The Fight Against Fall
The leaves don’t stop falling. I watch as another one finally gives out and relinquishes its hold on the twig, swaying in the gentle breeze to land atop a pile of its own kin of umber foliage. Somewhere in this huge hospital, the same fate must have befallen one of us. I imagine the woman’s family and friends to be carrying on with their usual business in another country, oblivious to her suffering while she lies motionless on the stiff bed, her mind grasping desperately at the dissolving clouds of memories as her sense of self-awareness gradually slips into a perpetual slumber.
What a pathetic end. An end that has already claimed so many lives. An end that might target me next.
I would’ve shuddered at the horrifying thought had my body been functioning normally. The chemicals flowing in my veins have a strong immobilizing effect, rendering me paralyzed unless I’m fed orders through a computer program to move. We’re merely human marionettes in the physicians’ eyes. Once we succumb to their mind control, they’ll send us back home to wreak havoc on our own people.
Five women used to share the same room with me. We lived through the cool summer in our beds, mostly chatting about our lives and encouraging one another to persevere through the ordeal. We witnessed fall, a season that didn’t exist in our country, for the first time in our lives. And just like the season, we began to fall, the ties of our friendship slowly being severed by the effects of the chemicals. One by one, the women lost their faith, then their memories and finally, their identities. Sometimes I wonder if it’s easier to let go, instead of having to battle it out by myself. But then I remember my family, my fiancè and everyone who's important to me. I don't have a choice.
I can’t hear the wind picking up, but I can tell by the crinkly red and gold leaves dancing past the window. I observe the almost bare sweetgum opposite the road to the hospital losing more and more leaves as the wind continues its relentless assault. Just as I think the tree will be bare for good, a lone amber leaf on one of the twigs defies my expectations. It manages to cling on for dear life and survive the attack.
A knock on the door makes me shift my attention to the physician. He walks towards me with an intimidating syringe in hand and a kind smile that doesn't reach his eyes. There's a hint of impatience in his honeyed voice when he says he wishes for me to be more obedient and make things easier for him. In the next moment, he's jabbed the needle painfully into my arm crease and injected a blue liquid into my veins. Tears well up in my eyes. I can't scream nor move.
I can only hope that I emulate that leaf.
Frogs affected by chytridiomycosis,
(Where RNAi is unable to determine the pathogen's mechanisms),
Has left the flexitarian of thirty,
To turn to pikeminnows for food,
Along with his daily dose of microgreens.
Bonus points if you can figure out the year the words were invented - no cheating! Just take a wild guess!
Holding a gun
Firing a round
With deadly precision
For it will hurt
Like tsunami waves
Of tectonic plates
So hold your tongue
Drop the weapon
Don't be the waters
Just face the fact
Lisaskan hierarchy is the absolute,
Dividing power into sub-classes three:
Of high ranking Owners and Emblems,
And Vessels who must bend the knee.
All are classified as mages,
Where starpower fuels magical skill.
Sub-classes born through distinctive use:
Owners manipulate at free will;
Of seals and curses are Emblems' style,
In weapons Vessels' abilities fill.
Centuries ago was a different story,
The ground then was equal for all.
There was no meaning for division,
Before the second Supreme War.
The great battle brought new ideals.
In year 411, altered was the lore:
Weakling Vessels classified as outcasts;
It was the beginning of their fall.
Resilience became embedded in their progeny,
Until Aesha Gallerea came into being.
A cloth-controlling Vessel at sixteen,
Who was capable of dreaming.
A decade transforms the brave girl,
Into the most powerful of her kind;
Into the first Vessel since the war,
Granted permission to speak her mind;
Into the only fiancée of non-nobility,
Marriage to the Lisaskan Prince assigned.
Almost at the peak will the platform rise -
Prince Ronan soon to take the throne,
To stand alongside and advocate,
His bride's purpose and hope.
Rife with dissent and opposition,
The pair will have to cope,
But determined they are to witness,
The resurgence of Vessels set in stone.
Met with a choice
Of a blouse tainted olive
And a pale bluebell hue
"Color does not define
who you are"
Emblazoned in bold
I evaluate carefully
Which matches better
With your favorite
And the pair of shorts
Just a while ago
I chose the latter
But you disagreed
The apple green
Over the sky blue
It brought out
The scarlet print
It looked cuter
With your favorite
And the pair of shorts
Just a while ago
I agreed with your choice
You flashed a smile
Then I realized
It mattered little
You ended up with
You will always
While I’m Still Alive
I can't keep reiterating the same thing,
Over and over and over again.
Don't ever take things for granted,
Just because I'm still in this world.
My heart can only thump for so long,
And while it still supports my body,
I'm doing my absolute best,
To preserve a blissful future for you.
So stop spending the money so recklessly,
On foolish and unnecessary stuff.
You've already got a luxurious life,
That can rival even Kylie Jenner's.
It's fine if you don't appreciate my help,
But I'll keep earning the bucks for your sake,
Though when times become a little tough,
Your spending spree will have to be restrained.
Even though you've stepped into your twenties,
Maturity is a path you still have yet to traverse.
I forgive that and your hate for me but please,
Please stop cursing me to death all the time.
At first I didn't mind your spiteful words,
But the loathing in your eyes is unmistakable.
My heart begins to hurt with every beat,
And I hold in my tears every time we interact.
It might take years, decades or maybe never,
Before you come to understand my love,
Treat me fondly as the big reliable sister,
Remember my suffering and sacrifice for you.
I can only hope you'll forget your unkind words,
And grieve over my corpse when my soul is gone.
But if your stance remains the same till then,
Who is a dead sibling to judge?
It's not exactly a name that I like but if I were to be born as Doctor, it would make life much easier. I won't need to slog through so many years of hardship in university just to obtain a piece of paper that certifies me as a qualified doctor. My parents don't have to spend a fortune on my tuition fees either.
With that name, I can become the Doctor that my parents wish for me to become. No stranger would question my background or status if they heard someone calling me "Doctor" or "Doc". Best of all, I can act smart with the limited amount of knowledge that I possess and people will still believe me all because I say I am Doctor.