There were supposed to be more prequels..but I'm sleepy.

She drives aimlessly in the rain; tears, hope, and longing striking through her. The long stretch of road makes her aching intensify with every minute. She arrives. The rain has stopped. She gets out of her car just as he pulls in to the parking lot. He pulls off his helmet and she stands there. Their eyes meet after what feels like an eternity. All the rehearsed arguments, all the hatred, all the pains just melt away as they rush towards each other in a forgiving embrace. No words are spoken. Only a gush of warmth emanates through them. They vow to be together til the end and live happily ever after.

The end.

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Reality check.

She drives aimlessly (because she has no idea where she’s going and she couldn’t read a map even if it were the Idiot’s Guide version) in the rain (it’s not rainy season!! And even if it were raining, why on earth would you choose a rainy night to drive somewhere you’re not even sure where it is?); tears, hope, and longing striking through her (more like “Oh God, I’m lost. I’m screwed. I’m gonna run outta gas I the middle of nowhere and be eaten by dingos”). The long stretch of road makes her aching intensify with every minute (Again, that could also be the feeling you get when you think you’re about to be eaten by dingos). She arrives (Ok, let’s assume by some miracle she does). The rain has stopped (Seriously, stop it with the rain). She gets out of her car just as he pulls in to the parking lot (Coincidence? I think NOT!). He pulls off his helmet and she stands there (What else would she do, put her hands up and yell “The dingos are coming!! The dingos are coming!!”?). Their eyes meet after what feels like an eternity Their eyes meet and she gives a large potato smile. All the rehearsed arguments, all the hatred, all the pains just melt away as they rush towards each other in a forgiving embrace (Probably they’d just stand there looking at each other). No words are spoken (Don’t even get me started on this one!). Only a gush of warmth emanates through them (It could be pee..better check).

Here’s a more accurate guess of how things would unfold:

Woman desperately Google-maps the place. She tries to download it to her phone only to realize she’s not as tech-savvy as she would like. She gives up. Opens a bag of chips and falls asleep. The end.

Awww, what’s the fun in that? Ok, so let’s assume she doesn’t give up, eh?

Right, so she gets dressed up, picking her newest clothes and painting her face all pretty and sets off. She drives cautiously and peers at all the signboards telling herself she is an idiot for doing this and all the while wondering how she’s going to find her way home later. Never mind, the journey continues.

She arrives at the place. Drives up to the apartment building and rolls down the window. “Sorry, only registered tenants allowed in”. So she parks outside only to realize the apartment is a whole complex of seven gazillion blocks!! Never mind, let’s assume the journey still continues. Kindly be reminded in this version, it is night time.

She patiently awaits (Read: stalks) to catch a glimpse of his return (Read: hands on steering wheel, eyes slitted into tiny lines). Then there he is!! He revves past her, and she quickly (Read: grabs the steering lock, locks the steering, jumps out of the car like a tumbleweed and makes a dash for it.) leaves the car. Now for the sake of my sanity, let’s assume he doesn’t entirely disappear and she actually catches up to him. So she patiently lurks in the corner where he can’t see, and waits for him to get off his bike. She scurries (Read: it looks like something a human sized hamster would do when it sees a fresh tomato) towards him and he hears the large creature coming at him and they both stand there. Stunned. She gives a large potato smile. He opens his mouth “Dam* it b*tch, how’d you find out where I live? I’m calling the cops. Get the h*ll away from me!!”

The end.

Time and Power.

There’s a rainbow. The colors are faint and it doesn't sparkle. Sometimes you’re not sure whether it’s there, of if it’s just a figment of your imagination. But it is there. Whether you walk past it with your face hunched over your gadget, or if you’re chasing the bus that just moved away, it’s there. You can try to reach out your hands to it, try to stretch out and grasp it, but you will come up empty handed. You choose to believe in something that you can only see, that you cannot touch, that you cannot taste, that you cannot smell. But it’s there. I hold on to the faith that it is there. It might not show itself all the time, it might not appear in the same place, it may not be the same strength in color, but when I see it, I know, it is there.

‘Twas a day of merriment and valour. One where chivalry and grace was in the air. The palace dined and laughed and danced. They chanted their graces and gave thanks to the Lord for His generosity. They ate heartily; lavish meals were continuously served on the grand tables. The men drew their strengths and the young knights were trying their hands at the wheels. The women, in their fine dresses and tresses exchanged excitements and sorrows as they brought out the meals. Warm embraces, kisses in the air, twinkling eyes, and the welcoming stare. They all gathered and worked and laughed.

‘Twon’t be a tale worth sharing if no tragedy had occurred. And sure enough here in the lands of The Dry Shredded Meat, Sir-Rant-A-Lot finds a devastation that hits close to home.

Sir-Rant-A-Lot has spoken of a certain feline he has taken a dis-fancy unto. Yet he too has learned that time and blood lines can embellish such feelings. The feline, though incapable of wisdom and wit, borne over by shallow thoughts and murkish humor, has found a fondness from Sir-Rant-A-Lot. And to this Sir-Rant-A-Lot must declare she is a grand surpasser of Tweedle-Dee. And tonight, this hot and dry, night that started with merriment and glee, ends with hidden tears when the two tales collide.

‘Tis custom of The Dry’s that they give out potions to the wizards who come to lend voices to the ceremony’s chants. The potions need be embellished and fragranted to please the warlords; as is the custom. The maidens were ordered to prepare such potions and embellish them with a fine silken hue of the Flamingos. There, who would have known it shall bring such grief to one small soul.

Sir-Rant-A-Lot must admit that time may heal a wound, but a wound of the heart is not as easily sealed. No one knows if the scars mean that the pain is forgotten, or it has merely been buried so the body may continue its adventures..and so this silken hue was placed, flaunted, glaring into the maiden’s eyes and as Sir-Rant-A-Lot would admit, would feel like a dagger straight to the heart. This valiant maiden hid her wounds and pain and smothered her pain with banter and candid jostles, but Sir-Rant-A-Lot knows that the pain of the past never really goes away. One can only pray that nothing brings back to those memories of pain. But for this poor, unfortunate maiden, the dagger strikes deep and she is left in the middle of the palace merriment to bleed silently; each minute feeling like fingernails being pulled out from her fingers one at a time.

When she is finally alone, she does the only thing a maiden may do to regain her strength. She sheds her tears. She lets them flow and locks herself away and prays for time to pass so the pain will lessen. Pray that with time it will not be painful to be reminded of a joyful past. One that did not include her. Pray that what time she has had has built a strong wall to keep the monsters out. Pray that someday her smiles won’t be weighed down by distant thoughts.

Pray.

A bout of nostalgia

There is a hotel….majestic, tall, the vision of luxury at its finest. It overlooks what I call “our local central park”. I am reminded of the day I stared up at it and spoke of staying there someday. To spend day ambling through the mall, and the night overlooking the park below. To jog through the park the next morning. Remember munching sour gummy strips by the waters. Remember how cheese and caramel go surprisingly well together. Remember the tales over and over again of the water fountains. To take a sip from the water coolers. Aching feet rushing across the pavements to the parking lot. Sweaty hands and oily faces. It didn’t matter then. Lights, sights, senses,..

Paranoia at its finest.

You see in movies how the girl goes to a coffee shop and a guy approaches her and chats her up. They spend the morning talking and when one of them has to leave they exchange numbers. A few days later one of them calls the other, one thing leads to another…yada yada yada…

I’ve always wondered if it really happened in really life. But realistically speaking, if some random guy comes up to me asking me about the weather and what color my dog is and where I like to buy my donuts and (Ok, you get the idea), I’d be like “Dude, are you trying to sell something to me or are you going to rob and kill me later?”

Honestly!! Is it just me being paranoid or is it just freaky? I know on the one hand the person could just possibly be genuinely interested in you as  person, but then it could also be a serial killer plotting your awful horrendous death later.

Fear

My heart stopped. I swear it just stopped and for a moment I was dead. Not the death where your life flashes in front of you, not the death where you’re slowly wafting towards the light; just one where everything just stops. Silence. Eyes blinking in desperate hope that it will just go away. Fingers curled at my side digging into my own flesh. Body frozen. Legs tense. My eyes locked on the small mound of hair in front of my eyes. Reality struck that I was not alone in my single-bedroom. I’d awaken to a horrible sub-reality. It was small, neat tussle of hair hanging down its back. Pain seared through my arm where my fingers were clawing in. I wasn’t dreaming. It was real. It. I reminded myself to breathe. Terrified that the small unknown occupant of my bed would turn around and I would see its face. Does it even have a face?

Powerless, unable to move, panic rushing through every crevice of my existence. “It” moved slightly again. The hair that hung from the small fist-sized head was definitely human. But it couldn’t possibly be. My neck tensed, arms locked, head frozen. I tried to pull back. Again “it” stirred. I’d been asleep long enough to warm my bed. I wish I hadn’t been awaken from my slumber. Trying to close my eyes, but it was as if they belonged to another entity. I was forced to stare at the foreign head of hair a few inches from my face. I try to fight the fear that enveloped me. Blanketed me. Not even the warmth of the comforter offered me solace. I was trapped.

Gently closing my eyes, I summon the strength to take a deep breath. Eyes, please obey. Victory! I open them and to my utter horror it was still there. I try to pull back again. “It” stirs again. I shouldn’t move. I don’t want to anger “it”. I force myself to take a deep breath. Suddenly I smelt it. A faint, familiar scent coming from the small head of hair. It couldn’t be! My heart races. A thousand thoughts run through my head, contemplating my next move. I realized that there could only be one thing to explain how this could all come to be. Why it all happened to me.

…..and this is why I decided it was time to get my hair cut. ‘tis a horrible thing when one can’t recognize their own hair in their bed.

...and I try...

His eyebrows were furrowed. Eyes tense. The brim of his eyes welled with tears. His stare was sharp enough to cut through glass, yet it was staring at nothing. A trickle of teardrops fell from his eye, and ran down his nose; pausing at the tip. His fingers trembled; unsure of wanting to wipe away the tear. Fingers slightly shaken, slowly clench into a weak fist. He lifts it slowly up to his face, and tries to get rid of the tears. Beside him is his wife, whose arms are folded across her body. Closed off to the world. Her face is blank. No tears, no red-rimmed eyes, no furrowed eyebrows. Instead, she betrays no emotion with her luminous stare. Her breath is deep and calculated. Her hair immaculate, her complexion flawless. The only sign of her grief is the slight tension in her jaw; and the occasional tremor she lets out as she tries to swallow.

They are more afraid of you than you are of them.

Crystal clear waters. Floating aimlessly in a dream. Face tilted towards the sky, eyes closed. Slight weight of sunglass brim on the curves of cheekbones. Warmth of the sun against the breeze of the open air. The tingle of skin when the wind changes direction. One hand laid out against the side of body. Fingertips barely touching the outer thigh. The other hand draped across the body, fingers curled inwards. Shallow breathing. Strands of hair caught in the breeze. Legs crossed at the calves, toes pointed forward. Shoulders laxed, occasionally moving to shift weight to balance the movements of the waves.