plot twist

once upon a time, a girl loved a boy.

he always told her how much he loved her, how much he cherished her; that she was the only person he could imagine spending the rest of his life with.
the girl loved him for his words; she had never heard such beauty spoken to her before.
the girl loved him for who he was; she had never met a person more gentle and considerate.

after a brief period of heaven, the boy was taken from the girl.
he went to prison. innocent.
the girl, heartbroken, promised the boy to stay true to him. she wrote to him, every day… for more than two years. she never so much as looked at another; her heart belonged to him.
slowly, she witnessed the once so wonderful person get turned – transformed into a twisted, hostile animal.
she could do nothing to prevent it, although she tried with all her might.
she loved him still.

the day came where the boy was granted freedom.
the girl was beyond happiness to have him back. at first, everything seemed wonderful. they could talk again – and the words said were as meaningful as ever.
after a while, the boy grew more and more quiet.
one day, he told her he was broken inside. that he had faded; had been destroyed beyond repair.
he told her he could not bear the thought of dragging someone else into his miserable life. he told her he would always love her.

the girl, still loving him with all her heart, tried to wrap her mind around not being with him. she accepted her fate, knowing he still loved her.

two weeks later, he had another woman.

after the storm

where do i begin?

she sat by the window. the steady drizzle had turned into full-out rain a while ago. when… she did not remember.
she watched the day going to sleep. twilight… such a peaceful thing.
the cigarette she had lit had died after a drag or two. it didn’t matter. it had just been a diversion anyways.

he had left her again after things went bad.
with the tip of her tongue, she gently touched her split lip, wincing at the stab of pain it caused her. her cheek, still stinging faintly, would show color tomorrow. a light purple perhaps; it would match the color of her eye’s contour.
her thoughts provoked a bitter smile. at least he made her life colorful.

her eyes lingered on her beloved garden outside, slowly growing darker. her refuge; she could not count the hours she had spent looking at it from this exact same spot, nor could she recall all the times she had spent in pain caused by his hands. wickedly familiar.
it seemed like a lifetime.

where do i begin?

undoubtedly he would return in a little while. return; bearing some petty gift to make up for his actions. once, she had believed his pained expression and pathetic attempts. once, she had believed he would stop.
once… she had been naive and loving.

she had stopped believing years ago.

she exhaled, deeply, forcefully; causing the window’s glass to fog up. lifting her slightly trembling fingers, she drew the shape of a crooked heart onto the smooth, cold surface.
she would leave it behind… the small, disgusting part of herself that still loved him. she had no more use for it.

with a final sigh she stood, grabbed her car keys from the low coffee table and moved to wrestle the big suitcase she had packed in a frenzy out the door. if its contents made sense, she would find out later. for now, it didn’t matter.
as the front door closed behind her and the fresh, rich scent of the evening’s rain filled her nostrils, she made herself one promise. one promise she intended to keep.

here and now is where i begin.

she never looked back.


smoke billows lazily from her slightly parted lips. the nervous tap tap tap of her long fingernails on the table draws his eyes, again. her eyes averted, she slouches in her chair; her expression… unreadable.
he wishes she would stop.
he wishes she would stop hiding behind her mechanisms and face him – but how could he force her?! he would never.
the haunting tick tock of the kitchen clock rings in his ears, adding eerie frequencies to her fingernails’ rhythm.
coffee, black. long gone cold, but he clings to the mug, holding on for dear life, needing to feel something solid, and yet fearing it might break in his sweaty palms.

how could she do this to him?
how could she face yet another trial and have nothing to say?
he can see the mockery – purple, taunting, on the side of her neck.
he can smell the cologne on her skin, her clothes.
he can see the color of her lips, just a shade too red… raw, from kissing someone else’s lips.
and yet, she sits there… silent, numb. not offering one word, not even trying to mask her failure.
he watches her put out her cigarette.
he watches her pick at her chipped nail polish.

will this ever end?

the fight, long gone from their postures; only helplessness remains.
to the sound of the judgemental kitchen clock, they endure yet another endless night… with no hope for a brighter tomorrow.