Weeks #42&43: Intruder

It was up to her to investigate how the accident had really happened. For her to do that, she had to go back to the scene of the crime. The survivor’s home.

“There’s someone in the house!”

“Shhh, Alma. They’ll hear us.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll try to keep it down.”

“Did you happen to see who the person was? Do you know him? Or her?”

“I’ve seen him from the past. He’s roamed these halls before.”

“I see.”

“Ten years ago. He lived here ten years ago. He’s been in and out once or twice since then. But he was a permanent resident before she decided to let go of her past.”

“So now he’s back again.”

“Looks like it.”

“To bring her shame. To put her down. To tell her nothing has changed.”

“She seemed pretty wrecked.”

“He doesn’t know she’s stronger than that, though.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I can tell. She’s a fighter. A believer, too. She’ll trade those ashes for beauty.”

“Beauty, huh.”

“Whatever shame he’s caused her, she will find a way to redeem it. She knows the secret of surrender.”

“I see. That’s good then.”

“It is. Now, enough chatter. Let’s go catch that intruder.”

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Week #41: Drowning

It’s hard to say, but my earliest memory would probably involve salty water rushing up my nose. I was probably three or four then. We were celebrating my birthday (and the heat of summer, hurray!) at the black-sanded beach two hours away from my hometown. I had a cake — vanilla with white and pink frosting. And I had donned on a tiny red bathing suit. Well, at least that’s what the pictures of the old photo albums show.

I don’t remember the birthday songs. Nor do I remember the presents or how the cake must have tasted on my tongue. I only remember the rush of the current trying to pull me down and warm sand flying, billowing about.

Someone must have saved me. I will never know who. My father? My mother? An aunt? An uncle? One of my cousins, maybe? Or myself? Did I just stop splashing about and find myself washed up ashore, breathing in the grace of a second life?

Who knows?

What I do know is this. I am alive. Each breath that I take is precious. Every gulp of air is as costly as diamonds and gold. I will not dare to squander it.

Yes. I am alive.

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Last Ten

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They’ve put up the Christmas decorations. Very well. That means it’s time for the last ten, then.

41. Subject: What is your earliest memory?
42. First Line: It was up to her to investigate how the accident had really happened
43. Dialogue: “There’s someone in the house!”
44. Scenario: You go down in a lift that doesn’t stop for hours. When it finally opens, what do you see?
45. Title: Four Times A Matchmaker
46. Subject: Who from your past do you wish were still around?
47. First Line: He hadn’t seen anything like it in twenty years of teaching
48. Dialogue: “He was unconscious when I found him”
49. Scenario: You’ve bought an old chest of drawers and discover a piece of paper stuck inside. What is written on that piece of paper?
50. Title: The Antique Perfume Bottle

It’s time to finish off what we have started. Game!

Week #39&40: Message in a Bottle

39. Scenario: A friend has been staying with you since his relationship break-up. He has overstayed his welcome but you don’t want to ask him to leave. Think of an imaginative scheme to make him decide to go.
40. Title: Messages in a Bottle

“Dude get up.”

“Nrgghh.”

“I said, get up, man.”

“Go away.”

“It’s been three months. It’s time to get out of that funk.”

“I need… more… time.”

“Fine then. I’ve got something for you. Here.” I shove a red bottle towards him.

“Urg. What’s this?”

“A present. You’re supposed to drink it up.”

He reaches for the bottle, knocking down the lamp, a picture frame, and, well, almost everything on top of the coffee table next to the sofa he was sleeping in. “Sorry, man.”

I sight. “It’s alright. I’ll fix it up later.”

He glugs the red potion down. The thing seems to be burning down a trail of fire down his throat.

“Man, that was strong.” He looks more awake now. “What was that?”

“Something I got from the old man down the street.”

“That weird, crazy dude? Wow, he’s got good stuff.”

“Err, yeah. Do you feel any different?”

“I feel — young and free! Like I can do anything. Like I can take on any challenge?”

“Like you can move out of this house?”

“Like I can move out of this house! Wait, what?”

“Dude, I need you to move out. This isn’t helping either of us anymore. I mean, sure, the first few days it was okay. But when your stay eventually became months, I’ve got to say… well, there’s no easy way to put it. I can’t have you stay here anymore.”

“Well, uh, why didn’t you just say so in the first place? You could have just told me.”

“I tried, man. I tried.”

“Well, that bottle got me feeling great. Where are my stuff? I should start packing. Hey, man, thanks for letting me stay over.”

“It’s, uh, not a problem. But next time… let’s hope there wouldn’t be a next time.”

He shuffles away and gives me a languid wave. “So long, Lucas.”

“So long, SP. You take care.”

“You, too. You, too.”

*Author’s note: Any guess what the red potion could be? And what SP stands for? Speculations are welcome. :D

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