Flash Fiction : Soul

Muhamad Iqbal Hermansyah
180410160099

Her movement was as beautiful as a ballet dancer dancing on a green carpet in the old building, every stroke of her racket playing art in her game. I was still eagerly waiting the long-braided hair girl in the 4th grade elementary school while playing my device, watching her jogging on the green carpet giving it a melodic sound by every sound of the scraping of shoes and green carpet. Every now and then she looked at me, asking me to approach her to bring her a drink and wipe her sweat. The sweat immediately drenched the small red towel I was carrying, as if to witness her enthusiasm.

Twilight then became a sign took us to go home, ride this called old motor bebek. The adzan mahgrib at the time of Ramadan reverberated when we were both on the way.
’’ What food is there at home?’ she asked with a little lust to arrive at home immediately.
"I don’t know, you don’t fast either … ‘
‘’ Are you starving?’’ I asked back.
"Yes,, hurry up and take the motorbike. I’m already starving’’ she replied with a little annoyed.
I speed up the pace of this old duck motorbike along the building of the swallow’s house on the edge of the rice fields area that have seen cracks due to drought. But unfortunately, the old motor bebek got a problem.

’’Hey, how come it stops?’ ‘She asked irritably. I tried to explain it by giving my cliche reason.
"Well, this is normal, it’s usually like this, wait a minute." But after I saw it seemed this was not a problem as usual.
I asked her to be patient and tried to calm her down. I seduce her to sit on a motorcycle’’
‘’Sit down, later tonight, I will massage your hand’’ I seduce her because she looked annoyed.
‘’what the hell! I’m tired and very hungry! She looked grumpy and was very angry with me.
’’I don’t want to practice tomorrow,’’ she stressed and threatened as she walked away leaving me crying along the dry rice fields.

She just left a bag containing a racket and a drinking bottle. Adzan still accompanied this turbulent feeling, I didn’t know what would happen at home later. Considering her young age goes a long way by herself. Until I didn’t even remember a sip of water left in the bottle hadn’t wet my throat.

There is no word of tired and thirsty upon arrival at home, only fear. Afraid of how my father will scold me later. Sure enough, this whip on my right calf is a witness from the anger of my father, 8 years later, over the incident. The whip made me cry for the pain of the scar on my right calf, which I had watched at dusk this November. This wound reminded me of the innocent little girl with long braided hair I knew 8 years ago who is now hates me very much and didn’t know me anymore. What I think is now more painful than the scar I used to felt when my father strucked me with a bamboo incision because of my irresponsibility for her drills, but now I was hurt because of her soul that has gone away and was not with me anymore.

Pada tanggal Sel, 27 Nov 2018 17:14 muhamad iqbalhermansyah <muhamadiqbalhermansyah96 menulis:

Photo by : https://www.sahabatnestle.co.id/content/gaya-hidup-sehat/inspirasi-kesehatan/ayo-dukung-si-kecil-pintar-bermain-bulu-tangkis.html

Flash Fiction: What Happened After the Dusk

Dea Andhiny Nabilah
180410160088

I came home late from work and she was not there. The light should have been turned on since the dusk had arrived. As I parked my car I realized there was no light that usually came out from the ventilation above the curtain-closed window. I got off and found the door banged open, revealing the empty pitch black dark living room. I could feel the adrenaline rushed into my blood.

“Rahayu?” I called her name. I saw her bag was dumped on the floor, a bad habit that she owned since she started school. The silence was deafening. I turned on the lights and went to the dining room to found what I thought as a possible crime scene, in this kitchen. A carton of milk that I bought yesterday spilled all over the table. The white fluid rapidly dripping onto the floor like it was synchronizing my thumping heart. I found a trail of blood drops next to it.

“Rahayu, where are you?” I checked into her room. The bed was neat, not a single wrinkle was seen on the sheet. I ran into my bedroom and was hoping that I would find her asleep on my bed. Nothing. I did not know what to think. I could not think straight. All I could think was where would a 10-year-old girl possibly go at 7 pm.

“I’m sorry for bothering you, but have you seen my daughter?” I could not stop fidgeting when my neighbor finally opened up her door after I constantly banged on it. I want my daughter back.

“No, I’m sorry, Tamara. Have you checked on her friends? Maybe she went into one of her friends’ house.”

“Trust me, I’ve called her friends. They said they had no idea where Rahayu is. They said that she went home right after school was over. None of them is having Rahayu in their house.”

“Listen, I do not want to make you more anxious and panic than you are right now, but have you considered calling the police?”

“Why would I call the police? I am sure that my girl is–”

“Tamara, the world is getting cruel each day passed. I remember reading the news about a kidnapping and the victim was found–”

“Okay, thank you for your advice. Good evening.” I stormed right back to the house and I could feel my eyes burning with tears and I could not shake the stream of unneeded ugly gory thoughts that feeding my anxiety go away. My phone was shaking on my hand and I could not see the screen clearly. Just when I found the police number, I heard a knock on the door.

“Mom? Why are you crying?” My Lord, my heart jumped out from its cages.

“Where have you been?!” I hugged her really tight and I felt this tiny bump between our body. I looked down and there was this tiny kitten that seemed like it was wounded. So that was where the blood came from.

“I am sorry, Mom. I was helping out this poor kitty. Can we keep it?” Her eyes twinkling like the kitten in her arm. We spent the rest of the night treating the kitten and we named him Ponyo.

Flash Fiction: A-I-R-P-O-R-T

Lulu Lailiyah

180410160101

“Where are we going, father?” I asked while holding my chubby sister’s fingers on the back seat. I touched her ponytail. It was worth thirty-minutes of father’s effort to tie this bundle just to having it flattened up sixty-minutes later on my lap, the sleepyhead. Father, wearing his favorite navy shirt, was driving. I was staring at him. There was something different; I thought.

“Baby, it is your third time asking the same question today.” He stared at me through the rearview mirror. The sun was shining so bright; it hit my eyes directly through the front mirror. I looked at father once more then it poked me again. What were the differences that I sensed?

“I forget the name. What is it?” the fourth, I supposed. I really forgot the name of the place. I looked at father’s back head, trying to concentrate. It was the way he talks, was not it? Was it the car? Or the shoes? I wondered while observing the neat dashboard, the clean mirror, the smooth carpet, and father.

“It is the airport, baby. A-I-R-P-O-R-T. I had taken you two to the airport last year, remember? The year you entered the first grade.” He spelled it for me. But still, I could not concentrate. I was still processing the other thought. He was a bit different today.

“Ah, that busy place.” I slightly remember last year short trip to that place. The car was full of roses that I was sick of its smell. My sister loved rose so had not been bothered a bit about it. Playing non-stop along the three-hour trip with Mr. Penguin and box of roses. “Was she really my sleepyhead sister?” That day, I guessed.

“It will not take too long, Sunny. Look, Rossy is sleeping. You should sleep too so the trip will feel short. The moment you open your eyes; I promise; your mother will bring you Mrs. Penguin which you write on your wishlist.” Cajoling me with the exchange of doll. Was I a toddler? “I am eight, father.” Still, I kept the argument to myself. Mrs. Penguin was really on my wishlist which I had been stuck to his agenda book for three months already. Laughing inside, I tried to suppress my winning smile. I closed my eyes and leaned my back. I would make a gratitude card with roses pattern on the paper. Mother loved rose the most. Even she named herself and sister after the rose; Rosalina and Rossy. Wait, was it her mother that named her? I would ask father later for the answer. Ah! Now I remember, we were on our way to pick up mother. My chest felt so light; mother would be home for a full week before going to work again.

Minutes passed, I could hear the suppressed noise of the busy Jakarta streets outside. Thanks to our car, we needed not heard those busy noise nor felt the blazing sun. Wait, heard it? It was neither the noise from the horn or the brake outside. It was father’s humming. He hated singing. What happened? With the closed eyes, I smelled the perfume instead of the roses that he usually brought; “has he just sprayed it or was it done before?” Still, with closed eyes, I could portray his usual looks clearly. Then I opened my eyes; took a glance at him. I could tell. Today he looked more handsome than usual. His chin looked so soft. Ah, he shaved. Also, I could tell his smile looked wider because the mustache had gone. His hair also looked so neat, I guessed he applied his Gatsby all over them. I should tell mother later so unlike me who was very bothered about those differences, she would not. Now I should really sleep.

Image by Arjan Tupan

Flash Fiction: Tell Me a Clear Sky

Name: Muhammad Rifqi Fitrianto
NPM: 180410160089

Call me “Jordan the Unwanted”. I lived with my father. My mother passed away when I was nine, and I don’t have siblings. My father never speaks to me, and the only time he talked to me is when he ordered me to do something. He never asked how I am, or even greet me. I have never been loved by my father, or anyone. My life has always been like a gloomy sky.

I have been manipulated many times by a lot of people until I entered college. But, I tried to change that view and my life in college, at least until one accident. When I was working as a staff in Mersa University Festival, which is held by my university every year, I carried a box of balls and stage props. Then, I fell and everything inside the box scattered around, causing a disaster in the festival. Everyone blamed me for that, some even used violence. That moment I realized, that nobody wants being around with me. After that, I got shunned by everyone except by Karter and Louie. I knew them before the festival. I met Karter when I saved him from a falling shelf in storage room; I met Louie when I helped her finding her lost pocket watch during the semester break. Karter was a goofball who would talk about anything, while Louie was a serious one who kept Karter in check. They still approached me while no one else did.

I was confused by them, I mean who wanted to be friends with someone who literally wrecked the university grounds? But, they still talked to me every day. Finally, I asked them what they want from a loser like me. However, they said that they didn’t want anything. I doubted them. However, I wouldn’t say that to them so I just pretend to believe them. I know that no one actually loves being around me, so it was better to just keep everyone away than wishing for an impossible dream.

The harassments I got after the festival just wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard I tried to stop them. Strangely a month after the festival accident, those harassments were sometimes averted before they happened to me. I felt like something is protecting me. I started to seek who did it for me. I deliberately let myself being mugged. Not long, I saw Karter and Louie saved me. When I asked them why, they said to me that I was their precious friend and they confessed that they had been keeping me away from harm since last month. But, still I didn’t get it why they would do such things for a loser like me. “We never see you as a loser, you are our beloved companion. You saved me from the falling shelf, and helped Louie finding her precious pocket watch. It’s just wrong if we treat your kindness by hating you, right?” Karter said. Those words resonated through my heart, that moment I realized that those who loved me was with me all along. I believed that maybe, these two people are the one who will clear this gloomy sky in my heart. I promise, I will treasure them as how they treasure me.

Word Count: 547 words

Flash Fiction: The Watcher

Daria Riksa Anugerah

180410160090

This is the 824th day.

She comes here twice a week, but never on Monday and Wednesday since she has a night shift at her work. She always drinks alone, always, although I know she has three friends; the gorgeous Asian one, the brunette with green eyes, and the blonde who works as a model. Still, she never takes them with her.

A good ol’ sazerac is her regular, manhattan when she’s feeling fancy, and beer when she’s sad or stressed. She has her own spot, the 9th stool near the right corner—perfect to enjoy the bar but still have privacy for herself.

However, tonight is different. She’s not alone. The stool next to her is occupied by the tall guy with bodhi tree tattoo on the back of his neck. I know this guy, he’s been watching her since a couple weeks ago. She seems to enjoy his company, she laughs and smiles widely—something I rarely see before. Oh, I see, she’s also interested in him. Her eyes can’t lie and it bothers me. Let’s see where this is going.

This is the 850th day.

They’re on a date, again. She’s taking him to this park for a picnic, brings him falafel wraps and other finger foods she made. She even brings her own manhattan. It’s autumn, her favorite season. The weather is chilly and she’s wearing her periwinkle coat. They take pictures together and giggle between kisses. The view stings, but seeing her eyes light up strangely gives me a sense of calmness. She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

This is the 1,066th day.

They’re fighting at this bar. I sit close enough to hear them cursing and arguing. She knows he slept with another woman. He says she’s being nonsense. Oops, wrong move, man. Wrong move. She looks at him in disgust and snaps, tells him that he’s trash—which I agree with her. He gets off the chair angrily and leaves, while she still sits on her chair. On the verge of crying, her eyes are full of anger and despair.

I feel bad. But I like it.

This is the 1,095th day.

She’s here, alone at her own spot as usual. No more the bodhi tree tattoo guy. Her hands cup the beer glass but she hasn’t drunk it yet. I feel this strange feeling inside me, should I approach her? What should I say? I know everything about her, I just don’t know how to show it. I’m nervous. Lord, what to do?

I finish my last sip of wine. Okay, here we go. I’m gonna sit next to her and shoot my chance. I’ll do it. I’ll do it.

“Hello,” I calmly greet her.

She glances at me, uninterested, “Hi.”

“Is this seat taken?”

“No, feel free to sit there.”

I sit next to her, I feel the euphoria inside me. I try to keep my cool, but, Lord, she smells even better than I imagined. She looks at me with her beautiful hazel eyes for a while, then asks, “Have we met before? You look familiar.”

I turn my head to her and smile. “No, I think I just saw you today.”

Finally, I grin to myself. After three years of stalking.

The image is Lady at Bar Modern Art, taken from www.simplyniceart.com (creator unknown