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Second Chance | A Short Story

Disclaimer: This is a short story I wrote at the beginning of the year and which never got a chance to be published, so now here it is, out in the world. Enjoy!

***

His left eye burst into a river of blood.

Daan screamed. Thick red droplets fell onto his laboratory reports and experimental drawings. He stumbled away from his desk, knocking down his chair. He covered the wound with a trembling hand.

It had already begun.

He winced as he went for his desk and grabbed the little amethyst next to his pencils.

“Prepare for imminent evacuation,” he said, clutching the pebble so hard that his knuckles turned white. “I repeat, prepare for imminent planetary evacuation.”

“What?! Now?!” The voice coming through the stone was clear. It felt like Troi, his best friend and the most competent engineer of the century, was standing beside him. “I thought we’d have more time to complete the remaining flying ships…”

“Well we don’t. We need to evacuate the whole planet now. Every citizen of Homothea has to be rescued before…” He cried out as more blood gushed down his cheek. The amethyst slipped from his fingers.

“What’s going on? DAAN! Answer me!”

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To The One(s) Who Didn’t Love Me Back

*Disclaimer: This work is partly fiction.*

When I was 5,
I didn’t think about love.
All I knew was that I looked forward
To seeing you every day at school
And playing together during recess.

When I was 13,
I was peer pressured into love.
I was lost in tales of ‘unconditionally’;
Everyone seemed to have their ‘One’ but not I.
You looked into my eyes, into my despair.
I fell for you; you did not.

When I was 14,
I told everyone about you.
Yes, I was crazy about you.
I got teased; I got ignored.
I felt ugly, unloved.
Never, I will never tell again.

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What Cannot Be Healed

*Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.*

What does it mean to be in love, really? What if having feelings for someone and being in love are actually completely different?

Why do people fall in love several times in a lifetime? Then why make up the concept of ‘soulmates’?

When Dahlia looks at her life, it feels wonderful, almost perfect. One year ago, the world was on the brink of destruction. One year ago, she had almost lost her sister. Today, she can walk outside without the fear of being attacked. Today, humans have accepted and welcomed her race to live on Earth.

One year ago, her mentor, ally and one of the two most powerful Masterminds, sacrificed herself for peace.

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A Magnificent Rose Smelling Faintly Of Blood

“Love is the world’s infinite mutability; lies, hatred, murder even, are all knit up in it; it is the inevitable blossoming of its opposites, a magnificent rose smelling faintly of blood.”
– Tony Kushner, THE ILLUSION.

“This is a message to all the young women who have found their one and only.

This is a message to the girls who fell in love for the first time.

This is a message to those who believe in Love, because the reality of Love is far from what it really is.

A long term relationship is what we aspire to, because the myth of ‘soulmates’ have haunted us since we were young and stuffed with mediated representations of Love: two people ‘meant’ for each other. Yet, it is in a long term relationship that we learn, and we learn it the hard way: nothing in Real Love is ever like our Ideal idea of Love.”

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Heartbreak From A Stranger

I was looking for more violin players for our end-of-year orchestral shown when you appeared on our doorstep and offered to help.

Being the passionate leader that I was, I treated all my musicians as equally and uniquely important to my eyes. Taught you the arts, seeing you as an individual, not as a pawn.

In the middle of our rehearsals, one day, you came up to me and asked for your leave, because you had other more compulsory obligations and could not cope with everything. I understood, because I am human and you too, and let you go.

A side musical competition came up soon after, one that I did not find important but which my team mates did, thus we gave it much attention too.

On the day of the competition, as my orchestra was setting up, I saw you… on the other side of the stage, armed with your brand new violin, side to side with the opposing team.

You were so proud that you won and we lost.

I focused my orchestra back into the end-of-year show, and the latter was in fact a success. By that time I had forgotten all about you. People leave and people change.

The day you broke my heart was the day you came back to me.

Your orchestra had now a higher position than ours. You came to me to ask for my help for a future musical project. In other words, you needed slaves to do your work, because as the winning team, you would not dare degrade yourself to our standards.

The real truth was that you knew absolutely nothing about being in an orchestra, but you aimed for fame and royalty and here you are on top.

I have no choice but to fake a genuine innocent smile and abide by your wishes. My orchestra is under yours.

If not, I would have taken my orchestra in my own fall. And my orchestra is what I care for the most in life. I had to swallow my pride and my broken heart for the sake of my orchestra, its reputation and mobility. I had to close my eyes and let it go, for my orchestra to float up.

You had given me a unique opportunity for my orchestra, one I could not refuse.

~

An Evil Nymph.

The Day She Died.

She died the day she turned 20.

It attacked her and destroyed who she was. It stole her heart and everything that mattered. She was left lying on the ground, with only a body of air and dirt. Nevertheless, she stood up again and faced the sun. In its haste, it left a piece of her soul. She took one step at a time back to life.

But it came back for it.

At that moment, she laughed. Her body shook uncontrollably. “Take it all, take it all,” she said. Because being 20 made her realise that Life was indeed merciless. And she was left with nothing.

She was only 20, and yet, she was dead, dead in an empty bottle; still she was living, living in death. She kept on taking one step at a time, into certain nothingness. She bumped into other bodies; she met with new experiences. Life was being thrown at her but she could not return the favour.

She might as well have been a porcelain doll. She was played with, but she could not play with.
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This picture was taken during our annual Monash ball 2015 at the Majestic Hotel and features a real performer, posing as a kind of statue.

An Evil Nymph.