Fragile, helpless child

Mom used to watch you breathing

Calm delicate heaves.

One step, new milestones

A fall, a bruise, a triumph;

those days, all your own.

You learned to speak less

finding comfort in silence;

Loud deafening earth.

Now: bills, pills, Mondays,

Toilsome loop of misery;

No escape, just yet.

When all breath is spent

Name on stone, bed of decay,

Will they remember?

Human flesh is surprisingly difficult to tear. It might be even tougher than a well done steak.

Tim wondered if he’s ripping at the right spot. “Ugh!” Sighing, he pulled at the flank muscles with effort. Collin was a good guy. “Why humiliate me like that, dude? And in front of the girls?”

Collin didn’t answer.

Tim rent some of his guts and carefully slipped it into a ziplock to feed later to a wolf or a bear. ‘Is this convincing enough?’ An idea struck him. “Wolves go for the throat too, don’t they?”

He knelt next to Collin’s neck.

Look at me,

look at these dainty yellows of me;

Mmm, don’t they remind you

Of pungent fragrance of lemon and grass

jumping at your unsuspecting eyes

As though you can taste them where you stand.

Stay, can you see her?

I am every line and color of her;

She peeks at you from ’neath her hat made of straw

With an unblinking eye of hazel blue

No innocence, just mysteries,

Her lips pressed together, keeping all her secrets to herself.

Do you want to feel?

My canvas, her fabric, how soft they feel;

Dressed so warmly in an autumn day

In a lemon cardigan, threadbare with time

Like the trees behind her shedding off their foliage,

Showering the ground she stepped on with leaves.

Do you want to know?

What she might be thinking, the place she is to go?

Why she’s tipping her hat to cover an eye?

Could the wind be blowing on her face?

And of course, you might be curious

What her name could be, she’s just

The Girl in a Lemon Dress.

Have you been to the cliffside yet?

It’s thrilling, It’s scary, I know

One misstep and you’re over the edge

But isn’t there a special kick you get

by looking down past the ends of the earth

It’s a long fall down

Standing there with your toes hunched together

A sudden urge to leap

could almost overcome you but

the wave of vertigo

makes you step back before your knees start to bend.

Have you been to the cliffside yet?

Take my hand, fear not

Nothing can harm you at the edge,

unless of course the ground gives in

But it will not be your fault;

Unless you think of jumping and succumb to the thought

Well then my dear, I’ll take the leap with you

You won’t be alone in the fall.

Albeit the drop will be painful, and we might break our backs.

Have you stood at the cliffside yet?

with the wind screaming up your face

and the sky offering no handholds?

have you ever put one foot ahead, unsure if you’ll survive the fall?

Have you ever wondered if someone is waiting there

to catch you after the jump?

They should be there, my dear, they promised.

And if they aren’t,

Albeit alone

You gotta make the jump!

Stand there at the cliffside

as if the mountain is crumbling behind you

Stand there at the cliffside as if turning back will kill you.

Come with me to the cliffside

And pretend we’re brave.

Harold was frozen. He felt frozen. It was so cold as if the icy wind found itself under his skin. Too shocked to budge or move his lips, he looked at Ru who was dusting off her blouse.

She had an angelic face but she wore a devil's smile. "Hihi. Can you imagine the things I can do to you? You frozen like that, you can't even mutter a sound, let alone scream for help." She chuckled.

Harold realized he wasn't scared. Not anymore, not after how the day made him tired, inside and out. Still, he could not rebut her so she went on babbling.

"Here are the rules, Harold, listen well."

*********

"Tiriring! Tiriring!"

"Oh shut up!" Harold shifted in his bed and covered both of his ears.

"Tiriring! Tiriring! I'm not stopping until you get that butt off the bed and start preparing for school."

Ru jarred him with her foot.

"Fuck off. I'm not going anywhere."

Then she did her thing again.

He peered through drowsy eyes. And what he saw were pebbles. And a railway that crawled on the ground where he also was lying. A railway in the middle of nowhere!

No more warm comfy bed. All he felt under him were rocks and sand. No more quiet. The ground started to tremble. The beginning of a train's honking loomed from afar.

A train. Shit!

He rolled over and prepped himself up on two arms. There it was. A slithering machine. It was coming for him. And it was not planning on stopping.

Shit! Shit! Shit! He hurriedly got up and began to run out of the way, only to suddenly trip and fall off. He hit the hard floor facefirst. He was back in his room.

"What the fuck was that?" He screamed at her, getting to his feet, his forehead hurting not by a little.

"I told you rule one, didn't I? Obey everything I say because no matter what, I'll make sure that you do." She smirked.

His uniform was at the bottom of the drawer, covered by things he also didn't need. He fumbled around and wondered, did he misplace it?

'Where is it?'

"Looking for something?" In her hand were his clothes, impressively ironed and neat like they were fresh from the laundry shop. The smell of the fabric conditioner reminded him greatly of his mother. She always took care of the laundry.

"Is this an illusion too?"

"Save the thanks Harold Vasquez," she said, shoving them to his chest.

Lazily, he showered. He just let the water rain down on his body. He was still half-asleep, and even as he went back to his room, his senses shut off his surroundings. That was why as he stripped off his towel, it was a moment too late that he noticed something was moving in his periphery. Ru sat near the door, fiddling with her curly tresses.

"Fuck!" He yelled so loud that even the neighbor should have heard. His hands could not have reached more quickly for the towel. "Why are you here?" He asked, helplessly.

She regarded him, eyes listless and fingers playing with her hair, totally unembarassed. "Duh, I've been here the whole time, remember?"

"This is my room, out!" He dragged her by the hand. "Out! Don't come inside my room ever again!" He slammed the door close on her face. His head was about to burst. Why was he even going to school now?

He had donned his uniform. His bag was in his hand. But he found that he could not move any farther.

Harold never really intended to quit school, as a matter of fact. He could not even recall exactly when it started. All he could remember was the feeling of having everything spiraling out of his control and he figured he needed some fresh air.

A break from everyone - he hoped for that. He began to take school lightly, arriving late, skipping classes. Simply small things. He thought there's no way they could ever hurt his studies. He had an excuse. The perfect excuse. Then he started to retire home early. Then he took a day off. Then the next, two days was barely enough rest. Then suddenly he was behind on everything.

It was akin to riding a train. He knew where it was headed and yet he zoomed right through. Now everything's barreling at a momentum he could not stop.

It had been over two weeks now since he came to school.

All his friends, all his teachers, what were they gonna say? They'd just look at him with pity. No one would reprimand him. They'd say they understood. They'd tell him to take his time.

But he was tired of all that. He was tired.

There was no halting this train for him. With his mind made up, he dropped his bag but the second he did so, he began dropping too!

"NOOOO!"

The pull of gravity was real. The sick feeling in his stomach was real. The wind brushing past his face was real. And the earth a thousand feet beneath him... Everything seemed like he had never felt before.

The wind roared in his ears as he himself screamed back.

He fell.

And he kept falling.

And

all

there

was

to

catch

him

was

a

solid

unforgiving

ground.

As the earth rushed up to meet Harold, he found himself lying on the cold floor of his room, sweat beading and out of breath.

No words could come out of his lips. Somewhere along the fall, he had lost his voice.

A pair of bare feet shuffled toward him.

"And that Harold is free fall," she said in her innocent tone, playful yet deceivingly innocent.

***************

"I hate this uniform, it's so plain and boring," Ru complained. She chose to wore the girl's uniform, to blend in, she reasoned.

"Can't you just turn invisible? You're a goddess."

There was no doubting it now. She was either a goddess or a demon. Either way, she truly possessed powers that could mess up even the sanest person. And it's all that mattered - that and her undue interest in Harold.

In the street where people walked by, she twirled around, the unreservedly short skirts fluttering up. "That wouldn't be fun now, would it?" She giggled.

Nothing about today was fun for Harold. He almost got run over by a train and almost splattered on the ground like a bug crushed flat. Now he was almost at the school gate and he had met a few familiar eyes.

He got lost in the sea of people. Among them he was indistinguishable. It gave him relief.

He had reached his homeroom when he noticed that Ru was gone. She could be flirting with a schoolboy for all he knew.

As he entered, he steeled his mind to ignore their stares but he couldn't help it.

"Harold," a lad named Philip called, "It's so nice to see you."

"Are you okay?" Christin run up to him.

"How's your mother? I hope she's doing fine."

"Don't worry. Your mother's going to be alright. My uncle said his workmate entered into such a coma too..."

Christin said, "I'm just glad you're back."

And to all of these, all his answer was a smile. "Man, I've got a lot of catching up to do," he said, scratching the back of his head.

They crowded around Harold, spoke to him, consoled him, tapped his back. Christin even embraced him. It was warm and it was what he needed. So he couldn't help feeling mad at himself for being mad at them for caring about him.

It was a continuous loop of unresolvable feelings, like a mobius strip. He could not seem to untangle it.

There was this one girl in the room. By the scornful look in her eyes, she was not all that happy to see him. And Harold knew the reason why.

Her name was Sunshine and she came to meet him at lunchtime that very day. She had this stiff brisk walk that was uncharacteristic of women and a ponytail that rarely got untied. And in her hand was a book which she gently placed on the table as she sat opposite him.

For a moment, she only stared him in the eye. She had dark beady eyes that seemed to burn right through his facade to uncover the truth behind. Then slowly, she pushed the book towards him.

She said, "Thank you, but I don't need this."

He swallowed what food was in his mouth but held off on the drink for a second and instead answered, "No, that's not mine."

A grin crept to her lips. "Don't take me for a fool, Harold, please." Then in a whisper so that nobody could overhear, "But why leave it in my bag the day before you disappear for two weeks? Tell me, were you going to kill yourself?"

He was seldom late. And it was not today.

6:34 PM. He did not check his watch when he arrived but if he did, that's what he would have seen. The short arm and the long arm both past 6 and the second hand ticking just a few seconds after 12.

The streets were so full of people it was overwhelming, especially for him who mostly stayed at home. They spared him quick glances, regarded his coat and black slick pants with disinterest. But no one accosted him. And for that he was glad. He did not know what to say if they ever did. He wished he had learned how to talk to people.

It was hard finding a good bench to sit on. By good bench he meant a bench with no people. He found one near a bush and the only reason no one sat there was the coffee someone spilled and did not bother wiping, and the stench of the pile of thrash in the corner. Well he sat there now.

He had a phone to keep him company. For the times he clicked it open, he always went straight to the Inbox and read the texts there even though he had read them countless times.

He hoped he had better games on his phone. Nothing seemed to interest him now. Maybe it was the impatience. He hoped he brought water. He was going a little bit thirsty. And the more he thought about it, the thirstier he got.

He started counting cars. It astounded him how many orange cars there were. He thought nobody bought orange cars. Well, he won't buy an orange car.

Then he started looking at people. He studied the way they walked and wondered if it meant anything. He took note of the way they looked at the ground and how they avoided his gaze. He tried to take note who were tired and who were happy. At some point he could not tell. They looked the same.

He pulled on his coat. It had crumpled again. He admired those who could smoothen out the ends of their sleeves. He could not.

He wondered if the smell of his perfume was still on him . Maybe it had faded. He sniffed his collar and found that he could not tell.

He adjusted his watch because he had almost nothing left to do. But he did not look at it. But if he did, he would have seen that the shortest hand was past seven and the minute hand long past six.

He wondered how waiting was seeming more difficult in each passing second, especially that she promised to come.

From behind the dead bushes of blue

the cold shivering wind carries a sound

a piercing note of a woman’s scream

and the hollow growl of an animal;

But what do screams mean in a land of souls?

What do growls mean to the unliving?

Is it the fire of longing?

or the rapport of a predator and its prey?

From behind the dead bushes of blue

the cold shivering wind carries a sound

a piercing note of a woman's scream

and the hollow growl of an animal;

But what do screams mean in a land of souls?

What do growls mean to the unliving?

Is it the fire of longing?

or the rapport of a predator and its prey?