The Bloom Of Curse - I

Night. Darkness. Against the blinding backdrop, all I can see, can feel…is cherry blossoms.

Soft, light, fragile…the petals glide in the mild breeze – pale pink clashing with inky black.

Cymbals chime gently. My eyes closed, I cannot see you.

I don’t need to see you. You’re but a step away, your breath tingling on my neck, your musky smell enveloping me.

My hand extends to grasp your shoulder. Did I not give myself in that moment?

The moment when your hand reached out to caress my hand, before plunging straight through my heart.

…I can’t feel anymore.

…

Her eyes snap open, her body starting from the kneeling position. A moment ago, she was in a deep trance, casting a protection spell, when she was drawn in by the blossoms.

Pale pink…turning to crimson red. Was it a dream? A prophecy, a vision of the future?

She shuddered to recall the face.

She went to her chair, easing into it, relaxing and breathing deeply, as vestiges of the vision play against the landscape of her mind. A moment too late, before she reacts to the indrawn wind, the barely heard footstep; she finds herself locked in a firm embrace, arms sliding against her bare shoulders.

A low, baritone voice hums in her ear. “And you call yourself a psychic.”

She smiles, easing further into the chair against the crook of his neck, murmuring, “I can’t be on guard the entire time. My strength is limited.”

He brushes his cheek against her silken hair. “Even if it cost you your life?”

Her eyes flicker open, levelling upon him calmly. “As if a lapse in judgement would kill me. You should know better.”

He pulls away, walking towards the window. “Destiny,” he sneers, “of course. So much for making your life when a contraption like a bunch of stars has already determined your lifespan.”

She let the comment pass, knowing it wasn’t sceptical. “This coming from someone who swears by his tarot cards.”

In a rare moment, he looks sheepish. “Self-mockery is one of my traits, unfortunately.”

Laughter resounds as she draws up to him, wrapping her arms around him. In the moment of silence that follows, she remains still, merely aware. Aware of the fact that this was the last time she would be held like this.

(To be continued)

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Ah, this is what you get for watching anime like there's no tomorrow (I'm a twelfth grade student; I'm supposed to study) Do you see the influence. The cherry blossoms, the occultism and the like? For the occasional reader well-versed with anime/manga, this is straight out of Tokyo Babylon or even X/1999 (I mean, literally inspired by it), before you accuse me of plagiarism.  Readers, it's meant to be original fiction, so do not desert me! 

Let Go

Why must I follow your call?

Who are you, to dictate my fall?

A life so unique, I’ve tried to lead.

Why must you stamp and knead

It into a commonplace existence?

I’m no escapist; I seek the verve

Of a separate reality, free of bonds

Which hold you in place, day and night.

Insanity you plead, I laugh instead,

Oh to live in confines like you is lunacy indeed!

Do not chain me; you shall harm yourself.

There is no greater crime

Than to domineer a liberated spirit.

I hear the cry of skies, beckoning me.

Let me fly, away from your constraints

And restrictions, I was, I am and I will

Never be your slave...

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I'm the most forgetful, ungrateful creature you'll ever come across. *sighs*


How could I forget to acknowledge the person who gave me my first ever blog award?

Juhi, aka Philo who has been so kind enough to do the honours, to you, I can only say one thing: Thank you!

No, actually there are other things too...I hope you realise that it is because of you that I'm even here in the first place. You equally inspire me to write and may we always be able to relate to each other through this common bond. Thank you so much. :D

Love In Anonymity

“Did I not say...”

“Say what?”

“Three words: I love you.”

A laugh. “How clichéd.”

“I believe in being simple.”

“Of course.”

A smile, a sigh. She leans over, kissing him softly.

“I love you too.”

...

His eyes snap open. The intensity of the dream (dream, memory?) leaves him breathless.

It’s you again. Why?

He gets up from the bed and goes to the windows. Eyes closed against the streaming sunlight, he leans against the window sill. Quiet, still...he can feel her, wrapping her arms around his torso as he burrows his face into her shoulders, drinking in the musky, sweet smell of hers. Her skin tingling under his light touches...she looks up, eyes sparkling, dark hair dangling around her swan-like neck and petite ears. Her face mere inches from his, leaning in to kiss him, savour him...melting into him, becoming one...

The shrill sound of his phone ringing startles him from his reverie.

Disconcerted, he staggers across the room to grab his phone. Unmindful of who is calling, he simply answers the call, pressing the receiver to his ear. Déjà vu hits him...the melodious, playful voice at the other end takes his breath away yet again.

“Darling, you were dreaming about me, weren’t you?”

He drops to his knees, suddenly overwhelmed. Clutching at the phone, he rasps, voice choked with emotion. “Who else would it be, my sweet? Who else would it be?”

“Still as sentimental as ever. When will you learn?”

He sighs, unable to vanquish the torrent of emotions, released at the mere sound of her. “My dear...you know that’s how I’m. Where are you? Come back to me, please.”

“Would I now, seeing as to how you are begging for dear life?”

He goes quiet, wondering wildly as to how he could ever fall in love with a probable sadist... He glances at her portrait, her beautiful face revealing no more than her voice. He searches for meaning in those deep, frozen eyes...and finds only mystery.

“Go away! Stop it...stop torturing me!” He is surprised at his own words.

The phone clicks and the haunting voice is gone. He curls up against the floor, quietly crying, loathing himself for being so weak. The door opens with a barely audible creak; footsteps resounding throughout the room.

A gasp, an indrawn breath. Air heavy with perfume...that unmistakable fragrance. A soft hand reaching out to caress him.

He turns to find her looking at him concernedly and realises that the circle never ends. It goes on...infinitely so.

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Where are all my readers? A writer cannot improve without proper feedback, you know!