Flash Fiction: A Day in the Life

Muhammad Aulia Rachman
180410160007

A Day in the Life

Muhammad Aulia Rachman – 180410160007

Entry 1

It is been five years since I first worked and lived here as a street cleaner. Sure the place had its changes over the years and I cannot believe that what I am seeing today remains indifferent than when I saw it five years ago. An old man like me should stay at home and taking care of my grandchildren, says the students I have met, but here I am, keeping the streets clean no matter how much trash those students threw in front of me or to the “nearest” trash bin available. I am known as Babeh to them, probably because my long beard. With old earphone and a very outdated phone on my hands, I carry on cleaning the streets as those students threw their trash either in front of me or on the nearest trash bin, although saying “nearest” is way too far beyond reality. Being old not so bad, some of the students fed me with a simple lunch or dinner and I have not to worry about anything else besides me and my portion of the street that I needed to clean.

I feel, as the years gone by, my strength left my body without any warning and it is getting hard for me to write or find the urge to write, as for someone who suffered muteness quite a while ago. I found that by writing, is the only way I could ever speak my thoughts about anything in this world, anything that irritates, annoys, or even triggers me. I might be old, but the news, be it fake or not, is something that I found… exhilarating to read, as people are misled by lies and persuasive way of thinking to think that one side is right and one side is wrong – fanatically.

Well, I always think that people would overlook me and think that I am a weird old man because I speak with writing. Maybe they spend too much time reading a Japanese comic with a female protagonist named Komi-san. It has been a mental conflict for me to write or not to write, as if this activity is weird and considered as one of the unusual happenings around post-modern communities and millennials. Although diary is beyond outdated, I find peace in writing it – in a place where technology is far more superior and far more convenient.

In times when men stalk their brethren like beasts and societal problem have become a personal matter, and people who watch a lot of news considered themselves as “politically” correct, I am still here wondering if this could get any worse, if this even lead us back to the way when common sense is still lacking, and when people comment on a matter you know best, it counts as an attack to you and the followers of your belief. Ah, I might talk too much about societal problems here, but what can a mute man do besides writing while others conveniently use their voices and mouths to blatantly spread lies?

Maybe, that is why things were indifferent. Different year, same old habits. And people have the urge to keep it that way. Somehow.

Word count: 546 words

Flash Fiction: The Limp

Yoshimi Yamada180410160023

Marcus walked by dragging his right leg. Every time he moves his left leg, at the next second the sound of the friction of his right leg’s shoe will make anyone’s ears become deaf. Many people don’t like him because of his condition. Once, a pedestrian spat in front of him while cursed him out "What the fuck is this?! Get the fuck out of here!" But he ignored it. Hearing verbal abuse neither does make his heart sad nor does make him angry.

Since he was childhood, he has been reminded by her mother to always bring pleasure to others. "Please remember that wherever you go, you always have to try to make other people happy". But it had different story after he was losing his right leg because of his motorcycle accident when he rides it from Jakarta to Bogor. But he don’t blame the accident. “I think, my leg should be like this. " he said.

I felt sorry for him for the first time I met. "Sometimes life with complete legs can be so hard moreover life with one leg like that" I thought to myself.

But he was neither typical of men who like to whine nor typical of men who need pity. You could say, he was quite skilled in terms of accepting anything gratefully. Until one day everything changed, when another diffable man came and called out to him "Hey, limp! Can you lift your legs so that my ears aren’t deaf?" He was stunned and angry. "The fuck! Even I’ve been cursed by a man who is same with me. Damn". Since that incident, he was no longer feels guilty if his right foot made a noise when he was walking. In fact, he often walked back and forth consciously just to make other people restless because of the noise of his friction. Without realizing it, he more enjoys of his behavior. "It’s fun!" He laughed to himself". If you can’t make other people happy, I suggest that you better make them feel annoyed" he said to me.

A few months ago, a miracle happened to his leg. Suddenly when he woke up from his sleep, his right leg was back to its original. He was surprised and very happy. "Oh, God! How great is your power, you have listened to my prayer".

He jumped here and there, he was very happy with his legs. "How nice to be normal again" he said repeatedly to me. He often forgot to rest his legs. "No! I don’t wanna sit! Life is too short if I just sitting around. You have to entrust your life to your legs, not to your bottom". He was very happy and he didn’t want to shut up. He always want to move here and there, without stopping, without feeling tired.

But in the afternoon, suddenly he complained. I don’t know what the God’s plan. He told me that he would prefer if his leg were limping like it used to. Now, after his leg was back to normal, his life became very boring. People no longer cursed him, he felt ignored and didn’t exist. So he decided to be limp again. He hit his right leg with a hammer until he was paralyzed and returned to be limp.

Word count: 550

Credit: https://www.islampos.com/kaki-pincang-semangat-berjuang-37932/

Flash Fiction: Worst First Love

Ziyan Az Zahra

180410160016

I signed in to my Yahoo Messenger and replied to Kimmy, my only best friend story about her movie-date with Jim, her new famous boyfriend. Strange notification appeared, “It’s Sam.” I cannot remember what I’ve done until one guy, found my YM account and messaged me. “Can you give me the details of Math assignments that we should do tomorrow?” felt awkward, but I sent the files anyway.

Two days later, a weird notification came, “Mr. John said that only you who got the perfect score” “Oh well, Mr. John must be kidding, he said that because I helped him to give you the assignments file” I tried to enjoy it, “You have to believe in me!” “I only believe in God” “Hahaha” I just didn’t know what to answer again. Unexpectedly, “Aysha?” he said. “Ya?” “What if I message you again tomorrow?” I smiled, “Just try it tomorrow”.

“How was your day?” pretty short question in the next day that made our chat last for three weeks which bring us to the more than friendship, “Would you like to be my first and I hope… last girlfriend?” he said, I smiled then nodded and felt like the happiest girl in the world. I told everything to Sam, as Kimmy was busy with Jim, he always excited to hear my story. I finally found someone who is willing to come to see me when I cry, who can make me laugh every day.

Five months of relationship, mom told me that we have to move to Bandung the next month. I shocked. How can I leave him walks to home and having his afternoon tea alone?

When we walked home in the next day, for the first and maybe last time, I hugged him. I told the truth that I have to leave him. He whispered, “I am not going to leave you, I will visit you every three months. Promise.” I cannot hold my tears, is it the right time to believe you, Sam?

A month after I moved, Kimmy broke up with Jim.

It’s 14th December, I drive my car to the place where the brightest smile of me will appear. Sam is sitting with his favourite green tea. “How was life?” I start the conversation. He smiled, “Tell yours first.” I talk about everything that happened in my life, also how I have my afternoon tea every weekend, “And.. how’s yours?” I stop talking, waiting for the long story from him. He started to talk what happened at school, “Hmm, I still go for the afternoon tea everyday, but sorry…” He holds my hand, “One week after you left, I asked Kimmy to accompany me to have the afternoon tea, because I miss you. After that first day, Kimmy asked me first to have that afternoon tea, she told me about her broken heart, it happened for a month, until she broke up. And…” “And???” I pulled my hand. “Kimmy and I feel that maybe we belong to each other” “So…” “We, You and I, better end this relationship from now on.” That’s the last thing I heard from him.

I walked away, driving to home, and locked myself in my room. Being happy is not about having a boyfriend.

Word Count: 550

Photo Credits: Jen Palmer / https://unsplash.com/photos/2D2K9tNDYDw

Flash Fiction: Murder My Own Lover

Veggy Salsabilla Amijaya 180410160037

She opened her eyes from unconscious, was momentarily dumbfounded, holding a gun and releasing the weapon then crying in fear of what she had done, repeatedly turning her head to the window of her house, occasionally looking at the wall clock. She waited for her parents who haven’t arrived at home yet and was afraid of what she would say when her parents saw a bloodstained man sitting on dining table chair opposite her. She grumbled to herself in her heart "what are you doing Diana?! What are you doing?!"

The man, named Beno, Diana’s lover. Lately, after finishing his work, Beno always visit Diana’s house and brought dinner because Diana’s parents told him to look after Diana while they left. Diana’s parents were on a business trip for a few days and would return that night. Diana called 110 because she was in panic.

"110, what’s your emergency?"

“There’s a body in my house!!”

"Ok, calm down ma’am, who is he? Do you know whose murderer? "

"He is my boyfriend, I killed him!"

"What happened?"

"I don’t know, I don’t know the gun suddenly in my hand"

"Ok wait, the cops will be there soon ma’am".

Not long after the call, the police came to the scene, Diana’s parents also came, and then panic because they saw her daughter handcuffed and entered the police car. Diana’s father quickly step out of the car asking the police

"What happens to my baby? Did she do something wrong?" asking hysterically.

The police replied, "you better come with us too". They went to the police station. Diana was interrogated, explaining that they only ate together then Diana didn’t remember what happened.

"Who owns the gun?" He asked.

"Beno"

"How can it be held by you?"

"I don’t know, it’s suddenly in my hand. Maybe I took it from his pocket and killed him”

Hearing Diana’s statement, her father also gave a statement about the condition of his daughter who had recently suffered a mental disorder. Hearing what Diana’s father said the police gave a solution for his daughter to use a tool called Reverie. It shaped like a computer that is more sophisticated than nowadays. A tool where users can use their minds to create their own world, but this time the reverie world was formed exactly at Diana’s house and the situation was exactly like the incident that night by the police.

Diana was drugged and paired with Reverie without her knowledge. When Diana was in the world of reverie, an agent from the police went into Diana’s reverie world. The agent is hiding to see the real incident. Her world showed when Diana was still alone then the sound of the bell rang Beno coming, apparently at that time Beno was being followed by someone whose family had been captured by Beno. He has his own revenge on Beno and used Diana to kill him. After knowing that, the agent approached Diana and told her that she was in the world of reverie, telling her to say "exitus" to get out of the world of Reverie. Diana was confused but said it.

After Diana left the reverie world, the police explained everything. Diana was released, went to a psychiatrist to cure her mental disorder, the police searched and arrested the real murderer.

Image Credit: Catherine Thompkins

Flash Fiction: Things Better Left Unseen

Diandra Dewi Rahmadhani / 180410160020

Today had been a pretty relaxing day for class IX-B. The teachers were unusually busy with meetings so they couldn’t come to teach the class. Half of the students spent their time sleeping while the other half played games among their own circle. Sherry and her friends then decided to play a dare game: whoever got pointed at by the water bottle had to go inside their school’s haunted library for 15 minutes in the evening.

So thus, here Sherry was, standing in front of the library when the sun had set.

Their school’s library was an old, creaky building located separately from the school building. It was never locked because nobody went there anymore. The haunted rumors started when someone claimed to have seen a shadow on the wall inside the library when he was about to take the book he had accidentally left behind. Yet after he went inside, there wasn’t anyone or anything that could explain the thing he saw. He then dramatically stated that chills immediately went through his whole body and he got so terrified because he felt like he was being watched by an unseen force.

“I just need to get this over with quickly.” Sherry said under her breath. She had never believed in those supernatural things anyway.

As she got into the building, she weirdly felt lightheaded and for a moment she thought she was about to throw up. She then looked up and saw a girl standing before her.

Startled, Sherry fell on her bottom. “Who are you?!”

The girl kneeled before her, looking desperate. “I’m Anna. I’ve been trapped here for years. My father killed me and I’m buried under this building. I need your help for me to get out from here and go to the other side peacefully.”

“You’re dead?” Sherry couldn’t feel her whole body. Her hunch told her to get out yet she decided to stay and listen to whatever Anna was about to say.

Anna didn’t answer. “Please. I just need your help. Come with me.”

Curiosity won over Sherry. She got up with wobbly legs and followed her.

“My mother’s spirit once visited me here saying the only way I could get out is by the touch of a human. I need you to touch my hand.” She pleaded.

Sherry couldn’t believe this was happening, that she was encountering a ghost—someone who had been dead. Feeling bad for Anna, Sherry slowly lifted her hand to touch hers. Her vision gradually went black a second after their hands had touched.

Sherry woke up the morning after, still inside the library. She looked around and thought everything was just a dream. She attempted to get out but she was unable to touch the doorknob—or anything at all. She panicked and tried screaming for help, until the door opened only for Sherry to see herself and her friends standing there. She started crying frantically yet no one responded. It seemed like she couldn’t be seen nor heard.

“Told you guys there isn’t anything weird in here!” Sherry saw herself exclaiming.

Realization hit Sherry. The touching wasn’t just for Anna to be able to get out from here. It was also for her soul to get into Sherry’s body.

She was now the one trapped.

Word count: 550

Photo by Maia Habegger on Unsplash https://unsplash.com/photos/Th6p15WAPP0