A State of Being

There’s a certain feeling that comes with distant memories, moments in time that are so long past, they no longer seem real. A feeling, not emotion, because although this feeling is close to sorrow and joy, what comes through is an odd sensation, something in the back of the mind reaching out. And when more memories arise, that same feeling grows, but not in a rush; rather, it emerges silently with an ephemeral nature, so quick, you feel as if it never happened. You try to relive that feeling, and sometimes it comes back, but once the memories pass, the faintest traces of them left behind, you’re left with an emptiness, as if you’ve gained the knowledge of the world, only to know nothing in an instant.

A World’s End

The skies, which were once so clear, 
now harbor an ever-present fog 
shrouding the land in perpetual darkness. 

The forests, which were once so bountiful, 
now lay barren 
with soil devoid of all its richness.

The oceans, which were once so melodic,
now ring empty
as the echoes of dead animals reflect off its walls.

The world, which was once so whole, 
now remains broken; 
its inevitable end arriving too soon.

The Immortal’s Diner

It’s almost nine in the evening and Mira is counting inventory when the bell on the diner’s entrance rings, alerting her that a customer has arrived. 

“Welcome! Just take a seat and I’ll be right with you,” she calls out from the kitchen.

Like most days at the diner, business was slow, so Mira was the only one working. A thick fog that had settled for most of the day also hindered her few regulars from stopping by, so she hadn’t expected anyone to come, especially at this late hour. 

“What can I get for you?” she asks as she heads out of the kitchen, but halfway out the door, she abruptly stops.

A figure stands at the entrance, unmoving. It has the outline of a person, but their body is obscured; it’s as if they’re far away and out of focus.

An uneasiness overcomes Mira as her palms begin to sweat. She has only encountered someone like this once in the hundreds of years she has lived.

“What do you want?” Mira asks, her voice tense. 

Slowly, the figure approaches the counter. Mira takes notice of how they move in a gliding motion, as if they’re nothing more than a shadow. Fascination and terror begin to overwhelm her as she realizes this isn’t the same person she encountered decades ago.

The figure’s vague silhouette hardens into that of a man in a dark suit. He stands well above six feet and commands a grave presence similar to the thick fog that lingers just outside the diner.

“Conversation,” he sits down on a stool, “if you’re willing to offer it.”

Mira stares at him, startled by his light and humorous tone.

“Conversation? It’s a bit late for that, but how about I get you some coffee instead?” 

The man offers the faintest smile. “Thank you, but I’d only like to talk.”

Mira crosses her arms. “Alright. I guess I have time. So what’s on your mind?”

“You are,” his smile grows. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Mira shifts on her feet, feeling uncomfortable, but she tries to hide it by offering a smile of her own. “I’m flattered. You must’ve heard about me from my customers.”

“Not exactly. I actually heard about you from an old friend we share.”

She squeezes her arm. “Really? Who?”

“Leon.”

“Leon,” Mira attempts to keep her tone cool. “Yeah, I remember him. But I’m surprised he told you about me. We never really got off—or ended—on the right foot.”

“He told me as much. But he couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“You make it sound like he was interested in me.” 

“He was, and he isn’t the only one.”

“Didn’t know I was popular.”

“Mira, Leon’s methods of persuasion may have been—”

“He burned down my restaurant,” she cuts in.

“And he shouldn’t have done that,” the man waits for a beat, “but I know you’re aware of our rules.”

“I know you’re aware those rules don’t apply to me.”

“But they do, Mira.”

“I’m human.”

“Humans aren’t immortal.”

“That’s debatable.”

The man chuckles. It’s a warm sound, but it grates on Mira’s nerves. “What’s your name?” she asks as she moves to lean against the kitchen’s doorframe.

The man eyes her carefully before answering, “Julian.”

“So what are you, Julian? The way you entered reminded me of Leon, but he moved more,” she tries to find the best words, “human-like.”

“He and I are both the same; vampires, as humans call us. But I think you already know we aren’t similar to the blood-thirsty villains in their stories.”

“No, I wasn’t aware. I’ve only been around fellow humans.”

“You’ve been alive for so long now, you likely know more than your fellow supernaturals.”

“An exceptionally long life doesn’t make someone supernatural, Julian.”

“Then please tell me, what are you?”

“An unusual human.”

Julian laughs again. “I have unending patience, Mira, but I can sense your agitation. Do you really want to talk in circles like this?”

She stares at him, wondering how to respond. If Leon were here, the counter would have already been split in half, or worse, this place would be on fire. 

“I don’t, Julian, of course I don’t. But you already know my answer.”

“Yes, but I’m here because I can’t accept that answer. All supernaturals must adhere to the rules, and we’ve allowed you to break them for too long.”

“How’s living outside the supernatural community against the rules? What am I doing that’s so wrong?”

“Those are just the rules, we’ve never made any exceptions until you.”

“Then that exception can continue. I’m causing no harm.”

“I don’t make the rules, Mira.”

“The only thing that makes me supernatural is that I can’t die! I can’t do anything other than that—no unnatural powers, no shifting into a crazed beast, no vampire-like tendencies. I’m powerless, just plain weak. I can do no harm to any human, so they’re safe, completely safe.”

Silence sits between them, but Mira is thankful for it. She could use a few seconds to catch her breath. 

“Maybe I’ll take that coffee,” Julian says.

“Sure,” Mira moves over to the coffee machine. While she does so, she sees Julian light a cigarette. Smoking isn’t allowed in her diner, but she makes an exception, hoping it will help him warm up to her decision to remain alongside humans. She doesn’t let herself have too much hope, though.

“Do you smoke?” Julian asks.

“No, but I used to a while back,” she places his coffee near him. “But I’m surprised you do. I didn’t think vampires smoked.”

“That’s a very human assumption, but yes, we do smoke,” Julian takes a sip of his coffee. “You know, in many ways, we’re very similar to humans. Sometimes, you can’t even tell the difference.”

“I’ll try looking for humans that float like you,” Mira chuckles.

“We can act like humans when we need to.”

“How come Leon moved differently than you? Even though his body was obscured, I could tell he was walking.”

Julian seems to consider his answer, “I’m older than him, and after some time, you realize that moving around the way I do is much easier.”

“Guess you’re not really interested in playing human then.”

“Only when I need to.”

“Maybe I would’ve warmed up to going with you if you’d arrived more humanly.”

“Would you?”

“Maybe.”

“I doubt you would have.”

“No really, just try to think of it through my eyes. How would you feel if some stranger came to you with such a dark and ominous aura, floating around like Death itself?”

“So you’ve met Death?” Julian asks through a smile.

“No, I’ve only heard of them,” Mira lies. “Have you?”

“Who told you about Death?” he ignores her question. “Even humans, once they meet them, are unable to speak of their encounter because they’re already dead.”

“I chatted with a few supernaturals back in the day,” Mira lies again.

“Is that so? That surprises me because, as I’m sure you’re unaware, supernaturals don’t tend to leave their supernatural community. We are a scarce people, that’s why we remain adamant about sticking together. So I’m curious, have you ever visited a supernatural community?”

“Briefly, just on a trip overseas.”

“Do tell me where? I’ve been all over the world.”

Mira leans against the counter behind her and grips its edges. “Somewhere in the Philippines, and let me tell you, the vampires there are nothing like you.”

“And how long ago was this?”

“Probably twenty, thirty years ago. I’ll have to schedule another trip over there when I can, maybe you’ll finally get off my back.”

“Mira, dear, there aren’t any more vampires in the Southeast Asian supernatural community. There haven’t been for the last three hundred years.”

A tight laugh leaves her, but Julian cuts it short. 

“With all those years you have lived, I expected more from you, but dwelling among humans for so long must have left you with little tact.” Julian begins to rise from his seat, “When you see Death again, please tell them I look forward to our next chat, though I hope that is a long time from now.”

Mira watches as Julian’s form begins to obscure. She slowly moves away and places her hand on the kitchen’s swinging door. As she leans in to push it open, Julian disappears into mist and reappears inside the kitchen, but she’s not there.

“Bad idea, Julian,” Mira says from outside the kitchen. 

Julian turns into mist again, but he reappears in the same place. His eyes hold mirth, but when he speaks, Mira feels his rage.

“What is this?”

“The kitchen door.”

“Don’t play with me, immortal. What have you done?”

“I don’t quite know, so many years spent with humans, my mind is leaving me. You’ll have to wait as I try to remember.”

“Mira,” Julian grinds out, “if you let me out, I’ll refrain from reuniting you with Death.”

“That doesn’t seem like the better option, so I think I’ll keep you there for a bit, but don’t worry, you’ll be out soon enough.”

“I’m only giving you one option. What you’ve done–“

“Entrapment spell, that’s all it is. And anyway, it was you who thought popping in and out of my kitchen was okay.”

“Leon never informed me about your ability to use magic.”

Mira remains silent.

“Or did someone do this for you?”

“I think it’s time for me to close up,” Mira looks at the clock above the diner’s entrance. It’s a quarter to ten.

“Don’t get too comfortable with your freedom. I’m taking you with me once I get out of here.”

“You really think I’ll stay long enough for that?”

“Mira, we have always known about you. There are only so many places you can hide.”

“We’ll see about that. Until then, have a good night, Julian.”

Before he can respond, Mira is out the diner’s front doors. The sound of crickets and distant cars greet her. Off to the side of the road lies her car, but she walks away from it.

With the knowledge that she’ll have to start over again, Mira continues deeper into the fog-filled night.

The World in Between

Just beyond the periphery lies a world hidden to those without the keenest of eyes. This world shimmers on the seams of past and future, leaving the present to sway back and forth in an unstable dance. It is a tangle of images that cannot be forgotten once noticed; its ephemeral nature leaves one enamored for a lifetime. But it is nothing more than a mirage. In spite of that knowledge, we believe it to be more. We want it to be more. Such beauty, such mystery, a world of its own. We resign ourselves to its wonder and imagine what could go on within its border.

A Reward for the Victor

As the ashes of the scorched city and its citizens crunched beneath the mercenary’s leaden boots, he could not help but mull over the circumstances that led him to his present state; victorious, yet broken. 

The fall of an empire was his only command. Invade. Kill. Burn. Destroy.

Mindless but tactful decimation was his only priority—is his only priority—yet why does he feel so lost? 

He has done this countless times. Brought about the end of many nations, many lives. He was taught and trained to abandon his humanity. It was inefficient. It was weakening. It was unnecessary. 

Those who falter have no place here, no place being alive. So why is he still alive?

He breached the capital’s walls, slaughtered their people, burned every building, and destroyed the last embers of hope.

He has done his part, but he feels a lingering dread. Something must be amiss. He must have left a building unburned, left someone alive, allowed hope to creep through. That can be the only reason for his misery, his desolation.

He was raised as a machine, a tool for the king, so he will finish what must be done.

He is heartless. He is ruthless. He is no longer human. 

Still, why does he feel so broken?

Small Moments of Yearning

Do you sometimes find yourself awake at night with nothing but the rhythm of your beating chest and the faint sound of your breaths keeping you company? The silence around you becomes a third companion, one that doesn’t come from you, but it’s one you’ve come to expect. You’ve become accustomed to the many forms of silence: the slowness of time as people are greeted with sleep; the stillness that accompanies you when the world is awash in shadow; the vastness that fills up empty spaces. You can forget that there’s a lack of presence when you welcome silence; you can forget that you’re alone. Tonight, though, is different. You wish for something more. You itch for a sign that you’re not the only one awake.

Your eyes roam around until they settle on your bedroom window. It looks out into your neighbor’s window just a few yards away. Their curtains remain drawn and you can’t recall whether you’ve ever seen them open. That obstruction doesn’t stop you from imagining them awake like you, staring through their window with the same longing.

A sliver of light interrupts your thoughts as it intrudes upon the darkness. It’s coming from your neighbor’s window. You’re drawn in as you sit up in bed trying your best to focus on what may lie beyond their curtains until, suddenly, they’re drawn wide open. You rush to lie back down and pretend to sleep, feeling as if your neighbor’s light is shining directly on you.

Nearly a minute passes before you inch your eyes open and lift your head just enough to see your neighbor sitting on the edge of their bed. You can’t tell what they’re doing, but it looks as if they’re staring out, possibly waiting for the last remnants of sleep to drift away. The position of their bed nearly mirrors yours and you wonder whether they’re aware of your watchful eyes.

You can’t tell how long it’s been before your neighbor finally gets up and walks over to their window. Your eyes remain on them as their silhouette drowns out some of the light. They stand at their window and you stay in bed. This moment feels private enough to feel intimate and you wonder how you’d react if you could see their face clearly, and they yours.

As quickly as the moment begins, it ends when your neighbor turns around and shuts off their light. Darkness fills your room once again, but you don’t feel alone. You know that at least one person is still awake. With that knowledge, you close your eyes and allow the rhythm of your beating chest and the sound of your breaths to guide you back to sleep.

Time Undone

The sunlight streaming in through the glass-paned window sets the living room aglow with a deep, blazing gold. The air is bespeckled with dust that barely drifts, just floats, it seems as if time has slowed. In the morning, when the moment is just right, the sun performs this fleeting spectacle.

It finds a way to capture time. It seizes those ticking seconds, melting them into a blur that seeps into forever—until it is suddenly gone. Those amber rays disappear just as quickly as they appeared. You wonder whether it ever began, but you know it will come again.

Grandma’s House – A 100 Word Story

Illustration by Prawny on pixabay

The corners of windowsills crusted with dust and dirt. White paint peeled off the edges to reveal rotting wood underneath. I place my hands on the window’s latches to free the locks, but they don’t budge. More white paint comes off, sticking to my hands. The sour scent of rust lingered. “These windows haven’t been touched in ages,” I tell Grandma, “When was the last time you opened them?” She doesn’t answer. I turn around to ask again, but she isn’t there. “Grandma?” I call out. As I leave to look for her, I hear soft laughter behind a door.