"Hey, man, that's my bed, you know?"
"I said I was sleeping there."
"There's no tag on it, mate. I saw it open and went for it."
"Yeah, like this one. Shows how long you're going to stay here, and that it's your bed."
"Don't worry, I'll move."
"No, no. You can stay there. It sounds reasonable. Other beds have tags, too."
Sunday, 31 July 2016
"Hey, man, that's my bed, you know?"
Saturday, 30 July 2016
Rolls Royce's and Benzes
Parked outside, looking
Prim and proper.
Also outside, people
Sleeping on the ground,
Covered in a musky, old duvet,
Using rocks as pillows,
Unable to get a break.
The ninety percent of the population
Goes about its day,
Doing the same things
Over and over and over,
Some don't want anything
Out of life, apart from
A child, or a job,
And after they achieve that,
They can die,
Vanishing from the planet
As fast as they inhabited it.
Friday, 29 July 2016
"Hi, would you like to win a free prize?"
Once you hear that, most people assume there's a catch. That you have to pay for something, or give out your data and get spammed by advert mail while you receive a cheap thing for free.
In most cases, people are right. Yes, right. But not every time.
What happened to that freebie where no questions were asked?
Sampling? People love knowing they won't be asked anything, which is why they go in droves for something that isn't worth it, more often than not.
The fact that most persons are coy about such a small thing says plenty of our society.
Thursday, 28 July 2016
And we do that by sending a text on the phone, sending an email, sending a gif, sending a tweet, sending a private message through that, sending something on Facebook, or it's private messaging system.
We can do a Vine, a drawing, a Youtube video, a timelapse gif, something with cats, send a song. Make a heart shape with books and snap that, but not many have books, so they use food items instead. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
While this is all fun, is it really as good as the real thing, the real words said out loud on a cozy morning, when you're in bed, caressing their hair, followed by their cheek, whispering it softly?
Wednesday, 27 July 2016
"Obviously. Where are you going?"
"To catch them all."
"Catch them all? I didn't know you were a playboy, darling."
"What? Girls? Um...no? Me? Ha. I wish. I'm too nerdy for them."
"I'm sure there's a girl out there somewhere."
"Maybe, but not right now."
"You still haven't told me what you're catching."
"Haven't you heard of Pokemon Go?"
"That? Well, you're at that age, I suppose."
"What age is that?"
"The teenager years where you don't know yourself yet, and you follow around shiny stuff."
"Make sure you don't get lost."
Tuesday, 26 July 2016
One night, being bored, I decided to go looking for such a happening. There it was, near a nightclub. Well, not exactly near. The place was in the middle of the street, the guy sitting at the corner. About 20 meters away. Enough for him not to get kicked off.
It was well after 1 a.m., and peeps were coming out, some barely standing. Two girls, who looked likely to throw up the minute they sat down, approached the guy.
I missed the start of their conversation, but I managed to hear parts.
"Whyyyyy...don't youuuuu...find a jooooob?" *hiccup*
"Nobody would hire me at my age. I've tried. I'm content with myself at this point. There's nothing I can do."
"Try hardeeeer. What if someeee...oneeee would giveeee you! a jobbbb?"
"That'd be great. But I still don't have where to sleep and all this stuff. It would be hard."
She looks at him and gives him a hug, then stumble-walks away.
The guy looks as sad as before, glancing into the distance.
Monday, 25 July 2016
"I've been looking at the stars, and I thought about being a star myself. Not a regular one, but a shining star. The kind that travels far, wide, and explodes fast.
I think that's the best dream anyone can have, although that might be the drunkenness talking.
What do you say, Matt?
... Matt? ... You were by the bench a minute ago. Where'd you go?
Doesn't matter. Oh, to be a shining star. That would be cool.
Matt? Where'd you pop in from, mister? What do you want?"
"Can't a guy watch the night sky peacefully?"
"You can. I hope you don't mind me talking a lot about stars."
"Be my guest."
"Say, have you seen Matt anywhere?"
Sunday, 24 July 2016
Once upon a time lived a person who never knew how it was to stand tall.
He walked in the shadows of others, he made them take priority over his life, and he became lost.
So much so that when he was told to go climb a hill, he had no idea what it was.
Days passed by, and there was, finally, in front of the big thing.
Looking around, he found steps that made a path.
Going on it, he became relaxed. The angst went away, like a snap of the fingers.
When he reached a top, not the big one, he turned around and looked at the majestic view. Houses were now little red fireflies. People were not even ant-sized. He could see into the distance far and wide. For the first time in his life, the horse glasses came off.
A clang of the mouth brought a smile as a tear trickled down his bushy cheek. He tilted his head backwards, facing the sky, pressed his palms beside his chin, and let out a howl even dogs or wolves would be proud of.
"This is the life. This is reality. This is amazing."
Saturday, 23 July 2016
"I wanted to tell you something."
"That your eyes are as sweet as the candy I have in my pocket."
"I don't know what you're selling, but I'm not buying."
"Just complimenting you."
"That was the weirdest compliment I've had in my life."
"Okay. Would you like some candy to brighten your mood?"
"I'm trying to meet you half-way. Just like your dad did to your mom. He offered her candy."
And then she slapped me. I sure know how to bring the weirdness in people.
Friday, 22 July 2016
Thursday, 21 July 2016
"Use this bottle that I'm giving you and blow according to the music."
"But before that, say into the camera your name and what you're here for."
"Hi, I'm Jean Francis and I'm here to blow this bottle. For a commercial. Oh, on this bottle, sorry... What? Why are you laughing? I can't concentrate with you laughing. It's hard to make music like this."
"You shouldn't have stopped, regardless of my laughter or not. Let's try that again. From the top."
Wednesday, 20 July 2016
I don't have many gags, and I often find myself jibber-jabering away, without a solution to what I'm saying, but then there's this guy.
He's wearing glasses on stage, those aviator types, not seeing ones, and he kinda stumps himself out when he says a joke. You could hear his breathing when he doesn't say anything. I can see his hand twitching because it doesn't know what to do, while the other one hangs on for dear life grasping the mic stand. Oh, yeah, and he doesn't doesn't take the mic out. I'm sure it's fear of being completely in the audience's eye.
I haven't had many conversations with him, but now I'm curious as to why he's like this. He's alone at the bar, looking into the distance; no people around as it's past closing hours.
"Hey, mate," I say when I approach him.
"I've never asked you this before, so could you tell me what keeps you going?"
"Well, I know you don't get that many laughs, and it makes you distressed on stage. I was wondering what keeps you going. Why not pack it in and stop?"
"I honestly love this fuckin' thing. Sure, I'm distressed, and sometimes I forget what I want to say, but I enjoy the shit out of this. I feel like I'm alive. That's why people do various things in arts or in sports. They feel alive. I may suck at this now, but so did a bunch of other comedians. Give me more time and I'll kick ass. You're doing pretty well for yourself. I like what you do. Keep on doing it."
All I could do was smile.
Tuesday, 19 July 2016
Walking down the road, I reach the bus stop and see one of the buses stopped, with a "Not in Service" thing on it.
'That's peculiar,' I think as this is an inter-cities one; they rarely have something like that on.
As I walk on by, passing the transport vehicle, I notice the driver on the phone, waiting for the other person to answer, and across from him, in the open door, a girl, smoking with her shivering hand.
'It's not cold.' Then I look down. One of her shoes is missing. Her body shakes for a cool five seconds before going back to normal. Her olive skin has a shade of white to it. Sweat has covered her face and belly.
"It's too hot," she says as she puffs the last whiff of tobacco and throws it on the cold ground.
I'd like to ask her what's the matter, but I know she won't answer. Her brain's too frazzled by what she suffered.
I go past to wait for my bus.
Monday, 18 July 2016
"Man, I can't make this stuff up. I'm telling you I saw the greatest thing ever."
"You haven't told me anythin'."
"So, you know how you keep telling me this area is strange and dangerous, now I know what you mean."
"On my way over, I passed by this bar or whatever, and near the doorway were two bouncers trying to manhandle a big guy. He was huge, you know, maybe 1.90 and about 140 kgs. One of those well built peeps that are a burden to cross paths with."
"They somehow got him out the door, onto the street, and one dude, short, but not scrawny, had him in the choke hold, you know, the one from behind, against your neck, and plying in the pressure. The guy's face turned blue-purple. That was awesome."
"I turned away for a sec, cause I saw this girl, and he was laid out on the ground. Then everything returned to normal."
"Nah. He was moving a little bit afterwards."
"But that girl, man, *whistles*, she was a hottie."
Sunday, 17 July 2016
I am unfamiliar with your son, yourself, or any other member of your family or friends.
I am a passerby who lied to get inside because I want to see how people cope with the loss of their loved one. It sounds strange, I know, but I don't have anybody to mourn after. That should not sadden you, although I suppose it might.
However, when I stepped into this funeral place, I felt a sense of belonging.
We will probably never see each other again, and regardless of that, I would like to thank you for making me feel like I had someone to care for for the first time in my life.
You must miss your son, George, deeply, to have been able to go at such great lengths.
Thank you for your hospitality."
Saturday, 16 July 2016
Friday, 15 July 2016
"I saw a cockroach," she said as I peeked inside the place.
"We both know you smash them faster than Dad used to drink a bottle of beer."
"Nothing. A simple slip."
"We have a funeral to take care of. I know you're good with that stuff. I'll handle the people calling, you do the tidbits."
"Are you hungry? I have some mashed potatoes in the fridge, ice cream in the freezer, and fruit in the living room."
"What? What do you want already? Do you want me to smack you? You're starting to sound like when you were a child. I didn't smack you then, but there's still time."
"Fine. I'm not saying anything anymore."
"Good. Now off you go."
Thursday, 14 July 2016
"Whatever you see inside, I don't want to hear it. If you say something, I'll smack you."
I raised my hands to my shoulders as my irises widened.
She carried on to unlock the door.
We walked in in silence. I stepped softly, wanting to not bother her, while she went through the hallway with heavy steps.
'She's clearly upset.'
I throw my jacket on the couch, and am on my way to the toilet when I hear a glass break. My gut instinct tells me not to go there. But I do.
Wednesday, 13 July 2016
For a few seconds, I had the feeling of nostalgia, when us three were riding in her former wagon car, and we'd be merry. So much so, the police pulled us over several thinking we were on something. Well, mom more than us two.
Life was easier back then. Or it seemed. Being a child is nicer.
Tuesday, 12 July 2016
"Come on," she says, catching me off guard. "Let's go."
"Home, to make funeral arrangements."
Whaaat? "Can't we do them here?"
"No. I don't like your place. Too modern for my taste. You can turn off the light if you clap. You have a dishwasher. The only non-electric or fancy item in here is your doors."
"Aren't you a little bit sad about George?"
"I am, but I don't want to think about that right now. Pack your things and let's go."
Can I say no? Ughh. "Okay. Five minutes."
I know she'll sob later, and when that happens, I hope I'm not there. I don't know what to do when others do that.
Monday, 11 July 2016
Ah, she found the hoover. The things it's suctioning sound like sand. When did I get that on my floor?
Well, whatever. I still don't know what I'm going to tell her when I get out. Not like it'd matter. I'm sure that, regardless of plan, it'll fall on the wayside because of mom. You have to be good at improvising at life to deal with her. The things you think about when you're in a bathroom. This's some deep shit that I never thought about. C- Oh, she stopped. Is she going to make food now? I can't handle this. I'm coming out.
And there she is, on the couch, hands crossed, glaring towards me. I smile.
Sunday, 10 July 2016
'To hell with that woman. I'm not opening.'
As I'm shaking my head, I hear the door knob. 'Forgot I gave her a key. Aw, man. I don't wanna see her at all right now.' I locked myself in the bathroom.
Sitting there, by the shower door, I heard her footsteps screeching in my pad; one step every two seconds, courtesy of a bad hip and bad knees.
"Michael," She said with a warm voice. "Michael."
I won't say anything.
"Don't be like that. Come out. The lights are on. I'm suffering too, you know?"
Stay home and suffer, then.
"Your house is a mess. Whenever you come out, you'll have a shiny place."
Saturday, 9 July 2016
A car accident was the least likely death I pictured for him, with the opposite being he'd grow old, with several children and a dozen grandchildren. As luck would have it, he wound up crashing through the window shield at 25 years.
When mom called me, I hung-up. It wasn't forceful. I simply dropped the phone and blacked out. I think I woke up in the bathroom at some point. My face felt softer than a cat's belly, but looked uglier than a girl's who got dumped before a prom.
By the time I cleaned myself up, my doorbell rang. It was mom. Only she could ring it like that. One long, one short, one long, one short, followed by door knocks. Like a crazy person. Come to think of it, I did that once to a friend of mine, and when they opened the door, they had a baseball bat in their hands. Laughed for half an hour.
Friday, 8 July 2016
That's how I wanted to see a French girl wearing only a mime shirt, white face paint, one of those chic, scrawny moustaches, having a beret on her head, black, of course, and eating from a baguette while smelling a rose. I know, I'm not dreaming much. And I have a low standard. Why not two girls like that? I don't know. One's enough. Zero? Not so much.
Thursday, 7 July 2016
Waiting here, I see a lot of other tired people. Everybody wants to get home, huh? After a ten hour ride, we can do that.
Awesome. Not that many people inside, which means I can have two chairs to myself. I can sleep as decently as one can inside a bus.
So far, I've read a lot, and that's about it. My eyes closed for five seconds...and... I'm tired now.
*hooooooooonk* Whoaaa! Nearly smashed my head in the seats here. What the hell is up with this? Why's the bus stopped? I need to see what's going on. The driver's outside, arguing with people. What the? Five guys came out of nowhere and dashed off. So did the ones our steering wheel man was heated with. Oh, wow. Even more. Fifteen people, sitting behind a highway barrier. Have they no better things to do with their lives?
Now I see. They placed a log on the road. Trying to rob people. Dammit. They need to be punched. Why must some be like this. It drives me off the wall. I don't think I'll be able to sleep any longer...
Wednesday, 6 July 2016
Late evening. People's faces showcase their droopy eyes and clenched jaws as their heads are lowered.
Among them is a kid. Fully clothed, less than a year old, with a joyful smile, he's been let loose from his carriage and is running rampant. More precisely, he's trying to walk.
The young days when an accomplishment is this meager, but he doesn't know about life's hardships yet.
He's taking two-three steps at a time, then flopping. He doesn't give up, he doesn't cry, he doesn't smack the concrete pavement. He goes up with the same smirk, knowing he'll walk for longer and longer, and there's nothing anyone can tell him differently.
A shame no one enjoys his excitement.
Tuesday, 5 July 2016
I didn't know what to believe at this point, but figured that opening the window wouldn't be a bad idea.
And when I did, tears streamed down my cheeks and chin.
The people outside were all dead. A pile of carcasses, some bloodier than others. Guts spilled out on the concrete ground, which barely had any of that grey-blue colour it has when being set.
The sky was bright, the clouds were missing, and the giant yellow star brought the temperature high enough. The smell, again, was giving me a hard time handling things.
Being on the first floor of this building, I wondered if I could die by jumping out, but that's way too big of a stretch upon looking down.
Still, judging by how weak and fatigued I am, I will die in a day, at most.
I'll take the plunge.
"I'm sorry, world. I couldn't find out the problem. Bye."
"Doctor, his vitals have gone."
"What time is it?"
"It's unfortunate as he had been fighting the disease for such a long time. I hope he found solitude within."
Monday, 4 July 2016
After that weird, but plausible, story idea, I went to bed.
When I woke up, the whole room was lit from the sun's beams, and there was no one else inside.
'Must've went to find food.'
I muster a semblance of strength, not much as my stomach growls once more, upset at the lack of nourishment it had received recently.
When I am on my feet, I see the empty plate that I ate from last night.
Redness is etched into it, with pieces of meaty bones and cartilages left uneaten, untouched, unneeded.
'You mean to tell me I wasn't eating grapes and bread, but human innards?
I would've had an upset stomach, yet it didn't. Nothing was inside to come out.
'Was that guy a mirage, too?'
Sunday, 3 July 2016
"I can't give you water. Couldn't find any."
I wanted to give him an answer, but instead of mumbling, I nodded and gave him my thumbs up.
'I haven't really met anyone in here. The disadvantage of the freelance life.'
"After you eat, you can take a nap, or you can leave, if you feel brave enough. I wouldn't recommend it. The situation's ridiculous now. People are desperate. They're killing and eating each other. We should lay low until we find the reason."
I had finally finished chewing the itsy bitsy bits clenched between my teeth.
"What do you think happened? Aliens?"
"No. Alternate universe. Or someone is in the past, trying to wipe us all."
"Why would they do that?"
"Why did all the dictators did what they wanted?"
"That too, but to rule. They only wanted their things, their nations, their race. If we are to go back to a world without technology, we will be in deep shit."
Saturday, 2 July 2016
'Where am I?' I think as I wake up. My head hurts in a somebody hit it way.
"You look pale. Eat something." A voice comes from the dark.
I look around and see bread and grapes on a plate, under a light. I jump at it like a leopard on a deer, savagely tearing the gluten item into pieces, then chucking it, along with the green nibbles, into my mouth.
My jaw scrunches hard to get going, a cog lacking oil, moving for a few seconds before rusting. That's how I was left with those chewable bits between my teeth.
"Jesus. You're behaving like those people outside. What's wrong with you? Eat slower."
I wish I could've told him how hungry I was, instead of mumbling something from the Neolithic era. Crustaceans would get me better.
"At least you're safe, idiot."
Huh? Does he know me?
Friday, 1 July 2016
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. 'There goes my ten year tradition of not throwing up. Damn.'
I steadily stand up, supporting myself through a lamppost.
My head is shaking and I feel pale. I feel like I'm about to faint. I feel my eyes going dizzy, everything narrowing, turning into a fuzzy black image.
So I close them as I lower myself again.
'I need to move back home, but I'm too weak to do anything right now. At such a time. Curses.'
Instinctively, my right hand goes over my eyelids, occasionally on the bridge of the nose, switching between the two ever so gently.
I breathe in, twice, hard, as I try to make myself go up, inch by inch.
Halfway through a gust of wind comes straight at me, bringing various smells along, and it knocks me down and out.