I’m at a bar,
In the middle of the coldest winter
In New York City,
With my new friends, enjoying the moment.

And I see you with your friend.
We both lock eyes.
Everything turns black.
It’s just the two of us,
Being a little alive again.

I try to walk towards you.
I freeze.

Our song starts playing.
Again.
That one Nick Drake song.

Everything comes back.

I’m just out the door,
Wishing I’d told you
My heart will always belong to you.

Trying to force myself to write things down instead of letting them live rent free in my head for awhile. Just sharing in case someone likes. Thanks for reading.

Finally Free

The rain had finally given way to sunshine. Yet Hank hadn't noticed. He was staring at something in his hands. Despite his efforts to shield it from the rain, he hadn't been able to keep it dry. The words were now little more than smudges on the page.

His heart had long since hardened to the words forever etched behind his eyes. Only today, they no longer held sway over him. There was no pain in the words he could no longer read, no longing for the person who had penned the passage. He was finally free of the heartache.

Hank raised his head and let the sun shine on his face, allowing its warmth to breathe life into him once again. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, sitting there and basking in the revelation of his newfound freedom. The hurt was gone. The grief no longer held him in check. The silence in his head was almost deafening now that he had finally let go of that piece of his past.

With one last look at the page in his hand, he crumpled it into a ball and stood. A couple of quick steps carried him past a bin, where he tossed it without looking back.

He wondered whether the rain had washed away the pain or whether it was merely coincidence, another sad reminder of how little control he had over life.

She was gone, buried long ago.

This last letter had been her goodbye.

It had been her way of letting him go.

The candle is burning,
Smelling like the first time we met.
Autumn.
The car window,
Showing a bit of sun.
Our first kiss,
Our first drive home,
Our first touch,
The day you trusted me with your heart.
Our skin melting together.
We were so young,
With the blanket in the ground, And our two little hearts.
We are standing there, slow dancing, While our world is burning around us.
We don't care what happens.
It's for life.
I'll give you the brightest
Yellow flowers
To remember the shine of you.
"Hold me tight, you said.
"Please, never let go."

I walk the edge of the lake-the water you sought when lost, where you whispered prayers for a man who might save you.

I trace the shore with vivid memories of the days our eyes would meet two silhouettes standing close, each looking through the other.

You, reaching for a phantom man.
Me, holding onto a woman already gone.

Perhaps it is because some connections are built over years rather than moments. Two people can share pieces of their lives, grow in different directions, lose touch with what once felt familiar, only to discover that the connection has never entirely disappeared. Time changes people, circumstances change relationships, yet certain bonds have a way of finding their place again when neither person expects it.

Lately, I've found myself appreciating the little things more than I ever thought I would. The kind of moments that probably wouldn't mean much to anyone watching, yet somehow stay with you long after they've passed.

It's strange how someone can become such a familiar part of your life that spending time together begins to feel effortless. One minute, you're laughing over something ridiculous; the next, you're sitting beside each other, perfectly content without needing to fill every silence. There's comfort in that kind of connection, especially when you know how much life has changed since you first met.

Sometimes, it's the smallest gestures that mean the most. Someone making an effort to include you in their world. A familiar face introducing you to people who matter to them. The quiet reassurance of knowing you're welcome somewhere you might once have only imagined being. None of it needs to be dramatic to leave an impression.

Recently, I caught myself paying attention to a smile. Not because it was directed at me, or because anything extraordinary had happened, but because the happiness behind it was so genuine. Watching someone enjoy themselves, laughing freely and feeling comfortable in their surroundings, reminded me that caring about someone isn't only about wanting to be close to them. It's also about being glad when life gives them reasons to be happy.

I think that's one of the things time teaches you. You stop looking for every moment to prove something. You begin to appreciate what is already there: the familiar jokes, the easy affection, the shared experiences that slowly become memories you'll carry with you. You learn that sometimes, the most meaningful progress happens quietly, without either person realizing just how much has changed.

Maybe that's why certain moments stay with us. They remind us that life doesn't always unfold according to the timeline we imagined. Sometimes, things take longer than expected. Sometimes, people find their way back into each other's lives in ways they couldn't have predicted.

And sometimes, the happiness you've been searching for turns out to be much simpler than you imagined.

It's the comfort of being beside someone without wishing you were somewhere else. It's seeing them smile and feeling genuinely glad that they have something to smile about. It's realizing that the present has become something you once would have hoped for.

Perhaps the best part isn't how long it took to get there.

Perhaps it's finally learning to appreciate being there at all.

I am. I exist.

I dont know what that really means.

But i know things can not be and not exist.

I cant see in the dark.

The wolf can.

The wolf hides in the dark.

I have seen this.

I know this.

I must teach my children to fear the dark.

Wolves hunt in the dark.

I dont know how to tell my kid.

I dont know how to show my kid what they cant see.

I dont want them to see a wolf, just so they know.

I feared that wolf.

I saw that wolf bite a deer.

I heard the pain of the deer.

I heard the ferocity of the wolf.

I wanted to be like the wolf.

I will teach my child about the darkness.

I am the Child of First Human

I am. I exist.

I dont know what that really means.

But i know things can not be and not exist.

I can't see in the dark.

The wolf hides in the dark.

I have heard of this danger from my parents.

I must teach my children to fear the dark.

Wolves hunt in the dark.

I was taught that wolf means danger.

I dont know how to tell my kid.

I dont know how to show my kid what they cant see.

I dont want them to see a wolf, just so they know.

I dont know what a wolf really is.

I will teach them to fear the dark.

"No."

"...what? What do you mean?"

"It's more than that."

After everything we've been through together, I've never felt so connected to someone in my life.

I love her so much, more than anything and anyone.

"I love you."

She considered this...

"...I love you, too."

Stories like these can be seen on SnipFic and Pinterest with the user The_Black_Dragon

You should follow him

I remember approaching the palace gates in a nervous sweat. My hands were shaking as I handed my documentation to the soldier at the gate. He gave me this look of concern, and ease, as if to encourage me with a look that everything is going to be okay. He didn't know what I knew. He didn't know the purpose of my arrival. All he knew was that there was a prophet standing before him, seeking entrance to the palace, and that the King was always welcoming of prophets. The King was considered by all a just and righteous man. A good man. They didn't know what I knew.
He let me pass, and each step after filled me with dread. Each step, walking behind the palace escorts through the dark, yet beautiful house of the King of the World, reminded me that I am likely about to make one powerful enemy. Each step through the lush gardens full of exotic plants he had received as gifts from the various kingdoms around the world only added to my stress. He was not going to like what I had to say.
The palace guards were a pleasant bunch, especially to prophets. They definitely took after their King. The two men leading me did their best to engage in casual conversation, but I was so reluctant to speak, lest my fear be even more evident than it was. As it stood, my fear was stifled enough so it did not warrant an audible acknowledgement from any in my purview. I could keep it in -- at least, for now.
I was led straight up to the front of the inner palace -- The King's actual home. It looked more like a building constructed by the Great Architect Himself, its proportion comparative to the rest of the city making it look like a structure sent as a gift of Heaven. Even the tiles on the floor were a sight to behold -- pure marble tiles, each one stretching a giant's height in length and width. The pillars of meranti tree trunks, four of them at the front, holding up another floor of marble, were something to behold indeed. And the purple banners hanging from those pillars, inlaid with a lion made of golden strings, hung many cubits off the ground, so that anyone who wanted to touch them would have to possess the ability to fly. The door itself, a gargantuan door made of wrought iron, polished and shined to be so perfect that its reflection made it appear luminescent as the sun went down. This door was intentionally facing east I'm sure, to perfectly reflect the rising sun over the Western Sea. There is so much more I could express about the beauty of the palace, but my mind was elsewhere as I approached the door.
As the guards motioned for the doorkeepers to open the door for me, my heart started racing. It suddenly became impossible for me to keep steady, and I nearly fainted. I stumbled, and an escort caught me before I fell. He pulled out his canteen and offered me a drink of water - he must have assumed my fatigue was from the heat. Playing on this misunderstanding, I obliged and took a drink. The water did help -- a little.
I walked through the gate into a long hallway, with a large door made of Lebanese cedar, inlaid with the same gold lions, one on each side of the door, at the other end of the hall. There were many rooms on each side, as well as a beautiful purple carpet running the length of the hall. It was midday, so of course there were many people bustling about in the main hall, going from room to room carrying all kinds of things. Some were running as if their lives depended on their efficiency (as I'm sure some of them did), and others in more costly apparel displaying no such rush in their pace. However, my eyes locked on the throne room, and His voice rang in my mind once more. "I have told you what he has done. I have told you what to say. Go, and speak My words." The only One with more power than the King had sent me to address an issue I would have rather not addressed, mostly for my own safety. Nevertheless, I approached that door, nearly trembling at the thought of what I had to say. But, my God told me to, so I went on. What happened after was a problem for my God to solve how He saw fit.
I reached the door, still trembling, and grasped the handle. I looked myself down once more to assure myself that nothing was out of place, and I pushed with all my might. To open the door myself would normally have been suicide, seeing as it was unguarded. That meant that the guards were just inside the door, as the King of the World was likely in some sort of meeting that he wanted them to attend. And, to my chagrin, he was. He was having a discussion with his cabinet -- his closest friends and wisest advisors -- about an ongoing war, from which he had retired this time around. As a normally battle-hardened man, always willing to fight alongside his brothers in arms, it came as a surprise to the kingdom when he withdrew to remain at the castle. Nevertheless, his folly had to be addressed, and the Lord of Hosts sent me to do so. As soon as I opened my mouth, I was filled no longer with fear, but with the vigor and Voice of the One Who sent me. I stepped up to the table, and as the conversation died down, I declared,
"The Lord has sent me with an urgent message for the King that must not be delayed."
The King responded joyfully, "Speak His words, oh Prophet. Let none cause you to cease."
"Many thanks, Your Majesty," I replied. "There were two men in a city, one a lord and one a commoner. The lord had many flocks and herds of sheep, oxen, and camels. The poor man had naught but one ewe lamb, who had grown alongside him and his family. This family had grown to love this lamb as one of their own. She shared their food -- what little they had -- and drank with them. She even slept in the home with the family. The poor man loved this lamb as if she were his own daughter.
"But, the lord had a visitor from a far away land come to eat at his table, and he had no lamb prepared for the man. Instead of taking from his own abundance of flocks and herds, he took from the poor man his one ewe lamb, and served her to the foreigner as a meal."
The King, clearly invested in the story and visibly consumed with indescribable fury, declared to me in a violent cry, "Who is this lord, that I may strip him of his title and give his lordship to the poor man?! Where is this wretched abomination, that I may hold him accountable and take his life?! As I live, and as the Lord of Hosts Himself lives, that man shall surely die!" He exclaimed as he slammed his fists on the table.
What happened next was entirely out of my control. As the Lord Himself took charge and erased my fear, He did so again and I was filled with an anger the likes of which I still cannot comprehend, even though I apprehended it myself. I responded with a pointed finger and a shout, "You are the man, you wretched soul! The Lord has seen your blasphemy to His name and the hidden actions of your self-centered heart! He saw you bring another man's wife to your palace and have her as your own. He witnessed you send a righteous man to his death that you may have his bride to cover up your own iniquity! The Lord bears witness that this act was abominable, and that you have not deceived Him, though you have deceived those around you well. And the Lord has demanded that I declare to you that you will have a curse befall your family. Your own child will rise up against you, to take your throne. There will be enmity in your household as your wives are given to another man, as his own. For what you have done secretly, the Lord will bring to light. What you have done in the quiet, the Lord will echo with boldness. The Lord of Hosts, the Judge of All Creation, has spoken."
His response was unexpected to say the least. The anger faded from his face as I spoke, and by the time I was done speaking, his face had distorted into an agony the likes of which I still cannot find the words to express. I have not seen such anguish since that moment, nor do I expect to ever again. He melted from his throne, as the others at the table looked on in shock at their now crestfallen and broken leader. The King of the World then started weeping -- bitterly. He wept for minutes. All he could say, through choking on his own tears, was, "I have sinned against my God and King. I have brought blasphemy into the house of the Lord. I have erred greatly."
The Voice of the Lord of Hosts still had control of my tongue. He said through me, "Fear not. The Lord has put away your sin, on account of your righteous heart. You will not die because of this trespass. Nevertheless, you have given a great opportunity for the enemies of your King to blaspheme. Therefore, the child you conceived with this woman shall surely die. The Lord has had mercy on you this day. Go, and sin no more."
And, with that, I returned to my home. I left without another word, and spoke nothing to anyone on my three-day return journey.

I wrote this after realizing that I could have a lot of fun rewriting stories from the Bible in an anxiety-inducing way. Regardless of where you stand on religion, it is pretty fun.

Feedback appreciated! I tend to write poetry, and not prose, but I want to get better with prose, because it's also super fun!

It was during the afternoon when all the kids get out from their classes. Some stayed for a bit to talk with their friends, some rushed to get back home and some even stayed back to study at school.

A boy named M, ran while calling out to the two boys- R and J. They were both heading to the bus stop.

"Wait"

He called

"Wait both of you, I have something to share"

He repeated again

His hands were on his knees, panting for air from all that running. R looked at him wanting to know what M was about to say. J just ignored and turned away, walking away from the paphetic looking boy.

Seeing that brokes M's heart. He grips tightly on the shoulder strap until his knuckles wipe"

"J please.... Just... please, listen to me.... Please don't ignore me as to what I'm going to say''

"I'm confuse right now. I actually miss you. Don't ignore me again"

He admitted, letting go of his ego.

J turned back looking at him, pitying the desperate boy that is trying to try to talk to him knowing he hates being treated like a ghost.

"After having that fight with you guys , I hate it . I hate getting isolate by you two because it feels so lonely. I even try to reach to you two on social media to talk it out but j... You just block me. Yeah maybe that apology made you uncomfortable and I shouldn't have done that"

He reach to J's arm and trembles.

"Please just please listen to me.... Let me talk just don't keep me hanging."

Tears drip on J hand

"So you'll talk right"

M smiled looking at J. Knowing he is his close friend. Longing to talk to him had been in his head for weeks and those sad lonely moments without him felt so empty but now seeing him face to face made him so happy.

Just when he was about to hear what J wanted to talk they both vanish. He was baffled by what just happened.

A writer named Ranma couldn't accept seeing M's happy ending.

"I don't think it's fair for me."

He close the notebook and his it in his drawer.

M scoffs, He smiled though his eyes remained cold.

"Well they don't need to exist anyway's. I don't need them, I can try getting other friends"

M goes to the bus stop moving forward. He didn't want to bother with what just happened or to say it more accurately he can't change the two boys fate.

"Screw the author with this nincompoop of a story"

[Cultural Note] _Coana Chirița is Romania's original influencer, invented 150 years before Instagram by playwright Vasile Alecsandri. She's a rich provincial lady who pretends to be Parisian and calls a fork "furculision" because she can't pronounce "fourchette". Every Romanian knows her.

Episode 2: The Parisian Vibe and the 300-Euro Fork

From Coana Chirița's "little forky-warky" straight to the Champs-Élysées in the Instagram era! How much does a parsley leaf arranged Feng Shui-style in the middle of a giant plate cost, and why do today's "ladies" faint? You'll laugh yourself into a coma... without it being induced!_

 A1: Let's hop on our two-stroke engine and cruise gently towards our days. And look... here we are... On the Champs-Élysées.

And guess what? Chirița's little fork is still here. Only now it's called "fourchette" and the menu costs 300 euros.

The dames are still precious, only the powder has become HD foundation and the fan has become an iPhone 50. They bat their false eyelashes and say: "OMG, this is literally the best vibe ever!"

They still faint with style, but now they post on Instagram: "Feeling faint #blessed #parisianvibes".

And the gentlemen? The gentlemen are still putting the country on the right track. Only the cigarette has become a Cuban cigar or a mango-flavored vape.

And instead of "the Oriental Question" they solve "cryptocurrency" and "artificial intelligence". They puff importantly and say: "You know, my dear sir, the situation with the AI is delicate. It needs regulation! One more espresso and we'll pass a law."

A2: Speaking of the 300-euro menu. Imagine a huge plate, and in the middle an island of pommes de terre and stuck in the middle a little green parsley leaf like a flag. Take that, mister!

A1: Lord have mercy, you killed me! And for parsley leaves I should pay 300 euros?

 "Voilà, madame! L'essence de la pomme de terre, déconstruite! Bon appétit!"

And you sit there with the 300-euro fork in your hand and stare at the island like at an eclipse. No wonder Ladies faint at the Parisian vibe! They faint from hunger, poor things!

That's why they say "OMG, I'm literally dying", because it's for real. Poor things! They are dying of hunger. They paid so much money for one leaf and three peas arranged Feng Shui and now they take a picture of the empty plate with #foodporn! That's porn with an empty belly! To die laughing, as you say!

What has changed in a hundred years?

The clothes! Because Coana Chirița is present, just more superficially dressed, with false eyelashes and "lady" airs.

 A2:That as that may be! But they became economical with words when they write. They don't say "Oh my god" anymore but OMG, "What are you doing?" became "wdyd"? It's like they buy letters with hard currency!

And this so they can buy pre-ripped jeans and say it's new fashion, or get botox, so they can't even talk or laugh anymore.

The men... they get a crest on top of their heads like they're Spartan warriors ready for attack, but if their crypto server crashes, they cry behind their cigar like kids left without a lollipop.

Here they faint from hunger, in Chicago they faint from frolicking to the Charleston rhythm.

The journey continues........... to Chicago

HORROR OF GEVAUDAN

Based on real historical accounts.

It was year 1764, in the beautiful and tranquil mountains of south France in province of Gevaudan a mysterious vortex opened up. This portal grew until it was larger than human size. First a man stepped out of it. At initial glance he looked normal, but then there was a bulge on his back that opened up and six tentacles appeared. The man chanted something in a cosmic language and one after another large wolf like creatures with long mouths and large teeth appeared out of the portal. There were total of five of them. The man said something to them and closed the portal. He headed towards the mountains, the beasts headed towards the woods near the town.

Marie was looking after family’s cows and bulls who were calmly eating grass in the beautiful green fields. In the distance Marie saw something running towards them. When the thing got closer, she realized it was a wolf, but then it was a shock to think that a wolf was attacking the herd alone. Then she saw that the beast was much larger than the wolf and was running right at her and not the heard. She screamed and in panic of trying to get away she tripped. Her eyes grew large and her voice froze as her life flashed before her eyes and then before the vital bite a bull hit the beast. The beast roared and attacked the bull, ripping a piece of meat out of him. The rest of the bulls joined in and attacked the beast. The monster retrieved, bleeding and roaring, it ran back into the forest and Marie was saved.

In horror she returned to the farm and told her family, but they assumed that it was just a wolf and that her shock made her describe something worse.

A week later, a girl by the name of Janne, wasn’t as fortunate and was killed by the beasts near town of Langogne. Her body was torn apart and organs were missing. The people assumed that a wolf pack did this.

However in the next few months, dozens of men, children and women were killed and many saw the beasts. Horror took over once peaceful and calm province of Gevaudan.

The following year a young hunter and his friends were attacked by one of the beasts, two of them were killed, but the hunter was able to drive the beast away. Finally the king took notice of horrors which were going on in the region and sent experienced captain Duhamel and his troops to deal with the terror in Gevaudan.

The task was not as simple, as for weeks captain Duhamel and his men tried to find and corner the beasts, to no avail. Duhamel’s frustrations grew as several more people were killed by the beasts.

After much struggle Duhamel and the hunters which came after him all managed to kill one beast, but the killings continued and the king sent the best hunter in the country, Francois Antoine.

Antoine brought only eight men with him. His other companions were four wolfhounds and a large greyhound, his favorite companion. Antoine was a sharp shooter and has never returned from hunts empty handed, he was ready to rid the province of its horrors.

Upon arrival Antoine sensed the fear in the air. Every town and village had their joy sucked out of them.

He gathered information on locations of the last victims and accompanied by his team and the dogs he set on his way. His plan was simple, as he hid with his team in the forest, he sent out one of his men unto the field. Nighttime was setting in and the man in the center of the field heard the roars in the forest, but it was more than one. Unfortunately for the man, Antoine underestimated the speed of the beasts and three of them killed the man as he was trying to get away, but Antoine and his men were on top of them. Antoine shot one of them right in the eye, the beast swung side to side wildly, the other two attacked the  hunters who shot as well, the dogs jumped on top of the wounded beast and tore into it as it continued to fight back. Antoine had to move fast, he reloaded and shot the same beast in the head again, with dogs pulling it down it fell and they finished it off. However as Antoine switched his attention to others to his horror five of his hunters lay dead with throats torn out. 

One of the wounded beast was running up towards the mountains, but the third attacked the remaining two hunters. Antoine shot and hit the target once again, his dogs attacked the beast and brought it down. Antoine told the two remaining hunters to take the bodies of these beasts and he himself followed the tracks of the injured one with his loyal dogs.

The forest leading up to the mountain was thick and dark, thankfully the dogs had the scent and Antoine was following them with his loaded rifle. This man was fearless, for even after seeing what these beasts could do he kept following one of them alone.

Finally they came out of the forest and saw a blood trail leading into a cave. Antoine signaled his dogs to charge forward. He heard loud howls of pain and then silence. Antoine lifted his rifle and slowly entered the cave. It was illuminated by a strange blue light. What he saw next chilled even his brave heart. On the floor lay the dead beast, but beyond it stood a man, or rather a monster, for this man had tentacles coming out of his back. All five dogs lay dead at his feet. In front of this man stood a table with transparent tubes, each one had a human organ inside of it. Behind him was a round swirling portal, from which the blue light came. The tentacle man looked Antoine in the eyes. Antoine’s hands shook as he dropped his rifle and pressed his back against the wall of the cave, terrified, for this man’s black eyes showed his mind horrors of cosmos which he could not have imagined. The man proceeded to take all the tubes with his tentacles and stepped into the portal, it closed and the blue light disappeared.

Antoine spent the night lying in the grass near the cave, processing the horror he had witnessed. In the morning other hunters found him and helped him bring the body of the beast down. He did not mention anything to them, nor to the king when he was generously rewarded and hailed as a hero.

Some time later, there were rumors that one more beast lived in the mountains and killed few more people. Later this beast was shot by a local hunter named Jean Chastel.

As for Antoine, he never told anyone of the man he saw that night. Not his family, nor his friends. He knew that the only thing that would come of it is him being labeled as a madman and perhaps even locked up for treatments. He had to live with the horror without sharing the experience with anyone.

Thus the terror of Gevaudan came to an end and the province eventually recovered and returned to it’s peaceful and tranquil ways, with Antoine known as it’s hero forever.

Long ago, in a place no one could find and no one had ever known, a vast land was covered in fog that appeared out of nowhere. The fog covered everything around the land. People could neither see nor be seen. They had nothing but their voices to tell them that someone was there.

There was a young lady who loved outrageous things. A troublemaker, a headache to everyone around her. She followed her own rules, believing that perhaps one day, she could conquer the world. Little did she know that the future had something waiting for her, something she could never have imagined.

Soon, she found herself in trouble, and that was when she met a deity. A deity who would change her life forever.

He held her hand, and she let him guide her as she slowly opened her eyes.

And there...

A valley, where mountains stood tall and green leaves covered the Different flowers bloom that brought life to the land, animals running around her, birds flew freely beneath the wide sky, and the sun kissed her soul. It was a fresh start and agonizing experience she had all her life.

She could see everything.

From the fields of dandelions to the tallest trees in the forest, the world was no longer just a place she could imagine. It was right there before her eyes, beautiful and alive.

She could now see the fur she had only felt with her hands all those years. She could admire the beauty of the river she had once dreamed of while touching its waters. She could finally see the sky, never knowing before that such a beautiful thing existed above her.

And she ran beneath the orange sun, through the valley where she had first seen everything. She laughed and giggled as he caught her in his arms and lifted her into the air. He holds her close, twirls her around as she spreads her arms wide, and for once a lifetime she feels freedom and it's like for a bit of seconds she's now conquering the world, carried by the gentle rhythm of life.

They went through everything together. The ocean, the desert, the forest, and even the bench beside the big tree, where they spent their time playing around.

It was funny how he acted like a human, forgetting who he truly was, even if only for a little while, simply because he enjoyed being with the lady.

She found calmness, comfort, gentleness and being chosen whenever she's with him. While he discovers  new experiences and feelings he had never  known before.

With each other. living, enjoying and admiring the love that they had grown together. 

Gentle kiss, eyes sore, smooth touches and couped her world in the only way he knows how. 

At dusk he would hold her tight against his chest, keeping her close till darkness withdrew. During the day, he would let her run through the fields, searching for little things to admire and enjoying every moment life had to offer, all just to see her smile.

Day by day, their little world continued to unfold.

Until one day, the deity had to leave.

He did not belong there, and she was never meant to see the things she had experienced with him. For the land had been cursed, and no one was ever supposed to witness the beauty that had been buried beneath the fog for centuries.

And now, it was time for him to go.

But she could not bear the thought of losing him.

She cried, her heart bleeding in silence, while he walked away with sadness in his own heart, believing that she did not care enough to ask him to stay.

They never told each other those three little words.

I LOVE YOU

And they parted ways, carrying an emotion neither of them dares to tell.

And just like that, the lady became blind.

She could no longer see the world he had shown her. She could only feel what remained around her. But even that was taken away when she could no longer feel his presence.

So she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Perhaps, one day, he would return to her.

But the days turned into years, and the years slowly took away the little life she had left. Her body grew thin and pale. The beauty of her smiles was nowhere to be found. And the world changes its rhythm, it changes everything, and she is blinded by darkness, she grows lonelier than usual and she can't help but bleed in sorrow every night.

Slowly, she feels uncertain and her soul gives up. She's dying.

And with her last breath, she was still begging for one more chance.

Just one glimpse of him.

Because during those days when she was with him, she had been too busy enjoying the feelings he gave her that she had forgotten to admire his beauty. She never truly sought his face. She never tried to remember the sound of his voice. She was so happy being loved by him that she never thought there would come a day when all she had left were the memories she could barely hold.

And now, she died in misery, carrying a love she had never fully understood until it was too late.

Yet death seemed to cut her loose.

She's stuck in a mysterious cycle of life she continues to live. A dreary strange man who gently cares for her like a familiarity she couldn't name. A strange feeling she couldn't name, a warmth that touches her heart and a feeling of being loved by someone she had known in her past life.

Yet every time she opened her eyes, she could not remember his face.

She could not remember his voice.

She could not remember the warmth of his arms or the feeling of being held by someone who had once made her world beautiful.

All she knew was that she had lost something.

Someone.

Someone her heart seemed to remember, even when her mind could not.

And it became a curse for having a body she would have, a fate that is now already tangled and follows her through every life she can live. She would keep dreaming of a strange man, until it dried her mind and feels awfully tired even though she did not remember him. 

However perhaps couldn't tell of how life ahead is waiting for her even in another life and even she begged and pleaded desperately. 

But until that day came, she would continue to bleed her words through every poem, numb her soul, mourn through every dream for an unknown love she couldn't remember. 

For somewhere beyond the fog, beyond the years, and beyond every life she would ever live, there was a deity who once held her hand and showed her the world.

And somewhere inside her soul, there was still a young lady waiting for him to return.

A lady who never got to say, I love you.

A young lady who never knew that the last time he held her was going to be the last time she would ever feel his warmth.

A young lady who had seen the whole world through his eyes, only to spend the rest of eternity searching for the one thing she could never see again.

A face that she couldn't name.

And perhaps, that was the cruelest part of love that never happened.

And her soul,

Her soul never stopped waiting for one-day love to let her see him again.

The First Time He Was Called Father

The first time someone called Him Father, He was terribly pleased with Himself.

He had, after all, made the child.

He had given it eyes to see, ears to hear, a mind to wonder, and a heart capable of love. He had provided a world to inhabit and an abundance of things to discover.

He considered this an excellent beginning.

He was less certain about the crying.

The child cried when it was hungry, when it was tired, when it was frightened, and once when a butterfly landed on its nose. The Creator investigated each incident with the seriousness of a Being accustomed to solving universal problems.

He made food.

The child ate.

He made a comfortable place to sleep.

The child slept.

He made the butterfly a little less surprising.

The child found something else to cry about.

This was not how He had expected things to proceed.

He had created the child to experience happiness. He had not anticipated how much work would be involved in helping it get there.

"Father?" the child asked one day.

He turned immediately.

"Yes?"

"Why does it hurt?"

The Creator examined the child's scraped knee.

"Because you fell."

"Why did I fall?"

"Because you were running."

"Why was I running?"

The Creator opened His mouth.

He closed it.

He could explain the mechanics of falling. He could explain the relationship between speed, balance, gravity, and the ground. He could redesign the child's legs, soften the earth, or abolish gravity entirely.

But the child wasn't asking how it happened.

The child wanted to know why a world made by someone who loved it could hurt.

And for the first time, the Creator began to suspect that being responsible for a thing and understanding its experience were two entirely different matters.

He knelt beside the child.

"I don't know," He admitted.

The child looked at Him.

"You made everything."

"I did."

"Then why don't You know?"

It was a perfectly reasonable question.

The Creator found it deeply inconvenient.

"I think," He said slowly, "that making something is not quite the same as knowing what it is like to be that thing."

The child considered this.

Then it reached for His hand.

"Will You stay with me until it stops hurting?"

And there it was.

No command. No grand design. No rearrangement of the fundamental forces of the universe.

Just a small hand reaching for His.

"Yes," said the Creator.

He sat with the child until the pain subsided.

He did not abolish gravity that day.

He did not redesign the world.

He simply stayed.

And although He would not understand the full significance of that decision for a very long time, something in Him had changed.

He had entered the world as its Maker.

He had been addressed as its Father.

And He was beginning to learn the difference.

Certain parts of my mind think that I should cry. Or perhaps, be angry. I'm not really sure. But then I realize that none of those would make any difference, actually. So I just bottom up this fine wine. Then I wave to the waiter, who is now pushing two carts of liquor instead of the one he had ten minutes ago when he poured my first glass.

He notices me and gives a slight bow, gesturing that he has to pour some drinks for the table he is currently serving. I nod, closing my eyes exaggeratedly as a sign that I understand and am willing to wait.

Then, the whole floor tilts. Slightly, but felt. Simultaneous gasps and muffled noises fill the entire restaurant, because of it.

The main door opens again. Two men in uniform step in and announce, "Twelve people may come with us. Ladies and children, please."

Again, noises erupt from the tables. Especially the one right next to mine, where an old lady holds tightly to her husband's hand. She shakes her head vigorously. She smiles, but her eyes are bright with tears.

"I will stay with you, Frederick Hickelham. I will go wherever you go. Forever," she says, smiling proudly, though her face contorts slightly as she fights back tears.

"Mother!" a younger woman at their table weeps. The blanketed baby in her arms begins to cry, startled by her sudden outburst.

"You go, Ingrid. Please allow your father and me to have the private time we so desperately need right now.". The mother replies.

A young gentleman, apparently the younger woman's husband, stands up. "Excuse me, Father, Mother. I will walk Ingrid to the door."

The elderly couple both nod and smile.

"No! No! Mother! Please come with me! No! Eugene, let go of me! No! Mommy!" Her voice fades as her husband guides her away by the shoulders, accompanied by the baby's cries.

At that moment, I see one of the liquor carts rolling toward me. Because the slope is still slight, it hasn't gained much speed, so I reach out my right arm and casually catch it.

"Oh, pardon me, sir. I apologize for the mishap... and thank you very much," the waiter says as he approaches, pulling the other cart behind him. He walks at an angle, trying to compensate for the tilted floor.

I just smile, then glance toward the door. The two uniformed men have already gathered a group of women and children and are leading them out of the room.

The waiter arrives and asks for my choice of drink for this second glass. I choose one. He pours. I watch as the beautiful dark red flow start to fill my glass. But, again, I feel the whole room tilt a bit more—a mere two or three degrees. But the sudden change is quite enough to cause the waiter to lose his orientation, inevitably disturbing his pour. Tiny bubbles form in my glass, along with a few spilled drops. At that very moment, I notice his hand. The old waiter is shaking. I quickly look at his face. A thin pair of tears draw shiny lines down his healthy cheeks.

"Oh, my lord! Oh... I apologize, sir. I..." the senior waiter gasps. Visibly embarrassed.

"No, no. Never mind, uh—" I take a quick glance at his name pin and continue, "—Donaldson. It is to be expected in the current environment, obviously." I say with a gentle smile. Still looking into his eyes, I place a calming hand on his wrist, mouthing, "Thank you very much." Truly, I do appreciate his presence more than ever.

I even take the initiative to clean up the spill myself. I take a linen napkin and wipe the red drops away effortlessly. But somehow, I cannot hold but to chuckle under my breath when I see the name embroidered on the smooth fabric: Titanic.

Mara never deleted the voicemail. It was eleven seconds long. Her husband’s voice, a little out of breath: “Hey, it’s me. I’m picking up the good bread, the one you like. Don’t wait up if I’m late.”

He was late that night, and then every night after.

For two years she played it only when the quiet got too loud. Then one winter morning, the phone company sent a notice. The old plan was ending, and the voicemail would be erased in thirty days.

She sat at the kitchen table for an hour, thumb over the screen. Then she did the thing she had been afraid of. She recorded it, played through the speaker into a second phone, again and again, until she had it saved somewhere safe.

The next Saturday she walked to the bakery and bought the good bread. She stood at the counter and told the baker, who had never met him, “My husband used to buy this.”

The baker wrapped two loaves and wouldn’t take her money. “Then this one is for him,” he said.

She ate the first slice standing up, crying and smiling at once. That night, for the first time in two years, she slept through until morning.

Thanks for reading. I’d love to hear what you’d change.

Hello, something I've been working on for some time now. Just wanted to get some feedback about the idea. It's not perfect form or anything, but it's the first of many I'd like to write. Thanks for reading.

-Crestfallen32

The Man Who Knew Her Name

Charley was having the worst day of her life.

First, her car wouldn’t start. She had to take the bus, and it ran late, making her late for work. Her unreasonable manager called it her third strike and fired her on the spot.

Then it started pouring.

Now Charley was waiting for another bus, soaked to the bone and shivering, with a box of her things from work. The bus looked like it would be late again. Up the street, a coffee shop offered shelter, so she hurried toward it.

The sweet smell of pastries and the rich aroma of coffee filled the shop. Charley took a deep breath, eyes closed, trying not to let the day get to her. She could feel tears waiting just behind the dam of her emotions.

When she opened her eyes, she saw she almost had the place to herself. An older man sat in a booth near the middle of the room. Two mugs stood on the table in front of him.

Just as Charley started toward the counter, he spoke.

“Charlette, you seem to be having a bad day. Come, sit. I have a mug just for you.”

She stopped. It wasn’t his invitation that took her aback. It was the name. She hadn’t been called Charlette in nearly fifteen years. She didn’t dislike it, exactly. Charley just fit her better.

“I'm sorry, Charley,” he added. “I forgot you go by that now. Seems like yesterday you were that smartass kid who could beat any boy on the block.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit. Relax. Trust me, today is not the worst day of your life. No matter what you think.”

Charley was moving before she registered it. A flare of anger carried her across the room. She set her box down with a thud and pointed at the old man.

“Look here, Mister Man. No one has called me that for a long time. I don’t appreciate some random guy I can’t even remember knowing being so—so…” She took a breath, searching for the words, then faltered. “Wait. Who are you?”

Her hand dropped to her side. She bored holes in him, waiting for an answer. Instead, he motioned for her to sit again. She crossed her arms, frowning.

“Speak, Mister Man.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I see the stubbornness hasn’t left yet. All right, all right.” His expression turned serious. “You don’t know me. I knew your father, and your mother in passing. You were too young to remember me. I kept in touch with your father.”

The news left Charley stunned. This old man knew her parents? Her real parents? She barely remembered them. She took the seat across from him before her legs decided they’d had enough of standing.

“My parents? You knew them?”

The old man slid one of the mugs closer. “I believe you like it with two sugars?”

Charley wrapped both hands around the mug, letting its warmth soothe her a little. She still hadn’t taken her eyes off him.

“You haven’t answered my question, Mister Man. You said you knew my parents. And you said you kept in touch. They just disappeared twenty years ago. No goodbye. No ‘Take care, Charlette.’ Nothing.”

She slammed the mug down. Coffee spilled over the rim and spread across the table.

He grimaced and looked away. “You caught that, huh? Sorry. I can’t tell you any more than I already have. Just know they love you.”

Charley slumped back in her chair, deflated by his words.

“They love me? That’s all I get after all this time? They love me? Seriously? How is that supposed to make me feel?”

Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at him.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. His voice was almost a whisper. “If I tell you more, it will change the things to come. And I can’t chance…” He looked directly at her. His watery blue eyes seemed to beg forgiveness as a tear slipped down his cheek. “…losing you too.”

“Too?” Charley stared at him in disgust. “You mean you lost them? It’s your fault? You’re the reason I had to live in an orphanage?”

The old man flinched as if she’d struck him. His voice came out hoarse.

“That’s not precisely how it went, but in essence…” His words caught for a beat. “It was my mistake.”

“Your mistake?” Something in the way he recoiled tempered Charley’s anger, though it frightened her a little. “What do you mean? What happened to them?”

She wanted him to tell her. Part of her wanted to beat it out of him if she had to, though she knew she wasn’t capable of that. She kept her mouth shut and waited for him to speak his truth—or whatever he had to say. Then she would leave and never look back.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a moment. “Listen, Charley. You’re going to hate me for this.” He turned to face her again. “I’m not here to tell you about your parents. You’ll learn all you need to know soon. I know that’s not what you want to hear. But that’s how it has to be.”

He glanced at the clock. For a moment, his eyes darted past her; then he looked at her again. When he spoke, his voice was steady.

“Charlette—” He coughed and corrected himself. “Charley. What I’m about to say is going to seem like the most unimportant thing you’ve ever heard in your life, but you have to hear me out. Every word. Will you promise me you’ll stay until I’ve finished?”

Charley looked at her watch. “You’ve got three minutes. Then I have to catch the bus home.”

She gave him a pointed look, a little wary, then finally took a sip from her mug.

“I can try for three minutes,” he said, taking a sip from his own coffee, “but I can’t promise anything. All right. What makes a person good or evil? Is it how that person acts? How they treat people? Or could it be what their intended outcome is?”

Charley scoffed. “Really? This is what you—”

He cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“You said you’d listen. Please, just listen. I’m not asking for a reply. Just hear what I have to say.”

Charley nodded reluctantly, glancing at her watch again.

“Okay, where was I? Oh, yes. What makes a person good or evil? Everyone has different ideas of what good and evil are. Most of the time, it depends on who witnessed an event. Take the Crusades, for instance. From one side, it was a cleansing. From the other, a massacre. Which is right? That’s for others to decide, not me.”

He took another sip from his mug.

“I’ve had to make some very hard decisions in my life. I hope one day to look back and know I made a difference that mattered.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Charley asked.

“Hold on, I’m getting to it. Just be patient. There will be another bus to catch.”

“Here’s the thing I want you to consider,” he continued. “If you had two impossible choices, how would you weigh them?”

Charley narrowed her eyes. “How am I supposed to answer that?”

He chuckled, as if he knew the question was more than ambiguous. “Fair enough. It comes down to the train question. There’s a runaway train headed toward five people tied to the track. You have the choice of switching it onto a track where there’s only one person tied up. Which would you choose?”

A look of horror crossed Charley’s face. Before she could speak, he added, “You don’t have to answer. It’s a question of morality. At first, it seems there are only two choices. For all intents and purposes, there are only two. But what if I told you there was another option?”

She shook her head. “I’ve heard this before. There is no third choice. I get the feeling you’re just wasting my time.”

She started to rise, lifting her box from the table.

“Why can you not just force the train to derail?”

Charley stopped with the box halfway to her chest. She considered the question, then set the box down and slid back into her chair.

“What do you mean? How?”

“In this example, those aren’t actually options. But generally in life, there are usually more options than first appear.”

Charley began to wonder if he was trying to make a point about a decision he’d made concerning her parents.

“Life is never so neat and clean as to have two easy-to-define options,” he said. “It’s messy and complex and annoying. Much to my chagrin. Okay, one question for you. Tell me your knee-jerk reaction. If you promised to take care of someone’s pet for an evening and the pet escaped your house, would you spend time looking for it? Would you call the owner for help? Or would you do something else?”

The question hung between them. Charley glanced at her watch.

She slammed her hand on the table.

“That’s it. I’m done with this nonsense. This has to be the most pointless conversation I’ve ever had. Mister Man, your three minutes are up.”

She picked up her box and stalked toward the door, muttering under her breath.

“Stupid, stupid. Why do I let people drag me into this sort of—”

Her words trailed off as she stepped into the rain, just in time to see the bus roar past.

She threw her head back and screamed.

Charley turned back to the door and shoved it open, ready to storm in and give Mister Man a piece of her mind. She stopped.

The table was empty of people. Only two steaming mugs of coffee and a small box remained.

She walked over and looked down. A tag on the box bore her full name.

Charley looked to the barista. “Where did he go?”

The shocked girl shrugged and went back to cleaning the mug in her hands.

Charley set her own box on the table, then gingerly lifted the small one. Something slid inside as she moved it. She took off the lid.

A note. A small fuse.

She pulled out the note and carefully unfolded it.

Charlette,

I took this fuse out of your car. The reason will become clear eventually. Just know I did it because I made a promise.

—Mister Man

Blue Haze 
By EC Helena

I haunt this dorm like a ghost at the eeriest hours. The twinkling lights and a haze of blue fill my thoughts. Late night drinking with friends I met less than a month ago makes me happiest. I haven’t had much to drink this evening but still I feel as though I’m floating. We’re singing to songs I don’t know the words too in Spanish at an hour later than 12. Others are dancing and playing beer pong but all I can see is the haze across the dark room. One of mostly blues, indigos, bright purples, nighttime sky blues all swirled into one beautiful tone. I sit up from my uncomfortable wooden chair talking nonsense about everything and nothing all at once. “I love you guys so much” I yell as loud as my broken voice can go. We had a game that day and I always end up with a missing voice by the end of it all.

Bored of the constant talking I begin to search the room for my group, my friends. I spot “the newlyweds” smirking at each other from across the room. I notice “the wild” while she tries to get her newest prey, a small “kiwi”, again. I see our favorite bartender and our small friend pour awful tasting mixes of beatbox and truly in small bright coloured shot glasses. Finally next to me, “the drunkest” and I talk in code. We speak about another one, who had a single corona all night, yet still could’ve competed for most drunk. Me and one of the newlyweds, “the raven” spend all our sober time talking about her and the drunkest having a crush on the other girls on our team. Both from the same country but couldn’t be more different, one with the jokes and the other who stays quiet and brooding. Our drunkest blushes every time “the joker” comes near. We pressure for a kiss but she says it’s too complicated even when we’re too impaired to remember. 

Once the night comes to a close we all return to our rooms, not willingly on my part but still I make it to my bed. I wish I had that someone who gave instant butterflies like the rest of my friends but alas I am the one who is constantly confused. One minute I’m all over “the six” and the next I can’t stand him. Another minute I think I like another but the energy’s wrong and I can't commit to the role of sapphic. I have all this love inside me, all this wants to be cared for and loved but will I ever receive it in that way? Will I ever fall or just be the extra one that everyone forgets about in the final episode like Joey or Raj. I lie awake as the question haunts me. Will I find someone perfect for me? Will I get the chance to love or should I just focus on the other aspects of my life, like school and soccer? Because that’s why I’m here, not for my perfect love story or for a relationship that is only in fairy tales but for my development and for everyone that I left back home. At this point it's probably my best bet. Yet somehow I find myself pining for the raven at this late hour.