Week 34

© laura makabresku

While idly doodling stars on my notebook to ease the boredom of Calculus, my little brother threw me a note:

Stars were not made for wishes but for directions.

- Sean, captain

I turned around and shouted "Aye, captain!" My brother smiled and went back to fighting pirates in his bedroom.

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Stars by KASH

Week 33

© 賴樂高

A soft wind blew secrets across the field, spreading the fragrance of the sea of flowers eagerly bowing towards the guy standing a few meters away from where I sat. He stood there, absorbed by his thoughts, and I stared at him as I do every Friday afternoon.

His shape shifted every time I strummed my guitar but he was still the same guy with disheveled brown hair wearing faded jeans, black-rimmed glasses and his favorite gray The Beatles shirt. His back was facing me but I knew he still bore that same old cheap humor and dopey smile of his. He didn't speak but his mere presence was enough.

After a few more strums his arms slowly faded away and I noticed he had already lost a leg. On the last few notes of our song he drifted back to my feeble dreams and I was alone again.

It was already dusk when my eyes couldn't cry anymore. My eyes stung but no matter how much I blinked he didn't come back.

Not even a silhouette.

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Untitled by KASH

Week 32

© Jonathan Pearson

A ghost of a woman with a painted veil walking down the aisle is engraved in my memory. The tears that flowed from her night-black eyes haunted me but I kept my eyes open for if I blink, her world will collapse and I couldn't bear to lose her frightening beauty. Red rose petals stained the long white trail she wore like blood and everyone turned around to see her approach the altar where her groom was supposed to be in a tux, rejoicing that he was to marry the girl who gave sense to the world. She stood in front and venom came out from her trembling lips.

"Raymond's not coming. So sorry for wasting your time."

The broken bride then lifted the skirt of her gown and rushed towards the gate of the church. Once she was outside she pulled out her veil and threw it away screaming. She locked herself inside the limousine where more tears poured, smudging her make-up. Inside the church the guests exchanged guesses as to why the groom was nowhere in sight, and the bride's father threatened the groom's parents. The bride's mother coaxed her daughter to open the car's door, but the stubborn bride sank at the back of the limousine and wept at the loss of a great love.

I stood a few steps from the church and wept as well for causing the woman I love so much pain. But it was better this way, I told myself. Someday she'll meet another man and she'll fall in love again. They'd get married and have a family, and then she'd be happy. Something she won't be if she marries me.

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Bride by KASH

Week 31

© settling ghosts~

There was once a girl who fancied skeleton keys as much as a smoker fancied a pack of cigarettes.

At a young age of 19, Nicole possessed over a hundred skeleton keys, most of which she acquired through her countless visits on various antique shops and black markets while some she inherited from her father. Every morning after breakfast, she would wear white rubber gloves, slowly pull out the topmost drawer of her study table and carefully pick up each skeleton key, placing them in a row on top of her mahogany-colored desk for inspection. In other times she would just marvel at her growing collection, thinking of how proud her father would've been.

"A skeleton key could open all doors, Nicole. That's why every household has one," her father told her one hot July afternoon, the fateful day that marked the beginning of her uncontrollable obsession that locked her away from anything else.

There was only one key she's after though. The key that will make her mother read her bedtime stories though she's too old for them. The key that will make her mother hug and kiss her before leaving the house. The key that will convince her mother that she was worthy of her affection.

She had spent many years looking for that key, but her mother's heart is locked still.

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Skeleton Keys by KASH

Week 30

© matheus chiaratti

He is a strange boy with bones made of poetry that rhyme with his deep, soothing voice and grey sober eyes.

From the words he draw from his muse he makes a carriage that pulls me to a place where the sunset stood still on Wednesdays and where flowers smell like buttered popcorn. He paints adventure and triumph with the ink that is his blood, but also composes the saddest hymns of death and defeat. These tales scorch the coldest of hearts and make them weep, for his words were the truth and the truth was inevitable. It was the truth or insanity and I could not tell which is more forgiving.

His stories hit me like a tidal wave that washes away the weariness, but drowns me to the blackest pit of the sea, only to realize that, when my body freezes down at the abyss, his words are to haul me back to dry land. A worn-out puppet I am, but to have him as my master is more than I would ever deserve.

He is strange and enchanted and even if I wanted to I could not escape.

For in his words my being is chained and I have swallowed the key long ago.

To be away from him is to perish an existence with no music.

Or pain.

Or love.

Week 29

© Kyera Bianca

A tiny community of sixteen lived inside of me. If given a closer look one will see that they bear the same face but carry different auras.

Their chief is named Love. Sometimes called "Passion," Love is kind and always thought of what's best for the community. She is adored by many, yet still hated by some.

Inspiration is a free spirit seeking for adventure, always leaving the community behind. Her absence meant Sloth, with his sweet lies, bossing everyone around leaving Dream, the fragile one, suffering the most. I always spend at least a couple of days looking for Inspiration, often in the library or in playlists and sometimes even in other people's souls, but all the trouble's worth it when I find her and order is restored.

The enigmatic family of Wisdom and Choice and their twins Good and Evil is arguably the most bizarre family to exist. Without Acceptance who, in the simplest terms the family's "counselor," chaos will befall on us. Or at least on me.

Best friends Luck and Chance are merry and fleeting, and I only get to talk to them through brothers Guts and Courage. It's funny though, how often I see those two hang out with Fear in various occasions.

Vanity is the loudest of them all but I try to shut her out. I can't tell though what happens more: I succeeding in doing so or I losing in vain in trying.

The sixteenth little me, though, I haven't really talked to. All I know is that she was the opposite of Vanity in many ways, but undeniably had a resemblance with her, as well as the rest of the members of the community.

The sixteen different little me's are sixteen jigsaw puzzle pieces that make me what I am. The absence of one makes me an essay with no conclusion. Without one I am more incomplete than an idea with no body.

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Sixteen by KASH

Week 28

© Tamara Lichtenstein

Dear James,

You continue to write me letters even though you're not the type who is comfortable with words. I wanted to return you the favor so I decided to write you this one. Besides, for some unexplainable reason, your light snoring inspired me to grab a pen.

There are a lot of things I love about you, and please know that I am eternally grateful for each of them.

I love how you never fail to send me 'good morning' texts. Knowing that I'm the first person you think of when you wake up makes me as giddy as a shopaholic on a shopping spree.

I love how paranoid you are: how you panic when I have to come home late alone and how you scold me when I sleep late or walk in the rain, thinking that I will easily catch a cold or something. Remembering how upset you were when I refused to take your jacket that one drizzly afternoon makes me... smile. Not that I take pleasure in your pain, love, but seeing how much you cared fills me with happiness so warm it might be mistaken that I have a fever.

I love how you choose to lose our arguments just so I would win. I love how you make a complete fool of yourself in your attempts to make me smile, and how satisfied you are when you succeed.

I love how we have nicknames for each other.

I love how you always hold my hand.

I love how you beat Michael Cera in being awkward.

I love how protective you were of that so-called 'macho facade' but you end up carrying my stuff anyway.

I love how, during that one time I was totally down, you sent me a text message with song lyrics. You explained that those were the words you would've sung for me only if you weren't at the mall during that time. Later that night, you called me and sang me to sleep. That made me feel a whole lot better, really.

I love how I often catch your brown eyes staring at me when you think I'm not looking.

I love how you give me tight hugs from the back.

I love how you beat my to-do list in reminding me to have dinner, knowing how I often miss it because I work too much.

I love how scared you are of IV's. And I also love how much more scared you are of the thought of me leaving you.

I love how you think of me still, even on a boys' night. Remember those instances when you would borrow your friend's cellphone just to text me and know how I'm doing? How about those times when you refuse - or at least try - to drink because you know I don't approve of alcohol?

I love how much you hated me crying, and how a Kit-Kat conveniently lies on your pocket because you know it was the only sure way of making my tears stop.

This list could go on forever, love, but simply put, I love how much you love me. I pray my shy kisses and baked cupcakes are enough to convey how much I love you too.

The luckiest girl alive,

Ellie

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A Love Letter by KASH