day when your sick brain nerves snatched you from me.

I finally seat on the stainless stool beside you without looking up, yet.

Inhale. Exhale. Again.

I slowly raise by heavy head and finally see your face. You are not as young as before but your look will always be the loveliest in my eyes.

Age has never worn out your beauty, but those tubes somehow distracts me.

I stare at your face as my old hand search for yours.

I hold your always soft but now cold hand. I squeezed it with all my remaining strength wishing that your eyes will open when you feel my warmth.

I looked at you for a second, a minute, an hour. You never moved. You remained still.

I knew that the fiery red sun is now slowly sinking beneath the horizon as the orange and red streaks of light illuminate your lovely but emotionless face.

I kissed your hand and whispered ‘I love you’, for one last time.

I reached for the machine’s button.

The beeps stopped. The sun sets. My hope ends.

09.24.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 14 Assignment.

The Yellow Bus

My task is simple.

Determined, I walked towards the old yellow bus that will leave before 10 a.m.

I sit still. I need to focus. I have to stop thinking. Because I may have doubts.

——

We finally gave our final kisses.

This is not our last goodbye but I can’t stop the tears.

I ended our tight hug and finally let go of her.

She then finally went inside the yellow bus.

She will be leaving before 10 am to finally pick the dress that she will be wearing on our wedding day.

I would like to come with her but she refused.

She wanted it to be a surprise.

—–

I hate seeing people who kissed in public.

In my own country, we never do that. But here, I think it’s normal.

“Stop.” I tell myself.

I have to focus.

This yellow bus is leaving before 10 am.

I should leave earlier.

——-

I stayed waiting for her yellow bus to leave.

I stand and blow air kisses as she looked at me through the not-so-clear window.

I have no plans of letting go of her lovely brown eyes until a man with a blue cap bumped into me.

I looked at him, straight to his eyes.

He looked at me too.

But I stopped staring because 10 am is near, and my love will be leaving.

———

Finally, off I go.

I wanted to run. But I didn’t.

I walked briskly amid this busy city’s humidity.

I reached my final spot.

Far from what will happen.

But near enough to see the yellow bus.

I waited until…

———-

I waved unceasingly as the yellow bus went away.

I stopped when she cannot see me any more.

Until…

———

Scream. Sirens. Blood.

There’s no more yellow bus.

09.23.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 13 Assignment.

First Fly

2

“That’s your daddy, little man!”

My mom-heart swells when the eyes of my four-year old sparked in delight as he watched his father fly the red helicopter for the first time. From playing toy planes, now my beloved husband is flying his real one.

“Let’s go, Momma! Come on!!!” he giddily say as he pulled me towards our condo’s door where we gaze at the lovely, exciting scene.

“Not yet love, it’s not safe—.”

A loud ear-shattering blast. We looked up.

My son’s delighted eyes turned to widely horrified.

“Moooooom!!”

“No. No. It’s not your daddy. It cannot. I cannot be.”

Word count: 100

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Iain Kelly


In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) August 30, 2016.

Rules:

  • a flash fiction challenge (stories in 100-175 words or less)
  • each story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end
  • no serial (continuation) stories
  • include a pingback to the challenge post

Thank you for hosting this awesome prompt, Priceless Joy! ❤ 

Read more short stories here:

The Jar’s Secret

A frail, pellucid, deformed, indistinct, cylindrical jar
towering above unkempt, blotchy, matte drawer
sits silently among empty, hollow bottles.
Inside hides the ashen remains
of your once iridescent, glistening soul,
I still remember how I carefully pour
after I watch you burn in whole.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Unsplash


In response to dVerse‘s Quadrille #114 by Björn Rudberg (brudberg). Read his own jar-inspired poem titled Pickled Summer.

dverse

Also for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie‘s Wordle Special Addition Sight “August 15th, 2016”.

Brontide

It took me so many years to find a mountain-home away from the seashore that holds our precious memories. It took me great effort and a sum of money to build this fortress that will protect me from your silent yet screaming ghost.

But when I encountered my first storm and I heard the whispers of the far-flung thunder, I figured I was wrong. Each brontide was stamped with the sweet sound of your sighs. Each grumble was sealed your voice’s hypnotizing sweet cries.

So my dear, please answer, where can I hide from you now?

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash, Tumblr

Word prompt: Melinda Kucsera of In Media Res (Thank you, dearest friend!)