She counts words and makes vow to the moon and stars. She cares not for frivolous remarks and shuns reluctance and negativity that dares to cross her path. “You see they don’t understand what writing means to me.” Her dark brown hair fell down in a tangled mess on her face as she struggled with her earphones. “But why even bother to listen? You know they don’t feel the same way as you.” Sanaya burst out in a fit of giggles as her best friend mimicked possibly every brainless creature on earth who had no appreciation for Literature.
I sometimes wonder what world would be, without words kissing destruction and pain awry.
Sanaya and Sarah had been best friends for nearly three years. There wasn’t a single thing that the two of them didn’t know about each other. Sarah sniggered, “You must have been a vampire in another life. I envy your freakish ability to write in wee hours of the morning.” Sanaya smiled and finally managed to untangle her earphones. “Well, it’s kind of habitual I suppose. You should have heard my neighbor’s response. I am pretty sure you would have sucked the life out of him!”
I have seen prejudice roll its eyes, mumbling words, that can’t seep into its blood and hollow chest.
If there was one thing that boiled Sanaya’s blood was sarcasm. It was as though someone had thrown garlic and shallot into broccoli cheese soup. “You shouldn’t listen to them,” she went on. “Now, if anyone says horrid things about writing poetry, tell them its not everyone’s cup of tea. Better yet lets throw a steaming mug at them!” Sanaya flashed a wicked grin as she pictured her light grey mug thrown at her neighbour and the ludicrous expression that would follow suit.
Her fingers typed away as she spoke, hours flying until the sun came out. She admitted being a perfectionist and cringed at the thought of writing something that didn’t quite fit. Perhaps her blood was made of lyrical odes and ballads. The next day she woke past noon and jumped out of bed.
Sultry noon peeks in chuckling at hours that were waiting to dance, until they rattled her brain.
She clawed in frustration as the moon shone upon the grave; her fingertips soaked in dirt and blood. A hundred years had passed since the ghosts had spoken to her about Eric, a hundred years had passed since she last ate or drank a bottle of wine. She heard the owls screeching as the wind howled incessantly, causing hair at the back of her neck to stand up in alarm. She screamed as two hands jerked and pushed her off the grave.
“You wretched piece of urban shit how dare you come and touch this grave!”
Camellia spat into the ground in pure disgust as she attempted to smooth out her prussian blue dress; “I don’t need your permission you filthy, lying bitch!”
No sooner had she spoken, a voice hoarse from breathing underground sounded from the grave. Both women stared in horror at the sight that welcomed them in the dead of the night.
“I am so bloody tired of you two bickering each and every night! Now if you will excuse me I need to go back and rest for the next hundred years.” The corpse flashed an evil grin before it disappeared back into the grave.
“My goodness! Did you see that! He didn’t even bother to invite us in!”
Camellia laughed out hard and punched playfully on her arm. She realized that they were both being stupid, fighting over a man who had been dead for the past hundred years. She winked as they joined hands to craft a healing wish:
There is a fine line between coincidence and stalking. I was getting out of the car in a vacant parking lot when it happened. The air suddenly grew cold and my breath stopped short. Shadows creeping from far off corners caused fear to trickle down my spine. I hastened to a nearby cafe around noon midday. Sweat ran down the corners of my face as I gasped at the scene before me.
“We need to call the police, Dan.” A frightened woman was whispering to her son. The newspaper headlines read what each and every person in the room had feared. A local woman was killed earlier in the day by a man in black. Police suspected that the woman was being stalked for days on end. Melissa tugged at the fabric near the end of her coat. She remembered being followed a few weeks before Christmas.
The customers were getting restless as the news spread like wildfire. Melissa grabbed her purse and hurried out of the cafe. She had almost reached her car when she was suddenly pulled to the curb. Her eyes were blindfolded as she was pushed inside the van. Melissa tried to utter a scream but in vain.
“Quit moving you crazy bitch! You’re driving me insane!”
Melissa kicked around her blindly hoping to free herself. The van came to a screeching halt. Two massive hands grabbed and pulled her from the side. She felt as if she was being led into a warehouse. Melissa strained to listen for sounds which would give her further clues about her whereabouts.