Week 16

"Papa?"

"Hmm?"

"Did Mama leave us because I was a bad girl?"

"No dear. You were never a bad girl."

"Then why did she leave us?"

"Because Papa had been a bad boy."

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Papa by KASH

Week 15

© Theo Gosselin

Jessica

She ran away at 17.

Getting her saved stash on an old gray sock and her mom's worn-out photo under her pillow, she was convinced it was time she left her father and his new family. She sneaked out of her bedroom and tiptoed her way out of their house. "Good riddance," she whispered, gently twisting the doorknob open. Without any plans of shedding even a single tear, she ventured the silent streets of their city - the lamp posts the only witnesses of her escape. Everyone was asleep, but her heart was an owl wide-awake at two o'clock in the morning.

"Hey Mom, we'll go to Vancouver. You like that place, right?" she said, looking at her mom's photo. "Maybe we'll get some real family time there." She pulled her sweater closer as a cold drift blew.

She bought herself a train ticket and helped herself with a sandwich and a can of soda at Platform 12. At around half past two, she rode the train and stumbled her way across a guy reading a book on architecture, she thought, basing on the buildings on the cover. The guy peeked out of his book, smiled at her, and went back reading.

"Nice guy," she thought as she dug to her bag for her earphones. Staring outside the window, she drowned herself to the drums of Muse and wondered of what she'd do upon reaching Vancouver.

In the end, she thought it didn't matter. She was free.

Cyrus

He was 18 then and like most guys of his age his being sought for adventure.

That night of October 17 he decided he'd explore the world without telling anyone. He packed his things and grabbed his architecture book, then silently entered his sister's bedroom and left a letter on her bedside table. Everyone was asleep, or so he thought. Downstairs, he found Sid blocking his way out.

Seeing him, Sid stood and walked between his legs, shedding cat fur on his pants.

"I'll miss you too, buddy. Look after Mom while I'm away?" he said, patting the cat on the head. "And don't touch Mary's aquarium." The cat purred and went back to licking itself.

It was a bit cold when he went outside. Drizzling, actually. He didn't pull out an umbrella though. Instead he faced the sky and let the rain bruise his face and calm washed all over him.

He arrived at the train station around 2:15, bought himself a ticket and rode the train that will take him to Vancouver. While waiting for the train to leave, he pulled out his book and started scanning the tallest and grandest buildings to rise on this planet.

A girl went and sat across him. Peeking from his book, he saw a green-eyed girl with a disheveled - but not messy, he thought - brown locks and heavy luggage.

"Looks like I'm not the only one to sneak out tonight," he thought.

The girl looked to his direction. Meeting her eyes, he smiled. The girl smiled back and started digging inside her bag. He went back reading and wondered on what sorts of adventure he'd find in the city of Vancouver.

It didn't matter, he thought in the end. He was already on one.

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The Runaways by KASH

Week 14

© lenaah

My name is Diana and I want to die.

In my bedroom of white, beige and flowers, I am in desperate need of the perfect outfit. I waltz around my vintage floral wallpaper-covered room while deciding whether to wear my favorite floral-printed skirt to match my white top. “Just choose a simple outfit. It’s no occasion, no need to be extravagant,” I keep telling myself, but I’m still feeling a bit uneasy.

I’m seeing Roger. My ex-boyfriend.

Frustrated (and running late), I put on that skirt and wore a peach headband with a little rose on top. My friends say that I look like a garden with that outfit, but I always tell them to zip it; my uncontainable love for flowers won’t be thwarted by nasty remarks. After convincing myself that I looked alright, I stepped outside.

Roger and I met in his parents’ café just a block away from my house. When I arrived, Roger’s with his new girlfriend. Jessica.

Avoiding their eyes, I said “hello” before taking my seat. Roger and Jessica smiled at me in response.

“Thank you for accepting our invitation to be our wedding planner, Diana,” Jessica said. I flinched but re-arranged my features right away.

I would flinch there and then (like when Roger held Jessica’s hand or when they both insisted on using white lilies on the wedding), but I still managed to be professional-looking. My afternoon went to a blur while discussing their wedding.

Their wedding. I flinched again.

When I reached home after finalizing every wedding detail with the two, I locked myself in my room and sat in front of the mirror. In my hands was the portfolio of Roger and Jessica’s big day; in the mirror was a photograph of Roger and me.

It’s then that I’ve decided that this wedding will only happen if I were to be the bride, and the flowers would be roses, not lilies.

I threw the portfolio away and grabbed my journal, jotting down my plans for Operation Getting-Roger-Back.

“Roger, you’ll be mine again,” I scribbled down.

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Getting Roger Back (Prologue) by KASH

Week 13

© Art Flow(away)

Snow began to fall that typical afternoon of November and brought smiles to people – kids try to catch snowflakes, couples race to coffee shops for hot cocoa and fathers start to gather firewood for their hearth. Everyone savors the magic of those first days of snow fall except me. I stomped my way to Libra.

“Why the long face, G?” asked Ken.

“It’s snowing Ken, and you know how much I adore the season.”

“Well honey, I have the one thing that can cheer you up. My distributor just delivered new books from that detective series you’re in love with. Check them out at the back shelves.”

“Oh, I love you!”

At the back, I engrossed myself on the extensive book collection of Ken’s bookstore. Bookstores give me a sense of belonging: piles of books hug me and book pages smell like home. Tapping my fingers on the books’ spines, I found the book I wanted and pulled it out.

"Collins. Interesting choice.”

I turned around and saw a man with blue eyes hiding behind his glasses, a book by Hilary Brown in his hand.

"Brown. You dig love stories?"

"Well, who doesn't want stories of head-over-heels love?"

"I love them as much as I love chemistry."

"A woman who despises love stories. Now that would be a first."

"A straight guy who’s in love with fictitious love. Looks like you have gender issues.”

Amused, the guy offered his hand.

"Patrick."

"Grace." I said, shaking his hand.

"So tell me Grace, why the ardent hate on romance?"

"Too predictable and too unrealistic. Besides, I had enough of gallant princes saving dames. Over time I learned to love how I am nobody's leading lady." I said, still browsing the books on the shelves.

"Man-hater?"

"Not really, just a descendant of Narcissus."

“Well, Narcissus, I guess it’s about time you believe in love once more. Give Mr. Right a little encouragement. Sometimes guys are easily discouraged by snobby women.”

Patrick smiled before heading to the cash register. After paying, he went out and faced the snow fall that’s growing stronger by the minute.

“Hey Kenny, know that guy?” I asked upon reaching the cashier.

“Patrick? He’s a regular customer. You often have classes when he visits, that’s why you don’t see him much. Why, what’s with him?”

“He’s a weirdo.”

“But cute.”

“I didn’t notice. Besides, I think he's gay.”

"Honey, I am gay. I am 200% sure the guy's not on my league. If he was we'd be kissing in the snow right now."

"Gross. I still wonder why I decided to be your best friend."

"Simple: I give you the best books. Now that Collins is $14, but I'll give it to you at $10."

"I love you!"

"Stop saying you love me and go find yourself a boyfriend to cuddle this season."

"No. I think I'm in love with you Ken." I said, pouting my lips, ready to kiss Ken.

"Now that's gross. Stop it before I take back your discount. Seriously G, you are in dire need of a boyfriend. I'd give you romance novels for free just to tickle any romantic bone you have. How about Patrick? He'll do you some good. He's obsessed with romance novels as much as you love those suspense thrillers."

"I'll think about it."

I went out and cursed the weather. Rubbing my hands together, my eyes caught someone waving at me from the other side of the street.

"Hey Narcissus! Looks like you need a cup of coffee. Care to join me?"

Patrick was on the coffee shop across Libra, holding two coffee cups, smiling broadly.

Ken was right, Patrick did look good. He was blonde, blue-eyed but didn't look like one of the jocks. He looked smart with those glasses of his. With a little doubt, I crossed the street and spent the rest of the day talking about books over espresso.

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Books, Coffee and Detective Novels by KASH

Week 12

In the eerie silence of darkness, I lie awake and listen to my head debate. Was it true? Was she even real? Sometimes the car lights passing through my bedroom window would break my reverie but on most times these debates would haunt me until I fall asleep.

Remembering that day is like watching an old film: everything in sepia, a sad song playing on the background, the lenses slowly focus on the gazebo on the far end of Swan Lake Reservoir and there I was with Jamie, sitting side-by-side, and then everything is in color.

Jamie and I basically grew up together. Our fathers were business partners while our mothers were part of the board in our school. It was the 4^th of May when I brought Jamie to the gazebo. I guess I was hoping that Jamie would agree to be my girlfriend if I ask her on the same place my father proposed to my mom. She was sixteen then, I seventeen.

Using the canoe we rented, I rowed us through the reservoir. I was very happy when Jamie enjoyed herself feeding the swans in the lake. Jamie stepped out of the canoe when we reached the gazebo. It was a beautiful place: the gazebo was all white, vines hugging the columns; the floor was made of specially-designed marble tiles while the ceiling was painted with angels. While I was tying the canoe in the small dock, Jamie started to dance. Her soft fragile arms were in the air, her body swaying in a distant tune. Her skirt twirled with grace, her feet poised and tiptoed. Jamie has always been a great ballet dancer. I can’t help but be fascinated.

I hated myself for being too ordinary – average looks, average mind. She was endlessly fascinating. It was too painful thinking about how undeserving I was of her.

She was twirling when she lost balance. I caught her before she hit the marble floor. Touching her, it was difficult not to kiss her. I was surprised when Jamie grabbed my head and kissed me, kissed me hungrily.

The wind blew softly. The lake sang and the swans danced.

“Thanks.” Jamie said.

“Be careful now.”

We sat there, holding hands. Jamie took over most of the conversation, but it was okay. I was more than happy to listen – and to really listen – for at that moment, she was the only one that mattered.

She suddenly stopped talking.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’m leaving Seth.”

I felt my heart broke. Seeing that I won’t reply, Jamie spoke again.

“Remember my ballet instructor Mrs. Harris? She sent my credentials to a ballet school in London and they granted me a scholarship. I’ll be studying there for four years.”

I couldn’t speak.

“Jamie, I –“

“I know you love me, Seth.”

She held my face and took a deep breath.

“And please believe me when I say that I love you too. I swear on every swan here that I am in love with you. That’s why I ask you to wait for me. I promise I’ll be back.”

This time I was the one who kissed her. I couldn’t understand myself. I was sad that she’s leaving but my happiness warmed my heart with the knowledge that Jamie loved me too.

With the gentlest touch I unbuttoned Jamie’s blouse while she undid my shirt. We explored each other’s bodies and held each other in the cold marble floor. I held her soft breasts in my hands and kissed them. Her arms tightened around me when I went inside her and when I reached climax, her moan was the best sound I've ever heard.

We stayed lying there, our naked bodies touching each other, catching our breath. We got dressed and sat side-by-side in silence.

"Take this." Jamie said handing over her locket. "Give it back when I return."

It’s been two years since Jamie left for London.

Jamie’s locket rests on my drawer, together will all the letters she sent me. I got up, took the locket, and I was convinced that Jamie was real. And she loves me.

© BЯ▲DΣMØИY.

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Swan Lake by KASH

Week 11

"Where am I?"

"You're here."

"Where?"

"Here, silly."

"Where is here?"

"Here. Will you stop asking the same question? I'm trying to locate your name on the list."

"What list?"

"I'm looking for your name in this list, the list of people who died. Quite a long list, isn't it?"

"I died?!"

"Yes you did. Why so surprised, young man? Everyone dies - it's even more common than living."

"That can't be true! How, when - how did that happen? I was driving.. and then -"

"And then you died. Your car lost control, jumped into the lake and you drowned."

"I think I remember now. It was raining hard and I was trying to get home as fast as I could for my daughter's birthday. I promised her I'd be there."

"Uh-huh. And you broke that promise by dying. Good going dude, ha!"

"Hey! I didn't choose to die -"

"You didn't. No one could. Only He could've chosen if you would've survived or not."

"Yeah, that old guy who claims to be all loving and merciful but ruins everything."

"You're not the first one who claims so. And you won't be the first one to change his mind."

"We'll see about that."

"We'll see. Ah! Here it is. Lance Campbell, 46, business consultant. You have two kids and a wife who thinks you're having an affair - which was once true - but she loved you too much to not even think of having a divorce. You're very lucky you know. It's sad you're like most people who fail to see how blessed they are."

"I love Kathleen. I really do. That's why I left Cindy. I couldn't bear cheating on my wife anymore."

"There's no need for you to explain. The old guy is actually happy with you. Even though you've given in to temptation, you chose to go back to your family. Ah, the beauty of free will and intellect, of second chances. Don't you find it fascinating?"

"Whatever you say."

"Ha! Tell me. Why won't man find time to indulge in the beauty of life? It's been bugging me for all eternity. You've been given enough time - a life to discover and enjoy the beauty of everything."

"Time? Well, it's a privilege if you have time to feast your eyes with the wonders of the earth."

"Is that why you made instant noodles? To try to have time?"

"I don't know. Maybe, I guess. But time so you won't be late for work - not for vacation."

"Work. Ah yes, you people had to work yourselves to death in order to have money that will supposedly save you from death in the end."

"That's how things work on earth. Wait, how about my family? Will they be okay?"

"They'll manage. Your wife will be distraught when they see your corpse. They'll weep over your death, of course, but they'll move on."

"So they'll forget about me?"

"I didn't say that. They love you, and love is more powerful than time, even death."

"You seem to know a lot on the subject."

"Oh I do. Eternity has taught me a lot. Speaking of eternity, we can have all the time to talk - I personally want to hear your stories. The angels would escort you to room 629. I'll be right there after attending some business."

"Wait, so this is heaven? Not that I don't to be in that place, but, according to the rules, my sins are enough to get me a passport to hell."

"First, this place is more or less heaven. You could call it whatever you want to call it. Second, remember that forgiveness is as powerful as love. The old guy loves you, and has forgiven you for all the errors you've committed. You're only human, after all. He understands. Now, let the angels take you to your room and we'll continue our little chat later."

"Wait! I forgot to ask. Who are you?"

"I'm the old guy. I'll see you later, My child."

© Matt West

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The Old Guy by KASH

Week 10

The runways of New York couldn't match up with that of the heaven's.

Every Wednesday all the angels gather at the foyer of Jesu, the biggest building in the Eastern region of heaven. The tradition of flaunting one's wings in this event started a week after the confiscation of Lucy's wings (including other heavenly powers) because of a major violation in the Angel's Code of Conduct. From what I've heard, Lucy's now a lost soul endlessly wandering the earth. Poor kid.

Why flaunt wings, you ask? The reason is simple: the beauty of an angel's wings depends on one's job performance. Better performance, better wings, more bragging rights... well, you know how those work.

Angels of high standing would all be proud when another angel fawns over their wings. Everyone except Erika.

Erika carries the most beautiful wings up here. Hers are made from the most lucid and the lightest glass in the kingdom. They are also studded with diamonds that makes her wings glisten when the sun touches them. Compared to hers, my cotton candy wings is rust on the golden gates of heaven. It was the most beautiful pair of wings, yes, but, oddly enough she appears to be unhappy about them. Every time someone would compliment her wings, she would smile impishly and leave. We've been together in heaven for all this time yet it puzzles me on how she could not seem to appreciate such beauty.

That Wednesday, I summed up all the courage I have and talked to Erika. I found her outside Jesu, under a giant tree, lost in thought.

She seemed to break from her trance when I sat beside her though.

"Such beautiful wings you have," said Erika.

"Thanks. But, they're not as beautiful as yours."

"Uh-huh." Erika stared at her wings. To my surprise, she started to cry, her wings reflected the tears streaming on her cheeks.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"It's these wings. Their beauty reminds me of the good souls I had to fetch on earth. Every time I see my reflection on these wings I see the eyes of those people - eyes filled with horror!"

Erika is an angel of death.

Still sobbing, I hugged Erika.

"It's our job dear. We can't do anything about it. All we could do is give peace to the troubled hearts of the souls we fetch."

"But why all those kind-hearted people? Why them?"

Silence.

"I don't know dear. I don't know. But, who are we to question the plans of the boss?" I answered. "One thing's for sure though: the Boss loves His people. Place your trust in Him."

Erika started to calm down. "Thanks," she said.

Before we joined the other angels in the foyer, I whispered on Erika's ears:

"The boss loves us too, you know. I think He wants you to remember how much He loves you with those glass wings of yours."

© Sally Ghally

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Glass Wings by KASH