348

Story #348 – Today’s accident

There he is again, he is everywhere, Today, on all our streets and in every window, at the top of every taller building, looking only halfway down. He is wearing his furniture buttoned up, creased and polished, opening his mouth in creaks, light and food inside, darkness when it closes. Today, his hair smells too fresh, he has just vacuumed it. He’s drawn the curtains across his eyes, always seems to be sleeping, while his brain glows out of its blue glass case, muted. His desires are framed upon his walls, all the resolutions and obsessions, brand names and faces like magnets slipping and sliding. He takes what he wants, stabbing with his fork fingers, collecting with his spoon palms. He breathes in and out without a thought, he accepts everything.

He crosses a road he has crossed many times but collapses before he is on the opposite side. A truck quivers loudly to a stop before his flailing, limpid parts. There are some worried passersby who are worried enough to pause and turn toward the disheveled body. Some come close. Some come closer. There must have been a tornado here, and it has passed through, dropping this house into many pieces. Everyone laughs at the broken house, the bathtub standing embarrassed in the midst of this perfectly designed destruction, growing cracks and filled with fresh dust. The truck driver is relieved, he is laughing with everyone.

There was nothing inside to begin with, just a box to fit into. Everyone knew that, it’s so familiar, so ordinary.

– Suchi Rudra, Texas

347

Story #347

Gary Radiomac was quite the man. His black mullet, aviator glasses, and manly jawline were all classic trademarks. As for clothes- well, Gary liked to change things up a bit. Sometimes, he would wear his blue and white shirt with white bell-bottoms, accompanied by classic loafers. But when Gary was feeling particularly funky, he would put on his golden jumpsuit and platform shoes, close his office door and blast the full Saturday Night Fever soundtrack for all to hear. Sometimes, his assistant Carol would tell him to keep the volume down, because of a meeting outside. Ha. Gary didn’t listen her. He was the boss, man. Editor of The Daily Man Newspaper since 72´, the year of his birth, nobody told him what to do. He was king. Oh yeah.

– Gary Gerry Radiomac, Perth

346

Story #346

I am a INTJ male who is currently suffering ego death.

I am realizing that the world around me is fabricated, shattered and torn whole by the loss of my vestige. She left me after 3 years of complete dedication. It has been a month, and my mind is still reeling from the fact I can’t fall asleep next to her again, nor share a laugh, hold her hand, touch feet as we sleep..

Here is my entirety. I am a compulsive liar, so I will tell you fact about me firstly, then elaborate so that way I am avoiding lying to you.

I am 21 Years old. I was born in Concord, NC in 1996, to C. P. and an unknown father. I grew up under the name of Price for 2 years, as my father was abusive, controlling and a drug addict. After several attempts on my mothers life and mine, she fled under witness protection to Kentucky. After a few years, My step-father entered the picture. At the age of six, I had already experienced Alcohol, Homosexual rape, loneliness, and loss. It seems tiny, comparitively in my mind, but I had to watch my childhood pet be put down, and buried. That was my first loss.

In 2004, I moved to Fort Sill, OK. Here I reside currently, and this is where my story takes a darker turn. My life was shook as my parents were still in their 20’s and partying. Booze was an all-time factor in my life, and to this day I can remember the sounds of soldiers fighting outside my window, the sound of glass breaking, and wondering if someone was going to come into my room and hurt me at 2 in the morning.

They did their best to raise me, put me on a pedestal. I came into my academic talents early at this point, throwing myself into school and achieved the top scores of my class, almost exclusively Sciences. I was put in the G&T program, and later advanced to MENSA, and International MENSA.  My parents never let this bar down, and held me to achieving my best, although my talents only went so far.

In 2006, Mother had a breast reduction done by Dr. Nuveen, as per back problems. After 5 grueling days in the living room, we discovered massive internal bleeding. He had left a Artery in the back open, and leaking into her chest cavity. This condition developed into something worse, and due to my childhood knowledge, I to to this day don’t remember what it is. She ended up dying on the table, for a recorded time of 1 Minute, 45 seconds. I was sitting outside the room when this happened. I heard the flatline, and I ran into the bathroom. Too weak to express my anger, too strong to crumple. I sat in that room screaming anguish. I knew what that sound meant, but she came back. I plead with a god I didn’t and don’t believe in then. I’ve only ever done it 3 times in my life. This was the first and only time it was about my mother.

Later, after a troubled high school, drugs, amateur crime, depression and self harm, I developed into the man I am today, who somewhat collectively gathered himself. I moved out at the age of 17, graduated at 18, and got my own place with a roommate in 2014.

2014 was possibly the worst year for me, save for one thing. I met this girl, named Andrea K. We began dating through my friend Dean, who was her cousin. During 8th grade, I flirted with her and then fell asleep and my friend got nudes and spread  them, sadly, so she hated me throughout high school. I got her to listen to my story, and she forgave me. Not the last time that would happen..

Either way, after sacrificing special time with my family and loved ones, my Grandmother passed away at 6:55 in the morning on Nov 4. She was the one who was there when my parents were. She showed me what compassion, knowledge, and what listening can do for someone. She showed me how considering other’s thoughts mattered, and how wise it was to try to understand, even if you don’t want to.

My world crumpled in 2014. She was with me until April 3, 2015. In December I hurt her badly, I broke her little heart. She was weak, and I knew it, and still, the one rule she had was I don’t masturbate. Which, I find biologically necessary but still, I lied to her every day about it.

She left me, and I wanted her back. The want drove my inner self to the walls. I cracked in May, on the 16th, her birthday, and went suicidal. I sliced my wrists 159 times on each arm, up and down for results kids, sideways for punishment. Punishment for my sins. I spent a week faking happiness and rightfulness to my Therapists, who gave me pills to make me robotic, but couldn’t break my inner walls, so I continued my depression. After getting out, it took 2 days for me to start slicing myself again. The anxiety and sin built up underneath my skin caused me to bleed it out. I lost count halfway through the tears, and frenzied myself. I was admitted again, and got out June 6th, 2015 again, and moved into my friends Blakes after finding solace in my parents. 3 months later, they left, and I swallowed close to 1.5 grams of pills. The lethal dose for Trazodone is close to .4. I remember eating those pills out of my puke, wanting to die so badly. I ate every single one, and passed the fuck out. The next day I woke up, puked three times, then went back to sleep, unable to walk. The second day, I woke up and my eyes wouldn’t follow where my brain was telling them to go. I thought I was suffering my sacrifice of not being able to man up and end it. I was going to die a slow death. I remember a golden light telling me to wake up, so I did. I got back up. A couple of days later she texted me again. It started out slow, and I loved it. I had my precious back. My entire world. My galaxy. I do not exist without her in the center..

For that reason, when we got back together Sept. 16, 2015, I dedicated every piece of myself to this girl. Even if I lust for another, I never chase. Even if I look, I do not touch. I can want, but know I shall never have. For the solution to all was her. I found happiness, solitude, gratefulness, a reason to wake up, in her.

We fought quite a lot. I won’t lie, it’s mostly my fault, since I ruined her sense of trust and love, however I will say I took her happiness, I was, am, a selfish person. I make rash decisions, and the internal part of my mind only cares about this vessel of my body wants.

We both found dedication and love in eachother though. I wanted nothing more than waking up next to her every day, and everyday so far this month, as of July 9th, 2017, I have been without.

I sacrificed my parents moving to Maryland in 2015, when we weren’t together, for her. I sacrificed time with my grandmother, for her. I asked her to marry me, for her. I worked, got up, despite my self hate, my desire to lie down and die, to give up every day. She means the world to me, and now that we’re apart, I have lost my drive. I have no desirable skills. I have no wants, no needs, nothing that people want or need, excluding my ability to DM in D&D, that’s the only want. People like me because I get good at my passions. That’s it.

So here I am, again for a third time in my life, suffering loss. It is a feeling I hate. I have a loss of purpose, a loss for reason to sustain myself. I feel like wasting away. To commit suicide, and leave this nonpeaceful life away from me. I do not want to want her and she spurn me, to find another man.

It hurts man.
I’m broken. I have no will anymore. No drive. No purpose. I am ready to give up.
The only reason why I’m venting is to last long enough to visit my family, and on Oct. 4th, when I get back home, I’m going to do it. I’ll have seen my little brother, my mother, my father. I’ll have given him a memory to hold onto, to happiness, and to have held my mother like she held me when I was scared as a child. I’ll have shook my fathers hand as a man.

As a human being, I am stepping over the cliff soon. I cannot wait to fall, and see where I land.

Thank you for listening. You don’t have to draw me a picture.

– Zack, Lawton

345

Story #345

Chrysanthemum was not a particularly nice cat, despite her mother’s best attempts at raising her. She would scratch and hiss and just generally be unpleasant to be around. The only person who actually liked her was the sweet little kitten that lived next door. Her name was Pansy and she would follow Chrysanthemum around from dawn to dusk, mewing quietly. This annoyed Chrysanthemum greatly, but she put up with Pansy for some unknown reason, allowing her to go everywhere with her. One day, Pansy brought some friends with her. Their names were Basil, Clover and Daffodil, and they too followed Chrysanthemum around all day. Slowly this group grew and grew, until there were nearly fifty kittens following Chrysanthemum around as she went about her business. It was quite a sight to see as she stalked down the street, her band of followers skipping happily behind her. One day they didn’t show up. Puzzled and slightly worried, Chrysanthemum knocked on Pansy door, learning from her mother that today was there first day of school. Chrysanthemum was heartbroken. For days she barricaded herself in her house, refusing to leave for anyone or anything. Eventually she decided what she had to do. She did not leave her house for many more months, and the noise coming from it allowed nobody on her street to get a wink of sleep. Finally, she emerged, revealing what she had been tirelessly working on. A school!

– Coffee M. Ug, Cairo

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Story #344

Around two years ago, My father passed away. I felt so sad. I go to tell him. I hope he can give me some support from his heart. But nothing. That time, I think about whether our relationship is close or not. Maybe he worried to date me or text me during that time. Our connection was changed. Now, we still text each other as blessing on some festival or birthday, but we won’t invite to meet again. I don’t know the ending of our relationship, but I know he will not disappear in my heart. T.T

– Mey, Hong Kong

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Story #343

All my relatives aren’t all the same but Mara surely is one of a kind. Hard on the outside but soft on the inside, she’s a hard cookie to crack but that’s just one of the reasons why she’s my favourite relative.

Mara’s eyes are the color of dark cocoa edged with a deep forest-green, mixed, from her Samoan and German heritage. When you stare into her eyes, you can feel the warmth of the brown and the seductive green specks dancing around the edges. Her long luscious auburn waves cascade down her back flowing in the air like a butterfly’s drifting wings. With her ripped jeans and Comic t’s, her hipster urban style always makes her look like a rebellious rockstar. She’s like a skyscraper towering over me. A big teddy bear I know I can count on for a warm loving hug.

“ You can’t give up now. Come on Mu! You got this. Keep going. You’re almost there! I’m so proud of you! I knew you could do it.”

The encouraging and motivating sound of Mara’s voice always cheering me on for everything I do. For my netball and touch games, speeches, receiving awards and so on. Encouragement, just one of her many qualities. There’s never a dull moment with Mara either. She always seems to make a boring situation into something boisterous and competitive!

I remember when we were all in the car once and we had just got told off for being too loud and had to be quiet. Mara saw that my brother and I were really bored so she whispered to us and said “ let’s see who can keep a straight face. Who ever makes a sound their out. Okay?” Trying to hold everything in, we all blurted out, laughing!

Besides her encouraging and fun personality, I know I can always talk to Mara when I have problems. She always knows when I’m okay or if I’m not which makes me feel secure to know that I can always trust her. She always sees the bright side of a situation that seems so hopeless.

Mara’s more than a relative, she’s like a big sister to me, my best friend that I know I can always count on. She’s taught and helped me so much that I can’t even explain in words how much she means to me.

I know all relatives are different but Mara surely is one of a kind.

– Filemu, Auckland

342

Story #342

One time I was in bed and heard a knock at my door at my grandparents house. This took place at almost 2:40Am. Every night I stayed and was up on my tablet. The room was dark. The bed frame was backed against the wall and the door was to my right. I never investigated the knocking eversince I saw a figure on their stair way around the same time of opening the door. My grandparents were sleep. The dog was outside. The black cat was in the hallway and it was dark outside with only a copper lit colored light post. I tried to go back to sleep but it got louder to the point I turned the TV on. 5 minutes in, the TV shut off. I left my grandparents lamp on and fell asleep listening to vocaloid music. The next morning I didn’t wake up till 12 in the afternoon. Later that day my mother picked me up to take me home. I told her about what I experienced and she said it was probably a guardian angel trying to speak to me. This meant nothing to me cause I was getting bullied at school by my classmates until she told me she had a fear of the paranormal. For one time when she was little, she woke up around 2am and couldn’t move. She tried to shrug it off and get her mind off of it but was then dragged out of her room and was left sobbing and her family was very confused about the event in her perspective.

Ever since then, I’ve developed a connection with the lost souls that followed me since birth and there were plenty.

– Kaylena, Philadelphia

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Story #341

You would think that it would take something extraordinary, like a wand or some special phrase, to make magic happen. At least, that’s what I always thought. But she had none of those constrains. The only thing that gave her away was the small flash of excitement in her eyes as she began seeing the world from her fantastical perspective. If you were perceptive enough, and if she deemed you worthy, she would let you peek inside her world where boundaries were defined by the edges of her inventiveness. Surely, it was just a trick of the mind and most of the things she did conjure up were mundane objects like string or sticks. Sometimes, however, she would go beyond, making balls of fire radiating with heat or cuddly animals for us to pet. She would do this from time to time, even in rooms filled with strangers, to show to me that she could, that her willpower and imagination was strong enough to free me from the manacles of the mundane, in only for brief magical a moment.

– Albert Säfström, Stockholm

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Story #340

The Black Bear Murray was sad. Why was the Black Bear Murray sad? Because he wasn’t scary. Why wasn’t he scary? Because he couldn’t grizzle, he couldn’t roar, he couldn’t be a proper scary bear. Instead he was called the friendly bear. He hated being friendly. Unlike the other Bears, Black Bear Murray didn’t roar, instead… He meowed. Like a kitten. It wasn’t a scary meow, nor was it viscous. It was a small petite meow. Black Bear Murray hated his meow. It made him to different compared to the other bears. But to be honest Black Bear Murray wasn’t just different for his meow. he was also different for the clothes he wore. No other bear wore clothes. Just him. Black Bear Murray loved to wear his yellow gumboots, they were his favorites. He also liked to wear his dark “like the galaxy” purple bucket hat. But there was one item of clothing that he couldn’t resist wearing everywhere and everyday. And that item of clothing was his hot pink, glittery leggings. Those leggings made him feel like a ballerina dancing on the soft, gentle morning breeze. He felt magical in them. But still Black Bear Murray was different. And he did not like it. And he thought to himself “maybe it is truly because of my meow. Oh how will I ever get rid of it”.

– Karmella, Auckland

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Story #339

For most woman , her life must go through a stage of turning from a girl to a mother. In recent years, more and more woman are engaging in important work in big company. For them ,personal value and self identification begin to be more important than before. So when an educated working women begin as a mother ,she will enter a special period that must stay around the baby all day time and can do nothing as before and she also will lose much time for staying alone and enjoying herself.

Lady M is an very typical example. Before she has children,she is a chief manager of a telecom firm, leading several subordinates,and always go shopping in Mall and having afternoon tea everyday. One afternoon ,she came in my cafe,taking with her little baby. At first ,she order an cheese cake and coffee for herself and milk for baby. Once she sit down to begin her coffee ,the baby began to cry, with the crying louder and louder. She began to be worried and tried to console the baby. But it doesn’t work, the baby began choked and breathed with difficulty. She became helpless and try to calm down the baby but failed ,She hold the baby to home for help. After half an hour, she came back with calm.

She order an cheese cake and coffee again and sit down herself alone . For a while ,she began to weep alone,sitting in the corner. She was so sad that we cant do anything and say anything of comforting words. I understand why she wept. Maybe she just wanted to enjoying a happy afternoon tea herself. But this wish came to nothing. It was disturbed by baby’s crying and choking. She was so helpless at this special period, She can’t go to work as before and also can’t act as a almighty mother. She felt useless of herself .
But even she was in such an awful period,the cafe was an quiet harbour for her,where she can burst into tears and her trapped emotion was released after that afternoon. In front of her family and baby ,she can’t cry suddenly and need to pretend to be strong ,kind,warm. But at here,in the cafe ,even in a short time,she can be herself.

– Freda Wong, Shenzhen