Didn't make a sound

My heart is stuck.

Let's go back to the years before.

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Back then we had to earn our keep. I was only seventeen, and at the time, it wasn't too old an age to work. An education had to be earned, and earn it I did. My mother found me some employment in the city, a twenty minutes walk from my old village in the countryside; near enough, yet it was a different world from the one I grew up in.

In the village we had five households, sixty three people, and their names I could recite for you even today, though the place where it used to stand is graced by a road intersection and the forlorn privilege of perching myself on that very spot and looking around in nostalgic silence has been long taken from me.

You have to understand what it must have been like, a lanky wide-eyed country boy standing in the noisy rice shop as about fifty sweaty men bustled about with their rice sacks, struggling to listen to the instructions being shouted at me in Hokkien by the towkay. He shouted because there was no other way to be heard, not that I could hear him anyway, one moment I was peering into the dim mass of frenetically moving people, next thing I knew, a piece of paper with an address scrawled on it was thrust into my hand and I was shown the exit with a rice bag over my shoulder.

And so I set off on my journey across the cramped and foreign land. The city wasn't too big, but the roads certainly took some getting used to. The way people clustered themselves along the narrow walkways that lined the open streets, not walking straight down the middle like they always did in the countryside. No, the road was for the rich. The rich and their rickshaws and trishaws and the expensive Ford vehicles. The noise too, was something that kept at me, kept reminding me of the strangeness of the land.

I followed the directions the towkay had shouted at me with great difficulty, but after asking multiple strangers and flashing the address at them, I found myself in a cramped damp alley. For the first time in the town I heard silence; the occasional car engine echoed into that narrow space from what seemed an eternity away, and all was quiet save the dripping of water from the rooftops, forming themselves into shallow stagnant pools all around.

I made my way slowly down the alley, all too aware of the splashes my feet made in the puddles, doing my best to skip over them whenever I could, ignoring the load on my back. I was younger and stronger then you see. I came to a rusty plate in the wall. Number 17. The door next to it that served as the entrance into the building was broken, hanging off it's hinge, and I stepped in softly.

Everything on the inside was old too. The cobwebs were there in the corners if you looked, the sheets of calligraphy that hung on the walls, hinting at long gone opulence, were yellowed and stained. I was to go up to the second floor, and the wooden rotten stairs made no noise as I climbed upwards.

The door to the apartment, or room, or flat at 2B was red. At least it had been red once, now it was red, speckled with black, brown, white and brown where all the wood had come off in strips. I rapped on the door and I called out, the knock sounding unusually loud in the confined landing between the stairs and the door and it swung open almost immediately, as if I had been expected all along. Not simply expected, because I surely was, but as if I had been waited for.

The old man muttered as he let me in, pushing over pieces of junk on the floor to make way for me as I entered the room, I suppose he was scolding me for being late but I had been too busy staring at the glowing box in the corner of the dark room. That was the first time I had ever seen a television, the miracle picture machine and it's strange filtered way of delivering sounds. Distorted. Foreign.

"Ah Kim ah!" He bellowed at the top of his lungs, startling me. City folk are strange people. Nowadays they, you all I mean speak so fast. Back then, they would shout for nothing. The living room was cramped, almost claustrophobic, and he had a need to shout. But yes, for the first time I noticed the old woman who lay in a massive foreign chair facing the tv. Her eyes closed. She did not stir.

"The rice is finally here, we can eat soon." He brayed, ignorant to the fact that Ah Kim didn't quite seem to care. Or move actually. A chill started at the tip of my fingers.

He grabbed the rice bag from me, his sinewy limbs deceptively strong and clattered his way across the room. He stood by the chair and regarded her. "Ah Kim ah, are you cooking today?"

"No?"

He paused as I stood there in silence. I wondered if I should say something. But didn't.

The old man bustled off into the kitchen, swinging in the rice sack as he did. "Hang on, I'll get the money. You stay right there." A moment later, I heard a great crashing sound of pots and cymbals. "Just hang in a bit" he shouted.

I leaned over as the ringing faded into emptiness again. The old woman was still lying there, completely motionless. She wasn't breathing, and her leathery speckled skin was cold to the touch.

A sudden fanfare from the television startled me, and I jumped back as a man in a suit appeared on the screen to synthesised applause and the old man creaked back into the room, shuffling notes in his hand and peering at them with thick squarish glasses. The type that you see nowadays occasionally, in joke shops.

He looked up after counting the money and caught me staring at her. Rolling his eyes he said, "I know she's a little weird at times, excuse her." Flashing a look towards the chair he raised his voice again. "Ah Kim ah, this is the last time I'm cooking this week. I swear."

"She's been sitting there for days, lazy pig. Kim ah, please send our visitor off."

I backed out of that strange place with the money, leaving him behind by himself, only letting myself shed a tear once I was out of the building, out of the alley where he wouldn't hear me. That affection in his voice you see, was and is to this day the plainest purest love I've ever heard.

********************************************

I paid a lot of attention to the sounds I used in this story. I don't know why. I just did it halfway through and I played it up once I realised what I was doing. Don't know if you noticed.

As with a lot of my stories, I started with the ending, made a long start and somehow worked my way there. At the same time, the protagonist doesn't speak. He doesn't say something, not til years later. I didn't realise it until now.

I wonder what it could mean.

(;

And with that I've broken my four month long creative drought. Thank you all.

The 7th Day

EDIT: Note(foreword, whatever, blah, random things i have to say)

Yeah this is one of my longer stories and I am rather thankful that I managed to blast it out in one day(and a few hours) but I suppose it needs work and I should've done more with it before stashing it here in the euphoric sense of achievement I felt after completing it.

After reading it through I realised I really need to work on my punctuation. Its absolutely atrocious. Or maybe I just need a brilliant editor who will take the time to punctuate stuff for me properly. Right now I'm a little too scared of messing it up, (though actually the coherency is quite affected as of this moment) to do anything about the punctuation but I'll give it a fix sometime in the near future. I hope it didn't spoil the story for you!

****************************************************

It had been one week since I got the news. I still hadn't gotten used to him being gone, and I wouldn't for a long while. Every now and then I think of him, and it hurts. Just like that, our perfect little world fell to pieces, and there was nothing I could do about it. We had finally been able to afford a place of our own after years of slogging away deep into the night. It was supposed to be the start, the first step on the road to our dreams and our happily ever after.

Life is cruel sometimes.

It was an accident as they like to call it. A horrific one, 11 cars piled up in the middle of the freeway. 17 injured, 3 dead. I never read the newspaper reports, and I couldn't step out of the house for three days, but I still remember the face of the police officer at the door, the icy fear that gripped my heart.

"Mrs Parker?" He said. "Sophie Parker?" He shifted hesitantly as I nodded, "I'm really sorry.."

The way my world plunged into darkness.

But I had to move on. Or at least try to. I brought Ally out to our backyard to play that day, she was only four and I hadn't and wouldn't and just couldn't tell her. Daddy was far away, I said. He wouldn't be coming back so soon, yes he still loves you very much. She said she understood and gave me a brilliant smile, and it took all my strength not to tear up as I returned the smile.

September 10th, it was to be her fourth, and her first without him. The first of many, but she wouldn't miss him that day I told myself. So I had decked her out in her favourite red dress and set her out with a new shiny set of sand tools in the sandpit in the backyard. The autumn wind bit at our heels that day but she didn't mind; and so I didn't either.

It was a beautiful day, the leaves were golden, and the slight haziness to the air just served to make the soon approaching sunset more picturesque. The wind picked up again, and the dead leaves stirred themselves once more, and soared through the air in a kaleidoscope of colour.

Just then a cloud went over the sun and something went wrong. The leaves fell to the floor, dead again, but the breeze kept blowing, no longer nourishing. No, it was a winter wind, powerful and vengeful seeking to claim and to take; the beauty of the autumn day spoiled and corrupted. A lone church bell tolled in the distance and I felt an icy panic grow within me. Ally didn't notice. The bell sounded again, bringing back memories of a different time. Memories, from a place so far past it seemed like another life.

Chinese bells, funeral bells.

The thought shook me, death was the last thing I wanted on my mind. But yet it was all around, the cold, the finality of it all. Suddenly it struck me of how alone we were. The yard seemed impossibly large, and the fences around it unnecessarily high. Like prison walls they loomed. And yet the yard grew ever more expansive. There was not a human to be heard. The bell tolled again, and once again my mind flew back to the time before and I heard the voice of my long dead grandmother speaking.

"The Chinese say that on the seventh day, the soul of the dead will return....to make a final visit"

Visions, pictures flashed through my mind.

"If you spread talcum powder on the floor and see footprint traces the next day, then you will know your loved one has found their way home......"

Ah Girl tonight you must sleep with us and don't touch the food on the altar. Tomorrow also don't touch. Don't go out of the room until we tell you to okay?

Wah wah come look, Ah Gong came back last night, and he took the oranges we left him...

A strange mood had settled about the place, and I struggled to deal with the inexplicable flood of pictures from my past. Suddenly I noticed the yard had grown deathly still. The loudest sound to be heard was my own breathing, followed by Ally's erratic scraping of the sand.

Just then I heard a distinct crunch behind me. Not loud but distinct, like a footstep. On the edge, I spun around but I found nothing there. Trying to calm myself down, I sat myself next to Ally, and took in the structure she was building. A tower, or lighthouse. I couldn't tell.

Crunch

I jerked myself to my feet and looked around in futility, taking in the sparse grass, and high wooden slats. The safety of the house a million miles away.

Crunch

"Ally."

She looked up.

"Go inside, its time for your dinner soon." I said, trying to keep my voice even, watching her as she slowly gathered up her toys.

"Just leave them dear, I'll get them for you."

She turned for a second and looked at me with her big brown eyes. Is everything alright Mommy? I gave her a reassuring smile, and her mind at ease, she ran the distance up the yard, slamming the screen door behind her as she scrambled up to her room.

Now it was just me. Me and the yard. I didn't know what I was looking for or what made me stay, but then the wind stopped just as the cloud moved away from the sun, pouring light down on me. It was then that he stepped behind me and drew me close, holding me against him with his hands around my waist.

"John.."

"Shh..." he whispered into my ear, "don't try to turn around."

I sighed as he stood there and breathed deeply, once again taking in his scent.

"They didn't lie to me did they John."

"No no," he said, sadness pervading his voice. "They didn't."

I cried; in his arms and he held me tighter, comforting me slowly with his soft words as I slowly made my way back from the hurt, the raw hurt.

"Sophie, I'm going to have to go now." He paused. "I'm sorry I couldn't take care of you like I said I would, I hope you'll forgive me."

I tried to speak but I choked as the words for the moment eluded me, emotion forming an insurmountable lump in my throat.

"Give Ally my love will you, I'll miss her."

I began to cry again, and he hugged me like he always used to once more, pressing something to my hand before letting go.

As soon as he released me I turned around but I was alone again, and he was gone forever. In my right hand was a white rose, whiter than the snow, pristine and perfect.

And I do believe, that the heart does go on.

Don't Forget

When I say I'm bad at beginnings and endings I really mean it.

The following is kinda an example of a terrible starting.

Honestly, I have no idea how to improve it.

I'll title it later.

Get ready for a blast of emotion.

No more than the usual.

(;

Another night, another day of agony he thought. He stepped off the bus aimlessly, catching his foot on the sidewalk and nearly falling, almost comically to the floor beside the street lamp. It was late, he thought, under the glow of the light, very late.

Regaining his balance, he looked up and stumbled out of the bus stop. The days had been bad as of late, it was almost as if he was in a permanent stupor, like he was drunk, except he hated alcohol.

A figure loomed out of the gloom in front of him, coming suddenly yet not quite unexpectedly, like a dream creature materialising in a nightmare. The shape seemed startlingly familiar, and he paused. She stepped into the light and he stopped. She stopped too.

They both stood there for a while, in the silence. It all came back to them immediately, expectations, dreams, hopes, disappointment, anger, bitterness, all catching them in their powerful force, it was as if, as if no time had passed. But yet, things were different.

"Hey..." She offered uncertainly, her voice faltering as her brain failed to find something else to say.

"Go away." He said, almost mumbling and muttering it, he turned away, hurt on his face.

She took a half step forward and reached her arm out to him, searching for words for the moment, there were only two.

"I'm sorry..."

The words came hesitantly, but they came nonetheless. He struggled with the powerful emotions they triggered at him, unsure of how to proceed. He wanted to turn, hold her and never let go, but he wouldn't let himself, he couldn't.

She could see what he wanted, but also saw him fighting against it, and felt a tinge of regret spread within her.

"You didn't have to go."

He spoke slowly, but they hit her like bullets, so hard, so hurting, so true. It had been her, and he had borne more than anyone should have had to bear. She had her reasons, he had to see that. It had been hard on her too.

She watched as he stood there, hurting and angry in his conviction, she realized she couldn't hold herself back anymore, and flung her arms around him as he faced away from her. He stiffened momentarily and then felt his body instinctively relax. Right then, they remembered the happier times, the whispered ambitions, the forever they once had. Right then, they were them again, and once again, they managed to share forever.

Then he tore himself away from her, and looked at her in the face for the last time.

He was crying, she thought. She had never seen him do that before, not even when he thought she had gone forever. He was gone forever she realized, the wound had cut too deep. Too deep for her to heal, one that perhaps would only be fixed by another forever. A different one.

An icy chill gripped her heart as he said the words that she knew he would say. Don't say it, she silently begged, but as much as he didn't want to, he would.

"Goodbye." He said, finality in his voice. He managed to stride past her with all the willpower in his being before he choked up, and began to run, from her, from the past, to the future with no hope.

And it was her turn to feel that strange wetness on her face, blurring her vision, sticking to her glasses, ruining her make-up. She fumbled for a tissue, she had always been the stronger one, and dabbed at her eyes as she walked ahead to the bus stop and stared out at the night sky and the endless cars, endless possibilities that passed her by.

As they made their way away from each other, they both knew that the regrets would remain with them for a long time, that many other nights would be spent in despondency, pointless dreaming over what might have become. There was no going back for them they realized, and in a beautiful sad way, that was the last thought they ever shared.

The Text

For those of you who don't know, I have the propensity for writing stories set in bus-stops or on the bus.

Why? Partly cause I take the bus a lot, and it's a rather interesting place, but that's for another post. The bus-stop serves merely as the setting in this case, and doesn't play too much of a role.

It's a romance story, enjoy.

The Text:

He stared at the phone screen.

Dammit. How should he phrase it.

He quickly typed out the first thing that came to his head as he walked towards the bus stop. It was stupid, simple and plain he thought. Instantly he deleted it and came up with a more carefully considered message.

Too rambling, his mind reminded him. He furrowed his brow, and after 5 minutes came up with yet another message.

Hmmm, nothing seriously wrong with it he thought, sitting down on the bench without looking. But…what if, she read that wrongly. No, it wasn't saying enough. No, it was perfectly fine, if he deleted it he wouldn't be able to come up with anything better. His fingers hovered over the send button, but he found lacked the gumption to press it.

He forced his thumb downwards and mentally cursed himself as his mind practically screamed at him to stop, and was just about to go for a third try when he heard the loud screeching brakes of the bus. He hurriedly got into the back of the queue and when he looked down, he found the screen black, idle.

Irritatedly, he jammed the centre button, bringing the screen back to life, and also to his utmost horror, activating the send option. He jammed the red button on his phone. But it was too late, the message had been sent.

He facepalmed as he got on the bus and pressed his head against the pole, ignoring the mass of people swarming around him and squashing him from all sides, holding his phone closely to his chest. I'm doomed he thought, that’s it, I've messed up. She's not going to say anything to that.

He rued the missed chance, the wasted opportunity, his stupidity. He grieved for his future, once so bright, now as ashen as his face looked to anyone else on the bus who bothered to look at him, which was very forlornly ashen indeed.

The bus jerked and his face was brought briefly away from the pole for an instant, before the force ensured that both face and pole were reunited, violently. He gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to cry out. It would not do to let everyone in the bus think there was something wrong with him too.

Oh this was all your fault he thought, who asked you to take that stupid advice, now you're dead and doomed to eternal misery and solitude. Oh woe is me, I should throw myse-

Just then his phone beeped.

He glanced down and his heart skipped a beat.

Game on buster, game on.

******************************************

If you think it's interestingly real well that's cause it is, in the most part at least, naturally I fell to self parody.

If it isn't it means there's something wrong with the way I read my own stories.

As for who the unlucky girl is, let's just say it shall remain a secret.