Fiction
Works of fiction
-
Repost of A House Full of Nothing
Because it is one of my favorite poems, that I’ve written, I am posting it again. (Originally here I Want a House Full of Nothing.) This I wrote at a time when I was unhappy with myself and my surroundings. Having everything meant nothing; hence, I imagined a world where living with nothing or just the essentials would have probably given me joy. I want a house full of nothing; just a clean wooden bare floor, scented candles and a tall door. I want a house full of nothing; a mirror and music to dance to, red lipstick and perfume when days are blue. I want a house full of…
-
Life Has a Funny Way – Excerpt
How could I have ignored the time Rey commented on my neighbors’ little sister’s physical appearance? “Man, she’s going to be a heartbreaker,” he said in a way that no grown eighteen-year-old male should be using to refer to a ten-year-old. I found the comment inappropriate, but said nothing. And, how about the time a girl, who happened to go to my school, came up to me and told me that she was my boyfriend’s girlfriend? Or the time he implied that he’d lost count of how many girls he’d f-cked? Or the time when someone told me they saw him making out with some other girl at the beach?…
-
Broken Bonds
I parked my car by the blue line. The yellow line meant no parking, so I knew better to keep away. I was looking forward to seeing Aunt Marsala for the first time in forever. Before jumping out of the car, I double-checked that all the windows were up. Beep Beep. I locked the car. Aunt Marsala’s neighborhood looked dilapidated as ever. She had been a victim of life circumstances for far too long. Once at the top of her doorsteps, I rang the bell and waited outside. Fiddling with my keys, rocking back and forth on my heels, moving my head from side to side in a watchful way……
-
Misunderstood Sonnet
“Are you grieving?” “No,” I quizzically said. “You only talk about sad things.” How to tell her that I’m a requiem; an airless breath, a heartless ribcage, a misunderstood sonnet. I want to tell her about the times I’ve stared blank at the silver clouds up in the sky, never hearing a reply. So unable to express the feeling of not feeling. I felt so much that now I grew immune. Just emotionless. Am I grieving? Maybe I am. Hands forced up in the air by circumstances, while life points a riffle to my back. I’m detained. Can’t escape. Change your ways, they say, for a tree you ain’t. At…
-
Pretty Even
She remembers the times he rubbed it all in her face. Car payment, shopping sprees, fancy meals, his fancy place. Every argument led to one direction, “I’ve done so much for you; I’m the answer to your equation.” Repetitive words he said so often times, made her question decisions she made in her prime times. Guilt, insecurity, loneliness, and misery, She raced against life, trying to change her destiny. Maybe he was right; maybe she owed him a hundred. He picked her up, after all, when her days were thundered. Pounding her head with the hammer’s claws until the impact cut loose the gauze. Countless years with no elation were…
-
Getting to Know Sara
Since she was eight years old, Sara has never lived in any country for more than three consecutive years. It is constant moving for her and her ambassador parents. She studied at many international schools, from London to Australia, and she speaks five languages: Italian, French, African, English, and now Spanish. Sara just moved to Salamanca, and in a few minutes, we’ll get to know each other better over a welcome lunch our host-family has prepared. My palms are sweaty and my middle finger wrestles my index under the table, imploring the universe that this girl is likable. After all, we’ll be housemates. Jose Maria, our host father, offers me…
-
Still, I Can’t Breathe
My feet up on a table, hands writing my life. Papers, sticky notes, cheap street art. All overlapping each other, hanging from a wall so plain and white. Receipts everywhere; months old, years old — what’s the point of holding on? Organizing them is futile, I long gave up. Paper towel wasted, not my doing. ‘Til Monday I’ll be buried in trash, when the truck comes around. Outdated tapes hiding years of better days and people by whom I was betrayed. Standing there begging to be watched, yet another pile of shit I don’t give. A dried bamboo plant wonders why I let it died. But we’re all dying over…
-
White Matter
The town is completely white. Cars, trees, power lines — everything is covered in white. I climb the couch by the double window and slide the curtains open. Kneeling on the couch, I cross my hands under my chin and watch the white matter as it falls from the sky. It doesn’t stop falling. No different patterns, no colors, nothing but white when I look up, down, and around. The brick houses in my neighborhood are untouched, except for their roofs. Up there, the white matter does stick. The roof on some of the houses have a very thick layer hanging on for dear life, while others only have some…
