One day I will pack my bags of book and paper. One day I will say goodbye to Mango. I am too strong for her to keep me here forever. One day I will go away. . .
They will not know I have gone away to come back. For the ones I left behind. For the ones who cannot out.
The basement. The dark and decrepit part of a house no one chooses to enter. Where the capable struggle to survive and the weak slowly die. And amongst this darkness, a life is born. With each new life, everyone takes their own path. To learn from such a world, we strive to be better. Happiness, hardship, sadness, dreams, responsibility, freedom, The Beginning, and The End. That is life. Yet, life was also given to a boy. A 275-square-foot room covered in mold, with a bathroom, and a TV, which lingers with the scent of fresh blood. This was the boy’s life.
He was not resentful or angry for anything, since it was all he ever knew. Every scent, every brutal sight, every touch of pain, and every scream. That was just his life. He had long since cried or tried to fight back. And though he wished for death endlessly, in this world of unhappiness, his life was not extinguished. At some point, the boy’s inner self did.
78,840 hours after the boy was born, his father had finally gifted him with something. Looking in from the small window, he glanced down at his son and had thrown an object in front of him. He had been muttering for quite some time, then walked away. The boy looked down at the object in awe and astonishment. It glinted with vivid colors the boy had never seen. A rectangular object that smelled of wood and ink. A glimpse of light in his world of darkness. The cover of the object burst out at him, yet he could not understand it. Though the boy could not read, he was quite smart. Picking up what he could from the glowing box that threatened to die at any time, the boy sits in front of it once again, analyzing each sound.
This boy, who had never felt any semblance of joy or happiness had found it after 43800 minutes with the colorful box. He had been extra careful not to rip any part of it, and as he finally picked up on everything, the boy had again felt something new. Hope. He had hoped for another one. He had hoped for something magical to enter his hell of a room. And although his father had never stopped his daily routine, the boy was gifted with something. And so the boy had hoped he would, again and again, gain another glimpse into the light.
June 5, 1998
I always thought that some day I would be able to dance the night away somewhere far, far away from here. Where the night sky would twinkle through the windows. And that I would be wearing a dress. A simple one. I wanted it to have a light crème color that matches with my darker skin.
She always said she liked the contrast of vivid to bleak colors in my wardrobe. With that dress and her delicate, small hand in mine; we’d dance the entirety of the day and night by ourselves. That we could finally enjoy each other’s company. And that when I looked down at her eyes that resembled the sky, she would tell me how much she really cared about me. Maybe that was too much to ask of her.
Regardless, I still remain right by her side. She has been becoming ever so distant since finding out, but I will not let that stop me. As her hands grow ever so colder compared to mine, I allow myself to bask in her stare. I have always been squeamish with eye contact and my immediate reaction brought me back to when I first met her. It was quite surprising at first.
To be the star of the stage. Everyone stared at me, and I realized I might not have been able to perform if I wasn’t so blind. Even so, they had all told me I would fit the role perfectly. I am tall with big shoulders and mid length hair. “Prince charming in real life” they would tell me. They never would have guessed I admired the sparkly, pink dress my partner had been wrapped in. She truly was beautiful.
I still think the same even as I sit here, watching her become all the more gone, but just as beautiful. She might not have thought that, even when I’d tell her endlessly. It wasn’t until that final day did I understand how much she loved me. She had picked a single flower for me. A bright red rose. The same rose that lays on top of her for eternity. My last gift to you, mi amor. Goodbye.
There was a time in my life. A time when I thought I could be somebody great. Somebody you would learn about many years from now; my name, imprinted throughout history. You could look me up any time and I would be right there, smiling right at you with a picture perfect smile.. That was a long time ago, and while I am not written in history, I believe I have achieved something great. With those around me cherishing every second we have left together, I still wonder how they would have felt if I had gone through with it. My name shining as bright as the stars on the walls of the world’s greatest. Imprinted into the brass upon the leather on the belt that was rightfully mine.
They had told me I would not have much left, even if I had achieved such a great feat. I would be nothing more than a crippled father, coming home to my disappointed children. I would never let that happen. So, I gave up my dream for a while. Trying not to resurface what was burning so loudly inside of me.
Of course, for someone like me, my existence already defined my reality. I was not planning for a second to succumb to my weakness. We are born weak and alone, and the life we live is through the efforts of hard work and a lot of blood. Sometimes our own, and sometimes others.
I try my best to not hope for more than what I have, but sometimes I fall deep into the pit of greed. The smiles of my children and my wonderful wife are not enough to quell the raging fire, so I have learned to be good at being bad. Messing up at work, forgetting a date, or spelling my own name wrong. They have yet to figure it out, but the looks on their faces when they actually see me as a human, and not just some superhero, is priceless. So much that I want it plastered upon my walls.
But, then again I am nothing more than a simple man, wishing to be above the world. Above my problems, and above those who have prayed for my downfall. To show them I can be much greater than what I seem, while blending in with everyone around me. Something everyone seeks for, but rarely sees. The symbol of freedom and peace. Even though I lie upon a grave of blood and war.
The Angel Of Hell
10 days. I have yet to find any trace of my family. I have no name, only a number. We are not a family, but a unit. There is no “me,” only “us.” These people do not see any of us as human, just some speck of dust they can use for their military campaign. They trick people like me into thinking I can be something I was never meant to be. Throwing me into hell and expecting an army, what utter animosity they show us.
37 days. Each day’s a new layer of hell, and a never ending enigma of pain. Not only are we alone, they choose to rub it in our faces. I thought that maybe it was me. Maybe I was the problem, and that the reason we are losing was because of my faults. But, no it is theirs. They started this war and they refuse to end it. Such childlike behavior from old men can only be seen as disrespect and mutiny to our country.
86 Days. Why is it that they won’t even negotiate? They truly are a despicable, godforsaken country. Thinking they would win this endless calling for suffering is stupidity at its peak. I have yet to truly understand the capabilities of the men putting their life for me to do my job, but they at least seem half decent.
135 Days. Upon one of my explorations into the new territory, I met a young child. No bigger than my thigh, whose eyes sparkle like the sea. She is a tad curious, but is still born to the enemy. We were alerted to stay away from the child, and were even granted permission to get information from her. They really have no mercy in this hell.
154 Days. Not only have we not progressed on our mission, the child has grown close to my unit. Their main form of entertainment for the young girl has been many variations of puppetry and shadowboxing. She has learned to laugh and even began to eat with us. My unit does not wish to send her back. I am still unsure.
193 Days. They have begun negotiating, but no information about the child has been leaked and we have yet to be informed of her fate. I had been bedridden for a few days due to an emergency outpost explosion, and when I had returned to my men, she was waiting there with tears in her water like eyes. Good posture and a fabulous smile, as if she were shining brightly. She handed me a letter and quickly scurried away. Where my men managed to find such utilities is beyond me, but I chose to just appreciate the gesture.
240 Days. They have declared a peace treaty, and the child has chosen to stay with us. Her parents have been inlaid upon the ground with my hands, so my men told me to take the responsibility. We will arrive shortly in our new home. I hope she likes the ocean. I am still soldier #87, but this child has shown me what being “daddy,” is in the short time I have known her. I wish to see her grow up wonderfully. This is Admiral Lance Shining, signing out.
A small, colored box. No bigger than your palm. You twist its arm and it sings you a tune. A lovely melody. One that calms the soul. Neither the neighbor next door, nor the girl with almost everything has the very object you do. Straight on the middle of your palm.
The story comes from many, unfolded throughout your family’s history. Your mother. Her mother. And her mothers mother. Each one told it differently, but they all ended the same. A blissful experience and another to tell the tale. But, this time your father made it special.
Special for you. In the form of a box. In your palm. Shattered in pieces. The girl really did have everything now. Everything but the story of your mother. Because she appears in the twilight, by the window, with wet hair and a silk robe. Only then does she tell you the story of her people. You see her in the stars and hear her story by the fire. They all keep you safe and warm. And that’s all you could ask for.
Author’s note ~
While I was writing this I could not remember the names or order, so I made this little summary and thought it was funny, so enjoy. ❤ The bold ones are the ones I used for this blog. Personally, my favorite is the apple pie, but that’s just because I like apple pie.
- – Girl in Vietnam not wanting to be married
- – Child trapped in basement finds book and falls in love
- – Love story of a cancer patient (they’re cute and homosexual)
- – Interview with a serial killer
- – Depression. That’s it.
- – Retired UFC fighter
- – Military officer finding and saving a child
- – Music box go brrr
- – God, he’s just better like that
- – Apple pie is life (literally and figuratively)