There’s Something About Rome

~ A short story ~

Sweat dripped from her forehead and her white cotton shirt, soaked. Sally could have sat inside the cafe, the air con could have cooled her down. Instead, she sat outdoors because the view was better. Pavement cafes lined up on that narrow cobblestoned street. Bougainvillea vines crawled down from the second floor of the building down to the glass windows of the cafes, albeit neatly cut. Café Romana, that’s where she sat; its wooden tables topped with lacey white runners, chairs were cushioned with either pink and white or mint green and white stripes. Continue reading “There’s Something About Rome”

Ripples on a Quiet Lake

~ A short story ~
The aroma of instant coffee woke me up. It wafted into my nostrils, whirled its way into my every nerve, and woke up every bit of my sleeping body parts. I sat cross-legged; hands tucked inside the pocket of my grey sweater, absorbing every heat they can get. My eyes squinted as the tender light of the dawn entered the tent. The fog slowly vanished in the presence of the early morning sun. Puffy, white clouds enveloped the Lover’s Summit – as what everyone called the twin mountains.

Continue reading “Ripples on a Quiet Lake”

She Won’t Follow Anymore

~ A short story ~

She bounces between the glass wall and the tiny tables and finally slides herself into the chair. She gives him a wide smile and hangs her bag on the back of the chair. He crushes the butt of his cigarette on the ashtray in the middle of the table that is occupied by a wooden sugar caddy, an empty espresso cup, and his dark brown messenger bag. Continue reading “She Won’t Follow Anymore”

Malediven Express

~ A short story ~

Bound to Javahiru Rah, Malediven Express left Male’ at exactly nine on a Saturday morning of November. A thin silver line hemmed the cloudless neon-blue sky and the lazy deep blue. Frothy waves ebbed and flowed as the speedboat slammed the perfectly idle sea. Nature-trimmed palm and banyan trees on islands waved at the high-speed ocean toy. The three passengers of the speedboat were bound to Javahiru Rah which means Jewel Island, all with different reasons. Continue reading “Malediven Express”

Speak or Die

~ A short story ~

Tom can’t count the days of darkness. He’s been sitting in the middle of that room for what seems like an eternity. He cannot differentiate day and night. He can only feel the temperature change. He thinks it’s nighttime when his feet, tied to both legs of the chair, ache with the touch of the freezing floor and daytime when sweat drips from every pore of his body. Continue reading “Speak or Die”

Time of Your Life

~ A short story ~

I slam my apron on the bar counter and leave as the printer vomits paper after paper of orders: beer, mojito, whiskey, cosmopolitan, tequila shots, and vodka orange. The night is young and the swelling crowd is vivacious. Gerard looks at me as I storm out the counter and head to the stage. He must think I am crazy to leave him as he sweats profusely with the number of drinks he needs to serve. But I really don’t care. I’ve had enough of life compromising my dreams.

Continue reading “Time of Your Life”

A Little Too Late

This short story was written for the theme Spooky Season. The prompt says to write about someone’s first Halloween as a ghost.


When you die, you won’t matter to anyone or anything anymore except to the worms that would feast on your flesh until only your bones are left under your grave. Fragments of your flesh will soon be ashes or dust, subject to dissipation, and just another element that can cause a sneeze. Family and friends will keep you in their memories, but their world will continue to move without you. You will just be like another file in their hard drive, kept, to be forgotten. Soon you’ll fade away, and even the closest of person will start forgetting the sound of your laughter, your tiny nuances, and all the lines and details of your face. That is life. And death.  Continue reading “A Little Too Late”

The Girl on the Rocking Chair

Once upon a time, a happy girl lived on the country side where flowers of different colors bloom, where chirping birds can be heard all day long.

She loved to sit on her rocking chair by her veranda where she hosts her lovely friends for tea and biscuits every afternoon.

She served them tea, they shared stories.

One afternoon, she wanted to tell them a story too. But they were very busy talking about themselves that they forgot she was talking.

She felt sad.

She stopped sitting on her rocking chair.

She stopped serving them tea and biscuits every afternoon.

She stopped looking at the colorful flowers and she stopped listening to the chirping birds.

She went inside her room and turned on her laptop.

She discovered how to blog and she lived happily ever after.

City Lights

City Lights

Fiction, a Halloween treat!


We entered the café and headed to the veranda. I sat on one of the tables, he followed.

The veranda has dimmer lights than the indoor area of the café which makes it difficult to see the food served or the possible fly that might jump in, but for me, it doesn’t matter. I’m half blind anyway, even with my eyeglasses on.

I like that area, that dim area. It makes me appreciate the city lights on the other side.

I like the combination of seeing city lights while hearing the waves crash into the seawall and feel the ocean breeze gently caress my face. This place makes me feel like I am between two different worlds, in between chaos and quietude.

I looked at him and he looked back. We sat in silence.

Here’s a guy I met a month ago at this very same place, sitting on this very same chair.

There wasn’t anything special that night. I thought it was just a mere collision of two lonely souls trying to fit in to the universe of love and loss.

The night started with a conversation about love. Who believes and who does not.

I’m, as always, a firm believer of love and all the planets that revolve around it.

He wasn’t.

He was hurt once and he stopped loving. I was hurt more than once, but I loved more.

What is love? He asked.

Love is a feeling, I said, something that makes you happy but can also make you sad. Something that can make you feel the butterflies in your tummy. But love is not always a feeling of rainbows and ponies and butterflies. For when you love, you should expect pain. This is the reality.

That wasn’t our last meeting, a bizarre thing to happen to strangers with opposing notions. The world is small indeed and confusing sometimes.

Love has become the point of argument, at least for some time.  As the subject is not something that can be explained through x and y axis, nor can be found in any reference material. The subject is vast and definitions can vary infinitely.

The arguments stopped somehow, when the reasons met in between, a bizarre thing to happen to acquaintances with opposing notions. The world is round indeed and confusing sometimes.

I looked at the city lights. The sound of waves crashing and the ocean breeze caressing my face made me think of the argument we had on the first night that we met.

What is love? I asked myself.

Love is a feeling. A feeling that is actually new to me. So then, I asked myself again, have I really felt love all along?

What is love? I asked him.

Love is a feeling, he said. Something, I have felt all along.