Adventures in Sasa land
These are three shorts that I wrote. The first and last was written in the middle of the night under the guiding light of my torchlight. The second was written over a cooling mug of Green Tea. So what do you guys think?
1. Rooftop hideouts
You find him sitting on the rooftop ledge and the wind is messing with his hair the way you know irks him to no end. But your heart hammers and skips a beat because you have never see anyone, anything this side of fucking beautiful.
You take the spot next to him; carefully sitting on the ledge that is a 4 stories' fall and follow his gaze out onto the sprawl of buildings that edge out to the sea. There are bruises and cuts on his hands and face and the one above his eye looks particularly nasty.
"Don't."
He says, effectively stopping you from reaching out to him. He doesn't even look at you. And you can't decide which is worse; the fact he won't accept your help or the fact that these injuries aren't there because of you.You contemplate the answer as you watch the skies change from a light blue to a burst of red and gold. It's getting late. It's time to go. You cast a glance at him before getting up, brushing yourself down.
"Was it worth it?"
You say, the words coming out like a whisper. He doesn't answer. but merely stares straight ahead. You turn to go, wondering what to have for dinner. Whether your mother has made good of the promise of an apple pie for dessert.
"It was fucking worth it."
It so small. And yet it gets carried by the wind to where you stand in front of the stairwell door.
You feel your heart break five million ways.
2. Pretty dolls. Pretty dolls are always broken
It never gets easy. Even after all these years, he'd always find himself in the shadows of the alleyway retching up after. It comes with the job. Occupational hazard. Quote it and he's heard it all a thousand times before. But it never get easy.
It's always the young ones. The ones with stars in their eyes, sparkle in their smile, dreams in their hands. The ones with so much innocence and too much love to give. Only in the end will they find that the world will fuck you and leave you. The oldest rule of the game. It never changes. Even when the world does.
The army of broken porcelain dolls. He's their fixer. He'll mend them and send them out again. To be broken again. They'll have thought he'd fixed their scars, but in reality he hides them with paint and glue and an illusion of a smile. The cracks are fine and unnoticeable in the light of the night, but they're always there. And they'll never leave.
Tonight, it was a pretty hazel eyed thing. She hadn't been broken-physically. She'd had had her crystal heart stolen. Fallen in love. He'd cringed, and felt a part of him die when she told him as he cradles her. Rule no. 1; Never fall in love.
They're all merely dolls. And dolls were meant to be pretty and emotionless and they were meant to always be shared with playmates. Dolls will always be meant to be played with.
He'd sent her away with a kiss knowing full well that the next time she comes around, there'll be black mascara tracks, and dulled hazel eyes. She'll be back with a shattered crystal heart for him to fix.
Then there were those dolls so broken up that he'd have sleepless night for weeks. Nightmares of their faces for months. These were the ones he couldn't save. These were the ones he'd cry for because there were none to cry for them. The ones he buries in cardboard boxes in the shadow of the moon because no one must see. No one will know.
You feel your heart break five million ways.
2. Pretty dolls. Pretty dolls are always broken
It never gets easy. Even after all these years, he'd always find himself in the shadows of the alleyway retching up after. It comes with the job. Occupational hazard. Quote it and he's heard it all a thousand times before. But it never get easy.
It's always the young ones. The ones with stars in their eyes, sparkle in their smile, dreams in their hands. The ones with so much innocence and too much love to give. Only in the end will they find that the world will fuck you and leave you. The oldest rule of the game. It never changes. Even when the world does.
And they come to him.
The army of broken porcelain dolls. He's their fixer. He'll mend them and send them out again. To be broken again. They'll have thought he'd fixed their scars, but in reality he hides them with paint and glue and an illusion of a smile. The cracks are fine and unnoticeable in the light of the night, but they're always there. And they'll never leave.
Tonight, it was a pretty hazel eyed thing. She hadn't been broken-physically. She'd had had her crystal heart stolen. Fallen in love. He'd cringed, and felt a part of him die when she told him as he cradles her. Rule no. 1; Never fall in love.
They're all merely dolls. And dolls were meant to be pretty and emotionless and they were meant to always be shared with playmates. Dolls will always be meant to be played with.
He'd sent her away with a kiss knowing full well that the next time she comes around, there'll be black mascara tracks, and dulled hazel eyes. She'll be back with a shattered crystal heart for him to fix.
Then there were those dolls so broken up that he'd have sleepless night for weeks. Nightmares of their faces for months. These were the ones he couldn't save. These were the ones he'd cry for because there were none to cry for them. The ones he buries in cardboard boxes in the shadow of the moon because no one must see. No one will know.
Because they are the creatures of the night.
Because everyone always forgets a broken doll.
He's a broken doll himself. But he is a puppet with cut strings. There's no one there but the broken dolls. So he mends the dolls. Because he is one himself.
And maybe one day, one day someone will remember him.
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{Okay. This one's a bit of erotica(?). I can't believe I actually used this word to describe something I wrote. To the knowing public, of course. Reader discretion is advised}
3. Stolen shadow moments
He kisses you hard as he runs calloused hands over your front. You've only got a few more minutes to make good of the favor you'd called upon. You lose all coherent thoughts when he bites ohjustrightthere.
He's the only who could turn you on this way, who can make you feel want-lust-need-love-pain-ache-desire-passion all at the same time and yet make you lose it all in a second. He is most definitely the one who makes you scream and moan and gasp and pant and scrape your nails hard down his back and dig your teeth into his nape. The only who wakes you up with kisses and a smile and lulls you to sleep with his voice in your ear.
Oh!
And when he does that thing with his tongue? Yeah. That one.
You come hard, fast and long, like it was your first time in someone's brother's room. But it feels ohsogood. So very good.
When your minutes are over, he places kisses over bare skin you have yet clothed. And when you step out to the public, there's that brush of his hand on your neck that tells you there's more to come.
{Ok. Whatcha think? Yes. I wrote an excerpt of pRon. Thoughts please. I can't have been all fail.}
3. Stolen shadow moments
He kisses you hard as he runs calloused hands over your front. You've only got a few more minutes to make good of the favor you'd called upon. You lose all coherent thoughts when he bites ohjustrightthere.
He's the only who could turn you on this way, who can make you feel want-lust-need-love-pain-ache-desire-passion all at the same time and yet make you lose it all in a second. He is most definitely the one who makes you scream and moan and gasp and pant and scrape your nails hard down his back and dig your teeth into his nape. The only who wakes you up with kisses and a smile and lulls you to sleep with his voice in your ear.
Oh!
And when he does that thing with his tongue? Yeah. That one.
You come hard, fast and long, like it was your first time in someone's brother's room. But it feels ohsogood. So very good.
When your minutes are over, he places kisses over bare skin you have yet clothed. And when you step out to the public, there's that brush of his hand on your neck that tells you there's more to come.
{Ok. Whatcha think? Yes. I wrote an excerpt of pRon. Thoughts please. I can't have been all fail.}
Labels: Short stories, Writing
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