The Day The War Stopped: A Short Story
Hey there, wishing a happy new year to everyone! How have you been lately? I hope that you've been doing well, and are enjoying your holidays. This time of year really is my favorite, since it gives me a sense of accomplishment about making it through all the difficulties and challenges that we faced this year. Although, not all battles were victories, as long as you did your best then I think that's more than enough 😁
Granted, this month's entry is late lol. December has been surprisingly eventful! Just a couple days ago I went to the beach with a good friend's family, and it was pretty fun. I didn't tan (thankfully), but then again, we did go swimming in the late afternoon and the sun wasn't really quite strong already lololol. I also went to visit my old high school earlier this month since they were having a big Christmas party. I mayyyy have stolen a donut or two from their Christmas potluck though
shhh. Oh, I really will miss high school!
Anyways, for
this month's installment to the Spaceship and Vampires Monthly Writing Challenge (which I've chosen to abbreviate as SVMWC in the tags), the theme was Christmas! I guess it's only right for it to be seasonal lol. I want to encourage you guys to take part in this challenge as well! It's really good exercise for your writing muscles to stay sharp ✨ You can check out all the entries from last month for inspiration if you want, it's over here. Scroll around through Andrea's blog while you're there, she's a pretty great writer herself ❤
That aside, over the past few months as I participated in the SVMWC, I think I'm starting to have an affinity for writing about historical or cultural events, so this month's story is certainly going to follow that motif LOLOL. I remember in history class year ago, we discussed about World War I and the trenches. I remember there being some sort of "Christmas truce" at one point in the war, and I thought it'd make a good story, so I decided to write a short piece of historical fiction about it!
I hope you guys like this one, and (belated) merry Christmas/happy holidays and a happy new year to y'all ❤
You closed one eye and peered through the periscope of your sniper rifle with the other. "Just as expected," you grumble, ducking back in between the cold, hard dirt wall of the trenches.
What you just saw through the scope was nothing out of ordinary— only the bleak view of No Man's Land, the de facto name troops have christened the large expanse of land between your trenches and the enemy's. The barren swamp was framed with tumbles of barbed wire from both sides, and corpses and debris from exploded shells littered the muddy, rocky ground.
It was now December 25, and you're certain that the war had been going on for a almost five months at this point. The German front lines seem to be inactive over the past few days. You aren't complaining though— the peace, no matter how brief, was always welcomed.
"Chap, get back up," your partner hissed, giving you a swift kick in the shins.
"Good heavens sir Michael, I do not wish to argue but not a soul has made a peep for at least a week now," you complained. "And besides, I heard the Pope had suggested some sort of peace treaty for Christmas."
Your spotter, who we now know is named Michael, responded. "Bah, we take orders from the head, not the Pope! Younguns like yourself have grown softer over the years," he lamented, shaking his head. "Back in my day, young men your age would be well on their way to becoming the head of atroop themselves! Wouldn't hesitate to fire a gun either."
"Well, I apologize for this generation's softness sir," you scoffed, tipping your helmet lower over your eyes with one hand. The algid December air was festering with the scent of the trenches—dirt, corpses, gunpowder, feces. You imagine that perhaps the other side was smelling a similar stench in their trenches as well.
Now it was Michael's turn to complain. "But well, I suppose you are right, lad," he sighed, his posture relaxing a bit. "Christmas is here, but I'm not happy. This war hullabaloo is making me depressed."
"Me too sir," you blandly respond, a sliver of agreement beneath your tone. You were about to carry on the small talk you two were having, when suddenly, a moving speck appeared in your field of vision.
"Sir Michael?" You quint at the distance, trying to confirm whether or not your eyes are deceiving you. "Sir, there seems to be a German on the opposite trench." You begin to take aim.
Your partner squints. "Seems like it," he confirms, not looking away from the speck. It was a German soldier's helmet, the camouflage print, bobbing up and down from behind the barbed wire that protected the opposing trench. "Hold your fire, chap. It might be a ruse," Michael instructs.
Your fingers curl tighter around your rifle, a finger resting on the trigger. You really had hoped that you wouldn't have to shoot anything today— or anyone, for that matter.
Before you could continue to engage in your internal monologue, a slow, foreign voice rang through the air. "Stille Nacht! Heil'ge Nacht!"
The voice was masculine, and most certainly sounded like it was German. You raised your head from your shooting position to get a view of the enemy's territory.
On the trench was a German soldier. most likely the source of the voice. "Alles schläft, einsam wacht," he continued to sing, a tired smile plastered on his face, as he pulled up a fellow soldier from his side onto the trench.
"What in the blazes are they doing," Michael whispered, incredulity thinly veiled by his raspy lilt.
You recognized the melody. "That's Silent Night, sir," you commented, turning to look at your partner. It seems that he is a step ahead of you though, as he was already gesturing at another nearby soldier to come closer and give a second opinion.
"Aye, that sure is an odd thing for 'em Germans to do," the soldier nodded. "Y'know what, I'm gonn' be calling some other lads to take a gander here," he said, and trotted off.
There were at least thirty German soldiers in their worn military uniforms standing on their trenches now, arms over each other's shoulders as they swayed left and right, singing slightly off-tune like jolly drunken men. "Uns der Gnaden Fülle läßt sehn, Jesum in Menschengestalt!"
A small crowd has started to form near the front of the trenches, where you are currently situated, in order to discuss the enemy's strange behavior.
"It's definitely a trap," one chimed in. "Those Germans are trying to lure us out!"
"Hey, why don't a sniper go ahead and just shoot while they're vulnerable, eh? This is a great opportunity," a soldier discussed with someone, shoving a thumb towards you.
"That's a pretty risky move," another retorts. "There is always the possibility that all this is a ruse to get us to reveal weak spots."
The soldiers were in a heated discussion about the predicament, though you simply do not know how or why they refuse to simply be human men today; to simply live and let live, to feel the spirit of peace that Christmas was supposed to have. Your grip on the sniper rifle becomes tenuous. You can't possibly shoot these men. You put your rifle down.
"Gentlemen, I think we do not see the point here," you finally decided to chime in, raising your voice to draw everyone's attention. "What's the big fuss? It's Christmas, for heavens' sake! Can't we be just be humans for once?" You began stretching your legs and getting on your feet, hoisting yourself over the edge of the trenches you were defending.
The men began panicking, unsure whether or not they should pull you back down. "Chap, what in the world are you doing? You're out of your mind!" someone exclaims.
You take off your helmet and looked down onto the bewildered, gaping jawed faces of the weary English soldiers crouching between the trenches. "Well, as I said," you smiled, a twinkle in your tired eyes. "It's Christmas!" You took a deep breath, and yelled from the top of your lungs, not caring whoever hears you. "Merry Christmas!"
Labels: SVMWC
Powders: A Short Story
Hello everyone, good day! How has life been? I hope that everything's been relatively manageable for you. Please take care of yourselves, and do take some time to pursue your hobbies! Whether it's music, writing, or reading a book, as long as you indulge in a bit of self-care to stay sane then some good should come from it ❤️
Anyways, this post will be another short story; that is, another entry for the monthly writing challenge Andrea hosts over at
Spaceships, Vampires, and Very Secret Agents. I really do want to encourage everyone to participate in this, perhaps even in future installments of the challenge! It's a fun exercise to help writers (aspiring or otherwise) to get creative and keep those skills sharp ✨ You can check out this November's theme over
here, and tell her that I sent you LOLOL. Take time to explore their blog as well, you won't regret it! Oh, and if you'd like to read my previous entries for this monthly writing challenge, check out blog posts in this site that have the SVMWC tag; I'd love to hear what you think!
Am I risking cultural appropriation? I don't know lol, but I did try to research about this so I hope I won't say anything too out of place (please do say if anything sounds factually incorrect though!). I tried to make a short story that depicts the different experiences of perception. Without further ado, I present to you, dear readers, my entry for this month's theme— color. Please enjoy.
The sun was poised up high above the deep blue sky. Warm rays of sunshine bounced off the delicate swathes of clouds scattered across the ultramarine expanse. The small Indian town was only starting to wake, yet shops remained closed as a small crowd started to gather in the town square.
In one of the little inns tucked between the streets of small town was a young woman, perhaps in her twenties. She was sitting on the floor of her lodging, both her arms and legs crossed; her brow was knit in evident frustration.
"What an idiot I am," she sighed. Strewn in front of the cross legged woman were her various belongings. A tripod leaned haphazardly on the edge of her purple suitcase, which looked like it was ransacked. Crumpled shirts lay in sad piles surrounding the woman, a laptop expertly balanced on the mounds of fabric with the rest of the things she had packed to shoot this year's Holi, the magnificent festival of colors.
Alas, one vital object was missing from this assemblage of goods— the camera itself.
Her beautiful, swarthy Canon EOS 5D Mark IV was nowhere to be found; probably forgotten in a closet at home. "I'm such a scatterbrain. Of all things, I just had to leave the cam behind," the woman sighed, berating herself. Unfortunately there is not much for her to do in the absence of her photography implement, as she would be unable to do her job without a camera. "I'm already here though; it'd be a waste to not see Holi for myself," the woman said to herself. And so, she gets up and put on comfortable clothes, and went on her way.
It was only a few minutes past 7 AM, but the streets were already brimming with people and powders. Strangers patted yellow ochre dust on one another and wished for their good health. A pair of lovers dashed by, playfully chasing each other with vibrant crimson in their fists. The air was heavy with tinted mist. Holi was already well under way, but the woman was in no mood to partake in the kaleidoscopic festivities— not after finding out that she wouldn't be able to document it.
As the woman absentmindedly wandered the streets, a group of howling teenagers sprinted across her, letting loose a flurry of reds and blues that found its way onto her shirt. The woman had no time to react, and simply stood there on the curb, wide eyed.
"C'mon guys, wait up! You're too fast," a girl— perhaps the same age as those teens— yelled as she ran after them. Unfortunately, it seemed like this girl is not the most physically fit, as she placed her hands on her knees and was gasping for air. She looked up at the color-assaulted woman who was in shock. "Madame, are you alright there?"
The woman probed her apparel with gentle touches, but the red dye managed to stain her fingers nevertheless.
"You're shirt's going to be stained for a while," the teenage girl noted, shaking her head. "I do hope that that's a spare."
"Sadly, it isn't," the woman said in disdain. "But it's alright, really. I did go out today in order to observe the festivities, so getting the colors of Holi on me is to be expected," she laughs. "By any chance, are you a local? I'm a journalist for The Daily Mail, but due to unfortunate circumstances, taking photographs isn't possible for me right now. But it'd be a shame to return to Mumbai empty handed, so I'd really appreciate if you could show me around and give an interview?"
The girl nods and smiled. "Sure! I'd be glad to lend you a hand! May I ask what's this 'unfortunate circumstance' is about?"
"I, uh," the woman stammered, scratching her head. "I forgot to pack a camera before coming here."
Indra lifted a hand over her mouth, barely concealing a giggle. "Is that so? That's rsaeally unfortunate madame, but I'd be willing to act as a tour guide."
"Thank you," the woman smiled. "Let's talk as you show me around. May I know your name please?"
The teenager nodded. "My name is Indra. May I ask for yours as well?"
"You can call me Carmencita," the journalist woman smiled. "Indra is a wonderful name. From indradhanush, the Hindi for 'rainbow'. Quite fitting for this festival," she added with a chuckle.
"Thanks, but it's rather ironic," Indra laughed. "I ought to mention I'm colorblind, if that'll affect anything regarding the interview."
Carmencita shook her head reassuringly. "It's alright, I don't mind in the slightest."
The two females started to walk down the crowded road. "I guess you know by now that Holi is essentially a spring festival— a welcoming," Indra began. "People throw abir, colored powder, on each other to symbolize playfulness and good wishes. The colors each mean something as well."
The pair entered the town square, a bustling park teeming with families, lovers, and friends with vibrant, abir touched skin. They decided to sit on one of the benches that lined the path.
"I hope that my question does not come off as a breach of privacy, but I'm genuinely curious— how does it feel to celebrate and be a part of a cultural festivity that heavily relies on the visage of colors?" Carmencita asked, her torso slightly turned to look at Indra.
"Well, I don't really know," Indra carefully said, rubbing her chin. "It's odd. I've been born with this handicap, so not being able to distinguish certain colors is my normal." A short silence ensued before she continued. "Although, people do talk about colors a lot, so I think I have a good grasp of how they feel at the very least."
Carmencita raised an eyebrow at the girl's response. "How colors feel? Now that's an interesting sentiment. Tell me about that."
Indra's gaze landed on another pair of lovers, walking side by side as they left a trail of crimson in their wake. "Hmm, those pair of lovers over there," she pointed. "Although I cannot see what color the powders on their skin is, I'm almost sure that it's red. Red feels like something passionate. It's the rage that blinds your eyes, the adrenaline in your veins. But at the same time, it seems like the color of a warm flush on someone's cheeks during a moment of joy and love. Red feels like the color of a confident woman's lipstick."
"Over there, those leaves," Indra continued, gesturing towards some trees. "I've at least had the knowledge of their usual colors as green, so I associate green with life. It's the smell of the earth and the sound of rustling leaves. It's lush and peaceful and all over, like the grass underfoot or the canopy of trees."
Carmencita briefly closes her eyes as she lets Indra's words weave tapestries in her mind, then opens them again. "Fascinating. When you put it that way, it sounds very lovely," she smiled. "You have a great way with words, Indra."
"Thanks you," she smiled. "I think color is a visceral thing; it's not just what's visible," she explained. "Perhaps that's why I think of colors the way I do."
"That's definitely a unique perspective."
"Is it though?" Indra mused. "Well, I guess the 'feel' of colors is not something people would usually think about. What about you though," she asked. "I'm curious as to how you perceive colors!"
Carmencita scratches her head. "It's not really that interesting," she said. "I guess I only rely on the visual clues to tell them apart. Reds are the colors of cherries and strawberries. Blues are skies. All very practical."
"Huh, well that's a bit dull I think," Indra remarked. "A life without any sort of whimsy; no offense madame, but it seems like that's how you see the world right now."
Carmencita laughs. "None taken. You may be speaking the truth there. I've been living life around the printing presses for years; all the black and white of journalism has sucked away my soul." The older woman slumped back onto the bench. "Now let me tell you something; in our profession, things are either true or not true. It's very clean cut. No nonsense," she described.
"To be frank, I think I've lost my passion," Carmencita continued. "It all feels stale and drab. I've been wanting and waiting to do something big, but," she trailed off and shrugged.
"Then I guess it's just right that you're here in time for Holi," Indra replied after a few moments of silence. "A festival of colors and spring. Just what a sleeping soul needs to wake up," she smiled.
"I suppose," the older woman affirmed. "Thank you Indra, that was enlightening. If you don't mind, I'd like to cut the interview short and end it here," Carmencita said as she got on her feet.
The teenager shook her head. "That's fine with me. Good luck with your article, madame."
"Perhaps I'll go experience the colors of Holi for myself. It was a pleasure meeting you Indra, goodbye," Carmencita beamed, waving goodbye as she traversed the path through the rainbow bathed park.
Labels: SVMWC
Demonio: A Short Story
Hello everyone! I hope you've all been doing well lately. Have you been eating your meals? Make sure to take care of yourself and have proper meals! Even brunch is okay, as long as you make sure to fill that stomach of yours and get the energy you need to seize the day ✨
Wow, we're pretty much past halfway through October! Time really does fly by, even for someone like me who's still on my extended break after graduating high school. I'll definitely whip up a "life update" blog entry before the year ends to explain why. I think the situation I'm in right now is rather peculiar and worth sharing LOLOLOL 😆
But I digress. If you have scrolled down a little, you would most likely encounter a blog post
containing a short story called Oceanarium, which was my September entry for the monthly writing challenge Indigo hosts over at Spaceships, Vampires, and Very Secret Agents. Anyways, for the record, it may be worth mentioning that I'd love to make this regular thing for as long as I can lol. Not only is this challenge good writing practice for me, but it's also something I find therapeutic when I'm stuck in one of my unproductive episodes ❤ Here's the blog post with this month's details for anyone who wants to give it a shot (and I encourage you to do so!) On a side note, I'm pleasantly surprised by how long this entry turned out to be LOLOL
In the fittingly spoopy spirit of October, this month's theme is "Halloween"! Let me get this out of the way before you read though; I mayyy have taken some liberties with the theme and set my story in a different (maybe-related) holiday, but definitely still related to souls and the dead—
both of which are quite Halloween-y elements. I do hope you guys will accept my tweak 😅 With that said, please enjoy my attempt to commemorate the souls of the lost.
"Ugh." A peculiar Creature perches on a tombstone, its back hunched and expression scrunched. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, illuminating the clouds' undersides with a soft amber glow. Varying headstones, crosses, and altars of stone and marble cast a welter of long shadows on the weedy path. The cemetery itself was neither chilly nor humid; a cool air rested between the stone, wildflowers, and soil as an elegant, eerie sullenness enveloped the tombs.
It was Día de los Muertos, the day of the dead, and the overgrown cemetery was void of families and rowdy children to build little altars filled with marigolds and sentimental tchotchkes for the departed souls of the bodies that lay in their graves.
"To be fair," the Creature muttered, "this cementerio has been abandoned for nearly a century now." It shuffled its position on the tombstone, and decided that the slab of rock was an uncomfortable roost as it stood up with a grunt. "But Dios mío, I have been abandoned along with this place!" The peculiar Creature, in a fit of misery, started to trample the poor, unassuming weeds under its feet.
As it was occupied with stomping on the overgrowth like a madman, the rusty cemetery gates pleadingly creaked open. A noise like nails scraping on chalkboards echoed through the tombs. The Creature snapped to attention, sharply turning its intent gaze towards the long-undisturbed ingress of the graveyard. From the entryway stepped a youthful girl, her eyes cautiously examining the unearthly locale. She was conservatively clad in religious habit, her garb and veil a dark monochrome. With a soft footing, she makes her way through patches of tall grass and weeds as she continues to scrutinize the area with guarded eyes.
"Oy!" The Creature called out— though what compelled it to do so was beyond understanding. The young girl stopped cold on her tracks, clutching the small cross that hung from her neck then staying completely still, but her eyes were obviously flitting around to find the source of the beckoning. "Over here niñita," the peculiar Creature called out once more. "Can you see me?"
The girl finally laid eyes on the peculiar entity, unsure whether to run away or cry for help. She clears her dry throat and manages a whisper. "Are you a demonio?"
"Sure, whatever. Espíritu, demonio, it doesn't matter." The Creature sighed. "I am the keeper of these grounds, and you are the first human to visit in decades." And the wanderer is a nun no less, the Creature thought. What a nice surprise. "What brings you here?"
The girl assumed a calm demeanor, and she straightened her posture to look directly at the Creature. "I— uh," she stammers, fidgeting with her silver crucifix. "I was gathering flowers for the Día de los Muertos mass. I lost my way through the woods."
The peculiar Creature was finally able to take a good look at the visitor. She possessed a petite stature, as seem by how her tunic and scapular drapes breezily on her frame. A white coif rests beneath her black veil, concealing her hair. The sleeves of her garment were wide and flowing, from which her dainty hands peeked out, grasping her pendant. A wicker basket of marigolds was situated on the crook of her elbow.
Since when were convents allowed to let in girls this young? Times really have passed, the Creature brooded. "You know, it's quite ironic how you— a member of a religious order whose purpose is to guide lost souls— are lost yourself," it jested, approaching the girl.
"You need to shut up, demon," the young nun grumbled, throwing it a fistful of marigolds from her harvest, which simply fell limply at the Creature's feet. "You can't hurt me."
The peculiar Creature couldn't help but let out a chortle from the valiant attempt. "That's rich," it said between laughs, wiping away a metaphorical tear. "Oh man, your breed has gotten feistier!" After that fit, the Creature heaved and picked up the golden flowers at his feet. "But thanks for these. I honestly can't remember when I've seen these flowers last. Do you mind?" The Creature motioned towards the row of graves beside them, and the nun politely stepped back, allowing it to lay a flower on the base of each headstone.
The nun watched intently, her curiosity piqued by the Creature's actions, raised a brow. "So, what exactly are you?"
"What do you think?"
"A demonio."
It shrugged. "Okay, sure. What's a nun's business here with a demon like me?"
"Wondering why you're not taking my soul yet," the girl briskly said. "And don't, by the way. I may as well have you exorcised." After a short pause, she addressed the Creature again. "Why are you in a forgotten cemetery?"
It ignored her comments. "You seem to be unafraid of me, niñita. Well, I won't be taking your soul— that's not my job. I merely bring the departed to the next step in the cycle."
"Purgatory?"
"You're a nun. Shouldn't you know about what comes after death?"
Exasperated, the girl pressed a finger to her temple. "Look, whatever you are, one thing's for sure— you're crazy. Would you please just help me find my way?"
The Creature laughs. "In the centuries of my existence, this is a first for me! A nun asks a demon for favors." It stood still for a few moments, thinking about its situation. The Creature found the nun to be rather haughty and irritable, but on the other hand, it's still company— something it has not experienced during the lonely years of solitary duty. "Alright then, not like I have a choice. I wouldn't want flowers on my feet again, would I?" With a smug grin, it began amble through the maze of graves.
In response, the nun rolled her eyes and snorted as she trailed the Creature. "Oh please. You just may be the loneliest demonio I'll ever encounter in my life. I almost pity you."
"Big talk from someone who's asking for directions," it snickered. "You know for a member of a convent, you're pretty badmouthed."
"Well sorry," she scoffed. "My family shipped me away to straighten me up, but you can see how great it's turning out. You're not the only evil walking here." The girl kicked a pebble from her path. "I got my demons. You know how that feels?"
The Creature shrugged. "I am one. Is that supposed to be insulting?"
"I'm trying to be serious here," the nun girl scowled. "My parents don't want me, and I have no friends. I feel so alone, like you won't even understand." She starts to pluck off the petals of one flower in her basket.
The Creature, however, completely understood what the young girl felt because it was in the same situation— almost a century of wandering through the remnants of almost-forgotten people and memories; though it has ventured these paths countless times, the Creature felt like a lost soul himself, looking for a better future. A thin silence enveloped the two souls, lost in their own way, and masked only by the rustling sounds of foliage that came from underfoot. "I do know," it finally whispered. "Feeling alone, it makes one feel almost helpless. You are right," the Creature smiled, though behind this expression is a weakened fortitude, a bitter longing for what once was. "I may be the loneliest demon you ever will see. So then, tell me about yourself."
The girl pursed her lips. "Well, basically I was set up to marry this absolute sleaze of a man, but I was being mistreated. My parents said I'd either act happy and save face or be sent away."
"I can guess with certainty the decision you made."
She laughed. "Yeah. In all seriousness, this man is disgusting— not a day passes without a new cut or bruise on me. What a stinker he was," the girl recalled. "I was determined to escape, and I knew that this is better than what I was subject to in his hands. What about you, do you have a tale to tell?"
The Creature gave it some thought before speaking. "There used to be families visiting here. Lots of them, every year for Día de los Muertos," it slowly began to recount. "It used to be lively. The souls from the departed, I'd bring them here sometimes when their family is around. But it's been years— the departed have moved forward, and the families have forgotten."
"I have not slept a wink," it continued. "I have no respite. I cannot eat nor sleep like your kind does, for I do not have use for such activities. In the confines of this cemetery, where I have roamed for years, I am somehow lost."
The young nun let out a deep whistle and gave the Creature an empathetic look. "Whew, seems rough."
It smiled. "I envy you somehow. In the face of trouble, you paved your way out; you knew what you had to do. You may have lost your way, but you have a place to go back to. I wish I had that."
After the short, heartfelt exchange, the two continued to walk in a much more comfortable silence. Soon, a metal gate emerged from the outskirts a little beyond the worn altars and headstones. The Creature and the nun both padded through the grass wordlessly.
"Here we are," it said as the pair stopped by the rusting cast-iron gates. "If memory serves me correctly, a town should be some ways through this path; from there I trust you can find your own way?" The Creature inquired.
The girl nods, smiling wide. "Yes. I sincerely thank you— I wouldn't have made it through if it weren't for your help. Who would've thought though; a nun and a demon," she remarked, giggling. "Oh yes, before I leave, please take these as a token of my appreciation." The girl takes a handful of marigolds from her basket and held it out for the Creature.
It appreciated the gesture, but did not take them. "Thank you, but there's no need really. The graves here are mere symbols to remember the departed— but there is no one left to remember them anyway."
"Oh, just take it you!" The nun pushes the flowers onto the Creature. "Though marigolds tend to be for grieving loved ones, it's also known for other meanings," she explains. "Like the beauty and warmth of the rising sun. A new beginning maybe; a beacon for lost souls. Maybe someday you won't lose your way anymore, and I'll pray that one day you'll find your strength and purpose again."
The Creature couldn't help but let out a smile. "Well then, I look forward to you finding your way here again soon?"
"Every year," she laughed. "As long as you don't get too lost."
With that short exchange of goodbyes, the nun closed the tired gates behind her and off she went, her black ensemble fluttering behind her as the wicker basket of golden blossoms bounced in her arm. The Creature, marigolds in its palms, watched the nun disappear through the woods. With a new hope, it begins counting the days until the next Día de los Muertos; it may be the day of the dead, but for the Creature it will become the day he finds his way.
Labels: SVMWC
Oceanarium: A Rambling Narration of Self-Rediscovery
Hello everyone! Wow, I don't think I've ever posted on my blog this frequently before lol. Lately, I've been getting back into my
~blogging zone~ and am really excited to bring some life back into this space ❤
I've recently landed upon
Spaceships, Vampires, and Very Secret Agents, a blog run by Andrea, and she's hosting a monthly writing challenge which I found rather interesting. It seems like a great way to wake up dormant creative juices and channel my energy into something productive, and thus I have decided to give it a shot and participate! I'm glad I was able to (somehow) finish before the extended deadline lol. Here is a
link to the original post for those who want to check it out :) I urge you to try it sometime, I had a lot of fun writing this story and perhaps you guys may find it entertaining as well 😄
The current theme is "school", so I tried to think outside the box lol. Without further ado, I present to you, dear reader, my botched attempt at a short story.
I cannot believe what just happened.
Today is Saturday, and I am supposed to go on a date. My phone says it's now 6 pm, which is definitely beyond the 4 pm meeting time we agreed upon. The afternoon sun has set. Street lamps start flickering on across the street. I can feel the stares of the people on me, and I can almost hear what they're thinking— she's been standing there for two hours now, she's probably got lots of time on her hands to be loitering on the streets instead of contributing to society, or even worse, poor kid, she's got no friends. We were supposed to go to the oceanarium together. Why, I'm even wearing my nicer pair of jeans for today's occasion. But no, how does this even happen? I have been stood up.
Nevertheless, I am determined not to squander the rest of my evening and return home to lounge in sweatpants. I've sworn that insipid life off after I moved out from my parents to pursue university. I enter the oceanarium— headstrong, walking tall. The spitting image of an independent woman. I purchase an entrance ticket for one from the counter, and no I was not stood up, thank you.
I shuffled past the turnstiles, and started to make my way to the underwater tunnels. Once I stepped inside, I couldn't help but hold my breathe from sheer wonder. What a sight it was to behold— a softly curving tunnel of glass through which I could see, for lack of better word,
everything. Schools of fish swimming across the waters above my head. Jellyfish whose stingers flow like a mermaid's hair. Majestically hued parrot fish, in all their rainbow glory. A family of seahorses, with the baby seahorse dancing around its parents.
The floor reflected dancing light from the moving waters. The tunnel itself was slightly chilly and dimly lit, the only other thing illuminating the area coming from sparkling rope lights lining the edges of the deep blue floor. The crowed has mostly thinned out now, and only a handful of families and couples litter the tunnel. What usually was a place filled with screaming children and conversation was now a quiet observatory where I could wallow in peace and marine life.
I start to make my way through the winding path, now and then taking time to stop and admire the marine life thriving over my head. A school of herring darted past me. I couldn't help but let out a sigh. At least the herring belonged somewhere.
"Look over there, it's a lot of fish!" A young boy tugs on his mother's arm and points at the herrings I saw. "I learned yesterday that fish swim in schools to find food!"
I continued to listen as the young boy goes on explaining what science class has taught him. I decided not to correct him that he defined
shoaling, a different behavior displayed by fish because who am I to spoil his joy? I need not victimize people due to my misery.
University life sucks. Even if everyone is there to pursue a passion, discrimination still exists within the ranks of students. I'd like to see moving into the big city and getting an education as something to be proud of, but my social life has been abysmal. I'm not smart enough for the smart kids. I'm not cool enough for the cool kids. I'm not ordinary enough to blend with the crowd. I stick out like a sore thumb.
I'm just a regular marine biology student in a big university. I love studying water animals. And apparently, that makes me unapproachable. A lone surgeonfish stares at me. "You'll find your school too someday," I can imagine it say. I smiled, giving the glass a light tap.
"Do you think I'll find a group I'd belong to like the herrings?" I ask.
The surgeonfish's stare bores into my soul, its little fins moving slightly from the current.
I sigh. "I just want to belong, sir surgeonfish. Don't you want to as well?"
Dang, I must be going crazy— talking to a creature that looks like it came from Finding Nemo. I stare at it for a while longer. I wonder if its aquatic mind can understand my sentiments. I did my best impression of an elderly hermit fish character. "It's our nature to swim in groups. I'll be fine. We all belong somewhere."
I resume speaking with my normal voice. "You're right. I am the master of my domain, for fate is unknowable. Eventually, we will both find a school to belong to. Thank you, wise elder."
As if on cue, the little shard of blue and yellow swims away. I can't help but feel a sense of comfort wash over me. If nobody wants to be my friend now, maybe someday somebody will; a fish out of water like myself can find her school— a group to belong to.
With a newfound sense of hope and strength, I began to walk towards the tunnel's exit and left the oceanarium, where I was greeted by a sea of people and an ocean of possibilities.
Labels: SVMWC
The Day The War Stopped: A Short Story
Hey there, wishing a happy new year to everyone! How have you been lately? I hope that you've been doing well, and are enjoying your holidays. This time of year really is my favorite, since it gives me a sense of accomplishment about making it through all the difficulties and challenges that we faced this year. Although, not all battles were victories, as long as you did your best then I think that's more than enough 😁
Granted, this month's entry is late lol. December has been surprisingly eventful! Just a couple days ago I went to the beach with a good friend's family, and it was pretty fun. I didn't tan (thankfully), but then again, we did go swimming in the late afternoon and the sun wasn't really quite strong already lololol. I also went to visit my old high school earlier this month since they were having a big Christmas party. I mayyyy have stolen a donut or two from their Christmas potluck though
shhh. Oh, I really will miss high school!
Anyways, for
this month's installment to the Spaceship and Vampires Monthly Writing Challenge (which I've chosen to abbreviate as SVMWC in the tags), the theme was Christmas! I guess it's only right for it to be seasonal lol. I want to encourage you guys to take part in this challenge as well! It's really good exercise for your writing muscles to stay sharp ✨ You can check out all the entries from last month for inspiration if you want, it's over here. Scroll around through Andrea's blog while you're there, she's a pretty great writer herself ❤
That aside, over the past few months as I participated in the SVMWC, I think I'm starting to have an affinity for writing about historical or cultural events, so this month's story is certainly going to follow that motif LOLOL. I remember in history class year ago, we discussed about World War I and the trenches. I remember there being some sort of "Christmas truce" at one point in the war, and I thought it'd make a good story, so I decided to write a short piece of historical fiction about it!
I hope you guys like this one, and (belated) merry Christmas/happy holidays and a happy new year to y'all ❤
You closed one eye and peered through the periscope of your sniper rifle with the other. "Just as expected," you grumble, ducking back in between the cold, hard dirt wall of the trenches.
What you just saw through the scope was nothing out of ordinary— only the bleak view of No Man's Land, the de facto name troops have christened the large expanse of land between your trenches and the enemy's. The barren swamp was framed with tumbles of barbed wire from both sides, and corpses and debris from exploded shells littered the muddy, rocky ground.
It was now December 25, and you're certain that the war had been going on for a almost five months at this point. The German front lines seem to be inactive over the past few days. You aren't complaining though— the peace, no matter how brief, was always welcomed.
"Chap, get back up," your partner hissed, giving you a swift kick in the shins.
"Good heavens sir Michael, I do not wish to argue but not a soul has made a peep for at least a week now," you complained. "And besides, I heard the Pope had suggested some sort of peace treaty for Christmas."
Your spotter, who we now know is named Michael, responded. "Bah, we take orders from the head, not the Pope! Younguns like yourself have grown softer over the years," he lamented, shaking his head. "Back in my day, young men your age would be well on their way to becoming the head of atroop themselves! Wouldn't hesitate to fire a gun either."
"Well, I apologize for this generation's softness sir," you scoffed, tipping your helmet lower over your eyes with one hand. The algid December air was festering with the scent of the trenches—dirt, corpses, gunpowder, feces. You imagine that perhaps the other side was smelling a similar stench in their trenches as well.
Now it was Michael's turn to complain. "But well, I suppose you are right, lad," he sighed, his posture relaxing a bit. "Christmas is here, but I'm not happy. This war hullabaloo is making me depressed."
"Me too sir," you blandly respond, a sliver of agreement beneath your tone. You were about to carry on the small talk you two were having, when suddenly, a moving speck appeared in your field of vision.
"Sir Michael?" You quint at the distance, trying to confirm whether or not your eyes are deceiving you. "Sir, there seems to be a German on the opposite trench." You begin to take aim.
Your partner squints. "Seems like it," he confirms, not looking away from the speck. It was a German soldier's helmet, the camouflage print, bobbing up and down from behind the barbed wire that protected the opposing trench. "Hold your fire, chap. It might be a ruse," Michael instructs.
Your fingers curl tighter around your rifle, a finger resting on the trigger. You really had hoped that you wouldn't have to shoot anything today— or anyone, for that matter.
Before you could continue to engage in your internal monologue, a slow, foreign voice rang through the air. "Stille Nacht! Heil'ge Nacht!"
The voice was masculine, and most certainly sounded like it was German. You raised your head from your shooting position to get a view of the enemy's territory.
On the trench was a German soldier. most likely the source of the voice. "Alles schläft, einsam wacht," he continued to sing, a tired smile plastered on his face, as he pulled up a fellow soldier from his side onto the trench.
"What in the blazes are they doing," Michael whispered, incredulity thinly veiled by his raspy lilt.
You recognized the melody. "That's Silent Night, sir," you commented, turning to look at your partner. It seems that he is a step ahead of you though, as he was already gesturing at another nearby soldier to come closer and give a second opinion.
"Aye, that sure is an odd thing for 'em Germans to do," the soldier nodded. "Y'know what, I'm gonn' be calling some other lads to take a gander here," he said, and trotted off.
There were at least thirty German soldiers in their worn military uniforms standing on their trenches now, arms over each other's shoulders as they swayed left and right, singing slightly off-tune like jolly drunken men. "Uns der Gnaden Fülle läßt sehn, Jesum in Menschengestalt!"
A small crowd has started to form near the front of the trenches, where you are currently situated, in order to discuss the enemy's strange behavior.
"It's definitely a trap," one chimed in. "Those Germans are trying to lure us out!"
"Hey, why don't a sniper go ahead and just shoot while they're vulnerable, eh? This is a great opportunity," a soldier discussed with someone, shoving a thumb towards you.
"That's a pretty risky move," another retorts. "There is always the possibility that all this is a ruse to get us to reveal weak spots."
The soldiers were in a heated discussion about the predicament, though you simply do not know how or why they refuse to simply be human men today; to simply live and let live, to feel the spirit of peace that Christmas was supposed to have. Your grip on the sniper rifle becomes tenuous. You can't possibly shoot these men. You put your rifle down.
"Gentlemen, I think we do not see the point here," you finally decided to chime in, raising your voice to draw everyone's attention. "What's the big fuss? It's Christmas, for heavens' sake! Can't we be just be humans for once?" You began stretching your legs and getting on your feet, hoisting yourself over the edge of the trenches you were defending.
The men began panicking, unsure whether or not they should pull you back down. "Chap, what in the world are you doing? You're out of your mind!" someone exclaims.
You take off your helmet and looked down onto the bewildered, gaping jawed faces of the weary English soldiers crouching between the trenches. "Well, as I said," you smiled, a twinkle in your tired eyes. "It's Christmas!" You took a deep breath, and yelled from the top of your lungs, not caring whoever hears you. "Merry Christmas!"
Labels: SVMWC
Powders: A Short Story
Hello everyone, good day! How has life been? I hope that everything's been relatively manageable for you. Please take care of yourselves, and do take some time to pursue your hobbies! Whether it's music, writing, or reading a book, as long as you indulge in a bit of self-care to stay sane then some good should come from it ❤️
Anyways, this post will be another short story; that is, another entry for the monthly writing challenge Andrea hosts over at
Spaceships, Vampires, and Very Secret Agents. I really do want to encourage everyone to participate in this, perhaps even in future installments of the challenge! It's a fun exercise to help writers (aspiring or otherwise) to get creative and keep those skills sharp ✨ You can check out this November's theme over
here, and tell her that I sent you LOLOL. Take time to explore their blog as well, you won't regret it! Oh, and if you'd like to read my previous entries for this monthly writing challenge, check out blog posts in this site that have the SVMWC tag; I'd love to hear what you think!
Am I risking cultural appropriation? I don't know lol, but I did try to research about this so I hope I won't say anything too out of place (please do say if anything sounds factually incorrect though!). I tried to make a short story that depicts the different experiences of perception. Without further ado, I present to you, dear readers, my entry for this month's theme— color. Please enjoy.
The sun was poised up high above the deep blue sky. Warm rays of sunshine bounced off the delicate swathes of clouds scattered across the ultramarine expanse. The small Indian town was only starting to wake, yet shops remained closed as a small crowd started to gather in the town square.
In one of the little inns tucked between the streets of small town was a young woman, perhaps in her twenties. She was sitting on the floor of her lodging, both her arms and legs crossed; her brow was knit in evident frustration.
"What an idiot I am," she sighed. Strewn in front of the cross legged woman were her various belongings. A tripod leaned haphazardly on the edge of her purple suitcase, which looked like it was ransacked. Crumpled shirts lay in sad piles surrounding the woman, a laptop expertly balanced on the mounds of fabric with the rest of the things she had packed to shoot this year's Holi, the magnificent festival of colors.
Alas, one vital object was missing from this assemblage of goods— the camera itself.
Her beautiful, swarthy Canon EOS 5D Mark IV was nowhere to be found; probably forgotten in a closet at home. "I'm such a scatterbrain. Of all things, I just had to leave the cam behind," the woman sighed, berating herself. Unfortunately there is not much for her to do in the absence of her photography implement, as she would be unable to do her job without a camera. "I'm already here though; it'd be a waste to not see Holi for myself," the woman said to herself. And so, she gets up and put on comfortable clothes, and went on her way.
It was only a few minutes past 7 AM, but the streets were already brimming with people and powders. Strangers patted yellow ochre dust on one another and wished for their good health. A pair of lovers dashed by, playfully chasing each other with vibrant crimson in their fists. The air was heavy with tinted mist. Holi was already well under way, but the woman was in no mood to partake in the kaleidoscopic festivities— not after finding out that she wouldn't be able to document it.
As the woman absentmindedly wandered the streets, a group of howling teenagers sprinted across her, letting loose a flurry of reds and blues that found its way onto her shirt. The woman had no time to react, and simply stood there on the curb, wide eyed.
"C'mon guys, wait up! You're too fast," a girl— perhaps the same age as those teens— yelled as she ran after them. Unfortunately, it seemed like this girl is not the most physically fit, as she placed her hands on her knees and was gasping for air. She looked up at the color-assaulted woman who was in shock. "Madame, are you alright there?"
The woman probed her apparel with gentle touches, but the red dye managed to stain her fingers nevertheless.
"You're shirt's going to be stained for a while," the teenage girl noted, shaking her head. "I do hope that that's a spare."
"Sadly, it isn't," the woman said in disdain. "But it's alright, really. I did go out today in order to observe the festivities, so getting the colors of Holi on me is to be expected," she laughs. "By any chance, are you a local? I'm a journalist for The Daily Mail, but due to unfortunate circumstances, taking photographs isn't possible for me right now. But it'd be a shame to return to Mumbai empty handed, so I'd really appreciate if you could show me around and give an interview?"
The girl nods and smiled. "Sure! I'd be glad to lend you a hand! May I ask what's this 'unfortunate circumstance' is about?"
"I, uh," the woman stammered, scratching her head. "I forgot to pack a camera before coming here."
Indra lifted a hand over her mouth, barely concealing a giggle. "Is that so? That's rsaeally unfortunate madame, but I'd be willing to act as a tour guide."
"Thank you," the woman smiled. "Let's talk as you show me around. May I know your name please?"
The teenager nodded. "My name is Indra. May I ask for yours as well?"
"You can call me Carmencita," the journalist woman smiled. "Indra is a wonderful name. From indradhanush, the Hindi for 'rainbow'. Quite fitting for this festival," she added with a chuckle.
"Thanks, but it's rather ironic," Indra laughed. "I ought to mention I'm colorblind, if that'll affect anything regarding the interview."
Carmencita shook her head reassuringly. "It's alright, I don't mind in the slightest."
The two females started to walk down the crowded road. "I guess you know by now that Holi is essentially a spring festival— a welcoming," Indra began. "People throw abir, colored powder, on each other to symbolize playfulness and good wishes. The colors each mean something as well."
The pair entered the town square, a bustling park teeming with families, lovers, and friends with vibrant, abir touched skin. They decided to sit on one of the benches that lined the path.
"I hope that my question does not come off as a breach of privacy, but I'm genuinely curious— how does it feel to celebrate and be a part of a cultural festivity that heavily relies on the visage of colors?" Carmencita asked, her torso slightly turned to look at Indra.
"Well, I don't really know," Indra carefully said, rubbing her chin. "It's odd. I've been born with this handicap, so not being able to distinguish certain colors is my normal." A short silence ensued before she continued. "Although, people do talk about colors a lot, so I think I have a good grasp of how they feel at the very least."
Carmencita raised an eyebrow at the girl's response. "How colors feel? Now that's an interesting sentiment. Tell me about that."
Indra's gaze landed on another pair of lovers, walking side by side as they left a trail of crimson in their wake. "Hmm, those pair of lovers over there," she pointed. "Although I cannot see what color the powders on their skin is, I'm almost sure that it's red. Red feels like something passionate. It's the rage that blinds your eyes, the adrenaline in your veins. But at the same time, it seems like the color of a warm flush on someone's cheeks during a moment of joy and love. Red feels like the color of a confident woman's lipstick."
"Over there, those leaves," Indra continued, gesturing towards some trees. "I've at least had the knowledge of their usual colors as green, so I associate green with life. It's the smell of the earth and the sound of rustling leaves. It's lush and peaceful and all over, like the grass underfoot or the canopy of trees."
Carmencita briefly closes her eyes as she lets Indra's words weave tapestries in her mind, then opens them again. "Fascinating. When you put it that way, it sounds very lovely," she smiled. "You have a great way with words, Indra."
"Thanks you," she smiled. "I think color is a visceral thing; it's not just what's visible," she explained. "Perhaps that's why I think of colors the way I do."
"That's definitely a unique perspective."
"Is it though?" Indra mused. "Well, I guess the 'feel' of colors is not something people would usually think about. What about you though," she asked. "I'm curious as to how you perceive colors!"
Carmencita scratches her head. "It's not really that interesting," she said. "I guess I only rely on the visual clues to tell them apart. Reds are the colors of cherries and strawberries. Blues are skies. All very practical."
"Huh, well that's a bit dull I think," Indra remarked. "A life without any sort of whimsy; no offense madame, but it seems like that's how you see the world right now."
Carmencita laughs. "None taken. You may be speaking the truth there. I've been living life around the printing presses for years; all the black and white of journalism has sucked away my soul." The older woman slumped back onto the bench. "Now let me tell you something; in our profession, things are either true or not true. It's very clean cut. No nonsense," she described.
"To be frank, I think I've lost my passion," Carmencita continued. "It all feels stale and drab. I've been wanting and waiting to do something big, but," she trailed off and shrugged.
"Then I guess it's just right that you're here in time for Holi," Indra replied after a few moments of silence. "A festival of colors and spring. Just what a sleeping soul needs to wake up," she smiled.
"I suppose," the older woman affirmed. "Thank you Indra, that was enlightening. If you don't mind, I'd like to cut the interview short and end it here," Carmencita said as she got on her feet.
The teenager shook her head. "That's fine with me. Good luck with your article, madame."
"Perhaps I'll go experience the colors of Holi for myself. It was a pleasure meeting you Indra, goodbye," Carmencita beamed, waving goodbye as she traversed the path through the rainbow bathed park.
Labels: SVMWC
Demonio: A Short Story
Hello everyone! I hope you've all been doing well lately. Have you been eating your meals? Make sure to take care of yourself and have proper meals! Even brunch is okay, as long as you make sure to fill that stomach of yours and get the energy you need to seize the day ✨
Wow, we're pretty much past halfway through October! Time really does fly by, even for someone like me who's still on my extended break after graduating high school. I'll definitely whip up a "life update" blog entry before the year ends to explain why. I think the situation I'm in right now is rather peculiar and worth sharing LOLOLOL 😆
But I digress. If you have scrolled down a little, you would most likely encounter a blog post
containing a short story called Oceanarium, which was my September entry for the monthly writing challenge Indigo hosts over at Spaceships, Vampires, and Very Secret Agents. Anyways, for the record, it may be worth mentioning that I'd love to make this regular thing for as long as I can lol. Not only is this challenge good writing practice for me, but it's also something I find therapeutic when I'm stuck in one of my unproductive episodes ❤ Here's the blog post with this month's details for anyone who wants to give it a shot (and I encourage you to do so!) On a side note, I'm pleasantly surprised by how long this entry turned out to be LOLOL
In the fittingly spoopy spirit of October, this month's theme is "Halloween"! Let me get this out of the way before you read though; I mayyy have taken some liberties with the theme and set my story in a different (maybe-related) holiday, but definitely still related to souls and the dead—
both of which are quite Halloween-y elements. I do hope you guys will accept my tweak 😅 With that said, please enjoy my attempt to commemorate the souls of the lost.
"Ugh." A peculiar Creature perches on a tombstone, its back hunched and expression scrunched. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, illuminating the clouds' undersides with a soft amber glow. Varying headstones, crosses, and altars of stone and marble cast a welter of long shadows on the weedy path. The cemetery itself was neither chilly nor humid; a cool air rested between the stone, wildflowers, and soil as an elegant, eerie sullenness enveloped the tombs.
It was Día de los Muertos, the day of the dead, and the overgrown cemetery was void of families and rowdy children to build little altars filled with marigolds and sentimental tchotchkes for the departed souls of the bodies that lay in their graves.
"To be fair," the Creature muttered, "this cementerio has been abandoned for nearly a century now." It shuffled its position on the tombstone, and decided that the slab of rock was an uncomfortable roost as it stood up with a grunt. "But Dios mío, I have been abandoned along with this place!" The peculiar Creature, in a fit of misery, started to trample the poor, unassuming weeds under its feet.
As it was occupied with stomping on the overgrowth like a madman, the rusty cemetery gates pleadingly creaked open. A noise like nails scraping on chalkboards echoed through the tombs. The Creature snapped to attention, sharply turning its intent gaze towards the long-undisturbed ingress of the graveyard. From the entryway stepped a youthful girl, her eyes cautiously examining the unearthly locale. She was conservatively clad in religious habit, her garb and veil a dark monochrome. With a soft footing, she makes her way through patches of tall grass and weeds as she continues to scrutinize the area with guarded eyes.
"Oy!" The Creature called out— though what compelled it to do so was beyond understanding. The young girl stopped cold on her tracks, clutching the small cross that hung from her neck then staying completely still, but her eyes were obviously flitting around to find the source of the beckoning. "Over here niñita," the peculiar Creature called out once more. "Can you see me?"
The girl finally laid eyes on the peculiar entity, unsure whether to run away or cry for help. She clears her dry throat and manages a whisper. "Are you a demonio?"
"Sure, whatever. Espíritu, demonio, it doesn't matter." The Creature sighed. "I am the keeper of these grounds, and you are the first human to visit in decades." And the wanderer is a nun no less, the Creature thought. What a nice surprise. "What brings you here?"
The girl assumed a calm demeanor, and she straightened her posture to look directly at the Creature. "I— uh," she stammers, fidgeting with her silver crucifix. "I was gathering flowers for the Día de los Muertos mass. I lost my way through the woods."
The peculiar Creature was finally able to take a good look at the visitor. She possessed a petite stature, as seem by how her tunic and scapular drapes breezily on her frame. A white coif rests beneath her black veil, concealing her hair. The sleeves of her garment were wide and flowing, from which her dainty hands peeked out, grasping her pendant. A wicker basket of marigolds was situated on the crook of her elbow.
Since when were convents allowed to let in girls this young? Times really have passed, the Creature brooded. "You know, it's quite ironic how you— a member of a religious order whose purpose is to guide lost souls— are lost yourself," it jested, approaching the girl.
"You need to shut up, demon," the young nun grumbled, throwing it a fistful of marigolds from her harvest, which simply fell limply at the Creature's feet. "You can't hurt me."
The peculiar Creature couldn't help but let out a chortle from the valiant attempt. "That's rich," it said between laughs, wiping away a metaphorical tear. "Oh man, your breed has gotten feistier!" After that fit, the Creature heaved and picked up the golden flowers at his feet. "But thanks for these. I honestly can't remember when I've seen these flowers last. Do you mind?" The Creature motioned towards the row of graves beside them, and the nun politely stepped back, allowing it to lay a flower on the base of each headstone.
The nun watched intently, her curiosity piqued by the Creature's actions, raised a brow. "So, what exactly are you?"
"What do you think?"
"A demonio."
It shrugged. "Okay, sure. What's a nun's business here with a demon like me?"
"Wondering why you're not taking my soul yet," the girl briskly said. "And don't, by the way. I may as well have you exorcised." After a short pause, she addressed the Creature again. "Why are you in a forgotten cemetery?"
It ignored her comments. "You seem to be unafraid of me, niñita. Well, I won't be taking your soul— that's not my job. I merely bring the departed to the next step in the cycle."
"Purgatory?"
"You're a nun. Shouldn't you know about what comes after death?"
Exasperated, the girl pressed a finger to her temple. "Look, whatever you are, one thing's for sure— you're crazy. Would you please just help me find my way?"
The Creature laughs. "In the centuries of my existence, this is a first for me! A nun asks a demon for favors." It stood still for a few moments, thinking about its situation. The Creature found the nun to be rather haughty and irritable, but on the other hand, it's still company— something it has not experienced during the lonely years of solitary duty. "Alright then, not like I have a choice. I wouldn't want flowers on my feet again, would I?" With a smug grin, it began amble through the maze of graves.
In response, the nun rolled her eyes and snorted as she trailed the Creature. "Oh please. You just may be the loneliest demonio I'll ever encounter in my life. I almost pity you."
"Big talk from someone who's asking for directions," it snickered. "You know for a member of a convent, you're pretty badmouthed."
"Well sorry," she scoffed. "My family shipped me away to straighten me up, but you can see how great it's turning out. You're not the only evil walking here." The girl kicked a pebble from her path. "I got my demons. You know how that feels?"
The Creature shrugged. "I am one. Is that supposed to be insulting?"
"I'm trying to be serious here," the nun girl scowled. "My parents don't want me, and I have no friends. I feel so alone, like you won't even understand." She starts to pluck off the petals of one flower in her basket.
The Creature, however, completely understood what the young girl felt because it was in the same situation— almost a century of wandering through the remnants of almost-forgotten people and memories; though it has ventured these paths countless times, the Creature felt like a lost soul himself, looking for a better future. A thin silence enveloped the two souls, lost in their own way, and masked only by the rustling sounds of foliage that came from underfoot. "I do know," it finally whispered. "Feeling alone, it makes one feel almost helpless. You are right," the Creature smiled, though behind this expression is a weakened fortitude, a bitter longing for what once was. "I may be the loneliest demon you ever will see. So then, tell me about yourself."
The girl pursed her lips. "Well, basically I was set up to marry this absolute sleaze of a man, but I was being mistreated. My parents said I'd either act happy and save face or be sent away."
"I can guess with certainty the decision you made."
She laughed. "Yeah. In all seriousness, this man is disgusting— not a day passes without a new cut or bruise on me. What a stinker he was," the girl recalled. "I was determined to escape, and I knew that this is better than what I was subject to in his hands. What about you, do you have a tale to tell?"
The Creature gave it some thought before speaking. "There used to be families visiting here. Lots of them, every year for Día de los Muertos," it slowly began to recount. "It used to be lively. The souls from the departed, I'd bring them here sometimes when their family is around. But it's been years— the departed have moved forward, and the families have forgotten."
"I have not slept a wink," it continued. "I have no respite. I cannot eat nor sleep like your kind does, for I do not have use for such activities. In the confines of this cemetery, where I have roamed for years, I am somehow lost."
The young nun let out a deep whistle and gave the Creature an empathetic look. "Whew, seems rough."
It smiled. "I envy you somehow. In the face of trouble, you paved your way out; you knew what you had to do. You may have lost your way, but you have a place to go back to. I wish I had that."
After the short, heartfelt exchange, the two continued to walk in a much more comfortable silence. Soon, a metal gate emerged from the outskirts a little beyond the worn altars and headstones. The Creature and the nun both padded through the grass wordlessly.
"Here we are," it said as the pair stopped by the rusting cast-iron gates. "If memory serves me correctly, a town should be some ways through this path; from there I trust you can find your own way?" The Creature inquired.
The girl nods, smiling wide. "Yes. I sincerely thank you— I wouldn't have made it through if it weren't for your help. Who would've thought though; a nun and a demon," she remarked, giggling. "Oh yes, before I leave, please take these as a token of my appreciation." The girl takes a handful of marigolds from her basket and held it out for the Creature.
It appreciated the gesture, but did not take them. "Thank you, but there's no need really. The graves here are mere symbols to remember the departed— but there is no one left to remember them anyway."
"Oh, just take it you!" The nun pushes the flowers onto the Creature. "Though marigolds tend to be for grieving loved ones, it's also known for other meanings," she explains. "Like the beauty and warmth of the rising sun. A new beginning maybe; a beacon for lost souls. Maybe someday you won't lose your way anymore, and I'll pray that one day you'll find your strength and purpose again."
The Creature couldn't help but let out a smile. "Well then, I look forward to you finding your way here again soon?"
"Every year," she laughed. "As long as you don't get too lost."
With that short exchange of goodbyes, the nun closed the tired gates behind her and off she went, her black ensemble fluttering behind her as the wicker basket of golden blossoms bounced in her arm. The Creature, marigolds in its palms, watched the nun disappear through the woods. With a new hope, it begins counting the days until the next Día de los Muertos; it may be the day of the dead, but for the Creature it will become the day he finds his way.
Labels: SVMWC
Oceanarium: A Rambling Narration of Self-Rediscovery
Hello everyone! Wow, I don't think I've ever posted on my blog this frequently before lol. Lately, I've been getting back into my
~blogging zone~ and am really excited to bring some life back into this space ❤
I've recently landed upon
Spaceships, Vampires, and Very Secret Agents, a blog run by Andrea, and she's hosting a monthly writing challenge which I found rather interesting. It seems like a great way to wake up dormant creative juices and channel my energy into something productive, and thus I have decided to give it a shot and participate! I'm glad I was able to (somehow) finish before the extended deadline lol. Here is a
link to the original post for those who want to check it out :) I urge you to try it sometime, I had a lot of fun writing this story and perhaps you guys may find it entertaining as well 😄
The current theme is "school", so I tried to think outside the box lol. Without further ado, I present to you, dear reader, my botched attempt at a short story.
I cannot believe what just happened.
Today is Saturday, and I am supposed to go on a date. My phone says it's now 6 pm, which is definitely beyond the 4 pm meeting time we agreed upon. The afternoon sun has set. Street lamps start flickering on across the street. I can feel the stares of the people on me, and I can almost hear what they're thinking— she's been standing there for two hours now, she's probably got lots of time on her hands to be loitering on the streets instead of contributing to society, or even worse, poor kid, she's got no friends. We were supposed to go to the oceanarium together. Why, I'm even wearing my nicer pair of jeans for today's occasion. But no, how does this even happen? I have been stood up.
Nevertheless, I am determined not to squander the rest of my evening and return home to lounge in sweatpants. I've sworn that insipid life off after I moved out from my parents to pursue university. I enter the oceanarium— headstrong, walking tall. The spitting image of an independent woman. I purchase an entrance ticket for one from the counter, and no I was not stood up, thank you.
I shuffled past the turnstiles, and started to make my way to the underwater tunnels. Once I stepped inside, I couldn't help but hold my breathe from sheer wonder. What a sight it was to behold— a softly curving tunnel of glass through which I could see, for lack of better word,
everything. Schools of fish swimming across the waters above my head. Jellyfish whose stingers flow like a mermaid's hair. Majestically hued parrot fish, in all their rainbow glory. A family of seahorses, with the baby seahorse dancing around its parents.
The floor reflected dancing light from the moving waters. The tunnel itself was slightly chilly and dimly lit, the only other thing illuminating the area coming from sparkling rope lights lining the edges of the deep blue floor. The crowed has mostly thinned out now, and only a handful of families and couples litter the tunnel. What usually was a place filled with screaming children and conversation was now a quiet observatory where I could wallow in peace and marine life.
I start to make my way through the winding path, now and then taking time to stop and admire the marine life thriving over my head. A school of herring darted past me. I couldn't help but let out a sigh. At least the herring belonged somewhere.
"Look over there, it's a lot of fish!" A young boy tugs on his mother's arm and points at the herrings I saw. "I learned yesterday that fish swim in schools to find food!"
I continued to listen as the young boy goes on explaining what science class has taught him. I decided not to correct him that he defined
shoaling, a different behavior displayed by fish because who am I to spoil his joy? I need not victimize people due to my misery.
University life sucks. Even if everyone is there to pursue a passion, discrimination still exists within the ranks of students. I'd like to see moving into the big city and getting an education as something to be proud of, but my social life has been abysmal. I'm not smart enough for the smart kids. I'm not cool enough for the cool kids. I'm not ordinary enough to blend with the crowd. I stick out like a sore thumb.
I'm just a regular marine biology student in a big university. I love studying water animals. And apparently, that makes me unapproachable. A lone surgeonfish stares at me. "You'll find your school too someday," I can imagine it say. I smiled, giving the glass a light tap.
"Do you think I'll find a group I'd belong to like the herrings?" I ask.
The surgeonfish's stare bores into my soul, its little fins moving slightly from the current.
I sigh. "I just want to belong, sir surgeonfish. Don't you want to as well?"
Dang, I must be going crazy— talking to a creature that looks like it came from Finding Nemo. I stare at it for a while longer. I wonder if its aquatic mind can understand my sentiments. I did my best impression of an elderly hermit fish character. "It's our nature to swim in groups. I'll be fine. We all belong somewhere."
I resume speaking with my normal voice. "You're right. I am the master of my domain, for fate is unknowable. Eventually, we will both find a school to belong to. Thank you, wise elder."
As if on cue, the little shard of blue and yellow swims away. I can't help but feel a sense of comfort wash over me. If nobody wants to be my friend now, maybe someday somebody will; a fish out of water like myself can find her school— a group to belong to.
With a newfound sense of hope and strength, I began to walk towards the tunnel's exit and left the oceanarium, where I was greeted by a sea of people and an ocean of possibilities.
Labels: SVMWC
Books 
My friends 
Homestuck 
More time to read books please 
