Her Voice, So Sweet....(1/2) free porn video

With the season of summer coming into pass, the days of recreation was called by the lullaby of harvest and melancholia. The memoirs of the warm sun slowly fell to a slumber in the tinge of orange and red. And as the sonorous ruffling of the fallen leaves blanketed the land, the fairies of autumn weaved a mantle that would lay rest to the seeking soul.

In a soft veil of golden figs and hazelnuts, the city was witness to the gentle cascade of the season’s pigment. At the far edge of the city was a little tea shop - a humble abode for those who wishes serenity for their busy lives. The scent of its brewery wafted through the same breeze that blew the leaves in a graceful dance. The finest flowers of autumn hung on its shelves - cleverly arranged in ways that enhances their beauty, they sprinkled the walls as if welcoming the arriving few, but loyal guests.

A car stopped in front of the shop and an adolescent girl walked out of it. She was brimming with the charisma of knowledge and duty. With books cradled on her hand, she entered the shop with an excited smile on her face.

The moment she entered, she was immediately greeted by the sight that she admires the most. Another girl of her same age - a waitress to the shop - walked over to cater to her needs. She was the girl whose name comes entwined with the tales of a joyful companionship. With a smile that outshines the sun, the waitress pulled out a whiteboard to greet the costumer using the only means she could.

“I’m back” the girl with the book said with a smile.

“Hey, welcome back” the waitress wrote in her board, returning the greeting.

+++O+++

Ismene

As the soothing melody of the piano filled the shop with the ambiance of rest, I sat there with a tea on my hand and a pile of documents messily scattered across the table. The job that I was supposed to do lay untouched as the only thing that my eyes can see is the sight of the waitress who greeted the costumers in a way that surprised them.

At the far entrance of the small shop was a girl just my age. Neatly dressed in their assigned uniform, she greeted all costumers with a bright smile - a bright smile and a little white board that says: “Welcome to our shop. I’m a mute. May I take your order?” With diligence in her work, combined with an unblemished cheerfulness, it wasn’t long till the costumers fell to the charm of her voiceless language and answered her written questions as if they were talking to someone normal.

And after a good few minutes the arriving costumers faded and the mute waiter sat right in front of me. She set aside her board then began to use her hands in a different way. Using the sign language, she flailed her hand and fingers in a coordinated manner in order to bring out the words “Break Time at last” before pushing my documents aside and slump her cheeks on the table, exhausted.

“Mind your table manners now. You’re going to set a bad name for the shop,” I reprimanded her while sipping on my cup.

Her name is Myra, the shop owner’s daughter and a friend of mine. Though she was born voiceless, her loving family found no difficulty in raising her in a supportive community. And with their aid, she grew up to be the energetic person that she is now. Being friends longer than I remember, learning her sign language was the easiest part in building our bonds.

“Yeah, yeah.” she sighed before sitting up properly. “By the way, what happened to your report? Wasn’t it sent last year to be peer reviewed with results expected to arrive last month?

Puffing my chest in pride, I answered her with a brief but effective “It was a success and it is going to be published in local universities next year.”

“Amazing” Myra gasped in amazement. Then she sunk her head back into the table as if she forgot what I said earlier. With her head down, she wrote in the air, saying: “And I am here stuck with taking care of our tea shop. Papa can’t even trust me with baking the fancy pastries”

“Life is not a competition,” I replied with a small smile. Then, under my breath, I softly added: “There are some things in your life that I would like to have. Cheer up”

She caught it and looked up to me, curious “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” With a smile, I recline my back to chair and let the conversation drift off elsewhere. “Christmas is coming. Got any plans?”

“Christmas, huh” Her hand gestures suddenly lost its energy and her facial expression signal the impression of being lost in thought. “To be honest, I still have no plans at all. Last year, I thought of finding a lover before the winter kicks in but I guess my heart is still not ready for it.”

“Really?” I felt my heart jumped a bit. She was already on the stage where she is interested in finding a partner and my interest in knowing her preference came surging in. “So what type do you lik-”

Before I could finish, a loud gasp came out from behind me. It was quickly followed by the loud crashing of a fallen tray and silverwares. It was a middle aged man - his shirt was draped by an apron designed with the logo of the shop. To be precise, he was Myra’s own father who just made a scene.

And judging by his shock, it is obvious that he saw most, if not all, of Myra’s hand gestures.

“W-w-what is this lover thing that you are talking about just now?” his voice was so loud all the costumers turned their heads towards him. But instead of lowering his head, he made it grow even more by looking over the counter and yelled: “Honey! Our daughter is talking about having a lover!”

“What?” came the response, followed by another woman who came out of the kitchen.

“Yeah, and she says that she’s planning to confess before Christmas!”

The thought of how he managed to misread the sign language baffled me greatly.

“Oh dear, oh dear.” The voice of her mother came out unstable but still soft and caring. Little droplets formed in her eye as she took a seat and wiped them away. “Our daughter has grown big enough to leave the nest, hon.”

Quickly, her husband came to her side and comforted her “Lonely days ahead, my love. But it is still our duty to support her nonetheless”

In this rather humorous scene that took everyone’s attention, I caught glimpse of Myra who desperately cowered in shame, her head covered with her whiteboard. And written in her board were the words: ” I don’t know these people, I swear!”

Myra is visibly humiliated to and fro. And for it all, I simply took a sip on my tea as I immersed myself with the second hand embarrassment.

oOo

When the day came to another end, I hopped on to my car and let my driver take me home. As we pass through the usual streets and roads, my thoughts wallowed through the idle conversations I just had. From a small curve, my smile expanded with the scenes that I replayed in my head.

A mere customer I am, but my heart have already been swayed to the warmth of the place. The tea that was brewed with care, fine bread sweetened by their friendly company, and the family who welcomes everyone to their humble abode, a day does not pass where I will not yearn to return.

And to say that the place is dear to me would still not suffice to speak my love for it.

From the papers that were crammed in my portfolio, I unearthed a single photo. In that picture laid the image of me and her family – on the table was a cake with my name was on it. A simple feast to commemorate a simple occasion, I can never forget the brilliant smiles that we wore as we filled the shop with the music of festive glee.

Once, my family and business gatherings have been of great importance to me but after seeing the beauty of Myra’s home, I saw myself finding excuses to return home late.

With a sigh of longing, I held the picture close to my chest and wondered to myself how I could have looked like if I never met Myra. I will be completely unrecognizable, I bet.

When we reached the gates of my house, I felt like something was amiss and my suspicions were confirmed when I saw another car on the driveway. My eyes opened as wide as my jaw that fall hanging from the shock of the moment. I was surprised beyond words. Unable to withhold the beating of my heart, tears started welling up in my eyes. But before the first drops fell, I forcibly unlocked the door of the car and jumped out in a fashion that shocked even me.

It has been so long since I felt so much joy and I do not intend to wait any further.

I blazed through the front door and ran through the hallway until I finally saw her - dressed in an office uniform, she stood near the window, gazing the outside view with her dignified stare. Helpless to the call of excitement, I called out to gain her attention.

“M-Mother!” I yelled. And as she turned around to face me, I run again, fully intent on tackling her for a hug.

But in a spur of a moment, my legs froze when she said “What on Earth have you done your life?”

Her eyes stared at me in a frozen gaze. The tone in her voice clutched my heart in a visceral chill. Stunned to the very core, the sudden blow took me by surprise and all that was left of the excitement I once wore was the bitterness of disbelief.

“I was told that you didn’t meet up with the guy that I arranged for you” she scolded me. “Do you even have any idea of how far I went through just to give the two of you enough time to meet?”

“That was…” Disheartened and broken, I hung my head low and answered her softly “…I had an urgent call at the lab. I left him a message of apology but he never answered.”

“Good gracious!” she exclaimed. Frustrated, she placed her fingers on the bridge of her nose then sighed in resignation “A foolish girl you are, seriously.”

I was unable to respond and just kept my silence.

“Get yourself dressed up and meet me for dinner” she commanded, giving the impression that she is not yet done in scolding me. “I only have a few more hours left and we have much to talk about”

oOo

The dinner went exactly as how I expected it would be. My mother let not a single moment pass where she could restrain her disappointment at what I have done. And for all her ramblings, all I could do is to bow my head in submission.

“You are not a kid anymore, Ismene,” she reprimanded me. Her voice was filled with anger and frustration but she kept herself within the level of reason. “It’s about time you start thinking about your future and playing around will get you nowhere.”

“I am not doing this for myself, you know. You are my child and it is my duty as a parent to guide you to the right path. You have the liberty to choose whomever you wish to spend your life with, but always prioritize what he can provide for you and the family that you will raise. Do you understand?” She asked, implying the end of her scolding.

“Yes,” I answered softly.

“Good,” she returned. “A girl can only be young for so long. I can understand if you want to hate me for trying to push you, but one day, you will look back at this conversation and thank me well”

After those words, a dreadful air of silence filled the room for a good few minutes before my mother broke it with a loud sigh. “I have to leave in a few minutes. Do you have anything you want to tell me?”

When that question came in, the image of Myra’s tea house flashed in my head followed by lips that suddenly voiced out the question “What do you think of girls who love girls?”

It was a question that utterly came out of nowhere and we were both surprised by it.

“You mean homosexuals or lesbians in particular?” she asked. Then she started to smile. It was the first smile she ever wore after she arrived. And from those curved lips, she answered: “I think it’s beautiful”

“R-Really?” my heart jumped a beat.

“Yes. It’s a phase that most girls go through.” With those words, my heart sunk immediately. I felt a cold chill run across my skin as she continued to speak. “It is a temporary affection that girls relinquish as they mature. Temporary as it may, it is beautiful nonetheless. To share affectionate moments with your friends and share a bond that is far too deep for words, no woman can ever forget the pristine memories that they have learned on those days.”

“I experienced one of those once, in fact…” She continued to speak further but I heard nothing else. My heart felt too heavy to breathe and I closed my eyes as I suppressed my emotions from making its way out

oOo

After seeing my mother off, my legs slowly took me back to my room. With every step I take, her voice rattled through my head in a vivid tone. Her words carved itself in to me with a cut that no smile can hide.

Upon reaching my room, I made sure to close the door behind me. And within the stillness of my room, I stared at the folly that I refer to as haven. No curtains or picturesque landscape hang on my room. Not even a single touch of a girl can be found. Instead, the white paint of my walls was covered allover with various sorts of equations and calculations. Together with it, charts, tables, and graphs were stapled accordingly to various spots.

At a cabinet, the trophies and awards that I have gathered throughout my life lay in a dusty mess - unwanted, unneeded and undeserved of any attention. This was the curse that I made to remind myself of who I am and what I stand for.

Born in a family with a great reputation, I was raised with high expectations. Bound to the rules of the house and a slave to the title, the border between right and wrong is judged by which one will glorify our name. In this house of glass, a person’s worth is weighted by the things he can contribute to keep the name pristine.

Love and affection will always be denied to those who did not earn it.

No question was asked, and no resistance was made. Or so that’s the façade I wear.

Moving towards my desk, I opened the drawer and pulled a little card. The age has already turned its brightly colored designs into dirty shades but the message was still there, as painful as yesterday. Carefully written inside were the handwriting of my mother who wrote “Happy Birthday, dear. I’m sorry I can’t attend your party. Please write whatever you want”

And below those words were the ugly squiggles that replied the words that I cannot speak “For you to come home.”

A little girl I was back then but I found the curiosity to question my indoctrinated belief. Just like anyone, I yearned for affection and attention, to be sought and needed, and to feel accepted. It was in this tiny piece of paper where my first resistance made its spark. At the same time, it was here where I first felt how to be selfish to my parents who are doing everything for me to enjoy a lifestyle envied by most.

Many years have passed since then but the disgust and shame still lingers, making me sick. I buried myself in my studies and kept the little card locked and safe; A little memoir to remind me of what I do not want to become.

With all my heart, I placed my faith on the belief that I will win my parent’s affection someday. I just have to try harder.

oOo

Wrapped in a simple attire of a plain shirt, hazel jeans, and a layer of brown jacket to protect myself from the cold, I stood underneath the waiting shed - a tablet on hand as I read my documents to distract myself from impatience.

“What on earth is she doing?” I murmured, unable to concentrate. A strong breeze sent my hair billowing with the wind. “Asking me to arrive so early only to make me wait here on the cold?”

Last week, Myra sent me message begging me to accompany her in a quest that her parents gave to her: A simple task it was wherein all she had to do is travel across the city, buying sweets from rival shops and record what she has learned. She said that it was her rite of passage to adulthood and once she finished it, she will finally have her own place at the kitchen.

I wished her good luck but she outright insisted that I must be by her side. Asking her why I have to only lead to her saying various excuses which all ended in the conclusion that there is something she wanted to tell me personally. Unable to escape her grasp, I admitted defeat and grant her the freedom to set up a schedule and meeting place.

“But now that I am here…” I snarled. But my anger was extinguished in an instant when I finally saw her at the other side of the road. She waved at me as she walked closer.

“Quite early, aren’t you?” she said using her hands

“Early? You’re the late one,” I snarled, a little ember of anger still resides but I kept my cool to prevent onlookers who just noticed Myra’s sign language. She always gets the attention of others

“Girls who messes up are cuter”

“No they’re not” I firmly declared as I placed by tablet back to my handbag. What she is talking about is the appeal to make the partner feel needed in order to instigate bonding. Pretty basic psychological strategy but I have my tastes, and cheap tactics are not one of them. “So, where are we going?”

“No need to be so sour. Autumn is the season of sweets and we will set our mood accordingly” she declared with a wide grin, then turned her back immediately, as if she was a child excited for balloons. I, on the other, just sighed before following her. Looking after her might not be so bad of an idea.

“By the way, I just noticed…” I called out to her and she turned her head “Where’s your whiteboard?”

Then her cheerful face twisted into a shade of worried blue.

“Girls who messes up are cute indeed,” I mockingly said

oOo

At her lead, we explored the city and though I was never the one with a tongue for sugar, we took delight in visiting the restaurants, pastry shops, and bakeries that she perceived as worthy of her tongue. It was here as well where I realized how little I know in the culinary arts.

With every new nibble, Myra never fails to write down whatever information her keen sense of taste has caught. A canelé that had too much egg yolk, an overcooked pandoro, punschkrapfen that reeked of bitter rum, she mercilessly scrutinized the finest details of her food. I was greatly impressed by how she called them all a crime to the tongue, knowing full well that no one else can read her sign language.

But she was not beyond humility either. She blushed as she spoke of the millirahmstrudel that made use of home-grown sweet cherries, a St. Honoré that she believed would taste best with Jasmine tea, and the Black Forest that she percieved as so underpriced, it’s like the pattisiere was mocking everyone.

It does not take an expert to know that she can lead their shop to a golden age. In fact, her ability to discern the flavors was so precise, it makes me wonder if the reason why her father refuses her the kitchen is because they do not want her to critize their labor.

She had so much fun jumping from one restaurant to another that it was already apparent that she completely forgot how calories she has been woofing down as she went her ways. I decided not share the heart-breaking news for fear that she might faint right on the middle of the road. And besides, she is quite fun to watch

Well, not until we hit the 9th store.

In here, Myra started losing her composure. She ordered a set of Japanese mochi . And true to the title, rice cakes are not a laughing matter. After just a few bites, Myra began to struggle in her ability to swallow it down, making her drink more and more water as she gasp for air.

“Yo” I called her out “Full already?”

“Shush!” she responded immediately, her hand signal was a powerful sway coupled with a face of utter frustration. It was as if her disdain for her own weakness was being vented unto me “Leaving a morsel behind is a mortal sin among culinary artisans”

“What?”

“Normies won’t know it, but we who love to cook take offense in an unclean plat-” she was interrupted when a burp climbed up her throat and threatened her to vomit. When it settled, she continued to lecture me: “An unfinished plate insults not only the chef, but also spits on the hardwork of the farmers who brought it to the kitchen. That’s why…”

With a deep breath in, she pushed the three cakes straight to her throat then downed a glass of water right before her body could choke. Wheezing loud like a growling beast, she gazed at me with a face that cannot hide its pain. Droplets of sweat formed on her forehead as she started turning pale. With her remaining strength, she swayed her hand to me, saying: “Let’s go”

Then she stood up and limped away in shaking legs. Meanwhile, I can only hold my laugh.

oOo

After a few steps out, it was not long till the expected happen – Myra sprinted off to the nearest restroom and emptied the contents of her stomach at the sink. Unsightly and painful to watch, I assisted her by rubbing her back.

“There. There…” I cooed “Let it all out”

After she was done washing herself, she regained her composure and said “Now that my stomach is empty, I think I’m ready to eat again”

“Are you insane?” I firmly scolded. “You just vomited; Stomach acid is bad for the teeth, much more to the tongue.”

I was no longer smiling. Seeing a mistake once is funny but twice is not. But she paid me no heed and rejected my words. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I expected this to happen so I carried a lot of stomach medicine with me”

Then she turned her back and started walking away. More concerned than angry, I was left with no choice but to tell her the words that would scare any girl: “You just ate an estimated 5,000 worth of calorie and ballooned by about 1 and a half pound. Do you know how difficult it is to sweat out that much fat?”

Then she stopped moving. So frightened she was that I can feel the goose bumps that were coursing through her skin. As if opening a creaky door, she slowly turned back to me with a terrified smile.

“You’re right” she said. “Gluttony is a deadly sin and I was foolish to fall to the trick of the devil. Let’s go some other place instead. Somewhere where we could repent for the sin that we have committed”

I felt guilty doing that but, still, I am glad that she listened to me.

oOo

Leaving our destination a mystery, Myra once again led me to a different place and this time, she took me by the river. The large body of water parted the city like a giant line. As we nonchalantly walked through the roadside, we silently gazed at the family and lovers who leisurely lay down by the banks as they amuse themselves at the sight of the setting sun.

Myra took a full 90 degree turn without stopping on her tracks. “Hey” she called for my attention as she walked backwards “Have you ever been to this place before?”

“I drove here a few times,” I said in reply. Some kids began staring at the strange girl who walks backwards while flailing her hands.

“So, you’ve never seen it during New Year Eve?”

“No”

“Ah, you should. This place becomes magical, I tell you” She pointed her fingers at the cityscape on the other side of the river. “Every year we go there and watch as the New Year fireworks light up the city sky into a bursting flaming flower.

“Really?” I can’t relate because I mostly spend it with my family at home.

“Yeah” she replied “The smog that comes after are always suffocating and made me sick once. But the event was so vibrant I wouldn’t mind if it will be the last thing I will ever saw”

“Raise no death flags now, would you?”

She smiled widely. I bet she would have giggled now if she could.

After a few more minutes of walking, we reached the area where the river ends, and the sight of the boundless ocean begins. In the distance, a concrete dock stretched across the water and ends in a small but beautiful gazebo. Secluded away from the sight of the road, and untouched by any human presence, this place seemed isolated from the outside world. Grasses grow high along the banks as wild autumn roses crept through the fences of the dock - choking it in prickles and flowers that are starting to wilt in a reddish orange hue.

With no one else in sight, we walked through the dock and marveled at the slow sunset. Alone in this little world, the radiance of the dying sun blessed us with an unforgettable sight. The sound of the waves slowly crashing through the wooden dock felt like a lullaby that will lull us in a cloistered sleep. A strong breeze blew and with it came the scent of the cold sea.

Leaning against the pillar of the gazebo, Myra broke the peace by taking my attention then said: “I wanted to tell you something”

“I’m all ears.”

“I’m in love with someone,” she said. And at that moment, I felt a pang in the heart that made my blood run in a whimsical cold. As if my throat was laced in thorns, my voice felt hurt and bruised as I try to formulate a reply.

“Wasn’t it about time already?” I said, trying to hide my desolation.

“That’s precisely what mama and papa said to me,” she replied with a grin, as if she was laughing.

“So, what’s he like?” I said firmly. A sense of anger and disgust is starting to culminate within me. Is this what it feels like to care for friend so much you don’t want to let her go?

“A person to admire: smart, good-looking, and logical; A bit cold and almost barren of any sense of humor but really affectionate on the inside.” She described the one she loves while her eyes kept averting my gaze “Mama and papa believe that we really make a great pair.”

“Sounds right,” I replied. My teeth is gritting

“They kept on telling me that their parental instincts tell that that person also feels the same way about me and that it is unlikely for me to be rejected. They say that I should confess as soon as possible. Before Christmas is practical so that we can have a new volunteer before the busiest day of the year comes over” her mood changed a bit “Can you believe those people? They want me to have a lover just so they can have a free slave?”

I was unable to digest her humor this time. The words she spoke were too cruel for a reply, and for it all, I can do nothing but to pretend that I support her decision. My vision is starting to dilate as my veins were filled with blood that was heated by my repressed rejection.

“Hey, do you think that I should confess?”

“I don’t see why not,” I replied, keeping an emotionless façade

“Then…Ismene…” her sign language stopped on its track for a minute then returned back and made the words “I love you”

And with those words, my heart was torn

Stunned in disbelief, I felt all my weight on my legs. My lips agape as my vision started to blur. The flare that once scorched my blood was drained, leaving me pale and cold. Surprised but not beyond control, when her words settled in, I only found myself smiling as I answered her with the same words: “I love you too”

This was my answer. With a little smile to mask my vulnerabilities, I played the role of the fool

But instead of listening to me, Myra crossed the line in her confession by flailing even more “It’s not like that!” she signed, hard. The next that follow are words that carved my heart in searing wounds “I know that it was different, strange even, for a girl to fall in love with another girl but I know that this is not just some admiration.”

Stop!

“Every single night, I just can’t forget about you. My heart won’t stop beating every time I am near. I yearn for you every time you are away. This was my first time being tormented like this. It’s painful and troublesome, really….”

Please, I’m begging you.

“…but I don’t hate it either. So please, let me say it again.” She recomposed her stance and took a deep breath in. “Ismene, I lov-”

Before she could even finish her words, I suddenly grasped her hand. Surprised, she looked at me in bewilderment. But before she could respond, I left her with the words that tore her apart

“Enough. You disgust me.” Then I let go of her hand before I could feel it run cold

What quickly followed was the haunting image of a maiden who lost what she dears the most. As my words come crashing down, I saw the light began to leave her eyes. Her lips trembled, her head were unable to turn away, and her hand shook visibly, desperate to formulate a coherent word. Unable to believe the cruel words that I left, her sanity collapse and she began writing unreadable words on the air. Her breathing started racing.

Feeling no remorse, I only gave her my cold stare as I pushed her to the brink. “You heard me. Could you please stop befouling me further?”

She stopped moving there. Her legs gave in and she fell to the floor, small tear drops began to flow to her cheeks.

Unable to tolerate her anymore, I walked away.

oOo

On the days that followed, the days came like the pendulum’s endless swing. I wake up in a world of grey devoid of any meaning. From my cold bed, I rise up to the greeting of heavy clouds and looming thunders. The lifeless scent of fabric and papers mingled in my room as the first shower dribbled in my windows. It was a masquerade of the obligation that cannot be refused. With only the cold to accompany me now, I embraced the blanket close to my chest as I chanted: “It’s fine. This is nothing.”

Foolishly believing that everything that can be explained can also be controlled, I have fallen prey to a philosophy denied of its virtues. Like a whimsical fool, I belittled the concept of humanity in favor of a heartless rationality.

My neighbors decorated their homes with the colors of the upcoming holiday while mine accumulated snow. The merry lights of their houses shone through my icy windows and illuminated my world of greys. As the myriad of colors danced, my eyes remained blank and unmoving. The sweet treats of the holiday that I used to crave now leaves nothing but bitter after taste in my tongue. Even the warm tea that used to soothe my soul now makes me sick just by its scent alone. Everything that used to define who I am started to lose its meaning.

Like the gyrating clockwork, I relearned the ways of the lifestyle that entertains no question. Little by little, I changed and I can do nothing but watch as how I began to close myself from the world that pains me so.

Mortified by the fear of seeing the image of the girl whom I betrayed, I distanced myself from the ones I used to share a connection with. The conversation that I used to share nonchalantly was reduced into a few words spoken out of necessity. By the time my colleges noticed my growing cold, I was already severed from society.

All to appease the name of my family, I abandoned it all.

I once took my quest for knowledge as nothing more than a job meant to be done, but now, it was the only thing that keeps me going. The flimsy paper of various equations and information was the only wall that kept me away from the madness that lurks from the back of my head. I engrossed myself in my study and fooled myself into believing that I needed nothing more.

So engrossed I was that it in itself became a madness to call. Locked in my room without anyone to consul, my mind started cracking. The sense of haziness that I feel every time I try to ponder through questions that have no answer was the thing that I sought out the most. In gibberish nonsense, I tried to make sense of the blurring border between what is real and what is not.

Gripping my pen tightly, I wrote down numbers and letters in a report meant for no one but to my growing insanity. From a stable computation, my penmanship wrote faster and faster, every stroke was losing its composure and alignment until I finally broke and collapse. Unable to take it anymore, I bit my lips as I began to quake with the surge of the words that I bottled. The torrent of tears flowed freely from my eyes and fell into the papers, messing the tint of ink.

“Do not cry, do not cry,” I tried to calm myself down but the cut only made itself deeper as I felt a scar within my chest burn.

Then, without warning, I threw my table in a crashing scream.

With eyes reddened into a smoldering wrath and a body driven into rage with the fumes that were left neglected, I launched my furniture with all my might. The strength I never knew I had now come flying out in an ear-rendering frenzy. The hellish cresendo of flung furniture and the glassware that shattered with the magnitude of my wrath reliven my cold realm with the chaotic pigment of furious blaze.

With my fragile sense of self now broken, my sense of control was drowned in the brutal shower of tools, decors, and woodworks that I set flying with a blood curdling scream. No longer bound by the restraints of my humanity, I was taken hold by the waltz of pandemonium that filled me with nothing but an animalistic fury.

With every bash of my rampage, I let loose a battle cry that ripped my throat apart. Unsightly corrupted by the darkness that blinded me through, my savage mania continued to desolate anything that my hand could reach. I only managed to regain my sanity back after my muscles have given up.

And there, I came to witness the mess that I have done, not only to my place, but to myself as well. Ignoring all the broken furniture, I look down and saw my hand now bloodied and bruised. The shards of glass ricocheted off the walls and backfired into my skin, leaving cuts and scratches wherever possible. As my breathing settle down, I felt the sting of the blood that slowly seeps through my skin. The line of wound stung as the blood drip off.

Then, at the corner of my eye, I saw it - a little piece of paper peering off in the distance. Thrown off into the dangerous pile of glasses, it was neatly clipped in place by a shard. It was the photo that I dear so much - the photo of my birthday at the tea house. The image of the carefree days long gone has remained clear to show me the smile that I have lost.

It was this photo that marked the day that I learned how to live and no matter how dark the times. The nostalgia never fails to bring me a smile. As such, I stared at my own image reflected by the now shattered mirrors with a smile on my face. For so long, I kept myself imprisoned under the delusion that I was born solely to impress. Foolishly deluding myself with the belief that I can earn my parents affection if only I tried harder, my reality became an illusion to deny.

With a whispering voice, I breathed the words “But it’s alright…”

Then I reach over and pick up the picture. A drop of blood fell on it, smearing it in a thick shade of red.

“…I’m ready to wake up now.”