Simply Be

Finan stepped out of the warmly-lit base and strode into the still night. The boisterous laughter of his mercenary company faded away as he narrowed his eyes, searching for her in the dark. And there she was —  a small silhouette pricking out of the vast expanse of the cliff, so far away she seeped into the cloudless sky. 

A sudden thump in his chest made him hesitate. What was he going to do, stroll up to Claretta and strike a conversation just like that? He wasn’t able to treat her wounds without her bristling at him, let alone be in the same room without her exceedingly uncomfortable silence weighing down on him like judgement. She even treated David — the one who had worked with her the most — with words so pointed, they’d put a knife to shame. Then there was the look she gave him — the purse of her lips, the slant of her brows. What thoughts swam behind those brown eyes she shielded behind her aviators..?

Finan felt his ears grow warm. Damn it! He threw his gaze to the ground and tightened his shoulders. That only made the warmth spread to his cheeks. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He paced around, clenching at his heart to stop it from beating so fast. He was just intrigued by her, that was all. Who wouldn’t be? She was savage on the battlefield, but never a beast — ruthlessly precise, never wasting a bullet on someone who didn’t need it, even if it meant extra cash. But yet, after a day of fighting when the company licked their wounds or stroked their egos, she wore a different skin. Her coy smiles, muted chuckles, and preening eyes — they all catered to whatever the men wanted to see or hear. 

Finan shook his head. That wasn’t it. She’d still perform the same show in the battlefield — just a different act of it. But who was he to blame her? That was how he blended in when he arrived in the country that would be his new home  — no, that wasn’t right either. He was sure she had her own reasons he could never understand. 

But for now, here she was, alone in the dark where no eyes reached her. Who would Claretta be this time?

Children of the Dark

They were treated like children, thinking they were sheltered in the dark.

It was 8 o’clock at night. The two brothers sat outside the house. They could hear her voice torn between screaming and crying and silence. They decided they did not want to see their mother.

The father arrived as they left. They decided they did not need to see him as well. They had a vague idea of what will happen next. That was enough.

They had always suspected it. The older one denied it. Now his knuckles over the wheel were white. The younger one had been waiting for a confirmation. Now a stranger stood in the house.

It was quiet in the car. The two brothers did not talk much. They did not know what to say. They did not know what to feel. They did not know where to go.

They ran away like children, seeking the shelter of the dark.

———

Featuring my characters Serenity and Callahan Quill.

Adventure Awaits, Miss Maxine

“Maxine! Come back here!” 

Maxine scampered even further away from her father across the grass. She giggled as she hoisted herself up on a tree stump, kicking her legs to propel herself upwards. 

“Come on, Maxine,” her father continued speaking in Arabic. He strode over as little Maxine toppled over the stump into a small ditch. She pushed herself against the stump, hiding in its shadow. 

Once she disappeared out of sight, her father stopped. Tutting, he placed his hands on his hips, scanning the area in an over-dramatic fashion. He twisted his lips and summoned a well-practised goofy voice. “Hm. Now, where did she go?” 

Maxine covered her smile with a chubby hand and giggled again. 

Her father perked his head. “Is that a laugh I hear?” 

Maxine pressed her lips together and dared a peek over her safe refuge. Her father’s eyes gazed over her and she ducked. Then, after thoughtfully staring at the line of trees clustered around the horizon, his eyes refocused on the stump again. This time, Maxine’s headful of curly brown hair ducked a bit too slowly out of sight. 

“There you are,” her father chuckled and jogged over to her.

Growth

It was as if he was an entity in a pristine glass case and she was forced to watch the muck inside eat him alive, reducing her to nothing but a helpless bystander.

No one noticed it at first. Not his father, not his friends, not himself. A cough or two is normal, isn’t it? And when that doubles, he’s just gone under the weather, hasn’t he?

That’s what he always said, anyway.

Then the wheezing started. It started at the end of a run, just like most people. But then it didn’t stop. It got harsher. Rasher. Then he was down on the floor. As she bent over, she could hear his lungs clawing for air.

Days passed. The results came in. They weren’t good.

“Stage one? Not the worst,” he said.

Months passed. He now wore a beanie and barely ate. She wondered whether it was because of the therapy or because of the bills. He still laughed, still played, still ran — or at least tried to. He kept pushing; kept fighting.

As she watched him dash with a burst of energy, she nodded. A fighter. That sounded right.

A year now. It was as if all the colour has been sucked out of him. She helped him whenever she could. Maybe this way, the bleak days would lighten up and that would lighten him as well. Maybe, she could somehow break through the case.

Only then did the case open before it was lowered into the ground.

—

An entry for a contest on Instagram with the prompt: “Write about a character experiencing another character’s growth.”

Preview image is a picture taken at Antony Gormley’s installation “Blind Light” and is edited by me.

Col Gaolta

Sometimes, hate runs deep in blood, even if it’s of your own.

That is one thing Serenity and Callahan learned early on in life.

“MOM! Callahan is touching me again!”

“No I’m not! ”

“Yes, you are! Your finger is literally on my arm!”

“No, my finger is on the sleeve over your arm!”

“My sleeve is still on my arm, like!”

“No it’s not! There’s a small air-gap between your arm and the sleeve!”

Final Call for Flight WA1945

It felt as if I had been waiting all my life for this moment.

But has it been worth it?

Ever since I was forced out of my home with my parents, we have been slinking in the shadows and roaming these roads of solitude. The winter snow was no longer the white soft powder that once fluttered down from the sky and covered the streets I used to play on; it was now harsh, rough, and brittle, clumped together with the ash in the sky and becoming one with the soot on the ground. The cold was no longer just bitter but acidic as well, no thanks to the uninvited smog that had decided to settle here.

The town had been silent as well. Not the type of silence that lulled you to sleep by a warm fire, but the type that made you hold your breath at every second, never knowing whether a knock on your door was your neighbour, enemy, or both.

Layover

As they looked in the mirror, they were amazed to find two completely different people smiling back at them.

Her hair had grown into luscious brown locks, while he wore a pearly smile on his face with his hand over her shoulder. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, the pair were dressed in warm garments, matching the scenic view of the crumbling autumn leaves and the grey drying trees. Long gone were the creases in the corners of their cracked lips, the hollow darkness beneath their eyes, and the sickly paleness of their skin. Long gone were the feelings and fears of hurt and dying.

Here they were now, living a tranquil life near the edge of a cliff overlooking yellow valleys that spanned towards the glowing horizon, where every day the sunlight poured through the windows, bathing the intertwined pair in golden light, gently awakening them from their slumber. It wasn’t much. It was only a simple house on the edge of nowhere. But they felt they had more, much more than they’ve ever had before.

They only had the house, the view, and each other. And that, was everything.

Man in the Mirror

“A willow deeply scarred, somebody’s broken heart 
And a washed out dream
They follow the pattern of the wind, ya see
‘Cause they got no place to be
That’s why I’m starting with me—”

“I never took you as a singer, Detective.”

Callahan choked. Crap. He jerked his head to the door of his office. A woman stood there, a smile creeping onto her face. Oh god, not her. He drew in a breath and clenched his jaw. “The forensics lab isn’t this way, Maxine.”

“I only came here to collect the evidence you borrowed from the lab,” Maxine said, stifling her grin. “The phone, to be exact.”

Out of all of the people that could’ve walked in, it just had to be the person he would have to work with the most. It just had to be the one who never failed to uphold a subtle sense of composure and respect, like how she stood perfectly still no more than a centimetre into the office, placing one hand on top of the other in a businesslike manner, with her wavy hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. Callahan coughed, standing a bit straighter and crossing his arms, coming off as menacing as a small fluffy dog screaming at an Alsatian. “Next time, knock first.”

“The door was already open,” Maxine stated, still at the doorway.

The fluffy dog inside him screamed. “It was?”

“Yes. You didn’t notice that? I thought detectives were supposed to be vigilant and observant.”

Callahan closed his eyes. Despite her demeanour, her snide jabs were about as subtle as Callahan’s embarrassment. “This is the office, not the field. Just come in here and get your stuff, will you?”