Chapter: Last

The gunshot sounded loud, its sharp echo bouncing off the walls of the dark alley. It alarmed Yuri. He turned around to see, and he dreaded what he saw. Time slowed down.

Yna fell limply in front of Yuri's eyes. Her dark flocks flailed about as she collapsed. Blood stained her chest, the part where she was shot. She wore a shocked look on her face as she fell to the cold asphalt. She didn't know what hit her. Yuri saw that look, and at first he didn't understand. Then his eyes opened wide in disbelief. His lips dried. His arms extended, catching the woman before she could hit the ground. He held her body, his knees shaking.

"Yna?"

He felt her back. It was wet.

"Yna?!"

Panic overcame him. He shook the woman's shoulders.

"YNA!" he yelled.

It couldn't be. It wasn't real. It wasn't happening. That was Yuri's wish, but God couldn't grant it. He hugged her tightly. In his car, he could hear faint whispers, words in dying breath. Words that stab the man's heart deeply and painfully.

"I love you..." These were her last words.

She closed her eyes gently. Her arms fell lifelessly. Dark clouds formed over the city.

Death had claimed the woman.

"Hey!!!"

The man shook his lover's arm desperately tring to get a response. He shook her and shook her some more while crying out her name.

But she said nothing.

He put her in front of him, seeing her face, her tranquil expression, made every fleeting second more excruciating than before. This was something Yuri could never accept. His body trembled. His emotions indescribable. His eyes watered involuntary. His lips murmured her name over and over.

"No..." he said over and over. "No...no, no, no...Yna.."

He dropped to his knees in pain, clutching her lover's lifeless body. He couldn't believe she's gone, gone in an instant.

"Come back..." he begged her, pleading whole-heartedly. "Come back..."

But no one was listening.

A man's cry roared through the dark alley, through the city, and through the heavens. He had lost his lover.

* * *

The young man knelt on the snow, crying, sobbing, bleeding inside. Yna was on his lap. Her blood stained everything around her. The pavement was red. Every three seconds or so, Yuri would kiss Yna's forehead, or her lips, or her cheeks, or her neck, or her chest. Most of the time, he would stare at her face, and think that she was merely asleep.

No man could tolerate the pain he was feeling. It was a brew of every negative emotion known to man. Sadness, depression, sufferring, longing, just to name a few ingredients.

To his left, he heard the sound of feet pounding on the ground, approaching him. But he didn't bother to look, he didn't care about the rest of the world anymore. His eyes were set squarely on Yna, watching her eternal slumber. Moments passed and then, David stood above him.

"Did... did you do this?" said the young man stroking Yna's hair.

"I didn't mean to," answered the now humiliated hitman. For once in his life, his voice didn't sound cold.

Yuri didn't reply. He kissed Yna's lips once.

"So... you came here to kill me, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"THEN WHY THE FUCK DID YOU SHOOT HER?!?!"

His outburst stung the hitman's already bruised ego.

"It was... an accident," he explained.

Yuri went back to twirling Yna's hair.

"Why are you here?"

The assassin swallowed hard. "I came here to redeem my honor," he answered.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I am a true professional, you see... I only kill my intended targets..."

"BULLSHIT!!!"

"But now, I have killed an innocent. So I came here to present myself."

David tried to mask his nervousness, but his voice gave him away.

"Yuri," he continued. "I present myself to you. Kill me now, avenge your woman."

Yuri sneered.

"What good will that do to me?" he said coldly.

"But, don't you want to take your revenge?"

"Nothing matters to me anymore. Nothing." He clenched Yna's body tighter.

David sighed. Shame enveloped him.

"I see. Then... there is no way I can redeem my pride."

He began to take leave, quitely.

"Wait! Come back," yelled Yuri. David obeyed.

"What is it?"

"There's one way... one way for Yna to forgive you... and me."

The assassin took interest in his words.

"How? I'll do anything," he said.

There was a quite moment before he replied.

"I don't want Yna to be alone in the afterlife. She would be sad, so do us a favor."

His voice was broken, and David could feel his unbearable sorrow. Watching the scene, it touched his heart, which he never thought he had.

"A favor?" the hitman murmured. At first he couldn't comprehend, but then, the idea struck him. "Are you sure?"

Without a second thought, the young man answered firmly, hugging Yna's body.

"I'd like nothing better." He smiled.

David dropped his head. "I see."

The assassin went behind Yuri, while his hand reached inside his coat. From his holster, he pulled out his 9mm.

How sad, he thought. Not even death could overpower their love. No. As he watched Yuri's struggle with the loss of his lover, his life, David's eyes opened to things, things he had never seen before. Such is love.

"This contract is my last," he thought to himself. His disgrace was just too much for him to continue.

"Hurry up, assassin," Yuri commanded.
"We musn't keep a woman waiting."

"Indeed."

David pulled back the gun's slide, cocking it. He aimed at Yuri's back, to his heart, for it was appropriate.

"I pray that you both find happiness in heaven."

The young man gave Yna's lips his last kiss.

"We will..."


* * *

A beam of sunlight reached the young man's eyes. He was in his bedroom.

"I see you're up!" greeted a sweet faminine voice. "Good morning."

He turned to his right. There, lying beside him was Yna. Just the sight of her delighted him.

"Good morning," he greeted back.

Yna moved closer to him.

"Don't ever leave me," the woman said enticingly.

"Of course not," he assured. "I'll never leave you."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"What if I went away?"

"I'll follow you."

"What if I went to America or Europe?"

"I'll still follow you, wherever you go."

"Really? What if I die?"

It was a jest, of course, but one Yuri took seriously.

"Don't say that."

"He.he. sorry..."

The two faced each other, cuddling up. The scent of Yna's hair, the touch of her smooth skin, her face, it made him feel ultimate bliss.

Yuri whispered in her ear sweetly.

"Even if you die, I'll still follow you. I love you baby."

It could've lasted forever. It was his wish.

* * *

The trigger was pulled. The bullet flew downward quickly. Another shot thundered through the alley. And just like Yna, the bullet pierced Yuri's heart, killing him almost instantly.

The young man's eyes soon lost color, his body dropped on top of Yna's. For a few seconds, he gasped for breath, but soon after, his lungs failed. Life quickly left his body. Before he could pass away, he mustered all the strength he had left and reached for Yna's hand, then he closed his eyes.

(1,218 words)

on youth wasted...yeah!

listening to Finch - What is it to burn
"Today's on fire,
The sky is bleeding above me,
And I am blistered,
I walk these lines of blasphemy,
Every day,
And still...
Like a bad star,
I'm falling faster down to her,
She's the only one who knows,
what it is to burn."

"Youth would be an ideal state if it came a little later in life."- Herbert Henry Asquith

"Youth is a wonderful thing. What a crime to waste it on children." - George Bernard Shaw

--some of the quotes that made me think I've wasted youth on a lot of nonsensical things, that I should've done something much much greater and with value. It makes me recall a lot of things; that I should've gotten drunk less, smoked less; that I should've studied more and wondered less; that I shouldn't have felt crazy madly in love and believed in all that too early; that I should've spent all the time I've been procrastinating on doing something a little less from what adults should be doing.

I'm in my twenty-ones and I'm still wasting what's left of my youth. For me, youth not wasted is not youth at all. The youth, the illusion of old men, is overrated. Youth is the time where youth makes mistakes, get hurt, and learn. What comes after is the time where they make something of what they've learned and if it falls short then blame it on a youth not wasted well.

I'll never exchange my crazy role in the stage for a stand on a battlefield that will always be there waiting for me. I'm still wasting, making mistakes, and expecting a lot more painful experiences, but I still will be learning.

"It is an illusion that youth is happy, an illusion of those who have lost it; but the young know they are wretched for they are full of the truthless ideal which have been instilled into them, and each time they come in contact with the real, they are bruised and wounded." - W. Somerset Maugham

my addiction

She is my madness, my addiction, my nicotine and caffeine. She is my hobby, my pursuit of leisure, my undying infatuation. She is my diversion from this reality and the diversion I find in my fantasies. She is my escape to another world and my reason to stay.

She would be the inspiration behind my sistine chapel, the meaning hidden inside my poem, the nude model of my obra, and the heroine of my story.

She is in every bubble of every bottled beast that I drink, be it hard, light, cold, or warm, nasty or smooth. Her face forms at every smoke I breath out, and every air I breath in I try to catch a piece of her scent.

Hers is the name that I would write at every opportunity I get with a pen--write on the wall, on a tree, on a leaf, on a bus ticket, on a napkin, on every piece of paper of any kind man had ever invented, or even on a mushroom perhaps.

She is in my instictive being of being, in between the involuntary poundings of my heart, on top of every expansion and contraction of my lungs. You'll see her in every chain of my thougts and in every neuron that signals a euphoric state of ridiculous giddiness or even a despairing moment of longing.

She is the word I whisper when I'm alone, the word I murmur when I dream, the word I desire for when I awake. She is the gift I want on Christmas, the wish I make before blowing the candles. She is in every prayer I offer every night and in every coin I toss on a wishing well.

She rides the cool breeze just before rain, or the beam of the sun every noon. And just now, she is even in the pictures that I draw--

a not love poem

listening to something emo

can't sleep
can't eat

some promises are best left forgotten

bitter as cold
dark as devoid

sweet as hell

time has stopped on me
the angels, gone

some lives are best left alone

give me your knife
i'll show you my wrist

painful as the last goodbye

can't breath
can't live

some dreams are best left empty

i miss you

i thought i heard you
calling me
love.
no.
nothing but
emptiness in the wind
melancholic bareness
a choking silence.
no.
you were not there.

it was just time
the coldest of the seconds

would you mind
sleep,
to bring me a dream
i'll not wake from
not anymore
not even till you cry
cry me
love.

would you mind
if i don't care
about the world
but this dream alone
of a call,
of you,
of promises and forevers,
and of eternal silence.

would it be better than:
hearing your voice
calling me.
no.
you were not there.
it was just the wind
carrying a memory
of once was your voice
calling me
love.

it was just time
the most silent of the seconds

so bring me now,
sleep,
a dream i'll never wake from.
time will stop
and the wind will cry

maybe there,
it was you
calling me
love.

love makes people weird

love makes me weird (or weirder),not that I wasn't weird before... now there's two of us.

my diagnosis

There is only one state-admittedly an unusual state, but not one that can be stigmatized as pathological-in wich it does not do this (ego maintains clear and sharp lines of demarcation). At the height of being in love the boundary between ego and object thretens to melt away. Against all the evidence of his senses, a man who is in love declares that 'I' and 'You' are one, and is prepared to behave as if it were a fact.
--(S. Freud)

It's the little things

It's the little things that makes your heart suddenly leap. They're the things that you'd least forget. They're the things you'd wander your thoughts on from time to time. Even the little things can be very painful when aimed accurately. But it's also the little things that could make you fall all over again. Absurd, isn't it?

I could try to describe EVERY intricate detail of every little thing about her. From the way she wears her hair down, the way she puts powder on, how mature she really is compared to how young she looks, to the way she looked with my t-shirt on, even to the way she'd try to imitate my voice, but I'd just keep everything for myself now ^^ (i feel very selfish at this things). Just remembering all those little things about her makes me miss her so much at the same time I get this stupid tingly giddy euphoria somewhere in my proverbial heart.

The list goes on an on. Noticing and remembering these little things is easy. The hard part comes when you try to forget them.

now look what you've done

the confession's of a vinegar vendor/ang pagtatapat ng isang tindero ng suka
A letter found at the street of Quirino. Though the author was not specified, traces of vinegar was found on the letter.

"I like cute things but not as much as I love to eat them. Though now, this absurd need has been completely overshadowed by my exceptional wanting for one particular and unique girl. In a way, she made my heart beat surprisingly faster than before. Something I haven't felt for some time now. I could go on and on and talk about her dull eyes, sweet smile, tender lips, soft hair, smooth skin and all of that that comprises her, still, I will always fall short in describing how I really see her. See, my attraction towards her is not only aesthetic but deeper. The way she talks, the way she walks, the way she eats, drinks, laugh, and the way she kisses are all but small granules that forms my addiction. And If I were to aptly name my addiction, it would be Sheena. I fear deep down inside that the possibility that these feelings may undergo turbulent times, or rehabilitation, sometime in the future is not impossible. Despite that fact, I sincerely plan to hold on forever and keep this addiction going. As for now, I have the 'PRETIEST' girl in the world and I love her."

missing someone so much is like slowly dying

listening to 'letters to you' by finch
"Do you notice I'm gone?
Where do you run to so far away?
I want you to know that I miss you I miss you so
I want you to know that I miss you I miss you so"

Missing someone is like being eaten alive by fire ants. You get bitten millions of times. You could feel them spreading across your body, crawling on your eyes, inside you ears, nose, mouth. You try to fight but the first thousand of bites stings like hell. And if you don't die by then, your lucky. The next bites slowly make you numb. You can feel the little devils inside you, biting, piercing, ripping, helping themselves to everything but the bone. You can feel them get into your brain. But by then, you are completely helpless. All you could do is stare blankly at one spot and just wish you were dead.

Right now I'm missing someone so much. It's been five days since we last saw each other. I can still remember how soft she felt, how silent the last bus ride was we had on the way to pier, and how serene the moment was while she was laying around my arms while I cherish every second of it for it will be awhile before another one would come. But you can't remember coz when you remember you only miss that someone even more. So what can you do? Those memories are the only ones you have that can vainly bring that someone a little closer to you, or at least that's how you feel. And so you remember but the reality that that someone isn't there still stings.

When you miss someone, that's the time when you could really study your current situation and assess every impact that that person has on you. I just realized I could spend a day just lying, not eating, just staring blankly at one spot and wish I was with her, numb and dying slowly.