Saturday, July 2, 2011

Week 52


“What do you mean Row 207? That’s unacceptable!”

“Don’t complain now, Carolina. We’re lucky enough to get a seat. You don’t know how much I had to pay those scums to get a ticket.”

“Fine! Just don’t forget why we got here. I expect to go home with Victoria.”

Mr. and Mrs. Jones were opposite poles. The bespectacled Christopher Jones, pudgy like his bank account, married Carolina Sta. Barbara, stick-figure and unrefined manners included, six months after he got her pregnant. Three months later they had bright Tommy whom they sent to Christopher’s relatives in Canada to study.

Earlier that morning, the arguing couple answered an ad Mr. Jones received in his e-mail:

Come one, come all!

Victoria is in need of a new home.

Name your price, shout and call,

This royal piece of jewelry could just be yours!

The underground auction house Elena’s was giving away Victoria, a rare pink diamond unearthed in Africa the previous year and was cut to a roughly 400-carat necklace charm on an intricately designed white gold chain, along with other rare gems collected from different black markets across the globe.

“That beauty’s the last piece to be auctioned today so please be patient and don’t cause any trouble,” reminded Mr. Jones.

A lot of gem collectors went to the said event, buzzing and eyeing possible competition to their most coveted stones. Carolina Jones sat on Seat 207, too far from the stage for her liking, and cursed Christopher for the nth time. A few minutes later, a man in a black sleek tux went onstage.

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen! Count your cash because here comes our first item,” announced the young man as he signaled to another pushing a cart. On it was the bluest sapphire the couple had ever seen.

“The Mermaid’s Last Tear, ladies and gentlemen,” said the auctioneer, “bluer than the seas of Greece itself, is a 100-carat sapphire rumored to calm the wearer’s spirit. Shall we begin at thirty thousand for this treasure?”

One by one the people in Elena’s placed their bids until the Mermaid’s Last Tear was sold to Mrs. Valencia, a famous gem collector and gambler, at two hundred forty thousand dollars.

A lot of rare jewelry followed and even the dust from shaping the Cullinan Diamond was sold at such a large sum. After selling the ruby Dragon’s Eye, the auctioneer beamed at center stage.

“The moment we’ve all been waiting for has arrived. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you…” The auctioneer paused for effect. “Victoria!”

The other guy in tux wheeled in Victoria and everyone was awed by its splendor. Mrs. Jones who had been drooling at the previous jewelries stood to get a clearer glimpse of her most coveted Victoria (though she need not stand to see its beauty). Even Mr. Jones was convinced that the jewel was worth an investment.

“Four hundred-carat Victoria, chained on an intricately-designed white gold chain specifically designed for its exquisite beauty, is a rare pink diamond shipped here from another continent. This rarity once belonged to the Salazar family, one of the largest business tycoons a decade ago. Until various catastrophes inexplicably landed on their doorstep, that is”

“Cursed this diamond, they say. But something this exquisite couldn’t bring such misfortune now, can it? I know how long you’ve waited for this so without further ado, let the bidding begin! Let us start at a million dollars.”

“One million dollars!” cried Mrs. Jones, waving the fan given to her at the entrance and was literally jumping.

“One million and six hundred!”

“One million and seven hundred and fifty!”

“One million and eight hundred!”

“Two million!” shouted Mrs. Valencia.

“Two million and five-hundred!”

Panicking with the others’ bids, Mrs. Jones shouted: “Three million!” Mr. Jones was all sweaty.

“Three million for the very eager lady in white. Anyone up for anything higher than two million?”

Mrs. Jones was smug seeing that even Mrs. Valencia appeared to have withdrawn, sure of her victory. She was to give her husband a comforting smile when a young lady wearing a thick fur coat raised her fan and shouted.

“Ten million!”

Everyone looked at the young miss, taken aback by her bid. Mrs. Jones slowly turned at the young lady and gave her the look.

“Ten million for the young miss wearing a fur coat. Going once…” announced the auctioneer.

“What the –,” mouthed Mrs. Jones, but she had already gone wobbly after seeing Mr. Jones shook his head in defeat.

“Going twice… Sold for ten million dollars!” The auctioneer banged his gavel and everyone clapped, except Mrs. Jones of course, for the young bidder.

One by one, the bidders left. Mr. and Mrs. Jones went home heartbroken, puzzled as to who the young bidder was (Mrs. Jones was too numb to be angry with her husband. She threatened to divorce him when they got home though).


At Elena’s, the auctioneer was signing the papers for Victoria with the winning bidder.

“You mean you’re the Salazar heiress?”

“Yes I am. And I intend to bring Victoria Salazar’s necklace back home.”

“Have a safe trip then, Miss.” The auctioneer shook the hands with the petite young lady.



Natalie Salazar, sole heiress of the Salazar empire, carried the jewel's briefcase to her limousine. She sat there still for a while, then wrapped the briefcase with a large scarf inked with a prayer of a distant language.

“Work your magic now. To the airport, Nigel.”




________________________________________
At the Auction by KASH

Week 51

Young Matt Carlton rushed to his bedroom after dinner and his adoptive parents shrugged at each other.

They had nothing to complain about Matt – he was studious, obedient. They only wished they knew why their twelve-year old son always hurried to his room every night.

He couldn’t say why he does though, or else they’ll go away. “They” however, were not Mr. and Mrs. Carlton.

Matt locked himself away from his adoptive parents and scanned his room of baseball and science books, everything scattered on the floor. This won’t do, he thought.

He opened his windows wide before picking his books and placing them all on his shelf. All but one, that is. He gently, almost reverently, placed Night Spirits on his night table and on top of it he put a yellow flower he didn’t know what to call.

He lit a candle and said his prayers, sank on his bed and counted to ten.

A quiet wind blew his curtains, the little flame on his candle danced wildly until it died. Matt smiled under his covers.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” said a voice, sweet and soothing and warm like the first summer breeze.

“I’m still awake, Mum,” replied Matt who pulled away from his covers to see his mom’s ghost sitting at the foot of his bed.

“I know. Thank you for the little flower, sweetheart.” The spirit smiled and kissed Matt’s cheek.

“Get up, my boy! We’re off to an adventure!” The voice of another spirit boomed in his room, opening Night Spirits to Chapter 9, The Spirits and the Living.

“Where are we going tonight, Dad?”

“We'll have a tour of the city. Hurry up now. We’ll be back before the Carltons realize you were gone.”

Matt got up and held his parent translucent hands and it felt like nothing but comfort. They asked him to close his eyes. When they asked him to open them, he was flying above his city where everyone was asleep after a difficult day; only the bright city lights were alive.

For a moment he wanted to let go of his parents’ hands and see if he could fly alone. If he didn’t, he’ll be able to fly with them anywhere soon enough anyway. He struggled to break free from his parents’ strong, ghostly grip.

“No darling. Not yet,” said his mother. Matt’s face fell.

The three of them watched the city in its slumber, visiting a few strangers' homes to invade their dreams. After the seventh house, his ghost parents took him home.

“It's time to let go now, the ghost mother whispered and Matt let go of her hand.

“Will I see you again?

“Soon, my boy. Real soon,” the ghost father replied. Soon was good enough for Matt.

“Be good now, alright? All our love, my darling…” Slowly, the spirits of his parents disappeared and Matt was left alone.




________________________________________
Night Spirits by KASH

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Week 50

After drafting it with Frootloops on my desk, I have placed these notes on this sheet music, composing a melody only for you. I carefully arranged them so that you will easily catch the tune and somehow tickle your taste in music.

Will you finally hum along with my affections?




________________________________________
Tuned by KASH

Week 49

© Kadie Balfour

The balding Mr. Harris snored on his rocking chair.

His spectacles, round and thick, rested on what’s left of his hair sprinkled with chalk dust. Blind as faith, he had grown highly dependent on them (he hung them on his neck on most days so as not to misplace them). His mustache was still, his forehead creased in distress and his fake teeth were in danger of falling.

A tall glass vase stood at Mr. Harris’ side desk. Withered petals were scattered at its foot while the water inside it began to breed mosquitoes. Flies swarmed his living room and kissed the portrait of his younger self - bold and proud in his Marines uniform.

At 81, Mr. Harris couldn’t reach for the remote control without bursting a sweat. He sat on his rocking chair, shackled with old age, with his pants soaked in his urine and caked with his own feces.

Mr. Harris lived alone. More alone than anyone.

Everyone knew, of course. But nobody seemed to notice that the balding Mr. Harris’ snore was stealthily hushing, that flies were already kissing his exhausted face.




________________________________________
The Balding Mr. Harris by KASH

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Week 48


She cultivates solitude on Sundays.

With the lone candle illumnating her room in the darkest of nights, she licks her wounds like a pagan of the distant past. She sits silently with eyes shut, an immobile tableau, and undresses her spirit; her thoughts escape her mind like pearls slipping off a string.

Loss and grief slowly creep in like the ghosts that made her bawl in her younger years. She does not stop, however. The night air cools her flushed face and she is convinced her god plunges into her emotional reservoir as she chants her prayer.

She opens her eyes, a few hours later, and hears the stubborn orchestra of crickets.

She gives thanks for that gift.



________________________________________
Cleansing by KASH

Week 47


Ten o'clock of January 15th was
Nine weeks apart.
Eight paper cranes he folded - on each was her name and a wish he made on
Seven stars and the moon that night: Camille, please be back.
Six rumors greeted him in the morning - "She's gone," they chanted.
Five times he wept and drained
Four bottles of wine that didn't numb his heart. Alas!
Three well-rehearsed words blistered
Two souls that were meant to be apart:
One barely survived when the other turned to dust.



________________________________________
Untitled by KASH

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Week 46


He paced back and forth in the living room, his steps atuned to the ticking of the old grandfather clock’s hand. She wasn’t home yet and paranoia swept over him – these predictions on the great Rapture terrified him. Outside the city knelt and cried for salvation.

When she finally arrived, he pulled her close. He spun a vinyl record; he held her waist and she leaned on his chest.

The earth trembled then, forming faults on the ground.

“At least we’re together, yes?”

Dark clouds piled above them but with lost hope and delirious love stronger than doomsday they waltzed.



________________________________________
The Rapture by KASH