Tag Archives: memories

Pieces of Time

A handsome young man settled in front of me. There were plates, napkins and glasses between us. As much as I wanted to extend my arms to greet him, it felt like he was significantly far.

He sat with his shoulders back, chest out and feet together. When he was five, I couldn’t even keep this boy calm long enough for a decent portrait! But look at him now. I smiled.

Today, his hair was cut short, high and tight. Back when he was ten years old, he used to cry every time I insisted on cutting his long, curly, blonde hair. I had to chase him all day or persuade him before he gives in.

The well-pressed camouflage uniform fit his buff body nicely and his combat boots were shiny. I used to enjoy dressing him up, but during his teenage years he started complaining. I would continually tease him and follow him around, handing him his jeans and shirt. I sighed, Those were the days.

Alert that I am checking him, this lad took my now wrinkly fingers by his left hand and traced the creases on my face with his right. I wondered if it was time to play the  ‘staring game’.

I tried my best to blink back the tears as his whining, his sobs and the blubber sounds he used to make echoed in my head. Every time I glanced at him, I’m filled with the image of that little boy sporting a milk moustache asking for one more cookie.

He crouched beside me with his head resting on my lap.

“Some things stay the same and never change Mama.”

“Yes, “I kissed him on the forehead then stroked his hair. “But certain things do.”

‘Thank you for raising me well,’ his eyes met mine. ‘I love you.”

Looking at him eye to eye with his hands holding mine and the time standing still, I knew letting him go would be much harder than I expected. However, there are things in life that we can’t keep for ourselves for too long. Even if we want to. Except, maybe, for our pieces of memories – those we can keep forever.

(Prose Idea from Yeah Writers!)


One Night Only

Before entering the dungeon, she checked herself in the mirror room. Her hair was in the blackest of black; her nails painted in the same colour. She ran her fingers through her skin. The skimpy red dress accentuated her breasts and hips, leaving little to the imagination. Her luscious lips stood out in an inviting shade of rum.

She’s ready.

She licked her lips and stepped in. Tonight is the night she has been waiting to experience all her life.

A rush of adrenaline enveloped her being as soon as she heard the beats. She started swaying her body from left to right while walking in the middle of guys whose eyes were glued to her. She felt power over these lowly species. She blurted a flirtatious laugh. They touched and kissed her everywhere but she didn’t mind because for once in her life, she felt seductive…attractive. No, she felt dirty and sexy.

It was not long before she went up the pole and started performing. Who knew she had such sensual moves? She surely didn’t. Men across the room hissed and sent dirty signals to the stage. Getting encouragement from the club’s patrons and discovering her hidden talent made her dancing erotic.

She was loud and daring, drinking and swearing, partying and enjoying.

She preferred the ambience of the strip clubs to the serene mood of the abbeys. She liked the attention of eyes from strangers better than the listening ears of the aristocrats.They would never know why she chose to go out tonight. They would never understand how a good girl decided to go bad.

Tonight she behaved as if the world is going to end the next day.

For tomorrow is a different story.

Tomorrow, her hair’s going to be blonde again. She will remove her make-up and nail polish; come out of her stripper clothes then pour turpentine all over them. Come morning, the memories of one night in hell is going to perish. When the dawn breaks, she‘ll watch all her things burn. Burn.

* story submitted and posted at Yeah Writers!

Dreaming with a Broken Heart

Crying. Screaming. The sound of her voice awaken her.

It was two in the morning and she’s having these nightmares again. Half awake, half-asleep she tried to separate the real from the dream.

Still sobbing, she refused to open her eyes as thoughts of him haunted her yet again.

She missed him beside her. She missed waking up cradled in his arms ; missed the way he patiently and lovingly calms her after every bad dream; how he whispers and assures her that it was just another imagination. She missed how he says nothing can harm her as long as he is with her. That idea comforts her as she falls back to sleep.

She cried for all the memories – for it was all that was left.

Finally getting the courage to open her eyes, she searched for him. But he’s already gone; nowhere to be found. For the first time in months, her heart ached and bled again. And oh how she felt the pain!

Not letting herself be consumed by the moment, she uttered a question in the silence of that dark room. “Is he for real?”

“Is he for real?”, she expected an answer. “Or was it only just a dream?” Tears fell down her cheeks.

She stood still for hours;staring at the blackness of the winter skies.

The cold, shivering wind blowing from her window stirred her up from a lonely melancholy. Dragging herself back to bed, she grasped her blanket – covered herself  like the cloth can protect her from the coldness she was feeling. She closed her eyes and went back to sleep – with high hopes that the sun is going to shine for her when she wakes up.. and maybe then, she’d finally see the light and feel the warmth she’s been longing for so long.

When you’re dreaming with a broken heart, the waking up is the hardest part.