PROSE
HOUSEHOLD OF FOUR
The dazzling of melodies trigger the awakening of sunlight and the natural breeze. It’s fresh in the morning with birds chirping down the countryside. Away from all pollution and from the toxicity. Plants and trees grow fresh facing up receive sunlight. A family of four relaxes within the breeze. The mother of two woke up fresh inhaling the fresh air she hasn’t experienced for quite a while. Even though it’s the same country land, things are different. It’s not the same as the capital where things are chaotic. Technology has allowed them to do so. The children are learning from their devices. Expressing their boredom through their facial and body expressions. Breakfast was served to everyone. A cozy meal of egg, ham, and bread. The home-sweet-home style, is the style that energizes the family to be motivated to continue their day. The children learn like they’re supposed to. The father works like he’s expected to. While the mom, world around servicing everyone, cooing, doing laundry, gardening, and enjoying her slow life. She prepared her loved ones for their own individual role and she continue her own after that. Living in the countryside, things tend to freshen faster than in the city. People start working at nine in the city while they do so at six in the countryside. When the sun starts to rise on top of our heads, the day starts to get warmer. The mom’s husband and children start to get hungry. Unexpectedly, not similar to the typical lunch of food ordering or going to the supermarket, the mom defrost her meat and walked out to the yard. She carries a wooden basket wandering around. Trying to find her treasure, the treasure of “vegetables”. She bend down and picked up some basil, then some tomato, then some chili, then some parsley, and maybe some more cabbage. Choosing the fresh greens that she wants. On the way back, some eyes were peeking out from the house. The eyes of hunger. She picked up some more eggs at the hen’s cage and went back into the house. Her cooking began and continued for several tens of minutes. The smell dispersed into her furniture and to her children. When the clock hits 12, they all gather around the wooden round table and started to eat the cozy lunch made by their mom. It was filled with warmth and love that cant be found at any luxurious restaurant but could be made at home.
GLOOMY AZURE
nanowrimo
The hue of the rising sun tinted the gloomy blue sky. Chirping birds were harmonizing with the chaos of beeping cars. The ground was still drenched with puddles as the rain was drizzling down the deteriorated roof from the heavy rainfall bucketing down last night. The rejuvenated emerald green moss once was climbing its way up the naked brown brick lightly brightening the bustee. Vera, fourteen years old lying on the smooshed bed dead staring at the hole on the roof with her eyes being as grievous as a rotten flower. She attempted to lift herself up. Going up halfway, she weighs her body back down, sighing through. Drop of rain splatter on her forehead leaving sprinkles.
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“Johnny. It’s time darling…”, mom muffled with her ailing effort. Her mouth shape was more projecting than the noiseless call she made.
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“Vera, can you wake Johnny up… the dawn will be up soon”, mom slowly lifted her arm as she was pointing down the slope down to the floor where Johnny was sleeping.
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Mom’s request hauled Vera up. The swushing of torrent lingered on the metal roof overflowed her debilitated sound under the roof. She pressured the grey obsolete cushion and turned her shoulder around. Lying on her left shoulder she leered the rusty-edged frame recessing back to memorial time. Lu-mei, the label everyone called her back in the days before Loona Yang existed. Lu-mei, the alluring middle-aged woman who was ambitious to sail across the universe aiming to construct a better life with her husband. Standing as she was devastated from being vulnerable to her parent’s death, she was taunted by it ever since. Shifting from left to right, from top to bottom, from mainland China to Korea; her life shifted from alluring to agonizing.
HUMMING HARMONY
nanowrimo
Vera, having her towel over her right shoulder, walked away from her mom and out to a minimalist garden. In the neighborhood of 3 Marigold bushes, 2 Zinnia bushels, and a Dahlia bush, the pigments altogether shimmer brighter than the hue of beamy dawn. The gold of Marigold, vermillion of Zinnias, and ocherous of Dahlia occupy a special place in all’s hearts. Back in the 2000s, four people of kindred spirits were sitting on a verdant bench holding hands and gaping through the cooling air. Placing seeds into little holes they poked. Mom poked 2, dad poked 2, Vera poked 1, and Johnny poked 1. Mom cared for Marigold, dad watched over the Zinnias, and their two lovies watered the Dahlias. When mom was stronger, this verdant bench used to be her place. It used to be filled with joy and laughter from the neighbor. All would gather around the flower and quaver in the dark with one lantern that hearten the whole place. Guess that lantern is all dusty now. Guess that despairing Zinnias won’t be replanted, but optimistically the Marigold may be replanted, or even maybe the Dahlia would get some time to be watered. Over the last few years, the Zinnia’s tint didn’t radiate like it used to. It started to lean away from the other ones and fell away, to the side that’s hopelessly able to stand back up. The watering from Marigold and Dahlia sobbed on the stalk of Zinnia being unable to see the spirit of Zinnia ever since.
REPAIRING
GOODS
nanowrimo
Back when mom was freely running, mom and Vera would be hanging their feeble arms over the wrought iron fence peeking from their under eyes up to their forehead over it. When our star goals, all would be cheering up and jumping but Vera’s brood would be swaying their legs left and right since their arms were holding busy. Time and again, they would land their bump on the mushy smut dampening their pants with bits of grass. Instead of complaining, they would start giggling at each other surprisingly without concern for the weighty tolerance they have to experience. Like a rainbow after the frightening rain, meanwhile, dad would be letting little Johnny sit on his shoulder comfortably. When one goal, just similar to Vera and mom, he would start jumping up and down as Johnny felt seasick. His seasickness could be much appreciated because it’s in a lifetime experience. An appreciation for seasick, weird right? But yes, appreciated. Meanwhile, guess seasick for mom would also be a one-in-a-lifetime experience right? Scrolling billions of years back, seasick have discarded everything she ate even though the only it was was fusty water. There’s always a cost for a more radiating future.
STREAMS
vignette
Different words echoed throughout the room. The yell harmonized vividly with the buzzing sound from the air conditioner. Everyone was as still as a statue with melancholic eyes glooming at the bed. The white colorless sullen bed lies under the discoloration of the figure. The synchronization of gentle screech and silence continued. I felt invisible leaning at my own depth of despondency against the door as support. The emotions that run through me limited the yelling and shouting to fill my ears, it limited the cool breezing air to fill my skin, it limited the vision of surrounding complexion to fill my eyes, and it limited thoughts and decisions to fill my mind. Despite the chaotic vocals that horror the room, the only strong feeling I felt was emptiness, it was nothing. I kept dismally looking and looking at that unmoving bed wishing it would spring back in motion. Quantities of tears rained on my face and sweat was washing me.
The motionless bed was targeted with eyes. The eyes are filtered with grayness and sorrow. There lies a man, the man wearing his favorite t-shirt, pants, cap, and shoes. The outfit that makes him good-looking like he always is. The grievous smiles fitted everyone's face.
THE REPETITION
“Driiiiiiiinnnnngggggg”, the alarm triggers at 5.30 AM straight. My eyes felt so heavy dragging down like a dumbbell was hanging on them. My day starts now, exactly 5.30 AM every morning. I glided my legs toward the bathroom and ran cold water onto my face. Every morning, I brushed my teeth as I was staring at the exact white pale wall every morning and evening. Benching myself on the same red seat beside the road. The wind blew in my face faster when the bus stopped in front of me. Then, the door launched out toward me. I stepped up and sat in the inner seat of the second row. I’ve been sitting in the same seat for nearly a year. I placed myself at the same seat while staring at the same window, the same feeling, and the same view—the wide road with two side aisles of grayish mountains— of Idaho. The mountains were overpowering left and right while the cold breeze greets my face gently. Despite the loneliness that nature was coping with for me, my life was immersed into enjoyable nature. SCRREEECCHHHH, the bus abruptly stopped as my body erupted toward my front seat. I recovered back up as I was looking forward, little did I know it was the reality. I walked down the bus powerlessly as I dragged myself to the office. I sat weakly on my desk and stared at the same computer, the same work, and the same colleagues. Five days a week, my life goes on and on repetitively. The next morning, my alarm woke me up. I brushed my teeth. I dressed up. I walked to the bus station. I sat on the bus. I stared at the same window. I worked. Everything runs the same, everything just feels nostalgic to yesterday, to the day before, to last week, and to last month. Every day is just as repetitive as the effect of command C and command V. I sighed to myself as I closed my eyes tightly while laying on the sofa, the sofa that made me feel I’d relaxed by a campfire.
SPOOKTACULAR
halloween
He forced himself into his sleep. After falling asleep, he kept rolling his body left and right like he was trying to escape from something. As his mind sunken deeper into his dream. He was dreaming of a scenario of himself running in the woods. Getting his legs twisted while he looks back and fronts continuously. He kept feeling the sound behind him was chasing and it was getting bigger and bigger. He felt something yellowish was running after him. He leaped over wood and stepped on shattered glass. He collapsed onto the ground as he hugged his leg. He grabbed the glass tightly and tried to pull it out. It didn’t work. He didn’t know what to do other than crawl away from the yellow monster. He looked down at the shattered glass and started shaking hard. The wind blew and he could barely feel it cooling his injured foot. He kept touching the glass hoping it would come out. “BAMNNNN”, suddenly, the yellowish figure appeared. Its landing blew all the surrounding snow up. Snow splattered all over. John looked up and “Arghhhhhhhhh”, he screamed. He was shocked that he didn’t recognize what it was.
NOSTAGLIC
Pulling up his zipper, the homeless boy seems to be sad. He was lying on the ground for the past few days, however, no one wanted to go talk with him since they were scared. Yes, they’re scared. Not that he would bring danger to him but because rumors have been spreading that he killed his parents with a steak knife in their garage. Both of his parents are in a coma and his rumors spread onto the daily newspaper. I think it sounds impossible for a little boy to attempt to kill his parents because why would he even do that. Like why? I feel bad for the dirty boy but I wouldn’t dare to put my life at risk.
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A few weeks later, the same boy I mentioned earlier tried to get a job. Sending comic books, newsletter, and delivering food, he tried. It wasn’t easy for him at all since no one would want to accept a murderer to work with them. He hasn't asked my flower store to work in but if he would I probably don’t know how to reply. As I watched the little boy eating his baguette sadly, memories flashed into my mind. I remember when I was young and this happened to me before. It happened before I was sent into an orphanage. It happened before I was labeled as a murderer. It happened before my parents were killed. Not by me. I remember now. This happened to me before and I have to experience the same single story as him. The flashback gave me goosebumps and I couldn’t imagine another human being experiencing the pain I felt in my heart before. The pain that gave me scars forever. Suddenly, I felt something was tapping me so I looked toward it. It was the dirty boy. I screamed my lungs out as the boy started to cry and ran away. I ran after and yelled, “yes… you can, you can, come back, come work at my store, I understand you it’s okay”. He looked back at me being shocked and replied curiously, “really? you're not scared of me?”. I nodded and gave the boy pink tulips. His frown started to diminish and turned upside down. I knew I made his day.