The silent Mayhem of beautiful Minds

Never in his life, did he thought too much about romance, until he met this woman who made him wonder whether it’s hysteria or love. He debated his way out of this comedy in his head, thinking it’s impossible that it’s the latter.

No, how could it be?

How can someone you just met a few days make you feel heavy in your heart but ironically makes you want to feel the feel of it? He asked himself this question in his head while she talked about the book she was reading and threw some lame jokes he labeled as boring. Well, that’s just his way of teasing her—to battle against the strong wind that brings him closer to her, like she’s a destination. A place destined for him to live in, or perhaps maybe a home. But he fights it, he fights the urge to look at her more than just how he used to look at girls.

She rolled her eyes and turned her back as a sign of unspoken surrender of losing a debate with him. And then sighed a deep sigh for an ambiguous picture of a future together. With her right hand sandwiched between her right cheek and her soft comfy pillow, she looked past the window and wondered how many girls he had slept with. With his charm and wit, she bet he could’ve easily made his way through their hearts, like how he managed to do with hers.

But ofcourse she would never admit it, she was quite smart enough to know it’s wrong to tell him how safe and heavenly she felt sleeping next to him and observing how his soul of masculinity seemed to overpower his femininity—in the sexiest ways of humanness. No, it’s wrong, what if she scares him away?

She liked him, well, she likes him very much but she feared the idea that he doesn’t like him the way she does.

Little did she know, that he cogitated more than she did as he studies the artistic view of her naked flawless back when she turned around. He wondered how come he’s so drawn to her, not just with what her skin shouts, but more with the language her eyes speak that required neither words nor voice. He wanted to trace his fingers from the abstract beauty of her nape down to the edge of her spine to savor the perfection of it but hesitated for a split second because he thought he should just play it cool.

Or should he, really?

Would it hurt much if he would make an exception? He thought, maybe she wouldn’t mind so he stopped battling against it and moved as close as he can, spooned her with his warmth and breathed near the outlines of her left ear.

The hair of her skin stood like it’s being magnetized by a powerful invisible sense as he embraced her from behind. He whispered something to her but she didn’t mind listening—the beats of her heart was louder as it raced like there’s a zombie apocalypse, like she should run for her life, or should she?

Isn’t this moment something she would want to freeze if she could?



Wrote this at almost 2am here in Iceland, ugh I couldn’t sleep 😂

I never stopped

It was ten past 7 o’clock in the evening when he showed up in my doorstep. Only if I knew he’s coming, I should’ve atleast put some makeup on. Hell yes, that was the first thing I thought. To my astonishment, I just stared at him and stood like a statue that was too fragile I could possibly break into pieces as my heart throbbed swiftly for being shocked. I was surprised because never did I expect him to go back, not today, not ever.

I didn’t know how long it took for me to fathom the level of reality in front of me that I’ve only pictured a few times in my reveries. He’s still looking gorgeous, so beautiful it hurts.

Tell me, what to do? Should I hug him or not? Should I stop my tears from bursting out? Or just let it all out and punch him gently on his chest multiple times so he would take me into his arms, that probably would anesthesize the pain I’ve built up for so many years. Tell me, what to do?

If I would ask him why he left, would his excuse matter? Would that change the depths of anger seething inside me and would he be able to atleast lessen it? No, I don’t think so. I should ask him what he’s doing here, but I don’t really wanna know. No, it don’t matter no more.

A few minutes passed, maybe two or three or five, or maybe more, I’m not really sure, I still haven’t uttered a thing. Not even a sigh, nor a smile. I looked down to break the tension in our eyes, and there I saw that he’s wearing the shoes I bought him for our 1st anniversary.


Took a deep sorrowful breath and exhaled it with so much intensity and put both my hands on my waist, still not looking up, convincing my tears not to fall. Please, oh, please not now. You can do this, be brave, please be brave. I kept on saying this at the back of my mind.

And then goosebumps arrived.

He held my chin up with his right hand, so I can meet his eyes again. Tears were present in every corner of his deep melancholic eyes. Tears that soon fell the moment he blinked. And in half a second, I just found my face buried in his chest, electrified by the warmth of his skin, like being magnetized and leaving no space to breathe.

Five years. Five fucking long years since I felt this. This moment flashbacked all the memories, all those times that we were happy. And we were mostly happy I even wondered why, what happened to us? What went wrong? What did I do? Was it me or was it you?

The voice inside whispered to me saying I must let go, but the heart wants what it wants thus I closed my eyes and let my heart overrule and let feelings overflow.

“I still love you. I never stopped. No, I never stopped loving you. No matter what I do, wherever I go, you were there. Always there. I know I shouldn’t be here, but something’s telling me I should. All these years, many signs have showed me I should come and see you again, even in my dreams, but I kept on ignoring them. And I’m sorry if it has to take this long.” He said these words the moment he released from the embrace, pressing my arms with so much guilt and sadness that freed the tears from my eyes. I could no longer hold it, this was too much.

I was about to tell him that it’s okay. That I’m glad to see him, that I never stopped loving him too. But it was too late.

“Honey, is everything alright? Do we have a visitor?” Dave’s voice echoed in the living room that sent cold shivers from my nape down through my spine, I was momentarily frozen.

“It’s just the delivery guy, Honey. Everything’s alright!” I almost shouted with a fluctuating voice I only hoped my husband didn’t notice that I was lying.

I pushed him slowly for him to get out, closed the door and leaned my back against it. He then touched my face with his cold hands and told me, “It’s okay. I just came here for closure. I don’t know if you need it, but I do. I’m sorry for everything, I hope you can forgive me. Be happy, okay?”

I nodded quite slowly and smiled at him as he took his hands off my face and walked away. It felt like the pain I had inside me was suddenly replaced by relief. He was right, we needed this closure. It wouldn’t matter no more to find out why he left, because that will no longer change the fact that I now belong to someone else.

Before I lose sight of him, I called his name, ran to him and told him the words he deserves to hear.

“I forgive you. Be happy, okay?”


And that was the last word I heard from him. He then kept on walking and never looked back.



The Girl who was undressed by Evil


They tore everything that warms her and all that makes her human. They played with her, tortured her hard and destroyed her—raw, naked and sore. She was seething up to the innermost level of her core, but she’s also terrified. What they did was completely inhuman, because they’re not human! She might be out of her mind to reckon that it’s possible, but she absolutely knew what she felt despite being blindfolded in utter darkness.


She was pushed violently by the wind til her back magnetised on a cold smooth wall that felt like she plummeted from the sky with such indescribable level of pain, which was only the beginning. Something then forced both her hands and her feet to form an X figure against a wall—something, not someone.. definitely not the hands of a man, but something she couldn’t figure yet. She tried to fight the invisible force, but she’s too weak for it. Each time she protested, her wrists and ankles got burnt by what felt like handcuffs of fire. Two layers of half inch braces of fire that murdered her soul as they smashed her clothes til nothing is left to cover her body.

She’s totally naked and it frightened the hell out of her. She was crying and shouting for help, in her mind at least, because no matter how much she tried to scream, no voice comes out of her mouth. No volume, no words. She couldn’t even literally open her mouth—her lips were glued together by what felt like a zipper of ice. Her mouth was instantly frozen and she became hopeless. Even more when she felt a rough yet sensual touch running down slowly from her neck down to her breasts, circling its way over and over, making an infinity sign and then stopped as it reached her nipples. The instant they were pressed, she was electrified by some unknown intense lightning that made her pulse beat incredibly fast like it’s going to explode, like a bomb installed inside her body with a mixture of both pain and pleasure. It was, however, inexplicably painful for the most part. She felt like her nerves were replaced by something hard like of a metal or aluminum or platinum whatsoever, she had no idea at all. Whatever it is, it felt like she was robotized from within with such excruciating pain that in her mind made her wish they just kill her and let her die.

She then felt her blood running down her thighs that made her even weaker. The flow of the blood that comes out of her womanhood became faster and heavier, like a shower raining down all the liquid from her body she wondered why she’s still conscious after all.

When she’s all exhausted, a tube was suddenly sucked inside her vagina like a huge IV inserted upon her, replacing all the blood they drained out of her with something immensely hot. Whatever they put in inside her rapidly kicked in, reaching her brain with a bang that panicked her whole system. She hysterically vibrated non-stop like being possessed by some demonic spirit that magically granted her with an incredible strength she was able to remove the unbreakable fire-like handcuffs. She fell onto the ground that subsequently sent her into a complete blackout…

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“Have courage and be kind, Darling..”


My mother used to tell me this when I was little. Back then I couldn’t really fathom its depth, neither what it meant to me, nor how it would have an impact in my life. Until a surprising event altered our lives—and my life as an only child.

Let me tell you a short story. A story of my life.

My mother was a chain-smoker and a frustrated writer. She didn’t get to publish her creations, but to me she was the best writer in the world. She has written countless fiction stories that she would read to me during bed time. She’s so creative, her imagination is limitless. She told me I was her inspiration, that most of the qualities of the protagonists in her stories are the ones she hoped I would have one day when I grew up. Sadly, I didn’t get any of them. I grew up disappointing her for being the girl who did not possess such character of a princess of strength. I just couldn’t be who she wanted me to be. I tried, but I failed. Expectations unmet, promises undelivered. I promised her I will continue what she has unfinished. That I will write stories that will change the world. But I couldn’t, I just couldn’t do it.

She would usually say, “Write a novel and put your heart in it. A fiction with words that would speak of love and inspiration.” Not the exact same words and tone of voice because for sure, she would have said it better. She’s my idol, but I despise the idea that she smokes two pack of cigarettes a day. She said that it helps her become more creative, hence I wasn’t able to do anything to stop her.

Unfortunately, it has taken its heavy toll on her.

Fast forward to today, my mother couldn’t even remember me. She has Stage 4 breast cancer and dementia, as per the doctors, which they said has nothing to do with her smoking that much cigs. How come? And why her? Every single day from the time we found out she was very sick, I have anticipated the nightmare of losing her and being alone. I’m scared, really scared. Nevertheless, I’m happy that she’s still with me, that I could take care of her, even though my Idol in her was now gone.

She would usually call me Ella or Mina, some of the girls from her stories. And then last night, I came home and saw her lying in her bed, staring blankly out of nowhere. I took advantage of that moment to study her, to remember all the memories we have shared when she was still sane. I felt that pinch in my heart, like a stab in the chest, but no blood came out. I then wished my mum comes back, even just for a short while, I murmured.

And even before the tears run down, she looked at me as if she’s calling me to come right beside her. So I did. I held her hand and closed my eyes as I rub them in my cheeks. My way of telling her how much I miss her and her bedtime stories. And when her left hand brushed my hair, I could no longer hold the tears from falling. They fell hastily like a bird who needs freedom. I freed all the tears my eyes could release. And she spoke to me the words she would always tell me when I was young:

“Have courage and be kind, Darling..” she wiped my tears and smiled after saying those words. My wish was granted. My mother’s sanity was back, she’s back and she remembered me!

Ah, really? Guess not…

“Ella, call your father and tell him the dinner is ready!”, she said in peremptory fashion, just like how Ella’s mother in her stories would do. I just sighed in utter frustration. Subsequently, she kept on coughing non-stop, I quickly prepared a glass of water and searched for her meds—there I saw a bunch of them scattered in her drawers. My mother has been cheating, she hasn’t been taking her meds all this time. Guess she really wants to leave, to leave me, and she left me with such words that used to be blurry.

That same night, she closed her eyes, so peacefully I could almost see an angel giving her wings so she could fly.

And now that I’m alone, I get it. To have courage and to be kind would probably be the only thing I could instil in me, and this time, I won’t disappoint her.

I promise, Momma, I will have courage and be kind. Always. 



(This story was inspired by the Cinderella movie I just watched an hour ago through Fox Movies Channel. The title was mentioned several times it got stuck in my head I had to write it down this way. Thanks for reading!)

Image source: Pinterest