10 Cent

Big Fishes Carnival at The Lake - 10 Cent

A story may have an awesome protagonist, an evil mastermind as a villain, a whole new world to discover. A story may also contains something very profound, or something very close to us: love, relationship, ideals. These striking premises are good to have because by having a string of words that describe the story partially, you get people to read it. A story may have all these overwhelmingly interesting stuff, but it need not have.

For example, the story of a 10 cent coin.

Demon: His Master (Ch. 8)

The Dead Masters - Demon: His Master


A church in white, that’s where he was heading.

Never before did he imagined himself to step into the holy place – he thought once was terrible enough. It had burnt his skin before, but this time, it wasn’t as bad. The place had lost its holy aura. He didn’t know to consider it a shame or a lucky coincidence.

There weren’t as many people there anymore. The only pastor here, that Nathan Cross, had gone missing, for a reason only he knows. It used to be a place full of desperate people trying to reach that one sliver of hope, as the world today is but an endless chilling frost and with it comes the misfortune for the resident. None of them ever realized that they were so lucky to have their town protected still, albeit by one so vile. The man of red wondered why the hell did those people still believe in god.

The Vault

Big Fishes' Carnival at The Lake - The Vault

I found it when I was a little 5-year-old girl who wished she could chase a butterfly straight to its home, hoping that a whole family of the flying colorful could amaze her even more. Nobody seemed to know where the vault was, even if the opening was large enough that it looked like a pimple on the grassland, so with that naïve mindset of mine I declare the vault my possession.

From then on, the vault was part of me. 

Epilogue

Big Fishes' Carnival at The Lake - Epilogue


What’s that?

‘Probably nothing,’ I said to myself as I move back to my corner in the dark. In the farawy part of this pitch-black, another rodent scratched the beautifully textured wall of brick, a nature’s work to marvel. I envy those rats – although gross, they have the freedom to warp through this prison of cold and moss, one with a convict accused of no crime. That convict, though, have little strength to resist, so I did nothing but sit in the corner, with no pen no paper.

Red Ribbon

Big Fishes' Carnival at The Lake - Red Ribbon

A funeral. The red ribbon still on the wrist.

None wondered why a cluster of humans gathered around a coffin much like people gather around campfires, albeit the contrast in atmosphere. Although obstructed by layers of grieving acquaintances, one could clearly imagine a lady on her forties kneeling down, stupidly banging on the coffin walls wailing for explanations, her cry of sorrow striking the hearts of every. The father, a tall man of calmness, would softly hold her shoulder, and although excruciated, would patiently wait for his beloved wife to quench out all her tears, her questions unanswered. As the last line of sorrow break in them one by one, they started to look away, unable to bear, unprepared for a missing existence. For a person so loved, the breathless persona must be of kind nature.

My Cyrus

Big Fishes' Carnival at The Lake - My Cyrus

Who I am might not be important. What I am, might be a different story.

Like most of living beings, I could remember but blurred images and impaired hearing of how I was born. Have you ever thought about how you grew up from the moment you existed? Before you know it, you know your mom and dad. Before you know it, you can eat, sleep, and play. Before you know it, you know other things in this world. There isn’t really an explanation to this that I could accept – I couldn’t accept those maturity stuff and theory of mind – but in the same confusing, yet pleasingly convenient way, I had come to know her.

Cyrus Washington.

Demons

Big Fishes Carnival at The Lake - Demons

“This is a lie, right?”

We had been spending days together, with good and bad circulating much like Yin and Yang. We went through hell, enjoyed ourselves in paradise, and although futile, the hope of those times to last forever still coated this little heart of mine.

I could never mistake the memory of me flying high, into the blue of the unreachable before the world pulls me back down, where he would be there, smiling as he caught me, as if a bag of gold had just fallen from the clouds. I would be giggling then, pleading to have another try at reaching the place where the winds belong. Nor could I mistake the oceans of stars that he pulls closer to me by swinging me up high, just like in the day yet pleasingly distinct.

“I can’t believe this. You just.. can’t..” my mutterings continued.