Category: shorts

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The Bellowing Call

I look at my phone and the time makes me anxious. One hour. Now, it is 59 minutes left. There never seems to be enough time for oneself during the day.

59 minutes of juicy chicken tenders. Oily french fries, maybe a burger that’s dripping with sauce and pickle and mustard and maybe onion and mushrooms. A soda, bubbly and syrupy sweet. Or I could turn the corner for a pork bun and taro bubble tea with grass jelly and red bean.

Though two blocks down, I could have Hawaiian poke, but the line is ridiculously too long. It would go over my allotted 58 minutes and 30 seconds left. Maybe the corner Korean deli for some spicy mushroom, rice, and green beans. They also have great cold shrimp salad that’s always it weary to try yet I go for it anyways. But I could do so much better!

There’s also that Turkish fast food chain for some simit. But they are a bit pricey for the nabe.

Or I could go healthy for a wrap…or not. I suppose a healthy salad or soup? Well, tomato orzo and chicken is always good. So sweet and creamy. At that point, I could venture further and get pho. MMm….piping hot and steamy pho with cold summer rolls. Or salty fried egg rolls. Shrimp crackers. I’ll be so close to Popeye’s chicken then. Fried chicken and popcorn shrimp, biscuits, and gravy mashed potatoes. Fries…cajun style. Or go back for some banh mi. But what about pizza? Mmmm…pizza is always good. Or Korean fried chicken and sweet potatoes.

The choices are endless! I could eat and eat and be happy and never return!

Suddenly, a large bellow echoes in the elevator.

I blush as four other people in the car cast furtive glances around without being too rude to see whose stomach was growling so loudly.

“Sorry,” I mumble, “I’m just a bit hungry.”

The door dings, saving me from the embarrassing giggles as we all race out and try to fill in our 57 minutes of lunch break.

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A Planet and A Girl

A Planet and A Girl

Once long ago, the planet had two moons, rising and setting like a pair of needy tenacious lovers unable to spend one rising apart.

One was smaller than the other but unrelenting despite its diminutive size. Being red and dwarf-like, it fed off the larger blue one, as if envious and desirous of attention and love. Sometimes, the inhabitants of the planet below pretended to see sand floating between the moons and made up stories that it was a form of communication between other inhabitants on the moon. Others thought the sands were trailing fingers, caressing like that of lovers were wont to do during nightly excursions.
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Written in the Stars

This short story came to me after watching this awful Thai lakorn called Mia Jum Pen, way back when I had just finished year one of my first job post-college. The lakorn was so silly and quite horrendous; the type of soap opera you cringe watching but can’t get yourself to stop. But I loved the two actors that played the roles and feeling that the lakorn didn’t do them justice, I decided to write a better love story that was still about bitter love that took years to overcome that was a bit less dramatic and less angry.

Another inspiration to this short story was hearing this piece on a flight back from Copenhagen. I absolutely fell in love with the music and really wanted to write a story that was as sad, as longing, and as desirous as this piece.


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(I Could Live On) Loving You

Warrior’s have no heart…no sympathy…no regrets…no meaning to life…

There was one man who stood alone among the worn soldiers trotting forward. He alone stood fiercely and proudly. He was the vanity of her eyes…the agony of her heart…the being that made her aware of her feminine needs…wants…and desires. They all pooled into one at his gentle touch…his commanding voice…his overpowering presence.

A warrior that stood among the people, destined to rule and conquer. Astride on a black stallion, Darius Brant held his head high like a statue that needed to be idolize. A man with stubborn determination yet a lover’s seductive eyes to which she had fallen captive to. He was the anchor of her life, the source of her dreams.

She tipped her head down, her eyes lowered as he pulled up the banner that claimed victory. Claiming her. Returning to her and taking what belonged to him. His prize.
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Alba and The Lighthouse

Alba and the Lighthouse
The sky hung low and gray while mist and fog clung close to the muddy ground, making the walk to the lighthouse wet and cold.

It rained every seven days in the seacoast town of Fiammetta and Alba Mondo had prepared for this day, her rain shoes, coat, and umbrella made by the sisters of the local nunnery to keep her from catching a cold. But Alba did not mind the rain.
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Short Story: Always Perfect

Chapter 1

I hadn’t always loved him. In fact, I thought he was by far, the rudest, most snobbiest boy in school and always steered clear of his ways, including his entourage. In fact, I steered clear of most people’s way while at the music conservatory. It was a school for the rich and prestigious. The lots like me were lucky to even have a glimpse inside.

As I watched him from the third floor of the studio building, the tinted glass sealed me away from the throngs of young girls and boys, but mostly girls with moppy brown hair. He emerged out of a black town car, his dark hair, raven-like, glistened as bits of sunlight peeked through the mostly cloudy day. It was as if the sun herself was afraid to touch of him more than she should.
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Ka-kei: An Interpretation of A Traditional Folklore

In the ancient kingdom of the majestic Kampuchea, long before the war–before famine, poverty, and sadness—on sweltering hot nights, when dusk had barely settled beyond the horizon, a waft of heady miasma intoxicated and seduced the restless souls. It is the scent of a beautiful flower that blooms only at night like a maiden tossing her handkerchief to a wandering lustful man.
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All This Time

The dim candlelight flickered like mournful souls swaying back and forth, throwing their bodies to the ground for passerbys who might chance stop and offer a scrap of food or pity. Please, please, they beg. Have mercy, they wail. They wept like the crying of her heart, the loathsome pitiful creature she was.
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Only Love

A flash of lightning struck somewhere nearby, briefly lighting the dark room that had become her prison. The black iron bar glimmered with wetness from the onslaught of rain sent from the sinister heaven as it raced down her windowpane—the three windows that occupied her room in the tower that no one could get in or out of but through one staircase.
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