Short Stories

I've told you, better think deeply, contemplate with an open heart, consider all possibilities before you decide. I thought then you would have an ear for it. I was mistaken, though.

Tuesday

I thought lamb would be perfect for a midday meal. I wasn't mistaken. The fire obeyed the wind's whim and my chops turned out "al dente." I rushed to my room, grabbed my phone and speed dialled.

Her voice whisked from the other line. She's walking. I could hear her break through the air pressure. She was out getting late lunch. I told her about my achievement. She broke into a short laughter punctuated by congratulatory sarcasm. My heart would have broken if I did not know her enough, or maybe i really did not.

Next day, I showed her the picture i took of my perfect lamb. She stared at it for a few minutes. Then she stood up and declared, "Looks like a burnt heart." ...

My heart.

Amelie

It was not an ordinary day after all. There was no rain and the evening breeze did not freeze the tendrils of hair all over my body.
That night, i lie on my bed pretending to look at stars glimmering. It will always be pretend in this light-polluted city. It makes me long for home.

Somewhere, near the central, she probably sits watching another one of them old films she loves talking about. Either that or she reads until she falls asleep. If not, she stabs time with every drop of her fingers on the keyboard.

That night i missed her call. I missed her.

Mi Barrio

She sat quietly on the bed, with eyes intent on the film playing on the computer. Her eyes were not as void as they normally are. The plot seems to brighten them up with hues only a happy sky evinces. I walked up to her. She did not budge. I sat on the bed, forcing her to move.

She clicked. The film paused. I paused. I clicked.

On the screen, instead of what she was watching, is a hamlet in my country. Tiny earth-tone houses scattered across bright green grass carpeting the foot of a white-capped mountain. She was instantly fired up.

"This is a real place?" She queried as a child might pester a mother seeing something completely unknown. "It's so pretty. I wanna go there."

Me too. I want to take her there.

Parking

She was supposed to have been dropped at the rear car park. I stood there eyeing all the cabs passing. The wind was blowing the hair of the trees. They rustle in the quiet night. The stillness was disarming.

In the midst of alcohol residue swimming in my vision and endless acid reflux, i imagined her figure emerging from one of the dark corners. Perhaps under a tree, or from behind a car.

An entity with her hair a neat coif on her head, her fairly new bright blue jacket, and a tiny black dress. Her soft soles and adorable toes covered in pristine white shoes. My gaze moved to meet her eyes. Brown moons inside fresh almonds. She finally caught my eyes, and her lips broke to a warm smile.

Then, the night critters whistled of the moon taking its leave. The night is aging and I am in fact asleep.

It was a delusion. The dark remains dark. She was supposed to have been dropped, but perhaps she got lost. Perhaps... She is lost. Lost to me.