It's been two years since I last wrote an entry and it's actually a pleasant surprise that my blogger account is connected to Gmail, hence, this opportune chance to log in seamlessly. I've just realized that I've been posting at least annually since I started this blog in high school but for the past 2 years, I got too caught up in work I wasn't able to publish one for myself to read, at least.
But I had a one in a million chance of meeting a person who reminded me of how wonderful it is to write and who also apparently likes weird competitions (his words, not mine) i.e. creating short stories, such as this. So, to the two people who are reading this part of the internet, Hello!
Here's a short story made across a thousand miles,
through a few dozen Slowly letter exchanges,
by two people anticipating Easter.
Like rainbow that can be painted over grey canvas, and so life can be colorful over the grey past. Mycota
One two three four, what numbers are for? One is my love, two maybe nice, three is too much, four is...accident. One two three four, what numbers are for? Two times one equal one times two, why bother with the calculation if you don't have to? Alas the answer is just two.
He had always been the outsider, the weird kid with two thumbs...on his right hand, and two on his left. So that when they started counting their fingers and toes in first grade, his would always end two numbers more than the rest. And when he was asked to describe himself in just two words the first day of high school, he replied, "Bad at counting."
But he had always been two steps ahead, as he thought that having two more thumbs is better than having two less... And it certainly better than having two faces.
At least physically, he didn't magically grow another face. Yet like the moon graced with two faces, she who regally struts her beauty across the night sky, her dark side kept away from everyone's view, he had, on the other hand, been keeping others from seeing the light of his soul and instead chose to always show the world a dim facade. Being always two steps ahead, he did this to himself.
And that night, the moon was full, glowing upon him as he sat on the terrace. A tiny wanderer climbed to his hand. A creature with four more legs, an ant. He put up his tiny guest to the level of his eyes, scrutinize him as he climbed further to the tip of his thumb, just like a pinnacle of a mountain where he could enjoy the moonlight. What was the purpose of eyes if not to appreciate differences, he thought to himself.
Hence began the start of a wonderful friendship--- that of the four-thumbed human and the six-legged creature, an ant, who, despite its size is actually one of the strongest beings in the planet. A few moments ago, he was just carrying the boy's heavy gaze. But as the night went on, the ant found himself also carrying the boy's heavy heart.
The night was beautiful and the wind was gentle. For long the ant had stayed, before he finally let himself down. He stopped and gave the boy a final gaze, an acknowledgement and admiration before continuing his journey. From the queen he came, to the queen, he serve. The encounter was short, but the boy realized, from God he came, to God he serve, and in Him, he found his meaning.
The next time they met, the atmosphere was just as peaceful and the wind was just as gentle as the night of their first encounter. But now the boy is sitting by the window, the ant on his palm and together they waited for the disappearance of the moon. As hours passed by, the moon gradually changed its color, a thin red curtain was being drawn to cover her solemn face. The boy stared amazed, he didn't dare blink. Nor did the ant. For ants cannot blink even if they wanted to.
It is the dream afraid of waking that never take the chance. So the boy stood in his feet on top of resolution that won't blink even in fierce stormy life. He had now, the strength of an ant to heave the burden of every troubles, the illuminating sun to guide him, gentle moon to console him, and an ant to fight with him. He speak to the ant, 'Today, we're going to make the world our friend'.
But alas! It seems that the World heard their plan and thought he is too superior to be included in that puny friendship. For even as the minutes turned to hours, the duo waited in vain for the moon's reappearance in the night sky but she never did. The World's darkness swallowed the Moon and he refuses to give her back. The boy and the ant are now beginning to panic!
As the trees and grass wilted, and so they boy's heart started to wither. In the pitch black of terrifying night, the boy realized the darkness of his own heart. Anger and dissatisfaction. Voices echoed within his head. One two three four, what numbers are for? One step to misfortune, two steps from calamity, three devils dancing among him in the rectangle of demons!
"Matter exists in four physical states" - that's what their physics teacher told them. But why does it seem to him that he, a solid human being, is starting to dissipate into thin air with each step he takes at the school hallways? People look his way but choose to unsee him, everyday. So, in what state does a tangible but invisible object exist? To that he added the fifth: a paradox!
"A paradox!" He exclaimed. What a convenient state he thought. In an environment that defies logic, one couldn't be wrong. There was no judgement for all the truth was himself to determine. Thus began his conviction that what truly matter was himself.
It is a whole different world where everything seems to move at a pace based on the viewer's perception of its relevance; it is where a sunrise could take an entire lifetime, the falling of a leaf a decade, or the escaping of terrors just a split second. It is a world where his thought is god!
All by myself... All by myself he repeated. And a question struck him, like a thunder with flashing realization.. What was the meaning of himself? Could one be meaningful for oneself? This world conquered by his mind, but the mind can't conquer itself, for it can't help but felt lonely.
So on that rare summer night, when the night was much darker, and the wind much colder, he curled up on his bed, hugging himself and missing his little friend, longing for company the way the sky yearns for the moon. "Are you there?" he whispers to the void. Slowly extending his arm towards the darkness, a firm grip suddenly seizes his hand.
A small yet a strong grip, out of sight, clutched in impenetrable darkness. Yet he knew, his little friend was there. The bond of two souls was not visible yet stronger than any chain. As tears fell his eyes, collapsed to darkness, the moon came from the clutch of the world and shine once more, illuminating both just like the day of the past.
A small yet strong grip, felt but made invisible by the darkness. It was his little friend, his other little friend. A grip of a friend long forgotten, fingers whose touches felt like coming home--- the softness of the palm, the warmth of a familiar hand, the extra thumb sticking out. And the gentle glow of the moon upon the child's face marked the opening of a sentence left unsaid, words suspended in sullen air, oscillating between these two identical faces, "I am you."
The quiet night went by, only the orchestra of cicadas and the gentle moon surrounded them. As their hands tangled and clasped together, like a tangled fate, words ought not be spoken, it was the heart that spoke. The warmth, reminded him of who he truly was. The brighter him who looked upon the days with optimism, who stand straight even when poured and soaked by the rain of mocking. As they hugged, they were, once again become one as the night became warmer.
For a brief second their embrace was broken as the boy looked up, "How have I waited for you to welcome me as I am." After saying these words, they just stayed that way, a boy and a man, two silhouettes huddled close, darker than the darkness surrounding them, yet totally at peace with themselves, with each other, with the world.
It had been years, as the man looked back on the past, who now lingered beside him. As the nostalgic moonlight brought him back to his childhood, the wind whistled peaceful songs. In the cradle of the wind, the man finally made peace with himself, four thumbs, not an accident, but a blessing.
E N D
Your palms lined with words
Each heartbeat an adventure,
Your soul, a story.
