Creative Writing Club » Forget-Me-Not by Kaede

Forget-Me-Not by Kaede



            Oh, nostalgia. What a mysterious yet pleasant feeling, do you not agree?

            To recall and reminisce. To reminisce all you have done. To reminisce all you may have done better. To reminisce all you regret. To reminisce all you could or should have done but did not do… Oh. Maybe you would feel sad.


Twists. Unprecedented. Shock. Turned tables, tabled turns. I do not believe life to be capable of maintaining a solid plan. No, that is not attributed to its sly, cunning nature. People (ah, or things too) may… stumble into your life. And they may be good for you — give it a try.

* * *

            To wander is not weird, lame, peculiar, strange, out of the ordinary. It is not useless. It is not stupid. To me, it is pleasant, enjoyable, with a calming effect.

            Oh, to solely walk! To walk and listen and see and smell and feel! I would love to walk on an endless path, eyes closed. To feel the rough, rocky ground of gravel beneath my feet, to listen to the whispers of wind and the crunch of gravel. To smell the fresh, damp air of flourishing grasses, to admire the glorious array of colours of the rising sun.

            To wander allows one to admire the world. Ah, though perhaps reactions may differ between individuals. You may snort at the little boy dropping his ice cream cone or judge the full-grown man for tripping on an untied shoelace.

            Even so, wandering is a treat for me. It is exhilarating, similar to that of unwrapping a gift — light, pounding of the heart. A sweet sensation of release, of escape. Though brief, a moment solely joyous.


            Alright, in spite of the mentally-affecting aspects, one may be adventurous, too! You would not know what you may find when you walk in places you have not been to previously. That feeling of anticipation and curiosity is one I thoroughly enjoy. I thrive off it.

            I present to you, a story of mine originating from the wonders of wandering.





            That girl over there… She looks oddly familiar? Mate, isn’t that Carmen from History? It is her, right? It must be! Sure didn’t expect to meet her in this type of place.

            She looks as lonely as ever. Ah, now that I think about it, I often see her alone. During partner assignments, she’s always the last person without a partner.

            I’ve been partnered with her a few times. Well, not particularly willingly. I’d obviously choose Leon or Nick as my partner.

            To be honest, people generally don’t give a bother about her. She sort of simply exists. Some people make fun of her and talk bad about her though. I feel bad but I’ve never really stepped in or anything. It doesn’t seem to bother her.

            Rumours depict her as this awful person, someone painful to be around because you just can’t stand how wrong and dumb they are. That’s probably because they never got to know her. She seems to be a normal girl to me — she’s always been cooperative and helpful.

            I remember on a certain rainy day, I’d forgotten my umbrella. I’d asked her if I could share an umbrella with her and she didn’t mind. She’s rather kind.

            And there’s also those other times she’s tutored me. For free, at that!

            She’s quite courteous and smart, actually.

            I pick up my peppermint mocha and walk toward her table. I wonder if she could use some company or if she preferred to be alone. Mm, I really don’t know a thing about her, huh?

            “Pardon my interruption, is this seat currently occupied?” I ask as I point to the empty seat in front of her. Need to leave a nice impression, since this is our first time meeting outside of school.

            “No, you can sit there.” She answers, without looking up from a large book. That was a little rude but that’s alright! I’m sure she didn’t mean any harm.

            I pull back the seat and sit down. I take a sip from my mug; ahh, the gentle aroma of the peppermint and the lightly sweetened, mellow liquid hitting my palette is magical. Though I don’t go to coffee shops often, I think I’ll be coming back. Kunzea, huh?

            As I enjoy more of my mocha, I look around. Mate, I tell you, Kunzea knows exactly what they’re doing with their interior design. Leafy potted plants, dim ceiling lights dangling, a soft light-brown hue from the LED lights lining the ceiling and floor.

            I prop my head on my arms and examine the girl in front of me. What the heck? She’d been reading from a giant dictionary this whole time. If that’s not strange, then I don’t know what is. Not that I think it’s a bad thing.

            “Hey,” I say, leaning forward. I watch her eyes move from left to right as she reads. “I believe you are Carmen? From History?”

            “Yes,” She says after a pause. Her voice was so soft and monotone. She spoke in this sophisticated, elegant manner. I could get used to her lovely voice. “And you are Austin? Roughly one-eighty centimetres, badminton player, retired volleyball athlete, deemed attractive by eighty-eight percent of students, recovering from an accident injuring your non-dominant hand, close companions with Leon Roy and Nick Anderson, my History partner during fourteen instances, if my memory serves me well?”

            “Yeah.” I slide back into my chair. Whoa, that’s definitely caught me off guard. Especially the last couple bits. Has she done a background search on me? Is she a stalker? She’s never seemed the type. I mean, not that I would know. “How do you know all of that?”

            “Basic knowledge.”

            “It is basic knowledge, meaning everyone knows it. I am no exception.”

            “Huh.” What a strange idea of basic knowledge. Heck, even I’d never known I was about one-eighty centimetres until now. And since when was Leon’s surname “Roy”?

            I peer into Carmen’s mug. Is it a lavender vanilla latte? Bits of lavender dance around as the whipped cream bubbles. Did it really taste good with biscuits? A wooden plate of biscuits sits beside her mug. They look good.

            I drink more of my mocha and twiddle my fingers awkwardly. What am I doing here? Carmen is a bit… difficult to approach. So why had I come? I swear, I was just drawn to her…


            I flinched. Whoa, my heart nearly jumped right out of my chest. “Yeah?”

            “Do you plan to continue looking at me?” Carmen asks, still reading. “I do not possess any distinctive features. Are you perhaps infatuated by me?”

            In- Infatuated? I can feel the temperature in my face quickly rise. “W- what? No! I did not mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, I swear! Uh, I am super apologetic if you feel that way. I deeply apologise! I shall admit, I am in the, um, wrong here. But I- I, uh, I-”

            Carmen shut her book. My voice trails off as I develop a sudden interest in the plate of biscuits, face still aflame. I try to be as quiet as I can as I drink my mocha. Mm, the pleasant aroma eased my nerves a bit.

            “I did not desire an apology. Clarification was all I sought.” Carmen says. Her blank, careless tone almost seemed cold. It made me feel a little hurt.

            A sharp silence fills the air between us. All the business of the shop seemed to blur out — not that it was noisy or loud to start. The soft chatter and clinks suddenly sound distant.

            Carmen gently scoffs. Well, what sounded as a scoff to me. “Have some,” She says, the almost cold tone still in her voice. She slides the plate of biscuits toward me. “They will pair well with the peppermint mocha.”
            Still looking down, I reach for a biscuit and mutter, “Thank you.” I nibble on the dark biscuit in my hand. It was still warm. A heavenly dark chocolate flavour spreads over my palette. I can’t help but devour it quickly, grab another, wolf it down, wash it down with mocha, and repeat. Are these biscuits from Kunzea?

            I swallow the last bit of biscuit and look up. Her head was settled on her folded arms. She wore a blank, expressionless face.

            With the occasional small talk, we share biscuits in silence. I wonder if Carmen feels as awkward as I do. Oddly enough, I am rather content with this — just sitting with her, quietly or not. Although I can’t lie, it would be nice if we could chat more.

            A feeling, one I can’t yet form into words, in my chest hints I’ll be visiting Kunzea again.





            He’d always arrive. Austin, from History. Dating back to our initial unofficial meeting at Kunzea, he’d been arriving frequently. I’d figured it was a coincidence; though I was incorrect, especially so after seventy-four instances.

            It’d greatly annoyed me. His presence bothered me to an unbearable extent.

            Why? Why had he always arrived? It is frustrating. Why does he greet me every time he sees me? Why does he walk up to me during school hours and initiate a conversation? He’d never acted as friendly as he does now towards me previously. I’d only offered him biscuits for my own amusement. So, how come? How come I see him every time I look up? Even during days of snow or rain, he’d still arrive at Kunzea.

            Comparably to that of an annoying pest, he would not go away.

            Even so, I shall admit — his company has gradually grown less irksome. Being together for hours has sparked an unidentifiable peculiar feeling. Ah, now that I fancy the thought, I am unsure why I had felt such contempt towards him. He is chivalrous, tender, and thoughtful.

            It is not as though he was actively bothering me. At times, he’d do schoolwork. At times, he’d nap. At times, he’d rant, though I am sure he is well aware I would not respond, if even listen. At times, he’d craft; intricate origami and scrapbooks. I had been unaware of his craftiness; his dexterity is impressive.

            Hours fly by in his presence. Before I can anticipate it, it has already reached noon, evening, or dawn. Every so often, I wonder how it is such a shame when he leaves. On occasion, I’d wish he’d stay to amuse me further.

            I do not know how to feel. I do not know what to feel.

            What is the light feeling in my chest when I sit and anticipate his arrival? What must I feel when he appears, waving cheerily, calling, “Hey Carmen! Lovely day, innit? How are you today?”?

            I wonder if this little routine between the two of us will ever come to an end. A portion of me hopes it does not. I have grown rather fond of him.





            “Mi’lady, won’t you be ever so kind to accept this dainty peace offering?”

            “Do not speak in that way to me.”

            “Please accept my sincerest apologies. Take this humble offering of mine as a token of my genuinity.”

            Carmen ponders, examining the midnight-violet flower. After a minute or so, she takes the flower from my hands. I feel the soft brush of her cool fingers as they graze mine.

            “How marvellous.” Carmen whispers softly, under her breath. I can barely hear her speak. I don’t quite know what to do as she admires the flower. I don’t want to interrupt her. But I am glad she likes it. I’ll bring her more flowers in the future.

            What feels as though a quarter hour passes. It very well may have been thirty seconds, if not a few minutes or so. It’s a bit awkward for me but that’s alright. Sometimes things are awkward.

            At last, after some time, the awkwardness is broken.

            “Are you aware that morning glories wilt by dawn?” Carmen asks as she twirls the flower between her fingers. “I do not understand why you gift a flower unable to last even twenty-four hours.”

            “Oh. I didn’t know that.” Ah, how embarrassing. Leon had chosen the flower, not me. Need to make a mental note to never trust him with these things again. “Uh, I’ll make it up to you. Tomorrow, I’ll give you a hand-crafted flower I personally make, okay?”

            She shakes her head. Her hair flies from left to right. “No, it is alright. All flowers shall bloom and wilt.” Nahh, I’ll still make it for her.

            She leans in close and points the flower at me. Her cloudy grey eyes are mesmerizingly beautiful up close. She whispers, “Hey, what flower do you believe suits you best?”

            “Oh, ah, um, a daisy?”


            “An apple blossom?”

            “Ah, those are wonderful! Though not the one I am thinking of.”

            “A sunflower?”

            “White carnation.” She says, sliding back to her seat. She closes her eyes and sniffs the flower. “Better yet, gardenias.”

            “I see.” What’s the difference between those flowers? Is there one?

            I lift my mug and gulp down the rest of the mocha. “Say, Carmen,” I begin, wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my baggy sweatshirt. “Are you down for a little walk in the park?”

            “Why the sudden invitation?”
            “Dunno, I’m in the mood.”

            “Mm,” Carmen puts the last of a biscuit into her mouth and dusts crumbs off her hands. “I suppose fresh air has its benefits.”

* * *

            Whistling softly as we walk, the park is peaceful. It was empty, except for the occasional chirps of songbirds, hums of the wind, and the beats of my own heart. I can feel my heart beating, which is kinda cool. Ba-dump, ba-dump.

            I slip my hands into my pockets. It’s a little windy, but it’s nothing intense. Just cool breezes. The sky is cloudy and misty but that’s okay.

            The silence reminds me of the recent past. When Carmen and I would bond together in Kunzea. Little to no conversation, just accompanying one another.

            We’ve grown really close in the past couple months. Has it been a year yet? When I think about the old days, I feel all warm inside.

            I think my interest in Carmen has really shone through, especially during school. Sometimes Nick shoots me looks of worry. As for Leon… NAH, mate, he couldn’t care less. He’s mad obsessed with his girlfriend, Amanda. It’s always Amanda-this, Amanda-that. Don’t get me wrong, it’s hilarious. But sometimes it gets annoying and I slap some sense into him.

            I chuckle softly. Leon’s always been a funny lad. I can practically hear his voice, “Naw, I ain’t hearin’ that from ya, mate. Cut the crap. Nuh-uh. Ain’t no way. You haven’t seen Amanda. She’s f***ing bloody gorgeous.” in a serious tone. Or, “Austin, Austin! Hey, Austin, lookie at this! Looksie! Amanda just….” with the joy practically radiating off his body.

            I admire Leon’s genuine love for his girlfriend. Amanda is mad lucky. They’re so adorable together. Mate, I’m so envious… I’d love to experience the joys of love, too.

            I don’t know why, but I randomly look over at Carmen. Ah- no, wait, no- wait, um, wait what? Why had I turned to look at her just when that thought came into my mind? Surely it was just a coincidence…

            Carmen couldn’t be my lover, could she? Is it possible?... Aghh, whatever. No point in thinking about it. She doesn’t think of me, if anyone, that way.

I examine Carmen. Her wispy, wavy brown hair dances in the wind. Her dull, hazel-grey eyes seem fixated on one spot on the ground yet also seems to be looking at everything. She wears a blank, apathetic expression as per usual.

            I wonder what it takes to change that expression of hers. Or is it unchangeable?

            With a slight moment of hesitation at first, I tug my grey scarf off. I hold my breath as I turn to Carmen. I mutter, “Hey.”

            She stops, turns, and cocks her head. “What?”

            “Wait for a second.”

            I wrap the scarf around her slender neck. I gently pull out the hair stuck in the scarf. Her hair is so silky and soft. “There. It’s a little windy today.”

            She touches the scarf and nods. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness. I highly appreciate it. Though I believe you are foolish for losing your source of warmth through your act of generosity.”

            “Th- that’s okay.” I manage a smile. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

            “Are you certain?”

            “Yes. Very certain.”

            “Are you very certain you are certain?”

            “Yes. Very bloody certain.” I bobble my head up and down in rapid nods.

            “Are you very bloody certain you are certain?”


            She tugs the scarf up. “If you insist.”

            We continue walking. At that moment, I’m sure my heart beat even a little bit faster. I’m sure even a couple slivers of tingles went down my spine and travelled throughout my body.

It’s a pleasant kind of feeling.






            “You were under no obligation to do that. I am capable of paying for our expenses.”

            “No, no! It’s okay. I need to make a proper gentleman of myself so I’m under the obligation of an unspoken rule to pay for whatever we buy. Plus, did you see the look of that cashier? She’d have murdered me on the spot if I’d let you pay!”

            “Mm-hm,” I nod, adjusting to sit in a comfortable position. It is somewhat difficult, given we are in a secluded corner of the vast library.

I admire the delicate sandwich. Sliced strawberries between two slices of white bread, sealed with white cream. It looks too lovely to be consumed.

            “Don’t forget the boba tea.”

            “I would never.”

            Austin passes me the medium-sized coffee-flavour pearl milk tea I’d ordered. He took out and struck the straw into his own lychee-flavour pearl milk tea.

I take a bite. It was rich, soft, sweet, and cream. I do not understand how fruit between bread can taste as wondrous as it does. What is the secret in this dish? I must know.

I look over at Austin. He was sat, his back against the wall. He’d devoured the majority of his share. He licks cream and fruit juice off his fingers. I turn away. How vulgar.

“Hey,” Austin says, looking at the half-eaten sandwich in my hands. He slurps his pearl milk tea tea. “Aren’t you going to eat? I can eat it for you if you want.”

“No, that is quite alright. We’d decided I would be responsible for the consumption of this share. Do not fret, I shalln’t waste food.” With haste, I eat the sandwich and grab for another.

“Don’t worry, I won’t steal your food. Take your time.” Austin smiles, propping his cheek on his hand. He watches as I eat. What a soft gaze. I look back into his eyes, nibbling the triangular sandwich.

Still maintaining eye contact, he reaches and pushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “You were about to eat your own hair,” he says. “That wouldn’t taste good.”

I nod, swallowing a bite of sandwich. Austin is rather touchy, as in physical touch. Is that how he expresses affection? “Thank you. The hair of your own is rather long, too. Do you have intentions to cut it shorter?”

“Nah,” He says. He removes his hair band, releasing his low bun, and runs his fingers through his messy, fluffy, brown hair. It falls lower than his shoulders. “I like my long hair. You don’t like it?”

            I ponder. He spins his hair band in his finger, anticipating my response. After twenty-three seconds of wondering, I shake my head. “No, it suits you rather well.”

            He smiles and lets out a low whistle. “Thanks,” He whispers softly. Whistling a low, gentle tune with joyous notes, he begins to re-tie his hair.

            I finish the remainder of my sandwich and wipe my mouth with a napkin. I stuff the refuse into the bag. Grabbing my drink, I look to see Austin plugging his earphones into his phone.

            “A podcast?”

            “No. Music.” He removes the right earphone and offers it. “You wanna listen?”

            I take it from his hand and insert it into my left ear. Gentle tunes, rhythms, and melodies play into my ear. 悪いのは君だそうだっけAh. 悪いのは僕だたぶん

            What a lovely song. I do not understand nor do I know as to why, however, I feel oddly at peace. Is it the lyrics? 僕らは何回だってきっと。What is the name of this beautiful song? I must know. This song is exceptionally captivating. Why is it that I feel a peculiar attachment to this melody?僕らは何回だってきっと。そう何年だってきっと。

            “What do you think?” Austin grins cheerily. さよならと共に終わるだけなんだ。I can barely hear his words.

            “It is rather lovely,” I whisper under my breath. I do not know if he can hear my low voice. “I have piqued an interest in this tune.”

            “Are you sure it’s only ‘rather’?” He laughs. At least, that is what I believe had happened. I’d still been dazed from the wondrous song. I’d spoken in a trance, my mind wandering.

            “You really like it, huh?” He props his head on his arm, looking at me. It is rather dodgy, how he often looks at me as such. Especially so with that tender gaze of his.

            I nod. Absorbing every second of the wondrous song, I sip my pearl milk tea. The combination of the dulcet notes and the balanced bittersweet beverage creates an indescribable pleasant harmony.

            “Carmen, I wanna try some of that. It looks good,” He says, pointing at the drink. His soft sage green eyes sparkle. “Here, you can try some of mine, too. It’s really delicious!”

            “Sure.” I reply. We exchange drinks. Mm, lychee-flavour is not appalling; it is not overbearingly sweet. Though I believe I prefer coffee-flavour over it. I suppose I cannot be too harsh, for I shall constantly favour coffee.

            “Whoa, Carmen, this is good!” He says, his eyes glistening with awe. He drinks more of it; I feel a slight tone of sadness as I watch the volume of milk tea deplete.

            “Um, Austin? Are you perhaps finished?” I ask, almost in a mutter. “Your lychee-flavour was certainly fine… though I believe you would like it better than coffee…”

            “Oh, of course.” He chuckles. He understands what I hint at.

            “You may have your lychee-flavour returned, too.”


            I do not know why, but Austin begins to hum a hearty tune. Be it humming or whistling, he does it frequently. It is especially prominent as of recent.

* * *

            I turn my head barely fifteen angles to see an asleep Austin. Music continues to play in his ear. A narrow stream of drool dribbled from his mouth. His head seemed as though it may fall off his craned neck at any given moment.

            A smile itches at the edges of my mouth.

            Careful to avoid waking him, I help ease his head on the wall. Without much consideration, I reach and touch his head of fluff. It is soft. I notice his remarkably fine, long eye lashes. I can understand how he may be viewed as attractive.

            Shrugging off the urge to pat his head, I adjust the earphone in my ear and return to the book I hold.





            “Mm, good morning, Carmen.” I yawn.
            “Good morning to you too. It is currently 19:11. You had slept for four hours, twenty-nine minutes, forty-one seconds. Correction, forty-two seconds.”
            “Oh okay,” I stand and stretch my arms. Always need to stretch after a good nap. Wew, I slept for so long. I feel super refreshed. “What should we do next?”

            “The day is nearing its end. We oughta part ways and return to our homes.” Carmen says, closing the book in her hands. She begins to stand up.

            “Noo, it’s not late at all,” I whine. I don’t want to go yet. Surely there’s a place we can visit now. I search my memories, trying to remember all the fun places I’ve been to.

            “Hey, we can go visit the arcade down the street!” I perk up. I haven’t visited that arcade in a while. I remember going there on the weekends to master the games. It’d be really nice to return every once in a while; a bit of nostalgia might be nice too.

            “Need I repeat myself? The day is nearing its end.” Carmen picks up her pile of books and the bag of rubbish. Oh that’s right, the fruit sandwiches and boba tea. I’m glad Carmen liked it — the happiness shining in her eyes was as bright as the sun.

            “I promise it won’t take long.” I beg, clasping my hands together. I do my best to put on a puppy eyes-like face. “Pleaseee?”

            She sighs. “Fine. Note you will be responsible for any payment of games.”

            “You’re gonna run me skint.” I smile. Little does she know I am an absolute god at arcade games. I wonder what kind of expression she’ll have on her face, if any.

* * *

            “Move the claw six point two centimetres to the west.”

            “WHAT? PARDON? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”


            “YOU MEAN LEFT, RIGHT? Ah, wait, what?”
            “YES. MOVE IT TO THE LEFT.”

            “O- OKAY!” Bloody hell, I’m not Carmen. How am I supposed to know how far six point 2 centimetres are? I’ll estimate. I move the joystick some distance to the left.

            “What are you doing? Had I not told you six point two? Why did you move five centimetres? You are one and point two centimetres off, you know.” Carmen points out. Mate, I’m not as… intelligent as you are. Is that the word?

            “Aughh, it’s fine. It’ll work out. Trust me.” I groan. I’ve failed the first three tries, but that’s okay! Fourth time’s the charm. I move the joystick around more until I decide it should be fine and click the button to drop the claw.

            I watch eagerly as the claw picks up the stuffed animal. Everything’s going fine, it’s all going according to plan, now it just needs to drop it into the hole… “C’mon, c’mon, please!”

            “YESS!” I punch the air. Relief washed over me. It’d barely missed the box hole.  “LET’S FRICKING GOOO!”

            “Woo, you did well,” Carmen says, clapping. I beam at her praise. She reaches into the slot and takes out the llama. It’s a gorgeous fluffy light-bronze llama. She hands it to me.

            “Oh no, you can have it.” I clarify, pushing it back into her arms. I’ve won many times before. There’s a shelf at home with only stuffed animals. It’s one of my favourite collections.

            “No. You are the one who’d played.” She argues. That’s a fair point.

            “I would’ve given it to you anyway. Take the poor little llama.” My hidden motive for coming here to give the prizes to Carmen. I can always come and win things for myself if I wanted to. But Carmen rarely goes anywhere other than Kunzea.

            “I suppose if you insist,” She mumbles. She hugs the llama tight. Seems as though she likes it. I’m glad she adores stuffed animals. “Mind you, it is an alpaca, not a llama.”

            “They’re technically the same.”

            “I’d like to believe it is an alpaca.”

            “Alpaca or not, what are you going to name it?”

            “Mm,” Carmen examines the alpaca, turning it around three-sixty degrees. Is this necessary? She continues inspecting for a few more minutes or so. Is it supposed to be this difficult to come up with a name? I’d name it Shoto or something.

            “Alfredo.” She answers. Mm, wow, alright. Not what I was expecting. Especially not for the name of an alpaca, particularly. I’d still name it Shoto.

            “As in Fettuccine Alfredo?” The pasta is the first thing I’d thought of. Ah, mate, now I’m craving some pasta. Pasta, pasta. Carbonara, pesto, bolognese… so many options.

            “No. Simply ‘Alfredo.’” Carmen reponds. I feel as though her voice sounds more soft and elegant. “I figured you’d say that.”

            “Do you like Fettuccine Alfredo?” Personally, I love it. I love pasta, one of my top favorite foods maybe. Scratch that, I love food. Food is best when eaten with others, too.

            “It is not morbid.”

            “So you don’t like it?”

            “I do not like it, nor do I dislike it.”

            “What’s your favourite food?”

            “I do not have such things.”
            “Uh-huhh. Well, I love Japanese cuisine! They can make a dang proper cup of tea.  Don’t you agree?”

            “I suppose so.” She answers blankly. Has she never tried Japanese cuisine? Or has she only tried a little of it? Or has she simply never tried any good Japanese cuisine? I know of some local authentic places and most Japanese cuisine found pales in comparison. Hmm, I should bring her there some time.

            “As of now, it is 21:51. I believe it is time for us to part ways and return to our homes.” Carmen says, looking at her phone.

            “Oh, right. It is getting fairly late.” I reply. Ah, that’s a shame. I would’ve loved to play more games and win more prizes for her. There was a cute narwhal prize I wanted to win.

            “Farewell, Austin.” She turns to leave.

            “Alright- NO, WAIT! Wait, wait, wait!” I cry, stopping her. She turns around and slightly cocks her head. “I’ll walk you home, okay?”

            “No need.”

            “NO, I must. I- It’s dark out, you know. Things might happen. You never know. It’s better for me to walk with you, okay? You know what they say: ‘better safe than sorry.’” I worrily sputter. I’ve nearly forgotten how dangerous it can be for a girl to walk alone at night. It’d be dreadful if something were to happen to her. I don’t know what I’d do… Agh, I was too selfish. It was a mistake to take her out for so long.

            She stares at me. I am reminded of the quote, “If you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” Though the definition doesn’t align.

            “Alright,” She says simply. “Let us be hasty, then.”





            It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault, isn’t it?

            Tears endlessly trickle down my face; I can’t stop it. It hurts. It makes my eyes hurt. I can wipe at them all I want, but it won’t do anything.

            The sharp pain in my chest hurts so bad. It’s suffocating. Please, make it go away. Someone, anyone, I don’t care who, I want someone to make this pain go away. It rips me up from the inside out. It won’t stop.

            I can’t look up. I can’t, I can’t. You can’t make me.

            I watch and listen. Watch the tears spill and plop onto my dark trousers. Listen to the soft beeping of the machine.

            I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I’m so f***ing bloody helpless. Still quivering, I look up. Only slightly. But that was all that was needed.

            Blood. Carmen. Vomit. A pool of blood. Carmen. Joy. My love. Gushing blood. Carmen. Dictionary. Wandering. Carmen. Kunzea. Biscuits. Carmen. Library. Carmen. Arcade. Love. Carmen. Walking. Affection. Carmen.

            Dammit. Why does she have to look so peaceful laying on the white bed? All sorts of lead wires were inserted into her body. Her skin was still pale but it’d regained some colour. It’s not fair. How can she lay so peacefully while I’m like this?

            I bury my face in my hands. What am I going to do with you now?

* * *

            IT WAS ALL HIS FAULT.

It was that driver’s fault. It’s all his fault. Him, not me. He shouldn’t have run that red light. Then Carmen wouldn’t be here. If it weren’t for him, we could be at Kunzea right now, having fun together…

            It’s all because of him. I oughta stab his eye out and push him down a sewer. He deserves worse. No, nevermind. No matter what I do to him, he can’t turn back time. Dammit. Why can’t he share even a fraction of my misery?

            How cruel.



            Hours pass. Hours turn to days. Days turn to weeks. Weeks turn to fortnights. Fortnights turn to months.

            Summer passes; sunflowers. Autumn passes; petunias. Winter passes; snowdrops. Spring returns; cherry blossoms. Months turn to years.

* * *

            A barista at the coffee shop, Kunzea, feels something off in the atmosphere of their humble shop. She cannot quite put her finger on it.

            But she realizes — the couple. The boy with sage eyes and the girl with misty eyes. It had not taken long for her to develop an attachment to the two. They were quickly recognized as regulars at Kunzea.

            The barista realizes she hadn’t seen the two for a long, long duration of time. What had happened to cause the sudden disappearance of their regulars? She’d never know.


* * *

            A year turns into two. Three, four, five. Six, seven. Seven years.

            It took seven years. Not once during the seven years had the boy’s love wavered. For seven years, the boy lived, engulfed in grief. Perhaps because he was foolish, perhaps because he was desperate, but he’d waited. He waited by her hospital bed.

            It was certainly not a pleasant seven years. Yet the boy endured it.

            It’d been in vain. The boy was naïve, you could say. Because even after seven years, the inevitable happened: the EKG machine let out a bellowing whistle.