Under the eyes of the moon

Whenever I gaze out of my window, under the endless clear dark night I sometimes see the pale moon gazing back at me. That image often makes me remember of him. They’re rather bitter at times and sweet at others, just like a cup of coffee. The memories spent with him were rich and definitely unforgettable.

I remember the first time I met him. It was raining hard and I had forgotten my umbrella. Like a dream- he, who had just alighted the same bus as me, appeared behind me offering to share his. It was the first time I laid my eyes on him. I still remember his tanned skin, his warm black eyes that were dark like the night - and his beautiful smile. Just like all the books I had read and dreams I had dreamt about, it was really love at first sight. We spent many happy times together simply sitting and talking. We were friends but nothing more and I enjoyed just watching him and being with him.

He walked me home one particular day. The moon, a silvery orb amidst its indigo blanket, observed us strolling down the lonely path. I can still recall the smell of freshly cut grass and the impending rain. As we approached my home, he reached over; his normally carefree eyes were serious. I wished he had not told me. A beautiful outing marred by the news of him migrating was clearly etched into my brain. The fading view of his back and the shivery feeling of the rain falling over me, drenching me was something I could never forget.

The moon that is so round and pale; the moon that is hooded like a sleepy eye will one day perhaps one day watch us again. After all who knows where fate will lead us to? Until then, the memories of him and I will remain like the bittersweet aftertaste of coffee, engraved into my memories.

Escape

A/N: I’ve undecided to continue this as a longer story or just leave it as it.  Shows decent promise of a decent long story, buttttttttttttttttttt I’ve noooooooo inspiration to do it.  I guess I’ll just chuck this into the short stories

—-

She twirled the glass cup in her hand, watching, listening the soft clink of the ice as it move around the cup. Wordlessly, she placed the glass onto the table, looking up at the bartender who watched her as he wiped the glass.

“More Whisky?” he asked.
“No, thank you Joe,” she replied, her mind still fresh with the night’s events. She needed to get out of town quickly, she looked at her hands half-expecting them to be still blood stained. The feeling of blood on one’s hands was harder to remove than the stain itself. She clawed at her right hand trying to scratch the memory of it off.
“Anything bothering you Sam?” Joe asked. She could feel his warm brown eyes watching her. She wondered how she could involve him, the only decent guy she had met since she had arrived at the town; but the burden of carrying the entire truth was too hard, too heavy. Unconsciously, she clenched her fist, before finally looking up.

“Joe –“ she started and paused. Joe stared at her. He wordlessly walked to the door and locking it, changing to the closed sign hanging on the door.

“Now there will be no chance of anyone disturbing us. What happened Sam?” he poured a glass of whisky and placed it in front of her.

She closed her eyes, remembering briefly yet so distinctly she could almost feel the taste of it.

—-

The man heaving over her panted heavily, beads of his sweat falling onto her as his hands roamed the curves of her half naked body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he panted, kissing her, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She felt revolted at the feeling of his tongue in her mouth but without choice, she closed her eyes bringing her tongue to meet his. He gasped for air as he broke away.

“Clothes don’t suit you, your skin is so beautiful.” He tore away the rest, gently kissing down her body. She gasped with each kiss knowing she had to please him. Pulling her legs apart again, he stuffed himself in her, heaving until he finally lay tired on her.

She looked impassively at him. It was just a job. He was just another of those filthy mobsters that had threatened to kill her only sister if she didn’t give her body to them. What number was he now, she wondered. How many more men before she could call it a day. She looked at the side of the bed. There lay a small knife. Her eyes flickered back on the man sleeping on her. Trying hard not to move too much, she reached for the knife that resided between the mattress and the wooden frame of the bed. Her hand closing on the cold metal handle of the butter knife, she stabbed him. She stabbed him over and over again until the blood spurted all over her.

—-

“Sam?” Joe prodded, breaking her from her thoughts.

“I killed him, Joe,” she whispered. “I killed one of the William’s henchman. I couldn’t take it anymore.” She flinched as he put his arms around her and quietly pet her hand like a mother would do to a child.

“You just killed a henchman of the biggest triad leaders.”

“I-I need to get out of town quickly,” she stammered, her tears streaming down her face. He wiped her tears away.

“Have you got your stuff?” She mutely nodded, gesturing to the haversack beside her. “What about Sara?”

“She managed to flee town yesterday, but I have no idea where. I was too scared to call her in case they tapped my –“ She hushed at his warm embrace.

“Calm down. Let’s get out of this town.” He moved to retrieve some items in his apartment above his bar. She stared stricken at him. “If I’m gonna get you out, I might as well come,” he smiled at her.

“Thank you Joe,” she smiled a little.

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok.”

Forgotten

The withered petal of the once red rose fell onto the dusty table. The marble tiles on the floor showed hollowness. The trail of a week ago was still visible. Outside a shrill howl of the wind battering on the windows, as though trying to find a way in. The last few hours of the quickly fading sunlight fell onto a disused cage that sat in a corner of the bare house. Pale yellow feathers that seemed to glow in the sunlight still lay there. There were few items that had been left by the previous owned, each with a sad tale to tell one if they would open their eyes and heart to listen.

 

A rocking horse spun from not wood but cane resting flat on its side as if trying to watch the sun set with its wooden eyes. Broken but not forgotten like almost everything else in the house was a turntable. Once it played beautiful music to all that would wind it and listen.. They had been abandoned as junk- not wanted and likely not missed. However that was for all but one.

 

The tiles around her had turned to a rusty brown like the knife close to her. Her dark brown eyes still gazing unblinkingly to the opposite side of the wall as it would do for the rest of eternity. Already bugs had started to crawl about and infest in her. The vines outside the house seem to mutter in disbelief ‘How crude mankind had become’. Her once pretty face gradually decomposing to dust, with not a soul living in ten miles around the dilapidated house, there was no hope for discovery. She had been used like the each item in the house then disposed of. ‘A rose to love you when you die’ was the last words she heard. Alas, the end to another tragic affair. Eventually like the house she was discarded in, she would resign to the hand fate had dealt with, to walk for all infinity along the rose vines that bound with each day tighter around the decrepit house.

—-
Property of LunaWingz

Simplicity

The silver mobile phone sat on my table looking so innocently. Today it had been quiet the whole day. Tapping my fingers impatiently, I wondered for the umpteenth time what happened to him. It bothered me that he had not made an effort to call and tell me that he would be late. Then again, he had never been usually late. The second hand of my plastic watch ticked aimlessly by as I gazed through the frosted glass patiently waiting. A whiff of noodles wafted from the nearby shop. It was a promise we made three years ago when we parted. In my mind, that very scene was clear in my memories as though it was replaying itself: the gentle smile on his face, the sound of his voice mixed with the musk scent of the soap he frequently used and the aroma of steaming hot noodles. I smiled unconsciously to myself as I thought of him.

That shop was our favourite shop and held a lot of memories of our time together. Forty minutes had passed since I sat on this bench. I spun my head around almost half standing, but behind me was no one. I sighed half in embarrassment half in disappointment. Perhaps he could have really left me for another female like that scantily dressed female sashaying down the street or he could have forgotten. Thousands of could haves and maybes flooded my mind as I sat mutely on that wooden bench at the side of the street.

Suddenly the ringing of the ambulance that sped down the street pierced through my thoughts like a knife. I stared at disbelief at it, hearing the onlookers muttering to themselves about how the poor man had been hit. My hands involuntarily clasped each other, my knuckles turning to the whitest shade that was possible on a human body. I could not have been so prophetic. Wordlessly I cursed myself for having even thought of such things. Jason could have fallen ill; he was after all a bit on the weak side.

“Poor man, he seemed to have been in a hurry. I wonder who is waiting for him…”

“You think she might be around?”

“He might have been late…”

“Should have seen that truck…”

My mind wheeling in scepticism at what could have possibly happen, beads of tears started to fall. I waited three years for him. He promised he would meet me three years after he completed his degree. I waited three whole years for him.

I hurried down the street, selfishly pushing the onlookers aside. Crimson covered the jet black road, a nauseating sight in plain sight. I panted slightly partial from the pushing of people, partial from the heavy disquieting feeling in my stomach. The man had sandy brown hair like Jason; he was tall just like Jason. Shaking my head, I refused to believe it was Jason. Gratefully I leaned against the cool concrete wall taking gulps of breath. It was not Jason. It had been simply a frightful illusion of my eyes. Unsteadily, I stumbled back to the bench where I had been sitting, taking in the fragrant of steamed dumplings and noodles. Almost an hour had past, where was Jason?

Perhaps Jason really had forgotten about me. No matter what he had said or done, we probably were now merely friends as far as good friends can go. I stood up to leave and paused in mid-step. Something told me to wait. It must have been a silly imagination of mine. After all this place held so many memories to me, it was the place I met Jason, our first date and the place we parted.

“Sam, would you …?”

I twisted around in surprise. He smiled, his dark brown eyes winking, the sandy brown hair messily all over his face.

“I’m sorry I was late,” he meekly said. “But would you?” He opened the small red case in his hand - a simple silver ring in the casing.

“Sam would you be my wife?” he said simply with all the sincerity one could possibly hear of.

—-

Property of LunaWingz 

Fallen is he who once soared

The sound of the birds starting to roost sounded loud in his ears. The thick forest barely tinged with shades of crimson and olive was starting to fade to an array of blue. He stared into the rapidly darkening sky longingly. The price to stand to ones beliefs was grave for he was at the moment filled with bitterness and regret. To have lost the freedom to soar among the birds and to play with the clouds without any worries was simply too harsh he thought. He drooped his head, his arms leaning against the rock he had been sitting on. He wept silently into his hands. His pale skin seeming to glow in the dark shadow of the night, his white wings spread wide open in its last embrace of the wind.

Slowly almost like an eternity, its feathers quietly fell like snow onto the forest floor. The night creatures eyed him with curiosity as the fireflies kissed his skin while they flirted with each other. He stood up calmly, his closed eyes tilted to the twilight stars. Having cried his insecurities out, he remained that way for the longest time contemplating the mission he had been sent on.

He had fallen from the heavens, his lean body now mortal, sent to do something almost impossible. He had no vague idea where to begin nor had he not had a glimpse of possibility to complete it. To do what he must he sighed inaudibly as broke from his thoughts. He looked back at the road he left, the white road that gradually fade from his view. Not that it was no longer existed, only he could no longer see with.

—-

Property of LunaWingz

The House of Black Roses

The house at the end of the street was pitch black, like the night that covered it endlessly. The rose vines twisted and turned as though trying to crawl its way into the desolated house; a house only spoken in hushed whispers regardless of age, man or woman, child or adult. A secret lay in it, a secret that no one will ever find out, that no one knows - no one living that is.

It used to be painted bright yellow, the parents of the children who lived down the road would tell them, but one would hardly believe it. The dark green vines of the thorn bush covered almost the full length of the house, and patches where paint could have existed has peeled and faded off from existence, leaving a dark grimy grey that was as gloomy as the house seemed. For they, for as they could remember, the house lay deserted, abandoned - a story untold. The sounds of laughter of a girl and boy would sometimes drift from the house, on the days where the sun did not shine. The sounds of a dog barking playfully would follow, but neither shadow nor silhouette was ever seen. They would tremble at the thought of it and feared their children would be foolish enough to approach the strange house. The light bulb of the lamppost at the end of street had been blown, yet no matter how many times it was changed, it refused to work. Flickering occasionally to the dismay of the people.

The once black gate that hung on one rusted hinge creaks in the wind like every old gate would. Yet days where the night was hot and sweltering, when the wind refused to blow, it creaked like it was being slowly opened. Those were the days where the parents shooed their children into the safety of their homes with the dreadlock bolted. The leaves rustled in the nonexistent wind, the dog would whine in their doghouse, the cat would hiss and spit then hide in a corner and the birds, the crickets and everything that contributed to the night sounds would fall to an eerie silence. The doors would rattle in this same nonexistent wind and so would the windows. Nothing ever happened, the people were left alone and so were the animals - nothing, until that night.

The specialist were called in, everything the people could think of. They poked and prodded the house with their tools and knowledge. Yet all was silent. The vines had wounded too thickly, too close for them to enter the house, they said. Clear the vines, they declared. They found the axe and the chainsaw in the garage. What happened next made them think twice. The rose bush had burst into a deepest darkest crimson red they had ever seen, a shade too close to black, a shade too close to the colour of dried blood. A black rose is possible, they said. They advanced towards the dilapidated house. All day and night they hacked away, ignoring the pricks and thorns of the rose bush. Tired they took a rest in the shade of one of the houses. Almost done, they murmured as they drowsed in the afternoon heat and they never woke up.

That night, a voice floated from the house. The adults fell into a deep sleep while the children shivered under their duvets, praying it would stop. For a little girl and boy that lived down the street, it felt as though it beckoned them. Hand in hand, they walked down the road, each step taking them closer to the forsaken house. They saw the little opening just enough space for a child to crawl through. A doll faded and worn at the bottom of the steps, the tall rickety steps with its once brass but now rusted railings was that they saw. The door at the end of the bleak hallway slammed and opened itself as though moving in a strong wind. Up the shaky staircase they went. Round and round till they reached the top. They gasped. Despite the dim moonlight the room was lit in, the room, they saw, was filled with countless of dolls. A girl and a boy, hand in hand stood waiting for them. They laughed, beckoning no one in particular and only with the bark of a dog answering it. Their silhouette cast no shadow in the moonlight. A time to change they said. A time to reunite, children replied. The girl and boy disappeared, leaving nothing but the remains of decomposed bones and rusted steel chains.

The next morning the adults aroused from their deep slumber. A song, some said, a beautiful voice. Others claimed it had been a musical box, but the secret of the house remains untold. The two children were never seen again.

—-

Property of LunaWingz