the concrete cement.

She takes photos of everything. She presses the shutter button at the skyline view from the Ferris Wheel, the tourist couple behind her tickling each other’s tummy, the crying lost child in the corner, the two-goth couple kissing with tongue and sound, and my passive face watching her. She hands me the camera and asks... Continue Reading →

the candle breaks, tears. (sunday photo fiction).

Wear your best Victorian dress. Latch the white pearls your great Grandmother wrapped [in an old, white cloth] for you since your Mother has become too old to wear it. Hold your thick, brown hair with the wood crafted pin your beloved Father handed—he would have loved the view of his daughter’s beauty. If the... Continue Reading →

we had too much speed; (sunday photo fiction).

It was different tonight. Two feet spaces with two pairs of hands on two laps—screaming distance. A three-legged steel stood alone a few fingers away from us with its eye gazing at the speed of the cars. After miles of seconds, it clicked. You took out a stick and lit it up. Beneath the dark... Continue Reading →

i let the smokes fill my empty lungs. (sunday photo fiction).

I placed my suitcase on the empty plastic chair beside me—I paid for it just so nobody would seat. I tried to remember what I might have forgotten in his house—so far, none. I brought my rage with me. I pulled out a stick and lit its end. I took all the white fogs and... Continue Reading →

three years ago. (sunday photo fiction).

“This is the land of peace.” Your sweet tone healed the cracks of my bones. After suffering from a thousand whiplash of metal belts, you should know this exhale as my first relief. Your father wanted us to work without food and sleep; you put a stop to it when you decided to take us... Continue Reading →

we can live alone, you know. (sunday photo fiction).

I could not count the times I rolled my eyes whenever I heard a dying person tell his family, ‘I’m happy it’s you who I’ll remember until my last breath.” How many times did they put you down? How often did they leave you? Why did you come back to their embraces after your every... Continue Reading →

there is that relief. (sunday photo fiction).

Her feathers stroke her empty, beating chest; they quietly hum her jailed free spirit. Their brown shade fading into light mud color shakes as their laughter crashes into her ears. She tries to drown every mockery, but she fails as the sound grows louder. He left her and their family. Once she dispensed every egg,... Continue Reading →

even the postman would remember. (sunday photo fiction).

I did not come home as often as you wanted—my extended working hours made me sleep with bottles of caffeine. Beneath the yellow light shade of the table lamp, I worked with my pencil to sculpt the bizarre figure of your dream. Once, we traveled too much that we broke our bank accounts. I promised... Continue Reading →

after the sun, my guilt will die. (sunday photo fiction).

I always wondered if hypocrisy would gather itself inside me, but I always knew I would not possess such quality. Nobody wanted to exist with falseness breathing between their vulnerable lungs. When I told you about this, your eyes rolled before you insisted that it had been living with me. “You hate deaths, yet it’s... Continue Reading →

if i ask anthony, will it return? (sunday photo fiction).

I get lost in the mountains and back, but I love the bizarreness of getting lost in between. The woods gently lull me into my sensual fantasies that you cannot give. The tall, lonely trees are the memories of my past I cannot share with you. Why is that when the sole reason we are... Continue Reading →

i am flavorful as vanilla. (sunday photo fiction).

Florence has shared the news to me – she is conceiving. I am going to be a father – a young one. She is residing in my chaffed apartment and with me – a jobless bloke. It will be an absurd action if I listen to what witchcraft has to offer to me. I have... Continue Reading →

the lingering angel. (sunday photo fiction).

Prized possessions are fearful if it comes from a dead soul – it might house the possessor’s soul for his reincarnation. In these left ornaments will his soul linger and follow your steps. I do not deal well with sacred grounds such as this – I know they all shall rest upon the casket of... Continue Reading →

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