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ad-flores-blog · 8 years ago

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The Girl On the Rooftop

DAN's NARRATIVE

I used to be the kind of guy who didn't believe in ghosts. For me they were just made up stories, tales to scare the children or to make the world more interesting. But everything changed the day after I had that accident. The accident that almost took my life. I could still remember how the pain throbbed in my head. It was breaktime, and I was walking outside the cafeteria which was under renovation. Part of the wall suddenly collapsed and before I knew it, I was under the rubble and could feel the weight of the debris pressing me down. All I could feel was pain all over my body. The next thing I knew, I was rescued and was inside the ambulance, its siren blaring loudly. To cut the story short, I survived. After I recovered, I went back to school. That day, everything was back to normal. Well, almost.

I came upon my two bestfriends at the hallway, we talked about the usual stuff. The teacher talked about this and that but my mind was floating away as usual. I was staring out the window, waiting for the bell to ring. When it did, I ran off and quickly made my way up to the school's rooftop. After classes, it had always been my habit to go up the rooftop and spend some time there. I prefer that instead of going straight home and witness my parents' never ending quarrels. So that day, I once again laid down my back on the cold rooftop floor staring at the blue sky being smeared with a fiery hue of orange as the evening approaches. This was my sanctuary every afternoon. Funny thing, it felt so right to say that this place is where I belong, where I always belonged.

However, I soon learned that not everything came back to normal. As my mind soared as high as the sky I was admiring, I heard this soft sound coming from somewhere near me. I sat up and was surprised to see a shape hunched down in front of me. It was like a mist taking shape. I gaped in disbelief at such a sight. It was a girl, parts of her kept on shifting like smoke but I could make out the white blouse she was wearing along with the navy blue tie and skirt that is the girls' uniform in our school. She was kneeling down while her face was buried on her hands so I couldn't really identify her, but it was evident that she had pale skin and her hair was tied up in a ponytail. She looked like the same age as me. I rubbed my eyes thinking that I was just imagining her but the girl stayed there, crying and sobbing. I was more amazed than afraid that time. I slowly reached for her, not knowing why I did... But before my fingertips could touch her pale arm, she looked up and I saw her face. It was like a smudged painting, and a huge black mouth opened to gape at me. That was when it all turned to fear and I ran for the stairs taking three steps at a time. I couldn't even scream, it was like the fear gripped me in the throat. When I reached the first floor of our school building, I just sat on a corner and calmed myself until my breathing returned to normal. I knew it couldn't be my imagination, all that time she was crying in front of me. I came up with only one explanation: There's a ghost on our school's rooftop. *** I once read a book about the spiritual world, and there was this theory there that people who experienced a life or death situation and were able to survive often come back as individuals more sensitive to what some call as 'the other side'. In simpler terms, escaping the brink of death can open your third eye. I thought about this the next day as I stared out of our classroom's window. I didn't tell anyone about what I saw. All my years in this school and I haven't heard any rumor about ghosts lurking in our building. It felt like I should keep it to myself, like there was a reason why only I was able to see her. The bell rang, and with my courage I made my way to the rooftop. I sat there, and moments later she appeared beside me. This time, she sat hugging her legs to her torso, her body still formed by something like smoke or mist. Her face was still smudged, like an ink blot shifting from time to time. I told myself not to run like I did yesterday, and so I stayed. Suddenly, the girl thrust her palm in the place where her left eye should have been, as if trying to wipe a tear. Then her misty body started to shake, she was crying again. I didn't feel fear anymore. I realized this spirit won't hurt me anyway so I just observed her, looking for any sign of identification. I found none. "Why are you crying?" I muttered before realizing that I just did. There was no response, the girl just kept on weeping. I didn't ask again. I sat there with her for some time, my eyes shifting from the sky to her, and back to the sky again. It was almost dark when the girl stopped crying. She stood up and started to walk for the stairs, my eyes following her steps. With every step the girl faded, until I was left alone sitting on the cold rooftop floor. *** For some days I've been going up the rooftop to see her. I tried going there on lunchbreak but she never showed up. On the contrary, I always saw her after the classes were dismissed, except for two consecutive days that somehow she didn't appear. She always sat there, hunched down, kneeling down, crying everytime. One thing I observed was that the harder she wept, the clearer her image becomes. Twice I saw her face clearly, it was weird but I found her beautiful. Even though she was crying hard, she looked beautiful. As her crying ceased, she would slowly fade until no sign of her was left. Those days I've been thinking about her. I asked some of my classmates and even the school staff if they've encountered anything creepy in the school. Nothing. As time went by, I've been more and more convinced that she needed something from me. On the eighth day, something came up. It was the conversation of two adults that I overheard as I was walking past the hallway. "Looks like the school got successful suppressing the news about that student's death." One of them said. "Tsk tsk, that's true." the other replied. "I never saw it on the news. After some weeks nobody in this school had been talking about it as well." I quickly turned around to see who they were but the hallway was so crowded that I never saw them. That afternoon when she showed up on the rooftop I told her about what I heard. I told her I'd find out what happened to her. "That's what you need right? For whatever happened to you to be exposed." But she stayed there, crying. Not a sign that she had heard a single word from what I said. "I'll help you, no matter what it takes." I said, not knowing why I felt determined… Why I felt concerned for this ghost in front of me, and why I felt that I was running out of time. ***

THE REAPER's NARRATIVE

I stood up from the vacant seat inside the cinema. This movie is boring, I decided. People screaming and running from a killer. Why do most people fear death? They'll all end up dying anyway. But thinking about it, they fear what they do not know. They never know what comes after their last breath escapes their body, that's why they're afraid. The possibility of hell, of being reincarnated as some insect, the fear of losing their loved ones, or just the fear of not existing anymore. These poor souls worry about leaving their world, even when the world is filled with pain and cruelty itself. And yet they still linger, for what they call emotions. Sunlight streamed down the busy streets when I got out of the movie house. I crossed the road, the vehicles were passing through my body. A car driver who passed right through me suddenly touched the back of his neck. He might have felt me. People are busy, going on different directions. People I'll get to meet someday, when their time comes. But for now, I have someone else to fetch. *** After I got off the bus, I walked for some distance until I reached their front gate. Many of the students were flooding out of the gate while I walked right past through them. There was a huge clock that read 5:34 PM, I knew then where to go. The sky had turned orange, I always liked the color. I climbed the steps of the stairs, higher and higher until I reached my destination. There were two people on the rooftop as I expected, their backs were turned on me. One was still a soul inside a living body and the other was the soul I was about to fetch. I took a few steps forward before I spoke in a voice you will describe as cold. "Your time is up, you need to go." I offered my hand. They never fail to look 'intimidated' when the souls I fetch see me. "W-who are you?" "I come by many names: Death, Grim Reaper, The Reaper of Souls… And I am here to fetch you, Dan." ***

DAN's NARRATIVE

"W-what are you talking about?!" I stammered. He is the reaper, and he is about to fetch me?! And he knew my name! "Don't you get it? You're dead." The talking creature replied in a voice that sent shivers to my spine. "Y-you're mistaken, I.. I can't be dead, I'm not dead!" I turned to the ghost girl beside me. All this time she was still crying. "Maybe you're talking about her!" I said pointing at her. "She's the ghost here!" My heart was a hammer in my chest. "Let me ask you a question, Dan. What do you remember after being crushed by that wall?" "The wall?" he's referring to my accident. "I… I remembered being on the ambulance… and I… I…" "Do you remember waking up in a hospital bed? Or seeing your parents after the accident? Do you remember anything like that Dan?" "I…. I was…" I racked my brain but I can't remember anything. Nothing but some of the cloudy faces I saw when I opened my eyes inside the ambulance. I tried hard but that was the last thing I could remember. "You were dead on arrival." the creature in front of me declared. "You died on that ambulance Dan." My chest was filled with dread. No, this can't be true. I'm not dead. "But my classmates! They can hear me, they can see me!" I protested. "They are but illusions Dan. This is not the world of the living anymore. Your subconscious made them up. Your instinct of survival did not die with you, you are making yourself believe that you still exist." "My subconscious? If I'm dead how could I have a subconscious?" I asked. "You have everything your living body had, except one: existence." the creature had a smile on its face, almost a warming smile. As he explained everything, I started to realize all the loopholes of this world. I don't remember going home everyday after school, or coming from home every morning. I've been inside this school building all this time. I looked up and saw that the sky had changed. It looked like a puddle of different colors, none of it looked real. "There are very few things that are real in this world Dan. One is this school, this is really your school. Let us say you're on the other side of this school, you occupied this place and made up your own world within it. Meanwhile, on the other side of this world, the living occupies this place." I can't say I understood all his explanation, but it didn't matter to me now. I cannot speak anymore, can't make a protest. All I feel right now is just defeat. The Reaper pointed to the crying girl. I realized that she now looked as clear as day. "She is real as well." I shot a confused look on the Reaper. What did he just say? She's real? "You mean-" "She is from the world of the living. Don't you remember her?" I looked at her, she had stopped crying and is now staring blankly at the rooftop floor. Her face, why does it look so familiar? "Oh no… Rian." Was all that I could mutter, but my girlfriend never heard me. *** I stared in disbelief at the girl in front of me. Rian, how could I have forgotten you? "Don't feel guilty," the Reaper spoke again. "Your mind blocked her. When this world was created, your subconscious kept it simple- a simple routine of your everyday school life, because any complication may make you realize this world's loopholes. She, was a complication thus she was removed. However, everytime she comes up here to grieve for you, the connection between you two becomes so strong that she goes visible to your world. Remember the two days she didn't show up? It was because of the weekends. There were no classes." I didn't care whatever the Reaper said anymore. I just watched her there, watched her closely. She kept staring at nothing, biting her lower lip. All this time, my girlfriend was crying her heart out in front of me, and all I did was watch. "Dan…" I heard her mutter my name before slowly bursting into tears once again. It broke my heart recognizing that voice of hers. That voice that so many times called my name in an endearing manner, that voice that so many times spoke to me and said the words "I love you Dan." I remember lying here on this very spot, our hands held tight while we watched the blue sky being smeared with a fiery hue of orange. We shared our dreams together, believing that we'll share our future together. We were wrong. "I'm sorry..." I realized I was crying with her. I put my hand over her cheek but felt nothing. Now I can't make her stop crying, I can't goof around and make her smile. I can never make her smile, never again. "It is time to go, Dan." the Reaper announced. ***

THE REAPER's NARRATIVE

I pity them. These poor souls wishing to stay, just because they couldn't leave those who grieve for them. Even if I tell them that it would take me years before I can return for their souls. I warned him, that it would not be long before the girl stops going up that rooftop. The living would need to move on after all, but the dead... It takes more time for the dead to let go. Just like most of them, he chose to stay. I could still remember his voice, trying to hide the sadness. "I'll stay here on this rooftop, until she stopped crying; until she stops coming up here. I'll be happy then, because I know that she's out there, living her life even though I'm no longer part of it." And with that, I left another poor soul alone in this cold cold world.

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ad-flores-blog · 8 years ago

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The Days and Nights of Claire

I open my eyes and once again, found myself alone in my room. The shutters were a bit drawn and some of the morning sunshine escapes through it to become thin strips of light on the floor. I sat up, feeling the stickiness on my naked body. The stickiness that came from the body fluids we shared last night. I could also feel the ache on my breasts when he squeezed and pinched them so hard. The raw pain in between my legs from his playing with my body all night. I didn't want any of it but there was nothing I could do. He dominated me. I got up and saw how messed up the bed was. Along with the tangled sheets were the things he needed to hype his pleasure. The 'toys' were there, I don't even know how many times they were used on my body. Along with these toys were photographs and a handkerchief. They were hers. The girl he's obsessed with.

Pictures of her he had taken from an account of hers on the internet and a handkerchief of hers he somehow got hold of (perhaps he stole it). He looks at the photographs while using my body for his lustful needs. The handkerchief he would put over his nose from time to time.

He's crazy, I know, but so am I for having him stay in my life. I got into the bathroom to take a shower, the memories flashing on my mind as the cold water consumed my body. I still remember when I was a helpless little girl. My parents died and I had to live with my Aunt, who abused me. Nobody knew about it. At first I was clueless, about what we were doing, especially that we were of the same sex. I got older, learned things, that what she was doing to me was hideous. However, there was no one else I could tell my story to and I didn't see what was the point, so I just let her do it whenever she wanted. But I never liked it. I hated it. I hated her. I was twelve when he showed up. I always thought of him as a strong boy, ready to protect me. When me and my Aunt were waiting for the traffic light to turn red so we could cross the road, he just showed up from nowhere and pushed her. She was hit by a truck and died immediately. There were no other witnesses. That was the day I was freed from her, thanks to him. However, since that day my Aunt died, he never left me. That psychopath. He'd be there from time to time, dominating my body while I can't do anything but let him. That day, he killed my Aunt and took over. I got dressed and went out for a walk. I brought some of his money. He always got money, I don't even know where they're from. In my case, I don't work. I wanted to be a nurse when I was little but ever since I was molested, it somehow shrinked my self-esteem. I don't have the courage to apply to any job, I don't even like talking to people. This is another reason why I depend on him, he brings the money in. I walked down the suburban road out of that house he calls home-I think, based on the Home Sweet Home doormat that must've not been washed ever since it was laid down on the front doorstep. I could feel my legs ache a bit in every step but I managed to hide it. I didn't really know where they would lead me until I passed by the university where 'she' studies. I guessed that because of the uniform she wore on some of the pictures. It was peaceful, or perhaps it was the morning. I still find schools and universities quite inviting. It had been a long time since I sat on a room filled with people the same age as me. Lately I could only imagine it: laughing at each other's jokes, building friendship, learning together, and growing up together. But in reality the only person I was able to grow up with was him. I slipped out of my daydream and entered a coffee shop. Here I will have my pancake, coffee, and anything I could pick up on the magazine rack. The remains of the morning I will spend here until it is time for lunch and by then I must move to a fastfood restaurant. But fate had other plans. As I finished my pancake the door in the coffee shop suddenly burst open, the chimes tinkling in an annoying noise. It was a young woman, she was wearing a white shirt tucked inside her tight jeans. She looked just like my age. Her hair was up in a ponytail by a blue strip of cloth and her face was frantic. She scanned the room. Stopped her eyes on me. "You!" I was scared then. She ran towards me. "Ma'am please do not disturb our customers." a waitress spoke, irritated by her. But that second the ponytail girl was already face to face with me, her eyes wide and pleading. She was holding both my hands. "Can I have some of your time, please? Uhm, do you have free time, an hour or so Miss? Please please pleeease…" I was scared and anxious that instead of saying what I should, I said the truth. I have time. "Y-yes.." "Yes?! Yes! You're perfect!" she pulled me out of my seat and before the waitress could make another protest she was already dragging me out of the coffee shop. I didn't have time to think clearly, I was suddenly taken away by the ponytail girl, the girl whose beautiful hair fell nicely to her shoulders on the pictures. *** We entered the University and kept on running, her warm hand pressed on mine. We ran until I could see where we were headed to. There was some crowd cheering in front of a stage, different colors of balloons, and a huge banner in colorful design with the words "The Week of Fine Arts". Somewhere, a speaker blared. "And now, looks like Contestant Number 3 has also found her complete stranger! Will she make it before the time ends? We'll see!" The next thing I knew, I was up on the stage seated on a chair. On my right were two other people on chairs and it seems like their faces are being painted by guys the same outfit as the girl who brought me here. But it was really the crowd that made me nervous. Until she whispered, "relax" and gave me her sweet smile. On her right hand she was already holding a palette and on her left was a paintbrush. "I'm sorry if I'd only ask you this now, are you or do you think you're allergic to face paint?" she asked me, her face too close to mine, perhaps so I could hear her over the booming voice of the announcer. "Is it common among people?" I asked back. "…No, no it is not." "Then I guess I don't have it." She chuckled. "You're cute... Hey, now don't make my canvas red." I knew I was blushing. "I-I'm sorry." "Hey, I was just kidding." her smile was comforting. "Now close your eyes and relax." I did. Few seconds later I could feel the smooth tip of her brush on my face and the cold paint it leaves in every stroke. I could feel the delicate movement of her hand as she traveled my cheek to my eyelid and up to my forehead, as she let the brush dance on the corner of my jaw up to my noseline then above my lips and beneath it. I could feel it in strokes and spirals, in points and circles. I could feel half of my face being transformed by her. "You can open your eyes now." And when I looked, I was in awe. Half of my face is like a night sky spiraling with stars, I'm like a galaxy of them. The different shades of blue, the circles of yellow and white, it was a majestic night sky, an astronomer's dream. "It's… beautiful..." I muttered on the mirror she was holding in front of me. "No, you're beautiful." she said with that perfect smile of hers. I saw half my face turn red again. She smiled wider. "You really are cute." I turned redder. "And Contestant Number 3 has raised her brush! Looks like she's done, the last to get here was the first to finish!" the announcer have announced on the blaring speaker. A few minutes later, the end of the time was announced. My anxiousness wore off, I am no longer intimidated by the audience in front of me, I was pleased actually, that everytime I look at them and they look at me, I could see their approval. The judges inspected us closely, I tried hard not to flinch as they study the details on the left side of my face. "What do you call this?" one asked, an old man with huge glasses. "Day and Night." she answered, smiling widely. The old man nodded and proceeded on studying my painted face. After the judges have returned to their respective seats and the scores have been tallied, the speaker was on it again. "And our winner is…" she had a genuine smile all through out even when the winner was announced and it was not her work. She ended up second, but for me she was still the best. "I really want to thank you..." she started as we walked away from the crowd, we were headed to the restrooms so I could remove the paint on my face. It'd be a waste tho, I wish I didn't have to erase it. "No, I thank you." I said, not even a stutter. She doesn't know how alive I felt being with her. I even forgot about him, who can just show up anytime. "It was fun, I didn't… I didn't know I could be this happy in my life." I told her sincerely, all smiles. "We don't even know each other's name for Heaven's sake!" she exclaimed and we laughed. She stopped to face me. I stopped too. "My name's Cara." she announced offering her hand joking with her posture trying to look like some army general or something. On her other hand she still held the paintbrush and the palette, the paint stuck to its wooden frame even if it was being held down. "My name is Claire." I said, my grin seemed so natural. "Nice to meet you Cara." And I shook her hand. "Nice to meet you too--" A rumbling sound cut her off. It was my stomach. Her eyes went wide. "Oh no, you haven't had your lunch! It's already 1:30pm! I'm sorry.." "No, it's okay." "It's not okay! C'mon, I have an idea. We'll eat on my apartment unit, I'll cook." "No, really.. There's no need to.." But she was already pulling my hand. "Come on, you don't have anything to do tonight, don't you?" "Uhmm.. Yes.. But…" "Someone's waiting for you?" "No.. No one.. I'm just… shy." She chuckled again. "Cute girl, you're coming with me." She said with a grin and so I let her take me. I know she haven't eaten as well. We were already running when I remembered something. "Oh… the face paint…" I said, touching it on my face. She laughed. "Don't worry about it. Here..." She dipped her finger on the still wet paint on her palette and drew with it on her cheek, something like a man's genital. "Now they'll look at me. Come on, let's go." It was my turn to laugh. She took my hand and we ran and laughed like crazy kids on an afternoon. When we were outside her apartment, I wanted to stop myself. I know I shouldn't be doing this. But as her warm hand pulled me, her smile so inviting, I could not help but just put my anxieties away. I want to stay happy even just for a day. Please, I don't want this to be ruined. I've been alone for too long. Inside her unit, after washing our faces, she let me pick from some of her clothes so I could change in her room. I chose a gray sweater and some shorts. After I have changed, she let me sit on her couch to watch television. Few moments later, she got out of her room wearing something like a black shirt that she had cut the sleeves off. It was quite large for her while the shorts she wore was so much shorter than what I wore. Her outfit revealed more of her smooth almond colored skin. "Don't melt the chocolate." she joked when she caught me staring. I quickly turned to the TV and kept my eyes there. When her back was on me again I then watched her smooth hair now falling down on her shoulders. This is the girl he'd been using for his sexual fantasies without her knowing. I should have stayed away from her. I'm only putting her in danger. "I'm sorry…" I muttered not knowing my voice was enough for her to hear. "Sorry for what?" "Oh... About…" I had to think of something, "about earlier. You didn't win.." "Hey, small thing. Probably they just thought I only painted half your face for my convenience, knowing that I was last to reach the stage. That was my original plan though, to find the prettiest girl I can find and paint her face half." she explained while I hear the sizzle of oil on the pan. "Why?" I asked. "Why paint only half? You're a great painter…" "No, greatness is not for me. I just had deep thoughts like, I think our perfection could only come from someone else." "How?" "You see, people get attracted with the good things we do, with our good half, but for someone to love our other half, the messed up and fcked up half, then that someone is what makes us perfect. Through his eyes you're not just the beautiful girl everybody sees but beyond that, that despite of all the flaws and imperfections, to him you are the skies and stars and the heavenly bodies." she put the platter with omelette on the table in front of me. "Please don't underestimate my dish." she smiled at me and winked. "Like what I am telling you, there is more than what you see." As I ate, I couldn't help but stare at her and wonder. Where did those thoughts come from? Had she fallen in love? Did she lose him? I looked at the only painting hanging on the wall. Two hands held each other, the one which looked like a man's hand was done by charcoal while the woman's hand was painted with colors. The combination of two mediums made it unique. "He was also an artist." she suddenly spoke. "He uses charcoal in his art, he's the best one if you ask me." "What… happened to him?" "He died." the words seemed so hollow and empty. I didn't want to push it any further. "I-I'm sorry…" I stood up and was about to go. "No Claire, it's okay." she reached for my hand. I took it back. "No, you don't understand. I should not be here, I'm sorry…" "Okay, just wait for a minute." and she ran for her room. Seconds later I could hear the tack-tack-tacking of a typewriter. I peered through the open door of her room, she was typing on a small typewriter. After that, she got the paper out of it and used a cutter to remove most of the paper. What was left, a small piece of the paper, she rolled on her palms, it was the size of a half cigarette stick. She gave it to me. "Take care Claire." her smile was warm as ever. I opened the rolled strip of paper when I got back home, in my own room. Hi Claire! Just call me if you need a friend ;) It said in typewritten letters. Under it was her phone number and under the numbers was her name. "Cara Mendez." I whispered. I have to burn this, if he sees this… I hurriedly made my way for the door, afraid that he might get here anytime. That was when I tripped from the top of the stairs. The last thing I could remember was the world spinning around me, beating me up in every turn, then everything went black. *** The breeze was cool that afternoon, the sun was high but the warmth was comforting to the skin. The paper bag I was carrying was already making my arm ache. When I was in front of the door, I reached for the keys deep inside my left pocket and slipped it on the doorknob. With a click, the wooden door creaked open to the dark living room. I put the bag on top of the kitchen counter and though it was dark, I have known every step going up to our room. The door to the room was slightly ajar. I could see some light that could only be coming from the lamp light on the bedside table. When I opened the door completely, time stopped. My heartbeat seemed to skip a beat. My breath taken away and my eyes wide open. "Cara…" My mind didn't know how to respond. Cara lay naked on the bed, her hands bound to each other and was tied on one of the bed's metal posts. Her legs were wide open, her ankles tied on opposite corners of the bed. Her mouth was gagged with a piece of cloth, her eyes were filled with horror and sorrow as they turned to me. I could still see her wet tears as the light reflected upon them. The toys he had used so many times on me were already scattered there on the bed with her. I felt my own tears well up as I stared at the helpless image of her. My knees lost their balance. How long have I been... This can't be… He... he raped her… And it's all my fault. I was crying on the floor then. This is all my fault… He used me… to get her… On the floor, I could see the rolled piece of paper I failed to get rid of. Why? Why should I bring her this kind of misery?… I could feel her helpless stare from the bed, they cut like knives inside me. I wanted to help her, to reach for her, I wanted to explain but it was already too late. The harm was done. I ruined everything. I stood up and wiped away my tears. This must end today. I must kill him, end him, now. I fished out my phone from my pocket and called the police. I described the situation, they said they'll come immediately. I pulled open the bottom drawer, inside was his gun he had kept for years. I gripped the handle, it was cold when it touched the sweat in my palm. I cocked the gun, ready to shoot with a pull of the trigger. I turned to face her. I was crying again, harder this time, and with every sob I could see her eyes fill with tears. Those eyes could be speaking so many things right now, but all I wanted to hear from them was forgiveness. "I'm very sorry Cara, it wasn't me... Believe me it wasn't me." more tears fell from my eyes. I rested the point of the gun on my left temple... And pulled the trigger. *** Everything seemed to flashback as I felt the cold steel boring through the warmth of my flesh. I was back on her couch, eating the omelette she had prepared for me, then I was up the stage, her face so close to me I could feel her breath. The vision was contagious, like a television constantly changing its channels. I could see the days and nights I have spent being myself. Random things I have done in my share of time within this body while he lurked at the back of my mind. Simple things that made me feel free, even for a while. And for another time the visions twisted around me and I found myself being that child again, lying on the bed with my Aunt naked over me. I know every scene. She liked to be called Master and wanted me to address her as a 'he' whenever I was on the bed with her. She liked being referred to as a man, and I was the helpless little girl she liked to rape. I blame her for torturing me, she was the root of all this. She gave life to my split personality. She gave life to him. For one last time, the world spun around me and I found myself lying on a patch of green grass. The scene seemed so familiar. A huge hand touched my shoulder and when I looked, a familiar face of a man was smiling down at me. "Dad?" I spoke with a child's voice. "Daddy?" Looking at him, I couldn't help but let the tears fall down my cheeks. "Hey," he chuckled. "Don't cry now my Princess." His strong arms lifted me up and I could see my mother approach us, her smile was always caring. She put her palm on top of my head and kissed me on the cheek. "Hush now baby, you're safe now." The last thing I heard was the distant sound of sirens approaching. No, Cara is safe now.

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ad-flores-blog · 8 years ago

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The Lost Words of Celia

THE UNSMILING TEACHER They were both teachers, they nurture minds of the youth and yet on different grounds. Both were young and new to teaching. She teaches Mathematics, dealing with cold numbers, fixed formulas, concrete answers, and absolute facts. She abides by the rules that the world follows. He teaches Literature, drowning his students with beauty of words, the music of rhymes, the conversion of emotions into lines. He takes a piece of the world and molds it into what his heart desires. It was after the classes were done and most of the students were gone, that he approached her and walked beside her as she was walking past the hallway. He hesitated first, and then managed a friendly "Hello." She looked at him for a second, and then straight ahead. "Hi." her tone was flat, a hundred and eighty degree angle.

For all the months he'd been teaching here, he never saw her smile. He always saw her serious face but it was enough to see her charm and beauty. However, the children had dubbed her one of their terror teachers.

"Ms. Ellyza right?" "And you are?" she asked back. "I'm Michael, Michael Gil. I teach literature." For a moment, a singularity of a second, she looked at him. He looked back, looking for that smallest hint of recognition from her eyes but found none. The next second she was looking straight ahead again, keeping her pace. "Nice to meet you." Her voice still flat, she kept on walking. He stopped his steps. *** A slip of paper was placed inside the drawer of her table the next morning. She knew it wasn't from one of her students, the handwriting was too perfect. She read it: Hey, don't forget to smile. One smile can lessen the loneliness in this world. But her face didn't move, she just stared at the piece of paper as if she was just checking her receipt in her grocery. She folded it and placed it inside the hidden pocket of her skirt. "Okay class, let's begin..." *** THE DANCE Sunday came and she entered the same coffee shop where he was having his morning coffee. In front of him was his journal, jotting down thoughts that run wild or those which float calmly inside his mind. He saw her, stopped short from writing, and watched her sit in one corner. Her hair was up in a ponytail, her eyeglasses making her eyes a bit rounder, and she wore a gray cardigan over her light blue dress. She's so beautiful, he thought. He could think of a hundred words that would describe her and yet none would suffice. He gathered up his courage along with his things and moved to her table. He smiled. She didn't. "Are you following me?" she asked, more annoyed than surprised. "No. I was sitting back there then I saw you enter. I thought you might like someone to talk to. You know, exchange views in teaching.." his curt smile was never fading contrary to hers. "Do you like me?" she asked, the question came out all of a sudden that he didn't have much time to think. Her face was stone, as if it was a question addressed to her student whether he did his assignment or not. "I think you're beautiful." he managed to answer, sincerely. "More beautiful than those I've met before." "You all say that." she smiled finally, but it was more of a smile when you see something silly. He didn't like that, that first smile she gave him. "I.. Uhh..." Think of something, he told himself. "I like that." He somehow regained the smile he almost lost. "Like.. what?" "I like the way you asked me that question, so direct, as if you're still in Math class." he chuckled. Her eyes narrowed, not knowing what his point is, but before she could reply his words were out again. "I like your eyes now that I see them closely," he continued staring back at her, boring into her soul through those windows he just spoke of. "They're like two deep wells casting out anyone who wants to swim in them." He could feel that she was trying hard not to flinch. "But now that I look at them, someone within close range can't do anything but drown in those eyes of yours." "I don't like you." she said after a short pause. "the way you use those flowery words..." "I couldn't help it, whenever I'm inspired they just bloom." She didn't budge. The walls around her were still solid and high. No trespasser could get inside. "Do you like me?" he asked with a playful grin. "I just said I didn't like you." "Not a bit?" "No." "Will you ever like me?" "Small chance." "How small?" "Smaller than one percent. Maybe 0.1%?" "You gave me a number, I'll make that a word, I'll call it hope." And she smiled, impressed. There, at that moment, started a dance between them. A game of It, not knowing whose game it is. Every Sunday meant a tricky conversation with him at the coffee shop, every weekday morning meant a piece of paper inside her drawer. Day by day the words got deeper into her. One morning, she didn't realize she was smiling like a child in front of her class. "Uhh.. So.. Let's begin." Falling for someone takes time, and so he waited. He was patient, he knew how delicate that dance was. Soon, it paid off. It bloomed like his garden of words. That feeling between them, the force that's pulling them closer to each other, that's love. She denied it at first but Cupid's arrow got deeper in her chest that she finally surrendered. Her 0.1 percent possibility of liking him surpassed a hundred percent. "I love you." she said, her heart raced. The walls were down, brick by brick he had broken them down. "I love you." he said. He didn't expect he'd succeed after that first day he talked to her. She wasn't even friendly. "I thought I'd never hear that from you." His heart was floating. "I love you." she repeated and gave him that sweet smile of hers. I thought I lost you. He wanted to tell her, but it was a secret he should keep to himself. Instead, he kissed her and thanked God for the moment. *** THE LONELY BOY AND THE GIRL WHO LOVED WORDS Once there was a lonely boy, his parents both worked at different offices. They were too busy to give him enough attention. At school, it was the same. He'd have a hard time making friends and in the end, he couldn't keep any one of them. His presence was just so… gray. He became that sad kid at school, always all by himself. Bullied at times. Until one afternoon that changed everything, changed him. He was sitting under a tree on the school grounds, still lonely, then a voice spoke to the lonely boy: "One smile can lessen the loneliness of this world, did you know?" And there she was, so bubbly and bright, smiling at him with a journal on her hand. "Hi, I'm Celia." she offered him her free hand, all smiles. "Uhm.. I-I'm Michael. Just.. just call me Mikee." he fidgeted awkwardly and finally shook her hand, which was soft and a little small, he observed. She hopped and sat down beside him, "I think people shouldn't be lonely." she said, pouting. "I'm kind of lonely, my classmates think I'm weird. I guess most writers are thought to be weird people." she was talking more to herself than to him. "Here, let me read you one of my stories." And there she opened up her journal and started reading. That was the seed of their friendship, that day by day would grow. They discovered they live near each other. She met his parents, he met hers, and their parents met each other. He wasn't lonely anymore, she filled him with her talent for words. She wrote poems and stories that honestly he found impressive, like they were written by experienced writers. The words danced through his ears, opened up his mind, and comforted his heart. She loved words after all, her passion was writing them, her mission was to put them to their rightful place, the place where they belong. The boy then knew where he belonged, to the girl who weaves stories and poems with words as her raw materials and her mind as the machine. "Do you know what I like most about poems?" she asked him as they lay down on the roof of the boy's house one evening, they were watching the stars. "What do you like most about poems?" he asked, his time with her made him a bit talkative, so he asked her in a complete question. "They can turn pain into beauty." The boy was quiet, he liked what she said. He liked every bit of thought that had gone through her mind and told him. He didn't know that the bulb above her head would soon fade out. *** LOST LINES They were on their first year in highschool when it happened. Her father learned that her mother was having an affair. He went berserk, his sanity was driven out by the broken trust and love between him and his wife. That night, their fight went too far, his anger was too much. In front of his daughter, he shot his wife. Five bullets pierced through her, two bullets struck her heart. After that, her father shot himself in the brain. She saw it all, the blood, the fear, the anger, hate, death, and pain. And then she saw nothing, and it engulfed her. He found her at the hospital room, she was attended by a doctor and a nurse. A man and a woman were also in the room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes staring straight ahead, staring at stale air, the doctor was asking her questions. "Celia, can you speak?" Nothing. "Do you know where you are Celia?" Nothing. It went like that for a while but nothing came out of her mouth. It hurt him, watching her silence as if her imagination had stopped and her voice had been blocked by the horrors that reality shoved into her eyes. Death. Mom. Dad. Death. The next time she woke up from her sleep, she can't remember anything. Not even him. Not even herself. *** "She's having traumatic amnesia. Her subconscious is trying to protect her from the traumatic stress she experienced when she witnessed her parents' death. Her subconscious does that by forgetting." The doctor explained to the man and woman. "What should we do Doctor?" the woman asked. "My advice would be… let her be. Do not force her to remember the things she had seen, her mind have become too fragile. I understand that you're the closest relative and pretty soon you'll be adopting her, I say she's still young, she can still have a new life with you. You can introduce yourselves to her as her parents, of course you'll take her to where you live, it is better if she wouldn't encounter anything from her past." "How about me?" They turned to the boy. He hadn't slept much after everything that happened. "Who are you?" the doctor asked. "Her friend." The doctor put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Her friend hm?" the doctor smiled, trying to be friendly. "Do you want your friend to recover?" The boy was avoiding eye contact. "Yes…" "Her mind might respond violently if she saw something or someone that reminded her of the past." "So you're saying… let her forget me?" "I'm sorry young man." But she's my friend, he wanted to protest, she's my only friend. *** NUMBERS She once loved words, the nouns and adjectives and verbs that told about the places her imagination had brought her. There were no limits but the ink of her pen and the pages of her journal. She had wonderful thoughts and ideas, the bulb above her head so close to bursting. She would write them down and then read to him. Her lovely words where he found comfort. Her various tales and intricate poems. She taught him how to love literature, and at such a young age, he learned to love her too. But the nightmare took those moments away from her. The monster was forced inside its prison, bringing with it all she had lived for. Her memories. She started over again-new home, new life, new name. She became Ellyza. She became a serious girl, losing her bubbly and joyful character. Her passion for words were gone as well. She didn't like words anymore, words that once were the core of her identity. Letters that let her speak the language of her heart were set aside for some reason she didn't understand. She didn't know why she couldn't write a poem when their teacher told them to. She didn't know why she hated writing essays. As if her mind closes when she forces herself to write something creative and knocking on its closed doors only annoyed her. So instead of the words and letters that once let her speak her heart out, she found comfort in numbers. Numbers numb her. They were her painkillers from the feeling of emptiness in her heart. She didn't even know where the feeling came from, but to her, numbers give the best company during her solitude. They were easy to deal with, just follow the formula, follow the rules. She didn't have to force her mind to do something it couldn't, to drink in the complexity of writing. She wanted to use her logic rather than her emotions, which were hard for her to express. She grew up that way. The night her parents died, it didn't just take two lives, it took three. *** Giving up on her was unacceptable. He continued his life without her, but he promised himself he would find her and make her love the words again. He studied literature, her talent he tried to achieve by hardwork. His trashbin was always piled with crumpled paper containing his half written stories and unfinished poems, realizing his ideas were lame at the midst of his writing. Over and over, that was the cycle until his skills improved. He'd learned enough and he graduated. He was free. He retraced her steps that day she was taken away and finally, he found her. *** FINALLY I am given another chance. He told himself as he held her in his arms. I'll never let you go, never again in my life. He planted a kiss into her forehead, it touched her soul. He was amazed by the way she's smiling, like a piece of the clouds made up in Heaven. Their hands touched, held, completing the gaps they were born with. It filled up the emptiness in her heart, it filled up his longing- for her smile, her eyes, her company, her words… It might take some time for her to appreciate words again but he knew the wait will all be worth it. Whenever he misses the younger version of her, he'll just do what he had been doing all those years: open up her journal he had kept after the incident and reread her stories and poems, hearing her young voice as he read them. No matter how much he wanted her to be her old self again, he knew better not to disturb the memories locked somewhere inside her head. He didn't want her to look back at that horrible past, he didn't want her to be that thirteen year old girl again, staring at the corpses of her parents. She experienced a most horrifying past and he faced tremendous guilt after that. That is why he's trying hard to fix her, to fix what he did. He could still remember the day he got home early from school. He got inside the house expecting himself to be alone and then he saw them, his father and Celia's mother on the couch, their lips pressed onto each other. They didn't see him, didn't hear him. He ran away as fast as he could and found himself in front of Celia's house. Yes, it was him who told her father, it was him who started it all.

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