MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the category “Short Stories”

The shape of love

hearty-bread

©Kelvin M. Knight

“Do you know how the heart symbol came to be?”  Her grandfather saw her gazing mesmerized at the unexpected shape on the sliced bread.

“There’s the belief that this drawing we use to symbolize love and all its associates is in reality two human hearts fused together as one”.

She looked at him, her eyes suddenly sparkling.

“Is that the reason we are constantly searching for our other half? To feel whole?”

“It may very well be”, he replied.

His wife came into the room. It didn’t matter how old they were, he still beamed every time he saw her.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

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A road to a different view

danny-boweman-1

©Danny Bowman

They told him the difficult, winding roads, the ones less travelled are the ones that would lead him to the most beautiful destinations. To places he had never seen before, never even imagined. He decided to take the risk because he wanted some peace of mind.

It was cloudy, perhaps even preparing for rain. And the gravel was rough; he could feel his car panting. But he was determined to go on.

He could see it up ahead. Tranquility was expecting him.

It was as if an entire mountain was waiting for his arrival to show him a different perspective.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

The world in her eyes

https://i.pinimg.com/236x/6a/5b/1f/6a5b1f5af2932b3ae2d9af3ddb9034e4--contactlens-blue-eyes.jpgThe greatest love poems are written in dark nights of silver moons glistening on shattered adolescent hearts. Out of the strongest pain come the most genuine and powerful truths.

That’s what she was reading before she came to meet you. It was what made her tears start streaming again. She was trying. Trying to go on but not wanting to without you.

You could see it in her eyes, the pupils rippling like broken glass. She avoided looking at you because it hurt too much and she didn’t want to let you see the darkness that had overtaken her soul. She didn’t want you to see that, when you left, you drained her of the life you had imbued her with. Yet, she still loved you. She wanted to tell you how much she missed you. You know you felt the same. But for some reason you were both too selfish to admit to what you truly felt.

She had vowed to herself she would melt that wall of ice you had raised around you. She was certain you were meant to be together. You had been through so much. Everyone expected you would end up together. Forever. That’s the way it should go. Instead, while everyone was taking steps forwards, you were making them backwards. Out of miscommunications and bad judgements.

She wanted the world and, in her eyes, that was you.

She still wants that. She may no longer think of you as the super-hero she pictured you would be, but she still hopes deep down you are the tramp-turned-prince she dreams of. She still wants you. But you’re too stubborn to let her in. You know that she fits so perfectly like no other in your arms. In your mind. And in your heart. Every second you let pass without telling her that you’re not thinking of her or lying that it is not true, you plunge the dagger deeper inside. Because she has realised that it is those that can cause you the greatest happiness that ultimately will cause your deepest pain.

High bars

https://www.metalmulisha.com/2016/05/26/matt-buyten-trains-moto-x-step/

©Chris Tedesco

She stepped out of the train and slowly walked up to the escalator. For some reason she didn’t really want to rush like she always did. The thoughts had flooded her mind. Scenarios that may never be fulfilled. Wouldn’t it be great, she thought, if he was already there, waiting for her? But that wouldn’t happen. She already dismissed it from her mind. She walked out hurriedly heading towards the traffic lights, crossed the street, lost in her thoughts. And then she heard someone talking to her, a familiar voice that said “Honey, I’m calling you, but you won’t listen”. She turned and there he was, smiling as if nothing had been broken. He was there, waiting for her.

Now she was expecting the door to open and see him walking in. She turned her head every time a sound was heard, her heart beating faster. But it was always some stranger. Then the time came, the bells rang and she had to leave.

He didn’t come. And reality hit her hard.

Because things like that only happen in movies, not in real life.

The problem with setting the bar too high is that the higher up it is, the more it hurts when it falls.

It happens in an instance. Like the tremours of a violent earthquake during a vicious storm devastating everything in its passage.

As with everything in life, we all have expectations of how things will turn out to be. We dream and hope that it will all be realised in that idyllic way we have formulated in our head.

But they don’t always. Hardly ever. Rarely so.

Our expectations become illusions. Unfulfilled dreams of what could have been.

They say things happen for a reason. But you never truly get to find out what the reason is. You are only granted a glimpse of it when it no longer matters.

And your love becomes hate, but deep down it’s actually sorrow of time lost spent not being happy.

You end up disappointed when you realise that people don’t do for you what you do for them. Not everyone has the same heart as yours.

We set the bars high because we want people to prove us wrong, that there can be those who care enough to try harder and persist. We raise our expectations in the hope of finding the people who will intensify their performance to meet them, who will do what best they can to make them a reality.  In the end, you shouldn’t be sorry for having high standards; people who really want to be in your life will rise up to meet them.

“The greater danger for most of us lies not in setting our aim too high and falling short, but in setting our aim too low and achieving our mark” – Michelangelo Buonarroti

The meddling witch

http://images.all-free-download.com/images/graphicthumb/abstract_wave_310428.jpgShe looked grotesque. Dressed in black with straw-like hazel hair. Her hooked nose matched her raspy voice and her jagged teeth. She was a witch in all her honour. Her obsession: to meddle in people’s lives.

Just when everything seemed right, she would swoop in and cause havoc. As though shaking a perfectly straight thread and causing it to tremble. It was those tremors that caused the fights, the disagreements, and the break-ups that ensued.

You never saw her coming. Because she always chose the moments of uttermost bliss. When people believed they were finally calm and happy. When things seemed to take on the right path. That is when the witch intruded. To spoil it all.

They called her Discord.

The load we carry

https://userscontent2.emaze.com/images/4669297c-d643-4dda-ac3f-b8c0aff979b2/67f85e5251c50b6c1e5307c671be83f1.pngTry to relax”. The voice was hoarse yet soothing. It had the tone of wisdom possessed by a mature person struck by many misfortunes in life. It was only fitting the Dr Hasbland would become a psychiatrist. He had been through so much – loss of loved persons, divorces, legal battles, evictions, foul play. He had seen a lot and experienced so much more than what his patients recounted.

Sergio was a special case. He went through extreme mood swings. The type where he could burst into anger and be tempted to light everything up in flames so as to cause as much destruction as possible, or where he would sit silently hidden from the world, pondering the vanity of it all as he could not contain the tears running from his eyes. It was a type of bipolar disorder, but only so much worse. Dr Hasbland had witnessed it first-hand in his office.

“Focus on one spot. Do you see the whirlwind? Look into that and try to free your mind. Forget everything that is bothering you and try not to think about anything for now. Relax”.

They had tried a lot of counselling and recommendations, but none of it seemed to work. It would only minimise the frequency of the mood swings, not their essence.

Hypnosis was the last resort. Dr Hasbland was certain this bipolar-ism was a consequence of a childhood trauma.

And he was right.

Because in the hypnosis, Sergio awakened a beast. One that remembered how he was mistreated as a child but blackmailed into not saying anything ever, and how that ordeal stayed with him, scarring his very psyche and causing him to become so extremely paranoid at times. He had to say it out loud, all that he had been through, so he could release his soul of the burden he was carrying for so long.

When he awoke, Sergio remembered nothing. But he felt lighter. In some way relieved. The mood swings soon disappeared and he managed to take on a different approach to life. One more positive, where he would see the brightness of things and not the bad that could come from them. It is the things we carry with us that cause the most damage in the end.

Flowery secrets

flowers-and-packing-boxes-dale-r

©Dale Rogerson

So what did he do?

Huh?

The flowers. He must have done something in need of a cover-up”.

No. Not Matthew”. Erika’s smile seemed to radiate from inside of her. She gleamed as she reminisced of last night and blushed as she realised everyone was staring at her.

So you mean to say he brought you two flower arrangements for no reason?

Yes, that’s what love is”. She sighed as she sneaked a peak of the newly-acquired ring that shone on her left hand. It had happened suddenly.

His card this morning read “thank you for lighting up my life”.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Culinary art

https://tallypress.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/malaysia-top-10-cooking-classes.jpgEating is a necessity, but cooking is an art”, and like any profession, hobby or job even, no-one is born great at it, you learn by doing.

Jonathan wanted to be a chef since he saw his grandmother use a whisk to prepare his favourite cookie dough. Until his early teenage years, he never really questioned where this sublimely tasting mixture came from. But once he saw how it was prepared, he wanted to learn the secret so he could “always have abundance”. That’s the problem with us humans: we always want more.

He slowly found that cooking relaxed and calmed him. It was a mindful act that produced something worthwhile in the end, and he loved the compliments he received for the end produce.

He discovered that he could make his food as healthy, as sweet, as spicy, as exotic and as imaginative as he liked. Because in his kitchen, he was in charge. What was most exciting about it all, is that, sometimes, even food had an image, a memory, a story to associate with it. And that was one additional thing that brought people together.

Jonathan became a chef. And he realised that the secret ingredient to every recipe, just like in life, was to do whatever you did with love and passion.

Remorse in a ‘hello’

phone-booth-jhc

©J Hardy Carroll

Aaron had left abruptly, slamming the door as he went. Vanessa had begun shrieking again. She was upset and the fighting had drained her. He couldn’t handle it. Leaving was what he knew how to do best. Pretending nothing happened and hoping the black clouds would soon disappear restoring their relationship to the rainbows.

Vanessa knew it took effort and sacrifices. From both sides. Every good relationship, like a dance, required two equal partners going the same way. It was hard, but nothing good came easy.

He contemplated, then lifted the phone and dialled. Her ‘hello’ was filled with tears.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

The sweet lure

http://gallery.yopriceville.com/Backgrounds/Lollipop_Candy_Background#.WXDf7OlLfIUIt was used as an enticement to lure her into doing the things she should when she was little. To eat all her food, to take a bath, to clean her room, sometimes even to go to school or take something to her aunt’s down the street. A lollipop of any form or taste was her temptation. Antonia could be drawn into doing almost anything if promised candy on a stick.

When she grew older though, the lollipops became less frequent. She had gained a sense of responsibility and obligation and didn’t really need a lure to do the things she knew she should. But at holidays and big events, she would always feel the urge to have one – to feel its stickiness on her fingers and its sweetness on her tongue. It was something she had associated with her childhood and with the innocence that came with it. And it was this that would accompany her own children when time came. It was a sweet lure that would progressively teach them to act without its necessity. Because everyone needs an incentive at first. And a sugary treat is something few can refuse.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Lollipop

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