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Saturday, November 20, 2010


Note: Here is the next instalment to the series of linked short stories I've been writing. There IS a name to this series but I'm not revealing. Just yet. MUAHAHAHA. Hope you all enjoy!!
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We are both children to the outside world but in our little bubble of make-believe; he was the older one in the relationship. He is ten when I am eight. He already learnt the things that I always found new. He will always be the one with the more experience. The one with the upper hand. Will there ever be a day where I could be the winner for once?

I’m lying with my back blanketed by threads of long grass. I stretch my small fingers out into the sky and imagine catching the falling stars. I still can’t believe that stars were merely flaming balls of gas. My fourth grade teacher must have been lying to me. There is no way such heavenly beings could be simply gas. Doesn’t gas come from our butts? How does it reach the sky? No. Stars are definitely beautiful clusters of pixie dust. How else do stars grants our wishes? I am halted in my childish pondering when he comes rushing into my backyard, ‘Emma, my Dad finally bought me a guitar! Now I don’t have to borrow my brother’s one any more.’ I sit up to see him trudging a large black case with shining silver clasps. I admit that I was impressed. Maybe just a little.

He pulls me up to my feet and we run next door to his garage. Hand in hand, I imagine this is what it feels like to elope with the one you love. Or so that’s what adults say. Once inside, he slams the door shut and throws a microphone at me, ‘We’re going to start a rock band and you’re the lead singer!’ I gently place the microphone back down and walk out. He pulls me back through the door, ‘Emma, where are you going?’ I glare up at his bewildered eyes and pull my most indignant expression, ‘I’m not going to be your singer. I’m going to be a writer, remember? Plus, I heard that most singers marry their lead guitarist!’ He pushes me against the wall and stares into my shocked-widen pupils, ‘And what is wrong with marrying me?’

‘One day, you’ll walk out on me.’

I don’t look at him when I say this because I’m too afraid of his expression. But it’s the truth. Most flamboyant men like him will always walk out. My Daddy did. He left the house with a tall woman with red rivers of hair and eyes as cold as a hungry serpent. That day, just before they left I held onto Daddy’s coat like a leach and she bent down to my eye level with a voice sweeter than sugar. So sweet that it makes you want to puke, ‘Don’t worry girly, I’ll make sure to take care of Daddy very well.’ Back then I thought: Isn’t she too old to have a Daddy? He is my Daddy, not hers! Back then, I still didn’t understand what she meant.

‘I’m not going to leave you.’
He entwines my little finger and forces me to pinky promise. I still don’t believe him. How can fingers keep promises? There is still so much I don’t understand about the Adult world. All I know is that men are liars. And Mummy looked so small crying on the floor. I never want to be her. I never want to be that abandoned kitten. It sounds so painful.

He can see the doubt in my eyes and tries to think of a way to maintain my trust. After minutes of ruffling his bird’s nest hair, he jumps to his feet with a shout and runs back to me. He stands me up straight and once again whispers gently, ‘I promise to never leave you.’ And he abruptly mashes our lips together. I stand there shocked and violated. He just kissed me. He just kissed me. He smiles at me proudly, ‘We just kissed.’ I glare at him with all my might and push him until he falls onto the ground, ‘No kidding. You just stole my first kiss you bully!! I’m going to tell Mummy!!’

‘Emma, do you know what a kiss means?’

I stop by the half open door and look back at him in confusion. What does a kiss mean? I never really thought about it before. Adults do it all the time. But what does it really mean? Is it something men do to trick women? Does it actually hold any meaning at all? Mummy told me what it meant once. Long ago. Before when she used to smile a lot. What does it mean? I can’t remember.

‘It means I love you’.


Anonymous said...

"Doesn’t gas come from our butts?"
oh gosh lucy, your hilarious!

I really like this story, it reminds me of elementary school days when my friend's and I had love issues with boys.

scattered-strings said...

That better be Adrian who is kissing her =P

Philosophia said...

This is such a cute story! It's always wonderful to read about something that touches on childhood, its innocence and purity, and the subsequent loss of it. Love it! :)

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