TEEN: Little Blue Home (Anthology)

[ArvAl]

Edited For Better Intro (11 June 2017):
Hello there, me once again is putting you to another ride. This time I'm giving you an anthology named "Little Blue Home". It is an anthology of prose and poetry, so I expect the hybrid would work well towards everyone.

Info to y'all, I'm writing a non-Pokemon fiction, because I'm pretty curious for the reception by sending this work, remembering how little such works existed here.

Theme : Human Relations and Politics.

Rating's given : Teen. Some parts can be considered controversial for people and the story has a bit of mild swearings. Don't expect the plot would be fun and colorful as well.

There will be 10 of them, with each shall be a glimpses of every human story and experience in history. I hope you'll enjoy.

Contents:

#1 : In Times of War​

#2 : Blowing Winds​

#3: Final Warning​

#4 : Define Devotion​

#5 : Leaves​

#6 : Letter From Love​

#7 : A Child's Will

#8 : أب

#9 : Psychology Fantasy

#10 : Beyond
(part 2)
(part 3)

Begins Now.​

 

[ArvAl]

In Times of War


Have you heard,

Those trickling storm particles?

Should both eyes could meet,

It is wonder you perceived.

Narrow seconds were brought,

For Heaven and Earth may conspire,

Among dens of fiery clouds.


Two elements created awareness,

Compressing grimes with kindness.

Time does provide fairness,

Tables are turning when it dances,

In sake towards shimmering brightness.


No amok can fall upon,

Although bolts become thunders.

It won’t be long;

Salvagers of supreme liberty,

Might have told their own reality.


Rooted by sublime messages,

It takes you beyond guesses,

Of what lies beneath “Fear”,

Which made you lived under,

Between clothed living beings,

Maintaining irony,

And endless tears.


Hurry!

Leave your barrier!

Pursue towards desire!

Come under the rays,

We will soon witness,

That there’s more larger span,

Than a tomb-shaped box.


Breathe, Superior.

We’ve prevailed.

Oxygen has returned,

Into head and heart once more.


Our legs are gaining stride,

Across dews and bawls.

Yet again,

The universe hugged willingly,

As if horizon fades eternally.


Thus,

After all of this,

Shall we free our hopes?

All mankind are ought to build themselves.


Only when human elements have gone,

Everyone has finally reached their excellence.

Do I stand correct, Mother?​

 

[ArvAl]

Blowing Winds


Never forgotten,

Inward flaws you’ve uttered,

Lifeless remains you’ve blamed,

Thousand curses you’ve followed.


To when unknown,

Ears began to flame,

Hearing all hasty names,

Till silence starts to came.


Was is worth to call;

Flows of fiery magma,

Stating end about an era,

Inside triumphs of terrible wrath?


I could tell,

Your bitters in shivers,

Heeding names without norms;

Disturbed mass under horrible mess.


Living in thoughts, since juvenile days,

Stories have come, taking around ways,

How delightful, wish you here may say,

To give, but not forgive today.


As long as struggle still live,

I will fight above my sleeve.

As long as you still live,

I will glad myself believe.


What power was this?

Dare to dream upon voiceless ire,

Losing your mind, conscious sire?

Away with you!


Oh pardon,

I’m still in commotion.

Turns out distortion,

Remains swirling around illusion.


At least I’m relieved,

The heart-piercing bullet,

Was enough for you,

Lying quiet, beneath the stone,

Yearning.


Rest well,

The ship’s sail shall guide you,

Where two celestials would wait.

Hoping home you’ll safely land.


Farewell, my friend.​

 

[ArvAl]

Final Warning

For whole nation, fellow brothers,
Witness our display we’ve made,
From here, all of you can be aware,
Who are these human comrades,
Whose feet above the ground,
And heads under swinging ropes.

Them,
These humans, no,
These wicked animals!
Defying their coverts,
Inscripted without sins,
Standing as grimes and dirt.
Even God may spit at them.

They,
Are nothing more than hair flakes;
To be lost,
To be swept,
To be annihilated!
Infinite deaths are allowed,
But they must not, stay preserved.

Whispers were shouted,
Manners were howled,
We, the human beings,
Had never been sated against them.

Streams of masses scraping over assets,
Our houses went down, empty and powerless,
Settling their gruesome,
Lukewarm taxes.

Just so they know,
Each given numbers,
Had grown ten times harder,
Than contracts in cover.

Money, wealth,
They’re all counterfeit!
Purity was futile,
Let alone halal.

Now, turns have revolved to us,
Let us snatch, fellow brothers,
Bring those gold, choke their throat,
Before torture, let them gloat.

Carry on,
Heave them high,
We hope,
To doom they’ll go.

Halal -> حلال : Legal or authentic. Usually under Islamic law (Arabic).
​

 

[ArvAl]

Define Devotion

Snow is falling,​

Years are passing.


​

The flakes are clear.

Time has called,

Your presence to come,

Together we’ll stroll,

Walking home,​

With me.
​

​

This earth of mankind,​

Layered by greens and sands,

I’ve imagined them all;​

An ode in harmony.
​

​

My tiny paws weren’t worthy,​

Comparing noble deeds you’ve did.​

Holding burdens from shoulders,

As if I were your dearest kid.
​

​

Please,
​

Don’t fall your tears.​

I’ve taken all strides,

So you shouldn't cry before me.​

When eyes have met my future,

Then regard it,​

Your favors are all to me.
​

​

Don’t know how much cold at feet,

Muting quiet in seconds to split;

An omen of dawn which I shall not greet.

Never mind,​

Tonight we should open our fleet,

Candle lights are happy when they lit.
​

​

Large silhouette suddenly emerge,​

Is that you, my Master?
​

Yes, it must be you,


Calling me.
​

My ears were true;
​

You’ve called for me.
​

Please,

Lift my body up,

Let’s come back home.

Tell me your reason,

Why you were late to return.
​

Take me away...
​

...
​

... You will always find for me...
​

...
​

...In bloom, where we here to be.
​

​

(A Tribute to Hachiko)​

 

[ArvAl]

Leaves

Pulse of arteries pounding strong,
Soaring nerves from each devout,
Bangs of missiles wore Faith along.
Obeying radars they’ve gone to scout.

It is the reason people assume;
March concertos could not resume.
Mean emotions, behind the hedge,
Digging passions, within an edge.
Burning twisted, sample spirits,
Wasting anger, to its own merits.

Parliament’s manipulation,
Exceeds whole giant nation,
It takes one proper gust,
Making islands to go bust.
But no,
They “adored” their people,
Taking lands as private incomes,
Slogging them, on and on,
Relentlessly.

Life troubles always sustain,
Keeping inside while it pains,
Who knows if it’s sorrow or hatred?
Circling days and numerous nights,
Future waits where people could fight.

Whether it’s old or young,
Tall or small,
Major or minor,
Modest or penniless,
Weapon shall ignites,
Cutting all rich bourgeois,
Which bears no agony,
Only absurdities,
Above their mad authorities,
Whether it’s greed, or prodigal entities.

Period wounds will be countered,
Body trunks will be burned.
A message from the future,
When regrets will be disowned,
And their lives will be thrown.

At least,
This is genuine propaganda;
How to clear toxic trees,
With one chopping axe.

Down they fall.​

 

[ArvAl]

Letter from Love
​

​

My dearest one,
​

​

I’m now writing,
​

Not because I detest you.
​

It’s true,
​

I just wanted to say,
​

Those few,
​

Focal times,
​

And I wish you could remember.
​

​

Regard this as an apology,
​

If you do have desire to read.
​

​

How many years we’ve been,
​

Together as one,
​

Between bliss and sadness,
​

While gripping, your tender kindness,
​

Blowing hopes and dreams?
​

​

Every minute,
​

I heard your melody.
​

You’ve made me float towards the beauty,
​

Though my return for you,
​

Was me feigning ignorance.
​

​

Your erupting matters,
​

Left me bits of disruption.
​

Upon ambiance at my heart.
​

​

I wanted to live as well,
​

Leaving you and your swells.
​

Freedom,
​

I had everything,
​

Without your presence.
​

​

I know,
​

For then I ask your mercy,
​

Since you’ve suffered.
​

You’ve planted roots by anger.
​

But I swear!
​

I’d never forget you.
​

​

I’ve been crumbled,
​

Me, who’ve been devoured,
​

Little by little.
​

Until the end,
​

I realize,
​

How foolish I was.
​

​

Help me,
​

Just let this once,
​

Let me rest at your caress,
​

I will warm your delicate light,
​

Again.
​

​

Forgive me,

​

My child.

​

Forgive me,


For everything.​

 

[ArvAl]

A Child’s Will
​

To me,
​

I am merely just a child.
​

Offering happiness,
​

Away from lunacy,
​

Away from cruelty,
​

Simply aids towards amity.
​

​

I’ve been through times.
​

Those hair-pullings,
​

Cheek-slappings,
​

Ear-pinchings.
​

The reason?
​

“This property,
​

Does not suited,
​

Under your filthy hands,” they said.
​

​

I’ve been through times.
​

My arms were tackled,
​

My legs were stomped,
​

My body was discarded.
​

The reason?
​

“You belong to those heathens.
​

Don’t put your steps,
​

Above this holy land,” they said.
​

​

It’s been many times.
​

People were insulting,
​

Humans were mocking;
​

They made fun of me.
​

They thought,
​

Me to them,
​

“Was not a fellow devout,”
​

They said.
​

​

It’s all right.
​

Furthermore,
​

I do not understand,
​

What did they refer to.
​

To me,
​

I am merely just a child.
​

Who breaths with air,
​

Who stands between families.
​

So in what possible manner?
​

Did I do wrong?
​

​

I just wish,
​

I wish...
​

Someday,
​

I’d stay with them,
​

When ego and belief,
​

Are nowhere to live.
​

 

[ArvAl]

أب

Father...



Where are you?



Horizons had been searched,



Islands had been burrowed.



But...



You never returned.





Father...



Open your heart,



Right here,



Next to me,



Laying my head,



Quietly.





Father...



Your precious piece,



May crackle,



If those winds,



Are piercing through,



Our hearts and crackles.





Father,



Don’t be sad,



Because I chose,



To be with you,



Once again.





Father,



Don’t leave me.



I will sincere,



Inside flames,



Burning my body,



If you here,



Around me.





Father,



You were right.



You’ve loved for me,



All these years,



Willingly,



Hugging me.





Father…





Thank you.





And,





I will always love you.











Goodbye.​

 

[ArvAl]

Psychology Fantasy

Cloudy ashes,

Creeping as misty couriers,

Circling between roofs and pillars,

Climbing high atop Mother Nature.




The sun is clicking rapid,

Razing birds until they are vapid,

Soon I went towards the faint...

And Eureka!

It is Judgment Day.




Hear those shouts.

A Reckoner’s speech;

The open doors against immortality.

Poor deviate souls,

They evade troops of righteousness,

Away to anonymous.

Every one of them,

Except myself.




Why do you ask?

I am The Chosen!

Sovereign Leader of Earth,

They vanished, I’m not,

Because they’re guardians of Kings.




My vision’s desire,

They’ve all encouraged,

Without flaws,

Without laws,

I am God,

The Beneficent,

The Merciful.




Enemies are furious?

Nonsense,

They’ve been swept and slew beyond.




Salvagers,

Haven’t they,

Putting values upon each way,

Given path by the Lord Almighty?

I fed them foods and shelter,

And such nerves of them to defy!

Fine,

Off with their heads,

Throw these “Heroes” towards their river-beds.

Petty youngsters;

Irrational peoples;

Rebels of races;

Impetuous beings.




They are rabble-rousers,

Yeah, rabble-rousers.

Oblivious in moment,

When time will explain,

How disasters may spread.

I shall reside until planet has ended.




And behold!

It is proven!

I prevailed!

I survived,

Populace suffers,

I stood myself upwards.

Above the heavens,

Praising,

My humble achievement.




Today,

I will announce,

From now on,

Humans shall be forbidden,

When entering our territory.




Let this glorious colony,

Beyond our greatest prize.

We became God,

Outside His filthy landfill.​

 

[ArvAl]

Beyond​

Sunday night.

Office rooms began to simmer down. Francis began flipping up his clipped papers–forming his long, organized poetries. Temperate puffs from his coffee mug, with a sense of natural Arabica fragrance above desk went smooth under his nose. The moon has awoken, along its enigmatic panorama. Current time is now 10 p.m. His atmosphere rapidly changes when noise behind entrance invades his privacy.

“Guess who.”

Francis sighed, “Human’s top VIP?”

“Brilliant, book head,” Suzanne enters down.

“Sigh...How many times I’ve told you not to call me under that alias?”

“I thought you deserved it.”

“Suze, you and I are in urgent demand for an idea which is more important than name-callings.”

“Relax, chum. We have the same mission.”

“Glad to think that way. Since I settled my permanent status at your headquarters, I’ve been thinking about my upcoming project before I came. Therefore, I made 9 titles for auction. I just need your opinions about everything.”

“You can send your upshots to me right now.”

“Here.”

Suzanne examines every purport at each written script.

“Pretty good, Francis. Your harmonic skills are leaning big towards story-telling than self expression. I must tell you are capable enough to write a work of fiction.”

“I don’t know. Maybe, I’ve often seen social states as narrative episodes. Very more to reveal of what I believe into papers.”

“Not an issue. You had started your success by aiming our main edition.”

“Problem is, my former publisher–I’ve featured most of my works for them. Weekly routines became usual habits at my old location,” whined Francis. ”I’m afraid those colleagues would impose me as ‘traitors’.”

“Hey pal, try to think ahead, if your reassignment means a new excitement, then doesn’t that mean you do have the prospect against your self-improvement? Adaptation is a must, stagnancy sucks.”

Francis thought hard.

“You’re lucky to enter my section. Though our workplace hasn’t been majestic as you think it is, we’ve made our effort by working with bigger heralds. Your achievement will worth valuable than rocks above seas,” said Suzanne.

“Wait, it’s entering inside logic realm. How on earth you fellas had the gut upon your little orientation to deal with such enormous contract?”

“Because we’re professionals. It’s true we’ve recently went formed, but don’t you underestimate our qualities. My current manager was a veteran novelist. He’s visioning to give everyone’s memorable work of art at his best. It’s no doubt, our recruits are future aptitudes. That includes you as well.

“Look, I’ve counted 47 days since your first arrival and I know your clever wits are way beyond those amateurs. I mean, take your eyes upon this masterpiece! It is clear you’ve set up your confidence against dictators and corrupt officials. Besides, I’m glad to found out that you’re not kind of person who prefers tedious romantics. Letter from Love had almost caught me stunned by your words until I thought you were a flirty expert after all.”

“I do not have such desire becoming phylogenic artists who writes cheap flatteries every goddamn time. Proving love doesn’t have to gather excessive displays. Also, I am not someone who’s desperate enough finding partners just because I haven’t married yet for 31 years. Heck, even my belief’s preventing me to touch women parts for devious purposes, let alone uttering love chats. You’re not one hundred percent genuine until you’ll have to do those commitments.”

“Speaking about beliefs, I find it ironic,” said Suzanne, “when one of your opuses felt a bit sarcastic towards your own religion.”

“Well...perhaps you’re right. A Child’s Will was pretty much controversial. I’m not even sure whether I could go ahead and publish this, but in other point, just imagine how ruthless religion can be under fanatical beings. Let me explain some few nitpicks for you. Under a verse inside a holy book–I cannot tell which–had said, ‘faithful’ devotees are forbidden to put other believers as their role-examples; with reasons that if we’ve decided to follow them, we will become one of them. Don’t you think that’s ambiguous? Fine, perhaps those people could turn their back against their belief because of these intentions, but it’s their fault anyway who couldn’t hold their faith tight!

“Instead to introspect themselves, they put those blames towards other people. Much worse, the verse I’ve mentioned before weren’t critically discussed at present; it was used as legit weapons from those sick fanatics, and now you see, almost every institution had their religions as common propagandas. Politics and religions are two different aspects, then how would they end up merging together? I heard some bastards have told people, even if those other believers appeared innocent, those are just their usual fibbers. I was both flustered and sad. This Earth isn’t like Neptune; we live between billons of humans at the same level. Every logic, every soul coexist among human hearts–even God can’t file a suit. Each individual has their own right and nature to live and breathe. Their egos were so clumsy, they dare to kill others. I cannot stand witnessing such biased world exists, Suzanne. What I truly want is putting gratitudes in harmony against everybody until my very last breath.”

“Then, why world without religion?”

“Ego,” he corrects,” and religion. Ego made humans succumbed into depths of falsehoods and mistakes. Ego is the root of all evil. If only egos weren’t created, religion wouldn’t have shown up. Why you say? Because we won’t need any guidance to repent, and also, we wouldn’t have our sins by any ways! God would never been necessary to send His messengers and prophets in sake for human wits and hearts. You just could do it by planting genuine kindness, and then we’ve all can die peacefully!”

“Interesting. You’ve succeeded to demonstrate consistency for veracity. I thought you really did mean to change human’s intellect dimension. Calm down, buddy. I got your back to support your philosophy.”

“Thank you, Suze.”

“Now let’s carry on. In Times of War, is it poetic consensus against war, or what?”

“It is more directed towards emotion conflicts. If you’re careful enough, you can see a separate pattern upon your eyes.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll give you a clue. The number is 1212-212121.”

“Hold on, give me another reading.”

“Go ahead.”

For awhile, a brief of silence was built.

“Umm...”

“Well?”

“Actually, I’m still confused, Francis.”

“Oh please. Conceive this in your picture: there are two main occasions going on differential. One takes at perspective inside juvenile child offering his mother freedom out of her shell after receiving such wonderful hearsay from exterior sources, while other is a minor-ranked soldier who had seen a triumphant crusade outdoor. Both of them were unrelated, however they were also the major portion in solitary plot.”

“Wait! I’m starting to understand. I say that the soldier’s tale was your primary number and number two was meant for the child. Was it your satisfying answer?”

“Spot-on.”

“Looks like you’ve taken fantasy lessons, mon ami.”

“No no no. There’s no such thing as fantasy. Both were analogies upon internal conflicts. Do you get it?”

“I think so.”

“It’s simple. A person’s feelings can be very easy to get controlled by numerous, negative rationalities from external factors. Your mind represents Heaven while your heart symbolizes Earth. These two elements weren’t always agree towards each other in terms of setting up preferences, but when it comes to crime invasion, they could labor themselves together as if they had nothing. Wonderful, am I right?”

“Darn, you’ve got me there.”

“Next thing you should know, the soldier was based on your inner strength and hopes as well, meaning that he could retain what’s worth maintaining. Your efforts would pull all stops within your darkening substances so you can finish your absolute goals no matter how tough it is. It’s common logic but people had failed recognizing over their years.”

“I see...No wonder we did hear proverbs stating that we should keep our heads up high as the sky and hearts down-to-Earth.”

“Meanwhile your conceptions began to reconnect, the jolly child figure represents different sides of emotion–a bubbly, warm innocence. What I’ve imagined, he often persuades his mother to liberate her hopelessness which had been suffocating her thoughts like a burial chamber so she can get along into celebration.

“The mother’s illusion itself came from negative realism; he was pictured as positive optimism. Bottom line, each people has his own volatile waves to repair, with their own motivation, fading out currents after currents. Every gigantic obstacle requires eradication by them self in order to win over guiltiness.”

“Ah, partner,” said Suzanne. “I like your promotion for giving such supportive campaign to me. Guess it’s time to enter politics, Sir? I assume you’re capable enough dealing those lousy diplomats.”

“No, thank you. Never in my time I would dedicate my freedom intervened through miserable elite duties. It’s very awkward for a literary man diving out towards political oceans. I don’t need any agreements to be ordered under by another underling, even if the commands were submitted from United Nations. Life has lot more attractions, buddy. Countless summits made from blabbermouths will gain nothing but wasted durations, while those bureaucrat pigs are waiting their Burj Khalifa-sized paychecks for as long as they could until their goddamn retirement. My brain’s still needed; it cannot be scoured by gluttonous views.”

“Speaking about politics, some of your opinion directions were...oh man, critically excessive. For instance, Final Warning expresses ultimate hatred of corruptors and their deeds, regarding them inhuman, selfish bastards. From my point of humanity, not all people can be guaranteed that their commitments may traced back towards their self-greed consumption. There has to be reasons of their arrest, and we need evidence upon proving them guilty. Remember moral dilemmas?

“I mean, they could have just stolen those revenues to amend their freaking loans, or...” Suzanne thoughts for a moment, “...there are some problems occurred law cannot interfere but it’s their lives on stake. Thus, it isn’t always purely vicious ideas are blamed at criminal events.”

“Yes, yes, yes. I admire when moral’s perspective is involved in your ideas. That’s my best respect I can give you enough.”

“Yeah, Francis. Perfect indeed.”

“However...”

“Mother of Earth!”

Francis giggles hearing Suzanne’s profanity.

“You should understand, when law has its upper right to capture any crime offenders, they don’t compromise any pleads at all. Rules are rules; you’ve done something wrong, you’ll bear the consequences. Besides, this is my world to begin with. I can do whatever I had in mind including creation of post-dystopian universe. After witnessing those lunatics hanged after Coup d’état, a whole country suffers and most families went missing, leaving their fates unknown. It is why I say the future’s terrifying; we wouldn’t know how far relativity can be predicted.”

“But again, I strongly object any worse punishment outlaws may receive such as death penalty. Don’t you see? How could someone had their heads to generate so many demonic methods ‘death row’ prisoners would pray their lives? And where’s the human right elements again? This is absolute bullshit.”

“Well I can’t help. Everyone fears death and punishment, and so these offenders. Constitution was most made in time when human laws were under crisis. People want justice. Heinous sins are bound to death, they said. Since war has left billion populations lost their lives, it is logical for victims to have the same sentiment of them being executed. Heck, even few religions agree to carry out orders from it. I am not into voices whoever loves or hates capital sentences, these are difficult choices I just want them to shut up and let me take some rest.”

A noiseless interlude transcends between conversations.

“Alrighty then. What do you want to ask me next?” ask Francis.

“Tell me your clarity about dedication.”

“Oh, good one. Things which instigate me to write down tender encouragements, popping out brilliant daily thoughts obviously.”

“Is that why Define Devotion has your dedication? You wrote from Hachiko–a dog in Japan who became symbol of loyalty–after your daydreaming. In my opinion, that poetry you’ve made had taken influences from real world life to be dedicated towards the real world life too.”

“A very naive reply. Have you forgotten essence of poetries? The importance isn’t lie upon object; it’s above written on script. Fine if some inspirations were used from true stories, however for your own sake, if I could just erase Hachiko’s ‘subtitle’ and publish without it, I think it’ll enough to be said as an original piece. Look in carefully one more time, you will know that I didn’t point Hachiko as main character. It could be humans, bears, ghosts, or even demons.”

Suzanne nods her head. She understands everything Francis explained.

“Now allow myself to take leisure time inside toilet.”

“You may leave.”

Francis strives with his footsteps towards office toilet. When the door finally bangs, Suzanne closed her eyes shut, running to her deep thoughts. She was amazed after her little dialogue left her another great impression to Francis. Surprises can’t get me satisfied yet, she grins. Sitting above chair, she returns back to reality, while she went up tidying up her friend’s poetry papers at its place. Since Francis has gone, boredom began to suffice further. She looks around–none of the joy arouse–until she had a strange time whip in stare within Francis’ drawer beneath his desk. There’s a key patched inside the small hole. With enough bravery, she forced her intention to twist it open (but it took twice and extra efforts because the key looks rusted). Again, Suzanne pulls with anxiety; she’ll realize any waves coming in matter of minutes, and she isn’t prepared of anything.

***
​

“What are you doing?”

His facial expression explains the whole situation: Francis stunned across in shock after his precious letter was read by an unsuspecting friend. He approaches Suzanne; he tries to talk to Suzanne with sufficient comfort–albeit Suzanne’s teary eyes. Francis knew, his forbidden heritage item has been unconcealed, and his sorrowful reminiscence of a painful past has come back to haunt him more once again. Regardless, he felt responsible, and he must explain.

“Say to me, Suze.”

“I...I c–can’t,” wails Suzanne. “I d–don’t kn–know you...could bear your s–suffering, so you can meet y–your loved ones b–besides your strong heart.” Her cries began to whine more bigger, Francis quickly grasps her tight, giving her enough tender warmness within; while he couldn’t hold his tear dropping down around his cheeks as well.

“Just let everything out. Don’t think about me. Just let it out.”

“Why...”

“It’s okay. I’m all right,” Francis weakly smiles.

“Why d–do you keep your memory here? You should h–have just told me. Please don’t make me worry for you carrying s–such burden. Your pain is our pains to endure together, m–mate.”

“Have you ever heard ‘hypocrites’? My whole life had been surrounded by hypocrisy, scattered across peoples in different places. Calm, I’m not talking about you, but my life isn’t contained with happy-ending fairytales. I can’t make yours burdened by my wrongdoings, too.”

“Which sins a–are you talking? Did I ever saw you being r–ruthless when you came here months ago? I like your i–ideas. You can made m–me lost by your heartfelt w–words. This i–is you. It’s you. You belong to people, you move people within, and we w–will always support you. Then t–tell me, why can’t you show t–this to p–people?”

And so, Francis opens his memories.

//|||||\\

Continuing In PART 2

\\|||||//​

 

[ArvAl]

PART 2

I​

I made the poem when I was 13. Before it happened, I’m just an ordinary child. Solid foundations in terms of objects or biologic beings were enough to become my usual friends. They called me Farun. Half of my life and happiness were equally spent through between families as long as Father would keep helping us to unite. Back then, I haven’t thought anything about future at all. Moments came back and forth and then disappear like thin air. Days have gone countless, wasted by playtimes and swimming above lake near remote villages. At least I didn’t have to remember how frightening adulthood is. Till then, the past was my best fractures ever existed.


Crucial breakthrough began arousing when whole relatives decided to move ourselves towards area around Mosul. Yes, I was born in Iraq, but I never wanted myself acknowledging such things all these years. My mother told me, now I have to take guard when I’m alone and I don’t need to worry their conditions in a place where we stay.

But, I couldn’t understand.

For young age, I was too innocent knowing the actual events that took place behind every conversations, let alone actions.

Suspiciousness initialized more as Father took me outside for a walk and went straight towards blinding forest in one faithful dawn. You couldn’t tell how afraid I was. I knew somewhere among those woods, there was an enormous grave sites lying intact, waiting as the fear sends bitter horrors down my spine. Hand bristles could not hold their nerves dreaded while each step passes throughout several tombstones written unknown names to me.

Thousands and thousands of canopies and bushes crossed, I can finally end my footsteps facing a deep hole lying in front of me along with its gigantic scale.

I shoved my own face away at once, because there’s that one hideous sight I would never forget.

Scattered corpses.

Stacked. Upon my eyes.

“Farun,” at last Father speaks. “I didn’t mean to make you terrified. Your fragile light wants to find a trigger. It wants you to glow further through such roads of cruelty. You can see them, don’t you? You can’t regard them as filthy white bones, piled for nothingness. They are heroes, child. Every blood they dropped below them was their signs across nationwide that this glorious homeland they have stepped shall always be the same to defend, protecting wisdom, justice, and love. Their sufferings at struggle had to be buried in sake for their pursue towards happiness. I would say, all of these hearts fallen here were our brothers in war.

“Child, jihad* is very honorable to have you as friends. A sacrifice towards someone’s country, is a sacrifice towards humanity. I want you to breathe this air with me. Make way for smell of freedom, entering your innocent lungs.” We both were gasping the entire surroundings. I can feel those sickening foul stenches are coming against my nerves.

“Finished? Now try to absorb the essence to your body. Can you hear those oppressed voices? Yes Farun, it is our turn to inherit them, so it would stay in our bones and hearts, bonding as one. A soldier’s mind is valuable when we take upon ourselves before it fades together with spirits. Don’t let tyranny tugs your brightness away into worthless vain.”

“I’m just a kid, how can my words move people?” said I.

“Not every power was formed under great big leaders. To you, youngsters should be used by playing and having fun, nothing more. An old man like me regards you as hope; heirs of free humanity. My child...no, my loyal brother, you are supposed to be grateful. You were born in the middle of moral crisis. You can change everything. I’ve submitted my whole life for you and for all humankind.” His body suddenly slumped with his knees leaned above ground.

“Father, what have you done?”

He stooped down in front of my lower limbs as if I was Kings of All Realm. My hands trembled when I put them around his shoulder to stop his absurdity. I couldn’t believe anything that happened back then. There are more running questions which it can’t be taken as simple matters. Sad? I was depressed! It was my hardest part ever had.

In tears I’ve said, “Please, Father. I am not worth enough to have your love above Father. I beg you.”

“It’s alright. I’m fortunate to have my time meeting such a blessed man.”

“No Father. Please don’t.”

“We both share the same struggle, my brother.”

“Please!”

Suddenly, he storms up quickly holding me with sufficient tightness.

My upper body felt suffocated after Father’s unexpected grasp. I cannot tell whether it was an affection gesture or an attempt to cover my flowing dejection. Nevertheless, soon I entered unconsciousness; frozen by Father’s tender warmness I’ve adored so much. For the first time, he was sincere to confess his middle-aged love towards me. Anything would never be able to repay this occurrence for rest of my life at once. I regretted that I have never wanted to reveal my utmost intention which I had been kept since beginning that I love him as well. How foolish I was, this treasure was more precious than any relics and gold from all universe. Oh Farun, why do you have to be born if such unpleasant happenings were becoming as your haunting voices until your last breath? Forget it, just let my artery beats vibrating through ruthless rivers to where I would float above the surface so my whispers can be gone deep, without chances to explain what I’ve been gone about. Here I stood up, Father. Don’t let me catch your heart’s crying. Put your surroundings behind everything and look at your beloved child.

Father, I will always love you.

Forever.

Never leave me.

Just you and...BANG!

Shocked me! It is the loudest gunfire I ever heard! Those condemned bullets were piecing throughout inches of forest trees at once. In right away, I went back towards reality, after in chorus, Father released his grasp. Panic is on rising. I don’t understand what the hell happened outside. (Later in future I realized, some government’s authority had heard that there are trespassers were sneaking inside mass graves). I thought the danger was pointed towards me and Father.

No, no way. This can’t be happening. I dare not to make myself separated from my other half!

“Go away, Farun,” said Father.

What?

“My guidance is done. You may go now.”

“It can’t be. I–I don’t want to. Let’s go, Father. I’m not doing this alone, please.”

“Listen, you might not know how the actual truth works right now because you haven’t experienced anything. I will always on your side. Remember! Danger lurks more closely than you think. Stay alert, keep your steps and stains in caution. My door shall be forever open to you, my child.” Then, Father led me towards large grasslands at front outside forest. Weather was starting to get bad by groups of clouds thundering everywhere. “Here, take this route ahead. Just run and don’t look back until you’ve reached home. Tell your mother when you meet her. I will come home if time grants us to see each other again.”

“With me, Father. I beg your mercy...”

“You first. Stop doing your stubbornness, Farun.”

Police voices were very clear as they were getting more near to us. I could hear their echoes to capture some rebels around here. Gunshots became more threatening.

“Go Farun!”

And my body turns. What kind of trigger that lets me run away without Father? I left plentiful footsteps a lot, but they all went swept as thunderstorms began to pour their waters towards me; that’s how I felt against those merciless patrols.

Run and run through various grasses, it had almost got me fainted by hunger and exhaustion.

***

II​

Returned back for home, there were only dusts of smokes and embers I discovered.

All houses down; burnt by insolence.

I went on to search my mother under desperation between dark ashes.

Black; merely the color I see.

Pain; merely the thing I suffer.

Is it time for me to die?

Perhaps I should.

In the end, I’m a goner anyway...

No! There’s no such thing as death yet!

Come on, get up! I need to find Mother quickly. Let me live.

“Where are you Mother? Answer me!” I shouted towards interior rooms.

I went on crying my heart out, hoping she would be safe there. Minutes after I’ve entered the front door, my legs had stepped around scorched woods, shattered glasses, and some lifeless corpses.

Wait.

Please tell me that it’s not her.

Three bodies, in burned state, motionless and silent, were touching above living room floors with their palms tied. One person wore long, white cotton dress and grey hijab** together which had been darkened by blistering inferno; rest of them were unknown neighbors. It won’t take long to recognize; easy as hell. She must be someone I knew along, right? A comical joke, I love it. I laughed all the way.

Idiot.

Fireflies quickly stroke fast.

Sadness. Just sadness.

I saw tears falling.

Her body has been found. Now what?

How far such tragic would they want? My heart was torn apart. Lost has reached towards the top.

Enough of this! I grabbed upon glass fragments outside home. All survivor guests, come and watch my special show! With sufficient strength left, the glass punctured deeply towards my own thigh in sharp motion through layers of human flesh. Hence, I sat down leaning at wall remains while my own grin had grown larger and larger. A heroic act I ever commit indeed.

My vision blurs. Bleedings slowly put me into my long-awaited sleep.

Just wait, Mother. Maybe Father is on the other side, too. I’ll be there soon. In Heaven.

Now I have no one, I have love no more.

***

III​

“Wake up, kiddo. Wake up.”

“How’s the status?”

“Status is stable, Sir.”

“Excellent. Carry him to safety.”

“Pardon me, Sir. Are you sure he’s good on air transport?”

“Blood vessels aren’t severed yet. Should be enough time for full rescue.”

“Copy that.”

Both eyes of mine quickly open. Sightings are still in comatose but I can already hear them rambling several words. Their discussion was something I cannot understand. Is this an afterlife? Perhaps. My only sin was a reckless act to end a life contract. Though, why can I still have breathing supplies? Hell would never have such welcoming ambiance I felt right now like Earth.

Hold on there, even Earth begins to vibrate. Where am I exactly?

“You’re up, kid.”

Soon I regained vision. There are five men in duties wearing soldier outfits laid down from their standing positions, staring at my own self. Most of them looked foreign to me (Americans, I guess. It’s from their country badges). Everything else is just aerial structures with plentiful command buttons. Ah, I see. I must be inside one of their flying ships, and they’ll probably take me towards protection.

For brief awhile I had the most serene pleasure–far from mad peoples sending out their death threats. I really wanted to see that person who did the act as my savior. But it is pitiful shame, language barriers prevented me talking towards them. My frozen jaws remain stood still while the troop leader is uttering some information.

“Don’t get us wrong. Our fleet commander had received reports that your previous place was badly under arson. We assume one of the executors came from Saddam Hussein’s underlings. Motive is unclassified, although we’re confident he is looking for country rebels.”

Vertigo constantly spins. Ugh, when does this nightmare end? Someone please just explain what the heck is going on.

“Sir, I’ll help him.”

“Accepted.”

The aiding soldier wears off his military helmet. It’s obviously clear his facial figure has similar blood descendant. I listened throughout his translation–nowhere near better news of course. I’ve already saw myself half of his details, but...where’s Father?

“We’ve been scouted across ruins finding who’s alive. So far, it’s only you. We relieved some of these gentlemen got their medical kits operating your wounded limb. That glass had almost cut your goddamn arteries. Little bit more, you would need bunch of transfusions. You’re lucky.”

Another collision strikes. Head traumas aren’t keen to leave yet.

After his statement declaring everyone is dead except me, my whole legs went all powerless. The Creator’s punishment was over the limit. Injustice lingers, consuming elements which shaped human form. Lucky, you say? I lost my Father, gone with the ashes! Am I supposed to be happy if your loved ones were burned to death by lunatic dictator, so his absolute power is always eternally constant?

Revolution is nothing but memories by the oppressed victims.

When our helicopter landed above Iraqi borders, I spent myself in minds for entire day.

I didn’t stop there. Inside refugee camps, two months have gone by, dark as usual, sulking over seas of pain. I became more and more skeletal because there’s no appetite upfront to satisfy hunger. Better dead, I thought. Putting myself under suffering condition had truly caused me into dangerous situation. Even though I realized this is getting too far, it had me zero impacts compared to what I’ve been through before. End result, I was in bed for three weeks because malnutrition, but I still refused.

Until one day, someone woke me up against those gloomy days. A man whispered to my bedridden body around my ears when he came, giving me something to eat at least. He said, “Eat well. Your world may not be the same as I do, but it’s very shameful if you’re leaving these beautiful times. It is alright, you just need come and eat with me. Eating helps you think. Accept your past as your part, then change your sorrows into strengths. Dawn lights never fail to rise giving out hopes for everybody here.”

Dawn carries hope–it’s what the unknown person said.

Dragon’s roar awakens the steeled knights. I was stunned by his spoken words, even though I never knew him on that day. As if Berlin Wall has been tore down from inside of me. He was right, I shouldn’t have done this in beginning. I can finally end up my hunger strike. Slow but sure, I’m gradually returning my previous confidence and muscles.

Father, Mother, thank you for everything. You’ve taken care of me with your true feeling. I will return your entire favors.

Just wait, Father. I will see you again.

It’s not easy to make a poem made out from dedication. I’m merely writing what I’ve thought about Father and his nurturing warmness. I kept the script to honor him with passion as gratitudes of a human being.

Wisdom, Justice, and Love. And also Freedom.

Decision: Changing the world with open hands. Writing is one method towards unraveling truth.

Now, I have a mission to do.

Four months onwards, I went approaching an American soldier from U.S. Army Base near refugee camps. In bravery, I spoke to him with words I barely learnt.

“Mr. Soldier.”

“Yes?”

“Can me to your home?”

“Pardon?”

Temporal silence was built upon intention.

“I want to go home in America.”

//|||||\\

Continuing In PART III

\\|||||//​

Glossary Terms:
*Jihad/jihād (جهاد‎‎) : An Arabic term to describe a person's struggle for their country, nation, goals, and beliefs. It was used in majority from Muslim countries, and it's sometimes a misconception from terrorists as fights against kafir/non-devout/non-believers, and islamophobic peoples as "Holy War".
**Hijab (حجاب) : Muslim's traditional outfit worn by women as protection and body privacy symbols according to beliefs in Islam.

 

[ArvAl]

PART 3
​

Clock’s showing one hour past midnight.

His breath almost ran out of energy after retelling a story upon Suzanne. With such burdens relentlessly crawling each of his own might, Francis was unable to hold his wavering temper, even when sitting. Hands were covering his frazzled face, while heavy gasps followed him along, curving his back position. Contained secrets would eventually be open someday, but he never planned the exposure at early stages. Been there, done that, he muttered, take it easy. He soon realized his coffee had been sipped empty. He quickly rose above office chair and walked to refill some mineral water from the dispenser, six steps in front of his working partner.

“Sorry for everything,” said Suzanne, still weeping her leftover tears.

“It’s fine. You don’t need to cry anymore. I’ve told you that it was just a painful recollection.” He quickly rushes back, putting two mugs over his desk as one of them was for her comfort. “Do you need anything else?”

“I think I want to go outside.”

“Okay then. Come back when you feel better.”

She took much longer duration than Francis would’ve expected. By the time she returned, forty minutes had been wasted.

Her opening words when she sat down: “Right, what happens next?”

It seems that she doesn’t want to consume more darkness further. Francis was led towards confusion, but he tries to keep his head cool. He couldn’t bear seeing her in terrible misery again.

“Hard to say. Two years afterward, they finally permit myself getting all those legal papers for adoption. Since I’m an Iraqi, most INS* staffs were reluctant to put me down on waiting list. When someone’s blood went spilled, they charge a whole nation. How tired it was. Those choking nuisances had me gone through painful endurance.”

She shook her head in blank expression, “Huh, that’s not a surprise.”

“Yeah, it’s not. I almost exceeded my age limit. Can’t help–it’s the only way. I didn’t have money within me to live through another day there.”

“Who brought you here then?”

“The Mortberry couple–my foster parents, of course. Americans sure had unique family names,” he giggles. “They’re good people, I know. They brought me from harsh lands of Iraq during Gulf War periods to US evergreens, at least in Seattle where I live now.” Suzanne grinned over the actual reference–first time after her gloomy sadness. “Fun fact, my Mom is infertile, so Dad suggested that they had to look for ‘outside’ kids. I don’t know why–perhaps disconnection–but she thought it was ‘foreign’ kids he said. Thus, instead scratching out local files, she ran international. In later years they told me this, I thought, damn, she went over the line.”

Both laughed together. Francis’ effort succeeds.

“But seriously, they do care about my existence, all of those teaching and affections. I wouldn’t be able to graduate from college, had their nature more often rejects me. My humble opinion, I thank them for every single help, shaping me as one human being. And hey, my English is fluent over recent times.”

“It’s that why your name changed into Francis?”

“Nope. Much simple actually. I think ‘Farun’ was quite unsuitable for non-Arabic places like America, therefore I had to search other names before I arrive there. Two years awaiting adoption, I learnt several books from people’s donations, especially geographic, because I like how the world spins in its orbit without violations, unlike its people, where every pissed crooks shouting out war declares in daily doses as if these habits were their glorious feast. The name I found inside Atlas book–France–flared up my courage. Well, France itself did spread human revolution, right? That’s how I began to sample it for myself. Next, I combined it together with Paris as related connections, and what I got was perfection. From then onwards, I said plentiful goodbyes to my old identity, starting afresh as Francis until today.”

“Geez, I expect something complex than that,” Suzanne murmured, while her face looks unsatisfied.

He grinned, “So what? I was merely simple-minded man.”

The atmosphere went back towards silence. Francis lifted his own glass of water, gulping down its mineral pleasures. Meanwhile, Suzanne was busy distracting her focus as she went in mind for witty topics or discussions. A minute later, she opens her response.

“I just remembered, your title work Leaves sounds abstract to me. I hope you could elaborate.”

“Very well. I remember its composition had common similarities against Final Warning. The difference lies upon their visual perspectives. In this case,” he gazed to surroundings, waving his hands around, “I used victims of materialism and bourgeois folks as references to visualize all of them structured, as a grown-up tree. You’ll get what I mean.”

“Oh no, Dalai Lama. Your droopy scholar wants your dazzling enlightenment! I’ve ruined my whole life by printing paper spits and shits.”

“Nice try, dummy. This old teacher shall teach you hard.”

“Make me.”

“Just get back on topic. Let’s say a thousand-year-old tree in Amazon represents a country which somehow sturdy enough to create organized government and social status. Obviously you’re gonna need blueprints for the roots. Granted, we had it as our lovely constitution, mission complete. Then, such wearing process requires prolonged age into how far we’ve gone from starting point–like annual rings expansion inside tree trunks. Everything came out of technology and creative mindsets to shape intelligence. You’re still sticking to my lectures?”

“Nothing defies logic, Einstein.”

“Goddamn it. Why sometimes I find you much worse than average slackers?”

“I am listening!”

“Good. Now if you’re a person trying to set up fundamental systems, your objective must resilient at long-term arrangements, as well as future responsibilities. The nation’s strongest idea has to be very relevant through time, so its competence would lead better democratic mass both in and outer factors.”

“I bet those branches would send those deals straightforward.”

“Hundreds of botanic branches sure had their best priorities delivering nutritions onto their leaves. However keep in mind that not all branches can contribute healthy resources. Sounds familiar? Yeah, each country had at least one corrupted beings elected in society. A miniscule twig may construct negative domino effects on all partitions thanks to its damaging transport. Thus, instead photosynthesis, we would see chains of venom-synthesis.”

“Your rally speech really feels like it did contain some resemblance with Tree of Life.”

“I’m much preferred to call it Tree of Politics. The things you’ve mentioned earlier are limited to Earth’s evolution. It is true your opinion suggested history’s finest essences had connections to build steady eras, but notes you should know, my subjects didn’t possess any primal instincts like dinosaurs–having panic attacks everywhere–to react when meteors hit them for ultimate extinction, killing one hundred percent Jurassic creatures. I am certain, human’s cleverness is above mammals to avoid catastrophes, and I’m also certain, human’s cleverness is above mammals to generate catastrophes.”

“Since you’ve talked catastrophes, I was hooked by your other something. I’ve never seen such horrific imaginations of supreme dictators ordering their GESTAPO-ish army at your portrayal. A blind nationalist! Supplies are loading with terrors! There goes madness people said, because they forgot morals, silencing freedom for every cost to save their own leagues, the higher they became,” Suzanne adds.

“You mean Psychology Fantasy? Well, it’s agreeable. Reading dictator’s deeds can be very much unspecified. Violent usages for power protection are not a noble action from fearless men. They thought they could outlaw, but Death was everywhere with them. I hope their lives won’t end up terrible, given that Karma pays them back their deeds as per usual so I cannot help. They were nurtured with kindness, but in return, they cracked their own homeland. Oh pathetic irony.”

“How on Earth these pitiless animals could regime above nations to have any rights to lead?”

“I could explain these. It’s gonna be long, are you ready?”

“Go on, then.”

“Better place your ears uptight.”

Suzanne moved her chair closer towards her best friend.

Francis sighed, “Okay. According to history, we have three major methods in hands: Monarchy, coup d’état, and finally–that I hate most–democracy. You should’ve known how the first one drills. All kings and queens changing through centuries, mostly were coming from one family line. Even if not every ruler was heartless as we think, would you rather care to see their relatives eyeing those appealing thrones? Greed consumes, it’s a matter of reality. For example, you can witness significant changes out from a single person defending his beloved kingdom. Here I would say, King is not God. Their self-proclaimed titles that they were God’s pure descendant inside their blood are just their nutty bullshits. Remember Suze, good leader comes with respectable depiction towards their people. Just like that tree anecdote I told you before, those branches depend their condition upon their health status. If one of them went greatly ill under circumstances, it is guaranteed those leaves would call for help. If all parts went bananas...I guess we’ll have to pick a choice. Either you’re gonna leave it dead or, in faster way, chopping it down. It was already doomed anyway, why bother saving. I prefer straight towards chopping–we cannot allow venomous plants invading others to share their corruption, am I right? Chopping stops disease, end of the line. The rest is history–annual rings won’t grow anymore.

“This chopping thing ultimately leads us to our good ol’ segment, revolution, which took class methods as high as coup d’état. Independence of course had to recognize freedom gates inside out. However, the real problem lies within human rights they sought. Sometimes, society can go very extreme. Abusing those powerful rights full of resentment that turned into deep depression, I don’t completely understand what’s going on their mind. Magna Charta became an empty paper, because greed took away the true meaning of revolution by excessive liberal propagandas. Final result, ego destroys all struggles from every men and women to be lifted as ‘respectable’ humans.”

“I don’t believe revolution can ruin their future plans. Revolution changes for better lives...”

“You still need learning, my friend. Let me say a wonderful name to you.”

“Who is it? John Lennon?”

“Adolf Hitler.”

Suzanne blanked her face, emotionally terrified. “You’re kidding.”

“He did revolution too, you know.”

“NO! Anyone but him! He creates more lies than happiness! My family had to suffer bigger pains because of him and his genocide campaigns.”

“Though I am deeply sorry for your losses, it is the truth. After World War I, Germany was devastating. Hitler watched his own horrors when he fought in battle grounds. He was also traumatized before and after war, so it’s no wonder he went berserk by his nature. Disappointed at German’s loss, he blamed Europe especially Jewish people and his views were put inside his satanic bible–Mein Kampf. What he did next was an act to ‘reform’ his country. Building Nazi was just his baby steps; his real plan goes on global conquer. In beginning, his followers were regarded as political disturbance, but few years later, German people began to take sympathy because Depression Era has caused them to regain distrust against other influencing parties. They won eventually and Nazi reshaped governance system with oppressive totality as their demonic signature. Now that’s revolution, Suzanne. Replacing outdated venues with radical or moderate ways in short duration, depends on their real motive behind it. Even Taliban, Stalin, and Castro were revolution, don’t you think?”

“But is it worth acclaim for some evildoers to be considered revolutionary?”

Francis lifted up his shoulders, “History speaks.”

“Shit.”

“At least Hitler died alone without taking other people’s sins.”

“Yeah...I guess so...”

“Let’s continue. I promise this is my last part.”

“Fine. Still adds knowledge enough.”

“So as I said before, another method to become supreme is democracy. My assumption says it is the most cunning way ever existed. By limited schooling and storytelling expertise, an idiot could take his excellent benefit from everybody. He didn’t have to break his sweat. His language compels all vision he would fulfill if he’s elected. And the best thing is, he did it live with his own lip service in front of medias. Such ambitious hypocrites!

“Mark my words, since I would love to blow their covers after voting. Their principles are basically changeable through secular seduction. Most major winners felt a sense of urgency below them so they can get chosen as leaders. Everything is legal, including black campaigns. Scapegoats are free among the innocents. I am here not to tell all winner fellas, but their ugly sides of professions, we’re ought to know. For me, there’s no such place left to genuine leaders. Democracy is dead, gone without traces of honesty, eaten by twisted pigs. I think Earth really needs extra elements to reform human creation,” Francis stopped. He gulped his entire water from coffee mug through his throat. “That is all I can say.”

“Well...I can’t tell much. I thought, there is a good thing human beings could pursue their desires. Just how useful upon their bucket lists would take them into countless risks depending on how capable materialism temptation slaps them hard.”

“Good one, Suze. Maybe someday I can put your quote for my upcomings,” said Francis.

Suzanne grinned. “Don’t flatter myself, sweetie. You should know that I’ve been doing those guys some pleasure around here with my amazing counter skills. Trust me, it’ll hurt you a lot.”

“Whatever. I’m still your number one guy.”

“Oh really? Let’s see your reaction when I’ll report your flirty cheeks to Mr. Director later for his special job. I’m sure you will regret me as your superior.”

“Spoiled brat,” he laughed.

***​

Time is currently three o’clock a.m.

“Phew, what a night. It’s freaking Monday. I want to go home now. Thanks again, captain. I didn’t feel drowsy hanging out with you.”

“So, you haven’t certain which debut are you going to propose?” asked Suzanne.

“I had one.”

“Blowing Winds?”

“Nah, too melancholic. That poetry deals a loss of someone. Touching but I don’t think critics would like me as gloomy artisan. What else can I do, if poetries were supposed to up everyone’s feeling?”

“Then, you’re not gonna publish anything at all?”

“I’ve already said I had one. Here,” Francis handed out something from his desk drawer towards Suzanne. Her focus itself soon pointed on a written paper which she had never seen it before. She read carefully every letter she looked, and much to her surprise, she said, “Didn’t you say that you’re not a phylogenic kind of person?”

“Every life needs colors of spices, Suzanne. And for your info, I made this based on what I love about universe. It may seem romantic to you but not really. Yet again, that’s your opinion anyway.”

“Following the currents, eh?” she smirked.

“You’re welcome.”

***​

Two days after, Francis’ work was published for the first time in the new monthly magazine under Suzanne’s supervision. Critic results were positive upon his stellar “debut” with such freshly baked intelligence. However several people noted that the hypothesis may potentially create a blinding perception. Few experts wrote, he has also seen being more crafting his tender side since most composition were dominated with politic themes and social issues, perhaps influenced by Francis’ latest moving from his old company.

Meanwhile, euphoria can be seen inside office as two people were celebrating success. Two slices of chocolate cakes are the only ones left above plate caused by Suzanne’s bizarre appetite, and Francis was a little bit proud seeing his opus gets public. The office was once again quiet because both of them came after evening.

“Congrats, Francis!”

“It’s nothing.”

“Come on,” complained Suzanne, “you should be cheerful over this.”

“Don’t get overhyped. I’m just getting started.”

“Then, is this our last time here?”

“You mean...”

“Your trial period ends today. It means I won’t be your supervisor in advance. You’re free to go, bookie.”

“Crap. Never had in mind it would be today. I hate goodbyes.”

“Life carries on, kiddo.”

“What will happen to you next?”

“Me, huh? Probably going back for my normal routine. And...”

“And what?”

Silence went long before she replied. “I’m printing papers again.”

“Oh man, please no.”

“Rules are rules.”

“Sucks.”

“I know, right? Well, better pack my bags.”

“You didn’t carry anything!”

“I’ll pick that up at my own place, dummy.” Suzanne walked her legs outside towards exit door, while her smile remains lifted.

The room once more quiet for a night, filled by oxygen returning to Francis. Peace finally restores, he thought. His palm supported his shaped jaw above wood-carved desk in sitting position, just like how The Great Earth’s keeping its epicenter sphere steady. Surroundings went empty leaving him lonely with his celebratory cake that he hadn’t touched yet. He picked up a slice and enjoyed every melting taste dancing around his tongue. He could wish for this night forever.

But, it didn’t take long.

Francis tilted his head upwards to the door and said, “Hey Suze, looks like I might need some hands.”

The door creaked open, “How did you know I was close?”

“Human instincts. You cannot deny.”

“Ok, you’ve got me.”

“Come here for a sec.”

Footsteps approached Francis. “What?”

“I’m about to make a grand masterpiece.”

“And then?”

“And then, I want you to contribute alongside me.”

“Please don’t. I couldn’t do storytelling.”

“Exactly. Our common knowledges in addition with my writing skills are far beyond tale dimensions. Why don’t we create a fiction based on non-fiction?”

“You sure I’m in for this?”

“If you’re not, I won’t call you either way.”

“Ha!” shouted Suzanne. “Alrighty then. Gather all your instruments, we got a work to do. I’ve come to help.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“With pleasure, buddy. With pleasure.”

-THE END-​

Acronym:
*INS (Immigration and Naturalization Service) : Operates until 2003. Now USCIS (U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services).
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Bonus: Francis’ Latest Poetry.

Night Waltz

Behold,

This name of “I”,

Was relevant no more.

The cosmic rolls today,

Had centered through all pillars.

Is “You” understand?


Away from partial spirals,

“You” was the masterpiece.

The light streams made everything stagger,

It is innocent, but filled with danger.


“I” dances within by elegant legs,

Between viewers which gone by ages.

By time it was very evident,

Moment changes by coughing incident.


Allow “I” to make the shout,

Till the waves are coming to “You”,

But such regretful shame,

Near is nothing but a distant name.


See something right there?

“I” saw it as “They”.


Stirred force without visible hands,

Blocking around as common might.

Like a storm going out of hand,

These dusts are now in sight,


Forget about “They”,

Make the gaze upon at “You”.

Silent and modest,

Just waltz that comes in new.


Lit this stage for fine magnificence,

Putting spells towards cosmic excellence.

So if “I” will be there,

“I” will not be there.


Think and decide,

Whether these hands later,

Are in bound for reach,

Does “We” can finally disappear,

Much like the others,

Whose self had joined first?

Don’t know,

Beneath minds before desires,

It is “I”,

“I”...

“I” wants to feel,

“I” wants to see,

“I” wants as one,

Between two,

Just “I” and “You”,

Crossing darkness “We” through,

Glittered by stars “We” do.


So?

Does “You” want it?

“I” wants to hear,

“You” and the answer,

Andromeda.

#
​

Written by Francis Mortberry.

Supervised by Suzanne Harris.

© 2010 Gramshaw Publishing LLC.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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-ALL FRACTURES WILL RETURN AS ONE-

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*FIN*​

P.S. I finished it on 4th of July. Hurrah!

 

[ArvAl]

Author's Note (Closing Statement):

Hello everyone.

It's been 5 wonderful months since I started this work. Conditions aren't always at the highest peak, but when it does, I feel very incredible.

Thank you people, who's willing to sacrifice themselves reading all my writings, I couldn't bear myself talking much since I never expected that I'm now here saying my last words of honor. Really man, I almost gave this project up after #9 because there are plentiful offline burdens and it's very stressful to type a one shot while you have to keep my sanity under control. But I kept going and write as I've promised that I want to end at big number 10.

The background behind Little Blue Home was simply to put what I've watched this "beautiful" world dealing harshest stuffs as well as their actions. So many problems and yet nobody wants to cut the biggest root of evil. Thus, I made such parodies from them all by creating an anthology with satirical tones. The title itself has a confinement meaning to gather every sadness and depressive emotions inside human beings, thus by picking that name selection was a perfect description towards my project.

Even though its structures came from my idea, I decide to use characters as representation to expand the universe within. I know it's quite confusing why creating another people to discuss "my" work, as Beyond is basically summaries anyway, however I can convince you people that I didn't just do it for explanation between these two humans, I also wanted to give them plots and feelings so they can be more "human", and it's very interesting to write them both too. I might gonna kept these elements in future plans.

If you ask which poetry deserves my favorite, you probably want to check out Blowing Winds; A Child's Will; and Psychology Fantasy. Those picks were the most sickest thing I ever wrote, but I enjoyed every message outta it.

Alright people, that's enough for me. I'm heading outside home, do you guys wanna follow me towards the brightest day? Well, I'll see everyone soon after I finished breathing freedom.

Goodbye.

Love,
Your Imagination.

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This is just our beginning.​

EDIT : It's not made by me, Arvie. Someone purposely hijacked my account. Oh well, this one's cool as well.

 

[diamondpearl876]

Hey there! I'm here to leave some comments after reading your work for the awards. Congrats on the nomination, and I hope to see you'll be around for next season! It's not often we see poetry here, and the variety is much appreciated.

I see you're a fan of free verse poems, which are, in my opinion, the most fun to write. Your writing style comes off as sophisticated and passionate, and given the heavy topics you're discussing, that means a lot. The topics are super controversial, too, and so it could be easy to veer off into cliche wording and phrasing, but no, each line sounds wholly original and is worded in a way that makes the entire poem flow nicely.

The main thing that breaks the flow in your poems for me is the random commas that are at the end of each line. Even if they don't fit grammatically, they're still there, and what that does for me is make me pause and think about why the comma's there rather than the natural pause that's added automatically with changing lines. I hope that makes sense. If there's a reason for it, I'd love to know it, but as far as I know, it's not needed. The form takes care of those pauses by itself for you.

Keep up the good work! ;D

 

[UselessBytes]

Okay, let me start by saying this was the most unique entry in the short prose/poetry awards category, in my opinion. I thoroughly enjoyed reading this, much more so than I expected I would.

So, I’ll start off by saying some of the earlier entries/poems are a tad choppy. Most of the lines are around the same length, and while it’s not necessarily a bad thing, it does give the poem a repetitive feel. You do remedy this as the poems continue, however. I also feel like several lines throughout the whole work are broken off in the middle and made into two, as they would’ve flowed better as one.

As for style, yours is rather eloquent, and it fits your poetry quite nicely. It can start to feel like purple prose at times, but the problem is infrequent enough to the point where it really isn’t anything to worry about.

Your poems deal with a lot of risky and controversial content, but that same content tends to pop up in a lot of places nowadays. You, however, integrated these topics almost seamlessly into your poetry.

To finish up, your spelling and grammar was excellent, but the added punctuation at the end of each line seems unnecessary. I didn’t catch anything else other than that little nitpick.

Little Blue Home is a wonderful set of poems with only a few flaws, most of them technical as opposed to plot related. However, the topics dealt seem rather commonplace nowadays, so the reading can seem a tad unoriginal in a few places. Overall, good work, ArvAl.