love

by

Somebody’s Eyes

by Miles Rost

College was always a bit of a bear for some students, especially those who are in relationships. Even more so for those who are waiting for a relationship. It happened at every campus in the known world, and the University of Oregon was no different.

Sherry Makinami was a vivacious student in her sophomore year at UO. She was lucky to be in her Music History program, and also lucky to have a great friend in Scott Schmidt, someone who she met on orientation day in freshman year. She looked towards him as someone who was not only there when the chips were down, but someone who she could easily give a lot of attention to. She wished that she could have more with him than just friendship, but he was already taken by an insanely controlling and jealous girl, Delia Mendez.

It was a cold October day when her chance finally came. She was walking towards the Knight Library, where she worked part-time as an information desk researcher, getting ready for an intense evening and night of studying. She walked towards the doors, when she was wheeled around, a hand firmly grasping her arm. She looked up and into the eyes of Scott, who looked as though his face was red and bleary.

“Sherry, I need to talk to you,” he said, firmly but with a waver in his voice.

Sherry just nodded and went with him to their favorite campus hangout, the popular Rennie’s Landing. Over a couple of Rennie’s burgers, Scott laid it out for her how Delia kicked him to the curb for the leader of the Multicultural Center. He told her how much of a mistake it was, and how he felt like she spoiled him for others.

“Scott, I have something you need to know,” Sherry said, looking into his hazel eyes, “I have waited for a long time to tell you, and I know this may not be the proper time, but I want you to give me a chance.”

Scott looked at her, a little puzzled by her request.

“Delia treated you like a toy. I would never do that. We’ve been friends for nearly a year and a half, and I want more.”

“More?”

“I want you. I love that we’re friends, but I want us to do more. I have been falling for you for a long time, Scott.”

Scott finally was able to put two and two together, and he was quite shocked with her admission.

“I need a little time, but ask me in a week. I need to heal a bit from Delia.”

“Take the time you need. I will be patient and wait for you.”

After a week had passed, Scott answered Sherry with a yes, and they both started dating each other. For the next 4 months, it was an incredible time of fun, getting to know each other further, and even the occasional snogging in the basement music rooms underneath Spiller Hall.

A bright spring monday found the couple walking from the dormitories on the east side of campus toward their first class of the day, all the way on the other side of campus. They talked about what was going to happen in class, and just enjoyed each other’s time wrapped around each other. As they passed the campus amphitheatre, Sherry’s maroon colored hair started to feel like it was standing on end. She felt very unnerved by what she felt. She looked across the amphitheatre as they continued to walk, and she found what was causing the problem.

She saw Delia Mendez staring and glaring directly at her. Never blinking, it was as if she was trying to bore holes through Sherry’s head.

She looked at Scott, and moved her head closer to his neck, resting it on his shoulder. Scott looked down at her and wondered why she was a little more close now. He liked it.

Everyday for the next week, the same exact thing played out multiple times all over campus. Even when Sherry wasn’t around Scott, she still felt those eyes boring through her.

She finally couldn’t bear with it, and she finally broke down and told Scott during one of their downtimes.

“I think Delia is stalking us.”

“Why would Delia be stalking us?” Scott wondered aloud, “She dumped me for Tarik Narala, the head of the MCC. I’m not interested in her, I’m only interested in you.”

“I don’t know, I just think that she may not be with Tarik anymore. And she may be trying to force her way between us.”

“If she’s doing all that you’ve said, then it looks like we’ll have to be a bit more guarded.”

Sherry blinked, hesitating to ask what that meant. She usually knew what that was code for: to hide and go to classes separately.

“What that means, Sherry, is that I will have to start looking out along with you.”

Sherry breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry for seeming worried, I just have this feeling that she knows. I have a feeling she won’t let go of you, and that she’s waiting for a right time to take you back, away from me.”

Scott moved in and gave her a firm, loving hug.

“That is not going to happen. She tried to make me her toy. I remember it. She won’t be grabbing me from you.”

She moved in closer to him and rested, relaxed in knowing that he would be with her.

The next morning, they walked together towards their first class, as usual. This time, though, at the same area as the previous weeks, the couple now came face to face with Delia and a few others who made a line across the main path. Sherry and Scott stopped just before the line of people, and looked at Delia.

Delia pointed her dark skinned hands at Scott.

“Give him to me.”

Sherry looked at her, and gently moved in front of him.

“No.”

“Sherry Makinami, I am going to take back my property. There is nothing you can do about it.”

Sherry looked at her, and she steeled her resolve.

“I’m sorry. You set him free, and he came to me. He came straight to me. He’s mine, and he’s not a plaything.”

Delia chuckled, and returned to a sour looking face.

“You will hand him over, or my guys will take him by force.”

“Is that a threat, Delia?” Scott said, “Because if it is, that means that I feel like my life is in danger.”

“Oh, you know me, Scott. I wouldn’t do that. I just happen to believe that you are still mine, and I am going to take you.”

Sherry looked at her, finally disgusted with everything. She was getting mad, and this was not going to be good if Delia did what Sherry thought she was going to do.

“Over my dead and mangled body, Delia.”

Delia just smirked.

“Granted.”

She put her hand out and gave a swift forward motion. The men in the line next to her proceeded to walk over to Scott and grab him.

Sherry realized that he was now officially in danger, and she had to act. She took off her glasses, and stared directly into Delia’s eyes. She stared for a good long time, moving her hands from her side to her head. Her face started to form into a snarl of concentration, her eyes never leaving contact.

Delia didn’t notice it at first, but she noticed quickly that she was starting to get a small headache. As the seconds went by, the headache got worse and worse. The pain increased tenfold, and her eyes opened wide in a panic. She started to scream out loud from the pressure that was building in her head. It was unbearable, feeling like her head was being torn apart. The last thing she saw was Sherry’s hand moving swiftly down into the ground, and the sidewalk coming up quick to meet her.

As soon as Delia’s face planted into the sidewalk, the men that were getting real close to hurting Scott suddenly let go.

“What the hell are we doing here? We’re missing practice!” They said to each other, mumbling about things and grabbing their stuff to get out of there.

Scott looked at Sherry, who was now kneeling on the ground and in tears. Her face was covered in tears, the water pouring down her face like Multnomah Falls. He walked up behind her, knelt down, and hugged her tight, yet gently.

“I…” she started saying, through sobs, “…I didn’t want to do that. But….they were going to hurt you…”

He held her and quietly shushed her, whispering in her ear to let all of it go.

“I guess I need to tell you about this, Scott…” she said, sniffling, as it was going to be a long story that would easily take a couple of days for her to tell.

He just kept hugging her, and looking at her. He slowly moved around to the front, and looked straight into her eyes.

“I love you no matter what, Sherry. Let us talk about this over at Rennie’s. It’ll be easier for both of us,” he told her.

Somehow, in her heart, Sherry knew that things were not going to be the same between herself and the student populace of the University of Oregon. However, she knew that she had a keeper in Scott, and she would reveal everything to him that day.

by

Live It Up

by Miles Rost

High school could be a cruel mistress sometimes. For many students, it was the epitome of social alienation and subjection to the whims of those who had the influence.

Kristy Parsons was one of these with influence, and even she fell victim to the whims of others.

It was a cool February afternoon, just after sixth period creative writing class. Kristy met her boyfriend in the hallway close to her classroom. 10 minutes between classes was enough time for her to get some “chest time” with her honey, where she would sidle up to him, lay her head against his chest, and release her stress. She saw him in his usual spot, and she quickly walked over.

He didn’t respond when she approached him. She knew that something was up.

“Well, hello there, Greg,” she purred, “Are you ready for some energy?”

“Not today, Kristy,” he said, flatly, “I’m breaking things off. You’re nice, but I just don’t want to be with you anymore.”

She was about to say something, but her throat could only give a small shocking “eep”.

Her day proceeded to get worse, and as she was walking down the stairs towards the exit, she heard the whispers of the others.

I hear her boyfriend dumped her for Gina Langston.
No way, it wasn’t Gina Langston. She’s still going out with Mark Blank. It’s clearly Shannon, the head cheerleader.
Poor Kristy, she’ll have no one to take her to the dance tonight.

She quickly ran to her locker, grabbed her stuff, and proceeded to skip seventh period. She arrived home shortly after leaving school, and proceeded to her room to cry. She was not happy with things, and the night was not going to go well either. She was required to be at the dance that night, as she was the head of the design committee and the person for which all music selections went through.

Until an hour before the dance was to start, she cried. Her mom came to comfort her, to give her what she needed to get through the night.

“He wasn’t worth your time, Kristy. I have a feeling that you’ll find someone sooner than you think.”

Great, Mom, Kristi groaned to herself, Old Spinster me is going to emerge soon. I doubt it’ll happen.

She proceeded to get ready for the dance, wearing a beautiful peach-colored satin dress and dazzling up herself as best as she could. She was not looking forward to what was going to happen there at the dance, but she decided to do her best anyways. She could always be sad tomorrow.

She went to the dance, and entered the back entrance of the school. It was customary for those checking the designs and others to be in the back, so she was able to go in without much trouble. After informing the deejay about what he was supposed to play and what he wasn’t, she walked over to the main gym doors. She rapped on the doors twice, and proceeded over to a reserved table, where she sat. And continued sitting even after the first 30 minutes of the dance.

She looked at the people out on the floor, having fun and dancing. Tears slowly fell from her eyes, seeing the fun that she was supposed to be having with her now ex-boyfriend, and she started feeling a bit cold.

“How can you see looking through those tears, Kristy?”

She looked behind her, and saw a young man that she never would have thought would even give her the time of day. She figured Brian Treadwell, the captain of the ice hockey team and the assistant editor-in-chief of the newspaper, would be pursuing one of the hockey girls.

“What’s it to you, Brian?”

“Well, I heard about what’s happened in the last 12 hours. A close encounter with a hardhearted man who never gave half of what he got. He’s hurt you, Has made you wish that you’d never been born.”

Kristy hung her head in acknowledgement.

“You pretty much hit it, though you’re a bit blunt about it.”

Brian smiled, and put his hand on her shoulder.

“He’s kind of an ass anyways. He’s not worth all the crying and worrying. He threw you to the side, and that’s a shame cause you got the lot.”

Kristy looked at him, and blinked a few times, wondering what he was saying.

I know he’s Australian, but he really needs to start speaking a language I can understand,” she thought.

Brian put his hand on the table next to hers, then moved his fingers on top of her hand.

“Your hands are frigid. Let me warm your hands against the cold.”

Kristi seemed to do nothing as Brian’s warm hands transferred heat into her fingers, giving her new life.

“You, beside the dance floor, what are you crying for? Let’s live it up! What do you say?”

Kristi looked up at Brian. She looked deep into his blue-gray eyes and saw his heart. She knew he wasn’t joking.

“Which song should we dance to?”

“How about the one that’s about to come up?”

Kristi looked at him funny.

“How do you know what song is coming up”

Brian smiled, and snapped his open fingers.

“I know the deejay. He’s a friend of mine. And I told him to put it on when we go to the floor. Which should be now, as this song is ending.”

Brian squeezed her hand lightly and gave her a lift up onto her feet. She looked at him, and put her arm around his back. They walked out to the dance floor, and the deejay started to speak.

“Hey there, kids! Glad to have all of you on the floor. This one is a special request from a guy who thinks that there’s a wonderful girl that deserves better than what she had. Brian, buddy, this one is for you! Let’s live it up!”

With the last word, the song started up.

That night, Brian gave Kristy the night of her life. After having a good time at the dance and the after party, he dropped her off at home. By this time, she was grinning and forgetting all about her ex-boyfriend. This continues to the following Monday morning, when he drove to her house and picked her up for school. As they drove to school, Kristi opened her heart to ask a question.

“Brian, why did you come to me? You are the ice hockey captain, you could have anyone.”

Brian looked at her, and looked back at the road with a smile.

“I’ve been interested in getting to know you for a good while. You were on my screen since we both met up at freshman orientation. You just were busy with that other guy, and when you were down, I wanted to be the one to help pick you back up.”

She blushed.

“Besides, Ive seen your work. You’re worth your weight in gold. You’re pretty, you’re outgoing, and there should never be a reason for you to cry unless it’s a darn good one.”

She blushed even more furiously at that.

“I’ve had my eye on you for a good while, and I just felt like I needed to take charge and help you move on from this heartbreak. And quickly.”

She turned and looked at him, as they slowed down at a stoplight.

She leaned over and kissed him on the lips.

“Handle me with care, Brian.”

by

Man of Colours

by Miles Rost

(Author’s note: For Clinton, my brother, a true man of colours)

I sat downstairs, and watched him as he spent the bright afternoon in the beautifully lighted parlor of his home. The natural sunlight was able to put a unique glow on the work of art he was doing.

As a young boy, I was not as interested in what my uncle did. I didn’t really care much as to why he did what he did. I knew he was a painter, and that he did his work diligently, even if he didn’t actually make that much money from what he did. After my parents separated for a time, it was felt that my uncle would take better care of me for a couple of summers. So at the age of 13, they sent me to his manor in the heart of the West Country.

The first few weeks I was there, I didn’t do much with my uncle. I was still a bit frazzled from what was going on with my parents. But, after those few weeks when I ran the grounds and did so much, I finally was able to take a moment and watch what he was doing.

My uncle Charles was a calm man. He barely ever raised his voice, and sometimes didn’t even have to speak to get his point across. He had a silent air about him, but one that allowed for great things to come forward.

“The creative spirit does not allow for anger to fester inside, but is allowed to be spread throughout whatever you work on. In my case, my anger and frustration is carried across the canvas,” he told me, the first day I became interested in what he did, “If you have passion for something, put everything into it. Anger, fear, love, trust, everything. It will come forth in beauty and love.”

That is what got me interested in his painting, and why I got interested in playing music later on.

I lounged on the chaise in the parlor, looking at him as he took a wider brush to a beautiful work-in-progress. It looked like the start of an outdoor scene, with pastel skies and deep green trees. I looked in wonder as he did his painting, marveling at the brushstrokes and how he was able to make a painting come to life before our eyes.

“Uncle Charles, why do you paint?” I asked him, as he worked.

“I paint because it is what I wanted to do in life. I keep my life in this paintbox. When I speak to this canvas, it tells me what it wants. And I follow what it says, because that’s how I work.”

I sat for another half hour while he changed his brushes around and continued to paint. After that half hour, he had me go into the kitchen ahead of him to get prepared for tea time. Margaret, the maid of the house, kept things organized as much as she could, and made the time for tea quite pleasant.

“Uncle Charles, why didn’t you marry?” I asked him.

“I did. Once. A very long time ago, before you were born. Alice would have loved to have seen you. It was very hard for us to separate like we did.”

“You….separated too?”

“She didn’t want to burden me with her problems. She left at the time of her choosing, and went to get treatment for her disease.”

“She’s dead?”

The old man rubbed his failing eyes, and took a moment to think of things. A small tear glistened on the side of his eye, even though he knew that he should be showing it.

“I am not sure how it happened, or whether it was something like shame or the burden of leaving, but she did pass on half a year after leaving. Her heart just couldn’t stand things, I think.”

I just looked up at him, and saw the sadness in his eyes. It finally hit me that the pain of my parents’ separation was hitting him hard too, because it reminded him of his loss of Aunt Alice.

After tea, we went back into the parlor. The sun was in that special place in the sky where it seems to always be the most beautiful. That’s where his hands and inspiration took it’s flight. By the time the sun went down and the lights came on in the house, he had created what looked to be a beautiful meadow with a lone tree. Three people underneath it, one a small boy, or so as I could see.

“I…I am a man, A simple man, A man of colours. And I can see through the years, see through these tears. These are the tears and the years of a man, a man of colours.”

I never knew what he meant when he said it…but he said it in such a way that it seemed that I would finally figure it out down the road.

The artwork he made was given to my parents. When it was done, he gave it to them and told them to take a day and just look at the painting. He told them to contemplate it, and really get into it.

That fall, my parents came to pick me up. They told me that they were going to see a priest about getting things worked out. They wanted to be together, and not to experience pain like they had.

It has been many years since my uncle Charles passed away. He never remarried, but he made an impact on people that he knew. When we went through his things after he died, we found out that he had almost 200 paintings from when he was alive. 150 of them were donated to various universities and charities. The University of Buckingham even decided to keep 15 of his paintings up as a permanent exhibit. The other 50, according to his will, were to be auctioned and sold. I was to be the beneficiary of the wealth, his will stated.

I don’t think about the money, though. And when I go to Buckingham with my friends from college, we always stop by my uncle Charles’s exhibition. The world appreciated what he did. And I did too.

 

by

On The Beach

by Miles Rost

Highway 101 was always one of our favorite roads. The meandering curves from Tillamook on down to Lincoln City, the high cliffs of Cape Perpetua, and the sudden rise and fall at Del Norte Redwoods were always memorable, especially if we were traveling in the harsh winter weather.

Traveling down that 101, you’d find a little small area off to the side of the road. It’s a small rest area of sorts, but for folks like us, we could have stayed there forever. The memories of those times when we stopped off at that rest area, they come flooding back everytime I look at a travel book.

The first memory was a solo trip down the coast, but it was the second memory that made the rest area south of Port Orford one that will be seared in my mind for eternity. It was upon the summer winds that I heard a certain melody. It was a mix of a sing-song call of a beautiful lady, the roar of the ocean, and the squawking of a seagull. One wouldn’t think that those in combination would do anything, but to say the very least, it was as close to a possible mating call that I could have ever dreamed. As newlyweds, we had to take every moment when we had a chance. And while it could have turned into a scene from the movie “From Here To Eternity”, it didn’t.

Each time we returned to that place, we would make more memories to build on. Days of strange desires and nights that burned like fire, they take me back to that place we both know. Even when we were caught in-flagrante by the county sheriff, we still made memories.

It’s been a few years since the last time we went to visit that little ol’ rest area. Being busy with work, and my beautiful wife doing her charity work, we always say that we want to go back and keep making more memories. Maybe this summer, we’ll go back and try it again. Though, I think we’ll be more careful not to traumatize the poor young couples that will come down to visit as well. If you want to find us, we’ll be on the beach.

by

Sara(h)

by Miles Rost

Brian Mulgrew looked at his fiancee, and smiled broadly. As he sat in the chair, holding her hand, he looked into her eyes and showed her a look of longing that he had for her.

Sarah Borain looked up at him. She was short, almost tiny, but she was a spitfire. She was in a beautiful wedding dress, and smiled as she looked into his eyes and showed him the look of desire that she had, the storms that were brewing in her eyes. Her long blonde hair was put up in two beautiful braids that stretched around her head. She looked like a princess with a crown of laurels.

There was only a few family members there, and they were just as happy and smiling broadly as the couple they came to see.

The minister came out from a side room. The door clicked, and echoed through the room.

“Dearly beloved…” he started, as he went through the predictable rigamarole that one would see during a wedding. The ceremony didn’t take very long, all of 15 minutes. But those in attendance would say that it was one of the most heartfelt ceremonies that they saw, because of it’s simplicity.

“Do you take this woman, Sarah Borain, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

“Then by the power vested in me, the state of California, and the California Department of Corrections, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

They both kissed for a good long time, knowing that it would also be a long time before they would be able to kiss again. As they finished the ceremony, the warden of the prison came in and nodded to the couple. It was that time.

“Honey, it’s my time to go back,” she told her new husband.

“I know. It’s a shame that you’re still in here for five more years. But, once you get out, we’ll do things well. My business is taking off, and once it gets to a good point, you’ll be in as my secretary.”

She smiled, as she turned to go. She didn’t want to leave him, but she had to change her clothes and get back to her cell. Before she finally left, Brian was able to give her one last kiss through the metal fencing.

That day would be a tough one for both Sarah and Brian. As he left the grounds of the California Institution for Women and headed home, he knew that he would not be able to hold her like he wanted to for five more years. But, through it all, he knew that he would survive. As for Sarah, it was at this time that she felt all the regret for what she did and how her actions were going to keep her away from her husband.

They needed to be married, and now they were. Only time would tell how good the marriage would last, especially with someone in prison.

by

After All

by Miles Rost

He walked down the street, small rolling suitcase following behind him like a stray puppy dog looking for an owner. He was despondent, and tired, but he had to get to his destination. So he kept on walking.

He was close to his destination, when he looked over at a bus stop. Normally, a bus stop wouldn’t inspire any sort of pause for him, but the plexiglass and metal frame, with a bench and transit computer inside, immediately shot a memory into his head, sending him backwards a moment.

His mind carried to the forefront a memory of a woman that he gave his heart to. The image of him on a cold winter’s evening, holding her from behind, overlayed his vision of the now-empty bus stop. His vision filled with the warm feelings on his face as he nestled it next to hers. He played the role that night, of the knight in armor bright, faithful and true.

He continued to look at the bus stop, and he saw the moment where things went south. The vision of himself and his beautiful young woman, having a battle of major proportions there at that bus stop. He didn’t even remember what it was about, it was so long ago. All he saw was the fight that they had, and how the tears that flowed from her eyes broke his heart even now. He knew he made a mistake, but there was nothing he could do about it.

In a moment’s blink, the bus stop returned to it’s empty state, with a bus pulling away from it and roaring down the street. In his heart, he felt the hole in his heart. It was always there, ever since that day, but there was nothing he could do to fill it. All he could do is let time heal his wounds.

He started walking again, slowly, as he approached his destination. He went to the counter, and the Korean woman asked him where he wanted to go.

“Busan,” he said. After a moment, and a swipe of his card, he received his tickets and went downstairs to the departing buses. He took up a seat on a bench near where his bus was, and he just looked around.

Twenty minutes passed by before his bus to Busan pulled in and started loading passengers. As he walked up towards the door, he took a look back at the terminal and saw a blonde-haired figure standing far back, looking at him from a distance. He tried to see if it was her, but he couldn’t see her face. After a few second and a blinking of his eyes, she was gone.

He put his suitcase under the bus and got on board. As the bus pulled away, he looked at the terminal and the city surrounding it. He sighed, knowing that his time was finished and he was moving on. He wished that he didn’t have to go. He wanted to be the one to hold her in his arms. Yet, he knew it could never happen.

He would never know if he could love anyone else again, and as he traveled in silence towards the eastern coast and a ferry that would transport him to his new home, tears started to flow down his face.

by

I Will Wait For You

by Miles Rost

It was just another night like any other. My 33 year old self went home after a hard day of work, picking up a half a pizza to gnaw on as my dinner and breakfast for the next day. I didn’t even get through one of the 4 slices before I just passed out. At that time, the sun was just going down on the horizon.

“…hey….you….”

For some reason, I kept hearing this voice while I slept.

“…hey…wake up…”

I really did think I was dreaming. Until I felt something like icy hot running up my foot from ankle to middle toe. That was when I sat up straight and looked around. My eyes adjusted to the dark a little bit, and I didn’t see anything. I looked down at my clock, that cried at me 2AM. I thought that it was annoying that I was woken up at 2AM for no reason. After putting down the clock, I looked back in front of me.

“Hi! You’re awake!”

I saw this ghostly apparition in front of my face. The first thing that went through my mind, in a split second, was that I was dreaming again. After blinking once, I realize that, in fact, I wasn’t.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

The apparition backed up a little bit and twisted it’s face into a bit of an annoyed look.

“Oh come on, it’s not like I was intentionally trying to scare you!”

I looked at this ghostly figure and realized that it’s voice was that of a young woman’s. I sat for almost a minute looking at it, and just tried to make sure that I wasn’t in fact dreaming. Firmly satisfied in the fact that I wasn’t dreaming, and that I was being visited by something of a spirit, I looked at it and had a queried look on my face.

“Are you here to kill me?”

The spirit giggled a slight bit, then sighed.

“No, I am not going to kill you. The reason I’m here is of a totally different matter.”

“What might that be?” I asked her, as I determined that the spirit was definitely female.

“Quite simply, you’ve been asking God for a wife for a long time. I’m here to tell you that God is listening to you.”

I pikued at this. Now, the question in my head was how the hell did she know THAT?. So I decided to probe a bit more.

“Okay, you say that you’re from God. Were you sent by Christ to visit?”

“You mean Jesus the Christ? Died on the cross? Yes, I was sent by Christ. However, I will say that I’m not an angel or anything like that.”

“Then…what are you?”

“I am actually the spirit of your future wife!”

I heard this, and my mind just went blank. I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I did the only thing natural. I laughed, and I laughed in a way that made it seem like I was going insane. After about a minute, and a bit of a sulking from my future wife ghost, I finally was able to get my laughter down.

“Okay, so let me get this straight: You are my future wife, but you’re in spirit form. You were sent by Christ to visit me and tell me that God is listening to me? About what?”

She just smiled at me in the way a female ghost, who really didn’t have much of a form besides that of a general feminine outline, could only do so.

“Your love life, lack therein, and your future with me!”

My eyes just glazed over again, before I cleared them up.

“I am going to humor this. So, you are my wife in the future. Does the person you’re inhabiting know this?”

“Innately, yes. But I don’t know who you are yet. I know you’re out there somewhere, on the western skyline. However, I don’t know your identity and won’t know.”

I looked at her and sighed.

“This just keeps getting stranger and stranger,” I told myself, before looking at her again.

“Alright, future wife spirit, I guess I have to ask this again so I can get a bit of understanding. Why are you here, in my room?”

She looked at me with what seemed to be a little bit of a baffled look, then smiled.

“I was sent to you by Christ to let you know that I will find you eventually, that you should be patient, and that you should wait on Christ’s timing. It will happen, you just need to be open to waiting.”

“Even if the world is going to hell in a handbasket?”

“Yep! I’ll find you somehow! But you won’t know who I am until such time as Christ gives you the signal.”

I just sat there for a few moments and shook my head.

“Future wife spirit, do you know just how kooky and strange this sounds? I mean, I know a thing or two about wasting away. And now, you’re telling me that even though I’ve been waiting so long, I have to wait a little longer?”

She drifted over to my side and patted my shoulder, which I barely felt.

“I have faith that you will wait for me. I know you will.”

I looked back at at this formless female spirit and blinked.

“Do I get a hint of what you look like so I know what to find?”

“Nope! That’s gonna be a surprise!” she chimed in, smiling with eyes like that of an anime character.

I sighed and just chuckled to myself.

“I’ve been stuck out in the frozen darkness, waiting for so long. I guess, what’s a few more years?”

She moved to the foot of my bed, and smiled at me. I realized that it was actually comforting to have her here, and that indeed that it could be an actual message.

“Gotta run. I’m gonna be waking up soon. But, remember, I’m out there. I will wait for you.”

I was about to say something, but I heard only her voice as she disappeared saying over and over, “I will wait for you.”

I sat up for a while and just realized that the impossible became possible. And while it was only yesterday, I feel as though I will be with her soon. Call it a gut feeling.

by

Moonlight Lady

by Miles Rost

Hirsan was getting bored with the party being held in his honor. The bespectacled 24-year old grad student had just finished a major exam in his Geography 507 course, dealing with the political intrigue relating to assassinations and their relative location to national capitals. He received a text message to come and visit his father at the estates in mountains in Orange County.

He didn’t realize it was going to be a 24th birthday party.

Sure, he was the son of royalty. The heir to the new throne of Syria, once the old dictator Assad was brought down to his knees and the insurgent Iranians sent back to their native land. However, today, he thought of himself as simply a college student and a deeply humiliated individual.

Hirsan liked to live frugally, to learn how to survive on his own and work with the other people. He wasn’t religious, and preferred to be focused on love and life, rather than political intrigue and negotiations. However, this surprise party was his father’s idea.

“When King Rahsan gets an idea, you know there will be lots of money and pomp behind it,” he said, dejectedly.

He scanned the floor of the main ballroom from his perch on the second floor. The main ballroom was gigantic. With marble flooring and bright orangish colors up the sides, it was surrounded on a second floor by four large open corridors with seating along both sides of it’s wide hallways. He sat next to the edge overlooking the ballroom, looking at the main ballroom doors to the north. A string ensemble was on one side of the ballroom, while a disc jockey was on the other side. While the adults played, the string ensemble were in play. After the adults would retire, the youth would have the disc jockey for the rest of the night. The DJ was a good friend of Hirsan’s, brought down from San Francisco for the occasion. He had a list of certain songs that Hirsan would be using on most nights.

He was just about to get up and walk towards the kitchen in frustration when he saw a face appear through the main ballroom doors. His heart froze, and he stood, transfixed. He knew this person who walked through the doors, and he did not know what to do.

She wore a beautiful peach-colored satin dress. It was definitely flirty, but it wasn’t over-doing it. It stated confidence, like it knew what it wanted and that others should stay away. Her skin was light, but had a tinge of color to it. Likely unnoticable to most people, for Hirsan, it was a perfect color that showed the beauty of East Asia. Her almond eyes lit up with kindness as she was greeted, and her light-red lips gently displayed laughter.

Hirsan immediately bolted to the stairs closest to the string ensemble. He ran over to the main conductor and tapped him on the shoulder. After talking in an animated way to him for close to a minute, the conductor gave him the nod, and he continued to quickly rush over towards the DJ. He gave him the number 51, and told him to wait for his cue. The DJ just let out a hearty chuckle and slapped him on the back. Hirsan then proceeded to walk slowly in the direction of the young lady.

He came to within two feet of her, and she turned to look at him.

“Hirsan?!” she said, gasping a slight bit, “You’re the birthday boy?”

“It is, Keiko! How did you end up coming over here?”

“It was your dad. He said that you mentioned me a couple times, and he thought it would be nice for me to come celebrate your birthday.”

Hirsan smirked, while looking down and shaking his head.

Dad, there some some days when I have to wonder just what’s going on in that head of yours.

He looked back at her and smiled.

“You look absolutely gorgeous this evening. It’s a change from seeing you in normal clothes in Heitler 150.”

Keiko looked back at him, and gave him a sly nudge.

“Are you trying to say I don’t look sexy?”

Hirsan immediately tried to explain, tying up his tongue and eliciting a guffaw from an old colonel who was standing next to him.

“Don’t dig yerself a hole there, Hirsan. You may just fall in.”

Hirsan quickly facepalmed, took a breath, and sighed.

“You look great in anything you wear. I just never have seen you in as elegant or, shall we say, shiny of attire.”

Keiko blushed slightly.

Hirsan knew his next move, one that he hoped he would be able to pull off. He proceeded to gently pick up her hand, placing it in his.

“Keiko, would you care for a dance to one of my favorite songs?”

Keiko responded with boldness.

“Of course I would, Hirsan. You might be surprised by what you ask.”

Hirsan proceeded to take her hand and move her around a couple directions. He gave the signal to the composer to stop, and the “5-1” with his open hand to the DJ. Both did as they were supposed to do while Hirsan brought Keiko to the middle of the ballroom. Other people started to move out of the way, as the couple finally arrived. At the precise moment they arrived, his song started up.

For the first 30 seconds or so, he slowly moved with her around in the middle of the crowd, which had opened up into a circle. For the near 3 and a half minutes, Hirsan moved across the floor with Keiko. He utilized partner dance skills that he had been taught long ago as a child, and applied old-style charm in a bid to make those four minutes the greatest of Keiko’s life.

He twirled her around in the choruses, and did tango/mamba mixes during other parts. She just grinned and laughed as they went through the song. He found himself at the end of the song looking into her eyes and saying words that he never thought he would have uttered in his life.

“Sexy sexy lady, you just drive me crazy.”

Keiko looked into his eyes with what could only be termed as a “sultry stare”.

“Is this just from our dance, or has this thought been going on for a while?”

“Ever since we first met in Wilshire 100 lecture hall for Professor Chaudhury’s World Geography class.”

Keiko blushed, showing that she too had the same answer.

“Well, now that we know we can dance to the music, let it play!” he said, giving her a flourish and signalling the string ensemble to start playing again.

It was definitely going to be a great 24th birthday for Hirsan.

by

Don’t Look Down (The Sequel)

by Miles Rost

A bad week for Vanessa Chapman just got worse.

“Why did you bring me up here again?!?!”

“In order for us to do our work, you need to conquer your fears,” Roger Daniels told her, as she grabbed a hold of the doorknob on the roof. “And you can’t do that when you’re paralyzed of high places.”

“I’ve tried to conquer it! I’ve tried everything! Hypnotherapy, aromatherapy, pretty much every therapy you could imagine.”

Roger just sighed at this. He knew the routine. She would try to talk him out of doing it, he’d get her close to the edge, then relent.

However, he resolved to himself and a shot of Wild Turkey 100 to not back down this time.

“Vanessa, do you trust me?”

“I would trust you with my life. You’re my partner in crime.”

“Would I steer you wrong?”

She thought for a second. This was a new tactic. Ooh, he’s goood, she said to herself.

“Alright, you’ve convinced me. Let’s do this thing.”

“Remember something, Nessa. You know you’re holding aces, so don’t look down. Play your hand, and get it done with. I’ll be right with you.”

Vanessa tensed up a bit, but she was slowly led to the edge of the building, where two beams were crossing a long drop of nearly 90 feet. It was certain death if she fell, and her only safety were the two I-beams that looked like they were older than Fiorello LaGuardia’s bones.

Roger was in front of her, walking backwards. He was going to be with her all the way, and he wouldn’t let her drop. Just as long as she did not look down.

“Okay, try to hide your fear. Keep your eyes on me. I’ll be calling to you all the way through.”

She took her first shaky, fear filled step onto the I-beam and kept looking at Roger. He looked directly into her eyes as he clutched her hands and moved backwards. Every step he took, she took one more. They got halfway across when she suddenly froze. A small wind blew across the I-beams, and she froze up.

“Don’t worry, honey. I gotcha. I ain’t letting you go.”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….” she cried out, closing her eyes for a few seconds before opening them and seeing Roger’s face directly in front of her.

“I. Have. You. Do not fear. Keep your eyes on me, I’m calling you.”

He moved back one step more, and she moved it one step forward as well. She slowly took her steps, moving one at a time with incredibly slow speed. They inched closer to the other building, and she took her eyes off of Roger, and looked past him. The building was just a few steps away, and she was nearly there.

Until a pigeon hit Roger in the face.

His foot slipped and he started to fall. She grabbed onto him and held on tight. He was dangling off the edge of the beams, and Vanessa looked down upon the street below, She was about to tense up and freeze when a small voice from inside called to her.

“Leading ladies never think about stage fright. They live without it.”

She had to do something. She thought of the first thing to do. She shuffled her body, currently on the beam with both arms holding Roger’s. It was going to take her all her strength, but one way or another, she was going to get Roger up on that building.

“Roger, if anything happens to you, I am going to find my way to heaven and kick your butt.”

“I think it would be a pleasure, Nessa!”

Vanessa smiled as she bodyshuffled her way across the beam. 15 feet would get her to the building, and she decided to put all her force into it. She powered her away across and reached the edge.

“Get a better hold on my arm, Roger! Get a toehold on the building, and I’ll get ya up!”

“You’re open.”

And he was right. She just opened herself up for a dirty comment. Roger wouldn’t do it himself, but someone else at work just might.

“When we get done with this, you can say all the dirty things you want. Just DON’T FALL DOWN!”

“I ain’t gonna fall, sweets. You’re choking off the blood flow to my hand.”

Vanessa put her feet up against the edge of the building and heaved. Within a few seconds, he made it up the side of the building.

Or, rather, he was semi-catapulted. Within just a moment after cresting the edge, he fell on top of Vanessa. After a few seconds of clearing the cobwebs from his brain, he looked down and found a very peculiar sight.

One of his hands was wrapped around her arm, and the other rested on her breast. He quickly stammered and removed his hand.

Vanessa just laughed.

“Well, if you really wanted to cop a feel, Roger, you should have just asked. You didn’t have to nearly die for it.”

Roger looked bashful at this, and was a bit concerned. Now he was on the hot seat. Vanessa got up and looked him square in the eye.

“Well, now that I’ve conquered my fear of heights, why not we conquer your fear.”

She walked closer to him, and he just stood in fright.

“W-w-w-w-what fear is that?”

She was within a few feet of him. She moved right up to his side and grabbed his hands. She wrapped hers around them and looked straight into his paralyzed eyes.

“Your fear of offending a woman when you like her a lot.”

Roger stammered as she moved her face to his forehead. She gave him a short kiss on the forehead, and put her arm around him.

“You’re holding aces, Roger. Play the hand, and take what comes. We’re partners, and we can be more.”

Roger softened as they started walking towards the stairwell door.

“Let’s get something to eat. I think we both have some analysis to go over. Of each other.”

Vanessa smirked into empty sky, with a knowing look on her face.

by

Epic Journeys of Epic Awesomeness

Taking a little break from my stories today to mention that I was nominated by my good friend David Stewart, the denizen of The Green Walled Tower and a fellow fiction-man, to receive an…

To those who have been reading, and have been unique visitors, I appreciate this. Ever since I started this blog early this month, I’ve been hoping to reach my work to an audience who actually is interested in seeing the connection between music and fiction. Music is a way to draw out the ideas for fiction, and fiction a way to give music a voice that it may not have ever imagined it being.

Now, one of the biggest things with this award is that not only do I have to write 10 things about myself on a piece of fruit, but I also must put links to 15 epically awesome blogs. So, without further adieu, I am going to pull the fruit truck around and start writing. *proceeds to run back around the one-room apartment building and drives up a lorry full of fruit.

Here’s to hoping the ajosshi that has this truck doesn’t kill me for taking it…

1. I have left my home country twice (written on a small Jeju tangerine)
2. I once was a radio announcer (written on a purple banana)
3. I once wrote a play, and had it done, and it was really bad (written on a mangosteen)
4. I have been known to yell out nonsensical things in the most unfortunate of times (written on a durian)
5. I have been a believer in Christ for longer than I have not (written on a Starfruit)
6. I once ate two gallons of ice cream in one sitting. It didn’t sit well. (written on a juicy pear)
7. I am nearsighted. (written on an unripe alpine strawberry…with a very tiny laser)
8. I only recently got into listening to modern music, I have always been an 80s guy (written on a lemon)
9. I have turned the channel when a scene that I know is embarrassing comes on, to spare my embarrassment. (written on a bunch of blueberries)
10. I have big thighs and I cannot lie… (written on a ruby red grapefruit, then tossed at a random head in the crowd).

And as for the 15 blogs that are also epically awesome…alas, I can only point to three at this time because I haven’t been on blog long enough to actually make a difference with 15. So, here’s my three (not including Green Walled Tower, which is the pinnacle of awesome):

1. Perpetual Anticipation – http://perpetualanticipation.blogspot.com/ – This guy has a different way of thinking, and is very resourceful with what he does on his blog.

2. Adam Brickley – http://adambrickley.net/ – I used to be a politics guy, but this guy does things differently. He doesn’t just do political blogging, but he does a lot of analysis and what-ifs. He’s my go-to guy for anything that is related to politics.

3. Scarlet Rhapsody –  http://scarlet-rhapsody.com/ – A close friend from many years back, Scarlet does a lot of work with anime, cosplay, and whatnot. Very good blog to look at and watch.

So, there you have it! Time to put this in to the sidebar and then write the next story. And please, make sure to take time and comment!