the lisbon daughter;

By the time we found her, lying on the bathroom floor with pools of blood flowing out of her wrist, there was nothing that could have been done. The doctor at the emergency room tried his best to bring her back to us, but his shaking head as he came out of the operating theatre put an immediate finality to her life. What we had left of our daughter were only the home videos of our vacations in foreign countries, the photos she took of her friends, and her bedroom. The hardest part of this loss was the disappearance of hearing her name as we called her to us. We could no longer speak the name Cecilia and expect anyone to respond, except strangers who were nothing like the child that we had loved and raised as a part of ourselves, our souls, our spirits. The word vanished into the void where all lost names go, never to be uttered again except, perhaps, in the furthest parts of the world. We carried on the best we could, but nothing would ever be the same again – Everything had changed.

a high and lonesome sound;

(Drama, 2009. 11 pages.)

She is still exactly as he remembered her – rough around the edges, yet movement still graceful and elegant as she slowly exhales the cigarette smoke. She wears a simple t-shirt and jeans getup, presumably to aid in her dancing in the club. One of the crowd shares a joke, and she laughs before taking another drag. John gathers up his strength, hides the wallet in his pocket, and walks up to her.

JOHN
Sam?

She turns around. A flicker of surprise when she recognises him, followed by a smile.

SAMANTHA
John! Is that you?

JOHN
Yeah, John. How’s it been?

The two exchange a hug.

SAMANTHA
What’re you doing here? You never
were the clubbing type.

JOHN
Yeah well, people change, you know.

She nods in agreement, puffing at her cigarette. Silence falls between them, whilst her friends talk amongst themselves, distancing themselves from the pair.

JOHN
Hey listen, err.. You hungry? I
could buy you a meal, if you are. I
mean, since it’s been so long and everything..

SAMANTHA
Sure, why not?

She turns to speak to her friends, who nod and head back into the club. She throws her now-spent cigarette on the floor, stubbing for the smouldering end with her shoe.

SAMANTHA
Let’s go.

The two walk off toward the open-air cafes.

Time

Greetings! 

Here’s an excerpt of a prose which I’d written a couple months back.
Sadness and depression welcomes us each time with a different face.
This was how one I saw looked like.  

 

 

“My body lies motionless.
What is hurting?
My mind? My body? Or my feelings?
I can’t tell where the hurt began and where the numbness ends.
My eyes redden on their own and memories rushes in on their own.
I’m not sure if I am moving or I am being moved upon.
The constant loud downpour creates a void silence.
I can’t tell when the noise began and when the silence ends either.
All I know is that each time I take a breath,
I feel my chest sink.”

 

 

siblings;

(Prose, 2009. 2 pages.)

When I open them again, it is morning. The fire has burned itself out, and the happy family that was once in this home is no more. I shake her by the shoulders. “Wake up,” I speak into her ear, “We have to go.” She sits up, rubbing her eyes. She smiles at me before standing up, kicking the charred remains of the firewood, the charcoal dust coating the walls. “Let’s go!” She says loudly, grabbing me by the hand. We leave the room, the house. Today is a new day.

saturday / sunday ;

(Drama, 2009. 8 pages.)
INT. APARTMENT BEDROOM. NIGHT.

STACEY
I’m so glad you’re here.

She throws her charger into her backpack. She closes her suitcase, but finds difficulty with locking it. Louis comes to her aid.

LOUIS
Sit on the edge.

She does, and her weight helps to keep the lids close together enough to lock it. He falls back onto his bum, hands stretched back to support his weight. She moves to sit next to him, and together they look at the suitcases that they’ve packed for her flight together – Her life, condensed into suitcases and carry-on luggages.

STACEY
Now what?

LOUIS
Now? What do you feel like doing?

Stacey is silent, contemplating this question. Soon she arrives at her answer.

STACEY
Nothing.

She rests her head on his shoulder, and after a moment he rests his head on hers. The two silently take in the moment, the music from the laptop and the outside traffic the only sound permeating the scene. On the computer table, the clock strikes 12.

INSERT TITLE: “SUNDAY, APR 30, 12:00 A.M.”