Unscene #12

Kaleidoscope

There was blood everywhere – on the walls, on the bed – the carpet had turned into a sick dark brown where it wasn’t creamy blue.  The boy lay down on his side, clutching a toy gun in his hand.  His mother slumped against the far wall, her bloody hair hanging limp down to her elbows.   The steely odour of all the blood filled Sarah’s head.

She took a step back towards the open window to get a breath of untainted air; her foot hit something that rolled away from her.  Sarah stooped to pick it up and saw that it was a kaleidoscope.  She put it to her eye and watched the patterns dance as she slowly spun the tube.  She had always wanted one when she was a child.  She put it down and walked towards the boy, squatting next to him to stare at the ashen six-year-old face.  Should she think him lucky for having had a kaleidoscope?

Sirens and flashing lights came from the window.  Soon enough Sarah heard footsteps running up the stairs.  She stood back and watched as the policemen rushed into the defiled room, checked the bodies for signs of life, and proceeded to start their investigation.  Of course, no one noticed Sarah as she calmly walked toward the window, threw herself out, and rose to glide away from the once-beautiful house.

UnScene #11

Slipper

The creature moved fast, but my heart was beating even faster.  I felt sure that the monster could hear the panicked muscle’s frantic pumping, that it could smell my fear and knew exactly where I was.  True enough, it turned around, ever so slowly, and peered into the shadowed corner exactly where I was trying to flatten myself against the wall.  It can see me!

“A weapon,” I thought.  “I need something, anything.” I had to move, I knew, but my knees were locked and I couldn't take my eyes off its horrible shape.

It moved, advancing toward me, seeming to grow bigger, and expanding its figure as it stalked.  Wings.  It’s going to fly!

Frantically I scanned the dimly lit room, but I couldn't see anything that would help, and nothing was within my reach.  I was trapped, immobile.  A scream built up my throat, ready to choke me.

The front door suddenly opened and my husband stepped in, a grocery bag in hand.  The startled creature launched itself straight at my face.  I let out a blood-curdling scream, “AAARGH!” crouching and ducking my head into my arms, trying to make myself as small as possible.

My husband took two great strides, brandishing a slipper, and with a great resounding “WHACK!” smashed the cockroach against the wall; a crunchy squish.  It fell dead on the floor  right next to me with a soft thud.  I stared in morbid fascination.  Yellow-green muck was oozing out of it.  I burst into tears, and my husband grabbed my arms and pulled me up from the floor.

“What took you so long!?” I wailed into his chest as he held me. 

Author's Note:  I hate hate HATE cockroaches. 

Unscene #9

At the Book Store

Lena pulled a book out carelessly, dropping it to the floor.  The man next to her stooped to pick it up.  Lena flashed her most winning smile.  “Thank you.”

“The Essentials of Great Sex,” read the man, a smile in his voice.  “You’re welcome.”

Lena took the book and immediately stuffed it back in the shelf.  She turned sharply on her heel and huffed over to her sister who was browsing at the next shelf.

“What an asshole,” she whined. “I’m bored, Jay. Let’s go.”

Jay only smiled and shook her head.  She hadn’t meant to overhear, and was still trying her damndest not to laugh out loud at her sister’s little misadventure. She refocused her attention on the book she was reading.

“I’m sorry, but if I don’t do this now, I know I might never have another chance again,” said the man quite shyly, yet determined.  “I just have to ask if you’d have a coffee with me, maybe.”

Silence.  Jay could feel the man shuffling uncomfortably on his feet.  She sighed.  She was used to this.  It always happens to Lena.  Pretty Lena.  Irresistible Lena.

“Lena, don’t be petty.  Answer the man before he tears his heart out for you,” Jay scolded, turning to her sister.  Who was nowhere in sight.

“What... Lena?” Jay turned to the man standing there expectantly.

“Uhm...” Jay didn’t really know what to say to him.  “Sorry about that, my sister’s not usually this rude.  I’ll go find her for you.”

“Uh... sister?  No, no,” he said, smiling.  “I didn’t mean her.  I meant you.”

Unscene #8

UnScene #8: Two scenes written for a former student who wanted writing tips.

In the Jeepney

Tomas clenched his fists.  He must get to the hospital in time.  He feared he would never see his son alive again.

“How could traffic be so heavy at two in the afternoon?” he thought frantically.  He ran his hands over his face again; his sweat was slick and cold.  “Bwiset, bwiset.”

He wished the two high school girls at the end of the jeep would stop their high pitched giggling and chattering.

“Allan, Allan.  Wait for me, anak ko.”

“Bayad po,” called one of the giggling girls, her handful of coins right in front of Tomas.

He cupped his hand and some of the coins clattered to the floor as the girl’s hand brushed his.  As Tomas bent to pick up a peso, he heard the girl whisper to her friend.

“Kadiri!  His hand’s so greasy.  Do you have any alcogel?”

Notes:

Jeepney: Public transportation in the Philippines

Bwiset: Similar to "Damn!"

Anak ko: "My child"

Bayad po: What you say when you pay for the Jeepney fare

Kadiri: "Gross!" or "Yuck!" 

Alcogel: Hand-sanitizer; alcohol in gel form

At the Bus Stop

Shirley was on cloud nine.  At last, after the many all-but-obvious hints, Robert got the message.  This bouquet of fragrant red roses is the proof.  No amount of rain clouds or delayed buses could darken her day now.

She kept on smiling to herself quite happily, until it began to rain.  She hadn't even noticed it had started drizzling.  She fumbled for her umbrella, nearly dropping her precious armful of romance.

“Oh no, my new dress! My roses!” she groaned in frustration.

But just as she managed to pull the umbrella out, a motorcycle sped by, splashing muddy street water all over her and her roses.

“Aaaaahh!” Shirley shrieked. “Stupid son of a...”

Shirley kept on cursing, stomping her mud-splattered shoes and shaking her wilting roses, until the bus arrived, fifteen minutes later.

UnScene #7

UnScene #7:  I have insomnia sometimes.  I'd love to easily fall asleep.  What if there's a person who didn't want to fall asleep?

The Problem with Sleep

There’s this girl.

She has a problem with falling asleep.  Not in the usual way that people might think.  When we say she has a problem with falling asleep, we mean that she doesn’t want to fall asleep.  The main reason behind which is that she doesn’t want to wake up.

Let’s take the case of last Tuesday night.  Tuesday was a holiday.  Monday was terrible, and she fell asleep the moment she lay on the bed after dutifully brushing her teeth and brushing her hair.  She had looked forward to falling asleep the whole Monday long.  And then she woke up on Tuesday morning.

“No,” she groaned. 

“No, I don’t want to wake up, it’s so horrible to be awake,” she thought.

She spent her Tuesday holiday slowly, taking her time.  She didn’t bother to change out of her pyjamas until she felt she really needed to shower, around noontime.  She made herself a nicely heavy late lunch which she thought was enough for three people to eat.  She spent the rest of the afternoon eating all of it; some while watching TV, some while aimlessly surfing the internet, and some while dutifully working on the preparations for work the next day.  She alternately brewed tea and coffee and sipped them while watching rented videos – all romantic comedies.  When the last of the videos’ credits were rolling, she looked up at the clock and saw that it was 1:30 a.m. and she felt a bit sleepy.

And that’s the problem.  She didn’t want to sleep.

“No,” she moaned, “I don’t want to wake up again.”

But she turned off the TV and got off the couch anyway and dutifully did the dishes, brushed her teeth and her hair, put on her pyjamas, switched off the lights, and went to bed. 

And cried, silently.  And fell asleep.

UnScene #5

UnScene #5: Teachers encounter blackboard erasers every day. 

Blackboard Eraser

Patty liked going to school.  She’s naturally curious and liked learning new things.  But she didn’t like going to school all the time.  That’s because her greatest fear was to stand alone in front of class and speak. 

When she was six years old, the teacher made everyone memorize a poem about flowers.  She got the poem down alright, but when she finally stood in front of the class and felt the chilling fear of having many eyes aimed at her, IT happened.

“Haha! She’s peeing!” Greggie began to laugh.  The whole class followed suit.

“Patty-pee-panty!” chanted Greggie.  The whole class followed suit.

Patty started crying, and then ran out of the room and all the way home, where her mom gave her a spanking for ruining her almost-new skirt. 

Since then, whenever the teacher made them memorize anything, Patty would be predictably absent the next day.  To her surprise, her mom actually let her, and even conspired with her to come up with excuses (sometimes it’s a toothache, other times a stomach-ache, etc.).  She didn't seem to mind Patty getting a zero for a grade.

Also since then, Patty was known as “Patty-pee-panty,” thanks to Greggie.  That was three years ago.  Things hadn’t changed much in spite of all that time.  

Nevertheless, Patty mostly still liked school.  Some of the other girls were quite nice to her.  And besides, she was good at other things, like Math.  The teacher didn’t tell them to stand in front of the class and recite anything during Math time.

Until one day, when the teacher wrote some Math problems on the board and began calling on students one by one to come forward and answer them.  Patty froze in her seat; cold sweat suddenly broke out her forehead.  She prayed not to be called.

“Okay, last one,” the teacher said.  “Patricia.”

“I know the answer,” she told herself.  “I don’t need to say anything, or look at them.  Just write the answer.”

Patty stood up.  She walked quickly to the blackboard.  When she was about to reach for a piece of chalk, she heard a familiar voice.

“Patty-pee-panty,” stage-whispered Greggie.  The rest of the class sniggered viciously.

And then IT happened.  Patty reached for the blackboard eraser, fully ripe and quivering with chalk-dust, turned to face the sniggering faces, and zeroed in on one.  She threw with all her might.

Her aim proved true.  The eraser hit Greggie right between the eyes with a gratifying “BOMF!” covering his entire face with snowy chalk-dust. 

Patty let out a loud whoop and began to laugh.  The whole class followed suit.

UnScene #4

UnScene#4: I had a dog named Axel.  He died in 2005.  I still think about him a lot.

Axel

Gemma hadn’t gone home in a month.  It was a day before the end of the semester.  Nearly all the students were frantic about deadlines, oral defences, exams, and the like.  Gemma decided to put off taking the long trip home until the semester was over and done with.  Besides, she’d be able to get more study and work done with her classmates and dorm-mates at hand to help her.

“Tomorrow,” she told herself.  “I’ll be home by tomorrow night.”

But how she missed home!  She was sick of looking at the same dormitory food, sick of professors and group leaders breathing down her neck.  She missed the TV at home, her books and video games, the laughter around the dinner table. Most of all, she missed her dog, Axel.

For twelve years, she had always been the one in charge of taking care of Axel.  She did everything gladly – feeding, washing, picking up his poop, chasing him down whenever he ran out onto the street to chase some cat or other.  He was Gemma’s best friend.  They were nearly inseparable.  And then she got into the big university.  Her parents sent her off proudly.

Her mom told her not to worry; Axel will be well taken care of.  But of course she did worry.  Axel was an old dog, after all.  So Gemma made sure to come back home every weekend, refusing invitations to go out with her friends, passing up on weekend getaways.  But she didn’t mind missing any of those things. 

The day seemed to pass quickly enough.  Soon Gemma was stepping off the bus, slinging her large duffel bag over her shoulder.  It was a fifteen-minute walk from the bus stop to their house.  Suddenly she was nervous.  This was the first time she came home so late, and she had to pass by a rather shady street on her way to their house.  It was safe enough in the daytime, but at night...  She picked up her pace.

She managed to walk down the dodgy street without incident, without looking any one of the loiterers in the eye.  She was almost through the worst; in the distance she could almost see the gate of their house, when someone grabbed the strap of her bag from behind.  She nearly fell over.  Someone laughed. 

“Just grab the bag!” said one voice.  “Let’s split!”

Without looking, Gemma kicked hard at the person behind her.  Her blind aim connected and there was a piercing yelp as her foot hit something tender.  She screamed at the top of her voice, snatched back her bag and escaped.

She ran toward home, gasping; the sound of her attackers’ pursuit loud in her ears.  And then she saw it – Axel running out of their gate toward her, fur bristling, fangs bared; Gemma heard him growling furiously.  The dog ran past her, straight into her pursuers.  She dropped her bag and ran faster as she heard voices scream, feral growling, fabric tearing, feet running away.  The sounds faded as she ran faster, closer to home. 

She came abreast of the gate, panting, pounding the iron with her fists, kicking with her feet.  Why was it locked?  Didn’t Axel just run out?  She took a deep breath and yelled for her parents.  Soon they came through the front door running.

“O my god, Gemma!  What happened to you?”  her mom rushed to open the gate.

“Mama!  Pa!  Axel... those men...” she gasped, out of breath, through her tears.  “Get Axel back, Papa!  They’ll hurt him!”

“Axel?  What are you talking about?  What men?” demanded Papa.  “Did someone attack you?!” 

He grabbed the nearest thing to a weapon at hand, a garden hoe, and rushed out of the gate into the dark streets.

Gemma could only collapse to the ground, sobbing.  Her mom kept asking her what happened.  Soon enough, her dad came back, bringing her duffel bag with him. 

“What happened, Gemma?” he demanded.  “I found a lot of blood around where you dropped this.”

She told them everything.  But their faces didn’t show they believed her.

“Papa, didn’t you see Axel? We gotta get him back!” Gemma cried.  “He saved me.”

Her dad remained silent.  He exchanged a meaningful look with his wife.

“Gemma,” Mama said carefully.  “It couldn’t have been Axel.  It must have been some other dog.  It’s dark, you didn’t see clearly.”

“No, Mama, it was Axel.  I saw him run out of our gate.  We have to find him!”

“No, Gemma,” her mom hesitated.  “I’m very sorry, dear, but Axel died this morning.  We wrapped him in his favourite blanket.  We were just waiting for you to come home so we could bury him together.  I’m so sorry.”

Gemma couldn’t say anything.  She could only let her disbelieving tears fall silently down her cheeks.

Unscene #3

UnScene #3: I knitted a scarf for a friend.  I saw a beggar at the train station.

Scarf

It took me three weeks and eight balls of yarn, but finally I finished it – my first knitting project, a beginner-basic scarf.  I loved how thick and soft it was, how gracefully it seemed to drape around my neck and shoulders.  I felt the genuine warmth and pride of having something to show that was the product of my own two hands.  The scarf would make the harsh winter more bearable, if not downright pleasant.

I walked through the crowds at the train station with my back straight and my eyes on alert, self-conscious because of my scarf.  No one would notice it or me, but that didn’t matter.  I knew.  It made me a tad bit more confident.  I bought my ticket and sat down on the nearest bench to wait for my train, looking around to see whether anyone was looking at me. And of course, no one was.  For at that time, the people were all looking somewhere else.

At a man in particular, who sat with his back against the wall under the big clock.  He was clearly a beggar.  His hair was a dirty mess; he had not shaved for at least a week.  He had no coat to protect him from the winter’s cold, and his shoes were tattered and falling apart.  In front of him was an empty plastic cup of instant noodles in which passersby could drop their cold, unneeded coins.  Men like him were often seen at train stations, but they were not stared at, no.  Most people choose to look the other way, but not in this case.  Because the beggar had started shouting.

“Don’t throw your damned coins at me like garbage!” he yelled.  “I still have my pride.  I’m still a man!  I’m still a man!”

He was madly beating his fists against his chest, against his thighs.  People in his immediate vicinity quickly dispersed, moving as far away from him as they could.  Soon, two of the station’s security guards were rushing toward him, threatening him that he’d be thrown back out into the freezing streets if he didn’t keep quiet.

Instantly the beggar quailed.  In my eyes, he seemed to shrivel.  The fire of anger and hurt pride that was blazing on his face and in his voice just a moment ago was suddenly gone, and he was shrinking, retreating into a posture of defeat and misery that made him once again just another beggar no one wanted to look at for too long; something less than a man.

I don’t know what came over me then.  I stood up and walked toward him, unwinding the scarf from my neck along the way.  I crouched in front of the beggar, holding out my scarf to him.

“Mister?  Here, you can have my scarf,” I offered.  “I made it myself.”

He looked up at me, and at my beautiful scarf.  Slowly he reached for it and draped it around himself, sighing at the comforting warmth.  Something alive lit up in his eyes again as he looked back at me.

“It’s a good scarf,” he said.  I nodded.

“I’m quite proud of it,” I told him, shy all of a sudden.

“I was very proud, too, not so very long ago.”

His eyes dimmed again, staring off into the distance, into his shrouded memories.  His hands fondled the ends of the scarf.  I stood up and walked slowly away. 

Somehow I couldn’t hold my head up so high anymore.

Unscene #2

UnScene #2: It was Valentine's Day in Japan. 

I thought I'd try to write something about it.

Boxes of Chocolate

 “Shouei-sempai, Happy Valentine’s Day!” the unknown girl said with a big smile as she shoved a fancily wrapped box of chocolates under Shouei’s nose.

“Err... thanks...” he managed to murmur as the girl turned to walk away all a-giggle.

That was the fourth box today.  Shouei sighed.

“At least it’s not as bad as it was last year,” he thought to himself, remembering the dozen boxes he received the previous year.

He heard a familiar voice calling him from behind.  He turned and saw Anri-chan weaving through the loitering seniors in the corridor on her way toward him.

“Whew!  Found you at last, Sho-niichan” she recovered a breath before she dumped the contents of her arms into his. Six fancily wrapped boxes of chocolates.  “You sure are popular.  Some girls from my class were too shy to give these to you themselves, so they asked me to do it.”

Ten boxes now.  Shouei sighed.

Anri laughed.  It was low and had a touch of irony to it.  It made Shouei smile as well.

“That’s better,” commented Anri.  “You should be glad so many girls like you. Smile at them like that and make them happy!”

Shouei wanted only one girl to like him.  Right now, she was waving good-bye as she turned to go back through the crowd of noisy students exchanging Valentine presents and waving each other good-bye for the day.

“Gotta run, Sho-niichan.  The teachers might leave soon!”

Shouei had shrugged off his backpack and was trying to stuff all the boxes in when someone tapped his shoulder. 

“Yo, Shouei.  That wasn’t my sister, was it?” asked Genta.  Shouei nodded.

“Where’s she going?  I told her to meet me here as soon as the bell rang.  Dad will pick us up any minute now,” Genta muttered.  “It’s Dad’s turn tonight, he said he’d take us out to dinner somewhere,” he explained at Shouei’s bewildered look.

Shouei had never met Genta and Anri’s father, even though they had been close friends since elementary school.  But he simply nodded in understanding.  He knew the circumstances of their parents’ divorce were tough on his friends, especially for Anri-chan.

“I think she was headed for the faculty office,” he told Genta.

“Dammit.  So she really is gonna give that thing to Inoue-sensei,” lamented Genta.  “That girl is hopeless.”

“Inoue-sensei?!” blurted Shouei.  “Anri’s got a crush on Inoue-sensei?  He’s at least thirteen years older than us!  And isn’t there a rumor that he and Suzuki-sensei are dating?”

His best friend just shook his head, saying, “She says Inoue-sensei reminds her of Dad, in some ways.  I tried to tell her off, but...”

Genta left Shouei behind, asking him that if Anri comes back, to tell her to head straight for the school gates.   Shouei was still trying to fit all the boxes into his bag when he saw Anri walking slowly back down the emptying hallway.  Her face had a distant, bewildered look on it.

“Anri-chan, Genta said he’d wait for you at the school gate... Are you alright?  You seem pale all of a sudden...” Shouei held her arm.

“Married,” Anri mumbled.  “Inoue-sensei and Suzuki-sensei are gonna get married.  He said it himself.  He didn’t even look at my present for him...”

Her eyes glazed over and her face reddened for a moment, but she didn’t let a single tear fall.  She blinked a few times, squared her shoulders, and took a deep breath.  She looked down at the fancily wrapped box in her hand, as if wondering what it was still doing there.  She held out the box to Shouei.

“Here, Sho-niichan.  You can have it.  I baked them myself,” she said proudly. “They’re really tasty, too.  Oniichan did the taste-test for me.  He’s probably fuming out there by now.  Gotta go, see you later.”

Shouei stared at her rapidly retreating back.  When she disappeared around the building corner, he walked straight to the nearest garbage can and threw the box in with a vengeance.  Then he opened his bag and threw in the rest of the boxes as well.

“I HATE VALENTINE’S DAY!!!” he yelled out.

His voice echoed back to him in the now-empty corridor.