ranawrites

For @writersmonth

You don't destroy. You don't make disasters. You don't cause havoc.

Your hands are clean, never touched blood. Your fingers never wrapped around a weapon.

But it's because you realized that physical pain is temporary. A broken leg would heal, and a destroyed city would be rebuilt.

So you made them relive the worst time of their lives, over, and over, and over again. Made them see it in front of their eyes, live it in flesh and bone.

Over, and over, and over again.

For @writersmonth

In a crystal glass ballroom, I first met you.

And in a crystal glass ballroom, I fell in love with you.

But in that ballroom, your hand was promised to another.

And I was left alone in my silver throne.

I could still feel your fingers around my hand. I could still see your eyes, smell your scent.

I watched the sun filtering in-between the greenery.

I thought of gold, youth, and my days by your side.

But now I'm alone in my chair, counting my days, waiting to be untied with you.

In heaven or in another life, as long as I'm with you, I'll be as happy as I first met you.

For @writersmonth

For @writersmonth

"Oh you're the owner of that Jewelry place?" She asked, puffing out a cloud of smoke, adding another layer of haze in the small, dark, classic bar.

"The one and only," he answered, tipping his vintage hat. A proud, leering smile on his face.

"Didn't it get robbed a few months ago?"

His face morphed into fifty colors before he swallowed, "So word did spread, didn't it?"

She laughed, hollow and dry, "It's literally everyone's talk in the city. Where do you live? Under a rock?"

"I was hoping the police would cover it up," he retorted, before he clicked his tongue, "useless officers."

"It wasn't them."

"Hmmm?"

She rolled her eyes, "They didn't talk shit about you, the robbers themselves spread the word, but again, I think you live under a rock."

"Those goddamn men," he cursed, chugging the bourbon cup in his hand, his cheeks dusted with a drunk pink.

"The officers?"

"Nah," he flailed his hand in front of his face, "the robbers. The fucking nerves they had. Never saw anything like it before."

"They were assumed to be men?" She asked, poking the inside of her cheek with her tongue.

"They can't be but men!" He answered, very obviously, before he scrutinized her by the rim of his almost-empty cup, a sly smirk on his lips, "you can't, by chance, thought the robbers were women?"

She smiled, "Of course not, how could I?"

"Ah that's what I thought. Pretty pretty creatures, they can't be this atrocious," he leaned forward, "they're too gullible to rob a high security store like mine."

She watched him, fighting the urge to lean away from his stinking breath.

"Anyway," he said, throwing himself back, "you're so pretty, but you could look prettier with emerald earrings, how does that sound?"

She raised an eyebrow, "It would look prettier if it was a gift."

"Of course! Of course, dear me, of course."

He dabbed at his pockets, looking for them, "these are the prettiest pair of earrings you'll ever see, and the green emeralds, oh lord, you need to-"

"You don't have to," she said, stretching her hand forward, stopping him,"maybe you shouldn't be carrying such an expensive item when you are so deep in debt, and I think I'm better staying ugly."

Then she stood up, fixing her purse, before she walked out the bar, her heels echoing in her trace, leaving him dumbfounded behind her.

She walked in the cold winter night, people on the streets not giving her any mind. She turned a corner, opening her purse, she produced a pair of earrings, a green emerald adorning them. They were, with no doubt, worth dozens of grands.

For @writersmonth

I don’t know how it happened.

I was strolling on the bridge, the water running underneath it.

One moment, a girl standing by the edge of the bridge had her phone in her hand, the next moment, the phone was swimming away with the current.

She fixed the purse’s strap on her shoulder, and walked away, as if nothing happened.

I frowned, maybe she received a bad email from work, or failed a test, but then I almost laughed, did her boyfriend break up with her?

A month later, on the news, I saw her face, I wasn’t mistaken.

For @writersmonth

I memorized every single thing about that day. Memorized it like the back of my hand.

Every stone by the road, every sound, ever scent, every color.

I relived that day enough times to know every face walking up and down the street. Every dress, every bag, every clink of a show.

An endless loop.

But on that day, one detail was different.

In the horizon, above the sea of heads, a white feather was sticking out.

Unmoving.

I walked to it, jostling my way through the crowd, ignoring the profanities being thrown at me.

Until I got to it.

It was a girl, with an extraordinarily big, black hat.

The feather a mere ornament on the hat.

A big, red-lipped smile smeared on her face, and her eyes recognized me, as if this was the hundredth time we met.

She stretched her hand out and said, "Come with me."

I didn't know her, but something about her felt… familiar.

She skewed her head, my hesitance obvious.

"I'm here to save you, I'm here to end it all."

It took me one second to make up my mind.

I took her hand in mine.

Everything turned into a blur around me, squeezing in a whirl of incomprehensible images of that day.

That was the last thing I remembered, before I woke up in a house that wasn't mine, a foreign bed, and a body different from mine.

I became a new person.

And that day never happened again.

It was all but a fragment from the past.

For @writersmonth

"What?"

"I'm so sorry, I should've told you earlier..."

A beat of silence.

"That's… I…"

"I know, I felt the same way when my parents told me…"

You look up, to the dark sky, the stars countless, shining down on you.

"You're saying..." You whispered, "we're… we weren't born here?" You turned your eyes, until it landed on the blue planet. You raised your finger, pointing at it, "you're saying… that we were born there?"

for @writersmonth

She took his hand.

A torn, weary blindfold on his eyes. Their feet on the swinging floor of the rusty ship swayed with the waves.

He had asked her several times what echoed in her mind, but her answers were a mere whisper in his ear.

It’s all for you

Her fingers holding his were light, guiding him through the darkness of the night. The moon shied away behind dense clouds, peaking at them with timid glances. The stars envied the moon; their sight completely obscured. 

He blindly followed her, pouring his trust into their connected hands. He could follow her to the depths of the ocean, and he would be glad.

As long as he remained by her side.

They only halted where the wooden surface of the ship cut off, below them, the waves quiet and strangely tranquil. The breeze salty and humid on their skin, creating a glossy layer that shimmered under the dim moonlight.

She tiptoed to him, her hands on the blindfold, she took it off as she kissed his mouth, brief and soft. She didn’t lean back, instead, she rested her hands on his shoulders, her lips by his ear, and she hummed.

The tune was a mere whisper in the vast, immersive black, but it intoxicated him, made his head feel light on his shoulder.

He didn’t open his eyes, nor did he move a limb; he knew what was happening, he knew where it was going.

Her voice cracked, the melody out of tune, but she kept going, tears choking up her throat, but she kept going. She remained by his ear, her song spreading through his veins. She couldn’t bring herself to look at his face, she couldn’t bear witnessing the pain swathing his features.

The waves harmonized with her voice, dancing to the symphony they created. The wind joined, howling and raging, carrying out the waves, carrying out the melody.

And so she sang, until he went completely numb, leaning on her frame, and she held him in her arms, her sobs ricocheting through the night.

The ocean and the wind quietened down, listening to her mourning sobs, falling into a griefing silence.

Then she swayed, hugging him tight against her chest, as she dragged them to the edge of the ship. The waves beneath dangerously welcomed them.

She closed her eyes, murmured her goodbyes, and pushed him.

But then strong nails dug into her skin, she fluttered her eyes open, and she was met by his own, wide eyes.

And they fell, down down down, to the depths of the ocean, thrashing in each other’s arms, tears indecipherable from the salty ocean water.

The pirate doomed to his own end, with his lover; the siren who charmed him with her voice. 

The night fell into quietness again, the moon witnessed it all, but kept it confided inside itself, keeping this secret from the stars.

For @writersmonth

One move was all it took as I killed your queen, the wooden chess piece falling on the board.

I looked up at you, and you were smiling.

Day 3: outside, wedding

People gathered under the afternoon sun.

An outdoor wedding.

They whispered.

Nice, but could've been nicer.

They said.

But it was exactly like I imagined.

The flowers' exactly what I chose, adorning the chairs, and the floral arch above the altar, where we would be bound together by silver rings, for the rest of our lives.

Everything that I wished for.

Then you walked down the aisle, hand in hand with someone who was not me.

I look down at my dress, it's black.

And I wondered if you did it on purpose or if it was a mere coincidence.

I look at your bride, smiley and happy, but your eyes weren't on her, they were on me.

I picked up my purse and walked away, reminding myself that I'm the one who started it all.

I walked faster, ignoring the glances and whispers behind me.

I sat in my car, hands on the driving wheel, as I stared at the shiny silver ring around my finger.

Even while I sit inside the coffee shop, I'm cold.

I'm not wearing my sweater, I left it by the door, I didn't think I would need it, I didn’t think I would feel so cold.

A girl who sits by the table in front of me is in a strapless top, the guy next to her is in a thin shirt. The icy cold drinks zoom from the kitchen to the customers consistently.

The hot, steaming coffee on my table sits abandoned, refusing to cool down.

But I'm cold, and I hug myself, I try to tell myself that I'm not cold, that my feelings are just thoughts in my head.

But then I look at the empty seat in front of me, and I imagine you in it.

You're no longer there, and you'll never be.

I'm reminded of our days, and I'm cold again.

a short story 

prompt: protective, high school au

"Don't touch it!" Ellie screamed, her voice spreading throughout the school's yard.

"Why not?" Alice seethed, going through circles around Ellie, "it's just an old, shitty-"

"It's not shitty!" Ellie defended, grabbing her folded jacket closer to her chest. The commence attracted a few students' eyes, but once they saw that Ellie and Alice were behind it, they rolled their eyes, and went on.

The teachers either ignored them on purpose, or no student cared enough to inform them.

"Its color like shit!" Alice mimicked, sticking her tongue out while making dumb gestures with her hands. "Everyone here thinks it's your way of coping with loneliness."

"That's not true," Ellie retorted, hugging her folded jacket even closer to her chest. "I'm not lonely, I'm not alone."

"Oh yes you are," stepped in another boy, he looked like the male version of Alice, with a thin, fading mustache that was only noticeable because of the dark, sharpie lines boldening it. "You have the social skill of an ant."

Everyone laughed, but Ellie didn't, it wasn't funny, besides, she didn't care about what they said.

She didn't.

She used to, but she no longer did.

"Your joke of a moustache looks better on a girl anyway."