Whisper an adventure to me.
As the moonlight glimmers into your sentient eyes, low key glints of yellow coruscate onto my sedated eyes. Despite the hour, an anonymous force wakes me to follow your spirit. The earth beneath me ushered every step with an unvoiced suggestion to sit at our spot on top of the hill. The pearl moon hung low while the brisk air adorned my melanin. Almost in an instant, an ethereal warmth embraced my spirit. Together we watched the scintillating visions of sparks perform a ballet amongst the canopies. The sky became a faintly stained sheet of glass manifesting a pathway to your eyes watching mine. This transcendent encounter lasted from the time the moon was glowing until the Sun was gleaming. From the wind’s tree trembling whistle to the sound of the tree filled with birds who sing. After the Sun’s lustrous stream touched the Earth, I sent a kiss upon a flower’s petal in hopes of it discovering you. I felt your intangible ‘good morning.’ Now I wait until you feel mine to you.
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The hushed glances of eyes between two souls hold the threads for the spirits to be woven together without disturbing the unrequired ears to hear one another’s heart speak.
I listen to the story they tell without a single word being exchanged. The honesty; it whispers into my mind and opens the window to our muted communication. It begins with the beating of eyelashes moving like hands applauding to our energy becoming accessible to one another. We gift each other the permission to unlock answerability that lie beneath our secluded questions. While we unravel unseen answers, the thread between our souls become more and more restricted from the spurious visions to fulfill the anxiety of past pains. Within these speechless (and occasionally awkward) stares, we find accountability restored for us. His iris is painted with a subtle color of smoky light sea blue complemented with evergreen. Around the pupil, a sunflower gold outlines this masterpiece in the shape of a lotus flower. When I stare into those eyes I see my haven. I gaze into his eyes and they speak to me. These eyes are stained with promises and sanctuaries
As they watch you bare a static facade to avoid the weight you carry. As much as you wish my vision was blurry, My brown eyes capture your soul drowning in this world that is constantly in a hurry. I hope to see the day when your eyes free themselves from this hellish reign. They could rain, releasing all the pain. Tears are always healing the soul. The tacit screams of pearling droplets will fill your bowl Only with water, no dust. It is a choice to emboss your heart with a seal to hide your loss of trust. The manifestation of your unbreakable disguise Will forever remain transparent to my brown eyes. There is no need to make friends with shadows. All that you want to say was confessed to me. It’s too late, I know. I cannot save you. The least I could do Is read your muted gaze, looking into your eyes And accept your undisputed truth, not your disguise Two trees thrive side by side
Both inadvertently seeking the light as their growths’ guide. Despite the other’s wondrous height, The Cherry Tree became floriferous instead of prospering from an ignorant plight. Despite the other’s enticing blossoms capturing the eyes of wanderers, The Willow Oak stretches to the sky because of its aspirations rather than willing from a place of conquerors. Two Trees winding and binding to seek the light, Plant the seed of understanding every season. Teaching life through personified glory without becoming envious of the lives within their realm. The Ones riveted by nature’s hidden enlightenment will learn Gratitude and Jadedness makes life quite Generous. By: Yasmin Lee
“Are all your shirts green?” Clothes leaped from all directions, falling victim to the restless search for eloquent perfection. Indifferent to the whooshing of earthy toned sweaters, the conversing of two friends heightened. “No! I know I wear my pull over a lot but not all of my shirts underneath it are green.” Bryson stood up from the bed in objection to Chance’s claim. “Bruh, what do you mean! I understand you wear your pull over a bunch but I swear you wear the same shirts all the time! Girls aren’t into bums! Do you want to look like a bum when you ask her to prom?! What kind of message are you trying to send!” Chance undulated his hand to his forehead as he tried to veil his nerves. "I'll have you know Carrie likes my wardrobe. She compliments me on my shirts all the time!" Bryson swatted his hand at him as his grimace morphed into a face of curiosity. The resistance of asking the question became unsound the more he noticed his friend’s eyes lighting up everytime they talked about her. “As your compadre, I care about your well being. Because of what happened last time-” “Why do you always bring this up as if Layla still gives me problems?” Chance scoffed in disbelief heedlessly as he sifted through his shirts. “No Chano, I’m serious. When you were with Layla you lost control and became depressed. I’m glad you’re, like, a trillion times better now. I need to know why you’re so taken with Carrie.” Chance ceased his search and pivoted to Bryson. To throw the concerns of the world off his back, the sarcasm began. “Thank you for caring but, I’m sure that things are stable enough for me to date. I’m fine.” “Just answer the question.” Bryson sat on the bed becoming more stern about Chance’s current mentality. “Alright, alright,” his eyes migrated to his phone as her name popped up from his notifications. An enchanted sigh escaped from his mouth before he spoke again. “She reminds me of my mom in a not weird way. Every day my mom would wear peach, her favorite color. All that is good is that color to me...for whatever reason. And Carrie makes me feel, like, peachy on the inside. Comfortable, elated, warm and whole again like before my mom passed away.” Chance flickered a smile as his longing for her became unbearable, “that’s why I’m into her rather than falling for the same mistake twice. Can you please support me on this bro?” Bryson nodded his head with a smirk of satisfaction, “cool. Now I can leave with some peace of mind. Just choose your waffle sweater; doesn’t she like jump for joy everytime you wear that?” Chance pursed his bottom lip, shrugging as if he could not challenge Bryson for once. “You’re right, well! I’ll see you later and text me if your mock trial practice is canceled on Friday.” Bryson gave him a thumbs up before leaving Chance with his sea of sweaters to pick up. An hour or so passed after Chance cleaned his room and received news about the mock trial practice being canceled. He sprung up joyously then kneeled as if he made a touchdown. “Yes! So Carrie is free to hang out Friday! Perfect time for me to make my move.” Everything was planned out. He’d “accidentally” run into her Thursday afternoon after she left her archery meeting to ask if she’d be free Friday night (conveniently knowing the answer is yes). After that, he would go to her house Friday night with his amp, extension cord, and guitar to perform her a song that sums up his feelings. Once it is said and done, Chance would have his prom date without any complications. It was now Thursday and the clock struck 4:30. Chance wafted his breath and sniffed his armpits before starting his playlist to walk down the hall. While he watchfully ambled, Carrie was texting. Chance knew that she was approaching because of the pleasant, but sudden, a vision of blonde. BAM! "Oh my gosh I'm so sorry Chance!", Carrie took out her headphones as she smiles widely ushering her embarrassment to paint her lily skin with a blush. He could not help but let out a simple chuckle as he viewed her enduringly. The way she would become so modest around others made his heart pound. "It's quite alright Carrie." As the conversation proceeded, the two charmed one another. Despite the contentment in the air, there lingered an unshakable feeling of terror. Rather than examining it, Chance walked Carrie to her car. "So...this is my car. Where's your car?" Chance’s face became flushed, feeling as though his plan was spiraling. Only pride could choke his confidence in this moment. “Um, you see, I don’t drive quite yet because of… my health. It’s a long story but, I do help the environment by riding my bike everywhere. Not to mention it helps calm me down when I have my bad days.” Carrie understood what happened to Chance as she quickly glared at his striped scars on his right wrist. Even though she had the opportunity to become frightened by his distorted past, she remembered it was entirely irrelevant to his newly found bliss with life. “We all have to lose our minds a little to find our peace of mind.” She smiled and gave him a hug goodbye. Before she could leave, Chance abruptly asked, “are you tomorrow night?” The window rolled down uncovering the most polite puzzled face one could make. “Wait, what? Are you asking if I’m free Friday night?” Anxious but reserved, he stumbled to say, “yes I am. Are you free Friday night?” "Yeah! I'll just sit around being boring or whatever so… yeah. I'll see you at 7:00? My place?" “Totally!” Off into the rosey, peach ribboned sky, Carrie was gone until their next encounter. His heart pounded softly with gratitude. What a feeling it is to wish to have met someone earlier in life. The only error in his achievement was his lack of awareness for Layla. “Aww. You look like the Boy Meets World reboot… a total failure.” The air thinned into a raw temperature crawling down his spine. His breaths were only being taken in, never breathing out until he recollected himself. “Layla. I told you to stay away from me. I don’t know you anymore.” Layla cackled as tears fell from her blackened eyes. “You were always so silly Chance! I just wanted to let you know you’re going to have wished you never met me!” Every inch of his body became tense, his eyes darted to her as he charged in her direction. "You self-centered piece of oh my goodness! I already wish I never met you! You ruined me! Our whole relationship was unhealthy and made my life turn into a new path that has no ties to you!" His hands trembled faster than any blade of grass in a hurricane. Layla held her breath with exposed eyes blankly staring into Chance as she struggled to grab her upside down crucifix. "Chance Lacy, you heartbreaking pig! Ut malediceret Tibi! I curse thee! Watch your back mortal!" Before he could complete his blink, Layla vanished! Terrified, he ran to his bike to unleash his angsty thrash. With the assistance of drinking water and doing some yoga, he gained control of his emotions once more. She does not have power over me, she does not have power over me... is his mantra until his sore eyes became anointed to catch a glance at his splendid haven, Carrie Lyric. After a mitigating day at school, Chance dashed home leaving the world breathless as he prepared his promposal. ☑ Green sweater ironed and pressed, ☑ Embroidered waffle on the left-hand side of the sweater stood out promptly, lastly ☑ Glistening bass guitar with amp in hand. Chance's limits were as boundless as the night sky itself. Every word to Carrie's song was memorized and perfectly accompanied by his bass. Things were going quite smoothly until he felt an ache amongst his neck, almost as if someone pinched him. Swiftly turning his head side to side, the presence of the abuser was not there. Without a second thought, he continued his trip to Carrie's. Meanwhile, Layla grew bitter towards Chance's new life without her. The control she once had over him was unshackled by the trance of his new interest. Never mind the complexity of her vindication, she simply wanted to feel what it was like to be remembered by Chance. With revenge in mind, she plotted the perfect way to sabotage his promposal. From the cloths of dark magic, she weaved together a voodoo doll identical to Chance. To test it out, she pinched the doll's neck to begin her reigning. Subsequently, Chance was only a neighborhood away from his destination. Until now, he thought he had everything he needed for the perfect night. Suddenly it came to him: what are we going to do after she says yes? Without an answer, he imagined it would be nice to eat since he was already so hungry currently. Only having half an hour to spare, he rode to Bryson's job, the Minimart, to grab breakfast food (her favorite). "Thank gosh! I thought I have been plagued with Denson Mart vacancy fever for the rest of the night!" Bryson leaped over the front counter almost knocking down the rack of pamphlets. "Are you about to pull up on Carrie?" "As much I as I would like to correct your usage of slang, yes I'm about to. I just thought it would be even better if I bought her favorite food for us to eat afterward." Chance parked his bike beside the entrance door leading to his search for orange juice. As he walked through the aisle, his right arm jolted backward for a moment. "Woah there!" “Did I say something?” Without certainty, Chance forced an answer, “sorry dude. I guess it’s my meds causing some weird stuff to me.” While Chance continued his search for food, Bryson began sorting the snack bar with his back turned to Chance. "Will you be good till you get to her place?" CRASH! “Well, you know,” BANG, “I should not have any more problems. HoT! hOt!" So far all of these spasmodic acts occurred through his arms, however, his body grew torrid. The burning sensation of fire tickling his feet kindled the idea to throw himself to the ground wailing. “Yo, Chance! What are you doing?!” Bryson rushed to his friend’s aide but, it stopped. Chance’s body lost its sweltering flash. In a rushed panic, Chance exclaimed, “um, I’ll just take the orange juice and waffles!” Slowly peeling his body from the ground, Chance thought it was all in his head. The sooner he believed this, the sooner things would be better. “Well then, I suppose I will let you leave and go propose to that nice girl.” Bryson hopped over the counter bringing down the pamphlets with him as Chance’s body toppled over into the magazine stand. “Dude, I really have to leave before things get worse! Keep the change!” Chance leaped on his bike with the food peddling faster than a gushing flood. As he peddled, something told him Layla was behind this phenomena. She does not have power over me, she does not have power over me... The unforeseen levitation of his entire body was the signal of his disconnected plan. From the shadows, a familiar sing-songy voice disturbed his flight. "Surprise, surprise Chancellor. Here I am to gift your wings back." Layla surfaced from the mist across the street as she controlled the voodoo doll. Her face was the most inconceivably hateful image Chance had ever witnessed in his life. “Free me!” “Now why would I do that when I could simply do this?” Her hand gently scarfed the voodoo doll’s neck causing Chance to gasp for air. “If I’m such a bother to your life, why continue to endure the pain? Just leave.” Her eyes blacken once more as her face stiffened. Struggling to breathe, Chance wheezed out, “life does not end with death. Life ends with life itself. No matter what happens, life...goes on. I don’t need you.” “Your words maybe profound but, they are also false.” “I’d rather die than be a slave to your destruction!” Layla could not fathom defeat and thought the only way for her to remain untouchable was to eliminate her only opponent. She released the voodoo doll from her clasp. "So be it Chance. You have officially died for your beliefs." She unhandled doll letting it crash to the ground. In the thin air, she dissolved into the mist never being seen again. As for Chance, his body was growing pale as time ticked away without awareness of his plans. When one is tampered by dark forces, their likeliness to be safe decimates. His guitar was his only hope of anyone finding his body. He landed inside of a ditch cold, alone, and worst of all incomplete. The soft buzzing of his phone faded in and out within his head as his eyelids fell low. Adjacent to the neighborhood to him, Carrie sat on the couch wearing her fuzzy peach sweater accompanied with her bumblebee socks. Despite how comfortable her attire was, her mind was becoming a storm. She didn't know whether he stood her up or if he became lost on the way there. He’s never late. Ugh, I hope he’s okay. Like when was the last time he didn’t pick up the phone? Maybe he just forgot. She squeezed her phone tightly before coming to a frightful, but necessary, conclusion: she had to go after him or else she would lose her chance. Before grabbing her car keys, she brought the mixtape she made to explain what she felt for him. She examined every inch of pavement, including the world around it, within her neighborhood. A strike of inspiration hit her mind as she spun her car in the opposite direction to the other neighborhood. Her speed decreased as she felt the atmosphere feel colder than anywhere else. It was almost like she was unconsciously guided to his location. She stopped her car, grabbed her flashlight, and began looking for his bike. Strangely, she discovered the voodoo doll with its feet burnt. Her heart knocked on her chest slowly. Oh, my gosh...what happened here...where's his bike? The fog began to accumulate and stretched to the other side of the road. With steady steps, she made her way to the other side. There was his guitar glistening against the street lights yet, Chance's body was not there. Plodding her feet in front of her, she trembled in fear of what she'd find. Through her multitude of blinks and swelling tears, she shines her flashlight onto Chance's body within the ditch. Without thought, she snatched him from the ditch and jolted his body back and forth in hopes of him waking up. "Chance! Chance! Wake up! Come on! Don't go!" Sharply inhaling, Chance awakens. His first sight after merely kissing death was one he could not forget. His rescuer pressed tightly against his chest whimpering tears of joy for his safety. “I’m glad I’m not dead...so I can prompose to you.” Carrie lifted her head, still crying, “you were going to ask me to prom tonight?” With light laughs of guilt, Chance nodded ceaselessly. “What happened to you? I saw a voodoo doll-” Chance gently placed his finger on her mouth smiling. "I hate to be rude but, the first thing I was worried about when I was in danger was the fact that I'd lose my shot to fall in love with you. Whether I'd leave with a broken heart or not, in the end, it would be an honor." His fingers started to snap (sometimes missing the rhythm due to his body still being cold) to perform his newly acoustic song to her. "What is the color of Carrie? Is it something similar to a peach or something like the sunset at the beach? Maybe so, I just wanted to let you know, that color don't you ever let it go. I just wanna love you and hug you, maybe even bug you. So, please let me, take you as my boo to the-" "Yes!" Without remorse, she turned pink and hugged him continuously smiling hard and returned to wetting her eyes for joy. Once he regained the strength to stand, the two gathered all of Chance's things and went to her house. Within that kitchen, the night felt like a cascading beam of light as they ate Eggos and listened to the cassette Carrie dedicated to him. Since then, their love story was history. I'm gladly announcing that this is my third time being published! I'm thankful for the literary magazine staff who approved of this to be published within their national awarding winning magazine for high schools. Here it is, Expedition☽✭.
June 2, 1922
Present Time: 4:03 P.M. The time for brunch has now passed. The time for sound was unknown since it didn't exist. After Mister Burbank froze the world, everything was reset. Words could no longer do for them. Eye contact expressed why he did it, what he truly felt for her, and his unconcluded righteousness was left without consolidation. Maria's face was a static, puzzled expression with her freckles now visible, unlike her red lipstick. Burbank's suit was marked with her mascara and the blood of his blue-eyed lover. A complete hour passed without a single word between the two. Blinks sounded like the gavel of God judging the sentence of Mister Burbank for his crimes against humanity. It was until Burbank's lemon falling to the ground that sound arrived once again. (The roundtable was not as unstoppable as Mister Burbank's anxious leg bouncing.) "What's the lemon for?" Maria appeared to be collected while Burbank was in shock. "What'd you say?" Burbank wiped his face as he whispered to Maria. "What's the lemon for?" "How about I show you?", Mister Burbank grew tall from his seat and lifted the lemon. He then dug into his other pocket pulling out his pocket knife, splitting the lemon. Burbank slammed his hand on the table, it was covered in bruises and squeezed the lemon over his open cuts. "Burbank! The hell is wrong with you my darling! You can't do that with these ripe lemons! Just wasting them on something the doc could just handle! You are such a ninny, you know that!" Mr. Burbank scoffed and nodded, "I'm actually looney." A small tear fell from his eye as Maria walked to the lemon tree. "Can you tell me what happened between you and her? I don't mean to skew your emotions outcha gut but, I wanna know." She grabbed three lemons and was quite tactful in the kitchen that she has never been in before. "I'll tell you. But here are some promises before I go. First, I will leave this state and live with my cousin in California for a while. Second, I'm only telling you because I know you understand me, don't make me second guess myself. And finally-" "I'll make you some jag juice with lemons! What else are lemons for?!", Maria grabbed the hard liquor and mixed it with his drink before she made her lemonade with extra sugar. Burbank grabbed his drink and slouched into himself, "get comfortable. This might take a moment dear. Forgive me if I already noted this, but, my lady and I weren't having an affair. We had strong emotions towards one another that never led to anything permanent." Burbank took a swig from his glass as the sun hid from his untold confession. "Whenever sunlight beamed on my skin, it was cold. I didn't buy anything new hoping if I'd saved my wealth, we could spend it together. After all the tears I've cried, my life's purpose was fixed on the fact that I couldn't love her without being a memory to her. I felt like something within me died. My joys for my near future dried like concrete in the scorching sun. At best, until we meet again, summer was an endless storm of regret. Nothing would ever be cherished above me being anointed to glare into her eyes in search of hope. I was a man without love or direction. Only one plan gave me clarity. My father once said, ‘when a woman sells your soul, sail your soul.' So, I didn't sleep for two days to make a small, unimpressive rowboat and began fishing. I knew she saw me carry my boat out the first time I decided to go down to the town's lake. At the same time, I saw her undeserving bruises from Mr. Kane. I heard them argue some nights when I got home from fishing. I remember her face clear as day each time I passed by. Her gashed eyebrow when he heard her harmless joke about his dancing. Her sprained wrist when she didn't want to sleep with him. Once she had a black eye simply because he was caught cheating in the house. The day before my crime, I decided to go fishing during brunch and go gambling afterward; hence my black suit. To my surprise, my plans changed when she was waiting for my arrival at the lake. As foolish as I was, all of the pain she caused was forgiven swiftly. She ran to me crying. I never realized how strong she was until she squeezed me! She nearly turned me blue! After that, she told me that she loved me and missed me." Mister Burbank froze. His hand grazed the silver rose necklace as he took deep, patient breaths. "Burbank, what happened next?" Despite Maria knowing how the story ended, she hoped her dearest friend's story ended with him receiving the love that he deserved. He grew a hopeless smile and scoffed as he shook his head holding the necklace up. "I really thought Mr. Kane wouldn't notice this necklace. She left two hours before I realized how incompetent my act of love was. I left the boat in the lake and ran to Mr. Kane's house. It was almost too late. Kane was beating her to death as he kicked her ribs in. ‘Get off of her! Come over here and fight a man!' I somehow managed to push him down and gave him some shiners. He then got up and put me in a headlock. ‘You think you can sleep with my wife and have her divorce me old sport!? You better get things straight cooley before I send you back to whatever country you came from!' I kicked him square in his shin and got up swinging! I broke some things down for him: ‘I never touched her! I can't say the same for you! I will march out of here with her! I love her!' The moment I thought it couldn't get worse, my love managed to find Kane's gun. She was absolutely petrified, shaking like a leaf in the wind. ‘I'd be darned if you take away my life in vain of your ego. Kane...I will shoot you between the eyes and go to jail for the rest of my life rotting away gladly because I am married to Leo Burbank.' Kane sprinted to her snatching the gun with ease and slapped her with it. I thought I was doing the right thing when I decided to fight him before he would kill her. It was a struggle and suddenly, the gun went off." The blue eyes Burbank once dreamed of rolled back revealing the color of revenge; the dark red blood of his lover. As she fell to the ground, her eye released a single tear of blood; reaching to the earth as a signal to be saved. "I was in shock. I don't know what I did after that. All I know is, I held the gun and shot it once. If I didn't shoot back, I must've shot it first. Kane is dead..." Burbank just now noticed Maria was standing by the window in silence. "Maria... please tell me you don't think of me as a fugitive. All that I said was true." "Have you ever wondered how old a cloud was? That one right there could be one hundred, ten, maybe even a thousand years old. But, nobody would ever know because it wandered into oblivion. Isn't that beautiful? That same cloud could've been apart of a twister or rain on someone's wedding day. No matter its natural crime, nobody knows its story. Clouds never get old." Maria smiled almost out of fear for her friend being diminished by this misfortune. "In English Maria." She opened the window to bring in fresh air, "I don't think of you as a criminal darling. It would be downright applesauce to say so. On the other side of the coin, it would be applesauce to say you didn't have an affair with that woman. You don't need to kiss lips or press skin together to have an affair. What you had was an affair of the heart and Kane Tolliver had every right to throw some punches your way for falling in love with his wife. My advice is to make like the clouds and migrate into a new beginning." Mr. Burbank closed his eyes nodding as he clasped the necklace. The kitchen became silent once again until the gardener knocked on the gaped window startling Maria. She stood back minding her business as Mr. Burbank talked to his gardener. "Hi there boss, I just wanted you to know I finished plucking the weeds and watering the roses." "Thank you, gardener. I'll have Maria fix you up some lemonade. Maria, would you mind?" The gardener stuck his head forward a bit to look for Burbank's company, "who are you talking to boss. Nobody else is here. I don't mean to impose but, I did hear you talk a good bit about umm, your incident. As a person who truly enjoys your gratitude for simple servants, such as myself, you must know it is only up to a person to understand how to feel about a situation. Whatever you feel seeks an equal result from the world and we all deserve to be happy. If you are content with how you feel about your situation, do as you may. If not, you have the control to change it." The gardener then tipped his hat, "don't you see the sun shining on you Boss?" Despite the sweat on his brow, the dirt marking his pale ivory skin, he smiled and paraded away from Burbank's manor after collecting his lemonade and receiving final payment for a while. Leo Burbank sat in his kitchen meditating. For the first time in his life, he was happy. THE BEGINNING... Dictionary: Applesauce: mularkey; complete nonsense Jagjuice: hard liquor Shiner: black eye June 2, 1922
Present Time: 2:43 A.M. The sun refused to share its light towards West Leefield until the mind of Mister Burbank hushed. The starless sky waited patiently for the conditions to be met in order to meet its sun again. Only if the sky and Mr. Burbanks knew the clock was merely a victim of the tantalizing game hours played. Every stroke of the clock seemed to meditate among each number before ambling along to the next. It was now three in the morning, the climax of the sky's loneliness. Its yearning for the sun's arrival was depicted by its saturated, passionate blue hue. Its color painted the inside of Mr. Burbank's chambers. Raw droplets of sweat traced the center of his forehead as he slept like a ship in a storm. Tossing, rolling in the heaps of his sheets. In hopes of seeing the sunrise, Mr. Burbank pulled his eyes open and rose his head slightly to observe. No matter how much the man hoped to feel the promise of the sun, the sky remained the loneliest shade of solid blue he saw hours before this. He grew numb. His eyes rolled back as he plunged into his king sized bed again. At last the sun was only a whisper grazing the rim of Mr. Burbank's eyes as he hoisted his body from the wrinkles of his bed. His slanted eyelids opened disinterested of the day ahead of him. The only action worth doing was done last night. Without his longtime pursuit, what is he to do with himself now? Although he lacked a sense of purpose, Burbank did not want to sit in his entirely white bedroom feeling ... To every motion, there was a strike of discomfort; from both his body and heart. As he shuffled into the shadow enveloped hallway, he began to notice the details. Why am I wearing this suit? I never wear my black suit unless... oh no. How could I be a victim of this heedless crime! How dare I?! His cotton silk shirt was half unbuttoned speckled with red dots, a strong aroma of perfume and alcohol was released with every step he took, and a couple of tears were made on the sides of his pants. Burbank knew why his suit attire was ruined, however, he did not want to reminisce the biggest mistake of his life before Maria showed up. Until then, Burbank began his routine that took place in the kitchen. His feet touched the bleak, rose gold checkered floor tiles as his hands grazed the white clinquant countertops; its shimmer always made Burbank feel a sense of joy even in times like these. Next, he turned on the radio to listen to piano jazz, snapping along to its tune as he grabbed a lemon from his indoor lemon tree. Before he sat down at the roundtable, the arched stained glass windows almost mocked his distasteful fortune on the days he did not care for the obstacles of happiness. However, the small details of the faint pink flowers along the edges brought him comfort. Like any time he has done before, Burbank always enjoyed stepping back several feet to glance out of his stained glass window that nearly engulfed the entire wall facing his backyard. He inhaled deeply, almost smiling, until he let out a sigh of seldom. He marched to his chair and planted himself into it. Once he landed, he felt something on his thigh: Oh, how could I forget about this. Burbank shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a gun covered in blood. His head fell back with his hands dangled to his sides. ✾✿✾ A crescendoing gait of heels clicked down the hallway waking Mr. Burbank from his thirtieth nap before noon. He batted his eyes lifting his tan arms from his sides, suddenly the sound of heels ceased. His vision of an empty room was delightfully impaled by a woman who wore black heels, black tights (a small run in them near her thighs), three tiers of fluff stood upon one another until the dress became well fitted near the top with off shoulder sleeves. Her wavy red hair was sleek and nearly hidden by her hat. "Why I'd be damned, it is Miss Burbank." She blushed and walked towards Mr. Burbank. "Why do you call me Miss Burbank as if we are shacking up together?" "I simply believe my last name sounds a whole world better than your surname. Maria O'Sullivan." "I'll have you know men absolutely love my last name. The second people hear the name Maria, they pray the name O'Sullivan is followed by it." The red lip simper Mr. Burbank remembered almost too well surfaced onto her face as she looked into his glittery, sunken eyes. "Where has the time gone Mister Burbank?" "Away since we both decided to run from fate." "That is true. One cannot run from fate if roots are held onto their ankles." Maria set her luggage down by the doorway brightening the room. "Might as well get past the pompous, immature question we ask one another sweetheart. I know you're dying to ask." "What happened to your sense of fashion! You look like an absolute storm!" "My infamous all-black shawl double-breasted vest suit. I ruined it from the Erie Canal to California, and yourself?" "Coco Chanel of course! This was a gift from my last lover, Wing Lu unless it was Sem from Amsterdam. I believe it was Wing! Yes! His family absolutely adored me and took me with them for their travels. It was a stunning season until his wife learned I was more than the translator. After that, I went back to Paris to live with that nice girl we met some years ago, Livvie. She was an absolute roar! She was immoral, drunk, and the bee's knees! After that, I wanted to go home. But where is home?" As she spoke, she had a certain confidence that could not fade even when her deepest fears were revealed by her rambles. Before Mr. Burbank had the chance to question her woebegone glare, she became chipper. "Enough about me! Mr. Burbank, your letter was absolutely troubling! I never ran on the boat so fast in my life when you asked me to visit! What is this recurring nightmare that has you so spooked that you have a gun on the table?!" Mister Burbank placed the gun back into his pocket before he could answer Maria. The glow he had vanished moments before he explained his past problem. "Remember the woman I told you about in that letter?" "Yes, sir." "Well, after she left me, I could not stop dreaming of her. The dream was always the same. I start in paradise with this beautifully silhouetted woman waiting for me on the other end of this paradise. I feel my feet get stiff but, I continue to approach her as she approaches me very slowly. Suddenly there's an infinity pool that is between me and her. I dive into the pool and I sink. I go under the current screaming, looking for her to save me. I shut my eyes feeling my lungs grow gelid. When I open them, she is above me laughing. She then wraps her hands around my throat and says: Don't you want to stay with me? Stay here. With me. Eventually, she starts to scream those words to me. The moment I felt death kiss my heart, I wake up." Mr. Burbank did not realize how harshly he was breathing until Maria held his hand. "It's okay babydoll. Let's just focus on something else. Look at that window! How long did it take for them boys to finish this window?" "I don't know. Weeks? What happened to you? You never change the subject when we spoke candidly Maria." She was almost unbothered by Burbank's response as they both stared out of the window. "Burbank." "Yes?" "Did you ever ask your daddy why you had to always give girls flowers?" "Not really, I guess because all girls like flowers." "I like a good flower every now and then but, it's no good. First, a boy is called the son, the same way we call our bright ball the sun. Look out that window. You see how flowers depend on the sun in order to live and be beautiful. Well, men giving women flowers simply perpetuates the cycle of women depending on men. ‘Here's a flower for my flower,' Pa used to say that...forcing me to be below him at all costs." "I think you're overthinking this Maria." "Was she overthinking it Mister Burbank? I'm sure that she loved you but she could not live off of dependency." Mr. Burbank drew his eyes away from the garden and noticed the butterflies that flew past the window almost continuously remembering the day she and he had a picnic in the butterfly garden hiding from Kane. "She can't think much nowadays Maria. Neither can I. Everyday I'd try to figure out if what we had was true or not. I was confused... I felt like I wasted her time. But then I figured it out; it would've been a waste of my time if we succeeded. Funny how that works, right sweetheart? She was so beautiful. She was like a butterfly. Svelte from afar but is really ugly is you get close enough." Maria looked at the table and glared back to the damaged Burbank, "oh my, what did you do Burbank? Please don't tell me you were gambling again. I promised your parents I'd keep you out of that mess!" Mr. Burbank began whimpering as he placed the gun on the table with his lover's rose necklace. "No. I did something worse. I gambled with life! I killed her Maria! And her no good for nothing, son of a-" Maria became furious! The vein within her forehead throbbed, with every pulsation, her face became redder. "Wait! You murdered them! Why Burbank!? You're a lot of things but, you are not a murderer!" Maria slapped Burbank as he produced tears of regret. After Maria cried into Burbank's lap, her arms flung into the air and softly closed around Burbank until he calmed down. The kitchen became the most isolated room in the world. This was the first time Burbank truly confessed what he had done. TO BE CONTINUED... 1209 Echo Forest Lane, West Leefield
May 18, 1922 Dear Maria Burbank, Whatever the charges may be for me to pursue my bearcat beauty, it was an honor to have known you. I sincerely apologize for imposing upon your current ventures but, I am a man without love. What is man without love? The answers I seek are not within my waking mind. The answer is only clear to me when I shut my eyes. I only see an abyss of darkness. I'm afraid the abyss I tried to hide from is what I've become. These are my problems, not yours but dearest friend please visit the Burbank Manor for a while. I feel as though these dewdroppers around me bring more and more truth to the matter of life being pointless. As I write to you, I am vanquishing. I'm sorry for my lateness of not returning letters to you. Six months can fly by after one says paalam to the Old World and says kamusta to America. As the manor was under its final weeks of construction, these white devils stared at me filled with envy and confusion. So, I went on walks often to get away from their evil eyes. It was the most unsuspecting day when I was observing a nearby house; somehow catching the eye of the ophthalmologist's daughter. Her piercing blue eyes batted at me as I removed my hat to bow to her. She flashed a smile that had changed my life. She ignited my soul to become a better man as cupid's arrow slid into my chest. From that day forward, I haven't stopped thinking about her. After some time, we became quite friendly and she confessed her passion towards me as if we were from the same world. I wish our stars were aligned for more than a season. The inevitable curse of epiphanies becoming reality forced her to realize the risk of dating me. Me being the "Immigrant Gambler" and all would not be acceptable for the Princess of West Leefield. After she stole my dreams, I continuously have these recurring nightmares. I need you here dearest friend. I need distance from the mansion, garden, all of it in order for me to get over my past lover. Her real partner, Kane Tolliver, is an abusive man who has caused more bruises than blushes on her face. Write me back in two shakes of cat's tail. Best Regards and Rest In Peace to Me Because I'm a Walking Hazard, Mister Burbank Dictionary: Paalam: goodbye Kamusta: hello Bearcat: an outspoken, fierce woman Dewdroppers: freeloader Anagapesis (n.)
falling out of love; the feeling of not loving someone or something once loved. Shall I compare thee to an empty Polaroid camera? The days I reminisce are the ones I regret The days of vague impressions are the ones I wish I did not neglect. Photographs uphold the emotions, it’s up to the heart to cherish the moment In the glint of my camera, a stranger appeared Those of empirical knowledge state the impossibility of dreaming of people unknown to your soul Only familiar faces visit within the realm of uncontrolled desires I’m stuck in the nostalgia of when we knew one another, Now we’re one of nothing... My loneliness was the Impossible compromise I made For Us. The nimble bird who sunk into my chest relied on the belief of us Lasting. The stranger things are, the more the stranger becomes estranged by the strangeness of himself. Now I am only left with stacks of useless film wasted on temporary thrills. Thinking about returning to your arms... I no longer see the appeal. The joy I’ve discovered within me is the light nobody can ever steal. No matter how bright my eyes glow, Or the width of my smile spreads, The days I reminisce are the ones I regret The days of vague impressions are the ones I wish I did not neglect. Forgiveness is only for the forgetful. It’s either you have oil or you have water. You can’t mix them both. |