My Freedom Day

CNN is currently hosting a movement called “My Freedom Day” aiming to see different perspectives of what is freedom. For many including myself, freedom is the ability to express who I am and to speak of what I think is right. It is all about the fight to have a better life. But on the other hands, there are people who are fighting for food, who are abused, who had to do inhumane activities to take one more breath, to survive; and they also called this, “a fight of freedom.”

Should these fights be under the same title, “freedom”?

Should these be valued as the same fight?


For me, freedom is the ability to speak my perspective of what is right

To involve in a societal decision

But for others, freedom is the ability to survive

To have enough food to eat, to have shelter, or to take one more breath



These are two different fighters under the same title


But they should not be the same fight

As one is to seek for a better condition, and another is for survival

I’m not trying to take anyone on a guilt trip

But on this FreedomDay, let takes a moment if to not help but you acknowledge there are people who are being abused and taken advantage of, who had to do inhumane activities to take one more breath, to survive.

To acknowledge that on the same mean, there are people who are fighting a more severe battle.


Short Story:

Combat Against the Issue of Feeding the Global Citizens



Over the last two decades, organic waste had increased by over 20%. With 40 tons of food waste are thrown into the landfill last year, it comes to Specis Government for International Goal, a Specie government agency for promoting global improvement, that this issue of food management should be actioned individually by each nation.


New Applications and Regulations:

The Species agency had voted for new regulation, increasing importing and exporting tax of organic/edible products/yields by 50%. Which it would disclaim that there will be a sudden change in prices of food in the next few months.  


Laws and Regulations:

Demands all restaurants/food stalls donate edible food to a local Home-Shelter by the end of each day (24:00);


Requires all restaurants and individuals who produce over five kg of organic waste per day, to bring this waste to a local Compost-Center daily;

          Decides that for all individuals that produce less than five kg of organic waster per day to bring this organic waste to a local Compose-Center weekly;


Requires all grocery stores and markets to donate any cans and any stored food to a nearby Home-Shelter a week prior to its expiration date.


Please visit for extra information.


In my opinion, these new regulations were rather ridiculous.

What does the government expect? That we double the price of our food?

With this new importing tax, the price of vegetables and meat had been rising up to 50%. Now restaurants are struggling to run without raising the price of their dishes. A business is meant to make a profit.


Sure enough, Specis is one of the richest countries in the world, with no poverty, we are the lead of every politic/economic development.

Of course, no one would die of hunger, even with this absurdly expensive food. But why do we have to take this action into our own hand? What about other nations that are also a part of the Government for Internation Goal? Especially, what are Non-Government for Internation Goal Nations do? They are the counties that suffer significantly from this issue.


Fortunately, I was not the only one that opposed these stupid laws. A group of people, in fact around a thousand, was now protesting against these new laws. Seriously, no one cares about making compost. And for the name of god, what does the government do with it anyway? As a country that thrives by the advancement of technology, we imported over 75% of our food; there is no point of making compost. And even so, most of the food here was from hydroponic and aquaponics! This is stupid and that is final. We don’t export food! We only import them. This law is to give more money to other nations! Stupid!


It was my rights and my freedom to express what is right. So here I am, standing in the blazing sun at the Government of Foreign Affairs, to tell them why they are wrong. I looked around, everyone around me, actually including myself, was covered in sweat. This is one of the biggest protests. We are one of the most peaceful countries, everyone is so happy with what the government is doing, until now. I looked at everyone individually, the determination in their eyes gave me the strength to fight from the oppression of these ridiculous laws. With that note, I pulled my long obsidian lock and twisting it into a bun on top of my head.


“What do you think of these new regulations?” I screamed into the microphone.



F-ing Stupid.


“Do you think that these are solutions to the issue of feeding the global citizens?,” screamed someone from somewhere, I couldn’t really tell. But, we all answered no.

There was a bit of yelling, but no violence. We don’t do violence. The most aggressive thing that happened today was probably when someone dropped the f-word.


I was exhausted by the end of the day, wanting nothing else except going to bed and sleep. But while we were protesting, the government had announced that all GIG nations had set new regulations to combat this issue. So ignoring my weariness, I turned on the TV.


The government of Singha and Miban had increased their importing tax by 40%.


The government of Ciya had set regulation to fine every individual for creating food waste based on the amount of food waste. There will be a monitor at each public waste-bin, to calculate how much a person would pay. And every garbage truck will have a system to calculate the waste also.   


There is no information regarding Kidlen’s decision toward this issue.


It is final. All members of GIG, except Kidlen, are going insane. Which nation creates regulations that harm their own citizens in orders to help citizens of other nations?! Kidlen is like the sanest one right now. God, I hope they don’t drop at “law bomb” any time soon. Ciya has some issue, like for the name of GIG, everyone is going to create food waste. This is like increasing tax but in the name of saving the world.


Over the next to weeks, I have a set schedule: wake up, protest, TV, and then sleep. And a lot of eating in between each activity.  


Nothing had happened. It seemed as though the government had no intention to resolve this conflicted-perspective between protestors and the government; maybe except for the fail reassurance that they are “working” on making every citizen satisfied.

However, our group now had grown up to around two thousand members. Officially the biggest protest within the last century. I guess the increase of import-tax was what set people off. Instead of the government of other nations demand for a rise of tax; Specis, plus Singha and Miban, is willing to give away money.

Take more of my money, I am rich. Help your citizens. What’s a saint!


After making a raucous today, I came home to TV. And Kidlen finally announces its position for this issue. Another increase in importing tax. 60%.


Utterly Stupid.

I was about to turn off the TV when a documentary came up.

I was captured by the chocolate emotionless eyes; it was like staring into a void, a vacuum with no emotion. It is inhumane, he is so young to not laugh or smile or….. hope. The hallows of his cheekbones. I watched as his bony fingers wrapped around the pole for support, as he stared blankly at the cameraman, into the camera. Unlike what I had learned and saw through documentaries, this kid didn’t ask the cameraman for help. It was like he understands that there is no help. That the world is full of indifference, and that all his freedom is, to survive and take the next breath.


I went to bed that day, knowing my freedom and understand the full extent of it.


Waking up the next day, I walked to the front of the Government of Foreign Affair with the right decision.

I looked at the people around me. Those who were here not because they are selfish, but because they don’t see a better solution.

I raised the microphone to my lips and took a long breath before I used my freedom to show the reality of this issue.

“I am here to compromise,”

“I want to help solve this problem but in a different way,”

People around me shushed down, they know me by now. I was the loudest one in this protest, probably due to this microphone.

“I want the law to increase the stupid tax to be gone,”

I got a cheer from the majority of the protestors.

“I want us, Specis, to directly donate food to the group of people who needed it,”

I got no response.


“Isn’t this what we want? To help others? The increase in tax is in the right direction. But I demand that we manage the extra tax portion; use it to help those who are suffering from wars and natural disasters.”

“I want to clarify that we are protesting not because we are unethical and ignorance but we have noticed that there is no guarantee that the people will benefit from this law.”

“The corruption within Non-GIGs’ government is something we all can’t deny. Just like the dying children, who see his/her future as when will he/she gets the next meal.”

“We will help people learn how to live rather survive!”

“It is time to set the world to the right track of this issue.”


The adrenaline hit me hard in my stomach. I was numb by the end of the speech, but I knew that the government had heard. The cheers and the encouragements were just background noise because the government had heard the words and that was all that matter.

We will help people learn how to live rather survive.

Mythical Dream by Nassa Veness

This story is the prequel of a short story collection calls “Mythical Dream.”


Mythical Dream

By Nassa Veness


All readers of this book have been asserted the right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act “Unknown” to be identified as the authors of this work.


First published: Unknown

ISBN: Unknown

For my beloved readers,

Be aware of what is a story

And what is not

With all my love and wishes


Once upon a time, there was a girl who took her first breath as her mother took her last. Once upon a time, there was a girl who smiled at the world she born into, as her father cried to the unjust of his wife’s death. Once upon a time, there was a girl who looked at her mother, but her mother could no longer see her. Once upon a time, there was a girl who looked at her father, but her father was too broken to see her.

The man learned the hard way of the idea that everything has its own consequences, that people don’t have the power to change the destiny, even when they know what’s going to happen. Even if, they manage to save something valuable, something else that worths as much will be lost.


Her birth brought nothing but bad luck, many villagers, friends, and family, had warned the man about how this girl would bring catastrophe to him, but he refused to listen. It wasn’t the love he had for the girl, he didn’t have any, but rather a promise to his wife, who died so their daughter could live to see the world. It was the only thing he could do for his beloved and now dead wife.

He tried to his full potential to take care of her, however, he was just a caretaker and never a father. Sometimes, he wondered whether she is really bad luck. In the moment of doubt, she seemed to be; after her birth, his crops yield had gradually decreased. Four years ago, he became sick, and no healer had any clue of what was wrong. Everyone concluded that it was the girl’s fault, that she was a witch who traps him in all of these unfortunate events. Maybe they were right, maybe this now 16 years of age, daughter of his is a witch; after all, she is beyond his wife. He could feel her the energy of her aura.  

No matter how much doubt he had on the girl, the sharp chocolate eyes of hers were a copy of his wife’s. Those were the eyes that he was in love with, but of course, they now belonged to the wrong person. Once in a while they brought him hope, but mostly it was a dagger, that consistently slicing his heart. Those eyes were the reminder, of the hollow within his heart, the numbness within his body, and the loneliness within his soul. But predominantly, it served as a nag, whispering to his ears that this creature that he lived with was biologically related to him and that she processed part of his wife’s soul.


As his body grew weaker, his mind became clearer, he became more relaxed. It didn’t matter, whether he lived with a witch. It didn’t matter, whether she tried to speed up this deadline, he would soon be able to see his wife. That’s what happens when good people like him die, who isn’t a sin like her; he would be reunited with those he loves and lived the eternity together.

After four years of drinking this medicine, after four years of being sick, the man weakly smiled at the cup of the bitter, plants brewed of a cure in his hand. This would be his last time to ever drink it. It would kill him but he would gladly accept this fate because it would get him out of this misery. He was tired of breathing and not living, tired of being in this body that didn’t have a soul. He quickly glanced at the girl sitting near his bed and offered her his first smile, since the day she born. “You can’t change what will happen, don’t try to. It will kill you, I swear it will always be the person you love the most,” he said as he stared into the chocolate eyes.

Thank you, was the last thing he said before he sipped the medicine, and collapsed into the bed.

The warning was disturbing, however, her mind was overwhelmed by his gratitude, thank you. The words still echoed in her head, that was probably the only time she saw the man without his emotionless mask. The closest experience to having a father.  The smile on his face swamped the butterflies in her stomach. It was the closest thing to an I love you. It was the best decision she had ever made. His eyes were still opened, but he could no longer see her, his own death had healed his broken pieces. His dilating pupils were staring straight at her, but the happiness clouded his visions. He would soon see his wife, a mother she never had, and it didn’t seem to matter to him that she would now have to fight this world alone. As much as she hated him for never been a father, she knew that killing him was the only way for him to ever experience happiness again, and she did it for him. But most importantly, she killed him for those who are alive.     


Everything had consequences, normally the people within the village blame her for no particular reasons, except for the fact that her mother died as she gave birth to her. However, this time was different, they were right to say that she killed her father, but that wasn’t necessarily mean she was wrong. It was for the best. He even agreed with her. He knew what she put in the medicine, and he decided to drink it anyway. Nevertheless, there was no argument with these constricted-mind people, she would never win an argument with them. Because they are not logical, neither mythical like who and whatever she is.

So not long after, people started to raise the issue of dark magic, of her being a witch. They were right, she is something different, she saw what was going to happen and she changed it for them. They should be grateful, but of course, no one showed any indication of gratitude or understanding of how much she sacrificed for them. And instead, they betrayed her by banishing her.

Now homeless, she navigated the forest by herself. However, her conscience told her to not go far away from the village. Walking for a few more minutes, following the rhythms of the water pouring down the cliff, she came upon a waterfall.

After knowing what her father planned to do, staying near water is the closest place where she could reach for serenity. Where clear water jumping off the rocky ledge into the pool below, molecules after molecules in a repeating pattern that seemed to never end, a regularity that she knew she could rely on. The image of the glaring red and orange still flickered in her head, even though her father had been dead for two days.

Walking along the rocks that barricaded the pool of the water stream, she spotted a small footpath. Walking along the path, she noticed that there used to flower beds grew in rows along sides of the footway leading toward a cottage. Unfortunately, those flowers were now rotten and decayed due to the lack of tending a fairytale ago. Approaching the cottage, she realized that it was still quite new, even though, it covered in years of dust and dirt. Standing in front of it, she could catch a glimpse of its beauty before the dust and time covered its brightness. However, when she tried to hold on to its beauty, the image before her eyes flickered back to its dustiness. No matter how dull and dirty this place was, it had a sense of home. Her heart warmed at the thought of stepping into it, the familiarness of it all drawn her toward it. Even though, she never stepped into this cottage before, but she had a feeling that it will welcome her home. For the first time in life, she might find a  place that would be a home and not a house.


The first night at this new home was strange, it was the first time she had a dream, that she couldn’t make sense of. “if you have to choose between her and me, chose her.” What does that suppose to mean? Who is that “me”? And who is that “her”? She didn’t consider much of the dream because a dream was just a dream, her life moved on and so she should walk along with it.


Just because she left her village, that didn’t mean that she wanted to live like a wild animal, not like there was anything wrong with wild animals. But no matter what, she needed to join the civilization. One couldn’t isolate herself from her own species. So, one early morning, she set off to a nearby village, where she knew she would be able to somewhat blended in. No one knows about her mother, no one knows about her father. She worked as a fortune teller-ish magician, people seemed to be fascinated a person who can “tell their future or past.” It wasn’t like she told them something news, just simples things that she could read of them. Their name, age, family, something that happened recently, something that was still clinging to them. They did not know that she could see beyond with more time, like with her father, she could read him like a book.

Before sunset, she would travel home, back to her cottage where she belongs. Although, most nights, she would bed plunged into the same dreams of the unknown source whispering “if you have to choose between her and me, chose her.” Now the dream was okay, she got used to it, she could push into the back of her consciousness. It would be her best choice to ignore the strangeness and focused on being normal.


Her fame of being the best fortune teller-ish magician caused people to line up and meet her. It was enduring, for the first time, people didn’t accuse this ability as witchery, rather they worshipped her, like she a goddess. And then there was a day when he came in. Seeing his face, she knew his name, his history, and his struggles. It was rare to find someone like her, someone that belonged to a group but managed to still be an outcast. When she first met him, it was like a dream comes true. She knew that she was no longer needed words to describe how she felt, he would understand.


Now laying with her head on his shoulder, they shared stories, while staring at the roof of her cottage, their cottage. The wooden pillars, that was what he promised to be. To support her world from falling down, to be there for her. To be the first and only person who understands her. Maybe, from now on she could understand what it was like to be normal. To have someone who loves her unconditionally. All her stories matter to him, even the stupid dream. “If you have to choose between her and me, chose her.” He tried to decode it with her, making suggestions, everything she said seems to be valuable to him.  

Each morning, they went to the village together and came back together. In addition to the waterfall, this routine was a repeating pattern that she could rely on. Or so, she hoped to rely on. Despite all his promises, the pattern broke, when she woke up and he was gone. Panic rushed through her body, fear clutched her heart, she could not lose him. She could not live without him by her side.


Out, she ran through the door, only to be awestruck by a blanket of smoke that fogged the blue sky. Confused as to what caused such a smoke, she cautiously walked to the direction of it. Until the smell of the smoke hit her nostrils that when she knew what it is. Panic ruptured her through her body, her fingers started to shake, her lips quivered from this shock. This couldn’t be happening! She was supposed to end it the day that her father died, she was supposed to change the future. She quickly started running back to the place she used to shelter, the place of her miserable childhood. As much as she hated it there, she couldn’t stand the thought of losing it. Losing everything that she was apart of.

Time slowed down as she turned back and glance at her home. A feeling of certainty that she wouldn’t come back, struck her. How dumb could she be? The familiarity, the welcomeness, the dreams, it all made sense. Here was where the promise lies. Here was where her mother asked her father to choose her instead of herself. “If you have to choose between her and me, chose her.” She was supposed to die, but her mother saved her. Because of saving her, her mother died. Dumbfounded by the fact that her boyfriend left her, dumbfounded by the truth of her childhood, she ran toward the smoke source and promised to never come back.


The eeriness of silence hit her ears, there was no vigorous chirping of birds and insects. There were no snarls, and whispering behind of her back.

She scanned the landscape of this aftermath, there was nothing left except for a tree that lost all it leaves to the hands of the veil flames. Everything turned down to ashes. The place she killed to save was now a pile of dirt and dust. Everything was gone, the houses, the shops, the plants, the people. Wasn’t this what she supposed to stop? The flashes of images of flames within her father’s eyes the day before she killed him.

A moan traveled through the air, she looked up and see that a man slump against the tree. She almost laughed out of joy. Almost. Until she noticed that the person is her boyfriend.

He smiled at her as he told her that he burned this place for her, as he closed his eyes and joined the eternity. He did everything, he killed everything to destroy and untangle her from her past. And that was when she understands. “You can’t change what will happen, don’t try to. It will kill you, I swear it will always be the person you love the most.”

She can’t change what will happen. She shouldn’t try to. It came and killed her because it was someone that she loved the most that did it. Her boyfriend set the fire, that her father supposed to set.



I am deeply thankful to those who taught me to be aware of what is a story and what is not.


The Unequal Sign

Words are the deadliest of all weapon which has the power to tear someone to pieces in a matter of a sentence or two. We use words every day for “communication” and once in a while, we slip some arrows among the sea of alphabet. But worst of all words is the only weapon that can break something that’s already broken.


This is a novel I’m currently writing following perspective of girl who lost her best friends 6 years prior to the setting.  And how this memory haunted her causing her to experience an anxiety disorder. This is a journal through all the hateful words and the power of true friendship. 


(Part of) Chapter 1:

I open my eyes to the exact room, I live in for 6 years. I stare at the perfect white ceiling above my head. Just like the blankness of my today canvas, everything is perfect, clean, and neat. My breaths are short and sharp, I feel like the room has dropped its temperature to zero. I feel as though there is not enough oxygen to be absorbed. I can’t mess this up, I can’t make mistake today. My heart starts to pick up its beating pace, thumping loudly against my chest as my limbs getting cold. Right now breathing is the hardest things to do, but I will be fine, this will only last for like a minute or so. This is familiar feeling of picnicking, I wake up to for 6 years.

Six years ago, when it first started. There is nothing new.


I woke up rather uneasy today, a feeling of something heavy in my stomach causing me to feel anxious. My chest gets tight, after each gulp of air, it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. I am shaking, with the lack of oxygen circulating in my body, but things get worse with a shiver ran through my body, causing my limbs to go cold. I remember I was afraid of the sudden feeling of panic, I was questioning myself whether I go insane, whether I am crazy.


I no longer fear of this sudden fear, of things that happens without any particular reason. Well, in this case, there is a reason but who would believe it, when the whole thing happens inside my head. But right now, this panic attack assures me, today is the day that I do it. This panic attack is a reminder that no matter what happens that might set things out of balance, but over a period of time, it will move on and then go back to its equilibrium point. Everything will be back to normal in a couple of days, so even if I choose the choice of today, no one will really care about it.

One Brick At A Time

In a society where girls are put in a box of glitter

To create the sparkly perfect wife and daughter

In the society where girls are given one goal

To create the charming perfect wife and daughter


You refuse to glitter and glisten

You refuse to follow, but rather head toward your own ambition

You refuse to be the princess

You refuse to wait for prince charming


In a society where girls are expected to have long hair

You cut yours short, rocking fade and taper

In the society where this act is viewed as shameful

You keep your head high, comfortable with who you are


In a society where girls are expected to have porcelain skin

You refuse to stay indoors

You stride into the villages and ocean

Helping others and preserving marine life


In a society where girls are expected to be silent

You refuse to stay quiet

You know that your voice should be heard

You know it’s important to change this fixed-society


You know that empowerment is necessary  

Female empowerment

LGBTQ+ empowerment

Will empower all humans


In a society where these acts are viewed as rebellion

You smile brightly in the face of cultural constraints

Because you know that these small acts

Are removing the bricks built to barricade girls


One brick at a time

One step forward

One girl striding

One voice of encouragement does create change.



He sits in the alley of the abandon section of town that connected to the main street, probably hasn’t moved since forever; everyone in the area knows him, they don’t have to see him to realize that he is there. Slouches on the dusted concrete road, knee against his chest as if to make himself smaller, shoulders slump, messy jet hair sticking out in different directions; an expression of grim and grief displays on his face- if you ever catch a glimpse of it, as if he suffers from an eternal pain and regret. He sits there from dawn to dusk, and this cycle of idle routine repeats itself every single day. He is Emanon, at least that what we call him. But no one ever tries to talk to him, never ever knows his real name; he is the man of anonymousness.

I walk past him from and to school every day, my eyes automatically train on him as I walk by, like magnetic field that forces them to glue on his figure. Everything about him screams questions, my body ruptures with curiosity as words form in my thoughts bubble, searching for an answer, a clue to this man. To be honest, he makes me feel like a Socrates, I wasn’t a question type of person and now look at me, it is as if I walk around balancing a red question mark on my head. Who are you Emanon? What did you do to me?

I remember when people started calling him Noname, but then, of course, someone pointed out that “no-name” isn’t technically a name, so they reverse it; from Noname to Emanon. Such creative people, and generous as well, kindly giving a name to this unidentified man.

I am sure that I am not the only one who wants to know who he is. But then again none of us really have a gut, especially approaching a man we’ve hardly ever seen his full face.   


I take my time as I walk home, to most people, today is just a regular day, the repeating routine of: waking up,  breakfasting, doing work either a job or school, which in between this hours of working stop to take a break for lunching, then going back home, dinnering, and doing more work, either an unfinished project or homework. But regularity is not for me today. Over the course of 8 hours, starting from the morning until now, I can’t seem to get rid of his face out of my mind; I fully see his full face as I walk to school– the high cheekbone and cracked-dry lips that slightly turn downward forming a small frown. The normality has vanished, my head clogs with questions about the man I don’t think I dare to approach.

I stride home, but when I come by the section, my whole body goes stiff, there his small figure from afar, back against the wall, head down, and my limbs become rigid as I froze in the middle of the road. A moment later as the blood circulates through my body brings oxygens, I regain the warmness of homeostasis. Then I did something that I don’t know I have the will to do, my feet move one in front of another– I approach him. The gravel groans as I step on them, creating this whimpering voice, as if to tell me to retreat my steps. Each step my mind becomes more and more captivated by him, he is now in the center of my universe. Emanon looks up, I watch as his eyes elate, dancing to the rhythm of my approaching footsteps.  

“Hello sir,” I whisper, intimidated by his presence, intimidated by my own bravery.

The man smiles, patting softly on the ground next to him, an invitation to sit next to him. My stomach swirls, as my eyes daze, but I sit down anyway.

“Human can do things that they do not think they have a gut to do so. The more impossible they think the task is, the more it becomes a miracle to the point they think it’s probably is a tale,” he says softly staring straight ahead to the brick wall in front of us.

Is he trying to imply that this is a miracle, a tale?

I steal a glance in his direction, memorizing his facial expression, now his lips that curl upward showing the smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“People either call this foolishness or bravery,” he says, nodding in my direction.

“It’s an act of instinct, I don’t know what I’m doing,” there is no point lying to him, by the look of it, he can read me like a book.

He chuckles and smiles at me, this time the brightness radiates from his eyes, “I hope your instinct isn’t going to get you killed,” then laugh louder.


I should be spooked, he just makes a joke about me being dead; but somehow it builds the warmness within me. The tension is lessened, my limbs become less stiff- starting to feel comfortable. I turn to his direction and give a shy smile. He weakly smiles at me.

“I know this day will come,” he says looking at me earnestly.

It takes me a while to realize he’s talking about communication with another human being. How long was his last conversation and interaction with another human being?


“I have the urge to talk to you, I don’t know why, it’s like we have a connection?” I say uncertainty.

Like we tied together, that our lifelines intersect.

“This isn’t just a conversation. This is life changing at least for me,” he replies.

He wants something from me.


Maybe, this is a mistake.

“Remember, there will always be someone whose replace their brain with their feeling, letting pitiness takes over their common sense. Only the matter of time, the curiosity killed the cat, just be patient.”


“Communication is how people ties together, like right now our lifelines intersect. I will influence the future you, you will influence the future me.”

His whole face brightens with the idea of our “lifeline intersection.”


“I am a part of….” he starts.

“I am a part of you, isn’t it? Like literally?” I ask.

“Yes, literally. Would you please take this burden from me, take this anonymousness from me, give me an identity?  

What does he mean? Run would be the right choice right now. Run. But he’s right, I get too deep into his life to turn back. He is now a part of me. As helpless as I feel right now for not being able to turn my back on him, I offer him my hand.

“Are you willing to lose who you are for me? Say my name,” he looks into my eyes.

All I see is the desperation, his eyes plead.  

“But how, you did not tell me who you are, you did not tell me your na……..”

My eyes widen, sparkle with excitement. Slowly but surely I whisper

“Fo. Sae”


He gives a small laughter, as I sit still and watch the color returns to his face. He looks way younger than when he approached me. I watch as he stands and starts walking away from me. He doesn’t know my name.

I have to keep on waiting. The right person will come.

I  sit in the alley of the abandon section of town that connected to the main street. I haven’t moved since like forever. Everyone in the area knows me, they call me Emanon. I am but a boy of anonymousness.

A life of realism

I am your idea of pessimism,

I am nothing but perplex,

I’m just helping you with logic,

Am I wrong for being realistic?

My words echoed, repeatedly inside your head; over and over.

When you’re in trouble.

When tragic happened.

But most importantly when you lie to yourself.

I am not just a repetition, instead, I am a reminder. The path of truths that lead you to a solid ground. Help you to identify the difference between your imagination and reality.

But who am I to you? But what am I to you?  A hopeless nagging part of your mind?

You often tend to overthink with the perfect scenarios. You always imagine having this perfect life, where you get everyone’s attention. You get everyone’s trust. Everyone loves you, everyone respects you. But trust me, you’re lying to yourself. And admit it, you hate when people see your flaws. Your only goal in life is to reach perfection; you always desired, desire, will desire flawlessness. You live trying to achieve perfection but can only die trying. Because there is no perfection. So stop it, there will also be a disorder. Please listen to me. I am your common sense, the logical part of you. I am your kill-joy because I don’t want you to see the view through your clouded imagination.

You might hate me. You might push me away.

But remember, you can’t live without me.

I will follow you to eternity. 



As I carefully entered the haunted house, the door shut behind me and fog clouded my vision. I could see nothing but murky void. A gust of wind blew past me, chilling my bones. I wanted to turn back toward the door, or where I thought is the direction of the door. But cowardice isn’t my characteristic, I had to move forward. I am brave and nothing, ain’t scare me. Suddenly an ear-piercing cry echoed inside this obsidian hallway. My heart picked up speed as sweat raced down my body from head to toe.

After a moment I realized that, this high-pitch wasn’t just a screech, it was words. I couldn’t hear it properly, but I did catch some pieces, Survive – Remember. Why the heck I am here in the first place? I didn’t know. What’s sort of instinct is this, that carried my legs to this abandoned house? I still did not know the answer. I walked toward or in a direction that I thought is forward. As I walked farther down the hall, my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I started to see things. The silver of the cobwebs, dangling from the ceiling and claw marks shredded the wallpaper. A vile rotten pumpkin looking at me with a creepy smile like it knew why I am here. I tried not to look at it, its galaxy eyes were shaped glaring deep into my soul.

Can only survive by escape or remember. The sound came from the pumpkin, and this time I heard it clearly. It said, I have to choose between escaping this house or try to remember. Am I missing something? What couldn’t I recall? Can I even trust a shriek from nowhere and a pumpkin?

Remember, I chose then, I knew myself, I wouldn’t go anywhere without a purpose, and I was here without a reason. I must’ve forgotten something.

After what seemed like hours, I encountered the first room. I pushed open the door and set my right foot into the room. Out of nowhere my left foot followed. My feet acted their own, I lost control over my body except my mind.


The candles lighted themselves, illuminated the whole room, I had to squint my eyes to adjust to the brightness. I closed both of my eyes due to the light, my feet carried me onward. Then I fall into the ground as I slammed into something. I found myself on the floor looking my a handsome man with golden lock who dressed in black cloak.

He was not a human.

“I thought you’ll be out by now, no one should trespassed the voided hallway, my lady, you seemed braver than you look,” the man said amusingly, as his eyes shone mockingly.

But because me being a sassy feisty, red-head, I recovered my posture and snapped,

“No, I won’t move because I know that I come here for a reason. Beside I am a man, you blinded-dump-head.”

He laughed like a madman, mocking my words. It wouldn’t be long until he triggered me.

“Why do you came here?” he asked with amusement in his eyes, while his lip curved into a smirk.

That got my nerve, and my precious memory was coming back.

I am a hunter.

My hands coalesced into claw, I quickly kicked him right in his pretty face. He stumbled to the ground, I took his off-guard as an opportunity and ripped his heart out of his chest. Blood dripping from my now human fingers, but I did not let go of the heart. I squashed it as hard as I can. As the man let out a growl of pain, then the voice stopped at once. I killed me. I killed the werewolf. Mission accomplished.    


The Year is 2563

This is a project, I did in Creative Writing Class. The instruction said to write anything that simulate in the year of 2563. Then the facilitator give us, ten words such as: space station, knuckle, interview, horse, 27, lipstick, transformation, studio, distribute, assert; and we have to use seven of those in the write. 

“Flat Station is here on your service, Lil Tobor, the Assist. And Mark Tobor, the new-ly Distribute, the chosen one with ID 2563. Where would you like to go?” the voice released from a speaker somewhere under their feet. They were in a box with all four walls surrounding them, were made out of glass. Clear without a single stained, mark, dirt; so clean you couldn’t even tell that it was there. But it was not like with the glass, they could see anything special, after all they were in a manmade tunnel, Flat Station. Mark Tobor flattened his aluminum color suit while his partner, Lil, wore an aluminum-color knee-length dress, who kept smoothing the imaginary wrinkles on her apparel. It was a big day for Mark, especially after his hard work and finally, he had became an official Distribute.      

Mark cleared his throat and said, “Immortal Institute, Please.”

“You will be at your journey in five minutes,” the device replied in its usual monotone.

Mark and Lil stayed silent for the whole journey without murmuring a single word. They didn’t know what to say to each other and they had no intention of speaking to each other either. There was no such a reminder stated about having conversation. At precisely five minutes they were there, the Immortal Institute. The glass walls were pulled down into the ground.

“Thank you” Mark said and he gestured his partner to go first. They went to the entrance of the five-story building and were greeting by a female robot.

“Welcome, Mr and Mrs. Tobor. And congratulations sir, for your transformation from an Assist to a Distribute” the female robot said with regular human voice. All robots had humans’ voices. “Please follow my lead,” it added.

As Mark and Lil walked through the Lobby, they were greeted and congratulated by the robots. Becoming a Distribute is a daunting task, you must be very adept at math, engineering, and programming. And your IQ must be at least 180. They turned right and walked down a dim hallway, and the only source of light was from the LEDs that framed each door. The robot led the two to the end of the hallway which had a double door and a sign on top that says: “OPERATION OF SPACE STATION“ all in capital letters.

“Please go through the door, John Raeg will be waiting for you,” the robot told him.    

Lil walked toward Mark and kissed him on the cheek without any emotion that indicated any feeling. This was the way of farewell. The kiss had left Lil’s lipstick on Mark’s cheek, with an instinct Mark pulled out a napkin from the inner pocket of his suit and swiped his cheek clean. Mark nodded at Lil to indicate that he was ready to be walked through the door.

Before the doors fully slammed shut, Mark heard the robot said, “Please Lil Tobor, we must get you to OPERATION OF SPACE REMOVAL.”    

“Please take a seat,” a male robot said to Mark with a hint of command in its voice, which Mark assumed to be John Raeg. Mark did as he told.

“I’m John Raeg, ID: 27 or JR27. And now let me start with some questions to see whether you are ready for the immoral life, it’s somewhat like an interview, so choose your words wisely.”

“I’m ready sir,” Mark said, looking directly at the JR27’s eyes. He straightened his back. Reminder 004: ID is for honoring the assist to the community. The lower the ID number the more important the person is.  

“Are you willing to feel pain?” JR27 asked boldly.

Pain wasn’t very common, Mark couldn’t recall when was the last time he got sick or hurt. What are they going to do? Pain? Can’t they use painkiller or something? A wave of panic rushing through his body, as his heart speeding up. The billow of questions clogging Mark’s mind, but he asked none of them. Reminder 003: No questioning the procedure. Basically he had to do what he had told.

“I am willing, sir,” Mark replied, trying to sound confident, despite how nerve racking the question was. Mark was fidgeting in his seat, popping his knuckle from time to time. Still Mark didn’t understand, to complete the process of becoming a Distribute he must be immortal. Did he have to feel the pain first, before starting his endless, unageing life?

“Lay still on the bed,” said JR27 while pointing to a bed in the corner of the room.

Mark laid on the silk mattress. JR27 came near the bed with a gun-shaped object with drill trip, screwdriver,  in one hand and a wrench in another.

“Stay still,” it reminded Mark, in its husky voice. “Remove all your clothes.”

A very strange instruction but Mark did as he was told. He closed his eyes not daring to open to see what happening. Pain, the word echoed in his head. He still hadn’t feel the pain, yet, but he knew soon he would experience it. He felt something wrapped around him, limb by limb. Then his torso, moving up to his neck, it spread to his face. Mark kept his eyes closed as he felt something was caging his whole anatomy. The something had weight, Mark found it strange when he tried to fist his hands. He could no longer sense anything, he lost his touch sense. Mark started to panick. Reminder 003: No questioning the procedure. God how much he wanted to break this reminder right now, but if he ask the dang question, he might lost his chance on becoming a Distribute.

“Pain,” JR27 said shortly.

Mark felt something touching, no digging the right side of his temple. Drilling The Space Station. JR27 touched – well used something to touch his Space Station. His Space Station, the mental thing in this temple, which he had no idea about. Reminder 001: No questioning about The Space Station. Reminder 002: No individual can touch other’s Space Station, except if it’s a part of the procedure. Is this a part of a procedure, does JR27 allow touch it?

JR27 had removed Mark’s Space Station.

“One minute, then process completes,” JR27 said plainly.

Mark’s head started to throb, in the rhythm of his heart beats. Each time more painful than the previous. Mark wanted to scream, and he did that. Scream on top of his lungs. Scream until he felt like his energy was drained. Scream until it felt as though he tore his vocal cord.

Mark felt like there was something had pushed to replace where Space Station is. JR27 put something into the right side of his temple. Something that he never knew and heard of, but somehow he knew. It called Space-bot.

It was for first time in his life, that Mark never wanted to get the answer. But he did get it anyway. Space Station, the small device that use to operate his brain. His freaking brain. For manipulate his brain! The device that made Mark unable to feel love from others or give love to other. The device that made Mark forgot that Lil Tobor is his wife. Then something hit him, Mark and Lil were just subjects. They were a part of an experiment, to find the cleverest human being, in the Tobor group. Since Mark was the chosen one, Lil must be the eliminated one. OPERATION OF SPACE REMOVAL, the surgery of brain removal. Lil died. Killed. Murdered. By robots.

Space bot, Machine brain.

Mark Tobor, ID: 2563 or MT2563 opened his eyes.

“Welcome, MT2563,” JR27 said.

“We’re honored to have you in the Distribution, I hope you know what you suppose to do.”

“Challenging the Assists to find our potential Distribute,” Mark replied instinctively.  


The Ugly Truth

This story was written in the theme of “Noir” which means “Black”.  I was inspired by our society, where people judge others by look. I hope that through my writing I can help to create change. To show Respect to one another. Collaborate with one another because we are one, we are human. 

The Ugly Truth

Sometimes silence is the best sound you could ever hear. No wind, no voice. Nothing, not even his own breath. But the most important of all is, no opinion. A man with a black ragged cloak, was leaning on a tree with a hood covering his face, standing in the middle of a forest waiting for his……friends? He wasn’t anticipating to meet anybody, no one would if they were him. He stared at nothing in particular with a blank look to cover the fact that his mind was almost exploding with the possibilities of what could possibly happen. Down came footsteps that he’s dying not to hear. Emerging from behind a tree, revealing a beautiful silver haired woman with a flowy white dress that went down to her ankles. She smiled brightly at the man, quickly hugging the life out of him. Not that he has one anyway.

Her beautiful bright smile turned into a frown full disappointment, when she noticed the man’s appearance. Oh god this face again, the man mentally groaned.

“What are you wearing?! Oh god, Reality! How many times do I have to tell you, how to dress?!” yelled the woman in her high pitched voice while showing disgust on her face. So this is how she greeted our gentleman. Her elegant appearance didn’t match her words at all. The ungratefulness in her voice didn’t cause the man to show any reaction. How should he react? Shocked? But it had happened millions of times before.

Reality looked at down at his clothes, of course the torn cloak made him look like a homeless person! But…. it made him feel comfortable. He wanted to state this out but only managed to say,

“ Expectation, I’m sorry to disappoint you, I’ll err.. try to dress better?” His words came out uncertainty. Oh, how much he wanted to yell at her face to leave him alone. How he wanted to walk away, but still he stayed rigid, waiting for another harsh comment. He knew it would come soon.

“You know, I only try to help right? It’s for your sake of course! Oh god, how would people react when they see you? Oh, what an embarrassment,” Expectation said while shaking her head. Reality was nothing but confused.  He doesn’t really understand why his appearance would cause this much drama. Was it something to do with girls and their minds? Or is it just what it is like in society nowadays? Expectation looked intensely at the man, her eyes narrowed while her lips curve slightly downward then she continued,

“ You know people will judge your looks, right? ” I don’t know who can keep silent with that face in front of them without being critical.  Expectation whispered the last part to herself, and didn’t realize it was loud enough for Reality to hear.

Well, you are one of those people who are there to judge me, you are the one who can’t keep your opinion about my face to yourself, Reality thought. But once again he said nothing.

“You know what, wait until the others come! Oh, what a shame…” said Expectation while pulling out her phone. “ Pull down your hood, Society has to see your ugly face first, before she sees you in real life otherwise it will give her a heart attack! ” commanded Expectation. Seeing that Reality didn’t proceed, she harshly pulls down the hood and takes a picture. Afterward, Expectation turned to Reality, “You know you look like a homeless person,” she snickered. “And your ugliness hurts my eyes. Badly to be specific!”

Reality stayed silent, what could he do? Yell at her face for judging him, then getting judged back for yelling? Oh, he definitely can’t wait to see Society and whoever will show up. There was an awkward silence between Reality and Expectation. First of all, Reality doesn’t want to continue the… conversation? Second, Expectation keeps murmuring how hideous he looks and how horrific it is to be with him alone! Not like he wants her company anyway.  

“Oh look! The blood-shame!” exclaimed a woman with dark hair. She wears a red bodysuit with a deep v neck cut. Another beautiful woman with her unpleasant words. The woman’s words cause the man next to her to laugh like a maniac. His laughter echoes, which seems as though there are more than a person laughing. Reality was in his thoughts and didn’t even notice that new people were arriving. Well not until the humiliating insult splashed his face! Good, now we have here Society and the ungrateful man, Media. Reality didn’t see this coming, dealing with Expectation is already unwanted and now Expectation, Society, and Media at once! Reality realized that the air around him becomes a little thick, it’s getting harder to breathe. He’s scared that he’s going to become more humiliated. And on the other hand, he already knows that if he didn’t embarrass himself, other will make his life a living hell anyway.

“Oh look at his hair, was that a nest? Did any bird laid their eggs there?” asked Media while pulling out his phone. He’s going to take a picture, of course, you know to get some laughs from others by posting it on social media.  

“You know what. When people see your face they clap their hands. But, they clap their hands over their eyes,” mocked Society, earning laughter from the two friends. Expectation and Media were laughing so hard causing their faces to turn red. Reality said nothing, showing no reaction, while feeling deeply hurt inside. These are his friends, the ones that he had been with since who knows when.

“Good one, Society!” exclaimed Media heartedly. “Oh look! I just posted the picture and now there are like 1K likes, you are so famous for your twisted face!”

“You should try to learn how to photoshop,” suggested Expectation. “At least you’ll look better that way. Don’t worry we did photoshop our photos from time to time.” Would pretending to be someone will make me a happier person, would making myself prettier make me who I am? As much as Reality agreed that photoshop will make him look better which means less verbal abuses, he still wants to be himself. The truth.

“I guess so, I mean I can photoshop my ugly face but I don’t think there is a way to photoshop your ugly personality!” Reality bellowed. He had enough, it happens every time they meet. Everyone’s eyes were widely opened and their jaws dropped. Everyone is tensed, staying still including Reality himself. Reality felt as though the rock that was on his chest had finally been removed, the lightness that he feels is somewhat foreign but very satisfying. He looked around to see the reaction of his so-called-friends. Every one of them looks paler than a minute ago.

After a long awkward, uncomfortable moment had passed Media started to laugh out loud, clutching his stomach,

“We have ugly personalities? Was this suppose to be a thick joke?” he said in between his own laughter.

“Okay wow! That might as well give me a stroke. Well, true enough we aren’t the brightest but we are the bestests,” said Society with a full smile on her face. “People love us more than you! Your ugliness scares people away,” retorted Society. Good, now the three bestests think this is a joke.

“You know the only reason that people mind about your face is that it shows,” Expectation said with a smirk on her face. “Therefore, you should know why people prefer us over you.”

“Do you want to know the reason people like you three more than me?” Reality asked looking down at the ground. It’s now or never to state what’s on his mind.

“Obviously enough, we have been saying this all night long. First of all were are pretty,  good-looking, gorgeous, handsome, beautiful…… and you? I believe the devil can’t stand seeing your face without having to gag,” replied Media with a thoughtful expression, earning nods from the girls.

“No actually, the answer wasn’t even close. The reason why they prefer you over me is because…..” Reality looked at the threes in front of him one at a time. “I am an ugly truth while you are a beautiful lie.” With that Reality walked out of the group and disappear behind the trees, leaving the bestests dumbfounded on the spot.    




It was on a cold winter night as fluffy white snow fall from the dark sky. Three friends gathered closely and sat on a soft frosted wood log with campfire in front. The fire igniting, sparks flashing but soon disappeared right before their eyes. Icy spikes dangling from the trees surrounding them which form a circular barrel like they were in the core of the forest. If looking from the right angle, the light from the moon will make the tip of the sharp spikes twinkle. But they weren’t here just to see the breathtaking view under the twilight, they were here for story telling. Their reunion. It was silent, dead silent, except for the gust of wind bringing coldness to their skin, once every few minutes. The three friends looked left and right tapping the glass of wine they are holding, clink, clink, clink. Everyone was hesitated to speak, wait for one another to start a conversation. Awkward silent.


“ Old friends, what a long time since we seen each other?” said a muscular man with a bright smile. His seems to be one of those guys who get the way with any girl they want. No kidding, he literally wears fur coat and his built still able to show, got to give him credit girls or guys.

“ The time isn’t the matter, what’s really matter is the fact that we seeing each other again!” a woman squealed with her high pitch voice. She wore a white flowy sleeveless-gown that sways left and right as the wind blown by. The straight dark hair of hers which reach to her waist shows glimpses of silverness due to the moon light.

“Oh my dear, Future, I would have not recognized you, if you weren’t the only woman in the group. Your beauty is indescribable just like the moon that illuminated my life at night,” said a tall man with black tuxedo flirtatiously. He winked at Future which was a total fail since he closed both of his eyes.

“Present, Present, my lovely Present, you’ll never change do you? Is that how you suppose to start a conversation with a girl?” Future replied with an impression of british accent as her lips curved upward. She took his words as a complement, of course every girl will do the same. No one can resist the manly deep voice of his.  Mention something about how his voice is more masculine than his appearance.

“Of course I change! I used a different pick up line this time!” retorted Present while playfully rolling his eyes.

“God, you have to be kidding me!” Future giggled.

“Hahmm, hello! I’m exist! Remember me?” the muscular man interrupted with a tone of exasperation. His friends tended to forget about him a lot, nearly every reunion to be exact. “ Guys, I come to this reunion once every century not to listen to you two flirting. Now let get to stories.” His lips moved slightly downward but none no one seemed to notice.  

“Past, my dear old friend. You are no fun. Try to adapt to something different, don’t you like Future’s attempt of using british accent?” said Present while shaking his head, trying to act as though he’s disappointed but he gave a way with his smile. That’s guy found every situation funny, and pretending to sad or disappointed is far out of his ability.

“Remember the lyrics from Frozen? The past is in the past as I am Past, I will be in the past,” hissed Past while giving Present a glare. Which gained a little chuckled from Future and an eye roll from Present. Past is the manly one in the group, if appearance or stare can kill, all people will be endangered especially the one that is similar to Present.

“What shall we talk about this year, a tale of technology invention? Oh my god! Is it about inventing teleportation machine? ” shrieked Future. She smiled widely showing of her write straight teeth while bouncing up and down on the wood log like a girl about to open a Christmas gift. You couldn’t blame her for the excitement, it is just like fangirling, when fandom hits you, there is no way back. The two men looked at each other with the face of I-think-she’s-crazy.

“How are you two supposed to survive with that clothes in this winter’s night?” asked Past changing the topic. He’s scared  that she might get a heart attack all from that excitement. Looking around the group, Past was the only one who wear thick coat, the brown fuzzy one similar to animal fur to be exact.

 “ Past, you got to understand that the technology is improving rapidly. You can’t be in your old, old fashion forever. You should adapt to the present,” Present stated in a tone of unbelievable while shaky his head as his lips curved slightly downward. This time, it’s a real disappointment no joke or pun intended. “Live like a normal person does, live with the world man.”

“ Present, you’re trying to advertise yourself aren’t you, tell Past to be in the present is inconceivable! You selfish pig! Don’t you know that your words can be hurtful?” Future bursted. Her face turn red and her eyebrows raise closely together which caused wrinkle to appear on the upper part of her nose.

“But what I said is true, I am suggesting something that is better of for him,” said Present defensively as he crosses his hands in front of this chest.

“That’s not true! Everything is better of when you understand what’s going to happen!” bellowed Future. If this was in cartoon, you would see smoke coming out from her ear.

“So you are advertise yourself too then, Everything is better of when you understand what’s going to happen,” Present replied mockingly with a smirk on his face. This tilt his head a bit upward looking dreamingly at the spike dangling above his head, his lips curved into an sneer smile while mentally doing a victory dance for the best comeback.

“This is why we meet don’t meet so often,” Past whispered. Present and Future glanced at Past since they weren’t catching what’s Past just said, they went back to their argument. Past had stayed seated in his position listening to every words that his friends had speak. Old fashion….. a freak….. He knew those words referred to him but interrupting them isn’t a choice. He tried once a long time ago and things turn out… let’s just say out of hand. He stayed silent as the two argued, sipping his wine once in awhile.

“Gosh! I freaking hate the Jesus out of you!” said Future as she got up. A full glass of wine in her hand is now empty without anyone drinking it. And of course since there is no such a thing as magic, the wine had to be somewhere. Future’s flowy dress that dances with the wind was now replaced with a wet once. Clinging to her skin like glued. She stormed out of the group and stand by the nearest tree in front of them while squeezing the wine of her dress. Both of her hands were folding in front of her chest, she raised her face up high while her eyes were focusing on the diamond in the dark sky. Girls and their silent treatment.

“Go and talk to her, you got to be a gentleman,” said Past. Without him the three friends will fall apart for sure.

“I am being a gentleman right now, I let her come to talk to me first. You know, lady first,” replied Present jokingly.

“ You know your sense is great but sometimes it just you use it in a wrong situation,” explain Past.

“Fine, fine. This will be the first time and the last time. You gotta understand that it’s hurt my ego,” reasoned Present then added “Somehow, it felt this feel familiar, like it happened before.”

Past lips curved upward showing his his right canine. Something about this smile is cheeky, even Present noticed it too. Ignoring this suspicion, Present walked toward Future.

“They would never changed, do they?” wondered Past quietly by his own. He looked at his two friends who are talking animatedly. Their hands move up and down as they lean forward with their mouths open wildly splatting venom to one another. Just like any other time Past shooked his head. Future is the first one to come back. But Past could tell that the anger within her just like the campfire in front, it glows big then become a bit calmer then big again. Her anger is still burning. A while later Present walked toward the group, a step at time showing reluctancy as he got closer. As Present approached Future turn a body to the left side while closing both of her eyes. She took a few long breaths then open her eyes again.

“I remember a long time ago when we were so close stories is the best thing that ever exist, so who going to start?” stated Present. No one reply. Silent.

“Fine, Let’s start with Past,” answered Present to his own question.

“Okay, then go ahead, this is your show,” replied Future sweetly with a bright smile and as her eyes rested on Present, the twinkle in them had replace to a dull one. Past took an old leather covered book out of the coat pocket and cleared his throat.


There were three friends, best friends to be exact, Past said. They love each other so much that their relationship is more like family rather than friends. But due to their busyness, it was hard for them, and the best they can do is to meet once a year.


“Once a year! How…..,” her words trailed off as she realized that she just interrupted Past’s story. She sent Past an apologetic look and stayed silent.


The three of them were Today, Tomorrow and Yesterday. Whenever they come to this annual reunion, there is a host, whose tell a story of their choice. But things mostly weren’t turn out as plan. Tomorrow and Today will always argued by always it literally means always. It was more like a political debate, strictly, passionately, strongly believe that their idea right and not accept any other consequences. Both Tomorrow and Today tended to believe that Yesterday should change its lifestyle, And that Yesterday should forget what happened and live on. The argument will start when the story time started and end when the story time ended. It will always be Yesterday turn to be the host. Because he’s never get a chance to be a host! For Yesterday this friendly reunion is just a disaster and Yesterday would be gladly say goodbye when the reunion ended. And Yesterday would be eagerly waiting for this reunion, hate it and miss it. While both of his friends totally forgot about the old reunion, since when thing happened it is in the past. Therefore it is a part of yesterday. Life is complicated. When farewell comes there is the difference between “good, bye” and “goodbye.”


Past closed his book at looked at his friend. The two were silent as if there’s something generated inside their brain.    

“I don’t get it,” Future finally said. She looked at Present who is just as confused as her. “What’s the ending? So Yesterday never actually like the reunion?” Past stayed silent, he sighed and said nothing.

“What’s that all the story?” asked Present skeptically “there got to be more.”

“No that’s the end,” Past said quietly. Future and Present said no word for the next one hour think of the story. Lastly they gave up.

“I guess this is the end,” said Present looking at his friends.

The three friends joint in a group goodbye hug. And promise to see each other again.

“Good bye!” said Future and Present spontaneously while waving at Past.

“Good, bye,” said Past. As Present and Future step into the frosted wood out of Past’s sight, Past could hear two babies crying from his friends direction.

“I guess we will see each other again, old friends. When you turn 20, when you’ll become immoral,” Past whispered to himself. “We’ll still be friend even when I have to start the friendship again.”

Past opened his book to the page of his story and wrote 20 times.