Short stories

Always going

I sit down on the porch with a glass of white wine, breath in the fresh sea-air, close my eyes and stay completely still. I never stop. No matter how hard I have tried my whole life, I just can’t stay still. We are always going somewhere.

We grow old, that has always been hard for me to accept. It never stops, and the world gets older with us. Everyone and everything ages and dies. Letting go of the ones that have passed never gets easier. I’m not sure if we ever let go. And at the same time we should “act our age”. What ever it means in that specific time in our lives. We graduate. Or we don’t. No matter what the world rolls. There is never a good time to do anything and many reasons to not do anything.

I have always clanged on to the past, and the first so called age crisis I had when I was twelve; still not sure if it’s normal. I wanted everything to stay the same, even though my life wasn’t that great back then. Change. That was my worst nightmare. I wasn’t able to plan ahead, not that I’m now. And it still does scare me.

I’m not good at steering. So maybe it is a good thing I still don’t have my drivers licence. My plans have always changed because situations never stick. They are like the waves of the ocean. And there is no way of controlling them. They pass by, sometimes something reminds me of the biggest or smallest that have passed me.

And what I have now learned is that there is no way of earning anything. You can work hard all your life, but never achieve what you wished for. Not that our wishes would always stay the same any way. You could be the kindest person in the town and still on your own your whole life. You could be the best mother but never conceive. And the best ones die young. Life never apologizes for it, but people deal with it in some ways. Someone turns to something bigger, trusts the greater plan and says everything has a reason. Someone doesn’t even think about it. Some of us smother it, concentrate on something else, use drugs or what ever to dull it.

What's going on?

Whoo! Back to school!

The feeling I’m experiencing is unbelievable, that is the only way to describe it. I got the acceptance letter from collage and going back to school this fall!

I was already making plans for what to do if I wouldn’t get into anywhere, as I was sure that’d be the situation. I didn’t have too high hopes, and was prepared to be working for at least a year before going back to my studies and I was fine with it. But now it seems I’m going to get to do something I love: teaching! It is just unbelievable.

Yet I haven’t really talked about it, not counting my family, as I was afraid of it being a mistake. Only few days earlier there were news about another Finnish collage that had accidentally sent acceptance letters to seventy students who didn’t get in and was apologizing for the mistake. But now I’m starting to get sure about it being real.

 

Tomorrow my mother is coming to my place and we are going to celebrate this with her, my sister and my boyfriend. Yet I’m still sad in a way.

 

As thinking I’d spend the next year only working locally and with my hobbies, so me and my mother started to plan on getting a dog together. We had looked for a young, female rescue-dog that would have been in contact with cats, and found a few that we were interested. We wrote an email about one, that was how sure I was to be left without a place to study. The dog had many people being interested in her, so that doesn’t seem to be likely to work out, but I still feel the dog fever burning.

Poems · Short stories

My first, not last, but now my past – Poem

Every summer brings it close

I just can’t silence it

I can’t kill it

It still whispers into my ear

drowns me into what it could have been

I love someone else now

My life is better

yet still like a ghost it follows me

Swallows me in sweet embraces

Honey-crusted memories

Sugar filled nothings

I know it isn’t true

 

Still it haunts me

 

Not like a bloodhound

More like a cat

Slowly creeps in

attacks

Its’ fur is soft

even when it pulls out its’ claws

It plays with me until I’m left on the floor bleeding

 

At times I enjoy it.

Some nights I don’t

Yet it doesn’t ask me if I like it

 

Only thing good about first loves is

there can only be one.

What's going on?

Untitled story, part 18

Far from them, hundreds of miles away, years back in time. Those memories still lived on in Lyam’s mind. That night after visiting his old home, burned down on the ground, he sat down in his room in front of a small wooden table. He had been moved to the same inn, where Verrill and Denisa had been living for few days, as he had gotten better. They still didn’t know what had happened or why, maybe they never would, but that was something everyone just had to live with. The memories from the night of the attack were fuzzy to all of the survivors but something else had gotten clearer on the way. It wasn’t the same for all of them, but neither of them could just shake it off.

 

Verrill lied in his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was quiet, some of the chatter down stairs leaked from between the floor boards, but it wasn’t something that would bother him. He had pulled his pillow foot or two lower so he could still have his boots on while laying down. His feet hung over from the bedside and he had tugged his arms under his head for additional support. And all he could think of was safety.

Even though no one saw it, he was mixed up due to what had happened. Every creak made his heart beat faster, and it wasn’t like him. He closed his eyes for a moment only to open them again. He couldn’t sleep. Actually he hadn’t slept after what had happened, only few hours here and there. No matter how much he wished he could return to their home, build it up again, he knew that he’d have to take his sister to somewhere safer. He felt cold all the time and sleep deprivation made him even more jumpy. He couldn’t stay there.

 

Lyam opened the bottle of ink that was set down on the table. The cork was stuck a bit, so he had to use more force to get it open and in the process he spilled some of the ink on a pile of paper, which the innkeeper had brought in his room. It didn’t matter. He grabbed the quill and dipped it in the ink that was left in the bottle. Then he let the tip touch the paper. At first he didn’t know what to write. How to start. And it left another stain on the paper, but after the dam opened the words poured like a stream on the paper.

 

Denisa walked back and forth in another room. She had a hairbrush on her hand and once in a while she stroke her locks few times. Then she reached for the door knob but pulled her hand back, turned around and fled to the other side of the room. Only to do it all over again.

“Get yourself together”, she told herself and looked into the mirror. She pulled her hair over her left shoulder and put down the brush. She braided her hair and faked a smile, even though it didn’t look like it normally did. She was too nervous, yet she had to do it. It might be now or never. So she would take her chances, as she had made up her mind.

Denisa straightened her skirt and walked to the door, opened it and stepped outside, on the hallway. She knew where to go and didn’t even think about it, just letting her feet do the work. As she stood outside the door, she took a long breath and knocked. It took a moment but then the door creaked open.

“Um… Hi”, she said trying not to stutter, “Hope I’m not bothering you.”

Short stories · Untitled story

Untitled story, part 17

The men climbed on their horses and rode out of the town. And so did Lyam and Verrill. The sun was burning their necks as they left to see the damages of the little town, Tarrion. Lyam was still thinking about turning back during every step of the way, as the pictures of the burning town flashed in and out of his mind. He tried to keep his thoughts on something else, but as they got closer there was nothing in the desert to keep his mind elsewhere. Only times he was able to see something other than what had happened on that one night, was when he remembered his home. His birth home. The walls still rose up against the bright blue sky somewhere far from there. They protected the city, it’s people, buildings, palace standing in the middle of it.

Shivers ran down Lyam’s spine as he thought for a moment. Could he just leave? Could he just go back to where he came from? It would be a risk, a gigantic one and if he’d do so there’d be no going back. He couldn’t risk his friends’ lives, so they would have to part ways with Verrill. With Denisa. Even traveling there would have its’ dangers, it just might be he couldn’t even get there. Would it be worth risking everything all over again? Would she…

Would Denisa understand? Or Verrill?

Lyam shook the thought away. It was completely idiotic to even wonder about such. He pet the horses neck as they stopped near the verge of Tarrion. The air smelled like smoke, burnt wood and.. Flesh. It made even Verrill turn pale as the moon had been. Lyam climbed down and tried to keep his chin up, even though Verrill’s frightened look alone made him terrified. The town was empty, quiet and run down.

Everything was completely ruined, some of the houses had collapsed, if they hadn’t burned all the way. There had been people inside at least some of the buildings, which made all the men keep to themselves in a way. No one said a word, or even looked at the others.

The men walked around the town, but there was no sign left of the attackers. Or anyone else for that matter. Verrill had found a few of the townspeople that had survived to the nearest city like Lyam, Verrill and Denisa when Lyam had been trying to get better. No one they knew that well: The daughter of the local blacksmith and some woman who was visiting her brother. The wind felt cold, even as Lyam knew that it wasn’t. Suddenly he just was freezing, most likely due to the shock. There was nothing they could do. Nothing or no one to save.

Lyam walked outside of  the town for sometime until he came across a place he knew in his heart he might never see again. There was a stone plaque lied down on the ground, where Verrill was already standing. Lyam stopped for a moment and watched as the young man crouched down and put his hand over the plaque stroking its’ warmed up surface. As he got up Lyam approached, put his hand on the shoulder of his friend and watched the grave of Verrill’s mother and father. In the reality they weren’t there, they’d been buried somewhere further but the plaque was there, near home. The ground just was too dry and hard to bury anyone or anything.

Heartbroken they were about to leave, Lyam heard a voice. A clear, high pitched voice like a woman’s whispering in his ear. He turned his head, looked around but there was no one and the words he heard weren’t something he could understand. He felt like he was in a hurry, he’d need to leave. Go somewhere, but he had no clue where. Something was pulling him away. He was just being homesick, or that was what he thought at the moment about it as the idea of returning his birth home passed his mind again. He slowed his horse down, as just to make sure he wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t do that to the only family he had had for years.

“Did you hear that?”, Lyam asked Verrill as they rode side by side and Verrill turned to his way shaking his head for a no.

“You need some sleep”, Verrill said sounding absent-minded. It all weighed him down, and Lyam could see that. The young man still stayed silent, Verrill would need some time to get his head around everything that had happened and would talk if he’d want to do so.

As they returned the city Lyam could feel eyes on his back, but couldn’t figure out who could be watching him. There wasn’t anyone there for miles away, except him, Verrill in his own thoughts and the few town guards. He still couldn’t shake the feeling there was someone there.

 

Continue reading “Untitled story, part 17”

What's going on?

Moving day is near…

And I’m basically freaking out.

On Monday we’re supposed to go get the keys from town nearby with my sister as my boyfriend is working and then it’s the time to start bringing stuff in. Yesterday I backed already most of my things I don’t really need before that, and my room was, and still is kinda, in worst condition it has ever probably been. The chaos is real, and I can’t say that I’d be the most tidy, strict person. I’m loose, relaxed and messy myself. Maybe it’s due to being artistic in a way. Or maybe I have gotten it from my mother, who is a hurricane to say the least.

My cat, Oliver, was freaking out for a moment. He didn’t know where he could go but ended up sleeping on his pillow, on my bed where I had put it. I just know that I can’t move him in straight away, I first need to make things tidy enough in our new home for him to move in. Even though he is fast at getting used to new places, it would be too stressing.

I also figured out I haven’t told that many people that I’m moving. Or that I have gotten a job. Should do that.. Seriously.