440: Ministrations for the Uncaring

440: Ministrations for the Uncaring

A little girl of seven years old, maybe younger, watching from the safety of a large covered recliner, passively distraught by the scene going on in front of her. The shrieking cries for a non-existent saviour, dissonant with the retaliating shouts of unrestrained anger. Then a jump-cut to an older girl, still untainted by the unforgiving realities of the real world. The love for summer still strong, blooming in her heart like secretly woeful roses, revelling in the caresses of the warm breeze. For her in that moment, no kinds of violence existed, no pains of unrequited love, an all-encompassing innocence protecting her with a thin film.

A montage, a flurry of montages, all rolled into one, non-sequentially following the other, disrupting a chronological order that only the most boring, most conforming of sentient machines desired. The past, present and future, indiscernible. Like a photo album arranged haphazardly in no identifiable order, being flipped by the little curious hands of a toddler eagerly raking her eyes over the meaningless images.

So what did it matter to her, having been forced to swallow ugly, irrepressible truths? A mentally weak, physically strong girl such as herself instead decides to parry with tokens of affection, gamble with her future, tinkering with the melodious songs of hearts she had yet to discover and capture. Hardened to the fake ministrations the world attempted to offer her, and only seeking solace in the arms of those in whom she made a heavy emotional, potentially physical investment. She wondered, worried for the future, but despite all this, plunged herself into the unknown, plowing aimlessly, furiously, recklessly.

She woke up in a haze of heady lust, her eyes clouded with the remnants of the sexual dream she secretly wished to be true, her fingers fiddling with the edge of the bed sheet. Most mornings were like this now, if she woke up in time.


~ Serendipitous

I don’t know where I was going with this.


436: Bus Ride Home (Flash Fiction)

436: Bus Ride Home (Flash Fiction) 

The young girl boarded the bus and sat close to the back, holding her dark blue satchel close to her body as slow romantic music played in her ears. It drowned out the sounds of the outside world as she waited for the bus to pull away from the curb. She cast a glance through the rain-soaked window, wondering what kind of dinner would be waiting for her at home. The home she had grown to feel more and more detached from, a home she called a mental prison instead. The mealtimes were all she looked forward to…

As the bus halted at a major stop, she watched as the passengers boarded the bus. An older businessman who looked like he was ready to retire, his wrinkled suit and tired, weathered face a testament to that possible fact. A young Asian couple, groceries in hand, chatting quietly between themselves in a foreign language. A lone student with stained uniform and downcast eyes, lost in his own music just as she was. And many more came, filling the bus to nearly capacity. No one sat next to her.

When the bus pulled away again, she began to watch the old businessman. He had his phone out and was scrolling mindlessly, perhaps on some social media platform she did not care about. His glazed eyes, his partially open mouth, his large, smooth hands, salt and pepper hair, wrinkles lining his face. Entranced by the slow music in her ears, which was now on a loop, she drew her eyes towards the young couple, their groceries sitting at their feet and in their lap. They chatted quietly with that special glimmer in their eyes, the kind only reserved for lovers. A small brew of sadness stirred in her heart as she created a little world for them, a story of tempestuous romance – no, perhaps not. A story of a pair of simple lovers who loved simply. The best kind of story. One that she desired, but could not yet have.

Her attention was brought away from the couple when the bus took a sharp turn, and she gripped the seat in front of her to steady herself. She was approaching her stop. Once the bus halted again, she wrapped her satchel around her body and stepped off gently, inhaling the bitter cold air and rubbing her bare arms instinctively. Dinner was waiting for her at home. The little world of that pair of simple lovers was lost on her as she walked down the long road, feeling cold, lonely, disappointed.


–I guess I call it flash fiction instead of drabble. I’m not sure. Let’s give this kind of thing a go. Wrote this for a small writing competition held on a public Discord server I joined about a week ago, maybe less. Nice community. I hope it gets me writing more, like an escape from my current, shitty predicament.



~ Serendipitous


405: Helplessness

405: Helplessness

There is this lake that I know of. That we know of, actually. Sometimes I visit it alone, sometimes he visits it alone, but over the last few days I’ve accompanied him when he pays a visit. I take a lot of walks, but sometimes I stumble upon the lake when I least expect it. Not today, though. We come to the lake together and I beg him not to go too deep because the last time I did alone, I almost drowned. He barely registers my words as he dives in, still clothed. I don’t have time to strip or hesitate, so I dive into the water, too, and it’s damn cold but so is he, and I feel like today I might lose him forever. I told you I’d love you like I’m going to lose you, but today that’s what it is, that I still love you so ardently but you always want to find out what is at the bottom of the lake, even if it is at the cost of your life.

Honey, you swim so fast that I can barely keep up. My vision was blurry to begin with, but the gap between us widens and soon you are nothing but a blur in what seems to be a far off distance. I know you’re still going down to the bottom, but why? I came with you in the hopes of convincing you that you didn’t need to swim all the way down, that there is nothing down there except death and the bones of those who sought the bottom but received eternal sleep instead. You escape my vision and my swimming speed slows and slows until I feel like the water is overflowing my lungs and the bubbles are filling my sight instead. I grab at my throat begging for the air that will never come. I beg for us. I’m not ready to die. We still had so many days left together.

I don’t want my last memory to be of you abandoning me so you could wallow in your pit of sadness. I feel so helpless, knowing I can’t reach out to you and help you, because you refuse my help, because you don’t know how to fix it, but I’m trying, and you won’t let me.

Honey. You’re not the only one suffering in the lake. We’re both running out of oxygen.


~ Serendipitous

Please. Let me help you.

400: Sylvie

400: Sylvie

Sylvie was asked by her boyfriend of two years to wait for him by the crooked streetlight at the end of the road. He said he’d come pick her up sometime past midnight, that they could run away together and get married so they could build their own lives together rather than under the oppression of society and their families. She agreed and arrived at the streetlight a quarter to midnight.

Holding her briefcase of precious possessions, she couldn’t stop smiling as she thought of the new life they would have together. A small part of her felt a pang of nostalgia mixed with regret and longing as she mulled over the fact that she would be leaving her parents, her younger sister, her governesses and tutors, the nanny who doubled up as a housekeeper…people who had played a significant role in raising her from that tiny tot she had been eighteen years ago. People who had brought her up under a range of disciplines, from strict and unsympathetic to embracing and loving. That was partially the reason for her wild streak and her adeptness. He was in love with her because she was not simple, had ambitions and wanted a life outside the middle class. Of course, running away meant that they would be broke and poor, no longer middle class, but they had convinced themselves that their true happiness lay in each other.

Her timepiece told her now that it was half past midnight. What did sometime past midnight mean? Was he late? Did he get held up by his parents? Sylvie was overcome with worry. She had put down the briefcase and sat on it, making sure her skirt did not make contact with the ground. Where was he? A lump rose in her throat, a lump of nervousness and shame. She placed both of her hands across her stomach. A life within a life. She was worried for the little thing growing inside her as well. What if he never came?

The streetlight flickered overhead as the oil lamp in the glass casing began to burn out slowly. They were supposed to run away together, but his absence made her heart rise and fall in time with her racing thoughts. The baby! She had always wanted to be a mother, but only with him by her side as well. Shame flitted into her thoughts again. The people back at home did not raise her to be like this but even so…

Sylvie missed him. She wanted him to be there with her, but he wasn’t. She didn’t bother looking at her timepiece anymore. Maybe he wasn’t coming. Men, no, boys of eighteen going on nineteen years never kept their promises. This was one of the easiest ways for him to leave her – to make a false promise and then never turn up. Sylvie clutched at her stomach again as the streetlight finally went out, enveloping her in darkness.

Boys who don’t keep their promises will always break the hearts of their girls.


~ Serendipitous

Gah I had a better story planned out but this will have to do

I can’t even use it as a discovery creative damn it!

383: Enigma

383: Enigma

He wakes up in a cold sweat, naked, hard, confused. He sees that girl in his dreams again, the curious enigma he is intrigued by. Still half-asleep, half-dreaming of teenage sex and young love, he scampers down the stairs in a misty, wondrous haze.

That new girl, ever since she had come here, had been an enigma to him. Her cold front, her cool demeanour, her smiles and laughs that seemed real…but he knew that there was a fine line between genuineness and deception with this girl. He’d never seen someone’s expressions travel the spectrum with such incredible speed. He wondered if he, or anyone else for that matter, would be able to discern her true feelings. That girl, she had done so many things to her hair that it was hard to picture her with her natural black hair colour. He’d known because he had searched her up on Google, perusing her various online profiles. It occurred to him suddenly that he neither liked or disliked her unlike many boys their age; rather, that he was, and still is, curious about her.

So it didn’t occur to him that within the next four weeks, he’d find himself in an abandoned park at night with the girl in his lap, his first kiss of many, her last kiss of few. It didn’t occur to him that he had been an enigma to her, that she wanted him in more ways than one, that they truly complemented each other as a pair of soulmates would. That even though she was quiet and shy and sometimes fake, she was a voracious kisser, hungry for more, never satiable. He didn’t want to get tired of kissing this enigmatic girl.

He was simply afraid that she would no longer be an enigma to him.


~ Serendipitous

My favourite novel of all time is Francoise Sagan’s Bonjour Tristesse. I think that says a lot about me as a person.

79 days until I’m 18.

381: Love in Damnation

381: Love in Damnation

Two lovers met in the most ordinary of situations. Strangers one day, friends the next, then lovers in the months to come.

They sit in a cheap car out by a desolate picnic area in the middle of the night, car lights on, passing back and forth a bag of her favourite chips because both of them refuse to smoke weed or do any illicit drugs. Because he’d leave her if she tried, and she’d get addicted if he tried. She’d follow him to the ends of the earth. Better in potato chips than drugs, he said. Rock Deli honey soy chicken. He doesn’t mind that flavour. Whatever she loves, it will become his love, unless he physically cannot come to love it. Her parents don’t know she’s left the house. He’s probably in trouble for lying, but he doesn’t think about that now because he just wants to be with his high school sweetheart.

Eventually the bag of chips is depleted and she is left only with the sticky preservatives coating her left index and thumb. He watches her in amusement as she sucks her fingers clean, the lingering taste of honey chicken resting on the carpet of his tongue. She turns to him, that greedy glint in her eye. She brought a second bag of chips, but that’s not what she’s interested in. She’s interested in tasting more of that godlike junk on his lips. With both of her hands she pulls his head closer to hers and she lowers her lips. They kiss but for a brief few seconds. He pulls away first. He registers the hurt look that graces her countenance before she pulls away herself and sits on the far right side, casting her eyes out of false interest for the cloudy sky above them. He sighs heavily and grasps one of her wrists in his fierce grip, but she doesn’t respond. He realises too slowly that she was expecting to make out with him. Even though they’re adults now, she’s still a silly little girl inside. He calls her name. She doesn’t respond. He looks for her eyes in the reflection of the window, but he sees nothing. He returns his hand to his lap and clenches his fists. He loves her, but she always wants so much more than what he can give her. They’ve been going over this for years. He’s still not comfortable with her because there’s something about her that’s off. Why does she always like kissing so much? Are other girls like this? He covers the thought quickly. She wouldn’t like it if any of his thoughts were about “other girls”, not that she would know. Although she was a possessive bitch, and she could read him like an encyclopedia. If she knew where to look for one, that is. He turned to look at her, but she was gone. Disappeared from the interior of the car. The car door was open. She’d wandered out into the darkness.

He cursed.

Then his blood began to boil. Always, always pulling silly things like this, that silly little girl, why didn’t he just go after a real woman instead? Some woman who didn’t have mental illnesses, a drama-worthy family, a fat girl who had difficulty losing weight…some woman who didn’t need to be kissed, who could be kissed out of surprise and enjoy it…he didn’t even leave the car. He simply reached over to close the door before he turned on the ignition and backed out of the driveway before deciding to head home. It wasn’t his car. He’d borrowed it from a friend. He was mad. He wanted to be in his own bed again. He wanted to leave that girl. That one time he told her he questioned their relationship while they were mad at each other tore at her heart. He didn’t know. He just wanted to tell her the truth. But she was shook and she said they were supposed to be together forever. Or something like that, he couldn’t remember. Those endless apologies, they just became meaningless over time. Driving away, he felt free. Like he was unfurling new wings that he could fly with. Wings that had been bound by leather string, and then released like a dove. He wasn’t sure if she could find her way back, it was so dark tonight, but now that he left her, he could pursue another. Who to pursue? A girl with long, sable hair, just like hers…a dazzling smile, endless legs, endless intelligence, endless conversation…her. What the…it struck him. There was no one else but her. He’d met many girls with her in university, none of them shaping up to be half of the expressive, wild girl he’d fallen in love with years ago. He looked for a good opportunity to make a U-turn and drove back at a faster speed, wondering if she was waiting for him. When he turned the ignition off and dashed out of the car, he saw a silhouette, a very dark shadow, sitting at one of the benches. He rushed to it, apologising, crying, his heart shaken, tossed, stomped upon, but still intact. If only the shadow had not dissipated once he had tried to wrap his arms around it…

He drove home, without his girl. The next morning, he called endlessly, sent some several desperate texts, checked with mutual friends. She had been last active on Facebook eight hours ago, maybe around the time he left her. He went to file a missing person’s report. If she was dead, then a body had never been found. Did he unwittingly fulfil one of her empty wishes to disappear?

All he knew was that he deeply regretted driving away from her that night. She could’ve run away, been abducted, killed, anything…and it was preventable. Could he ever love another again, he wasn’t sure. He felt cursed. Even though it was a combination of both of their actions that had led to this outcome. He loved her, he loved her, and he only knew when she was gone for good.


~ Serendipitous


377: Endless Futures

377: Endless Futures

Whoops, I haven’t posted in a while.


She stands on the balcony with her small hands resting on the cool railing, wearing a sheer nightgown, basking in the serenity of the dark before the dawn. He would not have liked her wearing his gift outside, but surely no one could see her now. She gazes into the horizon, waiting for the sun to rise and illuminate the midnight purple sky.

How easy it is for her to say that they both worked hard to get where they were now. Their own apartment together, studying in their dream degree together, sleeping in the same bed together. How easy it was for her then to dream of such a thing. Even though they had been together for a while, longer than most couples had been when they graduated high school, it was still all too surreal for her. She was, is, will be living a dream that teeters on the fine line between reality and imagination.

She stands there indefinitely. Her hands become immune to the cool touch of the metal beneath her fingers. The sun, pulling itself into the sky and radiating its warmth, sending rays of light from heaven itself, emboldening the shape of the billowing clouds in the far off distance. If she wasn’t so careful (and she wasn’t), she would go so far as to say that this would be what she’d see when she was as close as she could be to her lover, best friend, future husband, partner for life. To see the sunrise was, is, could have been, will be, her happiness. With his arms wrapped around her waist of course. But he hadn’t woken up yet, at least in this fantasy set up. Maybe in a while he’ll wake up, wander half-asleep to the balcony with the screen door that has been carefully opened so as to not have woken him up hours earlier, and he’ll see her standing there, still as a post, watching the sky unload its daily story. He’ll see she’s wearing that nightgown, and he’ll go to scold her, but she’ll turn around and smile, and she’ll say,

“Good morning honey. Did you have a good sleep?”

He’ll think about what she said, with an arm resting on the frame of the screen door. He loves the sound of her voice, even if she doesn’t herself. The perfect number eight will roll around in his mind, and then he’ll think of her rolling around on their bed. No. Nah. He wouldn’t do that. He’ll just think about how he’s perpetually tired. He hasn’t gotten the perfect number of hours of sleep since tenth grade. Or maybe even ninth, depending on what version of stories he’s told his girl. She probably doesn’t remember, on account of her short term memory loss. But, since it’s a weekend…

“Yes, bub. What are you doing there? Why are you wearing that?”

She’ll come away from the balcony. The sky lost her attention as soon as he came out to the balcony. She’ll smile at him, one of those secret, furtive smiles she reserves for him, that twinkle in her right eye when she smirks crookedly. His breath will catch in this throat, only momentarily – she’s done this more times than he can count, but still – and then she’ll wrap her arms around his neck and wait for him to do the same around her waist. She’ll have brushed her teeth long before he woke up, but she’ll kiss him, morning breath or not, all the same. She will like waking him up even more with a morning kiss, then breakfast, then more kisses. And normally they’ll have rushed off to the clinic, but it’s a weekend, so she’ll probably take him back to bed so that they can discuss their future, their past, their present, and everything in between.


~ Serendipitous

Huh. I like writing in future tense. I wonder if anyone else does that. Probably. I didn’t invent future tense so yes, probably. Rambling.

I love you, honey. Here’s the post.

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