Ecstatic Epiphany | Quick Piece

Towards the sunset we walked with your hand in mine. A small sense of peace and security overcame me and my heart fluttered with joy. “I just can’t believe it.” I whispered. He rolled his eyes and nudged my shoulder. “Here she goes again. She’s having an epiphany, everyone!” I laughed and nudged him back, a little harder. “Don’t make fun of me! I’m just really happy and it’s been such a long time.” He smirked at me and whispered, “That’s only because we’re getting ice cream.” I laugh and darted into the store and found the ice cream section. He stood next to me, ogling along and said, “I’m going to have to get a job. All of these flavors sound so good.”

Here I am sitting with you under the setting sun with the sweet taste of the simple vanilla on my tongue. Without a word, I glance at you, your face glowing from the ending day and I kiss you on the cheek. “What was that for?” you said, your mouth full of ice cream. I shrug and respond, “I don’t know.” Silence falls as the night wraps its arms around us. He pulls me closer, saying “I’m happy too.”

Unconfined Thoughts 28 – Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

My hair is thinning and it coats my bedroom floor. Every time I get up from my bed or from my chair, the hair drifts around my feet and I’m reminded of my stress. Like a considerate person, you ask, “What are you stressed about?” I pull a face, shrug and I’m already dissociating when I say, “I don’t know!”

Every morning, I pull back the curtains and a stream of light streams in. I expect to be knocked off my feet as a realization that things aren’t as bad as I make them to be. Half-way through the day, I open the window to air out the stale air and hope that the cool breeze can help me stop losing hair.

On an odd Tuesday morning, I pick up the broom and sweep away all the stray hairs. Enough has cumulated that it’s enough if you gathered it into your hands, it would look like a hamster from the distance when in reality, it’s all the hair that’s taken the jump. I sigh loudly so that it echoes my mind, but not loud enough so that I can do anything about it. It lingers before it drifts away just like each day as the sun comes and goes, allowing time for night to fall.

The Beasts of the Grey | Poetry Breakdown

Hello everyone,

I hope this summer has been good to you so far!

The Beasts of the Grey

“I swear, it’s that squeaking fan.”
she mutters, glaring down the rotating metal,
clanking and blowing cool air around the room, yet
for some reason her mind remains hot and unsettled.
Down the street, she hears trucks driving
from point A to
point B with the latest summer hits, hotter than the summer sun
but her envious heart feels as cool as the end of Christmas.

Blood drips from her nose and she leaps to a start.
“What in the world! Why is my nose bleeding?”
The bright red color illuminating all life shakes her to the core
as she’s reminded of her origin story,
starting from two into a beautiful unification to multiplication.
She stares at the veins crisscrossing on her hands and
wishes she could see the blood racing around like messengers.
All she feels is the startling pulsating
and the quietness of her soul
and the words, stuck.

Thunder strikes the sky in frightening allure,
the roar quickening the pulse housed in her chest.
Her eyes remain glazed, glossy, gilded with a sheer covering of
tears, the supposed material of renewal.
Lightning flashes across the city, catching her eyes
as she looked for where it came from and all she could see
was a sea of grey, ominous and looming.
She wonders after a spark of color finally floods her fears,
drowning them and wiping them afresh.
“Where are the whales that swim in this sea?”

If you got a sad connotation from this poem, then you’re on the right track. This poem is meant to give off the vibe of helplessness in the ordinary, but with struggled attempts to better things. For those who have been reading my works, you’ll know that there is always a line where I tie everything together and oftentimes, that line is the spark of hope even in a sadder poem.

Basically this poem’s motive is to inspire getting out of a lackluster situation, specifically loneliness. We’ve all dealt with loneliness before ranging from you’re walking by yourself to being at a party, but finding no one you could relate with. With the narrator in the poem, she seems to be pretty trapped within herself especially with the act of pulling herself together. There are bought of frustration (the squeaking fan) and distractedness, yet in the end, the color comes back to life.

In the first stanza, it’s obvious that she’s envious of people traveling and doing things, but with the second stanza, she starts to ground herself and finds perspective in remembering who she is and where she came from. I took it literally and wrote about conception, the origin of life. And in the third stanza, the narrator is literally startled into a new state of thinking, breaking free.

This leads onto the title of the poem, The Beasts of the Grey. It’s meant to be a double entendre with the mention of the whales at the end of the poem and the “beasts” that can be anything that troubles you and the “grey” would be the mind. The main focus of the poem are those “beasts” that live in the “grey”, which often times we choose to hide instead of dealing with.

I hope you enjoyed the poem!

Alice

Randal | Quick Piece Breakdown

Hello everyone,

I hope enjoyed my funny little story, Randal! First of all, let me apologize for the bad timing of my posts. Last week, I was traveling so that botched up my schedule a little. Hopefully everything will be sorted out soon.

No surprise — this story was inspired by a picture I saw of a duck casually sitting in the toilet. I was also having trouble coming up with a story at that time and when I was aimlessly scrolling, I happened to gaze upon that lovely duck. Voila, a story I never thought I would create, but it’s posted publicly with the starting lines I found a duck in the toilet today.

Personally, I wanted it to be a purely silly story. Instead, it turned into a story with an underlying meaning of “take it easy”. Like a little message to myself, take it easy.

Fun fact: I picked the name, Randal randomly and I was happy that the meaning of the name means, adventurous!

Anyways, I hope you liked my story!

Alice

Randal | Quick Piece

I found a duck in my toilet today. Usually I’m never at my brightest self in the morning, but I knew that something wasn’t right. I closed my eyes and screamed, hoping that it would go away, that I was still dreaming and that I should’ve eased up on my work. Instead, I heard a dignified quack and gave up on a shower. I sighed and headed back to my room, changed into my running gear and found myself pounding two miles with ease. Yet, with each step I took, the to-do list in my head grew longer and I couldn’t wait to get home.

When I got home, my roommate now cradling the duck, greeted me. “That duck was yours?” I said without thinking. “You know it was sitting in the toilet.” She laughed and shook her head. “Oh, classic Randal. He always likes to get himself into weird places. Wherever there’s water, he’ll be there.” I continued staring at her. The duck quacked at me and I frowned. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you that I got a pet duck. I just wanted to switch things up from a fish or a cat. Anyways, his name is Randal and he’s pretty chill.” she casually said. I always knew she was a strange one, but she always knew how to keep things interesting. I sauntered into my room and heard the soft padding of the duck’s feet following me and quickly slammed the door before it made its way to me. From a distance, I could already hear my roommate calling out to the duck, the duck’s feet softly padding back to her. I stripped down and wrapped a towel around myself and tip toed to the bathroom, glad that Randal wasn’t sitting in the toilet again. As the water ran down my back, I thought about work in a couple hours. Honestly, it’s so dreadful because all I do is make copies for my supervisor and bring him coffees and snacks whenever he wants. Technically I’m supposed to be the assistant, but I feel like I’m just his bitch. I shut off the shower and feel the cool breeze hit my wet skin when I hear a quack. Without peeling back the shower curtains, I screamed for my roommate. “Hey Adelina! Your fucking friend, Randal here is chilling with me in the toilet when all I want is some quiet and private time in the shower!” I squatted in the tub and wrapped my towel around myself, taking time to peek around the corner only to catch the gaze of the damn duck. “What you looking at, punk? You’re going to make me late.” It stared back at me and quacked again and I flipped it off. “Alright alright, I’ll come get my Randal.” my roommate came in and laughed, speaking directly to the duck. “Why do you love the toilet so much? You just love to chill in there, don’t cha?” I gave a sigh of relief once my roommate left with the duck, cradling it in her arms, ignoring the fact that toilet water was dripping down her arms. I dried myself and headed back to my room, got dressed and sat on my bed, savoring every minute before I had to go to work. As I was heading out the door, my roommate was sitting in the living room stroking the duck. She jokingly said, “Maybe you should learn to be like Randal — chill and adventurous.” For some reason, that phrase stuck with me and after I came back from work, I wandered over to the bathroom in hopes of seeing Randal. Instead, I found him sitting in my room, looking as content as ever. Slowly, I approached it and whispered, “Who knows, maybe I could learn a thing or two from you.” In acknowledgement, the duck softly quacked back at me.

Unconfined Thoughts 27 – Public Service Announcement

When I was in middle school, I read about ridiculously good looking spies, aiding in the cause of protecting art. In high school, I found myself drifting towards books with a little less adventure, but I read about people who were the adventure, how they grazed the literal fabric of time in the between their fingers or battled against the injustices of the controlling. As time grew by and as I found less time to dream and expand my muscle of imagination, the stories that I created were painted with the base of my sorrows and joys. I cried about how I felt so lonely in my own mind and with other people. I furiously compiled words together to display my anguish with my failures, leaving space for the last sentence where I spelled out that I will try again. I happily wrote about my first love and filled with sorrow as I wrote about my heartbreak that was filled with naivety. And with shaking hands, I wrote about loss, grief and panic. The words know and hold me, cradling me into the comfort of the freedom of expression.

Now that I’m in college, I browse through the books and look upon them as study guides, a path of inspiration that I could gather. What could those who made it past the publishing press be writing about today? Books lining the shelves with instances of divorce, the chance and suspicion of an affair, and teenagers with too much unreasonable angst that their parents who might as well give up. Where has the hope gone, the spark of beauty in the world? Where has the simplicity of enjoying the beauty in the common gone? Who is the beholder of the words, even though it’s still free when it feels like it goes with the ebbs and flows of the damned society?

I apologize if any of you have had to deal with the misfortunes of life, but as your mother or someone of wisdom may have told you, we always learn from mistakes. Stand back up and try again. If we consistently preach about the comfort of home, with matching cushions for each season, then wouldn’t our backbone get weak?

You’re at a dinner party with a mix between your dear friends, co-workers and their friends whom you just met 45 minutes ago. To your left, someone whispers about a boring life despite recently married. To your right, someone gloats about their new promotion while three other people jealously congratulate them, turn to their spouses and tell them that they definitely don’t deserve it. And you? You smile and keep drinking, hoping that the hour would pass and everyone would pat their bellies and file out of the door where you’ll follow in suit — the proper etiquette.

Stupidity may be bliss, but as our mothers lovingly told us, we’re unique with a beautiful story behind us. The world has enough shit happening. Why don’t we help it out by adding some more colors?

 

Written: 7/7/17 3:00pm

Final Words | Quick Piece Breakdown

Hello everyone,

Right now, it’s kind of chilly where I’m at, which is weird since I thought it was summer! Anyways, I hope you liked Final Words.

This story was sparked by a conversation I had with my friend about what we would do if the world was going to suddenly end. It was a pretty interesting conversation and I don’t know about you, but I really enjoy talking about this stuff.

I wanted this story to not blend in with the rest of the “apocalypse” stories with the plot line going towards rushing away from disaster with a newfound lover or rushing towards government authorities to confront the issue or to write a story about someone panicking. I wanted to give a strong sense of odd calamity that radiated from the protagonist. I may have focused too much on getting the theme out and got too excited on writing an apocalypse story that I forgot about describing some key logistics.

I purposely decided to not describe who the person was that called the protagonist because it could be a family member or a lover, but the idea was to remember even in the hardest times, there is always hope. Sounds cheesy? Sorry, but even though it’s a simple concept, these ideas tend to escape our mind when we’re in the midst of a conflict. I wrote this story kind of as a reminder to myself.

I hope you enjoyed the story! Also, please leave me suggestions for Noble Chats!

Alice

PS. I didn’t actually state that the protagonist died from the comet, but comets are pretty intense. It’s up to you to decide!