Rosaline has been sitting at the table with her friends for more than an hour now. Laughing and sharing stories with her friends. It was the birthday of Sarah, her best friend and this was her treat, despite the fact that Sarah had already thrown a party. This was how she was though. Segregation was her habit and she felt that it was necessary to classify her friends as well by giving her “friends” a party and her “special friends” a treat afterward the party in the café for a coffee. But to be honest, Rosaline was never like this.
For her things has always been simple. It’s either a friend or not. She was never one to judge others or even classify them as a “special friends” and “friends”. She always found joy in the simplicity of her relationships and cherished every person the same. That was how Rosaline was. Despite the fact that Sarah was so judgemental, Rosaline was still her friend and I guess that is what the old lore of “Opposites Attract” is all about.
Rosaline was sitting right next to her best friend, who so strikingly opposite to her that people often wondered how are they even friends. Sarah was plump and stout and Rosaline was tall and thin. Sarah was the strange one, with her baritone voice and all floral and bright clothing whereas Rosaline was the one with a feeble voice and darker clothing. They were the Laurel and Hardy of the school, just blown up to an excessively large level. And here they were. Sarah drinking her Americano and Rosaline already high and buzzing on her espresso.
Rosaline was lost in her laughter, induced by a joke a friend of Sarah cracked when she felt a tap on her shoulder. The group at once fell silent and when she recovered herself and recollected her senses, she saw that even the smirk of some of the people around the desk has been wiped off.
She turned to find a boy, maybe a little over her age with his hair a tad too long for him to carry properly, His hair seemed as if they had all the freedom in the world and yet like an undisciplined class trying to not make a sound at the arrival of a teacher, his hair seemed to be fixed in a hurry. His eyes were black and his blue jeans were dirty. He wore a black sweatshirt and matching canvas shoes.
“Excuse me,” he said to her and she could feel the tension rising in the air.
“Yes,” she replied.
“I did not mean to irrupt you and your friends here and I am really sorry for that but I just entered the cafe and I could not stop me from coming over here and telling you something which I think that you should be aware of and you clearly are not. You see I would not have disturbed you but I couldn’t help but notice that Julia Roberts looks exactly like you” he said in a single breath and acted as if nothing happened. He stood there and looked at her with an expectant expression but she did not know what he wanted. And in confusion and irritation, she turned to Sarah.
“Do I look anywhere near like Julia Roberts?” she asked but before Sarah could reply, he spoke again.
“I’m sorry but you look like yourself. She looks like you. People will always say to you the other way around but the truth, in fact, is what I just said. Can I have a cup of coffee with you?”
Sarah might have judged him. She might have shouted at him or ridiculed him. She might even have used her pepper spray or called the security. But there was something about that boy that made her feel, weird! Something peculiar. Something which was his own. Unique. Unprecedented. And while Sarah would not have gone for a coffee with him, she found herself collecting her things and leaving her things.
P.s. Happy Valentines Day.
Leandre was your average joe, with average qualities and an average life. An average job. Average wage. I need not continue about his life right, you get the picture. Leandre was the guy currently running inside a diner in the afternoon with his sleeves rolled till his elbows, half his shirt peeking out his trousers and his laces undone. His blond hair a mess and dripping. A messenger side bag hanging at his hips, carelessly thrown across his shoulder. A pen held between his lips and sheets of paper in his hands marked red and blue in places.
Leandre rushed inside the diner and sat at the nearest empty table he could lay his eyes on. He wrote frantically with his right hand and rose his left hand in the air as if he was the studious student of the class who had just a single minute till the end of the period and he wanted to make a note of what the professor was saying and ask a question in that one tiny minute. His hour-long lunch break was again bound to pass with him working and drinking a ton of coffee and his stomach empty. A waitress soon attended him, though, much to his comfort.
“What can I do” she began but was cut short by his smooth and unabused voice.
“I need a Cappuccino. Please. Quick. Thank you.” said he with his eyes never leaving the paper. The only difference was that before he had his hand in the air and right now, they were in his hair.
Mumbling figures under his breath and crunching figures in his head, he felt his stomach grumble and revolt. His stomach clearly threatened him to file a case against him in the labor court and like a perfect boss he looked for the waitress to ask for his coffee again. He called her and went back to his work.
“Please,” he said. “Save my life. Cappuccino. Hurry.”
His mind was well trained to look past all the distractions and troubles. He had trained himself to be void of all emotion. He was no longer irritated by the loud speaking and verbal diarrhea-suffering co-worker. He was well trained to look past the construction noises and into his hieroglyphics worksheets. But when another couple of minutes passed and his coffee was nowhere to be found, he lost it. He lost control over himself and he couldn’t control his anger. His anger aimed at himself that he got himself in at work released at the poor waitress. His frustrations released themselves as a river breaks the dam built on her and escapes.
He quietly capped his pen. And waited for the waitress to pass him by, like a rattlesnake waiting for his prey to come near him. And when she did, he pounced. He stood up and look at her in the eyes and raised his voice and said, “MY COFFEE!”
The coffee shop came to a stand still and everyone turned around to look at him. The sound of his voice sent something breaking inside of him. It broke his current state and he noticed that the poor waitress was shivering. Her eyes were brimming with tears and she was scared. Unable to apologize for his actions, he turned to the table and picked up his papers in preparation to walk out of the store. But then, the magic happened.
“Stay here,” a feminine voice said to the waitress and pulled at his elbow; forcing him to turn around and face her. Her circular face with her cheeks puffy, a tiny girl stood in front of the man who was finding it hard to find his words. Her black hair were neatly tied in a bun but a few strands had broken free from the restraints and were caressing her cheek on the right side of her face. She wore a pink chapstick in the name of makeup and her cheeks were red. Wait. Flushed red, in anger.
“What is your problem, sir?” she asked clearly angry. “Can you not see this is a busy day and we have other customers to attend to as well?”
“But what? You cannot wait for your coffee? Even if you cannot wait for you fix of caffeine, you could at least be gentle about being rude. Was it necessary to shout on the top of your lungs?” she screamed at him. Which flushed her face a deeper shade of crimson.
“I.. I. I’m sorry.” he said his head hung down.
That cooled her down but still it was not enough to bring her comfort. Her face was starting to lose the recently acquired flush but her gaze was still cold. “You say that to the other girl Mister.And no coffee for you.” she said and walked away.
“Thank you Louna” the other waitress whispered to the girl as she went back to the kitchen.
As Leandre walked out of the coffee shop, the shop filled with applause for the girl who stood up. Strong and confident. And Leandre found himself daydreaming of Louna ever since.
This blog is officially dead.
And now that it is dead. We can work together on fixing it. And I have a plan.
Over the past three years, I have been on this blog. I have been writing fiction here and this is the place where I wrote fiction first, where I experimented with the genres and explored all of them and this is indeed the very place where I decided that I want to write for a living. This is the place which I used to sharpen the nib of my pen and this is where I skilled myself.
After three years of writing blogs, I realized that I have been doing it wrong. I have not been consistent with the blog. I have not been participating as actively as I should have. I do not have a successful blog and the worst of them all? That I cannot use a single story which I have uploaded here to get published in a magazine or anthology. Even though blogging has had it’s positives on me, it has had it’s negatives too.
But I want to revive the blog. Just because it is not yielding, it does not mean that I should give up on it. The blog is like my home and after living for three years in my e-home, I have grown attached to it. This is where I belong and if you have not paid attention yet, it has my name on it. I can’t give up on myself like this. I can make this work.
But it’s the law of nature. Creation begins with Destruction. The humans came after the dinosaurs died. A baby is born after destruction. Cities are made after the destruction of forests. A phoenix rises, but from it’s very own ashes. You must fall to rise. Die to live. If you won’t fail, how will you distinguish the taste of success and victory? The taste of achievement and milestone? How will you know when you are doing better and when you are winning?
So now, I pronounce this blog officially dead. I am re-creating it from the ground up. Cosmetic and cellular changes. A few of those are visible to you. A few to come very soon.
This blog will soon again be a daily deal. And there are a lot of interesting and surprising announcements to come. Stay tuned.
When you walked in the door and sat next to me, flicking your hair around and about me. With every movement, you make tiny droplets rain over me. When you leaned over to kiss my cheek and I embraced you instead, you asked me a question meant to be a tiny little joke.
“How much do you love me?”
My reply by then was, “I love you so much that you mean everything to me.”
I remember you blushed which meant you were satisfied with the answer. But I am not and I ask you for a chance to let me elaborate what I meant.
You put the color in my vision. Without you, my world would end up black and white. You are the reds my roses and the blues in my orchids. To me, you are the sun in the sunset.
The orange tint of the sky as the sun sets. For me, you are that tint.
The smell the earth makes when the raindrops kiss them. To me, that smell is you,
The cackle that the river makes as it flows.
The whistle that the wind does as it blows.
The tartness of the strawberry. The shivers down my spine which emerge as the goosebumps behind my neck. The way the pillow feels after a long day at work?
To me, you are that.
The happiness of parents when their toddler laughs for the first time. The sense of pride after a masterpiece. The tears after a musical. The screams on a roller coaster.
To me, you are that.
The anxiety you feel in the pit of your stomach before addressing a huge crowd. The butterflies in your stomach before the first kiss. The tension before meeting your to-be in-laws for the first time.
To me, you are that.
You mean so much to me that without you, the world is a colorless rainbow.
I am still not satisfied enough. I still can’t explain you well enough.
Like the haunting tale recalled,
Of the nightly beast that haunts.
The smoke he smoked went up and blurred
In rings it went and evanescence.
His mouth was shaped into an O,
As if the beast inside was trying to grow.
The ring resembled the moon so close
It threatened to change the moonless night.
His hissing blow shatters the silence,
Of the howling wolf his stance compares.
He smiles at us and shrugs his frame
But inside lays something that has had fame.
Atop he shows he doesn’t know.
Inside a joke with the beast he shares.
P.s.: Don’t smoke. It appears to be cool but it kills. Don’t smoke.
“Hey Sleepy head, wakey wakey!”
You rub your eyes but the bed is so warm and the pillow is so soft.Drowsiness takes charge, invites laziness over and the three of you try to drift off to dream land once again.
“Hey.”, you hear a whisper in your ear and concentrate harder on going back to sleep.
“Good morning.”, you hear my voice along with a kiss on your cheek.
You slowly open your eyes and see me in front of the window. The white curtains were blowing in the summer breeze and the sunlight filled the room. You look at me look at you with a smile. I kneel beside your side of the bed and trace your cheek with my fingers with touch so light, it appears inexistant.
A sweet smile slowly creeps onto your lips and in a raspy, dreamy voice you wish me Good Morning.
“I love you.”, I said and kissed your forehead. “Breakfast ready in five minutes woman, get ready.”
With that I walked out of the door and you watched me as I paused at the door to wink at you, making you giggle and whisper Silly Boy under your breath.
“And then the groom kisses the bride and the priest pronounces them husband and wife.”, I said to you as you put your head on my shoulder and we looked up at the night sky. Forming constellations which do not exist and aren’t real.
“But don’t you think it is boring?”, you said and I let out a slight giggle.
“I guess it is.”, I said. “You want to make it fun?”
“Yes. I want something which will be like our personal way of doing it. It’ll be special and it’ll be unique to us.”, you said and turned to your shoulder to look at me. “You’re the writer.”, you said excitedly. “You tell me something which is fun and unique.”
“I can kidnap you Angel.”, I said.
“No. That’s stereotypical. I will kidnap you.”, you said and we both shared a little laughter.
“As you say mademoiselle. Kidnap me in a bike with side car. That’s almost unheard of.”
“What about our apparel?”, you said and I let out a little hmm as I pretended to think.
“You come in your pyjamas. And with your bunny shaped slippers. I will come in tennis shorts and flip-flops.”, I said and we both roared to laughter.
When we settled ourselves down and looked into each others eyes, you leaned closer and asked, “What about our vows?”
I looked into your eyes and traced the back of my hand on your right shoulder and said, “Well, I will vow that forevermore and beyond I shall be your husband. Your words shall be my guide and you shall be my wife. Till the day God himself dies.”
“And my vows?”, you asked.
“Your vows…”, I said and pretended to think once again with my lips pressed together. You looked at me with an anxious look. “You just say that You Do.”
I looked at you look at me and in that moment I felt that the day had seized. I knew that I was forever wed to this girl.
She’s prettier than it seems but to those who comprehend. She’s prettier than you think if you just look at her skin. She’s prettier than you can imagine if you just think of her looks.
You see she’s like an instrument which you cannot force to sing. She’s not the drum like you who falsetto if someone stings. She’s more like a cello if you look closely. She’s the sound of happiness and the idol of melancholy. She’s misunderstood beyond compare and it’s just because not everyone knows how her to play.
I don’t play her, I really don’t. I just guide the bow softly and just touch the notes. I don’t force her to speak or whisper or scream. I just hold her as on me she leans. I embrace her close and hold her right and we unite and form music bright.
I know you barely understand what I say. You look at her and see an overgrown voila. I look at her and see an instrument rare.
But don’t you worry it’s not your fault. She will seem to you gibberish if you read music wrong. Like Japanese script to an Englishman. Or sheet music to layman.