#veryshortstory – i’m trying it out, check it out on twitter

Susan has always heard them say, Make Love not War but sadly, Dylan never got the memo.  No he would rather sit and kill zombies all day, than play with her hair.  Her one true source of happiness.


the real gold

We’re all searching for gold in a bare land, when the ground is hard and rough, but for some reason we don’t give up.  The idea – he might find it and I might miss it – drives us mad.

We can’t stop but we can’t keep going.

We’re all exhausted and I wonder when each one of us will realize how crazy we’ve become.  Nothing makes sense because our mind is distorted.  Hungry for more but lacking the food we search for since we’re doomed to find nothing.

Dry lands don’t hold anything for us, but we’ve forgotten how to look for the well.

If we’d only remember, then we’d find water and know that’s were the real gold lies.

the boy is shy

I walked down the stairs and he rushed up.  I knew he was shy, but I hadn’t realized how much.  I said hi to his sister and glanced back at the stairs, he lingered and then moved up a few.  My feet took me two steps away, he moved back down, but when he saw I didn’t go far he went back up.  I did it again, he did it again.  Finally, I realized, he wouldn’t come down till I left.

They say, “The boy is shy,” I only now, realize how much.

the downfall

The room around her was small.  She wasn’t sure when it had gotten small, but the air felt less than before.  She could hear the pulse of her heart beat slowly, as she quietly sat in her spot.

She was afraid to move.

Afraid he would talk to her and she didn’t want to hear his voice.

She didn’t want him to come back to life.  She wanted him to stay still, not move a bone.

Because maybe, she would be able to live with herself if she could pretend nothing had happened.  Maybe tomorrow, she could stand up and walk out.  Maybe even, she could continue her life unfazed by the incident.

If only, he kept quiet.

For the moment a word came out of his mouth, would be the moment of her downfall.

this world we live in

“It’s hard living in this world,” she said, her voice frail and barely a whisper.

“Why do you say that?”  I replied.

She was silent for a while.  Her face lifted and her eyes met mine.

“There’s so much controversy.  People either work and hate working or they don’t and hate not working.”  She paused, a frown knitting her brows together.

“No one ever seems satisfied.”

I scoffed at her.

“That’s because no one ever is,” I told her.


The silence haunted her hollow body.

She stood looking at his chair and picturing her father.  The hours had drifted by, she had felt hunger but ignored her belly groan.  She presumed he would be back here any time now.  After all, his favorite game would be on soon.  Perhaps, he decided to turn off the television and head to the bathroom.  He was probably stuck there with nasty business going on, she had convinced herself.  One thing her father did not need help with was using the bathroom.

Her arms were held tightly over her chest and she stubbornly decided to ignore that her father never turned the television off.  He’ll be back, shortly she kept thinking.  Stuck on a constant repeat.

And she would have stayed there.  She would have starved herself and deprived herself of life, just as he had been deprived.

“India…” his voice was gentle and quiet.

She did not respond however, her eyes were glued on the chair.  The armchair on which her father sat.  There was white hair on the dark fabric head rest.  The arm-resters were worn and turning white.  All around the armchair were crumbs of foods India never gave time to clean.  In fact, she avoided to go near his chair.  She had told him it was his duty to at least clean the area he lived by.  However, he never did and therefore, the floor was worn and dirty.

“India!”  His voice was sharper and he blocked her view.

A frown covered her features and India attempted to push the man out of her way, but he stood firm.

Eventually, her strength wore out and she let out a sigh.  Heaviness slipped out of her lips and she felt him hold her by her elbows.  Her body shook and tears rolled down her cheeks.  They were hot and thick.

“He’s coming back,” she gasped out, to him, “Danny, he’s coming.  It’s almost time, you know?”  She asked him, an attempted smile was given by her trembling lips.  “He wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“India,” Danny spoke in a gentle tone and then slowly, hesitantly asked,  “When does Pop ever turn off the television?”

“Oh god,” she choked in response.  The lifeless world around her taking root in her mind.  Losing all balance she felt her knees give up their determination and India whispered, “He’s gone.”

someone like you

I settled myself in the seat.

“No, you’re number isn’t on the ad.”  My mother told the woman as my own mind drifted to realities.  Greeks like to tell each other something, meanwhile the response is always: denial.

“What?  Of course it’s on the ad.  How else will clients call and…”  The woman paused, my mother insisted – this continued for a whole.  “Just a second, I’ll check.”

My coat was off, my bag on the side – I checked my phone though it didn’t matter since had no service here.  Since I set my foot on an airplane in late July, it’s been on airplane mode.  My number’s current disconnected.  My iPhone only works on wireless.  I find it intriguing how old my Greek phone is in comparison.  All it can really do is call and text.  Sometimes, I’m surprised how much I’m on a phone that can’t even call at the moment.

That’s when the familiar melody began.  I stopped my movements and looked at the back of a computer screen, the music playing.  I had to focus, trying to remember the very known song.  Eventually, when the song hint my memory, I felt an odd wave of nostalgia reminisce inside me.

My college days, my driving adventures, my afternoons spent singing along to the song, on repeat (of course).

It honestly feels like years since I heard this specific song.

Not to mention, it causes more sappiness now than it ever did before.

I’ve always have found Adele’s Someone Like You so hauntingly beautiful.

to be moved by a simple song

I remember the first time I heard this one song.

Two of my friends had just began co-leading worship at the church I was attending.  A newly founded gathering with few attendance and caught in the battle of recognizing itself.  As all new churches must learn to partake in.   This my was during my senior year of University, when it was completely up to me to decide where I’d spend my Sunday mornings.

The lights dimmed and the music ripped the vibrant silence.

As their voices began to skillfully follow the melody, I felt a chill run down my back.  This one song isn’t sad, but forever one that will shake my soul.  I peeled my eyeballs from those singing and turned my attention to the scrap paper in my hands, quickly writing down the tittle and artist of the song.  Internally so glad they’d put a slide up with the information.  Later, I would search the net and find this song.

When the lights finally came up, I felt the weight of the song lift as well.

I say this, because no matter the time and how it passes, this one song still moves me.  There’s a raw demeanor to it as a whole – complete of pureness.

And as I laid in bed tonight, unable to sleep, I decided to postpone trying and listen to this one song.  My forever battle to conquer over sleeplessness was overruled and put aside for now.

Why?  Because this matters.

Songs that move the soul are powerful tools of feeling.

And the thing is – I’ve shared this song before on this blog.  I’ve put up a clickable video of this song.  At first, I thought I would just do the same again, who cares if I’ve already done it before.  However, a few words about a song won’t show it’s significance, right?  I wanted to prove it.  This song both soothes and rests my soul, but also terrifies and strikes it.

I can’t get over how hauntingly beautiful this song is to my ears.

click to listen to this one song. ]


His name is Jack.

He wants to be a lawyer but is afraid.  He’s not sure he’ll make the cut.  They like smart lawyers and he’s not sure he’s very smart.  In fact, he sometimes calls himself the Six-foot Dummy.  He’s not a fan of winning, but playing it nice.  He prefers to let another take a go at it than give himself the go.  He finds life complicated and unsure about explaining its logistics.  He spends most of his day reading, trying to learn all the basics and secrets he finds necessary to know.  However, he has a hard time remembering – therefore, he goes through everything twice.  Even women.  He hasn’t spoken to one in two months but his ma, sisters, and lady-friends (whom he doesn’t consider women).  A woman is a new person he hasn’t known for years.  He’s afraid of change and therefore, keeps a strict schedule: wake up, studying/class, two hours of social time and then a short read before bed.  He doesn’t get out much and hasn’t seen the sights of a bar in years.

You see he suffers from small self-esteem.

No one has been able to lifts his spirits in years.  No class or professor has given him the push he’s needed.  Or at least one he’d accept.

Until he met Grace.

Two months ago, she was the last woman he spoke to.  For a while, he was doing good.  He was meeting people and he was interviewing.  Jack was really excited because he was almost positive that he would be a real lawyer soon.  He even bought a new suit to celebrate.  (You see, when he gets excited about life, he buys suits.)

They celebrated by drinking champagne and getting slightly drunk.

Jack told Grace it wasn’t chance that her name was grace for she had brought some into his life.

Until the phone call arrived.

He didn’t get the job.  The man on the other phone broke Jack’s heart.  That day he stopped talking to Grace.  He no longer answered her phone calls.  When she appeared out of no where, he’d walk past her or ignore each word escaping her thin tight lips.

He regressed.

Jack hasn’t come out of his hole for two months and refuses to let anyone crawl in with him.

the end times…

I remember the smell of your cologne and how gently you’d hold me.  Like a flower, fragile in your rough palms and fingers, careful not to smash me.

The air around me is thin now.  I barely smell as I did before.

Not since you left.

It’s like that warm corner you filled is empty and waiting.  Cueing for the day when the madness will end.  I’d say, I hope you write back soon, but I know you won’t.  You won’t be getting this letter, Pete.

Even if you got it – nothing would change.  You’re mother hasn’t heard from you in weeks, she’s losing her mind.  Did you know?  I’m sure you’ve gotten each one of her letters.  She begs me to give her all I have of you.  I know I should, but I cannot.

If I were to give in, I’d lose every bit of you that I have left.

Then the smell would be completely gone.

I’m convinced you still think about me – as I of you.  Each night, as I lay my head down on my bed, I think of you.  I press my nose on my pillow and inhale as much as I can.  I search for your scent and pray to God there’s still some left.  However, everyone has told me the aroma will eventually fade away and I am so fearful of the day.

Your cologne is out and I can no longer spray it all around me.  Sure, I suppose I could buy a new bottle, but it wouldn’t be yours.  It’d be a new thing I bought, just like all the other new things I’ve bought.

Soon our room will not be ours but only mine.

My mother has already began cleaning out your things, while I pound and gag my eyes out.  She says the air needs cleaning as the room.

But she doesn’t understand.

What if you come back?  I know, the end times… yes, of course, they are coming.  Not everything can last forever, but I never thought I’d lose you so soon and in such a way.

Please come back to me.  At least, write to me – tell me you haven’t forgotten.

Remind me how well you write.