Excerpts from the book I might write // Part One

What if you woke up and saw your face on someone else’s body? And then when you looked closer, that body is also yours. What would you do?

//

I woke up and felt normal. I’ve been feeling this way since last Tuesday. Nothing’s changed. I felt nothing. No happiness. No sadness. It began three days ago, when I was in the brink of falling into the void. I can attest that you really do see a thin string attached to your index finger. The string is your only hope to get out of the cliff you’re dangling over. Instead of making an effort in pulling myself up, I grabbed the scissors from my pocket.

When you fall into the void, you realize it’s not dark. It’s not scary. It’s not what they describe as complete emptiness. Contrary to that, the void is the brightest place I’ve been in my entire life. It was like that one moment I opened my eyes when I woke up from the accident when I was ten years old. I was blinded by the light in that hospital. In the void, I was swimming in complete brightness. I was drowning.

I’m not in heaven.

I just know that I’m not in heaven. My father said people who kill themselves will never go to heaven. But I didn’t kill myself.

//

I opened my eyes and saw her.

She was petting my dog. She was eating my cereal. She was wearing my clothes. She put on the bracelet my mother gave me. She kissed my boyfriend before she went to my job. She was living the life I was supposed to live.

All my life I’ve been searching for the things I cannot find, wishing for the things I cannot attain, and chasing the things I cannot grasp. But now I feel like my brother and I finally have something in common. He was a mute. He wanted to speak but he cannot. I, on the other hand was “normal” in the eyes of society. He wanted to live normally and so he did. But me? I wasn’t grateful for what I had. And now, I want to run away from my mistake of running away when my life was perfectly planned ahead. I’m not me anymore. I turned into a bird without wings.

How do I get out of this mess I put myself in? I cannot just un-jump from the cliff. I cannot just un-drown from the endless white walls. I cannot just take back the words I said to hurt those I wasn’t supposed to hurt, and my heart cannot just heal from those who wasn’t supposed to hurt me. I cannot un-kill myself. But I know I didn’t kill myself.

And now I am stuck here, looking at that beautiful girl I once despised in the mirror. At first, I didn’t really recognize who she was. She looked so different from what I’m used to seeing everyday. I didn’t notice her hair, her waistline or her branded outfit, the things I cared about before all this happened. What resonated with me was how happy she looked. Her eyes screamed happiness and her face glowed in contentment.

But I can hear her thoughts. I can hear every word she only speaks in her mind. I can hear them. I’m not sure if she is me and if those thoughts are mine like how that Gucci handbag she’s using once belonged to me.

I can hear her thoughts. I can hear how she’s ranting about the morning traffic, how she hates the after taste of her coffee, how she misses Froggie the dog, and the dinner she’ll cook tonight. From what I remember, I can’t recall thinking those thoughts. In fact, I loved the traffic since I have time to do my make-up. I like the taste of the coffee, even the after taste. Well, we both miss Froggie, that’s for sure. But I don’t cook dinner. Only microwaved dinners or take-outs. I can hear her again.

Perhaps I’d try to speak to her.

//

// This is a new segment in my blog. I might write this in NanoWriMo or somewhere if there will be some readers who might want to read this, which I highly doubt. I might not write this now but I might write it in the future. I may not even write this forever. Forgive me, I’m just lazy or the seasonal writer’s block may hit me whenever. Not continuing to write this for a time doesn’t mean anyone can take this intellectual property that belongs to me and claim it as theirs.

© 2015 by Cxnderella. All rights reserved.

No part of this excerpt may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the author. //

Flash Fiction-ish // Rest in peace

What will you do if you had no choice to choose between your two children? 

//

Rosie loves Skippy. Martie loves Nutella.
Rosie loves orange juice. Martie loves Pepsi.
Rosie loves school. Martie loves parties.
Rosie loves books. Martie loves music.
Rosie loves her natural blonde hair. Martie loves her blue dyed hair.
Rosie loves to help me cook in the kitchen. Martie loves to secretly smoke weed in her room.
Rosie always stayed. Martie always leaved.

My daughters are two different people. Sometimes I wonder if one of my drunken nights out with my friends caused me to have drunk sex with a stranger, a strange father to an estranged child.

It was a normal day when the ground started to shake and the walls started to tumble down. People outside were running for their lives. Rosie ran to the left corner while Martie ran to the right. It was unexpected. No one knew that this disaster would happen on this very day both my daughters are at home with me.

Our shelf on the left side was falling. Falling close to Rosie. The large refrigerator on the right side was already tilting to the right. Tilting close to Martie. I wanted to run to both directions but I am only one person. It was that moment, all my memories to both my children flashed before my eyes.

What will you do if you had no choice to choose between your two children? 

//

I was writing a eulogy to my daughter. My family was down to nothing after our house was wrecked. But nothing stopped me from writing a eulogy to my daughter.

I love you Martie. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you to be happy. I wanted to save you but I couldn’t. Leaving you doesn’t mean I didn’t love you as much. I am truly sorry for being your mother.

//

My husband and my daughter were accompanying me to the cemetery. I was looking at the grave, reminiscing the good times I had with my first-born. I was suddenly interrupted by Robert.

“Honey, I know you want to stay here, but Martie needs to attend her baseball practice. We need to go.”

//

It was Martie who died that day.

When both of their lives were in danger and both of them needed my help, I know I was only going to save one and I will fail the other- and I choose my first born, Rosie. I ran to Rosie’s rescue but a metal pole impaled her from behind before I could come to her aid. I saw her face. I heard her last words were my name.

Martie managed to run to safety. But it was Martie who died, because I chose to let her die. And I will be sorry for that for all the days of my life.

It was you who died that day.

I hope you rest in peace, love; while I rest in pieces.

Flash Fiction-ish // Memento Mori

She held it close to her heart.

She held it as if it was drifting away from her chest. She tried to walk with her trembling knees despite the harsh cold biting on her exposed cheeks. She tried to caress the wintry hands of the little one.

It was stained red. Red like the day he told her they’ll run and let their love take them far away. Red like the dead roses he gave her on the day she said she was with child. Red like the stale spaghetti they tried to eat from the trash bins. Red like the walls of the abandoned house they trespassed in order for her to give birth.  Red like the tears that stained the porcelain face of the little one whose voice she never heard.

//

The night was red.

“You don’t have to do this.” He pleaded.

“It’s not your fault.” She said.

“You don’t have to leave.” He replied.

“But I don’t have to stay.” The last words she spoke before she walked closer to the train railways. It was dead quiet.  A bleak sound of metal interrupted the miserable ambiance.

The night was red. Red like death.