An abyss (a poem)

Something broken.

Something undone.

Something wrong.

Something dying.

It all is so different.

I just want to run.

Run and go.

To a different place.

And not fall

In an abyss.

 

Someone loud.

Someone laughing.

Someone crying.

Someone moving.

Images swim in my head.

I think I’m going mad.

So I have to go.

To a different place.

Don’t keep me here.

In an abyss.

 

Somewhere dark.

Somewhere calling.

Somewhere lost.

Somewhere falling.

Stumbling around, crying.

It’s all an illusion, I’m told.

But they were a lie.

So I’m leaving.

To a different place.

Unknowingly

To an abyss.

 

 

 

 

 

Fantasies are lies.

Fantasies are realities.

Yet realities are fantasy.

And reality’s a lie.

If pushed in dark murky water,

You will drown.

Yes, drown.

In darkness.

In sadness.

In a void.

Without anyone

To be with.

Remember your past.

Live in the present.

Run to the future.

Don’t live

In an abyss.

Micah: Short Story

Old Micah held the child closer to him. The little girl smiled, and gave a giggle. Micah frowned. This girl, a hybrid between elf and Immortal, should not have been named after her mother. That would be easier for her to find them.

“Isla,” Micah said, slightly changing her name. The little girl snapped her head to him, and he saw that she was full-elf, no matter if her father was an Immortal.

Where’s mother? she asked through her mind.

Micah almost jumped back. The girl, Isla, has the power of Mind. Micah was still recovering from his shock when she asked again, Where’s mother?

Micah was more experienced than Isla. But, before she grew older, she had to believe this one lie.

“Your father and mother are dead, Isla.”

The girl is silent for a few minutes more, thinking over his words. Then, she thought, What will happen to me?

Micah smiled, You’ll live with me.

At that point, they reached the meadow where the house was at. Micah walked up to the door, and opened it. Dust had settled over everything, but it was his fault for not coming here for years. He set the child down, and he lit a candle. After cleaning up a bit, he took some food out of his bag and gave it to Isla. She smiled, and said, Where are we?

He replied, Home.

The child grew, if not a bit faster than human children. But, then again, Micah kept her from all humans, elves, and dwarves, so she wouldn’t realize that not everyone has their power of Mind. If she found out, then she’ll be curious, and she’d leave. And then she’d be killed.

When Isla turned thirteen, she was a bright, fair child, with light blue eyes, long, pale blond hair. She never questioned Micah, and she was a good listener. But it all changed on midsummer’s eve.

Micah was growing weak. He had known it for so long, but he couldn’t worry Isla. Isla, the young girl who cared for him as a true daughter would. Unlike her mother. Micah just sent Isla on a trip to gather wild walnuts, when he sensed them. Barely a minute after, a woman walked in, followed by two men.

“Where is she?” the woman asked.

Micah stayed silent. His daughter did not deserve the truth.

“Where is she?” she asked, staring at Micah as if she could read his soul.

“Islana, she’s not here,” Micah said.

“She is. You’re just hiding her. You took my daughter. I had thought that you would have known the consequences,” Islana took a knife out of her pocket, “And you would have thought that my father would actually care for me and my children. I never was able to tell Wilem that he had a missing sibling.”

“Well, then, you aren’t the best mother around, are you?”

Islana’s piercing eyes threw daggers at Micah, “You took my only daughter away. And you somehow changed her name. Now, for the last and final time, where is she?”

“She must be around. Who knows? Anyways, she doesn’t remember you.”

“She does. She will always remember her mother.” Islana said coldly.

“She will not. She will become one of the Order of the Keepers, because she is strong enough to know the truth.”

Islana gazed at Micah, her eyes glimmering, “You know where the Keepers are?”

“Not that I would tell you.”

“Well, then, your fate is sealed,” Islana threw the dagger at Micah, silencing his heart. Then a sound like a moan came from the bushes. Islana whipped around, looking for her daughter. More rustling followed, and then silence.

Islana went outside, but she couldn’t find the source of the sounds.

But, someday, she will find her daughter.

But that day may be far from now.

A Girl Of Her Dreams: Part of Chapter 2

Chapter 2

In the middle of October 4th, we were eating when Kuya Jonathan brings it up.

“Hey, Emily, are you still planning to write a book?” he asks.

I nod slowly, “Yes…”

“Well, there’s this kind of competition, called NaNoWriMo. You write a novel in one month.”

“Well…isn’t it kind of hard?” I ask, even though I’m relishing the thought of a challenge.

“That’s the point. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. But I’m doing it, just to let you know,” he says, rising up from the table.

“No, no, wait! I really, really want to do this! I mean, I probably would finally be able to write a book!” I say, my voice growing excited.

“Okay, just go on the internet, and go to the website,” then Kuya Jonathan leaves.

I sit there for a few minutes, still deciding. Then I put my plate in the sink and ran up the stairs. Instead of going to my room as I usually do, I go into the toy room, which, as always, has boxes of toys, but three computers in it. I sit in a chair and wait for the computer to start up. While waiting, I think over my ideas for books.

The computer finally stops thinking, so I go on the internet and look up NaNoWriMo, though I accidently spell it nanoremo.

Going through the results, I go to the National Novel Writing Month website, guessing that it’s what Kuya Jonathan was talking about. Reading through everything there, I feel a smile on my lips. I stop suddenly, wondering why I was smiling.

I click the icon saying “Start Here!” and I fill in everything. But only then until I reach a checkbox saying “I am at least of 13 years of age”. I was about to click it, ignoring that one rule, when I stopped. When I publish my book, or books, I won’t be able to hide that one secret, unlike all the others. So I try to submit it, but it wouldn’t allow me.

I feel the tears build up, and then I’m immediately angry at myself. Why was I crying over this small little thing? I guess I placed too much hope in it. I placed too much hope in having something to do other than mope around all day.

I promise myself that I’ll try again tomorrow.

A Girl of Her Dreams: Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

I still feel my cheeks stinging. My shoulder still is sore. I don’t care. I’m tired of it. The tears fall down my cheeks, and I have only a second to get the pillow before I actually start sobbing.

I don’t know why we do it, Nathan and I. We fight almost every day. Sometimes just because of a little thing. But no one believes me when I say that Nathan hit me first. Even if it’s the truth. They always believe the little boy, the boy who used to be the baby of the family.

I used to be the spoiled girl, because I was the only little girl with three women to take care of me. But, after Ninang Joy and Ninang Leah both left, and Mom went to nursing school and is now a nurse, I was left with three boys. And a little girl toddler that I had to take care of. I sigh heavily, and I wipe the tears from my face and look at myself in the mirror hanging in my room.

I see a girl with large, dark brown eyes that look black. Her hair goes down almost to her waist. She’s breathing fast, as if she just ran a race. She looks weak, but yet strong.

And I hate that girl.

Instead of punching the mirror as I want to, I go back on my bed and huddle into a ball. While waiting for the day to end, I imagine a life without my brothers. That would be amazing. No Kuya Joseph, no Kuya Jonathan, no Nathan. But then I realize, that my life would still be pretty horrible.

The tears and sobs come back, so I throw those thoughts away and I take out a carefully stored memory of my dad.

At the time, my dad wasn’t retired from the Navy, he still worked in the submarine. That day, he just came back from deployment. We were happy, cheerful, and laughing. But then he got a call from the submarine. They said that he needed to come back, because there was a problem and they needed his help. Being the four-year-old I was, I started to cry. But he gathered me in his arms, and he sang Amazing Grace to me. I stopped crying then, because I knew that my dad would be there for me always.

But, it turns out, the daddy’s girl started to go away from her father. I was never the mom’s girl. I just was...alone. It hurt. It gave pain. My brothers had each other. I had a little three-year-old girl named Sarah who doesn’t even know how to use the bathroom by herself.

A knock sounds on my door, and I jump up. Unlike my brothers, who all know that my lock was broken and the door can be pushed open, my mom didn’t know that.

“Emily, do you want to go to Commissary with me?” she asks.

I ponder for a moment. The Commissary is a store, mainly groceries, for the Military, Navy, and anyone who serves the country. Mom is also in the Navy, though, she’s a nurse, too. Going to Commissary means a free cookie, and any treat of my choice. But, instead, I tell her,

“I don’t really feel up for it, Mom.” I say.

I see the disappointment on her face. I know that she’s wondering why her oldest daughter isn’t interested in doing anything except read and dance. And I know it hurts her, as I am hurt. If it hurts as much as I feel, than I must be as bad as a criminal.

I am suddenly glad that I didn’t open the door. So she wouldn’t see the guilt flicker on my face. I quickly pick up a book and start scanning it. When I hear her go down the stairs, I look at the cover of the book. Anne of Green Gables. I read it at least ten times. And yet I read it again.

I stay on my bed until Nathan and Sarah are both calling me to eat supper. I close the book without bothering to place a bookmark in it and I drag myself downstairs. I take in the scene in front of me.

My mom came back from Commissary while I was reading, and she set up the table, and made adobo chicken and rice. My stomach rumbles, and only then do I realize that I skipped breakfast and lunch. Like almost every other day.

My family of seven all sits down. We fill our plates while waiting for Mom to wash her hands, then we pray. I slowly chew my food, watching my family closely. Nathan and Sarah are doing a little game that I don’t understand, Kuya Jonathan and Kuya Joseph are talking to each other about how amazing a game is. Mom and Dad are watching the news.  Zeus, my black Labrador puppy, is gnawing on a bone.

This is why I feel so lonely. All of my siblings, an obviously my parents, have someone near their age to talk to. Well, Nathan is only a year and a day younger than me, but people say that I am more mature than him, and I still haven’t forgiven him for hitting me earlier. After eating, I go back to bed.

This goes on for days. The ignoring, the pain, the crying. Until one day:

My birthday was earlier this month, so I don’t have any hope for seeing all my friends together again until I long time. It doesn’t help that its summer and people are going on vacations. I sit outside, enjoying the humid air. I don’t know why I was enjoying the heat. Maybe it was because it reminded me of my heart—coal-hot, burning—but it made it seem so much nicer. I shut my eyes, almost being able to believe that I was wanted here. Then I heard someone’s voice.

“Hey, Em!”

I open my eyes, “Jimmy, how many times do I have to say that I don’t like being called that?”

I hear him say something, but I don’t hear it that well. “Where’s Johnny?”

“Inside,” Jimmy says.

Jimmy, my neighbor, is eleven years, but I’ve always been taller than him. When all of our neighbors, and Nathan, comes outside, we start voting for games. We play four square, then tag. I feel a smile on my face as I run, my long legs an advantage.

But then I fall, scraping my knee and arms. I lay there, on the cement, shocked. But I get up, and go back to my house. In the bathroom next to my room, I wet a paper towel and wipe the small pieces of rock of my arms and knees. There’s only a few cuts, but it feels sore.

When I go back outside, they’re all playing again. They don’t even notice that I went inside, let alone go outside. They just go on and play. Even if I’ve been outside for at least ten minutes. As if I weren’t there at all. They just forgot me.

I feel my breath stuck in my heart, until I reach my room to sob once again.

A Girl of Her Dreams: Prologue

Prologue

 

We all have our differences. And it’s important to respect them.  But, what if, you were so different, that you had to hide your whole life? No, not literally, just more like keeping your heart hidden, bounding it under lock and key.

What if, you never had the chance to shine?  That, you just stayed hidden in that small corner, watching as the world passed by. Well, that happened to me. But there was one difference:

I was pushed out of my little, humble corner.

So, who can expect that I wouldn’t learn? That I wouldn’t learn about the world? How to survive? I had to gain experience before my time.

I cried at night, sometimes, regretting that I had to born as the oldest daughter. As the middle child. And, sometimes, regretting that I was born. I mean, what’s the use of living when there’s nothing to live for? Other than being a distraction, a nuisance, a little useless piece of someone’s life.

I was tired of being a nobody.

So I stepped out of my corner, I stepped out of my hiding place, I stepped out of the shadows.

And I’m still deciding whether or not to regret that moment.

Time of Grace; Chapter 1

I hold my chin in one hand, deciding. Should my party theme be a cheerleading squad, or first class hotel from the 1900s? Mom was the one who suggested the first class thing after she read what she said to be “a wonderful book, you just want to live inside it”. Mom and Dad certainly can’t believe that I could make such a decision in one or two minutes, could they?

“Well, we don’t have all day,” Dad says impatiently.

I sigh and say, “Do people in the 1900s wear make-up?”

Mom nods slowly.

I take another deep breath and say, “Fine. But only for this year. Next year, I am totally going for cheerleading squad theme.” I get up from my chair and turn around.

“Grace, who are you inviting?” Dad calls out.

I take a list out of my pocket, already prepared. I hand it to him, saying, “All of the popular girls at school.”

Dad raises an eyebrow, “Just the popular girls? What about the other girls? And your friend, Lilly?”

“Dad,” I sigh, “In school, you have to make a good impression. Like, there’s a popularity bar. If you’re near the top, you can’t just do anything to go to the bottom. It’ll make you look….” I rack my brain for a word, “weird.”

In the silence that follows, I leave the kitchen and go up the stairs. I hear my dad said, “I think we may need to get her homeschooled.”

I ignore the comment, and I go to my room. Closing the door, I look around my neat room. I have a make-up dresser on the opposite side of my bed, with a mirror above it. I look at myself through the mirror once before changing into my pajamas. I fall onto my bed, closing my eyes. Tomorrow, I’m going to start sending out invitations. And at my party, everyone will marvel at how beautiful I look.

Rising High, the experct

This is from my book, Rising High. It's somewhere in the middle of the book.

Reality came down on me like an anvil. Alice wasn’t my friend. She was never my friend. She was only pretending. My breaths came in large gasps. I start running. I don’t care where I run; I just need to get out of here.

I feel a breeze blow my hair upwards and chilling my neck. I look around myself. I’m kneeling on the pavement in the middle of a small garden. I look down at my leotard. Ouch. It has cuts in the fabric everywhere, and there’s a long gash going through the skirt. I have a few holes in my stockings. I hope I don’t have to pay for that.

I hear somebody running to me from the way I came, so I prepared to start running again. But it’s only Robert, who is breathless. When he’s done getting his breath back, he says,

“So, why were you running?”

“None of your business,” I reply emotionlessly.

“Um, yes it is. Considering that you are my dance partner and my cousin’s best friend, yes it is my business,” Robert says, in a matter-of-fact voice.

I stay silent for a few minutes, and then I say,

“Alice isn’t my friend.”

“Yes, she is. You say that a lot,” Robert points out.

“Yes, I did, but she never was a true friend.”

“Oh.”

Hello

So, this is where I post my books. In case you haven't noticed, I am Emily Z. I will give you excperts of my books.