I was lying in the bed with a pain in my stomach, or so I thought. I knew I was having some kind of pain but I can’t feel them. All I know is that I am experiencing some kind of stomach ache at that instance. I twisted in my bed, trying to understand the blur of the pain and the things my mind say to myself.

He entered into the room, a face I’ve never seen before. He told me that he was the therapist, that he would heal my pains or whatever it is I am feeling right now. I stared at him, surely he looks calm and he has that kind of peaceful face. Peaceful, some lucky person who were born with a face that seems to radiate some kind of trustworthiness.

He told me to lie down and he started to massage my belly. I remembered one of my friends in college who told me that the belly should never (ever) be massage but I didn’t protest at that time. The pain was lessening, in my mind because I really can’t feel any pain at that moment. I closed my eyes when I smelled the scent of the oil he used to massage me. Lavender, I guessed.

He suddenly stopped when he felt something in my belly. At that instance, I felt it too. I was transported into what his hands had felt. Some thing I can’t put words into. Some thing that is giving me this tingling feeling of loneliness, of longing.

“I think you’re pregnant,” he said and stood up.

My sister who was sitting in a bench nearby looked at me. She stared into me with questioning eyes. I can feel the million questions she would throw towards me after this.I closed my eyes again and put my own hands where the man had felt it. It was still there, some kind of life inside of me. I touched it once again, proving to myself that it is real. I smiled at that thought of it, the years of waiting is finally over.

“Beep beep beeep!”

The harsh alarm woke me up. I was in a different room. My sister was gone, there was no bench on the spot where she sat. I blinked. I am in my room again. The longing came back.

White Curtain

Eddie was walking slowly on that too familiar road. Slowly but faster than his usual pace, his walking stick guiding him not to fall on the side walk. It was early in the morning, the world was already bright but the sun hadn’t greeted him with its sun rays. He tried to catch his breath and stopped for a few seconds and continued his pace. Ah! Old age can really give you a lot to ponder. He saw the small alley and slowly, staggering on his feet with arthritis he walked towards it. Not minding the pain or the cold breeze from the autumn wind, he turned right on St. Mary Street.

He stopped in front of a dark and old house. The bricks were from 1800’s and the house itself has stood seeing a lot of wars and crusades that took place in this wonderful place. He didn’t care about the history of the old house or the pristine look of its architectural design, he slowly gazed up, looking for something in the house. On the second floor of the house is a big window with white curtains. The curtains were dancing with the wind, giving him a view of what is inside the house.

He stood there, trying to remember old faces, old names, old friends and an old lover that he think the years took away from him. Before the war broke out, he was destined to marry Claire, the very beautiful Claire. The girl that she dreamed of kissing and spending lazy afternoons with. They were introduced once and he gallantly hold her hand as she blushed and tried not to be stiff. He smiled at the thought of it. How he misses her blushing cheeks and how she would look down to hid them.

There are no real victory in a war– a lesson he learned so hard. He lost Claire and the friends and the people around him. He came back, after almost a decade of being gone and he saw her again, at the church with her youngest daughter. He smiled bitterly, Claire married his friend John after the news of the bombing broke out. Everyone thought he died but how could he? He cannot let death take him away from Claire and their future but John did. And that was the end of it.

He placed the single rose that he bought at the station on the way here. Gazed once more on the white curtains and slowly went to his way. He will be back again tomorrow, and the day after and the one after that or to say it simply until the day that they would find his body sleeping, peacefully and unable to move.

“Mama, the old man is here again,” Claudia informed her elderly mother who is pretending to be asleep in her rocking chair.

The old woman smiled and opened her eyes.

“Get the flowers. I know he brought one,”she smiled and closed her eyes again.

Distant Sheet

A bad dream. She’s crying and murmuring in her sleep again. A nightmare of any kind. She came closer and closer. I can smell her hair, her perfume and even her sweet-scented sweat. I softly caressed her hair, trying to soothe her back to sleep. Studying her face, she is as beautiful as always, her eyelashes–which she argues to be shorter than mine were perfect for her eyes. And underneath them are her big brown eyes that captivated my eyes the moment I stared towards them. And her lips– tempting me to kiss them over and over again. Oh God! How I miss kissing her. (more…)

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