No Need to Argue

You say you
Can handle it
But that’s not
What you do

I saw tears in your eyes
Drowning in sadness
But you are too stubborn
to admit you are shit at this

I don’t think
I’m the one
Who doesn’t
Have a clue

You put on a brave face
Thinking I didn’t notice
Let’s be done pretending
Breaking up didn’t cut both ways

*This is one of the collaboration pieces I did with Little Charmer. I have always been inspired by her originality, writing with her has been way cool 😎. If you have not experienced her wonderful work, check out her blog Ramblings of A Fragile Mind.

Reincarnation

If I believe in reincarnation
we will be taking a vacation
in two life times

You will make french toast
and honey lemon tea
for breakfast
to break the spell
of me leaving

I will probably try to read
while nursing a caffeine withdrawal headache

But all these don’t matter
cuz we will have a lifetime
to adjust
until you think
sharing a bubble gum
can be very romantic

Ed

"Good morning passengers, we are waiting for the signal to clear before we can depart again. We thank you for your understanding and patience." The speaker in the train carriage came the announcement. 

The passengers were stirred by the inconvenient announcement on a major line during peak hour. Some stretched themselves, some yawned, some looked up from their phones then returned to the screen again. I kept watching people while Ludovico's Nightbook piano album playing through my Airpods.

"Passengers, we have an update on the signal. Due to an incident we were unable to continue on our trip until further notice. Sydney Rail is committed to have affected routes return to normal schedule as soon as possible. At this stage, there is no estimated timeline. We will continue to update as we receive further instruction." Passengers started to chat to each other. The carriage became alive like a Sunday market. I went on to google news and video to see is there any media cover on what the incident was about. I found nothing. I emailed work to let them know I was stuck and not sure how late I would be.

"Passengers, we apologise for the delay. This is caused by a major medical accident. We will be approaching the next stop at Artarmon. Bus service will be replacing trains all stops from Artarmon to city Central on the Northshore line. We appreciate your understanding and cooperation. We should be leaving in two minutes."

I was over an hour late for work that day. Almost a week later, I heard a local teenage boy jumped off the platform to the train track. He was killed instantly by the coming train. The rail was shut down after the incident. I don’t know the boy except we live in the same community. He is from the same boy’s high school Ed went to. They were the similar age when they took their lives. I wonder about what happened before leading to the day of the event. I remember clearly, or the version I have believed I remember clearly, on the date before Ed drank that rat poison and walked himself to the woods and died there in the luscious ferns.

Ed is my younger brother, also the middle child. We lived with Mum since Dad had walked out on her when I was eleven, Ed was eight and Lucy was six. I was the quiet and pedantic eldest child. Ed was funny, sensitive and sensible. Being the only boy in the household, he was the constant target of our female catty fights, manipulation and everybody’s ally. Lucy was wild, demanding and had Mum and Ed wrapped around her little finger. And Mum, she over worked, an emotional wreck and an unforgiving character. We love Mum and feel sorry for her disregarding her frequent cruel comments and consistently being unreachable emotionally.

I left home after turning eighteen to move in with my then boyfriend. Ed was in Year nine high school. Lucy went to a girl’s boarding school far away from home. We don’t know what drove Ed to take his own life. His death drove our broken family further apart to irreversible ruin.

The day before Ed took his own life, it was a weekend, we celebrated Mum’s 44th Birthday at home with a roast lamb shoulder dinner and a New York cheesecake, Mum’s favourite. I stayed overnight to wear off the alcohol. That Sunday morning was so peaceful, I woke early and laid in bed enjoyed listening to the birds outside. A light knock on the door, then Ed peeped his head in my room and asked, "Fran, come for a ride with me on old Terry, will you?" When he saw the hesitation on my face, he came in and threw my sweater and jeans on my bed. "Old Terry may go anytime now. He is so old. Come on, let’s give his old soul a boost."

Terry was our family horse. We were his second owners. He was oldish when we ‘inherited’ him from one of Mum’s old friends. We grew up with Terry really. Mum loved horse riding and she taught us all to ride adequately. Ed seemed to be in such a bright mood to go horse riding. I didn’t have the heart to refuse.
We rode along Pittwater Road and around Narrabeen lake, where we played to way after sunset in summers when we were kids. We hated all other seasons because we had to go inside after five o’clock and copped Mum’s scorn for no reason. We all knew she took her hatred towards Dad out of us. She cried in her bedroom when she thought we were asleep. Ed was the kindest one, perhaps he was the only man in our family, so he felt extra responsible, in particular for Mum. Mum was spiteful to me. I tolerated her beatings and cussing. Lucy was rebellious and she used to fight back when Mum tried to beat her with wooden spactualor or hairbrush. Mum learned to leave her alone. It seemed that I was the compliant and stupid one.

I had always got on well with Ed. His quiet demeanour gave me a sense of peace when I was around him. He also had a great sense of humour, the type that he told a joke cracked everybody up and he managed to keep a straight face. We rode in silence on good old Terry, I was holding him tightly from behind. He smelled smoky from the fire. He must have had stacked the firewood for Mum before he came to my room.

Terry needed a drink, so we took a rest and sat by Narrabeen lake at the spot we used to fish. I asked Ed how he was since I moved out. He told me everything was fine. He asked me did I remember some of the fun things we did when we were little. We talked about funny old stories and laughed so hard. The sun was heating up so we decided to leave before Terry got too dehydrated...

Queen of The Night

“She will meet you in ten minutes. Would you like a tea, coffee or water?” The girl asked.

“Water will be good, thanks.” He replied.

“Sparkling or still?”

“Tap water will be fine, thanks.”

He got up from the nubuck leather couch and walked towards the loft style gallery area. All the walls were filled with tasteful paintings except a space at the far corner, hung an empty frame, it looked a bit out of place. 

“Your tap water is over there by the couch, but she is ready to see you now, if you are ready?” The girl approached him.

“Ah sure sure. After you.” 

He was led to a small but functionable meeting room decorated with neutral toned modern furniture. It had a view of the Wooloomooloo Finger Wharf. He was left there to admire the view. There were cyclists and joggers. He was a little bit surprised to see them exercising in mid-morning. He turned around to the sound of the door being opened. Her hourglass body was hugged by a black knee length A-line dress, her siren red stilettos made an undeniable statement.  

“Apologies for running late. I hope you got a chance to look at the gallery.” She turned around to close the door. He had a full view of her back. A metal zipper ran full length of the dress, leading his eyes to her toned and well-defined calf muscles. 

To him, she looked like a queen of the night, mysterious and arousing. He quickly interrupted his own thought by thinking about the sweaty cyclist and joggers he saw earlier on. 

“OK, I am all yours.” She walked back to him.

“You what?” He couldn’t be sure what he heard.

“I am all yours. No interruptions.” She said again and sat down while gesturing him to do the same.

His face turned red. He sat down and avoided eye contact before he gathered himself. “Oh, of course. I was surprised to get the call about this meeting. What I means is that I am flattered. You know I am only a start-up artist. I had my first exhibition and only sold one painting, to my grandfather.” He laughed a self-inflicted sarcastic laugh. 

“I was once a new kid on the block. It’s understandable that you don’t consider your first exhibition successful because you didn’t sell many paintings. The mission of my gallery is to give emerging artists a platform to showcase their work and get a start in this highly bias and competitive market. I saw a few of your paintings sent to me by my curator. She’s right, your work is fresh and unique. I want to purchase the one titled “The Forgotten” and display in my gallery. I hope you see the frame I chose for it. Say no if you don’t think the frame works.”

“Ah my God! I don’t know what to say. Thank you! Thank you! For giving me a chance, a head start. Oh my God. Is this happening?”

She let out a string of laughter. “Don’t thank me. You earned it. Your work is niche, and I love niche.” She looked into his moistened eyes, “get out of here before I change my mind. Leave your account detail before you leave so you’ll get paid. I evaluated the painting and had a price in mind. You can say no to the offer, but I think you’ll be happy with my offer.” She winked at him before he quickly exited the room in case his tears of joy fell.  

He left his account detail with the girl at the front desk. She processed a payment straight away and gave him a printout of the transaction record. He was stunned by the high price of his first legitimate sale.  

“She wants to take you out for dinner to discuss more business. Here are the available time slots, which one should I book you in?” The girl asked.

Dinner?!!! Didn’t mind the business bit. His primal instinct was giving him an erection, for some strange reason. Not strange, it’s her curves and the siren red stilettos. He picked a time slot that was the soonest. 

Simple Life

He is
a philosopher
a writer
a humanist
an advocate

The world swims
in his thoughts

Love coils
within his brain cells

He is somewhat
complex
complicated
confine in few

He looks
sympathetic
sophisticated
stoic

He enjoys
the simplest things
holding her hand
in the rain
kissing her
with sunshine in their eyes
simply
being with
her

Scars

He ran his paint stained fingers over the scars on his chest. They reminded him of the pleasure she gave him. The raised flesh was soft like her lips, and the memory of the demeaning words came from her lips made him hard. But a rush of sadness formed a stabbing pain in his heart.

He got out of bed and moved towards his studio, brought the half smoked weed with him. Continued to work on the painting, he wanted to finish it by dawn. he had already completed the sketch, and the lilac, pink and white windflowers covered most of the canvas. The final touch was to work on the detail of the ugly weathered window where the viewer would see the field of windflowers from. He might go over the field of windflowers with a wash of rain, might not. His mind was scattered by the earlier encounter with her.

He took a drag of the weed, not sure why he smoked it, it had no effect on him whatsoever. She hated him smoking. Was it the rebel in him, or being spiteful, or making a statement of his new found freedom, or an attempt to distract himself from thinking of her? Without any warning, he was all choked up by the lump in his throat trying to move up to release into salt vapours.

Love You Till The End

I loved you when I was unsure if you would love me back.

I loved you when my heart broke into pieces because you weren’t sure if you loved me back.

I loved you on our wedding day when you asked me not to settle for the second best.

I loved you when you couldn’t love yourself.

I loved you when you shut yourself from me.

I loved you when you accused me of saying those hurtful words which I didn’t say.

I loved you till I stopped loving myself.

I couldn’t love you when I lost myself.

I loved you when you set me free.

I loved you when you became an old friend, and you finally loved me too.

I loved you till the day you died.

You are the greatest tragedy of my life, and I love you still.

Decision

This is written in response to Denise’s Six Sentence Story word prompt – Mess.

That was probably the hardest video call he had to make, the ambience filled with a sense of dread.

“I decided to take the teaching job offer and stay in Berlin”, he launched straight into it without delaying the blade.

Silence, absolutely silence, then her eyes welled up, then the screen went blank, clearly, she hanged up.

Then the text came, “Obviously, you have made up you mind. I have nothing to say and no strength to fight for us anymore. I wish you all the best and I still love us, but that’s the past .”

After sending the text, she let her tears roll down like a waterfall sitting in the waiting area of the abortion clinic; what was a decision to be made, now is a conclusion.

From the soundbar, Ami Winehouse is singing, “…love is a losing game, one I wished I never played, oh what a mess we made…”

It’s Not Meant to Be

We don’t need much encouragement to ignite a thousand fireflies.
Talking about the weather is our way to keep the ambience lukewarm.
People talk about chemistry or destiny.
Though we both know that it’s the knowing which only dreamers know; the touching which only lovers fathom.

We don’t need much encouragement to spread a wild fire.
Being silent is what we can master to mask the need.
People talk about soul mates or twin flames.
For us, it’s just two people happily know each other but never feel the need to meet.

We don’t need much encouragement to burn up heaven.
Leaving without saying goodbye is the only way that we survive from each other.
People talk about love and affair.
We know too well that we choose neither.


So it’s just like we said it would be, forever perfectly perfect.

Family

It was at grandad’s wake, new faces I saw. I didn’t remember or know all those people in my family. I could tell that we were related by their strong jawlines and pear-shaped body.

There was a lot of chatter and whisper going around in the room, mostly about who would inherit what, and a little bit gossip about the affair between aunty Joan and uncle Peter.

I moved my wheelchair through them quietly, and the sympathy look they gave me made me feel uncomfortable. The accident was over a decade ago when I was three. It’s not as if I knew a better way to live. I was quite comfortable in my skin and a happy person.

I removed myself from the crowd and tended to the orchids grandpa loved. We used to go around the nursery to appreciate their beauty, trim dead leaves and spray mist to keep the humidity up. I knew I would always find grandpa here even his body was laying cold in the wooden box.

Grandpa told me lots stories about his past as well as his plans for the future after he turned his toes. I knew for a fact that everybody out there in the room would hate me. As much as I wanted to live on the sidelines for the rest of my life in this family, just like the past eighteen years. But I knew it wasn’t going to be possible. The truth was going to come out when they realised there was no inheritance that would go to any of them.

Over the years, grandpa and I gradually moved all his wealth to the National Trust as a silent donor, except this mansion, all its expenses for maintainance, current staff and other outgoings, and medical treatment and substantial amount of cash would come to me. Grandpa made sure I would always have my home where he promised to visit from time to time. I was content because I would always have a home where grandpa’s love echoed within these four walls.

I could hear “Time to Say Goodbye” playing and I guessed everyone in the family was in the main hall for grandpa’s funeral. A butterfly landed on the prayer plant in front of me which made me smile. It’s a sure confirmation that grandpa was absolutely not in that coffin, instead, he was here with me.