Aspiration: Prostitute. Or Pornstar.

I couldn’t care less what happened between the time you woke up and the time you slept. Sorry.

Short Story: Towards the Sun

Towards the Sun
a short story by Cheska Faye

She licks her lips and checks her reflection on his car window. This is the point where she should have said no. Instead, she had carefully pulled the handle and opened the door, sliding in with as much elegance, grace and maturity she can summon.

“You wanted this. You wanted this from day one”

The stinging on her cheeks makes everything more vivid. His hand is under her skirt.

“The department told me you want to work as a research assistant?”

She recalls the way the sun fell warmly on his face and how her heart skipped a beat when he smiled as he asked her to close the door behind her.

“Room 1201 sir, have a good stay”

He leads her through corridors, still holding her hand. She has never done this before.

“What time did you get here last night? I was up until twelve…”

She always thought that her roommate was jealous. He wasn’t called ‘Professor Fuck Me’ for nothing.

“It doesn’t feel like you don’t want this”

Everything hurt. She wanted to disappear.

“Ah, it’s eleven. I always forget the time when you’re here”

It couldn’t have been just her. But she had been so afraid of reading too much into it. He had a Ph.D. and was only 27. Why would he be interested in her?

“Stop? Lia, you came here willingly”

He is on top of her, his fingers wrapped painfully around her wrists. This is when she stops kissing back.

“If you want, I can give you lift. It’s my fault you’re going home this late anyway”

He had turned the radio on. They discussed pop culture. He turns right two blocks too early. She licks her lips again but for a different reason. Her fingers curl on the edges of her gray skirt, barely reaching her knees.

“You don’t show up at my office on Monday, you fail. It’s that simple, Lia”

He runs his fingers through her hair so tenderly and he wipes her tears with an exquisite replica of love.

“Come on”

He holds out his hand. She blushes as she takes it and is elated when he does not let go as he crosses the street.  He leads her into an alley and into a building.

- Fin -

While Sucking Mangoes

I suppose I’m still afraid of failure.

I’d rather be average in something I hardly like than to fail in something I absolutely adore.

Things I Don’t Believe In

You’re so, so close but there is no way to get to you.

Who really knows what it means?

I’m in a position where I can see my flaws in you and I see every bit of who I hate I am.

And I want to protect you. Or more accurately, to care for you. I want to assure you that you’re OK.

That I’m OK.

But I can’t stand the sight of you. It’s unnerving, watching myself. It’s everything I want to run away from. All the things I want to hide.

Nakakatakot na makita ang lahat ng hindi ako
At lahat ng gusto kong maging

Ligawan

?
kwento ng tunay na pag-ibig

Hindi ko maalala kung sino ka.

Tumatawa ka kasi, hindi ko makita ang iyong mata. Madali silang hanapin noon, sila yung parating nasa malayo.

Nalulunod ng iyong halakhak ang dating himig ng usok na humihiram ng limang minuto sa iyong hinaharap.

Basa na ng init ng araw ang mga sulok kung saan mo unang natikman ang walang kapantay na uhaw at nalasap ang hindi makatuwirang pagkakapauwi nito gamit ang isang patak ng pag-limot.

Hindi naman ako nagulat ng kanina ay naabutang kitang hawak na naman ang kutsilyo sa iyong kamay. Hindi ko rin napigilan ang aking pag-ngiti ng unti-unti mong inilubog sa iyong puso ang talim nito.

a truth i don’t dare realize

He is still holding my mother’s hand. They are walking in front of me and the same old mix of fear and anxiety would clutter my heart.

We never talk. I am still afraid of him. I am desperately trying to dress properly, talk politely, act accordingly and I am near tears because I know I can still disappoint him, still fail him.

It fades so easily into light and I realize that he’s still gone.

I can’t disappoint him. I can’t fail him.

I remain the little girl who could not do him proud, my future gone before it was written.

Con Fusion

Lito. Pa Rin.

Isang maliit na kwartong
May bilang ang pinto
Isang kama
At
Madaling ligaya.

Ang nakakatawa, umasa ako. Umaasa ako.

Matagal kong ipinagpilitan sa aking sarili na lilipas din ang paghinto ng aking paghinga tuwing makikita siya. Subalit nangagamba din ako na malimutan ang lahat dahil hindi pa natutumbasan ang ligaya na naramdaman ko sa mga sandaling nakasama ko siya.

Paano mo ba tatalikuran ang ligaya?

Short Story: Look

Look
a short story by Cheska Faye

Michael’s shift at McDonald’s ends at eight but sometimes, he lingers around the mall for another hour. At nine, the lights die and SM is nothing more than a large block of blocks.

The city is still alive outside. The lights are bright but not pretty though hardly anyone pays attention. Bus drivers blow their horns, jeepney drivers yell and he joins the family of seven as they cross the street.

Bert waves at him as he approaches and then goes back to poking his stick in a lady’s bright green bag which Michael is sure Louis Vuitton did not design, no matter what the print says. He wedges a white stick between his lips and fishes out his lighter – standard issue, with a scantily clad blonde pasted on one side.

“Just stick a knife in your gut. That’s easier”

The gentle night breeze caresses the flame to nothingness and he’s left with an unlit stick and a very disappointed Vincent two feet away. Michael looks down on his beaten up Chucks, spitting the cigarette and leaving it there on the parking lot as they hail a jeep home.

“Can I stay over?”

“You can. The pack in your pockets can’t”

Now I am in rage. As if we were engaged.

They both cringe at the music blaring from the speakers.

“Para!” Vincent yells before Champ can tell them I hate you. Michael hands his pack of Marlboro lights to a very surprised high school student with earphones bearing fruits in his ears.

A taxi speeds by as they cross the road and Vincent curses fluently with his Convergys accent. He gears up for his “Drivers are Stupid” lecture as they climb up the stairs to his apartment. Michael takes his bag and fishes out the keys, knowing better than to make any sort of reaction to the monologue.

Vincent finishes his no-fail-plan-to-combat-traffic-jams-in-the-metro with his monthly question, “Have you paid your rent?”

“Yep” Michael closes the doors behind them and locks it, setting Vincent’s bag on the table nearby

“I don’t know why you bother. You hardly live there”

He shrugs and proceeds to the kitchen while Vincent heads to the bedroom to change.

“Cheese? Butter?”

“Ah… butter! No… cheese! Cheese please!”

Michael opens the lower left cabinet and brings out a big plastic bowl, tapping it to the tune of popping kernels.

“Ay bobo. I haven’t done the laundry. Do you mind wearing my shirt? Everything you have here is in the hamper”

“It’s fine. Just don’t make me wear yellow”

He hears Vincent laugh and he chuckles along, placing the big plastic bowl with popcorn on the coffee table. He peeks in the bedroom and catches the shirt Vincent throws at him.

“I said cheese” Vincent grumbles as he spots the big plastic bowl and the little mistake earns Michael a smack on the head as Vincent brushes past him. He rolls his eyes as he changes.

They settle on the couch and it’s Michael’s turns to grumble.

“Your couch is small”

“I know”

It’s not big enough for them to sit beside each other comfortably so Michael always ends up with his feet dangling over the armrest and his head on Vincent’s lap. He can’t see very well but at least the big plastic bowl is right on his stomach.

The late news ends and Michael begins flipping through the channel.

“Oh God, it’s Wicker Park” Michael flinches as he switches to HBO. They’ve watched the movie far too many times not know its every single frame.

Vincent lets out a muffled triumphant expression, spewing bits of popcorn on his shirt. Michael picks it off and scowls at him.

I’ve been watching your world from afar. I’ve been trying to be where you are.

“Stand up you idiot! She’s right behind you!”

Michael shakes his head, “Every time Vincent. Every time”

Vincent looks up at him, kernel stuck between his two front teeth.

Michael chuckles and sighs, “I hate this movie”

“I know.

He watches as Josh Hartnett and Diane Krueger fall in love.

Vincent drools on his jeans.

- Fin -

[Notes: This was written out of nowhere. I actually liked this piece because it somehow captures the place where I live. Most of my work means nothing to other people but for me, I read this and I remember late, rainy, quiet summer nights]

Short Story: Fish

FISH
a short story by Cheska Faye

You’re tired and you’re sure your feet are plotting your demise and you want to go home. But it’s Friday and Mark has convinced you to hang around SM North because it’s after midterms and you have to celebrate and he’s your best friend and you are incapable of saying no.

“My feet really hurt,” you finally declare but then you’re interrupted by your own frown caused by the rows of perfectly lined up umbrellas, marked down from 300 to 150, “I bought an orange one yesterday. Full price…”

Mark laughs because Maya of Worst Luck strikes again.

You once again remind him of the misery your feet are putting you in. His solution is to drag you to a shoe store and sit you down while he tries to decide between a pair of pink or orange Chucks.

You listen to him as he explains why buying the orange ones is reasonable seeing that he has a lot of orange shirts and because orange goes well with green or pretty much anything else. Or so he says.

You tap your own pair of shoes against the wood base of the bench and you hit something. It’s a black umbrella, half-off today. You raise an eyebrow as you pick it up.

“Hi”

There is a sudden pounding somewhere and it takes you a moment to realize that it is in your ears and you have no idea why.

“I think that’s mine”

You remember to look up and you’re pretty sure you look stupid so you bow your head back down. But then you think it’s impolite. You look up again and she’s still there and you’re still holding her umbrella. You hand it to her and you notice how round her eyes are. She kindly smiles at you and cheerfully says, “You can let it go now”

She thanks you politely before walking away and you’re sure the butterflies behind her are all in your head.

Mark decides on the pink ones because Dave has pink ones and they can wear them and it would be so cool and Dave would think it’s sweet.

“She looks like… a fish,” you declare and Mark bursts out laughing because you are so weird Maya. Maybe that’s why you buy a black umbrella, half-off today.

- Fin -