Saying “Goodbye”.

“You’ve changed.”

Hint of anger in his voice. Fists clenched. His eyes won’t meet mine.



I reply. Calm. I take a deep breath, keeping the tears swelling in my eyes at bay. I’ll cry later when he’s not around. Crying now will only weaken my resolve.


“And I haven’t, have I?”

His eyebrows furrow in frustration. He steps closer. I move back. I need the distance.



I grasp my left wrist with my right hand. Need. To. Stop. Shaking.


“Every time, something goes wrong in your life, I’m there for you. I’m dependable.

I know everything about you.

Every little secret.

And I make things better. I make you happy.

You can’t leave me now.

You need me.”


He lifts his head so that his eyes meet mine. His gaze is piercing. I shiver. But I do not fold. I retaliate.

“I needed you. Not anymore. Never again.”


He grimaces but quickly recovers. His expression softens. The corner of his lips curve into a smile.

“You’ll come back to me soon enough. You always do. Enjoy your little alone time.”


He laughs.

In the past, that would’ve been enough to crack me.

Now, I am unfazed.



I turn and walk away without a second glance. His laughing stops.



I don’t. My arms stop shaking. My entire body relaxes.


Psychologically and physically,

I am free.


94 – What would you do with your life if money wasn’t an issue?

Someone asked me that question the other day.

What would you do (as an occupation), if money wasn’t an issue?

I didn’t think twice about it and answered simply that I would still wish to be a doctor. Though in that case, it’s my GPA that’s the issue more so than money.

It really is something I want to do in my life. I know it’s a lot of work and it’s certainly going to be difficult and there’s no guarantee that I’ll even succeed. But that’s life. You just have to take things one step at time. And be happy – every step of the way.

It occurred me to just now though, that there actually may be things I’d be more inclined or more interested in. I mean, I don’t often go looking at research papers in my spare time nor do I often pursue things outside of class that would enrich my understanding of the sciences. I’ve always brushed it off as “I’m still young” which is only partially true. One of my friends in high school would often hours looking at x-rays or diagnoses, finding it to be of interest. It was eye-opening. You are never too young to get interested in scientific material; you are never too young for academia. Just when am I going to feel like “I’m old enough” or get to the point where studying medicinal or scientific research becomes an enriching hobby? Will I ever? I feel like this is something I have to modulate in my life. Maybe I’m just lacking a push to get me starting a whole new train of inspiring literature.

Personally though, I’ve always felt more drawn to artistic material. I find that scientific material l interesting to learn, but never satisfying in the same way as a really good story. There’s something so exciting in expression, in feeling a connection with an author whether it be in a painting, a comic, a short story, a novel, a movie, or an animation. It moves me. And I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving the arts. It’s the little things. It’s the feeling you get when you take ten or fifteen minutes to admire a piece of art while you were just passing by; it’s the sensation that runs through your veins when you reach an epiphany at the end of short film or story; it’s the tears that slide slowly down your face during that tragic moment after a climatic plot; it’s the smile on your face after something “really, really good”. I could never give these things up.

And I know I don’t have to. Just because I’m pursuing a career down a different path doesn’t mean I can’t keep these things in my life. So I will. Forever and always. Because they fulfill me. They are very much a part of who I am.

I think, if money wasn’t an issue, I’d be a indie game developer. I’d make games that both children and adults could enjoy. Games that inspire. Games that give you a tingling sensation of fulfillment. Because that’s what they did for me – ever since I was a little girl. They brought into my world, and I’d like to pass that feeling on. Maybe someday, when I have the resources to do so, I can make this dream come alive – share my passion with other people. Even if it touches just a few people, I would feel satisfied.

For now, I need to focus on school. Study hard. Pursue my passion for discovery and quench my curiosity in a different field. I think the key to finding my connection to a scientific field is to read. Reviews, articles, novel compilations of what’s happening in the world. I think, because reading is something I enjoy thoroughly, that I’ll find my inspiration in the words. Somewhere. Somehow.


So. What would you do? If money wasn’t an issue?

The Copper Hill

We were strangers once more with our arms lounging against the crisp horizon, our feet weightless on the rusted metal plates that refused the existence of the force called gravity. I brushed my front strands of hair away from my eyes and gazed over at the figure sitting less than an arm’s reach away.

The man I know lives in that body, exists in that shell, but he is not the man I know. A tear flickered on the edge of my eye as I realized that the man I would give my dreams up for no longer walked this world.

I walked over to him, my hands shaking from an emotion quite unknown to me. My legs quivering with each step – although that very well may have been attributed to the strange metal beneath my feet.

He looked up, but said nothing. His face was blank and implied nothing. Even his limbs remained stagnant, filled with the nothingness that now consumed him.

An urge arose from inside the very roots of my soul and implanted itself into my nervous system. I grabbed his unmoving head and kissed his plated skin. My eyes drowning in the expression of his incandescent glowing eyes.

My hands found security as I placed them upon his bare cold back. My legs found their long lost home wrapped around his slender waist. I kissed him again, firmly on the lips, letting the Passion burning inside my skin escape onto his.

He closed his eyes and I, mine. His body made no attempt to escape my clinging hold. I stopped kissing him and let my head rest upon his broad shoulders that eminated off rays of shimmering gold.

I laughed. Loudly and filled with all the hysteria of a madwoman.

And then I cried. Tears filled with agony and relief, achievement and grief.

The tears ran down his back. Some slipped beneath his intricately plated skin. And continued down. To his power core.

Lifeless once again. The man I loved. Atop the peak of the copper hill.

Saying “I love you”.

Writing prompt: Saying “I love you” without actually saying the three words.


“There’s a kitten following you,” he pointed at the creature tailing behind me.

“I know,” I replied, smiling my most pleasant smile.

The kitten walked over to him and jumped onto his lap. Upon instinct, he ran his fingers through her fur.

“Another one? You promised you’d stop taking in strays,” he frowned, but continued to pet her.

“I know, but this one understands me. She knows exactly how I’m feeling. She’s like that part of me I’ve always searched for and always wished to have known more about. I don’t know how else to explain it. Look at her.”

He takes a long hard look at the kitten and shakes his head. He nudged her, urging her off of him. He was stuck on the dark green leather sofa – unable to stand up. He nudged again. The cat didn’t budge.

“She’s not letting me get up,” he said, realizing that the cat’s claws were digging in at his clothes.

“I know,” I replied, staring straight into his eyes. “She’s not letting you go.”

He chuckled and extended his arms out to me. I accepted the embrace, digging my own claws in his back.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered softly into my left ear.

“I know.” I murmured just as softly in the comfort of his arms.


Had writer’s block at my writing club today and our leader told me to use the word “bicycle” at least twice. Fun. Only had 3-5 minutes to write. Something I can develop later? Maybe.

That bicycle. That stupid, mocking, shameless piece of metallic trash. Yes. That bicycle. Just the sight of its ridiculously put together mechanism makes my blood churn. It’s not really a bicycle. No, it’s a cold-blooded, demon-spirited, heartless murderer. This bicycle took everything from me. It replaced the love of my life with a soulless piece of marble: a gravestone in our local cemetery.

I wish I had never bought that bicycle.


Something I happened to conjure up during my five minutes of free-write at this writing club I wish will never end. I might develop this or I might not. Haven’t written fantasy in a long time – I kind of miss it.

She bit her lip, tasting the bitter ardour from her own blood. A beast stood before her, digging his filthy claws into the cold,  fresh dirt. His tangerine eyes chilled her entire body. She stared back, mustering up her most ferocious look possible, her own eyes glowing brighter than humanly possible in the moonlight.

Run, her brain told her, sending compulsions through her every nerve. She would not run. She couldn’t. She knew the beast, knew how to tame it – if only she had her powers back. Oh how she missed her powers. If she ever saw that worthless thief appear before her again, she would rip his body limb from limb and drown herself in his blood. There’s nothing sweeter than revenge.

The beast howled mournfully towards the sky, the sound deflecting in every direction. Then it came, lunging towards her vitality as if she were some kind of languid songbird. The ends of her lips curved up, a malevolent smile that would cripple even Angels resonated on her face. She let out a little chuckle and prepared herself for the engagement.


She will claw at her own weaknesses and tear herself apart. She will criticize every modicum until nothing is left at last. She will kill the good inside of her as she exterminates the bad. She will do what it takes to destroy the girl she sees in the mirror – to erase the existence she doesn’t want. She will.

He’s different. He won’t admit his troubles and he’ll hide away his secrets. He’ll press his head against the pillow and be consumed by sheer insomnia. He’s hiding too much. He’s not letting it out. He wrestles with the pain day in and day out. He’ll lie to his friends and smile like a ghost. He won’t try to change for he thinks he’s alright. He won’t make a move because he’s scared of the consequence. He won’t.

She’ll lose all her friends someday due to her self-destructive personality.

He’ll lose all his friends someday due to his lies and fabrications.

She won’t meet him and he won’t meet her. Their worlds will not collide.

They’re not the same. Not at all. Yet somehow, they are plagued and haunted by something too similar. The monster that lurks in the darkest of souls.

It’s not easy to hunt and not easy to kill what has grown for so long. Her desperation has amounted to nothing and the creature has only fortified itself. It will eat her alive.

His monster is suppressed, but growing in power. He won’t be able to hold out for long.

Neither will look for help. One tries to change and the other tries every possible method not to. Yet the both of them will not slay this monster by doing what they do. Monsters aren’t meant to be fought alone. Monsters aren’t meant to be ignored.

She thinks herself a hero, a warrior with a mission. She thinks herself substantial enough to kill the beast. She’ll draw her sword and face it head on. No armor. She has no armor. Her delicate self lies vulnerable to the monster.

He hides in his castle, building more and more walls. He’s upgrading the defenses and ignoring the threat. He won’t attack. He’ll defend for his life. Still, all walls will crack eventually. All castles will erode. He can’t run forever.

Time is running out for the two of them.

There’s no way to make it all disappear.

Reality always hurts the most. Reality always finds its way through the gaps even if you try to shut it out. Reality doesn’t wait for you to get better and it won’t wait for them either. Yet somehow it’s not a matter of what reality is, but what is done with it.