The Time Traveler

By the threshold I leant, looking into her two wet eyes. My hands trembling, my head dizzy, my quiver lips let me utter no words. I kept looking at her sitting on the corner of this small chamber with raised head. We had enough reasons to be together; yet we had enough reasons to fall apart too. We had been through this for so many times, yet, we always found a way to reunite. This time, I felt something different in polemic; I somehow did not think we could settle this down anymore.

At that time I had so many things to say, but all my words were just stuck in my throat, allowing me not to say anything, but silence. Amid the awkwardness and conflict between us, I looked at the golden key suspended from my neck; suddenly, my thoughts were just flying back to the very first time when I buried my heart into hers. I almost could not recall how I loved her; it was just like a moment between two heartbeats. I saw her completely different from whom I used to see years ago, just like a black hole that sucked my dimly-lighted heart into. I could not resist, but meekly allowing myself to go gleefully deep inside the blackness that possibly killed me.

I could have gone back there to start everything all over again. I wanted it, but it was just the fear of making mistake that could change or even erase all her good memories of me –or us in her mind. But no…no… I could not put her at the risk of losing every best moment in her life if I had failed in the past that was so perfectly knitted with both of our hands. I just could not repeat that perfect moment.

Then I looked into her wet eyes; the tears went slowly down her cheeks like the stream in the spring day, released all the remaining frozen particles from the former winter. I could see her happy without me, flowing in the great stream of the river of life, free from all the particles burdened her; she is going to be free, independent, and happy.

In the silence, I thought I could have gone forward to the future. I had thousands burning questions in my mind, like, ‘What will she do? What will she be? Will I still be with her? And… so many more.’

But I did not think I want it, I actually wanted to feel all of the feelings I should felt.

It is so complicated.

An old man with a golden key suspended from his neck was once told me that life was like a novel; we could either go back to any specific page, or go forward to see the ending of the story; but once we did the ‘page jumping’, we would get used to it, kept doing it, and eventually lost the meaning of the story itself; trapped between the past and the future. It’s definitely what the cowards always do; anyway, the choices they always thought of when they were in trouble were to which corners they would run and then hide.

That night, the breeze danced beside me when I was sitting under the sycamore tree, glancing at the incinerating laboratory. I felt sore in my eyes, perhaps some cinder went inside my eyes; the cinder of the fading past and the darkening future.

Now under the night sky blanketed by the luminous stars, I read the novel page to page. I neither know what will happen in the next pages; nor can I change the bygones. I enjoy the reading with all the surprises and suspense I may bump into. 

This is the short story I wrote about a year ago and—luckily—won a writing competition. I know this is not really a good story; yet, this is one of medium through which I could express --maybe--some ideas and feeling in my subconscious mind. 

Used To #2

Again, I woke up with my heart pumping; my perspiration soaked me with all the fear and confusion of this repeated dream. I dreamt about my grandma. I saw the reflection of her as if a dispersed light amidst the unlimited blackness that started scratching me out. 

‘The concept of lose’, I said to myself and sighed, ‘I never understand those things.’

Like a tiny nostalgic spark, I remembered a story my grandma told me a few years ago about a young man who love a woman. Although I’d never known the ending of their story, their story was the best one I ever known apart from all the romantic scenes; yet that was the love in this real world.

I—along with my mom—walked to open my shop. This small shop was a little bit different after the death of my grandma. I used to lay by my grandma’s lap, listening to all the stories she told me enthusiastically. I remembered her wrinkled face and her smile.

Like usual, on Sunday, there were always many people jogged from everywhere to get some rest in here, ordered some pieces of gorengan and milk. These things, however, reminded me of my late grandma. She used to be here, taking the order and smiling to everyone.

Suddenly, I saw a tall young man sitting on the bamboo bench by himself, looking exhausted. It seemed to me that I knew this man even though I’d never seen him. He was the perfect picture of the character my late grandma had always told me about. 

After ordering a glass of milk, he sat, looking into the void. I was wondering what he was thinking, whether it was the young woman or not. I really wanted to ask him, yet I kept thinking of the way of asking which was less awkward.

Suddenly, I heard him ask me, “Where is the granny?”

“She is not here anymore”, said I, as I looked down.

“I am sorry to hear that, I haven’t been here for a long time”, he looked shocked, then he added, “she was a nice old lady; I can see from the warmth of her gaze.”

“Indeed”, I took a deep breath and said, “She used to tell me her stories about her and my grandpa, and juxtapose them with yours”.

“Did she?” he looked awkward. 

“Yeah”, I grinned, “your story is one of the inspiring ones to my grandma, and I bet you never expect that it is the best story I have ever known.”

“That was a nice hyperbole anyway”, he laughed, “You, then, have to watch and read better romance stories, kid”.

“I’m not a kid”, I snapped up. Then, enthusiastically I asked, “Can you tell me the next sequel your story with that young woman, please”

“O God”, he sighed, “It just did not work out, kid. Anyway, it is what is supposed to be.”

“But why?” I crossed, “You will make a good couple. My grandma told me that you love her wholeheartedly. She said that you two are supposed to be tied together with the bond of love.”

He laughed as if it was so funny, what an annoying man. I, then, went inside my shop.

“Hey kid”, he called, “I did bestow my love upon her, but somehow everything is just losing by itself. It is the concept of lost. You may lose someone abruptly, in a gap between two blinks of eyes”; now, he looked as if he meant it, “…or you may begin losing pieces of someone, until one day, there is naught.”

“But you are my favorite character”, my eyes wet, “You supposed to struggle for her and live happily ever after.”

“There are many good people out there, kid. I am nothing but a worthless young man who is overwhelmed by the hatred of all people around me.”

He grinned. I somehow could see beyond his calm and ignorant face that he was in grief. 

“Life is different from all the stories about life. It, however, is not necessarily worse or less beautiful. Anyway, it depends on whether this person is worth struggling or not, kid.” He explained, “When some people come as a blessing, some others come as a lesson.”

I kept silent.

“Things work not the way you want, but the way it is supposed to be. You will know it when you grew up, kid”, he added.

“I did not understand”, I said, “What am I supposed to say to my grandma then?”

“Tell her that we live separately and happily ever after”, he said before he disappeared.

Normality

“Well, this is the life I had to get through”, I said.

“But why?” he frowned, “you don’t have to be like this. There are so many good places out there. Those were what people called life!”

“Because my father told me not to”, I looked into his brown eyes, “I am his daughter, so what I have to do is to do what he want.”

I heard him utter no word. There was it, the sound I hated most; the deafening silence. I could almost hear the ticking of the clocks, the blast of the wind, and his pounding heartbeats. I rather heard him blabbering than be in this uncomfortable state of quiet. At the very end of every relationship I ever had, there was always a silence before the last look, and then leaving as the dark clouds in my eyes began releasing its particles.

Then I took a deep breath and started talking, “when I was a girl, shortly after my mom passed away in a car accident, my father always asked me to be careful wherever I am. He asked me to live like all normal people, just be in a straight path. My dad had his servant drive me everywhere I went. That was the time when everyone started to go away from me, all the boys began treating me as if I was fragile.”

“How do you feel about that?”

I took a piece of tissue in case I needed it, and then looked at his puzzled face “at first, I got it wrong; but then I feel that my dad is somehow right, everything may befall me.”

He said nothing.

“That is why I have never been camping or doing anything out of what-so-called comfort zone. It sometimes bothers me, yet here I am, safe and sound”, I replied without looking at him, “…and I hope, you love me just the way I am.”

He stared down onto the floor, smiling, “yeah, I love you and I am not in any way of changing you.” He put on his coat as if he wanted to leave.

“Wait!” I stood up, “I thought you love me.”

“I do love you dearie and I will always; I am not denying this infatuating feeling”, he threw me a cold smiled, “leaving you does not mean that I stop loving you. I have just loved you enough; and now, I will just love you from an invisible spaces and indefinable time. I will love you in unnoticeable way; within the beats of your heart, the blinks of your eyes, and the breath of your lungs.”

My mind was about to vomit all my thoughts but my lips uttered no words.

By the threshold, he stopped, ”normal people in my town prefers staying at bright places in the evening for a comfortable and safe reasons; for that reasons, they had never seen the beauty of fireflies, they do not even know there is firefly.”

That very second, he threw his last look into my eyes before the last time I saw him.

I could notice my quiver feet that could have walked after him;

I could see my trembling two hands that could have held him;

I could feel my twitching lips that could have called him back;

…yet, I did nothing but seeing him walking further and further away from me.

…and he has gone..

The Veranda

"He have always been there for several hours”, said she. 

I walked feebly to the window, and stared at him. He was standing and leaning over the fence of the veranda, looking at nothing but the emptiness of the dark sky. He was a very calm young man at about 25 years old, looked tidy with a black coat. I sat on the window frame, took a gulp of the champagne; then I asked her, “Who is he? He looks happy over there.”

She glanced over the window and sighed, “He looks happy physically, but look into his eyes; he is psychologically sad, tortured by something—“

“How do you know about that?” I interrupted. “How can you be so sure of him? You do not even know him.”

She grinned, “I know him pretty well; I just know.” Then she sat on a chair in the middle of the room, smoldering a cigarette in between her two lips. She looked into my eyes and said, “I think you know him too; take a look at him.”

I was flustered, “No, I don’t”, I replied.

“Look at him!” She retorted.

“Okay.. Okay”, I meekly looked at him. Although I did not know him, he looked familiar to me as if I knew him well. It seemed that he reminisce me of something happened very long time ago. This room seemed like to have filled with a gray mist that blurred my vision and stung as I breathed as if something was pressing me. I felt uncomfortable.

“Have you got anything of him?” She startled me. 

“No”, I snarled; then I added, “How long am I going to be stuck in here? Let me out of here! I need to meet Patricia; she must be waiting for me by now.”

“You cannot. You know this game pretty well, and if you went out this room; you know that it will bring no good. Patricia will be fine as long as you behave well.” She snapped as she stubbed out her cigarette on the floor.

“What’s happening with her? If you ever touch her, I—“

“Shut up! Just look at the man on the veranda!” She screamed.

I smelt something fishy on her; how could she talk so harsh to me, I had just known her for a few days. She might be a cold-blooded criminal or fugitive. It was written all over her face, the evil inside her. I had to fight for my life and for my fiancée, Patricia, but it had to be well-planned. I would just pretend to meekly follow her game and by the time, she is the one who will play on my game. I turned my head over the man in the veranda once again and kept my eyes on him.

Nothing happened for the first 15 minutes, I almost fell asleep. But there came a young lady with a white blouse, I supposed she was the young man’s girlfriend, or his wife perhaps, for they wore the same rings on both of their ring finger .They was talking and laughing when suddenly the man’s countenance changed dramatically from a very gentle to be somewhat ghastly, his eyes bulk, his grimaced with a bloodthirsty look. In infatuation, he started punching the young lady on the face, and soon she lost her conscious. The man then took a knife, and started mutilating her; the blood splashed all over the veranda, the red viscous liquid that aroused me to some kind of paroxysms. 

“Hey! Call the police! Call the police!” I screamed at the top of my voice, but she kept sitting on the chair in the middle of the room, smiling as if she enjoyed every second of the torturing.

I took a wooden chair beside her and threw it on the window. The deafening sound of the broken glass must call the police, for they soon broke into the room.

“Freeze!” They warned, as pointing a gun.

“That man, sir, over there—“As I pointed into the veranda, there was nothing, the man, the blood splash, or anything.

I was perplexed at how that might possibly happen. I frantically stammered, “It must be some kind of black magic. There was a murder just now.” Then I glanced at the women sitting on the middle of the room; and then I muttered, “It’s her. She must be involved in that murder!”

Then my mother came after me with a bow head and tears wetting both of her cheeks. She hugged me, and whispered, “It is all over son, surrender to them.”

“What are you saying, mom? And where is Patricia?” I asked my mother hoarsely.

My mother sobbed “She’s gone, son. Mutilated right in that veranda four days ago.”

-- The End--

The Snowflakes

As usual, I fell slowly from the majestic winter sky and scattered around on the ground, covered all the green meadow with my white blanket. By the warmth of the sunlight, I then melted into a tranquil water which flowed down every inch of the rocky slopes, be the source of life for all the living things.

I always thought that my routine life was neither happy, nor sad. It was just nothing, like the void of the dark night sky.

One day, When I fell down from the majestic sky, a little innocent girl gathered, and made me a happy snowman, she even gave me a hat and a scarf. Day by day, the little girl came and played with me who soon thought that my existence a little more meaningful than a mere scattered snowflake. I felt myself the most happiest snowflake among other ordinary snow. 

One day, there are seven delinquents came around me, some of them grinned at me, I didn't understand why were those people suddenly kicked me, pinched me, and some of them even tore my body apart with a snowboard while laughing and running to and fro.

Soon, I was scattered around on the ground, incapable of doing anything except lying helplessly down there. The little innocent girl had already made me forgot many things, one of the thing is being alone.. I forgot the feeling of scattered down, cold and having no friends.

When the little girl came, I saw her collecting every snowflakes to make a new snowman, but.. not me. The little girl did not even look at me, she raised and gathered the other snowflakes in tears and left me down here, trampled by the pedestrians. She took my hat and scarf, and gave it to her new snowman.

I have never felt this feeling before, and I cannot describe it. It is just hurt... and now, every year, I have to pass through a long frozen winter and feel this pain in every sound of ticking clock..

The Winter Lady

Once upon a time, there was a prosperous country with the green trees in the western side of the country, and the blue lake in the east where the shinning sun born in the horizon. The herds of animals were living happily in the wide meadow, blanketed with the bushes and flowers that witnessed the magnificent of warm sun that replaced by the tranquil moon. But it was merely the past, before the land was cursed.

There lived an old lady who spent her day and night thinking about the prince, when the royal family along with the lancer past through the country after walking around the land, she did everything to get the attention and love from the prince, she shouted, calling out the prince, but what she got was only humiliation from all the people.

The prince was sorry for the lady, but he could do nothing.

The old lady ran away to alienate herself in the middle of the forest. The seasons were changing in, the spring, summer, and autumn complemented each other with their eternal beauty. Her love to the prince kept increasing and gradually reached into a state of hatred, she despised all she could not get. She wobbled to an old well in the deep of the forest, and threw three rocks to it. Suddenly, from the deep dark well, appeared a white creature with a fang in the side of his mouth, it was the demon of frost.

“I know what you want” The demon said.

“Help me to do what I want, and I will give you anything”

“Anything?” The demon grimaced.

“Yes, anything...” said the old lady.

And then they talked.

In the first time in that land, there were flakes of snow felt from the sky, all the people scattered around, and amazed by the snowflakes they had never seen before. The days were passing by, the weather was getting colder and colder, all the green meadow turned into white rug, the blue lake transformed into white glaze which devour those who walk on it.

It was June, but everything was still the same, frozen, and dead. Starvation and famine were crawling to every corner of the houses in that country. There was no more food, the field was frozen, and the animals were dead.

The prince stood by the window, examining the snowflakes, every time the snow melt, he could see the sad face of the old lady who was trapped in it.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you for all the time, but now, you get my attention” He looked up the white sky and said in low voice “The good thing is that we can see each other now, you can touch me with the flakes of your cold body, and melt in my hand before I swallow you, and make you part of my body”

One by one the people of the country were found dead. There were only the prince and the princess life in their warm mansion, with only a few foods left.

“It has been a year, and we cannot stay here forever” The prince initiated to speak.

“We can go nowhere” The princess answered hopelessly.

“We can! There is a place where we can go, we just have to pass the lake, and we will find spring at the other side of the country--” The prince responded vigorously.

“--And we will die, devoured by the ice glaze” Interrupted the princess.

“We will die anyway, what is the different? We may die here, or we may die there in trying” The prince rose, he added “If we tried, at least there will be a chance”

”No! I have seen so many people died in that lake. That's the fact”

The prince sat, looked into her eyes, and said "Well, Fact leaves no room for possibility. If you regarded it as fact, everything is over. There is nothing I can say"

“Okay, no matter what will happen, I am going to stay right here, in my place, nobody can take me out of my personal space, including you. I’m just not ready to go out and let anything bad happen to me”

“Bad thing is that what is created by yourself, and will be soon transformed into fear, and that fear will be a big wall that will block you in any ways. I’m so sorry for my incapability to take you with me”

Then the prince left her, he trudged to pass the ice glaze, several times, he got his foot broke through the ice glaze, and for several times he could not feel his feet. Eventually, he found a spot of light at the part when he was about to die in frozen.

The prince opened his eyes and found out his people who were previously devoured by the glaze, and he fainted for the second times.

“Look, he is alive” he heard a voice, and soon he heard another voice “Oh thanks God, he is okay”

With a very low voice, the prince inquired “Where is this? Am I dead? Why are you all here? I thought--” 

One of the men interrupted “We are still in the country, we have just trapped in our deepest fear, once we go through it, and we are safe”

The prince frowned and then asked “What about those who don’t?” 

“I’m afraid they won’t survive, all the curses are merely hallucination, and it can always be broken either by true love or real bravery”

Then the prince went outside, in the way, he found everything was still the same as the previous land, the green meadow and the blue lake, and then he remembered the princess, so he rushed to the mansion, searched all the mansion, and found the princess stood by the window directed to the lake, with the orbs of crystals on her cheeks, frozen.

Flower day

The Story of Jack

It was all started in the 'flower day', the day when all popular girls gt all the flower while the nerd, like me, would better stay outside the class unless those popular girls would say to you with a phony anguished face "I'm sorry you don't get any flower again, wanna take mine?". 

I had never known people would get so crap like that. When I was thinking about those popular girls, a boy, a messenger came with colourous blossom flowers on his hand, and asked me: 

"Are you Anna Watson?"

"Yeah" I said.

"This is for you, from Jack Downing" he said, and gave me letter "and please sign here"

"Wait.. wait it must be wrong. I don't even know this Jack whatsoever" I inquired.

"You're Anna Watson, aren't you? So that's for you" and he left.

I was wondering who this Jack Downing was, looking at the every inch of the blossoming flowers I had never got. It was like a dream. I found a memo on it, it was written: For you with love, By Jack Downing. Then I said to myself "Be calm Ann, this must be a joke, and he's laughing at my stupid face now"

When I got into the class, I found some girls staring at me with a frowning face, and then came. "Whom is that from Ann? I don't know you have a boyfriend. Let me see", they took it from me and read the memo aloud. I was waiting for the laughter, what I heard was nothing, but a silent. They were just staring at each other, in agape, until one of them inquired "Are you with Jack Downing?"

"I don't even know this Jack Downing. Who's he anyway?" I frowned. They started talking about him, some of them said that he was a son of the richest family in that town, some said he was a biggest playboy dated so many girls.

That was all I know about him, my first impression, and I should get away from this guy. In the evening, I slept over at Patsy's house to do some trigonometry assignments, because during her illness, she could not attend the class. After working out the assignments, everything got so bored, anyway, what did you expect when you were sticking around with a nerd with three-inch-thick glasses?. It was so bored, we were silent for almost half an hour, but it was almost like this ever since I slept over at her house, last week I tried to break the ice by asking her stuff concerning algebra, but things got more and more tedious because she explained it for ages, so I would not do the same mistake asking about math. So without any serious purposes, I inquired "Pat, do you know Jack Downing?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, and she said "I've told you all about him last week. Didn't you listen to me?"

"Did you? I thought you were talking about Algebra" I shrugged.

"Yeah, and then I talked about him" she retorted. A few minutes later she spoke "He is the reason why I learn so hard. He motivated me when I was down, depressed, at the lowest point of myself", her eyes moisten. Then I stood up, took some sheet of tissues, and handed it over to her. She stared at me, her eyes rained me suspiciously with thousands of questions that transfixed me. 

Nervously I clarified "Well, some of my classmates talked about him this afternoon. I just wondered who this guy is". Then she continued talking about that Jack.

From that, I was sure that this guy was some kind of teaser, moving on from one girl to another girl as he wanted without thinking a bit about what they felt. He was a fish that never satisfied and kept swallowing the water of life in his pond. I did not know why, but my hatred grew bigger and bigger toward him. Sometimes, I felt stupid, hating someone I did not even know, but I am a woman, I could and should think about other women's feeling.

The next Friday in flower day, I got another delivery, a red rose this time, and a memo written: There should not be a reason to love somebody, like I love you" but this time, he put his phone number. I tried to hide both the rose and the memo, for it was too dangerous if someone read it aloud, and Patsy would know.

In the evening, I tried to find out what his intention in giving me these things, so I called the phone number he left on the memo. "I've been waiting for your call" I heard a man's voice.

Nervously I inquired "Am I speaking to Jack Downing?"

"Yes" he said, "I am--"

But I interrupted "Would you stop doing all these jokes?"

"I am not joking" He said calmly "I mean it, all I ever said"

"Oh, please just stop it. I know you are good at flirting girls with your flowery words, but it won't work in me anyway" and I added "You're just wasting your time; you can do this with many girls, but not to me"

Then he answered "That's why I love you, I---"

I interrupted "I know you guys just love the skinny and sexy girls. You just make us as a stepping stone to gain popularity"

"No, I'm not. I mean, what's the point?" he paused, and continued "beauty is only temporarily. I don't count on that"

"Are you saying that love is blind, hah?" I retorted.

"No, love's not blind; it just doesn't need to see" he explained, and said  "Love is eternity, it won't seek beauty, beauty is perishable, it won't last"

"Whatever, and how about Patsy and anther girls you dumped?"

"I like Patsy as a friend. I just can't stand seeing someone depressed, so I raised her up. I motivated her"

"And how about the other girls?" I asked.

"Who do you mean? I just tried being friendly" and then he said "Well, it's nearly midnight, I'll call you tomorrow. Good night"

We had a talk on a phone every night, night over night and we got closer and closer. He was a nice person by the way, I had misjudged him all the time and I felt sorry for myself. 

One day, when I was learning prose, I realized that in characterization, we could get to know someone simply by hearing what another characters said about him, or by finding it out by ourselves, and now I know the right way. I felt in love with him for his sincerity, maybe some people would think that I was stupid or something, but I did not care, I am the one who know my own feeling, and what I wanted.

I had to do some math assignments, so I slept over at Patsy's house. I could not imagine how it would be if she knew. She kept telling me her feeling to Jack, how she loved him. I eager to say that Jack liked her as a friend, and we had been dating with me several times, but I just could not do it. I could not send her to her lowest point anymore.

These feeling of regret and repent attacked me on my heart. I just could not stand these burdens. One night I called Jack and said that our secret relationship would not work, and it had to be ended. He said without anger that the choice is mine, but I knew I broke his heart.

"Well, you are afraid of upsetting your friend, but you are upsetting yourself instead, upsetting us if I may say" He said.

But I had come up with that idea, I was born as a woman, I had to think about other women's feeling.

I don't know where he is now, what he is doing, but I am sure that he think about me, and although he looked strong, I know quite well that he is not stronger than I am. He just does not show it, does not want to talk about it with others, and just keep it with him.

Well that's my love story, a story of Jack.