blackboard: antics sleeps in my bed

My body decided, unilateral, that the need of rest was far more important than my duty as a student. Thus, it messed with my schedule and everything went downhill from there.

At ten past seven, when I was still on bus, I grumpily accepted my fate that I was late and the consequence was not being able to follow the first and second hour, which was unfortunately, physics.

At half past nine, as I stared at the blackboard, I cursed my luck because in a week from now, there would be an exam about this lesson and I missed it.


for daily prompt – fifteen credits. the title’s purely from title generator, for i have no idea right now.

king abroad

the picture belongs to the rightful owner, which is not me.

This will be the sixth, I muse tiredly while eyeing at the old gramps, who’s discussing something with my man right now. This is our first meeting and believe me, I don’t hold any grunges towards him—but, damn it, his white hair reflects the sun.

My hand itches to tear it. I lift it up, a mere centimeter left between my hand and that damned hair before my man cries.

“Sheila! Cut it out!”

I huff in exasperation. I am a boy, man! I want to say, but instead, a whine—ehm, manly protest comes out. My man glares daggers at me, and if looks could kill, he would be dead right now and then because of my stare. Or I would because his glare is really scary.

“He’s a boy.” A high-pitched voice pipes up. I look at the boy beside the old gramps, whom I notice just now.

Hear that boy, man! I want to say, but it comes out as a neigh and the boy gawks at me.

“Grandpa, he understands me!” He cries joyously. “Could we buy him?”


for this week’s flash fiction for aspiring writers. thank you.

i have 362 pies, in which are listed below

[all photos below belong to the rightful owner, thanks.]

there are 86,400 seconds in a day and i spend about half of them reading fanfic and imagining something that should be imagined by people way older than me. and oh no shit don’t look me like i’m a closet pervert because i am not. i mean, like, is it normal for a teenage girl to think about future?

… alright, maybe that’s not a good way to say something. because sometimes, when i stare at the untreated garden of my house, i think; maybe it would be good if doomsday comes soon. look around, people barely have humanity, there is war in middle east, global warming issues, then about food and population growth, technology evolving like there’s no tomorrow. sometimes, i compare between my childhood and children’s nowadays. huh. it really was great, no phone and boybands and girlbands. where i had nothing to worry about besides my math homework (and it was still 1+1).

i miss this kind of homework. ugh.

but then again, will people be ready? the world is getting worse. the signs of doomsday have appeared, the end is near. i don’t know, talking about this always makes me feel like i am a sinner, but actually i am not. i’m not a priest, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that we are no sinners – for we have been redeemed.

nowadays. just, yeah. hooray.

yet, i don’t want to die. thinking about future and its possibilities leaves me with wonder. even though it has already been proven that past people’s thought about future – ugh, classic things, futuristic things and skyscrapers, flying cars everywhere, clean and green environment, and other things – are all wrong because, look around, this is future. yes, it’s true about skyscrapers and futuristic things (handphone, laptop, etc.), flying cars have been made – but not officially being sold, however still – and last but not least, the environment. ha ha ha. you bet.

f u t u r e. expectation.

f u t u r e. reality.

there’s a reason why i prefer fiction to reality. sometimes the best solution is in imagination, not in reality. then again, i don’t live in my imagination. if i lived there, maybe i could be a narnian queen who can avada kedavra people with evil smirk and have nine lives. ha. wake up, fleur.

ha!

gloves

In Sheridan’s house, when everything was shaped and changed – they had missed something. Well, not really. On the window sill, there lied a pair of gloves, once as white as the snow. Now, they barely were dirty white, dust-covered, and there was a stain of ink on the left pair.

They held a lot of story, and right now – it’d be delivered.

Everything began when Mai Sheridan found them.


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Choose Your Adventure.”

the sliver of the dream

the month was August,
it was meant to be prosper, joy, happiness
yet there was nothing left except –
peoplelyingdeadtherewasalotofbloodeverywhereeverywheremomi’mscaredwhereareyou

they called it the bloodiest month,
too much people falling in deep slumber,
unawaken.

it kept happening.
dordordordor repeted like a mantra,
the smell of blood lingering in the air,
tainted.

so did the earth.
therewasloveunsaidundeclaredtherewaspaintherewasregrettherewasmemoriestherewasdeath

0

what’s the difference between humans and animals?
nowadays, they tell you; we are in higher level than they are.
in war, they told you; nothing.

(in 5 am, someone woke up, gasping, sweating, emotionally exhausted.
there was nothing left except a yellowish paper of iloveyousomuchdon’tforgetthat, a blood-stained gun, lots of memories, and a very weary soul.)


– eight, in chinese, means a lot; wealth, prosper, etc. look here.
– august is the month dedicated to julius caesar, who was a Roman general. so, the bloodiest month then. also the first world war happened in july-november. august was included.
– i just want to write a good muse of independence-battle poem but it turned out to be like this. enjoy your war-genre poem.

puppy love

You. Have. To. Be. Kidding. Me. Like, seriously.

“Jasmine, dear,” I call out, resisting the urge to smack my head against the nearest wall right now. The one I call, the dearest of all girl I’ve ever met, lets out a quiet hum.

“What is it, dear?” After playing a while with whatever-I-don’t-want-to-say-now, she directs her attention towards me and it takes all my will to keep myself from tearing my hair.

“Please, please, why do you let all these puppies come in?”


for daily prompt, moved to tears. because the most beautiful thing in the world is to see lots of cute puppies.

Schön Rosmarin

The day I met you—it was the beginning of the spring. In the playground, on a lonely igloo along with three children who looked you in wonder and awe as you played the melodica. I remembered so much that it hurt to see your headstone, your favorite canelé, the violin, the photo, the memories.

I wasn’t strong. There was time where I just wished these had been a nightmare. I would wake up and then see you every morning, in the school. Laughing and joking.

As the time went, now I realised why, beside the Liebesfreud, Kreisler made Liebesleid. Because you couldn’t feel love until you had experienced both the joy and the sorrow.


your lie in april isn’t mine, sadly. i really failed to show some angst, didn’t i?


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Turn, Turn, Turn.”

funeral

the first time i knew about death is when i was three years old. at that time, i really didn’t know about anything at all. there were people crying around the coffin where my father was lying. my eyes were fixed on him, his rigid form, his pale face, his closing eyes, and it ended on peaceful smile.

my shoulder seemed heavy. a sidelong glance confirmed that there was my uncle’s hand. he smiled wearily, as if he was no stranger to this. i would too, soon.

i’m here

Two eyes met each other in grim. They knew someday, someday they’d arrive at this point – in which there was nothing to do, except to surrender – however, it never crossed their mind that it could happen in such a fast pace.

They had been aware about the consequences, from the very beginning. Once it had been done, there would be no turning back. In the end, they would die. Either as winners, or rebels.

At this moment, it seemed that they’d be recognized as the latter.


also as an entry for daily prompt.

evidence

Never let your emotion blind your logic.

They sat in the comfy café, he sipped his tea and it’s the first lesson he received.

(—and the first and foremost rule he broke.)

Not some kinds of cool techniques, or logic tests. Just a simple sentence consists of seven words.

He scoffed at that, and muttered about his feelings which already died. All he got were a knowing smile and a light comment from his statement.

“Human’s emotions never die.”

Guess it’s true.