When his mother died, he didn’t know what to feel, grief or relief. A life of luxury, adventure and parties, endless parties with high end booze and drugs, now no more. Part of him felt lost, part of him felt liberated, from all the powerful, wealthy and filthy men, there was also this remaining part felt angry which was suppressed by numbness.
How do you suppose to feel that the woman who raised you was also the pimp, died before you could get an answer out of her, why did she hate you so much to do unspeakable things to you from a young age. The mother and son relationship was emotionless, copy and paste, repeatedly being showered with affections then thrown into another perpetrator’s den to endure the rejection.
His mother died, and his breakdown and healing have just begun.
Lion Bark was a world famous golfer who won many titles which were a few shied away from the young men he slept with during his long career.
One of his winning clubs was gifted by his favourite Korean lover, which he took with him around the world wherever he played in tournaments. That club reminded him of his lover’s parting words, “I’ve given my blood, sweat and tears to this club, wherever you go, take it with you in remembrance of me.”
Over the years he tried to reconnect with his Korean lover without success. His response had always been that he was under the surveillance by his government officials for crimes he did not commit.
Little did Lion Bark know, he is the reason that his Korean lover was not in jail, because of the murder weapon he kept with him.
The sun prints on the floor to give a hint of time. I have been sitting in the chill for longer than I realise. The coffee has gone cold, and the froth has gone undone. People perhaps grow tired of me watching them, they call the bill swiftly. This table is meant to be bridging our hands together. But with your absence, the space between us grows apart further and deeper.
I am an amateur artist finger painting on the canvas of our pure love. Frantically smear every excitement all over a seemingly life long foundation, I am over charged with passion. Halfway, I realise that there are patches heavily loaded with enthusiasm. The balance is destroyed. Giving my best effort to salvage it, I only manage to make it dark and dull. Now the beauty is ruined, and I quit trying.
This is written as a Six Sentence Story based on Denise’s word prompt- Express
It was close to midnight. We decided to drive to the beach to experience the ocean under the moonlight.
We swam far and deep out of the ocean, exhilarated, shrieking with excitement between waves. The waves built bigger and stronger tossing us to a dangerous new high.
Then came the indigo storm, running towards us like an express train, forcing us to swim for our life. When it hit the shore in such great force, we were spat out like wreckage, exhausted and intertwined, looking like a cluster of seaweeds.
There was a King. His power was no rivalry on earth and in heavens. He became friends with an ordinary man named Abram so He blessed Abram and his descendants.
Now Abram is long passed but his descendants are fighting in Gaza. In the midst of the crossfire, the oppressed lift up their voices to cry out ‘YHWH! Allah!’ The King has compassion to Abram’s sons and daughters and He weeps.