fifty-five-word stories

I retreated to the glass house up in the mountains whenever I...

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 21:24:14 +0800

I retreated to the glass house up in the mountains whenever I got the chance. There was a three-day weekend coming up—I hadn’t had a vacation in so long. So I set out on a road trip on my own. I blasted “Waves” by Marjorie Fair. It was going to be a good ride.

“Good morning,” he said.It was eight in the morning...

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 20:59:17 +0800

“Good morning,” he said.
It was eight in the morning and I was having my mocha valencia under one of the sunbrellas in front of the hotel.
I smiled back and sipped my coffee, looking up from my book only long enough for him to acknowledge my look.
I thought he was kind of cute.

“If you think this is difficult, I’m telling you...

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 23:59:00 +0800

“If you think this is difficult, I’m telling you this isn’t even half of it.”
He stood there motionless, looking at me with his puppy dog eyes.
“I don’t need this right now.”
And just like every conversation we’ve had exactly like this. It ends with me still in his arms like nothing had happened.

In the morning, the first thing I do is have my morning coffee...

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 21:18:11 +0800

In the morning, the first thing I do is have my morning coffee by the garden out back. I take out my torn, tattered notebook and write. First about nothing in particular and then, it starts to sound like a letter. I lost my father when I was nine. This is how I remember him.

She hadn’t gone home in a while—make that 5 years. Ever...

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 21:51:26 +0800

She hadn’t gone home in a while—make that 5 years. Ever since she started working in the city, weekend trips became fewer until there were none at all. Some days she would remember to call her mom but other times, she was just too busy to even pick up the phone.
She was not ready.

This is my favorite swing. At the back of my favorite...

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 23:59:00 +0800

This is my favorite swing. At the back of my favorite aunt’s house, where the dogs run around and where the sprinklers go off at exactly 6 in the evening.
I used to play in this garden by myself. I’d visit my aunt, who lived alone, every Saturday just so I could go on the swings.

I live out of my suitcase. One day here, the next I’m...

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 20:11:00 +0800

I live out of my suitcase. One day here, the next I’m boarding a plane to next. Some days I think, this is the last. I give up.
But when I hear the shutter, I am transported back to my five-year-old self, in front of the mirror in my mother’s four-inch heels and red lipstick.

He always slept beside me. He said I smelled like strawberries....

Sun, 01 Nov 2009 21:22:00 +0800

He always slept beside me. He said I smelled like strawberries. “Can I stay here?” he’d say, standing at my door. I could never resist his charms. He’d tickle me to wake me up and we’d race to the kitchen. We’d have Lucky Charms and milk. I wish I didn’t have to give him back.

“I love how he always pretends he doesn’t know our...

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 14:06:00 +0800

“I love how he always pretends he doesn’t know our photo is being taken.” “I love how she always looks like a goof in pictures.” “I love how he won’t smile for my camera.” “I love when she takes out her camera to take my picture.” They’re completely the opposite yet so similar. That’s love.

She was perfect. Everyone looked up to her and I can’t...

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 15:50:55 +0800

She was perfect. Everyone looked up to her and I can’t describe as anything less than that. Perfect.
But she was always alone. She spent her birthdays at home, pretending she was in a faraway paradise to celebrate. The truth was, no one dared come near her. Everyone thought she was too far to reach.

Gabriella was only four. She was a good kid, the kind who wiped...

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 22:51:16 +0800

Gabriella was only four. She was a good kid, the kind who wiped her plate clean and never left any veggies for her mommy to see.
She liked to eat cupcakes, but only licked the icing off and left the cake on the plate. She was going to grow up to be a ballerina someday.

“I’m working on a film.” I said.“Really?...

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 17:16:38 +0800

“I’m working on a film.” I said.
“Really? On what?” she asked.
“Just about two girls.” I was tinkering with my laptop, adding music, then taking out, choosing another song, and putting that in.
“Is it about us?” she teased.
I smiled but didn’t give an answer. She would have to wait until opening day.

He took my hand and knew that something was wrong. But he...

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 08:19:13 +0800

He took my hand and knew that something was wrong. But he didn’t ask me. We made our way to our usual spot. We started to eat in silence.
Then he took out our thermos of tea and poured some for me. “Won lom’ o’ tew?” he asked in a ridiculous British accent.
I laughed.

Every single day you wake up, there is that hope. That...

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 17:55:19 +0800

Every single day you wake up, there is that hope. That everything will be so much better than yesterday.
But each night you come home, with slumped shoulders, and this terrible, terrible feeling that no, everything just goes back to your failure. And you’ve learned to live with it.
How can it possibly be better?

Things would change, I knew that. Ever since we came home from...

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 12:22:48 +0800

Things would change, I knew that. Ever since we came home from the hospital, the way he looked at me was different. Not that he stopped loving me, because he did more than ever. But it wasn’t the same. And every morning I wake up wishing things would go back to the way they were.

“What are we doing today?” I asked. It was our first...

Sat, 24 Oct 2009 11:35:16 +0800

“What are we doing today?” I asked. It was our first trip together. I wanted everything to be perfect.
“I don’t know.” he said. He didn’t even look away from the TV. He’d been on bed the moment we arrived.
I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be how I pictured it to be.

When we were younger, my mom would always associate everything...

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 18:36:58 +0800

When we were younger, my mom would always associate everything with color. The yellow door was the bathroom. The mint green wall meant it was eating time. The red barn was for chores. When I got to the city, everything was gray and it confused me. Why does everything look the same in this place?

I first saw her by the park. There was a tree in the middle that...

Thu, 22 Oct 2009 17:55:45 +0800

I first saw her by the park. There was a tree in the middle that had pink flowers. Somehow, I always associated her with everything pink. The faint blush of her cheeks, the fluffy pen she’d use to sign her memos, her water tumbler. Everything about her was so rosy and happy. I liked that.

I’m always rushing. Rushing to get through breakfast,...

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 22:21:46 +0800

I’m always rushing. Rushing to get through breakfast, sometimes even spilling my coffee all over the table. Always impatient at the elevator because it just won’t get to the ground floor fast enough. Speeding through stop lights and making my way through traffic. I need to get home to you as fast as I can.

The world looks slightly different when you view it from another...

Tue, 20 Oct 2009 23:45:34 +0800

The world looks slightly different when you view it from another angle. Everything that seemed true and real to you can change almost in an instant when something, someone makes you see it in a new light.
Everything I’ve come to know is gone because you came along. I wouldn’t have it any other way.