I'm really not a fan of short short stories (though this one is a short short short story). I prefer reading lengthy stuffs like those of Encyclopedias. You know, I am a self-proclaimed geek fat boy.
Just kidding! Anyway, I wrote this piece when my head got hit in a stellar. I suddenly decided to write something out of my awesome brain. Please, forgive me for being boastful and arrogant. This is what you get when your head hits a heavy stellar. Figurative! Well, if you want to know the words, don't hesitate then. If not, get out of here. Crap!
I can still remember every details on that crisp night; a photograph of his vesper cries. He merely buries himself in the meadow of guts and hopes; fingers are crossed while he opts his mind to play with luck. He goes out of his closet, wears his favorite shoes, styles his hair with cream and practices his script. “This is it,” he whispers as he drops a chewing gum on his mouth. Poor kid, I wish I can tell him to, at least, review some excerpts (might be of help). He mounts with much faith and is, shall I say, dressed for the occasion – one tough guy. In a sudden, he decides to light a cigar and perceives what might eventually happen. “I have to be a Romeo, at least, for the very last time.” he said, “Be romantic. Yeah, should be romantic but not frantic and blue.”
I stared at him profusely, deciphering what those words of him mean. I know he’s up to something peculiar and I can sense that little artistry of him when it comes to “Romance.” After a few minutes of lollygagging, he finds himself in the house of flora. Well, the kid is in for a show! “Three roses would do and one for her mom,” he clamors. Basically, the kid is really motivated; this is pursuit of happiness. The last props are done and it’s time for the presentation proper. He arrives around dinner time, just enough to get his plot going. However, the next scene leaves his jaw wide open – Shrek’s amiable Fiona is not there; not even a hint of the Queen’s nor the King’s royalty is perceived. “Well, her granny is here,” he encourages himself, “At least… at least…” Dang, after the curtain falls the characters are surprisingly not there. I feel sorry for him. However, the hero still continues to do his chivalry role. He sits beside the aged-woman and dips in an intellectual conversation but, from time to time, he checks his clock; wishing that Fiona perhaps should be here in any minute. Alas, the angry sound of the vehicle puts his senses all-together; that eerie feeling where your heart beats like there’s no tomorrow. “Okay, you’ll stand up, greet the Royalty, and, (the much awaited), offer the roses to Fiona.” he commands his heart. The royalty comes in together with their other princess, but, where’s Fiona? I watch his soul drains from the ghastly scenario. In reality, the Royalty knows that Don Quixote would arrive for his damsel in distress. They explain to where Fiona could have been on this crisp night and she’ll be here in any minute. The last scene enters; they all stop in awe as the “Damsel” steps in. The air is filled with her beauty and, at the same time, resentment towards him. I giggle as I can see his face turning red while his hands are shaking. He slowly gains composure as he offers the sweet flowers to her. “Hi!” he exclaims while he tries to look at her sleek eyes. “Yes, those beautiful eyes.” A familiar aroma snakes through the castle; embracing their hearts with the eagerness to reconcile.
As I witness their melancholics, I choose to settle myself with the heavenly bodies beside me and dare not to interrupt with the kid’s night. He’s all by himself, now, and I’m proud of what he did. I can feel that void in his heart starting to fade; his desires to rekindle that light can now be fathomed. But, all of sudden, I see him painting a labyrinth on his face and I wonder why. Is it something good or the three-letter-word that starts with letter B? He announces his departure to the Royalty, makes his last speech and bids farewell to the Damsel – hoping to get a last glimpse of her. I tried to sneak for what the prologue would be but, in a blink of an eye, the clouds wrapped me with might. All I can see is his silhouette that is full of vain and uncertainties. I don’t know what the exact scenes are but, base on the kid’s distinction, it’s undeniable. Poor little kid, he could have been happy if only… Nah, who am I to empathize. From here, all I can do is just shed light. It’s not even mine, though. And, through my light, I can see his pain.
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