You could hear the ocean waves collide with the sand, as if they longed for each other. As the waves gently touched the shore I felt the dewy grass touching my back feathers, companied with a soft wind that I could feel on my beak. I smell the ocean, the grass, the moisture in the air, but I’m scared to open my eyes. 

“Nieves…Nieves, wake up…” a strange voice whispered.

That voice sounds like yours, reminding me of the time you sang to me when you would cradle me in your hands,  When you would ever so softly caress the top of my small head with your fingertips. Slowly passing your fingertips by every feather.

“No, I don’t want to,” I responded to the strange voice.

“Nieves, what’s been done has been done. The past can’t be rewritten no matter how much we want it to,” the strange voice said.

That voice didn’t sound like yours anymore, it was the voice of a man. It has such a mellow tone, with just the sound of his voice my fear melted away. He placed his hand lightly on my chest, it was warm and delicate like your hands. But you weren’t here, in this unknown place I find myself in.

“Wh-Where are we?” I asked.

The strange man removed his hand from my chest, “This place, this is where sadness and pain doesn’t exist. Where you’ll never go hungry, where you’ll never feel fear, only joy and happiness.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nieves… This is Nirvana, paradise, the Garden of Eden, life after death.”

“Wha-What? What do you mean? I-I’m… I’m dead?”

“Open your eyes Nieves, and you’ll see,” the strange man said.

I slowly opened my eyes, as my eyes were slowly blinded by the light, as if I had my eyes shut for days. I see a blue cloudless sky, as if I was staring at a calm waveless ocean. I could feel more of the grassy dew as I lay on my back, the scent of the ocean grew stronger. I gradually turned my head to the stranger man, I needed to know who he was and if what he said was true. Our eyes locked onto each other, all I could see was an empty abyss in place of eyes. He looked like what ancient scriptures described him as, a skeleton cloaked in a black veil and with a large scythe in one hand. He was on one knee, using his scythe as a support, he placed his hand back on my chest.

“It’s time to go little one, I’ll take you to a place where you can fly freely with your kind and others,” Death said.

“How? How can your hand be so warm?” I asked.

Death chuckled as he stood up and answered, “I’m not as scary as living beings make me to be. This other world is just a second beginning.”

I wiggled a bit as I flipped myself over on my feet. My back all the way to my tail feathers were wet because of the grass. I turned around to the direction Death was facing, we were on a small cliff next to a beach. I looked out into the distance and the ocean seemed to be never ending. I looked up and noticed there was no Sun, no Moon, no stars, just an endless cloudless blue sky. I turned to face Death and just like the humans I was fairly small, only reaching midway of his shins. 

I looked up at Death and asked, “So what now?”

“I’m going to guide you to a place where there are other birds like yourself flying free, where you’ll wait for her,” Death said.

“Her? You mean-”

“Yes, your human companion, Rea. You’ll wait with the rest of the birds of Heaven, and once you are reunited with your human companion you may cross the Rainbow Bridge together in order to enter true paradise,” Death responded.

Rea, we’ll be reunited once again. So I may sing to you as you sang to me once again. So you can hold me in your arms again. Soon we’ll meet again so I can tell you how much I’ve missed you my dear Rea.

“Let’s go, Nieves, the other birds can’t wait to meet you,” Death said.

Death started walking in the opposite direction of the  ocean, as I took one last glance at the endless ocean I turned around and followed him. Soon I’ll see you again, Rea, as promised.

“On the count of three we will call the elevators down, go in and pick a random floor level. If we pick the same floor number, it’s because we are meant to be, and if not then. . .” His voice went from excitement to a soft sad melody. I placed my hands over my ears, I couldn’t bear to hear what his next words would be.

“Hey” his voice had softened, he pulled me in and I was pressed up against his chest. I inhaled in his heavenly scent as is his hazelnut eyes looked down at me so sweetly, “I know it’s a tough decision, but we both agreed” he sighed. In less than a week I would be off to Penn state and he would be staying. He didn’t believe in long distance relationships working out so if we ended up on different floors it would be a mutual break up. If it was mutual then why could I feel my heart ready to jump out and run.

I nodded shyly, I could feel tears puddling at my eyes and I quickly swiped them away with the sleeves of my rough coat. We were recreating a scene from our favorite movie, Serendipity, when Sara and Jonathan choose an elevator floor to see if they could exchange numbers. Instead we were deciding the fate of our relationship. The elevator up button felt icy cold on my fingertips, maybe it was a sign of bad luck but both elevators on opposite ends opened at the same time. I stepped inside and turned around to get one last look at him, he was wearing the navy-blue cashmere sweater I had gotten him last Christmas, but now I could only remember how soft it had felt in my hands. The doors started closing, I walked over towards the middle to get one last look at him as they closed.

I looked at the elevator floor buttons, thirty-six floors, and I had to pick one. My fingers quickly flew over all of them until they finally landed on a random number. Floor twenty-three lit up a bright yellow orange as the rest stayed a ghostly white. The smell of caramelized almonds filled my nostrils as I took a deep breath in. I guess someone with Nuts for Nuts had been inside before me. I could feel a huge smile creeping on my heart as I remembered how much he loves caramelize almonds. I took it as a good sign. I swore the elevator ride was going too slow and so I began to pace across the small elevator. What if he was already there, what if he picked a different floor. Could he be regretting this as much as I was? I looked up to see what floor we were on, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…

*DING*

She’s sitting over there, four rows up to the right of me. Beautiful glowing skin, green eyes, and dimples the size of 10-carat diamonds. Ugh, I wish my crippling social anxiety would let me make my fantasy come true. But no. Her name is Maria Fernandez, and I’ve known her since we got lost together at orientation last year and had about a four-minute conversation. It wasn’t much, just how we didn’t know where we were going, and we were nervous about starting high school. It was an accomplishment for me for somebody who has a mini panic attack every time I speak to somebody. I still remember the last thing I said to her, “Good luck in big boy school.” Corny, yes, lame, defiantly, but that was the first thing that came to mind. One year later, that remains the last words I’ve ever said to her. We didn’t share any classes freshman year, and she would go on to be semi-popular while I kept to myself and got by. I was so afraid of eye contact I’d immediately look down if I knew she was around.
But that was last year. Today’s the first day of sophomore year, and there she is, first period, in my class. My therapist said to overcome my fears. I’m going to have to embrace discomfort if I want to evolve. So imma doing it. I’m going to talk to her.
As the class is about to end, the teacher is giving his last few remarks. The nervous energy that’s become all too familiar seeps through my body. Either I’m going to fiddle my thumbs and stay here until she walks out, or I’m going to do something I should have done months ago. It’s now or never. Almost instinctively, as the bell rings and she walks by, I slowly put my head in my bag as looking for something I knew I didn’t need. When I came up, she had walked out of the class, and I knew I blew my chance. Annoyed, but I was trying to stay optimistic, telling myself it was sophomore year and, unlike last year, I’d have more opportunity.

Yea.. I got scared. Enjoy this fiction scene I wrote.

It’s sunset in Brooklyn, New York. MIGUEL is smoking a 5 inch joint in the backyard of his apartment. The backyard is mostly cement with cracks on the wall where his apartment is, cracks on the ground and a little garden that has 6 foot trees covered in soil and cat feces. The area where MIGUEL is sitting is covered in corona glass bottles along with a cooler filled with alcoholic drinks next to him. There are lights, cheap Christmas lights, hanging from a fence that surrounds the little garden. As he smokes, he has headphones plugged into his phone with the song Billie Jean being played. MIGUEL is on a chair that allows him to lay down. His best friend JESUS storms in through the door outside which is unlocked. 

JESUS storms into the backyard where MIGUEL is singing and dancing all while laying down in his chair with a joint in his hand.

JESUS: I CALLED YOU 13 FUCKING TIMES!

MIGUEL has his eyes closed, singing along to Put in your head on my shoulder that is playing through his headphones. He is waving his hands side to side.

MIGUEL: Put your head on my shoulder. Hold me in your arms, baby.

JESUS yanks the headphones out of MIGUEL’S ears. Miguel jumps, opens his eyes and notices JESUS.

MIGUEL: WHAT THE FU… JESUS BRO!!! Bro, I fucking love you bro.

MIGUEL stands up to hug JESUS but JESUS denies him and pushes him hard enough to the ground.

MIGUEL: Fuck. I ain’t know it’s one of these parties.

MIGUEL continues to dance while on the floor.

JESUS: I called you 13 times.

MIGUEL: Did you?

MIGUEL checks his phone.

MIGUEL:  Dam. I thought that was part of the song.

JESUS: Do you have any idea what today is?

MIGUEL: No. Enlighten me.

JESUS: Today was the day our lives could’ve changed. But no, you fucked that. 

MIGUEL: I’m going to be honest with you, I have no clue what you are talking about and your vibe is really killing me. 

JESUS: Look at you. You don’t even care. 

MIGUEL: What should I even care about again?

JESUS: THE MILLER CUNNINGHAM DEAL!!!

MIGUEL looks confused.

MIGUEL: What the fuck is that?

JESUS: We had The Friday in our hands. The meeting was today and you didn’t show up.

MIGUEL: What the fuck does that got to do with me?

JESUS: YOU HAVE THE FUCKING DOCUMENTS! YOU HAVE THE ONLY SCRIPT! WE WOULD’VE HAD MORE BUT YOUR PARANOID ASS FUCKED THAT!

MIGUEL: That was today? Oh well. We’ll just do that Texas thing the studio was talking about.

MIGUEL picks up the headphones and puts them back in his ears. He continues to smoke his joint. JESUS sees this and smacks the joint out of his hand, reaches into MIGUEL’S pocket, grabs his phone and throws it into the wall to the left of him. MIGUEL looks in the center after this unfolds. MIGUEL then proceeds to look at JESUS.

MIGUEL: If The bros paid ryan about 25 mil for that lantern movie, then our studio can sure as hell give me 300 bucks for a NEW FUCKING PHONE!

JESUS shakes his head.

JESUS: Look at you. Look at where you are. You think the studio gives a fuck for you. They see you and they pity you. The only reason why you’re still a thing is because I vouched for you.

MIGUEL: Vouched for me?

JESUS: Yea.

MIGUEL: Vouched these nuts in your fucking face.

JESUS: See. Look at yourself. Do you think anyone takes you seriously?

MIGUEL: Hell fucking yea.

JESUS: NO ONE TAKES YOU SERIOUSLY! When everyone sees you it’s like they’re looking at a homeless man who stumbled across our set. When they see you, do you honestly believe they want to look at you? They look at you as a reminder. 

MIGUEL smirks.

MIGUEL: Oh yea? And what’s that?

JESUS: To remind themselves what a lost and forgotten man looks like.

Miguel stands up and grabs a beer from the cooler beside him.

MIGUEL: Lost? Forgotten? If I’m lost, then guide me.

JESUS: Are you kidding me?

MIGUEL: I wanna laugh but you killed the joy to laugh at this point so no, I’m not joking. Guide me. You say I’m lost and it seems you got the map to everything, so show me where to go. Point to it. 

JESUS: I’ve tried helping you. I did everything possible.

MIGUEL: Helping me? You tried helping me?

JESUS: YES! Who do you think paid for all your rehabs? Who vouched for you everytime you came to the studio drunk or high? Who do you think told your mom not to worry every time you went on social media and threaten suicide? ME!! IT WAS ALL ME!! 

JESUS begins to cry.

MIGUEL: You want a beer? Looks like you need it.

JESUS trips to wipe the tears off his face.

JESUS: Fuck you. I’m done with you. 

MIGUEL: You were done with me 10 years ago.

JESUS: You’re still going. Look me in the eye and tell me that?

MIGUEL walks towards JESUS with his drink in his hand. MIGUEL is now face to face with JESUS. MIGUEL looks at him for 10 seconds and takes a sip of his beer. 

MIGUEL: You were done with me 10 years ago.

JESUS looks at MIGUEL for 10 seconds. JESUS then looks at the bottom left of the floor and begins shaking his head.

JESUS: Okay.

JESUS pushes MIGUEL and proceeds to punch MIGUEL knocking him down to the floor. JESUS begins walking away towards the door outside. MIGUEL is on the floor and repositions himself to face JESUS who is walking away. MIGUEL is now positioned where he can see JESUS leaving. MIGUEL is crying. 

MIGUEL: WALK AWAY!!! YOU ALWAYS WALK AWAY!!!

JESUS stops. He is standing outside the gate with his back turned away from MIGUEL. Miguel is still crying.

MIGUEL: FUCK!!! Jesus please come back. I can fucking see you. Come back please. I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I’ll go to rehab. I’ll do anything, just please come back. 

JESUS is standing there still with back turned from MIGUEL. JESUS begins to cry. JESUS closes his eyes. He opens his eyes.  He begins walking away. JESUS walks towards the car he drove there with and gets in. MIGUEL stands up once he hears the car turn on and tries to follow JESUS but it’s too late. He drives off. 

MIGUEL: FUCK!!!

MIGUEL continues to cry. MIGUEL put his shirt over his face to wipe off the blood and tears off his face. He screams as loud as he can. He stands there looking in the center with tear drops coming down his face. He goes back to the backyard. He walks over to his cooler and picks up a new beer. He walks around the yard. 

MIGUEL: I’m lost. No one will care. No one will remember. 

MIGUEL takes a sip of his beer, throws it across the backyard and walks towards the garden. He hops over the fence. He is now in the garden. He uses a shovel that was already there and begins shoveling the dirt out of the ground.

MIGUEL: You’re doing the right thing for everyone. It’s okay. Don’t cry.

MIGUEL stops shoveling as the shovel bangs onto something. MIGUEL throws the shovel away. Miguel drops to his knees and begins to put his hand into the spot where he shoveled. He then picks up a beretta that was in the spot where he had shoveled. He then gets up from his knees and hops over the fence. He walks and stumbles to his chair. He picks up a new beer with one hand while the beretta is on the other one. He opens the beer and decides not to take a sip. He lays there with the beretta in his hand. He looks down at the beretta. He puts his shirt over his face to wipe the tears and blood off his face. He looks down at the beretta. 

MIGUEL: Guide me.

Lights go out. End of scene.

I can see you at the end of the screen. You’re reading this. Why? It’s close to Halloween. Watch Something. Watch Halloween Kills. That movie in my eyes…BANGER. You know what I’ve come to realize. Steve from Blues Clues came back. Why? Is he in debt? You’re reading this and you’re probably wondering, How the fuck is this a flash fiction story. I’m going to be honest with you…It’s currently 12:39 am and all those words that you just read are my thoughts at this time of the hour. Yea.. I fucked up bad. To anyone currently reading…I’m going to be honest, I’m currently writing this on the top of my brain while taking a shit. I missed two classes. That is not good. Not at all. I’ve read you’re story. It was really good. The attention to imagery is just amazing. You my friend, You are going places for sure. I should probably start actually writing now. Well, here is a preview to a piece of dialogue I did for a project that will never see the light of day. Enjoy.

HUNTER: You’ve always been stubborn. You’re blinded by love and oblivious to the hate I have for the world you fixated in your head. This world isn’t sunshine and love. This world deteriorates in front of us but you choose to look the other way in hopes that the flames stop and beautiful flowers grow through the cracks. Just let me die in peace Sophia.

SOPHIA: When I first met you, people told me to keep walking and don’t look back. They told me you were a man who killed anyone who looked at you or your brothers wrong. That he didn’t love anyone and that if you were to look into your eyes, you would be staring into the devil’s eyes. When I looked at you that night, was I looking at the devil?

HUNTER: It’s something you shouldn’t be asking me. Everyone has their own perception of life. So, that night, October 30th, 1978, did you lock eyes with the devil?

That’s enough. Speaking of the devil, this is also a sneak peek of another project that I hope to finish writing and direct by the year 2050. Enjoy.

The scratching stops. MICHAELA hears the scratching stop and comes from underneath the blanket. To her sight, she is now at her elementary school. She is in the middle of her classroom. In the daylight, this classroom is filled with smiles and tunes of laughter coming from the children who come to learn. Now, the classroom is gray and muddy.

This isn’t good at all but it was fun. Feel free to butcher it in the comments and in my blackboard. I gotta go to bed. Remember this though…..

I’M BATMAN.

“I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting,” Liliane says as she breaks the silence. Her voice echos through the empty room that seemed to go on for miles.

“About?” Amelia inquires. Taking a glance around the room, she notices that the once red-stained walls had now been painted white. It had been a while since she stepped into the residence that used to be her second home.

“Life,” a vague answer comes from Liliane that causes an eyebrow raise from Amelia. Liliane was now staring out the window, looking into the gloomy sky. If not for the genuine concern, Amelia might’ve laughed at how dramatic this looked. 

“Gotta be more specific than that Lils” Amelia jokes, trying to get a smile out of the suddenly serious and seemingly queasy older woman. It had been strange being back here, still in confusion as to what caused the sudden invitation, but Amelia figured she would find out soon enough.

“I gave up everything for this, everything and now it’s gone. What do I have now? Who do I have now?” Liliane says bitterly. Amelia goes to say something, though somewhat at a loss for words when Liliane cuts her off.

“This lifestyle was the only thing I desired. To have a whole world of supporters, and yet I look around in times like these, and I have no one. All those awards, recognitions, everything was just a waste. Turning away happiness for what I felt was best for my career” a sharp intake at the words coming out of her own mouth. Amelia begins to get up, wanting to sit closer to her old friend who was growing increasingly distressed.

“I’m sick, Amelia” Liliane states in a cold manner as she begins to walk out of the room, leaving Amelia to wonder what the hell to do with this.

Michael stared at the sunset. A huge grin plastered on his face. He sits alongside Drew. “Isn’t this the best? “Michael says, turning to Drew. Drew doesn’t respond, he continues to stare at the sunset. His eyes slowly filled up with tears. Michael understands, this will be their last moment together. He knew this day would come, they couldn’t avoid it. Drew has been his closest friend. They both weren’t good at making friends with other kids. This might explain why Michael was so drawn towards Drew. Ever since then, they have constantly hung out together. All of that was about to come to an end soon.
Drew still hadn’t uttered a single word. His eyes were wide and his body was shaking. Michael reached out and grabbed Drew’s shoulder. Drew jolted away, tears now streaming down his face. “It’s going to be okay”, Michael says as he hugged Drew. Drew trembled in Michael arms, dread consuming his mind. All Michael could do was comfort his friend, and thank him for letting him enjoy this last moment with him. Of course Drew did not respond, he couldn’t. The duct tape made his words unintelligible, the rope bound his hands together. Michael didn’t want Drew spoiling this moment he has been waiting for his whole life. He grabbed the knife behind him and made one more look towards Drew, his closest friend. Knowing this was the last time he would ever see him again.

The street lamps on Ladonna Avenue weren’t green at all.

Yes. They were definitely more of a grayish olive, old and dull like a spoiled bruise.  If this lamp was a person, it’d probably be a mysterious elder, who had a black cane and a limp on his left leg, and maybe he reeked of cigarettes too. I planted my feet firmly on the sidewalk, leaning closer to the lamp’s pole until the tip of my nose was touching its cold exterior. 

Curious, my fingers glided over the pole’s rugged surface, brushing past bumpy slopes and tiny craters reminiscent of the textured skin dotting my face. By its side was a bright red telephone booth, and farther down were cobblestone steps leading into Ladonna Station. I could hear the q51 city bus rumbling in the far off distance, its headlights clashing with the neon blues and cherry reds of the traffic signal, flashing brightly in the darkness. I had to get on that bus if I wanted to reach Midtown by early morning.

As I waited, I wondered how many other people had strolled past this street lamp in particular. Garnished by layers of flaking green paint and faded scribbles, the lamp stood triumphantly before me, as if it was proud of how much it had endured over the years. I added on to my make believe character- the old man was now in the military for twenty seven years and three months, exactly. He was a ranked general in the combat unit, I think. 

Carved onto the very bottom of the pole was a girl’s name in boxy letters. It looked something like Esper or Emerald or Emma, but I couldn’t make out the entirety of it, so I just chose Esperanza. Hmm, yes, he had a wife named Esperanza who he divorced when he was 27, and then he got remarried to another woman named Emma. And he had no kids, no kids at all. How could he? He dedicated his entire life to the military. With a tired yawn, I lifted my hand off the pole and clutched the strap of my backpack, glancing up at the acacia trees swaying back and forth from the wind. It was only after a few minutes had passed that I suddenly noticed a phone number etched near the top of the pole:

call if u need a friend: 3478916544

Maybe it was from the flickering light, drowning me in splotches of artificial yellow for just a few seconds at a time, or the chilly midnight breeze prickling at my skin, but I felt a strange uncertainty wash over me as I  stood underneath the street lamp. It was a jumpy feeling. I grabbed my flip phone from the back pocket of my jeans and added it to my contacts. They were dumb enough to put their phone number on a street lamp, and I was dumb enough to save it. Who knows? Maybe whoever wrote this is dead, or like, 200 years old. Maybe this is the man,  the elderly man from the military. Maybe he had a mission for me.

For as long as I can remember, my grandmother has been knitting a quilt. To the point that every holiday, she required us to gift her different colors of yarn instead of presents. I counted in total how many balls of yarn we’d gift her a year between my mother, my brother, and myself; in total, she’d receive 12 balls of yarn every year. But despite her being very “yarn-rich”, none of us have ever seen the quilt she’s been knitting. Nor have we ever been gifted so much as a sweater from all her balls of yarn. Whenever I’d ask her how her quilt is coming along, she’d put her wrinkled hand in the air and wave me away while saying “almost done, almost done”. I’ve heard her say that for the past 22 years of my life and still, no quilt. My brother and I used to always joke around and place bets on how old we’d be before we ever saw one of her quilts finished. One time we went as high as 50 years old before our mother told us it’s not nice to make fun of old women. That’s classic mom though; she hasn’t really been into jokes since our father left. One winter, we got a call saying that our grandmother was sick and in the hospital. When we went to go visit her I couldn’t believe my eyes; on her lap, was a pink and white quilt. I watched as she struggled to catch her breath, while at the same time, her fingers moved with a graceful speed. Two weeks later, we found out that she passed away. As we drove up to her house to empty out her things, I wondered about the pink and white quilt. As we were cleaning out her bedroom later that day, there were three cardboard boxes with my mothers, my brothers, and my name scribbled on top. When we opened each box, our eyes welled up with tears. Each box had an array of sweaters, mittens, and the most beautiful quilts I’ve ever seen. That’s when I knew, our grandmother was knitting the ultimate present for us, throughout all these years.

I walk up to my room and drop my bag at the floor. I stare at the pitch-black ceiling and pull out my phone. I raise the volume in my headphones and try to block the noise I hear. My mind feels like it going to rip itself apart. Lately, all my parents having been doing is nothing, but argue. Fights, yelling then there this uncomfortable silence where nobody can say anything.

I have tried to put on a brave face, but I can’t keep pretending anymore. I look up to see across from bed, a picture frame of my family. It was taken a couple of years ago and it was a time when the fights hadn’t escalated to this point. I know that it normal for a family to argue from time to time. However, for a family to argue every single day, and talk about leaving or divorce isn’t normal. Things didn’t used to be this way in the past I hear them argue over money, and occasion about family members. I don’t know when my parents fighting got worse.

Now I’m sick of all this-fighting. I have started to avoid my parents at all costs and coming home late. I try to block the drama by staying in my room, listening to music or movies. I have started to avoid my parents at all costs and coming home late. My schoolwork has started to suffer because of this, and I know my friends are starting to suspect something wrong. I have started cancelling plans on them, not handing in assignments, and becoming more reclusive. I haven’t told any of my friends that truth and I don’t want them to know about the situation at my home. I feel that if I tell my friends the truth then….

I feel weaker, sluggish, and tired. I try to remember the time before all the fighting, screaming, and lies. I want to go home. The beautiful irony is I am home, but I don’t feel I am at home. This home feels more foreign to me by each passing day. Everyday nothing changes and something inside of me begins to fade.