Another Day.

He saw a spoon wavering in the air. Food! he thought, and dashed.

He could hear her footsteps. He recognized them, because he heard them all the time, every day. He didn't know anything about her, except that she ran after him with a spoon multiple times a day, and on some days dunked him in horrid, soapy water. He didn't like her when she did that.

But more often than that, she kissed and cuddled him. She let him play with Duck, his yellow rubber friend, who, for some reason unfathomable to him, lived in the horrid soapy water. She scolded Baba for being mean to him sometimes and not letting him do new things.

Baba was different from Mama. Baba didn't have the long, soft things Mama had on her head. Baba had small ones, and he had them on his legs. He was nice too, because he brought Car, and sometimes when he was in a good mood, he'd allow the pressable things on his Hello to be pressed.
But he could also be scary when a no-no was committed.

Mama lifted the blankie hiding him under the bed. She was holding the spoon.

It was definitely scarier than Baba, Rushil decided.




It's actually a short story, but I'll post it up here in chapter form and continue it whenever I get time. 

New End...

I love how everyone is standing still. Faceted into the ground, they stare at the screen. Memories flash by, of people who will not be forgotten.

We've had our differences, we've had our cliques. But right now, our breaths resonate. A thousand eyes glisten, five hundred lips smile. Every lyric touches our hearts and we suddenly realize that two years have passed by.

Time seems standing still, and we're always all too lost in ourselves to move. And without knowing it, suddenly, we've moved on.

So many people, so many faces. So many fights, so many laughs. Which ones will I forget? Which ones will I remember?

All I can recall is rosy gold lights and the sparkle on my shoe. The smiles on our faces and the glowing hue.

If time persists, we shall move on. But someday, when I'm old and lying in a bed, suddenly, the night will come back to me. As vividly as though I was there.

And I shall smile and tell my granddaughter about my senior prom. About us. Our stories. For our stories are, after all, the only thing that really belong to us. A story is the most intimate relationship a person can have with another.

Thank you for the stories. Thank you for the love. Thank you for the memories. Every time I blinked, I said a prayer of gratitude. I know I took you all for granted at some point, but know that I realize how I lucky I am that our paths crossed. I may not speak much, but I love you all as much as one can love and more. You girls are the reason for my sanity, the reason for my growth. You are my pillars of stone, the only thing in the world I can really depend on, when the world is depending on me.

Come fall, we shall all move on and this time will be no more. New experiences will arise, new connections will be made. All I ask of you, then, is that you do not forget the girl who was once a part of your life. Keep her locked away, somewhere, in your heart. Like a memory box, to be opened and cherished later. But do not toss her out. She is yours forever. A gift from a friend.

And thus shall I treasure the pieces of yourselves you have given me. For all eternity.