I push forward, but the thing behind closes the distance: fear personified, illusion turned true. It pulls me down, and I fight back as hard as I can, but it is simply too strong. I start to sink. Laughter turn into gasps. I try to scream, but only half-hearted bubbles rise to the surface.
Tag: creative writing
Are You Real?
I thought that was it. I thought I could save my mother like I saved Rita. But what I thought was a gift turned out to be a curse as I went off the rails, lost the only friend I had, and resorted to the only thing I was capable of: tricking people. You know what they say about gifted kids that never reach their potential. I was one of them.
A Ghost Story or Two
It was just like last time: a croak, possibly another fall, maybe a stream of tears to follow. Her father’s eyes were half-open, and his lips slightly apart. Isabella couldn’t bear to look at him. She did what she was told to do. So now what? What about later? What if the illness overtook him once and for all?
It was rather because it reminded her of the girl that abandoned her friend when she most needed her, the girl that left behind a trail of pain, anger, and hate behind her. That’s the Marie Sauer everyone said she was, at least.
The Canvas Without Stars
He frowned. It was always the same, like someone decided to draw a moon on a canvas and forgot to paint the rest. He knew what was missing, because he learned about stars in school. They were so far away, they could be seen, but not touched.
In a World Full of Magnets
She met him last week when he had an empty seat next to him then. He always had an empty seat next to him. Sahar had no idea how he managed that. Some people were magnets, she supposed, in a world full of magnets.
But something happened. I found myself a friend. That weird kid who stutters when she gets nervous, who gets called insensitive for reasons she can’t help herself, she found herself a friend. My friend was the first person I had a conversation with other than hello and what is your next class.
But I can’t pretend to know her because I don’t, not even after all those years. So intimidation gets the best of me. I’m not her. I have no friends other than Cadence, if I can even call her that now. I’m vulnerable. I know I am in no position to challenge anyone. She has nothing to lose, but I do.
Parties. I have no business to do with parties. They’re too loud, too populated, too everything. House parties? They’re the worst. A sensible version of me would’ve declared ”no” in her best friend’s face, left her to be happy with her handsome boyfriend, and called it a day. But no, such version of me does not exist, and I know that too well.
I Love You, Mom
I cross my arms and wait. Five minutes. Ten. Before we know it, we’re both crying. Me because I don’t want her here, to take the good out of the equation. Her because she is delusional and wants something from me that she had lost for herself a long, long time ago.