it is perhaps because
one way or the other
we keep this distance
closeness will tug as apart
in many directions
in absolute din
how we love the same
trivial pursuits and
insignificant gewgaws
spoken or inert
claw at the same straws
pore over the same jigsaws
trying to make heads or tails
i take the edges
you take the center
keeping fancy guard
seeing beyond what is there
you sling at the stars
i bedeck the weeds
straining in song or
profanities towards some
fabled meeting apart
from what dreams read
and suns dismantle
we have been all the hapless
lovers in this wayward world
in almost all kinds of ways
except we never really meet
but for this kind of burning.

–

It’s been a while since I read a poem of this quality, I just couldn’t help sharing. Hello Neverwriters.

They taught us how to talk, how to dress, how to dye our hair. They taught us how to walk, how to giggle and flirt but there is nothing they could have taught us… me, that would have prepared me for this. If you have time stranger, maybe you’d want to hear my story. It’s nothing too long, nothing too grand. I just want to tell you the story of how my love twisted my head and dumped me under her bed.

I watched her, my love, as she walked around the room. She was wearing shoes I did not recognize and her hair hung past her shoulders. I’ve always wondered why she stopped wearing her hair up, she looked sweeter that way.

I keep telling myself that she simply forgot to kiss me this morning. That when she comes home she’ll head straight towards me and take off my clothes. I will wait while she looks for a nurse uniform or another tarty little costume to have me put on. Then she will stroke my hair and giggle though I did not tell a joke. She would press my back and I would say everything that I’m meant to say. We would play the whole night, beyond and away.

But alas, no.

I’m naked still, from the last time she held me.

And naked I was until the moment I was beheaded.

It was a dusty Sunday afternoon. She was talking on the phone with I assume, could only be a boy. She bit her lip and rolled on the bed. In doing so, she nudged me and I plopped down on the floor.

“Hang on,” she said. “Something fell.”

Something.

I looked up the ceiling and then found it filled with her round face. Her bright green eyes found mine and my heart leaped.

She picked me up with one hand and the receiver on the other. “Oh my GOD, Chris. You wouldn’t believe this. My Barbie doll is still here. Yes! Oh I don’t know, second grade?”

The receiver nestled between her shoulder and her ear while she held me with both hands. I didn’t mind that her full attention wasn’t mine. She was holding me again! This is perfect, this is wonderful! This is-

-SNAP-

Her fingers tugged on my blonde hair while my head dangled about. She laughed and told the boy Chris how easily my head popped off. A pause. And then laughter again. My love then tossed me under the bed along with what remained of my body. I got to see her sometimes, when she reaches for her shoes.

I would cry if I could. But because I am who I am, I could only smile.

And watch.

So serious. Always so serious.

They keep trying to study us, make us subjects of their little experiments. I know what they do to the rest of my kin when they somehow catch one of us. I heard the stories, and they didn’t sound pretty. They use the crudest methods of study, cutting us open and picking us apart like some sort of carcass, as though the secrets of our existence were written on our bones. They argue among themselves, trying to decide who is wrong and who is right when it came to our…behavior.

Highly insulting, that.

Their ancestors never tried to question us. They worshipped us. They made shrines in our honor, painted us on their walls, carved us in wood and clay and into immortality. We were…why, we were gods.

Now…we’re only lab rats. No longer gods but mere objects of speculation. They have me on their table, bound and immobilized. I was caught, and they think it is some sort of victory. They think they’re so smart now, with their fancy gadgets and “complicated” theories, theories that couldn’t be farther from the truth. I lie here, and I watch them. It’s laughable.

They are not studying me. No. I am studying them. Those long hours of lurking in shadows weren’t for leisure.

And now that they’ve caught me, I will feed them information without their knowledge, and they will think they are another step closer to understanding our nature. And when I’m done here, I’ll be gone, and I will leave no trace behind. I, unlike these barbaric humans, know how to clean up after myself. They would wonder, I know, where I have gone and how I left, but they wouldn’t mind. They’ll be so confident that they can find and capture another like me.

Oh but of course it would be an easy task, finding another one of us.

I was caught, because like everyone else of our kind who was captured, I was supposed to be caught.

It’s laughable, the way they think their intelligence is above ours. For all the intellect that they boast of, they do not know that should we decide to really, finally take this earth from their fragile little fingers, they will not survive. They, with their fancy gadgets and complicated theories, will not be saved from what we’re capable of.

I close my eyes. Let them enjoy this so-called victory. There is nothing in me that they will find that I don’t want them to find.

We were here long before them. We’ll be here long after they’ve gone.

—

A/N: Anybody have an idea who or what is speaking? :p

First off, congratulations to us all for our week 2 submissions. Kudos for reading the Salinger story (I assume we all did) and for putting out interesting reads. Our strongest week so far in my opinion. We are missing Chenyl though but we hope to have her for week 3. A quick recap:

Most Well-Researched – Shark. “Our Hawaii people over at Shafter are on the dogwatch. We got feedback from Australian intel that we’ve got inherent coast danger thirty-four clicks away after their last transmission.” Show off.

Most Intriguing – Altair. And might I add the earliest to post (what’s this world coming to?). Tightly written, no word went to waste. And if your blood temperature fell a few degrees at the end, you wouldn’t be the only one.

Week 2 Mark of Excellence – Dale. And it’s not just the choice of language. Strong opening, stronger ending although some would feel quite short-changed at the end. But a piece of writing is a trail of decisions made by the author and that’s what he decided on. That’s that. Mayari is on hot streak, ladies and gentlemen.

On to Week 3. Here’s the theme:

WHAT IF I WERE…?

Don’t just answer the question; tell a story. In not more than 1000 words. This is the first in a “What if?” series of writing exercises.

Deadline is January 15th, Friday.

May the Muses go with you.

Pinilit siyang gumiya pakaliwa at isiningit ang kanyang kamay sa pagitan ng kutson at ng papag, alam niyang nandoon lamang sa parteng iyong ang hinahanap niya. Nang makapa ang butas ay dahan dahan niyang hinila mula roon ang isang luma at manilaw-nilaw na supot. Marahan ang kanyang pagkuha, takot na sumabit ito sa nakausling mga hibla ng kahoy. Nang kanyang tuluyang mailabas ang supot, ay panandalian niyang inilapag ito sa sahig upang ipahid ang marungis niyang mga kamay sa kanyang maong. Matapos ay dahan dahan niyang tinanggal ang buhol ng supot upang kunin ang nasa loob. Wala ni isang pagkakataon na hindi siya naluha sa tuwing makikita niya ang mga nasa loob nito: tatlong sobreng lukot-lukot, isang larawan na kuha niya nung dise-otso anyos pa lamang siya at isa pang larawan ng isang dalagita na halos nasa pareho niyang edad.

Dahan dahan siyang tumayo at sinikap maglakad palapit sa upuan na nasa tabi ng bintana, sa kanyang kanang kamay ay hawak niya ang isa sa mga sobre. Bukod tangi ito sa tatlo sapagkat ito lamang ang bukas na at halatang nabasa na ng paulit ulit. Bagama’t hirap dahil sa kanyang tagiliran ay nagawa pa rin niyang umupo matapos marating ang bintana atsinimulang buklatin ang sulat na mula sa sobre. Kung saan niya huhugutin ang lakas ng loob upang muling basahin ito ay hindi niya alam.

“Haaaah” Isang malaking buntong hininga ang kanyang pinakawalan ng nagpangabot ang kanyang tanaw at ang mga unang salita sa sulat:

Goryo,

Maaaring ito na ang huling sulat na maipapadala ko, hindi ko rin sigurado kung dapat ko pa nga ba ‘tong ipadala.. Alam kong makasasakit lamang ako. Hindi kita masisisi kung sumama ang loob mo matapos mong mabasa ang huli kong sulat… Ni hindi ka na rin sumagot para sabihin kung ano ang ‘yong nasasaloob. Kahit ano basta’t alam kong mula sayo. Kahit galit ka o nalulungkot o napipikon, nag-antay ako. Hindi naman ganon kalaking bagay yung hiniling ko di ba? oh, sa tingin mo wala na rin akong karapatang makarinig man lang sayo? Alam kong mahihirapan na tayong magkapaliwanagan dahil kulang ang papel para iharap sayo ang mga dahilan ko. Ngunit nais ko lang ulitin, Walang ibang nagdesisyon para sa akin kundi ako. Nasa matino akong pagiisip nang gawin ko yon at wala ka nang dapat pagtuunan ng sisi. Akala ko’y marami pa akong sabihin sayo, pero wala na pala. Ni wala akong ideya kung ano na ang nasasaisip mo. Wala na rin siguro akong dapat maging pakialam. Sana’y kung muli tayong magkita sa hinaharap ay magagawa pa rin nating kahit magtinginan lang.

Paalam,

Len

Naging bisyo na rin siguro marahil, sa daming ulit na niyang binasa ang sulat na magmuni muni siya at pagisipan kung dapat ba niyang buksan ang dalawa pang sulat. Muli siyang tumayo pabalik sa papag at dinampot ang dalawang sobre kasama ang mga larawan. Muli na naman niyang maalala ang mga lumang imahe sa kanyang isipan; Ang pagiging kumpleto bagamat salat dahil sa pananatili ni Len sa kanyang tabi.

Lilipas ang mga minuto na kanya lamang pagmamasdan ang mga ito at magdedesisyon na sila’y ibalik sa supot at muling itago sa butas sa papag. Hindi na niya nais malaman.

My heart has won. I shall go to the islas with you and wherever else your path may lead. The mortal dangers you foresaw—let me face them with you, my love. Forgive me my hesitation during our last conversation; if only an ocean of tears can absolve the pain my indecision may have caused you I shall weep and drown the world. I do not care for this world anymore, Pepe: only that you are in it do I still remain its captive. But tonight, I am casting it all away—family, position, God. Let my father’s royal wrath set forth against his disgraceful daughter; your love is the only grace left in this world for me. Let my soul be damned for loving an heretic, an enemy of the Holy Church; I cannot love otherwise.

So I shall see you in our usual table at La Cruzada. Do not be disconcerted if you find me there disguised. My father has eyes everywhere. I cannot afford to be stopped at harbor.

Yours forever,

Beatriz

Jose folded the note back with trembling fingers and slid it into his breast pocket over his heavy heart. He looked up and saw the first shafts of the sun. Across the sea, the light reached him and pierced him. He walked off the empty deck, knees a little unsteady, and climbed down the stairs and into his cabin. He shut the door and did not make a sound, save that of his pen weeping over paper. The porthole was open and he could smell only the sea.

I realized this morning that i have very few choices of people to really talk to. Trust, after all, comes painfully rare nowadays. I’m looking over both shoulders, at everything with a grain of salt. I remember you telling me this a long time ago; You said it would be a thankless job for only the truly masochistic, and now I finally admit it, yes, you’re right. Only those of us who have been in the hot seat can understand, and if you count  – that’s a damn few.
I had Eleanor send you a package. I didn’t want to spoil it, but here I go. I found myself missing the slow-day coffee breaks we’d have in between sessions and the cinnamon sticks you love so much, so I shipped you some, might conjure up some good memories. See the bottom part – I also got you some Cubans you can smoke over those lazy Sundays at Newberg. Anyway, right now my friend, I need a confidant, and you’re the only one who can give me the right brave kind of advice. I warn you, this may sound a bit heavy.
Bert, when did we learn to take a life and sleep it off at night? Who are we to weigh the worth of someone in pounds of flesh? How do we cast the vote to make hundreds miserable? I never thought, after Harvard, would I be making these decisions. It’s not like the money war you fought through for years. Its extremely quiet as I sit in my chair, but I can’t help hearing the explosions, imagining that I’m there where my people are.
I already motioned for the roll-out of Rainbow Five, Bert. I have my doubts, but I had to act the stronger man. I know what you think, but I definitely had to. Hopkins gave me a scare last Wednesday – we got the ‘winds code’ – intercepted over Jap waters. I’m ready, but never truly ready for that. I never asked for this headache. But that’s quite ironic after three terms. I know you’re laughing it up at your patio. Pray to God we keep laughing.
Now here’s where I need your help. Our Hawaii people over at Shafter are on the dogwatch. We got feedback from Australian intel that we’ve got inherent coast danger thirty-four clicks away after their last transmission. They’ve been giving us the run-around, Bert. I just don’t have the heart to do this. Its just a phone call on this red telephone we both know too well. It’s loaded on the jets, and it will leave nothing over there. It won’t choose – not even women nor kids.
Am I being naive? You always had a clear head over these things when you ran the office. I wish I could just call your Newberg home, but look where that got the rest of us. Could you write back? Please do if you can, I need someone to tell me what to do. For once, after 11 long years. I still wonder why I do it. You’re right, It’s a job for those who want the closest thing to death. I can hear your big, dry laugh all the way here. Give my regards to Lou and the kids. Hope she’s doing okay. I can smell your brewed coffee already.
Let’s still keep this off the radar, all right? Keep your promise to me and steer clear of this madness. It’s going to get very ugly soon, I feel it. I’ll need your counsel. Take care, my friend.

Sincerely yours,
Franklin

–

December 6, 1941
1715 hrs.

<TOP SECRET>

To whom it may concern,

Good evening. Forgive me for my lack of etiquette as to skipping all introductions and formalities, but I would like to believe that I am a man of business, my time is precious as is yours, so let me cut to the chase.
As you may know, a certain valuable of yours has come to my possession and I would like to discuss how we may arrive at an even compromise. Just to let you know, I take no pride in this trade but the world is a bleak place and one must bleed to make a living…No pun intended.

But nevertheless, I am a man of my word, so you can rest assured that as long as all my humble requests are met, everything will come along accordingly, with the least amount of distress for all parties involved.

I do trust that you, my friend, honor the value of your word as much as I do. For though our relationship may be brief, it is a most precarious one, and I would hate for us to end it in a distasteful manner. And believe you me, if things do turn out that way, it will be far more distasteful for you than it will be for me.

Though I admit I have never really been fond of blonds before I imagine that your little precious one will be quite a tasty morsel. I hope that you will be able to satiate my desires before dinner, lest I change my mind and seek satisfaction elsewhere…and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?

It has been a pleasure doing business with you. And after tonight, I only pray, for the love of God, that we will never meet again.

Sincerely yours,
Anonymous