Archive for 'fiction'

Feb201010

Solomon King

11

i cannot divine what it meaneth, this haunting nameless pain

Previously

Wednesday 10th February, 10:37AM

I am seated comfortably in the waiting room of a certain institution of learning. I loathe being idle, especially in waiting rooms. I normally do something daft with my phone, or read. Today, however, I wasn’t in the mood for phone-shenanigans and I hadn’t any reading materiel on me.

My insatiable curiosity got the better of me, and I pulled a book from one of the magazine stands. A thick dusty volume, the kind I am attracted to. Sadly, it is no collection of prose, poetry, nor ancient wisdom. It is commercial drivel, created specifically to lure idlers like myself, or adherents, the likes of which walk these corridors and rooms endlessly.

“Why You’ll Love Germany” or something like that.

I flip through the pages, it is very commercial, meaning it’s well designed. At the very least.

Something catches my eye and I pull out my pencil and a small sheet of paper.


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Feb201008

Solomon King

22

being poor, I have only my dreams

1. This series is for the four readers of my blog. You keep me going, yearning, and growing despite my inconsistencies.
2. This series is fiction. Get over it.

Previously

Saturday, 6th December, 11:37 AM

The fog slowly clears from the misty plains of a thousand dreamless sleeps. I have enjoyed my stay there, through the long peaceful hours. Being, and… not quiet being. The bright sun streams through the trees, sparkling brightly in the morning streams of consciousness.

My eyes open, and there’s a smile on my face.

It has been ages since I’ve had a good night’s sleep. The insomniac and the workaholic in me are constantly fighting for bragging rights to body, mind and soul. The battle is epic, the fields bloody with carnage, but what they think they fight for, I do not know, for how can nothing be a prize?

I get up from my room and walk straight to the bathroom. Stark naked.

One of the main reasons I like staying alone.

The other reason? The silence. The beautiful, still silence, when you can hear the cockroaches peacefully sleeping next to you. Until, of course…


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Feb201001

Solomon King

21

the importance of being…

Previously.

Friday, 22nd January 11:48PM.

She shuts the door behind me. Her perfume lingers in the air, and I close my eyes and breathe deep. I can still taste her lips, I can still feel the electric tingle of her lips on mine. It’s dizzying. I am a feather floating gently on a breeze, carried higher and higher on the wings of something I cannot touch, but so real. Unbelievably real.

I am bliss incarnate.

And I am sad. Lonely and far far away from home. Floating, further and further away from something I once knew, but cannot describe, towards something I do not know.

I am the embodiment of sadness.

I walk slowly into the night. It’s warm, and there’s a bright moon in the sky, washing everything in a soft glow. The road is deserted on either end. I contemplate taking the shorter, relatively safer route which will yield a boda-boda in two minutes, or taking the longer, riskier fifteen-minutes-of-darkness route.

Foolishness wins. I need to think anyway.
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Oct200906

Solomon King

19

Kayla

Today… today… my heart is heavy.  Today I feel the walls of despair closing around me.

Today, I am helpless.

Today, I am a child again, whimpering in a corner, sucking my thumb, eyes shut tight, tears streaming down my face and praying… praying hard that when I open my eyes, all will be well. You will still be here, and there will be light in my life.

The soft music wafts through my memory,  a sensual lilting diminuendo that only you could play. I walk in from the courtyard, and you’re seated at the piano, eyes closed, swaying slowly to the sad slow melody. You look so beautiful, Kayla. I watch you for hours as you play, lost in your world.

You are wearing that dress that I loved so much. White, with faint floral patterns. I loved the way it loosely hugged your body, and then flared and pleated and swayed and swirled around your feet. And when we danced, Kayla, when we danced… when I held you close and you looked into my eyes…
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Jun200929

Solomon King

20

disjointed introspective retrospect

Fact:

There are more than 6 billion people on this world, but only one you. So why the heck are you acting like everyone else? Your failure to appreciate and develop your uniqueness is an insult to yourself and your creator. Yeah I said it. Sue me.

Fact-ish:

Apparently, everything you’ve ever seen, heard, touched, said, experienced, thought, understood, overheard is somewhere in your mind. Do you even remotely know how powerful your mind is? So what on earth are you doing limiting yourself to that miserable boring existence you call a life?

Oh, wait… it’s not a life? Ha! Oh yeah. My bad.

Choice:

Apathy, Mediocrity or Excellence? Choose now. Choose wisely.
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May200929

Solomon King

36

sadiq

This post is dedicated to everyone at the Blogger’s Happy Hour who said my blog is too inspirational. Ha, take that!

—

Sadiq was officially the scariest boy in school. No contest.

One good look at him and you knew something was massively wrong with this dude. Okay, calling him a dude was a bit far-fetched, however sophisticated your upbringing was. Actually, to be more honest, your first genuine, undeniable reaction when you saw Sadiq, was “holy sh…”

You’d never get the chance to properly articulate your thoughts if, Sadiq, in all his omnipresence, chose that very moment to look at you.

Little boys peed in their pants every time Sadiq looked at them. Frozen in place from sheer terror, their lips would start quivering, and a split second later, eyes, nose and lower appendage would start running.

The “big” boys ( they were only big when compared to the little boys ) stopped in their tracks for a full five seconds, then very slowly, they’d retreat, keeping a very close eye on Sadiq. It was, however, impossible to look Sadiq in the eyes, so they’d focus instead on that area just above the tip of his nose.
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