The weak light from the window made the kitchen knife glimmer. She held onto it tightly, cursing her hand as it began to sweat. Sweaty palms, oh boy did she have them. Damn it! But it wasn’t just her hands. Her hair was drenched in sweat. Her night gown, the only thing that covered her naked body, clung to her skin because of her sweat. It was torn in many places and blood has dried in spots. Her busted lip ailed at the saltiness of her sweat, but the pain didn’t register to her. Adrenaline was pumping. She passed by the mirror and almost jumped at the sight of her reflection. It was the first time she saw herself after a long time. Busted lip. Blood. Patches of hair missing on her scalp. She was so thin her cheekbones protruded. Tears started to stream down her face. She can’t break down now, though she knew that this was all too much.

She has lost count of the days she’d been locked up in this house. Last night, Uncle Bob was his usual sadistic self—he didn’t care if she bled to death, he humped her like he has for what felt like an eternity. He pulled her hair so hard, but she ran out of tears to cry. She had an urge to scream like in the first few weeks, but she knew better now. No one has or will ever hear her. She remembered the first time her uncle went into her room, he punched her so hard she writhed in pain on the floor. She looked at Uncle Bob in the hopes that he would take pity on her, apparently he was even more aroused. What she saw in his eyes were anything but human. She’s been his slave ever since.

Every night, he left her battered body on the bed. Sometimes she cries. Often times, she was angry with the world, with God. Sometimes she sleeps in the shower with the water running over her all throughout the night. But most of the time she wishes she never moved here. The university where she got accepted was just a ride away from where her uncle lived, but maybe if her parents were alive, she’d have been advised better. Too late for that now. Too late for tears. Too late for regrets. She was a victim… unless, she chose to be a survivor.

Tonight, she decided that she was not taking anymore of this; she’d rather die fighting than endure this private hell she was in. It didn’t take her too long to notice Uncle Bob’s pattern and habits. She knew he kept the main doors’ keys in his bedroom. She knew the time he left and the time he returned. She waited on him to enter. It was easier than she thought. She waited behind the door and when he entered she, with every morsel of strength left in her, smashed the crystal vase on his head. She slowly checked for a pulse and when there was a faint sign, she ran to the kitchen to get a knife. When she got back to the room he was nowhere to be seen. The blood trail led her to trust that he went to his room. Shit. That’s where he kept the keys! Trying to produce as little sound as she could, she slowly walked towards his bedroom door which was oddly open. There was more blood on the floor now, indicating he slowed down at that point. He mustn’t be far. The marble floor felt cold as ice. Her heavy breathing rung through her ears, deafening. She waited for any sound that might suggest movement. There was none. She slowly crept in with her heart racing. The blood on the floor was now smudged, as if he dragged himself. In front of her, Uncle Bob lay motionless, the white carpet drinking his blood. She couldn’t be too careful, not after everything that has happened. This devil must be killed. With the fury and rage she had allowed to simmer inside of her, she ran towards Uncle Bob and stabbed him more times than she could count. Blood splattered everywhere. When exhaustion took her, she gave one final stab and left the knife sticking up.

The set of keys was on the bedside table when she grabbed it. She was about to run downstairs when she halted and took one last look at Uncle Bob’s lacerated body. She shifted her eyes to the knife, paused and then continued on her way to freedom, thanking it, the knife—the only thing that gave her the deliverance she thought was never going to be hers. 

I was just outside the laboratories this morning as I was talking on the phone. I don’t know why but somehow, very randomly, a part of me said that my days here at the office were numbered. As if the winds of change were coming and that part of me knew it. It was exciting and nostalgic at the same time. And even if I deny it, the truth is this place has been a home to me for almost two years and though leaving it is my desire, I can say for certain that I’ve learned so much and I have contributed enough.

This photograph was taken about a year ago in the Seed Laboratory where I spent a significant amount of time and where I’ve learned so much. Yes, it’s dingy and it had an awful smell, but it was home and I was very happy for a time. Behold, a smile.

If this had been any other day, he’d be sweating like mad running up the hills of Porta Solas. If this had been an ordinary day, he’d probably be just about to finish a good book. And if this had been every bit as normal a day could get, he’d probably be staring at the window, gazing at the moon as he waits for the dream-giver to arrive. But today wasn’t any other day, wasn’t an ordinary day nor was it every bit as normal. No. Today and for the two past months, he’d been staying up late, forsaking sleep and the books piled just to talk with her. About anything. About everything.

For the most part of his life, he’d been quite the idealist. He’d choose to sleep instead of going to bars. He’d rather have milk than beer. He’d have salad without dressing. He’d always go for the safe, most normal, mundane, most inconspicuous choices. He stayed away from things he’d been told to avoid. In other words, he’s been playing it safe ever since he could remember. Now, his life would have gone along this way, maybe even up to the end, hadn’t he made an abrupt turn. In hindsight, it wasn’t really his turn to make. Part of it, he believed, was destiny, and the other part of it was his heart’s decision.

In a sudden moment of enlightenment, the answers to most of his questions dawned on him. They say people do crazy things when they’re in love. He knew now that this statement holds truth for those who are not in love, but for those who are, the things they do aren’t really crazy—not anymore—they’re more in line with things that were, well, necessary. Most smokers know smoking is dangerous, but they smoke anyway, because a part of them is fulfilled. It’s evident that the things that didn’t matter before, now do. And though living a healthy life was part of his goal, he’d give that up too, if only to remain in her presence every waking minute. He’d risk his life, his health and everything he once held dear, because his life no longer was his own; she was his life now.

And living a life that’s safe, that’s healthy but without her, could never seem enticing to him again. He has found a better source of nourishment. And in his mind, he’s found the best way to live—with her—all day; all night.

I’ve learned to be fond of my broken nose, the numerous moles on my face and my eyebrows. I’ve learned to like the way I breathe, the way I speak, the way I run away from fights and the way I scowl at disappointments. I’ve learned to like the way I walk, the way I sing and the way I flush the toilet. I’ve learned to admire the way my belly protrudes after a good meal, the roughness of my hands and the color of my skin. I’ve learned to value my honesty, my sensitivity and my deep affinity for touch, hugs and kisses. I’ve learned to think highly of my ability to run long distances, the way I step away from the pan when frying eggs and the way I organize my things. I’ve learned to appreciate my reflection in the mirror and the gaze that stares back at me.

I’ve learned to be happy being me, no matter what. And most of all, I’ve learned to love myself, being convicted of the fact that no one else will ever see how it is to look at life in rosy hues.

The moment Gabrielle woke up was the moment she started to cry. She stared at the open window as the sky slowly faded into greys and blues, darkening with every second that passed. She gently sat up and gawked at the pillow where her tears have dried. With tears in her eyes she scanned her room. Books, paintings of every bird she had seen, and a candle that had burned out.

She pulled her long, golden hair gently from under her bed where it’s been carefully coiled and arranged. She wrapped it around her arms, carefully circling it like she has all her life. She moved closer to the window and climbed up its sill. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks as she painstakingly made a noose out of her hair. With force she threw the noose onto one of the wooden beams that supported the tower roof until it came back to her and threw it again. She did this for three times and when the noose reached the level of her head, she pulled it several times to check if it didn’t budge and it didn’t.

Tears stopped rolling from her eyes as she stared at the magnificent forest below her. Her mouth was slightly open in wonder as a flock of birds passed by. The sun was setting and from her eyes reflected the soft golden rays. Today marked her eighteenth year in this tower and she didn’t plan to stay for another day. She firmly pressed her hands around the noose she made, closed her eyes as she placed it around her neck. She never wanted this solitude, yet no one ever came. And she deeply feared that no one ever would.

A faint sound of a galloping horse nearing was the last thing she heard.

***

Tower picture credit here

Oh it’s sad to belong to someone else when the right one comes along. Isn’t that how the song goes?

Darkness has engulfed the whole stretch of the West Palm Beach as Elena drove along the gentle curves of the road. She could see the twinkling reflection of lights on the dark waters of the sea from where she sat. Although the night was too cold for comfort, she left the car windows open, making her cheeks icy as tears quietly rolled down. She glanced at the diamond on her finger and it glistened as she passed by a lamp post. She looked back at the road and wondered what she could have done wrong in her life to deserve this. She thought she was happy, but not until Ryan came. No. Ryan changed everything.

She knew it wasn’t right, but deep down inside it was everything she ever hoped for. Only then when she looked into Ryan’s eyes did she feel emotions she has never felt with George. They can’t even be compared. These were feelings she never even thought possible for her to feel. And that’s why she didn’t understand why she was driving 60 miles per hour now with every minute going farther away from Ryan and ever closer to George.

Oh George. He was a good man. She knew he’d never hurt her. He’ll provide for her always, and he loved her so much. She tapped the steering wheel in frustration. This makes it all the more difficult for her. She didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to make him suffer for things he didn’t deserve.

Elena’s heart ached stronger as she recalled how the past week with Ryan went. It was nothing short of perfect save for the fact that she was engaged. She could easily blame Ryan for tempting her; he knew all along. Oh but it just happened. Love happens, she supposed. Doesn’t it? Elena knew that Ryan tried to resist her too, but somehow they always ended up together. Meeting at places and situations they didn’t expect. Could they be victims of coincidences? No matter how Elena rationalized things, she knew that what happened has happened, and though she knew she cheated on George, she didn’t quite find any form of regret inside her. Leaving Ryan tonight was the hardest thing she had to do, of that she was certain.

Elena reached home 27 minutes past 10pm. She opened the door and immediately caught sight of the only thing vivid in the room. She didn’t even like this wedding dress, she thought. Placed at the center of her sitting room, she approached it and touched the gentle wavy lace that decorated it. Tomorrow is coming too fast for her, for everything. It’s so unfair. She couldn’t imagine herself walking down that aisle for George, it just didn’t seem right so she closed her eyes and imagined Ryan waiting there by the altar. There. “I do,” she gently whispered.

Oh it’s sad to belong to someone else when the right one comes along. That, she thought, was a colossal understatement.