A visible frown decorated Anthony's face as he grudgingly sat on a white and red satin-decorated chair, on his lap was his infamous writing notebook and a black pen.
He wanted to write again, but how can he do it if he couldn't concentrate? He doesn't want to be here! To be in a lavish room decorated with satin and ribbon, attended by people who wore branded clothes and expensive jewelry; drinking wine in their glasses, chit chatting as they waited for someone to step in the small stage in front and deliver a speech in the gemelina wood podium.
He doesn't belong here. Why would an awkward mess with raven uncut hair, wearing only a cheap synthetic leather brown jacket and a pair of denim jeans that he got from a bargain shop be here?
"Auntie, can I go home already? You can do this alone, " he complained.
The fat woman on his side glared at him as she's sweating bullets, hands fisted like she's just stopping herself to hit him. She looked like any moment from now she'll burst out from her pink tube dress that she forced herself to wear.
Forced in a way that it doesn't fit. She gained weight. And if the dress could complain it would say: "Stop tearing me apart! I am too young to die! Help! SOS!"
"Leave here and I'll tear your notebook. This is a commemoration exercise and your father is one who would be given the honor. And General Hamfist wants to see you, so better behave, " his aunt hissed at him, she was about to snatch his notebook but he prevented it.
"K, " his short reply.
His aunt rolled her eyes and opened her pink lace fan.
It's not even hot. The room is air-conditioned. Maybe it's because of the dress?
Anthony heaved a sigh and remembered what Saint told him, "Use your reality as an inspiration to your fiction."
But how can he use his reality when facing it hurts? The people might be here, honoring his father but he knew the truth but deep inside, they envy and hate him.
He heard them talk behind his back. Saying hurtful lies about his father, even laughed that he got lost because of his "idiotic heroism". That he shouldn't have saved the hostages and saved himself instead. Pitying him that he loved and married an ex-pornstar, had a loser of a son, and a rebel for a daughter.
How can he stay here? Breathing the same air with fake people, it's suffocating...It's tiring for him.
He stared at his notebook and pen and wrote: "Words of praise could be lies of sinful people that see themselves as saints."
People would lie to save themselves from their enemy, but in the process, they become what they abide by. Because lies itself is a nemesis of—truth.
And he is a liar too. Because aside from the fake people there's another reason why he doesn't want to be here...
The place becomes livelier, chatters and murmurs start to contaminate the place. In the entrance of the hall, two entered; the first one is a big built man wearing a camouflage uniform in his forties, face angular and refined, deprived of facial hair. His hair black with specks of silver; his whole persona screams authority as he walks. Behind him is a tall busty lady in her twenties, wearing a sapphire-colored mermaid cut gown. She has a soft feature, pink plump lips, and expressive blue orbs adorned by a delicate mascara. What's making her more beautiful is her wavy hip-length blond hair and her aura of beauty that could make everyone swoon.
Like any other man present in the hall, Anthony couldn't take his eyes off that lady.
He could feel his heartbeat wildly; seemingly wanting to escape from his rib cage.
"Antoinette..." he whispered her name, longing and bitterness is all he could feel as a memory triggered his mind.
A bitter taste of rejection from your first love.
I don't want to be here.
On a dark alley, a hooded figure could be seen as he wiped the remnants of blood on his black robe. He stared at his gold pocket watch hanging on his waist. "It's time, " he whispered and a smile stretched across his lips. His black cat ears stood excitedly, tail wagging back and forth.
It's been weeks since animals started to move. It's a matter of survival and such is the rule of the wild. They are just following their instincts. They didn't want this but they don't have another choice.
"We will be free soon. " A glint of happiness flashed across his eyes as he started to laugh maniacally.
He disappeared leaving a gust of black smoke, uncaring to the two corpses he left behind. Bleeding on the ground and a tied plastic bag who seems to cry; wailing, moving to be freed.
Near the cadavers is a bloodied newspaper with a headline:
WEIRD PHENOMENONS RISING: DEATH TOLL RISES.
A sing-song voice could be heard in the dead of night. Slow footsteps kissed the asphalt road of the heavily silent streets of Yaki. Only the two blinking street lights gave hope amidst the blinding darkness and only the human carrying the said tune gave life to the emptiness. Humans living in the area were already slumbering on their beds as time pointed its hand at 2 am, already past midnight. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound of clicking added to the serene band. A man could be seen hovering his hands over his phone. He stopped singing. Fast tappings could be heard, then he stopped as he pressed a red button. "You're dialing Idol Saint..." "The number you have dialed is unattended. Please try again later. " "C'mon, Saint! Answer the damn phone! I changed my mind, I still don't want to go home. I need someone to talk to. " He dialed the number again only to receive the same reply. He tsk
ALL he could do was to shake in fear. He wanted to meow and cry but he couldn't. He should remain silent, praying that the darkness in the alley could conceal him from them; the darkness would somehow make him forget that beside him were two bloodied cadavers. He also hoped that they would not notice him as they did to the kittens weeping inside a plastic bag. Why did he choose to hide here from the dog? This is too much. 'Someone, save me. ' The air smelled rusty, from all the blood that had spilled. Shards of debris and garbage scattered to the ground from the broken wall and garbage chute. The clang of two metals colliding continuously, creating tension. Each blow promised a threat of death to each other as they swung a huge sword made of platinum; sweating and grunting heavily due to the weapon's weight and force needed to exert for defense and offense. It's dark and no
RED neon lights blinked repeatedly as loud music and cheers accompanied by people dancing to the beat of the music like a wild animal in heat. The place stinks of liquor, smoke, sweat, perfume, and ladies cosmetics mixed to create a smell familiar to those night owls enjoying the fun at night. In a table, far from the dance floor sat a man drinking his fourth shot of mojito, face focused as his hands scribbled on his notes. He didn't wish to be here again, but after the commemoration, they invited him to an 'after party night' and he couldn't say no because his aunt is there. He's waiting for she'll get drunk then leave her alone. It's his fifth time writing the same concept again but every time he tries to create the narration, he feels dissatisfied. Maybe it's because he's not in the right mind? Or the plot seems too personal?
A ting sound could be heard from the small white microwave oven placed on a tiled kitchen counter. A veiny hand of a man wearing colored blue mittens with a blue cat print could be seen turning off the microwave. His lips curved as he opened the microwave and got what he cooked. Anthony's smile gets wider as his nose registers the aroma of his creation: Baked macaroni. The more he smells, the more he can feel his mouth water and stomach grumble in hunger.He slowly places his mac on the counter as he ties his hair using the band his hand once wore into a 'messy' man bun, he's too lazy to comb it and he's too lazy to visit a barber to have his hair cut. He then blew the remaining hair strands that covered his face. He smiled afterward when he felt satisfied."Now I can eat and watch my favorite show! " He excitedly uttered to himself as he grabbed his baked mac and proceeded to exit the kitchen.'There's
Unbeknownst to him, Aegir is also staring at him, reminiscing the same memory he'd been thinking.Aegir whimpered. The cold water from the rain seems to be seeping through his skin.He could feel the terrorizing shivers that chills him to the bone. In his secured arms are two kittens: Tibby and Tabby, who unlike him, are noisy and crying.He doesn't even know if he's crying because of the coldness that makes him feel numb. The same coldness he always feels whenever he lies in the cold cement of his alley—the freezing feeling of sadness.'Maybe it's better this way—it's always this way. ' he thought as he blinked his tired eyes at the surroundings.<
A MAN is currently drawn in deep concentration as he moves the joystick of a claw machine. His white polo shirt sleeves were tucked revealing his bare hands decorated by visible veins, his brow crumpled as his sweat bathed him—but he didn't care...he's trying to analyze where he would put the claw so that he'll get the prize he wanted. Left. Right. North. South—he's contemplating, eyes blazing as if he'll kill the machine any minute.He set his target into a colored pink cat plushie. The plushie holds an angry expression but is still very cute. "C'mon! " He pressed the red button, releasing the claw. It slowly descended on his target then it picked his target, ascending.He could feel his hands getting wet as he anticipated winning the prize. His brows furrowed, lips biting in excitement. He shouted a fiery, "
THEY'RE inside an antique looking vibe building. All of their belongings (like Anthony's stuffed toys) are placed in a nice locker. The building's interior is colored gold and brown with classic flower patterns carved into its pole and walls. There's also hanging photos in the same motif frame of strange eerie symbols of violet stars, creepy looking animals, and flowers depicted like some sort of monsters with big gnashing mouths and large bulging eyes. A large mirror placed at the side of one of the frames gave it a more distinct creep when someone suddenly decided to look at his reflection after viewing the pictures. In the center lies a red sofa and a glass center table. The sofa is so red that one might think it's made from blood. Apart from its color is the weird placement. Why in the middle? Is it to give a better access to the 'piece of arts'? But one thing is certain, it gave chills to both Anthony and Saint that they
The old lady began to knock on her deck of cards several times like there's someone in there. She then shuffled the cards thoroughly, then she put her cards in three piles then put it back again like she's playing some sort of a card came—Anthony wished that instead of a fake destiny card whatsoever they should have played poker instead. She spread the cards on the glass table and her raven colored eyes fixed their way to the two gentlemen sitting on the sofa. "Now, children. Choose three. The cards will tell something about you. " Anthony flashed an unamused look and a pathetic look to Saint who immediately chose three cards. The old woman opened the card only to reveal an image of a crane above it is the numerals XIV, the crane had flowing tears and fire below it, there's also a word printed saying 'temperance' for the first card, the second card was a goat with weird star on its forehead and fire on its hooves, the numeral