Week 23

© Paula Nacif

It was unfair of me to avoid my mother’s calls over the past week. I know she’s just worried about me – her baby who’s now all grown-up, venturing the dangerous streets of the city just to go to college. She was extra worried this time, hearing that my boyfriend for two years dumped me for a certain Michelle.

After a listing the pro’s and the con’s, I called my mom. I instantly regretted doing so.

I apologized for avoiding her, but she demanded to see me. I only knew my mother too well; she won’t stop ‘til she gets what she wants.

“Fine, meet me at Jerry’s tomorrow. It’s at the corner of 5th street, beside Dunkin Donuts,” I said over the phone. I've never been to Jerry’s myself, but my roommate says they serve one of the best burgers in the area so I decided to see my mom there. Maybe some good meal will calm her nerves.

The place was packed when I arrived there at a little past 10 a.m. Guess this place do have awesome burgers, I thought. I sat at the only spot empty, the table by the window. I asked for two orders of their bestseller and waited for my mother.

The bell on the door rang and I turned around disappointed – still no sign of my mother. A short-haired girl wearing a pleated skirt and Oxfords entered and – I can’t be so sure – looked surprised to see me at my table. She headed to the counter; the guy behind it gave her a kiss on the forehead.

Screw you, I thought. I looked outside and pondered on what made Anton leave.

I was certain it wasn’t Valentine’s Day, but for some bizarre cupid the streets were filled with lovers – happy lovers. I took my notebook and wrote Anton, you’re a douche; my cheeks were wet after a few seconds.

Not again, I thought, and rushed to the restroom. Mascara smeared my cheeks and I reminded myself to buy a waterproof one. Or maybe just stop putting make-up altogether, especially now since I have no more reason to put them on.

I washed my face and looked at the Carol in the mirror. Her skin was dry and she had dark eye bags from lack of sleep; her eyes were tired from all the crying-to-sleep drama. “Will you ever be okay again?” I asked myself. Not sure of the answer, I went out.

The food I ordered was on the table and there was something else. Under my notebook was a sketched portrait. It took me a little while to realize that the girl in the drawing was in fact me. At the bottom it said, “Screw the douche. You’re beautiful.” I smiled. “P.S. The burgers here are delicious. Eat yours.” My smile grew broader.

I sat down and helped myself with Jerry’s Ultimate Cheeseburger. And I felt a little better.

The bell rang, signaling the arrival of my mother who invited me to her loving arms. I gave her a hug – or maybe she did – and her perfume made it feel like everything’s going to be alright.

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At Jerry's, by the Window: Carol by KASH

Week 22

© sugarlessgirl

There was a girl sitting at the table by the window at Jerry’s when I came down Friday for brunch. Regular customers of my boyfriend’s diner knew that that table has always been my usual spot that they branded it as “Susie’s table.” It’s not official, but they refuse to sit there even if the diner’s packed.

“Sorry if your spot’s taken, babe. I can’t ask her to transfer to another table,” Jerry said after giving me a kiss on the forehead when I sat by the counter.

“Don’t worry about it.”

It was the first time I saw the girl – brunette, brown eyes, lean body. She wore a blue cardigan and a pair of jeans and looked like she wasn’t getting enough sleep. Her burger and fries were left cold and untouched as she looked across the street, deep in thought.

With no regular job, I usually hangout at Jerry’s and draw out inspiration from my usual spot by the window. She was very still so I decided to draw her portrait on my Moleskin, thinking maybe I could add it to my portfolio. I was almost-finished sketching her when she pulled out a notebook from her bag, wrote on it and a tears came streaming on her cheeks. The girl headed out to the restroom.

The diner was still filled with laughter, proving my guess that no one even noticed that the girl was in tears. I know it’s impolite, but I peeked in the girl’s notebook.

Anton, you're a douche.

I smiled, reading the line that resembled my endless scrawls a few years back - college, my ex-boyfriend and I broke up. Another brokenhearted gal, tsk, I thought. Seeing that she’s not yet back from the restroom, I took her pen and wrote a small note on her portrait and left it under her notebook.

I went back to counter after and there was Jerry serving my favorite lasagna.

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At Jerry's, By the Window: Susie by KASH

Week 21

© Natalie Hall

A monster slept under my bed.

He was big and had blue fur, and he always took my pink bedroom slippers. Every night he pulls them closer to him, luring me to his lair where, I am certain, he'll eat me if given the chance.

A big, blue-furred monster slept under my bed.

I would hear him scratch my wooden floor boards every time I am one breath away from sleep. The sound would keep me wide awake for hours, and when I finally fall asleep, it would haunt me still in my dreams.

A big, blue-furred monster who scratches my wooden floor boards slept under my bed.

Mommy won't believe the existence of the monster. She believed that I read too much fairytales that I end up with these images and sounds. But how about my missing tulle skirt? I am sure it was the monster who took it!

A big, blue-furred monster who scratches my wooden floor boards and stole my pink tulle skirt slept under my bed.

One night, my dollies and I were having a tea party under my tent when the monster crawled out of my bed and stood by the shadows in the corner of my bedroom. He was crying.

"Tea?"

The monster slowly tiptoed his way to my tent and sat beside Mrs. Smith. He was wearing my skirt.

"What is your name, Sir?" I said while pouring tea on his cup, but the monster didn't answer. He took his cup, drank his tea and stared at me.

"A'righty then. Can I call you BomBom?"

The monster smiled, and reached out his hand. I shook it.

"Nice to meet you, BomBom. Meet Mrs. Smith," I said, pointing towards my rag doll. He shook Mrs. Smith's hand.

A big, blue-furred monster who scratches my wooden floor boards and stole my pink tulle skirt had tea with me before he slept under my bed.

From that night on, we had tea under my tent. We exchanged stories every night and they were the same tales I share with people.

A monster once slept under my bed. Now he lies beside me, singing me to sleep and in the morning when I wake up, he's gone, leaving me another story to tell.

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The Monster Under My Bed by KASH

Week 20

Once, there were three sisters who altered my entire existence. They were Hello, Stay, and Goodbye.

Hello, the eldest, was the hardest to talk to. Every time I would try to call her, my stomach would churn and my hands will be all sweaty. She had always been the most beautiful that I had been afraid to call on her. Now I regret the times I refused to call out to her out of my fear of disappointment. One day I had the courage to say her name, and that's when I first saw her smiled. "Finally," I remember her saying. Meeting her was one of the greatest adventures I had - she introduced me to a bunch of things I never knew. Hello was also the reason behind me meeting Stay.

Stay was undoubtedly my favorite of the three. She was sweet, and happy and adventurous. I often thought she was the youngest of the three because of her disposition. As much as I've enjoyed - no, loved - her company, she was fleeting and it hurt me sometimes. At one point I couldn't bear any longer hanging out with her that I left and bumped into their youngest sister.

Goodbye bore a mysterious charisma. Her hair and eyes were as black as night and they gave her a beauty so frightening. She was aloof and taciturn most of the time, but every time she spoke, the world would stop. And weep. She had the saddest stories among the three, but they were stories everyone knew.

They were three very different people but they come as one. Together they roam the earth and continue to touch lives. Sometimes people rejoice for it, sometimes they shed a tear or two. Nonetheless, they touch everyone.

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Three Sisters by KASH

Week 19

Their hands touched and an old, forgotten affection yanked his heartstrings. Surprisingly it didn't hurt as much as he'd expected. For one, it didn't feel like rubbing salt in an old wound as everyone described it would feel, nor did it tear his heart open. It felt weird meeting Abby again, he admits, but he couldn't give a name to the sensation he felt on seeing the girl he thought he'd marry after a long time. If it was pain, it was in a dosage he could bear. Six years was long, Adam thought - maybe it was long enough to mend a broken heart and repair shattered hopes.

It was a shock for Abby too, whose awkward smile was like the silence that followed this unexpected reunion. A girl with blond curls and flinty green eyes came running to them, tugging Abby's skirt.

"This is, uhm, my daughter Lily," Abby said, holding the little girl's hand. "Say hello, baby."

"Hello," the little girl said, waving her hand.

"Hello there little Lily. My name's Adam." he said, one knee on the tiled floor of the grocery store.

"Are you Mommy's friend?" asked Lily. Adam tilted his head to Abby's direction and back to Lily.

"Why yes I am. It's been a while since we've last seen each other. You weren't even born yet at that time,"

"I am turning six this Friday, and I'm having a party. Will you come to my party, Mr. Adam?"

Adam stood and looked at Abby - a smile on her face, giving him permission to accept her daughter's invitation.

"I'll be there,"

"Yay! Did you hear that, Mommy? Mr. Adam is going to my party!"

"That's good news, sweetheart. Now say goodbye to Mr. Adam. We have a lot to buy for your party,"

"Bye Mr. Adam!" cried Lily.

He watched the two walk away. Waving his hands, Adam can't help but be amused with the child. There was something about the little girl - she was just like her mother, he thought, and then it hit him.

It's Lily's eyes. She has his eyes.

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by KASH

Week 18

© Jaz Marsh

A faint scent of rain hung in the cold, wet air of that one December evening. It was drizzling, and there I was enjoying my cup of chamomile tea, sitting by the window with Champ contently purring by my feet. Stephen was on the floor, strumming his guitar. The notes drifted in the entire room and into the flickering fire of the fireplace.

"That's very nice," I said.

He smiled and continued playing that nameless tune.

"Tell me how much you love me?"

Stephen looked surprised but he stopped playing. "Well first off, I love you more than this guitar," he said, and placed his guitar down and sat beside me.

"And I love you much more than my CD collection of The Beatles."

"Hmmm."

"Mind if I ask you the same thing?" Stephen asked, holding my hand.

"Well," I said, and started thinking. How much did I love him? He kissed the top of my head.

"I love you more than coffee." He kissed me on the forehead.

"And cake." He kissed my nose.

"And cheese." He kissed me behind the ear.

"On second thought, not cheese. Just cake and coffee."

"Ha-ha." He kissed me softly on the lips and gently started unbuttoning his shirt that I'm wearing.

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by KASH

Week 17

© hugovk

People got it wrong.

When most of the living believed that ghosts and spirits unite at midnight, or at three o'clock, they were simply too gullible to believe lies told in Halloween specials in television. Freddy, sitting on his tombstone, wasn't sure if the ghosts from other cemeteries meet at six o'clock every Thursday (like them, in Brookside Cemetery), but he was sure they didn't at midnight when everybody rests in peace.

Today, Thursday, is like any other Thursday at Brookside. Ghosts in the cemetery started to gather in front of Brookside Cathedral to catch up on everyone's life. Or "ghost life." This practice started when Joseph Cornwall, the oldest ghost (died at age 102) came at Brookside at year 2003 and convinced the ghost community that they needed to form some sort of cooperative, to unite for the progress of their "un-life." Joseph was a business tycoon.

"Good day, fellow ghosts of Brookside!" boomed tuxedo-wearing Joseph who stood at the entrance of the cathedral. "Would you gather round here please so we can begin."

"Freddy!" called Sam Daniels, a celebrated philatelist in his past life and Freddy's closest ghost friend.

"Hi Sam."

"Looks like Old Joseph's making the best of his 'un-life' huh?"

"Yet again, dear friend."

The two moved closer in front and stared at the glass bowl holding 697 strips of paper, on each a name of a ghost in Brookside is scribbled.

"Wonder who's coming up tonight," said Sam.

"I just want this all done," replied Freddy.

"A pleasant evening to all! So who's gonna be illuminating our moonless night?" said Joseph who buried one hand inside the glass bowl, and picked one strip out.

"Freddy Allen! I call on Freddy Allen to please come up."

Freddy dragged his feet on-stage and stared at the ghost mob. He looked at Sam who gave an encouraging smile. With a gulp, he spoke.

"Hello, I'm Freddy Allen. You can call me Freddy, or Fred or whatever. I died in 1998 at age 26, leaving my wife and our son. Some of you may know that I was a a doctor, and - "

He looked at Sam again; Sam mouthed "go on."

"And that I died of cancer. I'm a doctor who died of an illness. That's life that is: ironic, frustrating. Mostly frustrating."

Every ghost listened intently.

With a deep sigh, he continued. "Someone told me that the ultimate goal of life is death, and she's right. Everyone is bound to die, no exceptions. Some of you may be wondering then, 'why live when everything's bound to end anyway?'"

Every ghost listened intently. Even Joseph.

"It's because no one would live if death didn't exist. No matter how ironic and frustrating one's life is, we live. It's as natural as breathing. Even as natural as loving. We fight to live because to live means to explore, to learn, to be with the people important to us."

"In order to live, we need to die."

Freddy climbed down the steps, gave Sam a smile and left everyone speechless. He went straight to his tomb; "A Loving Father and Husband," it said.

He was dead. He already accepted that a long time ago. But he's more alive than ever.

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Freddy by KASH