One Afternoon

Somebody was inside my house when I got back. I had no doubts as to who that might be. Only one person patiently waited for my return from the woods every single time.

"Peeta?" I called out as I closed the door behind me.

No answer. I wondered if he fell asleep. But one look around told me he wasn't in. A bit panicked, I rushed to the dining area where he usually sat and waited. No Peeta.

Instead, I found a still-hot cup of tea. Beside it, a half-eaten roll of bread. Something else . . .

I saw the book we started out together. The book about our Games, our stories. It was open on a blank page--or at least, on what was a blank page before Peeta started on it. I could make out the slight traces of a drawing. A dress I had worn before, the one that Cinna had turned into a mockingjay costume before the entire Panem.

My wedding dress.

Suddenly, I knew why Peeta abandoned this task. I frantically whipped my head around, searching for any sign of him. Finally accepting the fact that he wasn't anywhere around, I ran out of the house.

"Peeta! Open up!" I pounded on his own door.

Without waiting for an answer, I flung the door open and looked for him inside the unlit living room. I could just make out the outline of his huddled figure by the fire-less furnace. He whimpered and hugged himself closer.

Tears started streaming down my cheeks. He was in that world again, alone and scared. I wanted to reach out and hold him but I knew it was not what would help him. Like what I had always done before, I sat on the floor just inside his door and waited. I cried with him, felt my body shaking and folding on its own.

It was some time, hours maybe or even an entire day, before everything was quite inside Peeta's house. Maybe I had fallen asleep on the floor because the next thing I knew, Peeta was silently shaking me awake.

"Katniss?" he called out softly, his gentle hands on either side of my face.

"Hmmm?" I stirred and then suddenly was jerked away by the fact that Peeta's bout was over. "Peeta? Peeta? Are you okay?"

"Hey, hey," he pulled me up with the same gentleness that he had woke me with. "Sorry."

"What for? You shouldn't be saying sorry. I . . ." I wanted to say I understood. But I didn't. I couldn't ever. Rather than continue in what I was saying, I tentatively stepped closer and pulled him into my arms.

I felt his arms go around me, with much more certainty, and I hugged him tighter, never wanting to let go. Dreading, actually, the fact that I had to let him go in a while because he might succumb again. But just that moment, while he was still my Peeta, I held him tight as I could.

Maybe this was all we could have together. The past, the moments of the present, and a very unsure future. I hated how things were said to be freer but I felt more trapped. We never would lose this battle that we were facing even after the war had died out.

But as long as we had each other, as long as Peeta could hold me and I could him, I could never let my fears get the best of me. I had battles to face and I knew I could win this out someday--with Peeta.

Coming home

"Never!" Her father shouted so loudly every bit of frame hanging in their living room seemed to shake.


Oliva was scared. Her name had just came out of the Reaping. She was allowed an entire afternoon with her family. One last afternoon with them. Good thing they were members of the more affluent districts in Panem. At least, there were parts of this whole thing that they are exempted from.


Still, Oliva was scared. She was smart and cunning and fast. But those kids that would be thrown in with her were just the same. Actually, they were better--they were lethal. They could handle knives and swords like they were born with it.


"Maybe . . . Maybe we could swap. Amarina. I know she wants her daughter to fight this year. She even bragged about how she thinks the child would volunteer today." Oliva's mother was beyond console.


"Mom. Dad. Enough." At last, Oliva found her voice.


"But Oli. You can't . . ." Her mother pleaded, reaching out a hand to touch her cheeks.


Oliva avoided her mom's touch, which could just as easily release the tears she was fighting hard to keep from flowing.


"I'm ready, Mom. I want to go."


"You're not going," her father replied. "I'll go and talk to everybody who owes us. I'll make them send their kid in your place instead of paying us."


"Father!" It was a horrific idea. "I'm going! I'm smart enough. I could win!"


"Yes, honey. You are smart enough. But those kids? Districts 1 and 2? Even those two unsuspecting tributes from 12? They look way ahead of you. Think about it, Oliva. You never had training." Her father was already pleading, begging her.


But Oliva's mind was set. Scared as she was, she could never bear the idea of having people talk about her and her family if she allowed her dad to do what he said he would. She could not help but shudder at the thought of sending some other girl in her place when she knew no one actually wanted to. Not one of them even had the courage to volunteer for her earlier.


Oliva did not want her parents to become just like the Capitol.


So she had made a plan. A slightly formed and totally weak form of plan to make her last throughout the entire Games. If she was careful enough, she could even win.


But if she was not and it came to the point where she would inevitably face combat, she knew what she would do. And that was to make sure her parents would not feel the pain of watching some other kid draw her blood, beat her to death.


She would come home in one piece. Not mutilated. No blood.


That last conversation played in Oliva's mind over and over ever since she saw Thresh's face in the night sky. Four. They were down to four. The only remaining Career boy was a good fighter. The boy from 12 was protected by his partner. And that only other girl. The one from 12. For some reason, Oliva did not want to end up in combat with the girl. She had to find a way to get out of their way before the finale.

Oliva kept on moving. She had no direction anymore. The others could be anywhere so taking a strategic path would be next to useless. After quite a few hours, she set up a mat of leaves to rest on. And then she heard them.

They seemed to be arguing. Oliva hid under a neat bush and watched the tributes from 12 separate ways. The girl had in her hands a loaded bow. She looked like she was hunting but if for food or for a tribute, Oliva was not sure. The boy, meanwhile, set out to scour bushes probably looking for edible berries.

Some more minutes passed and the boy had gathered enough roots and berries but the girl had not yet returned. He set down their pack, looked around and when he seemed decided that she wasn't returning yet, went back to gather some more.

Oliva quietly slipped in to take a look at what the boy had gathered. She saw cheese and could not resist the urge to pick at it. Just as she was enjoying the melting sensation in her mouth, her eyes caught sight of the berries. Purplish black ones she had not seen in a long time. The very ones that she had looked for in the days she had wandered around the Arena.

Nightlock.

She picked out some of them and held them in her hands. Oliva remembered the alternative ending to her plan. This could only be a sign that she was on the right path. She looked up, hoping that her parents were watching, and walked away in case the two tributes came back.

"Mom. Dad. I'm coming home."

Oliva raised the berries to her mouth. A cannon fired and just like that, Foxface's body was shipped back to her home.



*** Because I totally agree with the theory that Foxface knew what the berries were for that day she stole them from Peeta . . . 

Grief Explained

Weeks after the funeral, they were all still grieving. George had stopped sleeping in their room and had taken refuge in the living room couch. Mr. Weasley always seemed to still confuse his once twins but if he was doing it intentionally to feel like he still had both, no one was sure. Mrs. Weasley, who seemed to be grieving the most, still washes his son's clothes every week even if no one had actually the guts to wear them.

Harry watched all of this everyday. He was alternately guilty and pained. The little happiness he felt over having defeated Voldemort faded every day he watched the Weasleys mourn over their loss. He had began spending most of his days outside, flying in Ron's broomstick all over the place and trying to forget the worst inside the house.

It was in one of these days that Ginny found him, suspended in the air and hovering over the fields. "Do you not plan to go down for lunch?" she asked, looking down at the house.

"Hey there," Harry replied with a small smile. She was still radiant, Ginny. Even if the loss of her brother had taken most of the light out of her eyes.

"Mum's asked me to call you. Reckoned you'd be here, Hermione saw you take off. Come on down, Harry."

"Do you think they could ever forgive me? That you could ever forgive me?"

"For what? For saving the whole of the wizarding world? That's hardly a sin, you know."

"I didn't mean that. I meant being the reason for your loss. Every day, I think about all those times I could have stopped that brewing war from happening. I think about how I could have saved him. Or how I could have given all of you enough protection."

"We don't blame you for what happened, Harry. We could never do that. Without you, we might lose all of our lives that night."

"All of your sacrifices. I try to find every single way to repay them. But every single time, I seem to make you bear more sufferings."

"Will you quit that Harry Potter?!" Ginny shouted at him.

Startled, Harry turned to see her glowering at him. Her radiant face was red and her jaw was so set she seemed to have forgotten how to unlock it.

"Do you not realise how we were so close to losing you? Do you not know how we were so frightened of that? Mum, Ron, Hermione, me! We love you. Fred loved you. He was willing to sacrifice his life for you. We knew what we were getting into the day we accepted you in our family. We knew all the possibilities when we went to Hogwarts and decided to fight with you. And for your information, we wanted to help every bit as much for ourselves than for you! Now come down and eat with us!"

It was the first time Ginny spoke of those things. Harry was shattered. He started to fly back to the ground with all of Ginny's words in his mind. It's time to return all the favors. The Weasleys were his family already. He would grieve with them and show them everyday how much he loved them.

First Choice

I was running and running like I had never run in my life. It's as if my entire life depended on every step I take regardless of the direction it was headed. I could still hear the sounds of the cannon even if I felt like I was already worlds away from the Cornucopia. The raging shouts of the killers were mixed so well with the agonizing screams of their victims. I kept on looking behind me for signs of any pursuer and thankfully, none had paid enough attention yet--not that I thought there would be any of course.

After what seemed like years, I stopped behind a large a tree trunk. I patted it carefully for any deadly sap or pins and, when I was quite sure it was safe, collapsed against it. Like I said, I ran like I had never done before. My heart was pounding angrily against my chest, my blood rushing to my brain like a burst of ocean waves, and both of my legs were numb. I was so tired I could actually drop dead from it any minute now. But I could not.

I wondered where she was already. Ten seconds into the plate and I knew what she was thinking of when her eyes widened at the sight of the bow and arrow. I glared at her, willing her to look at me. She did, thankfully. I shook my head ever so slightly and I was glad that I gave her that distraction. She could kill me right there because I took her away from her most precious friends but I saw Glimmer was already headed for it and I could not risk her like that.

As my body was already screaming wildly, I had to find a bunch of leaves to hide under and rest for quite a while. There were so many trees but my heavy body would not allow me even a feet away from the ground. So I settled under a neat bush surrounded by smaller trees. It was growing dark after all and the place had gone more silent.

Snap, snap. The sound of breaking twigs and crackling dried leaves alerted me. Damn, I slept. Barely a couple of hours inside the arena and I was already letting my guard down. Thankfully, the bushes kept me well hidden. I wondered how many times I would be using the word "thankfully" from now on.

"I lost her! I was at her and she slipped away!" I heard a girl's angry voice whine.

"We'll get her again, Clove. The arena could not be this big. She's out here somewhere, hiding," a boy's assured drawl replied.

"Yeah, Cato's right. She ran so she might not really be up for a good fight. Taking her down should be easy." Another girl's voice, more thrilling.

"Just find her already, alright?" A second boy's bored tones.

My body froze more and more as the voices multiplied. I wondered how many there were. But no one else followed so I assumed there were only four. Four. Two from each deadly district. They could be the only ones making alliances this early in the game. And who was that girl they were talking about that they were so desperate to find and, I shuddered at the thought, kill?

"Katniss, crazy name. Who would name their kid Katniss?" the whining voice, Clove's, spat bitterly.

"Whatever her name is will be forgotten already once her face shows up at the sky any night from now," the second boy's bored voice was shot with excitement.

I trembled so badly I knew the bushes could be moving along with me. Katniss. They were talking about her. They were talking about finding her. About killing her. I could not stop myself from shaking.

"Who's there?!" the first boy, Cato, shouted. Alert.

It was now or never. And I had to decide fast. Katniss . . . My first ever choice inside the arena.

"You wanna find her? Maybe I know how to . . ." I said, revealing myself under the bush. I grinned at them in the most menacing way I could. My hands were still shaking so I folded them behind my head.

"I'm Peeta. Her lover. Remember?"

Five Seconds

It was not easy boarding that train. She had an hour to ready herself but up til the last second, she couldn't seem to bring her entire body and soul inside her cart.

She waited. She had waited since early that morning to see if she would be stopped from leaving. She wanted to be stopped. But she never was.

She waited while packing her clothes. While she threw in two bottles of freshly peeled peanuts into her baggage, stowing it under several wool jackets so it would not easily break. Shards of broken glasses were difficult to repair. No, scratch that. They were impossible to repair.

Three minutes til boarding time. She had her head bowed, her eyes looking intently at her shoes. They were her most battered shoes. If they could just die, she would have buried them eight months ago. They needed new heels again. Maybe it was time to consider replacing them. But she loved those red shoes. They were from her aunt who had long since died.

God, she was rambling internally. Her thoughts were a jumbled set of puzzle pieces that never fit together. Her body a bundle of nerves that seemed to break little by little. She was tired of waiting and her sighs were getting deeper by the second.

Then she heard the announcement that the train would be leaving in a few seconds. She stood glumly from her seat by the entrance and walked toward the train with her head bowed. It was time.

At exactly sixty seconds later, the train was off to its destination. She was never coming back.

And at exactly five seconds after, he arrived. With a bunch of flowers (lilies, her favorite), a harassed expression on his face, and a ton of regret in his heart when he saw the train moving fast away from him.

She was never coming back. And he was exactly five seconds late.


Photo by: James Muspratt

The Deal

It was one of the rare nights I was barely drinking. So you could just imagine my shock when I got the news full blast. Actually, it was just by mistake that I opened the television. They were done with choosing the dresses for the doomed wedding. Then Flickerman was doing the announcement for this year's Quell.

Damn place won't ever leave me alone, will it?

Before I was even able to shut the stupid announcement off, he was already knocking at my door. I knew he would come first. He always did.

"Oh good, you're not yet under," he said.

"Let's just hear your deal, boy" I grudgingly separated my hands from the bottle, eager to end what I knew would be a grueling conversation.

"You owe me, remember?"

"Owe you what?"

"You chose her"

"You already did even before the Games. I could've chosen you but you were plainly giving your odds away with all your Lover Boy ploys."

"I wouldn't do it any other way. But you did owe me, with all your lies that nearly killed me. Now it's payback time."

He's got point, you know. The kid knew how to drive his reasons. "So what do you want?" I asked.

"Definitely she's going back in. I want in. And just like last time, you would choose her." He was not asking for it. He was demanding in such a way that I knew there were no other options.

"Deal."

"Better shape up. We cannot pretend this is just another one of their Games. We both know what's happening. She's in more danger than ever and going back to the arena is just like walking into her funeral." Now, there was a hint of fear in his voice. This boy never acted, I'd always known that.

"Think I don't know that?"

"So get her out of there alive. Promise you'll really try, Haymitch."

"Swear it."

Just like that, he turned his back on me and turned the knob to my front door.

"You know I get this feeling she'll ask the same thing. In fact, she might be on her way." I told him.

He froze. Then a shrug. "I hope she does. Just so I know she cares, too. But somehow, I doubt that."

I never thought I'd see someone break into pieces as much as that boy had that time.



(I have always wondered how Peeta asked for this. And since I couldn't yet fathom his own emotions, I wrote this in Haymitch's POV. He's really deep, you know. He could do it.)

By the Window

She wanted so much to get off that seat by the window. Heck, she wanted more than to throw away that chair.

It was at an antique shop that they saw the chair. She was instantly in love with it. The curve, the wood, the paint. Everything was what she knew would be perfect.

It was in that chair that she sat and looked out to wait for him. It was in there that she felt the excitement of seeing his car turn into their gravel driveway. It was in there that he would come up to her and give her a day's worth of hugs.

But things changed. He changed. They changed.

Now, she wanted nothing to do with the chair and the window and the gravel driveway and the black sedan by their garage. She wanted to throw them all out.

For now, no one would be using them anymore.

Photo by: Annette Pehrsson

Tell Me Then

"Why won't you say yes?"

"Why would I?"

"I don't know, maybe because you love me."

"Is that good enough for you?"

"Yes."

"But why did you even ask in the first place?"

"Because of the same reason. I love you."

"That's the problem. I don't know if it's good enough for me."

"What?"

"Yeah. I don't know. Maybe I believe that marrying someone is different from just loving them. Love is enough when all you want is to be with the other person, have happy moments together. But I don't think it is enough when what you want is the possibility of waking up one day and having to dye each other's hair black. So I'm asking you, what other reasons do you have for asking me to marry you?"

"Because . . . "

"See, you can't think of other reasons."

"I can."

"Let's hear them, then."

"Because you're a bitch. You're pushy and tough and you never let anybody carry you even if it means losing both of your legs from walking. You don't believe others unless they give you enough reasons to, like what you're doing to me now. You take your coffee five times a day, four of them without sugar and cream. And that disgusts me. You walk barefoot every six in the morning, wherever you are. I saw you do that here in the office, and everybody thought you're crazy. Someday you want to be able to invent a medicine that would allow people's hair to never whiten, which is stupid because you hate math and science. And you hate everything that crawls except for snakes."

"Ben . . . "

"Oh, and the best of all those reasons? You are an imperfect woman and I could do better with someone who would have lesser flaws. But I don't care. Because I love your imperfection even if all my friends ask me why. Even if you ask me why."

Photo from: fuckyeahweddingideas.tumblr.com

Forgetful Night

The phone wouldn't stop ringing. The workload is enormous and the deadline is impossibly getting nearer. Her blood drains and refills as her heart stops and pumps. Her legs numb and prickles annoyingly alternately.

If she ever makes it to tomorrow unscathed, she would have a lot of thank-you prayers to offer. Stupid boss, she's supposedly on leave until the next week. But no, the requirement can't wait.

She takes a break for a while. Taking out a cigarette from her soon-to-run-out stock. She makes for the door, almost near its lock when she hears him grunt in his sleep.

Turning around, she sees him toss the blankets aside. His eyes open and find her. She smiles at him. He smiles back. And then confused, he goes back to sleep.

The doctors said Alzheimer's symptoms are very hard to detect. But once they start showing, there's no stopping them.

Photo from: cheeptalk.wordpress.com

All I Have

I wish we can speak. Right now, right here. I wish we can see each other's tears. I wish we can hear each other say we're sorry. Right now, right here.

There are too many things going on in my mind. My heart is just as unsettled. I don't know where you are.

So all I can do is watch the ocean. I speak to the wind, hoping it finds you and relays my message. I let it kiss my tears away, and pretend it's your lips that do so. I say I'm sorry, and let the waves crash on the apology.

Because right now, right here, it's all I have.

Photo by: Rachel Webb

Iceberg

He couldn't understand why she suddenly turned cold. She looked at him but he doubted she really saw him. He tried to talk to her, ask about her day, and even suggested one of the menus they had always enjoyed for that night's dinner. But she remained still, unnerved, unspeaking.

So he went down to the kitchen and called for pizza. He opened the television and flicked through news channels. He sat on the sofa and propped his feet up on the coffee table. Still, no sound from upstairs.

He wished, for the millionth time, that he knew what was happening. Something was breaking inside his own house and he had no idea what was it. But like always, he gave her space. He knew she had trouble breathing, literally and figuratively, and having him around could only make it worse for her.

Thirty minutes, said the pizza boy when he called. He wished it was sooner, then he could call on her again. Every minute took forever to come.

Barely ten minutes had passed when he heard a blood-curdling scream. He dashed to their bedroom, bruising his knee and cutting his palm on the way.

At the door, he saw her standing. Her hand was on the knob, as if on her way to close the door behind her. Then she looked up at him and smiled.

The iceberg had melted. Or maybe, it was just its tip.

Photo by: Runolfur Hauksson

Alone

He left before she even had a chance to say goodbye. Ten days after, he wrote to her. He said he couldn't stand to see her cry. He said he would come back. He said he would, for her.

Years passed and not another letter came. She ran out of reasons. She ran out of explanations. She even ran out of the patience to wait. Somehow, she had lost hope that he would still come back. People came and went, if you ask her. Her mother did the same. Her father did neither. She had been alone most of her life, with the few people who were around her leaving one by one. Soon, she learned to accept solitude as her only long-term partner.

But when she heard that he's back, she couldn't help but be happy. There was more than excitement in her heart as she raced through the street. Even after everything, even after she said she's through, she was still hoping. She never realized that, but there she was, running as if her life depended on it.

Until she reached the place where they had most of the memories in. He was not there. She waited. Yet again, she did.

Night fell and no one came. The sun had set so suddenly she didn't even notice high noon happened already.

She should have known she'd been right about being alone.

Photo by: Kevin Aryoueyezee

Ripple of Flowing Crystal

She was roaming the woods, leaves crackled and broke beneath her feet. There was not a single tinkle of laughter like the ones she used to hear years ago. She guessed even the people who once went there changed. Just like the birds who no longer homed and chirped in the trees and even the snakes that hissed and slithered around.

Amidst the silence was where she heard the slow trickling and flowing. It started faintly and then grew louder, beckoning her, waiting to be found.

Run, she did, her head turning around like a cat with perked up ears. She looked through the leaves, atop the fallen logs, and in between branches her eyes could take sight of.

But there was nothing.

And then, just like that, the sun poured in. Beckoning. Waiting. Leading. Then she got there. Where she sat at a dislodged branch and watched the ripple of the cool water smile at her. She smiled at it, too.

Photo by: Nessa Kessinger

In Twenty Years

Twenty years from now, that light will vanish. Replaced with more flickering ones, the kind that you see in parties. But those branches around, they will still be there. Not them, exactly. Not the ones in there are at present, but their sons and daughters and probably a few grandkids.

And that girl, who never ceases to look up to the light every time she passes by it, she'll be older. Twenty years from now, she'll go from the young girl who chased her shadow around to a lady in heels coming home from work.

And that boy, who always bask under the light's glow, he'll grow, too. He'll no longer be the boy who swatted fireflies winging around the post. Instead, he'll be a man coming home from a mean day's job.

Who knows, maybe they'll end up walking under it together.

Photo by: Oblivious Dude

The Robot

Its existence was not something it would wish for everybody else. It wanted to be something more than what kids could dismantle when they had tantrums. It wanted friends and a future that extended to an almost infinity.

At the toy store, everything else envied its family. All the young boys wanted them, more than guns and bows and arrows. But nobody knew what happened to its brothers when they were bought. It did not know, too, before. And always, it envied its elders when kids chose them.

Until a young boy walked into the store one day and went for it directly. It was delighted. Finally!

The following days were fun. The boy never let it go. It even got to sleep beside the boy. It was given a seat by the boy's meal plate. It took a bath with the boy.

But one day, a car was brought in by the boy's father. And suddenly, the car was everywhere too. Then one day, the boy just played with the car.

The robot was forgotten. The dog came in and munched on one of the robots legs but the boy didn't mind. There were days when the robot spent hours under the bed or the sofa. But the boy never looked for it.

And that day, when the robot was mourning its existence, the trash truck was being emptied into the dump site. The robot was capped with a banana peel.

Photo by: Adam Dorman

Autumn

The first day of fall is when I jump over the fences at school, rushing home without a bicycle because I love the crackling sound of leaves I step on.

The first day of fall is when I jump over the fence at home, calling for Mother to come out and see her cluttered yard. She hates raking in leaves that many. Maybe this year, she'll have Father do it.

The first day of fall is when I jump over the fence at Bessy's house, squealing with glee and playing with her under their own leafless maple.

The first day of fall is when I jump over the fence at Granny's house, running into her back door that leads to the kitchen where she makes the best of autumn rolls.

But today, the first day of fall, there is no more jumping over fences. There are only tears and goodbyes. There are huggings and kissings on the cheek. There are luggages around me, ready to be boarded onto the carriage.

Today, on the first day of fall, I am going to the city. Where fences become brick walls too high for jumping. Where leaves and maples do not grow and fall. Where tea and bread Bessy and Granny would be too far.

Today, on the first day of fall, I am what they call a growing lady. Who needs to lose all the playfulness and the naughtiness. Who needs less weight. Who needs more dreams.

How do I tell them that I am content with jumping over fences and the maple leaves?

Or do I even tell them?

Photo by: Swan Corner

Together

"The sea is not at all calm," he said as he walked by me, hands in his pockets and feet trudging sand.

"So is the wind," I breathed in as much as I could, letting the air fill my pollution-accustomed lungs.

"Are you not cold?" he eyed my less than thick, frilly dress, and equally bare feet.

"Maybe." I was not paying attention to my body temperature, to be honest.

"What will your father say if you don't come home tonight?" he couldn't keep the nervousness in his voice. I almost laughed at that not-so-manly question.

"I wouldn't have a way to know, given that I wouldn't be there. Right?" I glimpsed a sparkling on the sand not far from us. I hurried to it.

I picked it up and realized it was just some shard of a broken mirror. I turned to throw it out to the sea. As soon as the glinting piece got lost into the waves, he had come nearer. We were standing side by side, looking at the thrashing waves. There could be a storm, or maybe the wind was just having a bad day. I wondered if he was thinking about where the glass shard landed, too.

"Maybe we should just get you back home," he said after a while. He had his head hung; he always did that when he disliked what he was saying.

"No. Come, run."

I began to run, and soon he was after me. He caught up with me and held my hand. Then we ran, together. Just like what we would always do from then on.


Photo by: Aimée

Long Way Ahead

He was sleeping when she woke up. They had been on the tracks for roughly an hour. She could feel her head starting to whirl; she was never in for long roads. And so she had to lug back to sleep.

She was already asleep, for the second time, when he woke up. Her head was lolling about and he feared she'd hit the window. He collected her bobbing body and had her lean against him. He put his arm around her, to keep  her quite steady. He knew she was not in for long roads. And then he went back to sleep.

She woke again, certain she would throw up any minute. She could not move immediately and she wondered why. That's when she felt his arm around her. Silly man, she thought. His arm could just as easily sleep because of that. She gently lifted it off and went up, careful not to rouse him. She half-felt her way to the coffee cart.

He felt she was not around, so he had to wake up again--alert. Maybe she got real sick, he thought. He massaged his arm for a while, feeling the growing numbness ease. Then he got up and went to the bathroom, where he thought she could be throwing up.

She returned with two covered mugs of instant coffee. He wasn't around. She looked around and decided he might have went to the bathroom. So she sat down, looked out the window, and waited. They were along acres of trees already. She was not familiar with the place, but she sort of felt they were still far.

A few seconds more and he returned. He smiled and sighed loudly at the sight of her, a covered mug in either hand. She looked up at him, smiled, and offered one of the mugs. He took it and sat beside her. He put his arm around her again and she leaned against him. They both looked out the window, basking in the sight of green, and relaxed.

The ride was still a long way ahead.

Photo by: Agnisharman

'Til She Stops Waiting

Independence Day always finds her by the train station. She is standing, fidgeting, taking deep breaths. She is not certain what to wait for. Every surge of new passengers make her look up, half-expectant, half-hoping.

She does that even without news, maybe it comes up when she leaves the house. She does that even when rain falls, the subway has lots of covered area anyhow. And she does that even when she always goes home alone.

For how long she can wait, she does not know. But she's sure she'll be doing so for a very long time. Until, probably, she gets a letter like Suzan's got.

It came on Independence Day, too. Right before they stepped out to go to the station. Suzan used to go with her and wait all day. She waited for Suzan to finish reading. But Suzan folded the letter and said she wouldn't be coming along anymore. Suzan never went with her again.

She waits for that letter, somehow. She would until the time comes when the military head would write and make her stop waiting, too. For that day, though, and for the next Independence Days, she would be there.

Waiting for that uniform-clad man who's stopped writing to her when news has broke out that a new set of rebels are brought into the mountains. That man who's told her he'd be back. Even when, even if she stops waiting.

Photo by: Thomas Lieser

Rainbow's Disappearance

The rain was heavy enough to make anyone who wanted to go out hesitate. It was cruel enough to punish those who would attempt to sail out in the ocean. The weather news reported of a storm. The public is advised to stay indoors unless necessary. Though the weatherman sounded off for saying that, she still thought he's right.

The storm was serious in its lone sojourn.

But the rain had something with it. Something that was hers. Something definitely more important than her new boots or her old trusty umbrella. Something way more worthy than her safe abode.

But she could not leave. She could not run around under the sleet. She could not risk it.

Instead, she went the day after. And she was late. Too late.

Photo by: Thorsten Scheuermann