Feather Panda Lover

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[writingcuredmyfrown]

In the Attic

The last thing my father told me was to take care of Fay, my sister. Our mother had passed years ago, we don’t remember her. The only thing that reminds us of her are father’s old photos. And now, years later, our father got stricken with illness and couldn’t recover. I remember our last conversation, in his old shack by the sea. 

“Briana, my girl - he said, gasping for air - I’m sure you’ll grow into a fine lady one day. Take good care of little Fay, and whatever you do - he coughed, eyes full of blood - burn all of my photographs.”

I felt his grip over my hand loosening up, his eyes closed elegantly, very slowly. A few days later, I took Fay with me to the attic, where all of his photos were. Folders upon folders with black and white photographs, ranging from people to the most bizarre, unearthly sights. I was going to listen to him and burn them, of course, but I wanted to see them first. We sat on the floor and started browsing them. 

“What’s this, Briana?” my little sister said, holding a photo of a white oval, in the middle of what looked like a cave. 

I couldn’t make anything out of it, this thing looked foreign, I’d never seen anything like it. I took the photo from her and said:

“It’s one of the many place father has been. I don’t know what that big oval is, probably a cave formation. Here, take a look at these ones.” 

I handed her some of the portraits our father had made. So many people, all in different clothes, different smiles or smirks. A collection of souls, gathering dust in the attic. Sometimes I wonder if the photographer captures a part of a man’s soul, and then stores it forever in a box, in a corner in a dusty old room. 

When we finished browsing through the photos, we went down into our room. Tomorrow we would have to find a way to bury our father, and after that, to burn all of his life’s work. 

***

Fay was screaming, she had escaped from bed and gone up, into the attic. When I went up, she was holding the photo with the oval in her hands. Her eyes were green, light green. Her screams were haunting, they pierced right through my skull and shattered my sanity completely. I started feeling dizzy, I was almost about to feint. The picture was emitting a strange light, I didn’t know what was happening. And then, just when I was about to close my eyes and let go of my very self, it came out of the photograph. It came out and…

[writingcuredmyfrown]

/ˈnɒns(ə)ns/

A man walks up to a bus stop. The stop is empty. There is no time table, no digital clock, not even a roof over the bench. Just a sign saying BUS and the wooden bench, with its chipped paint. The man looks around and sees nobody in sight, he looks at his wristwatch and sits down. A few cars pass on the street, but not a lot.

Several minutes pass, another man walks up to the bus stop. He notices that there is someone waiting already. He sees the sign, the chipped paint on the bench; he looks around and sees nobody else in sight, except the few cars that pass nearby. He asks the man:

“Hey, do you know when the bus arrives?”

The seated man looks at his wristwatch again, looks at the man and says:

“No. I’ve been waiting for a while now, it should be soon.”

The newcomer sits down, next to the first man. They don’t talk, they don’t look at each other, they just stare at the street, where a few cars pass, but not a lot. 

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[writingcuredmyfrown]

Delirium

@flashfictionfridayofficial​ - I have nothing creative to say. I love staring at the clouds at sunset. 

Words: 533 

The hole kept getting deeper and deeper. I couldn’t tell what it’s for. It stood there, in the empty field, swallowing me in, dragging me towards it. Something wasn’t right. Doctor Kultz was my only hope.

“Can you describe those strange dreams you’ve been having? How do they feel like?” the doctor asked.

“Well, ugh… every night I dream the same stuff - it’s like a carousel ride. I see myself going from place to place, talking with different people. It’s all in third person. I can see myself behaving, and…well, living. But it’s someplace else. It looks like real life, like the real world, but there’s something odd. It’s stale, monotonous, kind of alien. And every dream ends the same way. My foreign self grabs a shovel and goes somewhere. I don’t know where. And in an instant I see this giant hole in the ground, which gets bigger every night. I’m not sure anymore, doc. I’m afraid. The blackness of that hole is making me go crazy. I’m starting to lose it. I…I don’t know what to do.”

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[feministism]

[casketfreak]

Y’all I don’t remember the title

[destielhoneybee]

Stop picking on me

[writingcuredmyfrown]

Popo

It was almost a whole year since Sophie and her mother had adopted Popo. They had always wanted a puppy, and Sophie told her mother that they should adopt one. She had heard her kindergarten teacher say that are many animals without home, and felt really bad. Sophie was almost six years old, and Popo was about two.

Every day was the most fun day ever! Sophie would wake up, kiss Popo on the head, tell him much she loves him, and then go to kindergarten. On the way there she would cry because Popo couldn’t come with her, and there was nobody to protect her from the mean kids there. But even if someone was mean to her, she would go back home with mommy and see Popo again, and every bad thing that had happened would fly away. They would do her homework together and after that they would run around the yard all day. In Popo’s eyes you could see the whole world. They were full of the most precious things, like the sky, sunshine and warmth. Just by looking at them one would melt and feel like a true friend is standing in front of him. Sophie loved Popo very much, so she usually let him sleep in her bed at night, to keep bad dreams at bay.

Time ran fast though, even though Sophie thought Popo could run even faster. After several months, kindergarten was over, Sophie was now in vacation. She didn’t feel very good. Even though that she could now spend the entire day with Popo, she started feeling sick. A week passed and she got even worse, she had to go to a doctor. She felt like she was falling asleep, and was not afraid. The doctors told her that they will wake her up as soon as the surgery was done. She smiled, because she didn’t know what that meant, but she knew that sick people got surgery, so she relaxed on the doctor’s table. She only held the doctor’s hand and told him:

“Mr. doctor, please don’t take my heart. It’s the only one I have and if I lose it, I won’t have anything to love Popo with.”

What a brave girl, the doctor thought. Many of the adults that he had operated on were scared, but not this angel. The mask went on, Sophie went to sleep, and dreamed of endless pastures and tall mountains. Of summers and springs, spent with Popo and her mommy. 

The next morning, the sun was shyly poking through the blinds of the room. It didn’t want to disturb Sophie. Even the sun knew how important dreams are. But Popo didn’t think so. He was there, along with the doctors and Sophie’s mother. He was so anxious, he didn’t know why Sophie was sleeping for so long, she never did that. While the people were talking, he sneaked past to her bed, and started licking her hand, which was hanging on the side of it. The sun saw what Popo was doing and joined in, its rays were now stronger, and the blinds couldn’t stop them. Sophie started waking up, and felt a strange feeling on her left hand. She turned her head and saw Popo, looked him in the eyes and thought to herself, “Thank you, Mr. doctor, I still love Popo!”

@flashfictionfridayofficial​ - Oh. My. God. This friday was a beauty to write!

[writingcuredmyfrown]

The Way Down

It’s a long way down, they told me. It’ll take a couple of months, at least. They told me to prepare for the long, tiresome trip ahead. If I wanted to get anywhere, I’d best prepare and be patient. Gah, patience, reminds me of my mother. When I was a boy she’d always tell me to be patient, to sit still, to be nice and all. And where did that lead me? In some forgotten town, where people buy and sell happiness in glass bottles, where the TVs have only two channels - one for the bad news, and one for porn, and where nobody smiles at you, only vaguely looks you in the eye and walks off in shame. I’m at the bottom already, and they tell me to be patient, fuck off. Yet I wanna go down, I wanna see the world I’ve only heard about. It’s a long way down, they told me. So I better prepare for real, the trip ain’t easy. Alright, I’ll have the green coffin. It looks good, plus it’s not that heavy, probably gonna make the trip easier. Now to go get me some clothes…

[writingcuredmyfrown]

You

@flashfictionfridayofficial​ - Been going through rough times, thank you deeply for this week. I remembered an important lesson. <3

Sometimes 600 words can be enough. 

I just finished work. I’m leaning against the wall of the tobacco shop near my bus stop. No, I don’t smoke, it’s just the place I normally stand while waiting. Close enough to the stop itself, but far away enough from the people there. It gives me a nice view as well, I can see the basilica from here, towering everything else with its mighty domes of pure gold. There’s also a view from the main shopping street, with the rows of lush trees on each side, and an endless swarm of tiny human beings. I love summer. Everything is green, flourishing, alive and vigorous. Even the old concrete seems full of life, as if the earth beneath it is pumping blood from its heart of stone. I see this every single day, of course, when the seasons change the view also changes. But I never get bored, I never get tired of looking. There’s simply so much beauty in this corner of the world, this tiny speck of dust, just sitting here, waiting for someone’s silent appreciation.

I got on the bus. I always sit next to a window, if possible. I enjoy looking outside. So many things to see, so many details. Cars with interesting colors, flowers that you haven’t noticed before, small shops, old buildings, restaurants with waiters, moving about in aprons. Also some unsightly things, like heaps of trash, bottles and cans thrown on the sidewalk, of course, from different beverages. It’s interesting to see which beverage was used the most each day. But it’s not about what I see through the window, it’s not about who I see. It’s about a strange feeling that I get. I’m simply here. This is it. All the things I see, good or bad, that’s it. That’s the world. And I don’t know why, either by some extremely lucky turn of events, or by some mystical force, I’m right in the middle of it all. Breathing it in, breathing it out. I’m alive, in the center of everything. And it’s beautiful. It’s breathtaking, it takes your breath but then gives it back to you, fully transformed and reinvigorated. It touches you softly and tenderly, whispers things that you can never, ever understand. And that’s okay. Because you’re here. 

I’m now home. I feel like a leaf on top of water. The clouds are my brothers and sisters. The sky is but a playground, where everything is allowed. At night, when the starts come out, it’s a celebration. Millions of fireworks firing all at once, just for me. For you. If the stars love me so dearly, then why shouldn’t I love them back? Or at least love myself? I can’t tell. I’m not wise enough to know. Besides, knowing is no use. Feeling is where it’s at. I feel, and I’m okay with that.

Every time before I fall asleep, I think of things. Many, many things. One of which is you. Yes, you. You, whose name I don’t know. You, who is somewhere out there, whose face I can’t recognize. You, who sometimes gets angry at people. You, who sometimes is kind and buys flowers for strangers. You, who have a sweet tooth, and You, who craves chips. All of you. All the beauty of the world, every grain of sand, every wild flower, every human hand, eye, laughter and cry, every passing hour - it’s all because of you. I fall asleep, hoping that tomorrow I will be here again, that I will come back, just to see you one more time. Please, come back as well. 

[writingcuredmyfrown]

Kiss me like the breeze

@flashfictionfridayofficial​ - This Friday’s entry is a bit different. It’s the first time I attempt something like this! I’m sure you can find out what I’m talking about. 

Words: 1,195, sorry for going over the limit :( 

Happy Pride Month, everybody! Stay safe and stay true.

I couldn’t find my gun. My room was full of all the junk I had collected these few days, while thrifting in the shops of the old trade district. Vinyl records of the best albums of the last century, clothes in all the colors of the spectrum, which I haven’t worn more than once. Also bottles, cans, bags of chips and all kinds of containers for junk food, along with an endless display of paintbrushes and filled up canvases. And nowhere inside this mess could I see my gun. Which is strange, because it’s a rainbow gun and almost every kid has one of them these days. After the great digital collapse, the world fell into decline and now we need rainbow guns in order to stay safe. If we spot danger, we’re allowed to shoot - it instantly changes the intention of the doer, making it good instead of bad. I guess it works, although you can obviously misuse it, like for example my classmate Sarah, who shot a boy named Mike in the knee, so he can fall in love with her. Then she dumped him, but he shot back with his own gun. It never ends.

“Oh my god, your room is a war zone! What the hell is going on in here?” 

That’s my brother, Maximilian, named after a Roman emperor. Father sure loves history. 

“Shut up, Max. I can’t find my rainbow blower. You know we’re not allowed to leave without it.” I said, while totally rampaging through my wardrobe. 

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[evilpandafeather]

Beautiful. ♥️

[writingcuredmyfrown]

The Lord

Father is calling me downstairs, he insists I dress well, because we have guests for dinner. I can’t decide what to wear, can’t find a fitting color for the occasion. I guess it’s going to be the usual - formal black with a bit of red as an accent. 

I leave my room and I end up in the hallway, leading to the grand staircase of our home. I pass through this hall every day, a couple of times, too. But I’ve never noticed this glaring detal, this thing that is so obvious, that I’ve never even considered it. I know that my family truly values art, the same way they value our servants. You see, the whole hallway is made like an art gallery. You’ve got the small display cases, full of weapons, fossils and books at the bottom. Then, you’ve got the portraits of all of the lords of our house, past and present. And at the top, you have the biggest portraits, only several of them, of the founders of the family. 

All of those faces, staring at me from the walls, as if asking me something, expecting something of me. I feel like an actor in front of an audience, which awaits my next move. “Show us what you’ve got.”, they’re telling me. It’s eerie yet comforting in a weird way. All those people have lived, so I can stand on their shoulders and live too. How odd it is to notice them for the first, to really look deep in their long lost souls. 

After dinner I came straight to my room again, I passed through the hallway once again. This time, paying more attention. For the first time ever I stopped and looked around meticulously. So many portraits, too many. Where were all these people? I was living only with my father and mother, but I had been told as a child that in our family, it is custom for the entire family to live together, in this very house. Then, they would choose a patron, under whose guidance they would carry their daily lives. Odd, so many uncles, aunts, distant cousins and young nephews were looking at me from these walls. But here I was, living with my two parents and a handful of servants. I hope of finding solace in my dreams.

“What can you tell me of the portraits in the grand hallway?”, I asked the butler. He was an old man, with balding hair. His hands trembled a little and his memory was beginning to leave him. 

“Well, if I recall correctly, one of your great ancestors had planned the hallway to be a museum. To display the bits and pieces he had gathered on his journeys.”

“It does seem like he managed to do it. To some extent, at least. Awful lot of things in there.”

The butler smiled, and hurried to correct me:

“Of course, to some extent indeed, but you see, his plan was totally erased from the books by your grandfather, who rebuilt the hallway. He was a judge, of high rank too, so he made the walls hollow, so he can hide important things. He always had a panic, that one, that one day someone would search his house and find something. A difficult man, he was.”

I see, but what could a judge hide inside the walls? Surely, his files could fit in a single shelf somewhere in the attic or in the basement. This made no sense. 

…

Terrible screaming and screeching, I can’t sleep. Someone is wailing close by, I don’t know if it’s a someone or a something. It’s driving me insane. How come nobody else hears it? My parents are nowhere to be found, I’m screaming my lungs out for help, but there’s nothing. I’m all alone in the middle of the hallway, and the tormenting laments continue. 

The hollow walls…That’s it! One of the armor stands has a big mace on it, I grab that and begin smashing the wall. Piece of brick, mud and concrete start flying around me, the wall begins to crumble and as I keep hitting it, a bony hand appears in front of my face. I run backwards and fall to the ground. The hand slowly turns into a body, then another one falls on top of it. The opening in the wall keeps growing by itself, the wailing is now unbearable, hellish, the bodies keep coming out of the walls like a swarm, they’re piling up. Dead, still, yet haunting with the sound. I need to run. I run for the stairs when I see the butler in front me, covered in a black cowl, his teeth showing. His hands dry and bony, devoid of life, cracked. He reaches out to me with a terrible wail. The last thing I saw were his eyes. Hollow. Endless, black, void…hollow. 

@flashfictionfridayofficial - Have a wonderful friday! #FFF44 - Hollow Walls. What a blast to write this one! 

[agentsalex-deactivated20200723]

A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab

[writingcuredmyfrown]

Dangerous Game

The clock on his leg is ticking. A time bomb, strapped to his calf. 14:17. When it shows 17:00, he’ll be gone. Blown up in a million pieces. As the clock ticks, his heartbeat gets faster, rhytmical. There’s something musical about it, a symphony of dread and fear. No tme to waste. Focus. 15:00. Enemy soldiers on all sides, guns firing from unknown directions, shouting, and footsteps nearby. He had to navigate through this hellish maze. Get out. Survive. 15:48. The clock kept ticking. He couldn’t afford looking at it. Press on. He had killed most of them in the frenzy of battle. He had remained unscathed. Sniper shot. One after the other. You’re a sitting duck, move! 16:14. He was getting closer to salvation, along with getting closer to death. Sprinting from wall to wall, ducking behind, crawling on the ground. He escaped the sniper shots, but what now? It showed 16:45. He was lost. The ruined city proved to be a bigger labyrinth than expected. He had to find the way out. Now. 

17:00. A knock on the door. 

“Come on, Liam, time for supper.”

[writingcuredmyfrown]

Inappropriate jokes during the cataclysm

“So, how much do you want for it?”, I asked, hoping that he would price it reasonably. After all, it looked old and used.

He just sat there, looking at me. I didn’t know if I had anything on my face, I mean, I would’ve noticed. I usually notice such things. I mean, well, there was that one time when a pigeon suddenly, you know, yeah. So it took me a couple of hours to notice, but that’s beside the point. The salesman, yes. He was just staring, concentrating probably. Trying to come up with a price using some weird formula or something. 

“How about 120?”, he said, finally. “And I’m being generous here, just cause you look funny. You might find a use for this thing.”

Excuse me? I look funny? Apart from not having half an eyebrow I’m perfectly fine, thank you. And what does my appearance have to do with sales, anyway? It’s like saying to a murderer that he’s gonna be sentenced to only five years in prison, cause he has a cool t-shirt on. Well, not exactly like that, I mean, it’s more like crucifying a man that pretends to be king and actually putting a crown on his head. That’s quite generous, I think. Let the man live a little, you know! 

“Really? For that piece of junk? I mean, I was thinking you would want something under 100. 80, perhaps? How does that sound?”

He sighed and looked away for a second. Like a father, who had just learned that one of his children is not straight. Deep, deep down, I could see he was hurt. He couldn’t swallow that, you know. Looking far into the distance, wishing that some mystic force would come and save him at that very moment. That a genie would whizz through and make things “real” again. He was devastated. What did I say? It’s trash, I’m gonna haggle ‘till the end of days here. I don’t give a damn.

“Look pal.”, he took a deep breath. “I ain’t here to lose money, I think we both know that. I hate when funny people like you bargain. You either take it or quit. 100 bucks, that’s it.”

Okay, I guess all that staring into the distance wasn’t worth it. I mean I could’ve watched the entire Game of Thrones series while he was thinking what to say and all he could muster was “pal”? No wonder he was doing a garage sale, he can’t do anything else. Well, not really, I mean, he could probably do a lot of things, maybe more than me, but, oh you know, I was just in a heated mood. A hundred bucks for this honest crap? What a resilient guy, he would’ve survived the inquisitions for sure, probably even liked them, too.

“I think you’re missing the point. Look at that thing, it’s a mess. I’m better off buying a new one.”

He was absolutely astonished. A sparkle came in his eyes, he suddenly woke up with joy.

“Then buy a new one! Or you’re trying to prove a point that you’re not that bright?”

It made me think for a second. I mean I wasn’t bright, and I’m still not, but that’s just because I was born dark. I guess that’s not what he meant, though. What was I doing, really? I was headed towards the end of the street, I saw that man’s garage sale and my curiosity took the better of me. Then I approached him, saw this ordinary looking bike and I thought I should bargain for it. I mean it could have been quite a steal. But then I realized something. I guess I’m not that good at noticing things, after all.

Why the fuck would I haggle for a bike if I’m in a fucking wheelchair? 

[writingcuredmyfrown]

The concert was over. 

He put down the violin and anticipated the applause.

The sreet was totally empty. 

[writingcuredmyfrown]

Some day you might have it rough. Some day things might not go the way you want them to. You’ll be angry, you’ll feel miserable, you’ll fall into a slump. Then you will feel resentment towards everything. Your mind will be occupied with things, no matter how small they may be. You won’t be able to see past your nose. The whole universe will shrink down to one particular thing, and you will feel even smaller than you normally do. That’s okay.

Some day you might come back home, toss everything aside, lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. You’ll start rationalizing, trying to explain to yourself what is going on. You’ll eventually ask the toughest, most painful question - Why is it going on? Not only your dire circumstance, but life itself. What even is life? What’s the whole point of it? You won’t find that answer. That’s also okay.

Some day you might grab something sharp. You might feel the urge to end it all. You might cry yourself to sleep. You might have a sleepless night. You might feel like this whole think we call world, whatever that may be, is collapsing on you, sucking you in. You might shun everyone, even your close ones. You might not eat for days. You might overeat. You might become an alcoholic. You might just do nothing at all, just keep staring at the ceiling. 

Or you might not. Some day you might look up and see the stars. Millions of little fireflies, sharing the only thing they have, their glow, with you. Some day you might notice a small ant, just passing by. So small, yet so determined, so full of life. Some day you might stop for a second and feel the wind gently touching you, like a lover that will never leave you. Some day you might find out that no matter how small we are, no matter how fragile we are, no matter how insignificant we are, we are free. Just like the stars, the ants, the wind. We’re all in this mess together. 

Some day you might. Some day you will. Some day we all will. And that’s okay. Just breathe. Feel the rhythm of the cosmos. Everything is okay. We are here, we are now. Breathe.

[writingcuredmyfrown]

Silence

“You gotta help me man, I can’t find the keys.”

“What?”

“The keys, I don’t know where they are.”

“Whatever, just keep it down, I’m trying to watch TV.”

“Dude, I need to find them.”

“Find what?”

“The keys! Are you deaf?”

“Keys? The hell you need them for?”

“What are keys used for, smartass? To open something.”

“Like what?”

“A door, perhaps.” 

“What door?”

“The one that leads to the attic.”

“The attic? What for?”

“It doesn’t matter, I have work to do. All I want is to find these damned keys and get it over with.”

“Well, can’t help ya. Try the kitchen”

“Whatever, you’re useless, I’ll go check I guess.”

…

“You got ‘em?” … “Yo Mark, you got the keys?” … “Dude, stop playi - HOLY SHIT! WHO THE FUCK ARE Y- …”

“…there is still no trace…police are searching every nearby…we advise people to stay home…”

[writingcuredmyfrown]

Home

Lunch time had already passed, the city’s buzz could be heard from the open window. The sun was up high and was beaming it’s light right into the room. One of it’s rays poked her right into one of her eyes and she woke up. She realized she was all alone. There was stillness in the air, but she couldn’t quite figure it out.

She jumped up and went straight to the kitchen. A fruit bowl, neatly arranged, was sitting on top of the table. She leapt up, punched it right in the center, saw the whole arrangement scatter on the ground, heard the glass shattering and then swiftly jumped back down, as if nothing had happened. 

Then she went into the living room. She found a small pillow on the couch, took it and started playing with it. Soon after, the whole room was covered in feathers. 

After that she saw that the curtains look like they require attention, so she pulled them down with her mouth, breaking the eaves that hold them. Then she punched a clay vase, after that she pulled some of the cables connecting the TV, then the carpet seemed out of place so she ripped several holes in it. To top it all off, she went to her favorite place - the bedroom.

In a matter of minutes, the room was turned upside down. The alarm clock was broken into pieces, the bed sheets were torn apart, the two slippers who had always been next to the bed were now at both ends of the room. 

The sun was slowly setting, the noise of life outside was subsiding, the work day was over. Laying amidst the chaos, she heard a key turning. She rushed into the hallway, sat on the floor and stared at the door expectantly. The door opened, and a man walked in.

She leapt up in his arms, licked his face thoroughly and barked with excitement. Lila the dog was happy. Her master had finally returned home.