magic (name in the river)

You might never notice this, but there was always a spark flying in the air when you said i love you. It was evolving—the first time, it was love, a simple innocent child-like love; your typical puppy love. It grew to a full-grown one, the i-am-happy-if-you-are-even-though-actually-i-am-not kind of love. The one in which one could do so much for their beloved one.

It didn’t stop. Actually it evolved into the love in which it meant nothing but lies.

somehow it explains about aviate—you know, the type of love where one’s sent flying. your typical teenage love, if i may add. 


share your world (captain of secrets)

What’s your favorite charitable cause and why?
unsurprisingly, i don’t know the answer of this question. contrary of what people know about me, i have heart, thank you very much. i may appear uncaring and nonchalant, but i still have feeling. maybe, for AIDS and cancer patient, and for people who are suffering from a disease which has no cure until now. for people, who really want to feel the joy of living in this world. for people in need. maybe.

What color do you feel most comfortable wearing?
i enjoy gray and white. but i’m more comfortable with the former because the latter… well, you see. there’s a tendency of white clothes—it is often transparent. recently i bought a long-sleeve gray shirt and guess people around me will have to bear with me wearing it a lot.

If you had your own talk show, who would your first three guests be?
first of all, i doubt myself will have a talk show because i’m not a talkactive type, you see. but, let’s go with what-if. my first guest would be mr. aoyama gosho because i have a lot to be discussed with him. for example, it’s been 700 chapters or more of detective conan, and let’s face it: our lovely main character doesn’t appear to grow and i’d like to question him about that. and also, how can he think one thousand ways to murder someone with fishing rod? hm, suspicious, suspicious. the second one would be mr. enrico fermi. his logic was the best, because a man shouldn’t be able to count the energy of the nuclear by pieces of paper. really. the third one, would be mrs. jk rowling. i need to know why, after seven times her script of harry potter being rejected, she still had faith and here we are now, jk rowling’s the richest woman in britain. if it were me, i’d be so depressed. huh. guess i have to learn from her, a lot.

What are at least five places you’ve enjoyed visiting?
Pantai Bira, Sulawesi Selatan, Indonesia. (because how can people say no to tropical beach, and white-sand above else?)
Pantai Kuta, Bali. (same thing as above)
Tanah Lot, Bali, Indonesia. (the sunset’s really good at there)
Garuda Wisnu Kencana.
the fifth slot, will come at the right time.

Bira, Indonesia. —the photo’s not mine, it belongs to the rightful owner.

What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
i’m grateful for keeping alive. for being able to breathe normally. for being me. for all the things God has given me, either good or bad, for His plans, and for the bright future He has promised. i can write many things, but this one practically saves me from wasting so much words: for everything. as for what i’m looking forward, maybe, a good place to spend my holiday. i’m stuck at home.

i found this challenge and was quite enthusiastic about it. so here’s my answer!

muse (element of the void)

“Goddammit, Rachel, stop imagining things!”

Rachel grimaced slightly, then closed her eyes tightly. She tried to imagine something else, beside fire-breathing evil dragon which somehow bore a striking resemblance with the one she saw in the movie of Doraemon—

Gerald’s cry of Rachel, stop! and the temperature in the room increased dramatically made the girl bite her lips and she forced herself to imagine a brand new Ferrari and a bag full of dollars in it.

She opened her eyes as Gerald cried in joy, and muttered boy under her breath.

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.



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.”