Post by J e e c o . on May 4, 2007 15:05:02 GMT 7
-Just good-
The sun in the Philippines had always been harsh. As everybody knew, mostly the older educated ones, which the reason was fairly because of the location of the country. The citizens had lived peacefully even with the sun, so no one would hear anybody complaining outside.
The sun was no less harsh today. Even in the cool breeze and amidst the swaying trees, rays of sunlight peeped through, making little laser lights on the ground. It was a calm Friday afternoon, with brown leaves falling down in a smooth, steady rhythm, little breezes pick them up and blowing them into the air.
Her companion had left awhile ago, and her father had taken a lot more time than needed for leaving the office. She understood perfectly well of his busyness as some manager (or something of the sort). She just can’t grasp the fact that he needed hours for it.
But she did not care for the while. There are some instances when she would be waiting in the same place where he, her unrequited love, would be also waiting in. One of those rare instances was happening today. It’s as if destiny had finally found a way to keep her complaining while her father was too busy to pick her up.
She had always watched him from a distance, silent, observing eyes waiting for an opportunity to approach him. But she never did. It mattered not; he clearly had no interest in her. And when she'd get the chance she would freeze, her breath caught. If things were to continue on this way nothing would ever happen.
The sound of his bag dropping to the floor made her jump, and in panic she hid in a bush, watching as he passed where she was a few seconds earlier. He was a rather nice-looking guy for a horror fanatic. In fact he was the kinder version of her first love. Who said first love was meant to last? Whoever did was getting a piece of her after this.
Surely she would have suffered a lot more if she hadn’t found a way to appease her tormented soul (which sounds a bit poetic, she mutters to herself, but then that doesn’t matter, right?). In fact she poured out her feelings into a story that reflected the deep truth like a mirror. Her mind was filled with ideas that deserved to be written, and since she had the gift of knowing what exactly to put out, she never hesitated to conduct a story of only tragic romance. Never would she be enough for a guy like him or for that cheat; no matter how hard she tried to convince him that she loved him, he always managed to turn his back on her.
It was a sad story, written in the books of fate where her chapter reeled towards its end. Someday it would all be over, and she would never have known how it felt to be in his arms. But she was selfless; she knew others deserved her rewards much more than she ever could. She knew everybody else deserves to be a good friend of his, and that some other girl would be better off with him. To herself she was nothing, no more than a spec in a marvelous painting of life and death, of love and hate, of trust and betrayal. No more than a letter in a wonderful tragic poem to be written, published, and read aloud. She was, in summary, useless.
But everything had its purpose, and as she stood up and walked sheepishly behind, she was certain hers had always been fitting to her liking, no matter how little it could ever be. She called for his name in a soft tone, and miraculously he had turned to face her. With quivering hands she held out a small box wrapped beautifully, and he smiled and said his thanks while taking it and was soon walking away in a calm stride. She smiled.
And what if poems did come to a tragic end, even the ones that smile? The most significant thing, she mused to herself while taking a seat to rest her aching feet, was that each and every character in the tale made their own possible happy ending, no matter how blunt they seem. It was always like this, for humans to labor in sorrow to be able to achieve happiness, to go through tremendous pain to be able to acquire one's salvation. That's how it went for lots of different people, from the past and present, those she knew of and those she didn’t care to know.
As the sun descended into its slumber, she walked silently towards her things to go home, her own troubles forgotten to the wind.
And maybe he would never know how much he meant to her, and maybe she wouldn't be able to catch the right words for such feelings, but in the end it's alright. Besides, the ink of my ballpoint pen is running low and the clock had just informed me that it’s already eight, time for bed. My notebook is filled with a story so poignant, as agonizing as a tragedy so beautiful in the end. It’s sad when I come to think of it, but it is time to close the lights now, and to let me fall into a contented sleep. I’ll let things bother me tomorrow, when I have time. So here the story ends.
But it is good, after all. Very good. As good as anyone can imagine.
And maybe a little bit better than that.
The End
***
I submitted this story to the newspaper for the third quarter and a lot loved it. It was made randomly, when
I felt like making it. Just another of those emo musings you'd get while waiting for your ride home.
Questions and comments are always welcome. ^^
The sun in the Philippines had always been harsh. As everybody knew, mostly the older educated ones, which the reason was fairly because of the location of the country. The citizens had lived peacefully even with the sun, so no one would hear anybody complaining outside.
The sun was no less harsh today. Even in the cool breeze and amidst the swaying trees, rays of sunlight peeped through, making little laser lights on the ground. It was a calm Friday afternoon, with brown leaves falling down in a smooth, steady rhythm, little breezes pick them up and blowing them into the air.
Her companion had left awhile ago, and her father had taken a lot more time than needed for leaving the office. She understood perfectly well of his busyness as some manager (or something of the sort). She just can’t grasp the fact that he needed hours for it.
But she did not care for the while. There are some instances when she would be waiting in the same place where he, her unrequited love, would be also waiting in. One of those rare instances was happening today. It’s as if destiny had finally found a way to keep her complaining while her father was too busy to pick her up.
She had always watched him from a distance, silent, observing eyes waiting for an opportunity to approach him. But she never did. It mattered not; he clearly had no interest in her. And when she'd get the chance she would freeze, her breath caught. If things were to continue on this way nothing would ever happen.
The sound of his bag dropping to the floor made her jump, and in panic she hid in a bush, watching as he passed where she was a few seconds earlier. He was a rather nice-looking guy for a horror fanatic. In fact he was the kinder version of her first love. Who said first love was meant to last? Whoever did was getting a piece of her after this.
Surely she would have suffered a lot more if she hadn’t found a way to appease her tormented soul (which sounds a bit poetic, she mutters to herself, but then that doesn’t matter, right?). In fact she poured out her feelings into a story that reflected the deep truth like a mirror. Her mind was filled with ideas that deserved to be written, and since she had the gift of knowing what exactly to put out, she never hesitated to conduct a story of only tragic romance. Never would she be enough for a guy like him or for that cheat; no matter how hard she tried to convince him that she loved him, he always managed to turn his back on her.
It was a sad story, written in the books of fate where her chapter reeled towards its end. Someday it would all be over, and she would never have known how it felt to be in his arms. But she was selfless; she knew others deserved her rewards much more than she ever could. She knew everybody else deserves to be a good friend of his, and that some other girl would be better off with him. To herself she was nothing, no more than a spec in a marvelous painting of life and death, of love and hate, of trust and betrayal. No more than a letter in a wonderful tragic poem to be written, published, and read aloud. She was, in summary, useless.
But everything had its purpose, and as she stood up and walked sheepishly behind, she was certain hers had always been fitting to her liking, no matter how little it could ever be. She called for his name in a soft tone, and miraculously he had turned to face her. With quivering hands she held out a small box wrapped beautifully, and he smiled and said his thanks while taking it and was soon walking away in a calm stride. She smiled.
And what if poems did come to a tragic end, even the ones that smile? The most significant thing, she mused to herself while taking a seat to rest her aching feet, was that each and every character in the tale made their own possible happy ending, no matter how blunt they seem. It was always like this, for humans to labor in sorrow to be able to achieve happiness, to go through tremendous pain to be able to acquire one's salvation. That's how it went for lots of different people, from the past and present, those she knew of and those she didn’t care to know.
As the sun descended into its slumber, she walked silently towards her things to go home, her own troubles forgotten to the wind.
And maybe he would never know how much he meant to her, and maybe she wouldn't be able to catch the right words for such feelings, but in the end it's alright. Besides, the ink of my ballpoint pen is running low and the clock had just informed me that it’s already eight, time for bed. My notebook is filled with a story so poignant, as agonizing as a tragedy so beautiful in the end. It’s sad when I come to think of it, but it is time to close the lights now, and to let me fall into a contented sleep. I’ll let things bother me tomorrow, when I have time. So here the story ends.
But it is good, after all. Very good. As good as anyone can imagine.
And maybe a little bit better than that.
The End
***
I submitted this story to the newspaper for the third quarter and a lot loved it. It was made randomly, when
I felt like making it. Just another of those emo musings you'd get while waiting for your ride home.
Questions and comments are always welcome. ^^
<--- Mah boss. OH YEAH. 