I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 13 - Rebel Yell

She started telling me how she met this man through one of her older friends from home and during a night out they simply hit it off and started to flirt and joke around. And my mind at this point is fuming with frustration and anger as she goes on with her story. She continues her story, telling me about how as the night progressed they started making out and at that point, he had confessed to her about his wife. My ears can’t believe the story she is telling me as frustration and anger fill her expressions and mannerisms. She looks me in the eyes, telling me that she had to decide then and there what to do. Knowing already what she will say, I avert my eyes and look down at my drink. She continues saying that she decided to accept it and go with it, telling me that she hasn’t been understood the way she is understood by him. I get up, tell her I need to go to the bathroom and ask her if she wants something from the bar. She tells me that she needs just a beer and I leave…

I knew she always felt lonely, but this felt like the first time she went out of her way to do something like this. A deep feeling of sadness pumps within my chest as I couldn’t have helped her in any way. Why does it feel like she purposefully avoided me lately? As I return, I see her smiling. I tell her to continue the story. She tells me that her only problem is with him promising her things he can’t do, like visiting her or meeting in her home town. Her story feels unreal to me, thinking that all these things are usually reserved for soap operas and badly written erotic novels. But then she continued by saying that he is unhappy with his wife and that he might look into divorcing her. At this point, I don’t want to hear anymore of her twisted dumb story, yet I can’t stop her. As she tells me that in his arms she feels safe, happy and loved. And I can’t anymore…

Why? I ask her. She looks at me puzzled and with a faint smile she tells me that she just wants to be happy. You know that you won’t be. And we both know you have shit taste in choosing man and making mistakes. Because we’ve been the same, you and I, when it came to this. So why this? And why now? I ask her. Because I can’t anymore! I’m tired. I am tired to care about what others want and to look for someone. So why shouldn’t I enjoy this when he wants it and I want it too? I want to be free, I don’t want to feel trapped anymore, I want to do what I wish and live life. I want to be understood, loved, held, cared for, not alone and so much more. You should know this better than anymore. Hearing all this, I snap…

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I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 12 - Sweet Child O' Mine

I see her and I can’t believe how gorgeous she is. I haven’t seen her in a couple of years and we barely kept in touch online, which only makes this meeting the ever sweeter. She goes to greet me with a hug, her sweet and sour scented parfum draws me into a nostalgia filled state as we sit down, order our drinks and start to reminisce about college and our younger years. She insists and keeps asking me how I feel and how I’ve been. Putting pressure as she can see through me, since I can’t hide my emotions all too well. Question after question, like punches to the gut, calling me out, shaking me up. And after all was said and done, her words like honey, soothe my wounds as she makes me feel understood for the first time in years. I feel happiness, as I stand there and smile looking in her eyes. As we stare at each other, I glimpse the sadness behind her eyes.

With that I put a big smile and ask what she has been doing. She laughs and tells me that it is but the same old. A crack in her laugh makes me think otherwise, now pursuing her to tell me the truth and trying to repay her kindness. She started giving me generic things about her workplace and just life in general, but her face, her eyes, her frown was telling another story, as she held herself in her own arms. Without thinking, I start lying about unnecessary things. Telling stories about when I was hurt and lied to by exes and the time I was that someone she had cheated with. Stories of abuse of friends that were neither here or there, just to see if it had anything to do with her relationship, since she was always so private about her life. She knew how and when to open up about the things that were bothering her.

Minutes had turned into an hour, two, or three, as we talked and talked. She relaxes after a few beers, her expression turns to a serious one. I try once more to get through to her and get something out, so at least I can help her. But nothing. I start venting about future and being afraid to decide on what to do. She tells me I worry too much. I start bemoaning my work and having to let go of what I do, she tries to understand and reassure me. Once she saw me calmer, she started to mock me and joke around. Without thinking I start teasing her back. We both exchange jabs at each other. I tell her that she is gorgeous and start complimenting her. She starts smiling. Embolden, I start flirting with her. She stays silence, as her expression turns to a more serious one, without any encouragement she starts complaining about the guy she was seeing. How he is lying to both her and his wife about where he is and what he is doing. In absolute awe, I tell her to fill me…

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Thank you, for reading another one of my short stories. I appreciate you.

I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 11 - Don't Speak

Hey, want to hang out? What are you up to? I asked without hesitating. She tells me that she is free, extatic with a smile on my face. I wait for an answer and there is nothing, so I ask again. I hear her hesitate, a minute passes once more and she tells me that she wants to, but that she can’t. I reassure her telling her that I understand. She then happily tells me that she’ll message me later. We exchange pleasantries and she hangs up. Disappointed, I look once more at my phone, seeing that she hasn’t called me back. A message, it was from the one I just called telling me that she’s going to be free in an hour and that I only need to tell her where she has to be. Smiling, I quickly reply that it’s fine and that we should meet at one of our favorite places. Another quick reply from her saying okay makes me happy.

Making my way downtown, headphones in my ears, all the craziness that ensued that day turning my stomach on its head. The chaos inside me feels like a cancerous growth that I don’t know how to deal with and the way I am is becoming cloudier and foggier. My heart beat thumps as the music plays, my footsteps are getting quicker and are my thoughts are rapid turned into gibberish and excuses of what I did what I did and what I do what I do. About if it matters or not because we’ll be dead by the end of it all. I look at the people that pass me and I think if they knew what I was thinking what they would think of me. How would they judge my thoughts, actions and reactions. As all this goes through my mind, I stare at each and one of those people passing me by. The phone rings and wakes me back to reality…

What shouldn’t I know? What are you hiding from me? I want to ask her, but I can’t. Shaking with anger and despair my voice cracks as I let a syllable escape my mouth when asking what is she doing. She, surprised, tells me that she has been working. In my mind her words telling someone that I shouldn’t find out about something are on a loop and are driving me crazy. My leg is shaking as I try to find any words to coyly ask her about what I shouldn’t know about. But as my mind blanks, so does my mouth, so I mutter a simple I love you and she quickly asks what is wrong with me before I get to hang up. I just miss… You. I felt her breath in and then stop, after which nothing. So I ask her if she’s okay, and yet there is nothing on the other end. I take the phone from my ear, look at it and hang up. And as I arrive at the meeting place, I raise my head and see…

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I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 10 - Heart-Shaped Box

The vibration of the phone as it rings, shakes him to the core. His hands start to tingle, unable to process what was happening, he brings out the phone and simply stares at it. As the screen closes and turns black, he feels a relief in his heart. But once more the screen lights up and vibrates, shattering him once more. The name on the screen in blurry as tears start to fill his eyes. He swipes to the right and brings his phone to his ear. Silence and heavy breathing is heard through the speaker of the phone. Absolutely struck, he can’t process what is happening at the other end of this phone call. As he wipes his tears, he takes another look at the phone and realizes who is at the other end. Now lucid, he asks himself what exactly is happening. What is he listening to and why is no one talking on the other end.

Hello? I asked, but without any luck of getting an answer. Then softly a female voice is heard saying that I shouldn’t know about something, I couldn’t make up what she had said. I look around to find myself again as I couldn’t simply stand there and felt the need to do something. But what could I do? What merit do I have to my name right now to feel the way I feel and take any sort of action or have a reaction or do something, if anything, I do feel like I deserve whatever she is giving me right now and I have no right to ask for even the slightest of an explanation. At least that’s what I tell myself as my body is reacting by itself and hurrying down the street, wanting to run towards her workplace. My mind tries to find the quickest way possible, but I stumble from right to left trying to decide on anything and move closer towards her. I can’t hear anymore voices at the other end.

No matter how much I talk, how much I scream into the phone to get a reaction, there is nothing at the other end. So now what? I ask myself. My legs feel like two anchors stuck to the ground, as I try to move forwards and get to her. With the phone at my ear, it all starts to feel futile, so I close the call and raise my head to look around and see that there is no one around me. But the ego inside me is burning as I pick my phone once more and start calling again and again and again, yet at the other end, still nothing. Blank mind, nothing around, I look at my contacts filled with names, between those names, I recognize one that I haven’t talked to in a long while and I know she usually understands me. So, without even thinking I call her. She responds pleasantly surprised, saying that she misses me. Hearing that, I can’t help myself…

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10 YEARS OF NOBODY THE BLOG

I started this blog 10 years ago to write down my frustrations, to express my emotions, to create an explosion of passion and an outlet for my creation and imagination. My first story written on here was one about someone I loved and our experience together not sleeping and just spending nights doing whatever we could to have fun without any curfew in pure freedom. But as any love when young, it ended, and I grew more and more introspective. With the lack of direction in life, with the abuse of all freedoms and the fun that it came with, my spiral was a sight to behold as life turned into a roller coaster. And my writing on this blog reflected it. But those times too have to come to an end, and they did, when I hit a wall and I had remained with myself and a two year depression after a failed attempt at running a coffee bar.

During this time of depression, I delve deep into anything I could to keep my mind busy. Yet I was in denial, as I was searching for answers. And so I also delve back into writing, but this time on a daily basis on this blog, as I couldn’t find any of the answers I needed or wanted from any reading, deciding to find them on my own. This also spurred my desperate need to find an answer to what I want to be in life, as nothing had satisfied me to that point in time. This grew my passion for writing as I began experimenting by trying different types of stories, subjects and styles. Some garnered views, likes, shares and had eyes on them, others not so much. As time passed, the depression went from seasonal to a two year stint where I had hit my head on the proverbial wall as many times as I could, until I had realized something…

At that point I have been writing short stories, lyrics and poetry for over three years and daily for over two years out of the three. During this period I also tried the first of the short story series called A Misery’s Romance, about a bunch of high school boys and their take on love. Also during this time there were a few segments on the blog, the one that you can also sometimes find on this iteration of NTB is The Rant. The others were about news and virtues. And as I found out that I wanted to become a writer and write more than just short stories, I also wrote a short story series on here, this one named Trapped in Autumn, which as you guessed I turned into my debut book Trapped: Autumn. Another series I wrote during that time was 20 Questions, which you can still read the first chapter of it in The Pilot Program 2019. All this while I started going to college and pursuing becoming an author. As I wanted to find guidance, learn and become a better writer. Yet, sadly, all I found was frustration, closed doors and a lack of enthusiasm and nepotism. And all that can be found in all four Trapped: Seasons books. The more I wrote, the better I got. And the better I got, the more I experimented. And the more people visited and read what I had written. The better I wanted to get and the higher the standers and things I wanted to produce and give to the world.

And with that said, I’ve learned a lot and I thank you for reading my stories, for liking, commenting, sharing them. So let me tell you what is to come from me, a nobody, this year: The Pilot Program Continues, I Write Sins… Not Tragedies is getting sinnier. I am going to release two books this year, one this late spring, one in winter. But, writing this fifth book has been a challenge. As I said, the better I become, the higher the standards I have, which is a bit of a hurdle to overcome when you want to put out quality content. But, it is going to come. The cover is almost ready and the first 14 chapters are done. So we’re over 25% done with writing it. And for the next 10 years, I want to continue to provide amazing free short stories for you to read, to continue to publish interesting books of changing genres and to always try to bring something new to storytelling. And of course, to have you along with me on that journey.

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I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 9 - Wicked Game

I am so sorry. I can’t do this, she says avoiding my eyes and taking a step back. I will feel guilty and I don’t want that. And I don’t want you to feel like that either. Stunned, I am left speechless. But my body moves on its own and holds her tight. What would she say if she knew about this? She asks and my arms drop as she escapes. Look, I’d let you. I would. But I couldn’t forgive myself for any of it. Nor would I be happy with you in those circumstances. And for a few hours, it isn’t worth it. I raise my head and the words “But it would be just once” leave my mouth. You can’t promise me that, nor can I promise you that. I shake my head. See? After a few moments of awkward silence she asks me if this is what I really want… A relationship based on what exactly?

With my head down, I sigh as silence grows between us. I can hear her pacing about around me. My mind is blocked, trapped in a making of its own desire. The irrational side of me is frantically trying to prove its point and logic. Questioning whether it morals matter when it comes to wants and needs of two people that share the same desire. As all this goes through my head, I reach out and grab her hand. She stops in her tracks, I bring her to my chest, put my hand in her hair as I kiss the top of her head, she grabs me in her arms. I want you, I whisper. She nods and my hands feel glued to her as I gently pull her head back to look into her dark brown eyes and at her bright red lips. She slowly gets on her tiptoes,, getting closer to my face. She’s right there, she’s right there, she’s right there… She’s right there, that’s all I could think as my body ached to kiss her.

But before I even decide, she hugs me once more, thanks me and tells me that she needs to leave. I try to stop her, but the moment felt like it fled and left some time ago, as my chance to have her was there, for me to take. Yet I couldn’t… I couldn’t dare to take it and give myself over to her. Goodbye, she says with a sad expression on her face. I’m sorry, I say. Yet it felt futile as she looked disappointed at my actions and words. A coward is what you are is going through my mind as I lay my head into my palms once more, thinking about what I just did and could have done. My mind now racing to try and figure out everything and untangle whatever just happened and whatever will I do from now on. Just as I think that, my phone rings once more…

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I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 8 - The Trooper

She reaches out with her arms, puts them behind my head, and holds me tight while whispering into my year. My heart beat is exploding as her parfum flows through me and the flashes of her on top of me are now replaying nonstop in front of my eyes. Her lips are touching my hear, and I squeeze her and draw her closer to me. She thanks me and tells me that we should leave the bistro. Her embrace loosens, as she pulls back, yet my arms are stuck, wanting to hold her. She starts gathering her things, I close and pack the laptop, we ask for the check. I wanted to pay at least my share, yet she insists on paying no matter. She said it’s the least she could do for me helping her with her little problem. I thank her and ask he what she wants to do next. She pulls me by the arm and tells me to go with her.

Without hesitating I follow, as we go on these little streets behind the apartment buildings. The city streets and boulevards are now but a noise somewhere down this small street. The tall buildings cover the skies, slivers of light barely pass between them to light our path, as she holds my hand and we talk about college, memories, hometowns and the nostalgia of what once was. As we talk our conversation turns to insecurities, heartache, loneliness, temptation and bliss. I can feel her heartbeat through her palm, as she squeezes my hand and smiles, she turns, stops, and looks me in the eyes. Silence surrounds us and petrifies us, as we now simply stand there looking one at the other. With nothing to say, we just stand there and so does the world around us. Her eyes sparkle, and I can feel mine burning into my head. I struggle to get out, struggle to move, to touch her face, to pull her closer.

As she smiles, she grips my hand tighter, and we manage to move our hands together. As we’re raising our hands, once we reached her face, I let her hand go, and gently put it on her cheek. Closing her eyes, she lets her head into my hand. With one finger I brush her big red lips. With a smirk now on her face, she looks deeply into my eyes and opens her mouth, leaving my finger on her lower lip. I remain unmoved as she puts her lips over my finger. Her touch makes my heart explode, transforming my body into heartbeats. She took two steps and her body is now touching mine. The little voice in my head says that he wants her, my body is pushing itself from pure instinct ahead wanting to hold her close. She raises her head, looking at me once again with the same smirk and says…

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Tomorrow Never Comes - The Pilot Program 2020

Welcome to this month’s Pilot Program contender for 2021. If this is your first time reading anything from The Pilot Program, it works something like this: Every year I publish a 52 week short story series on this blog. And since 2019, I publish almost every month a new short story pilot which could become the short story series for the next year. How? With your likes, comments, shares, and views. So, if you like it: share it, comment, like it, discuss it and it could become the next 52 week short story series. This is the second short story in The Pilot Program this year after January’s The Horrorscope. So, hope you enjoy it.

“Tomorrow you will die.” A fortune teller told me yesterday. And now I don’t know what to do anymore, I’ve called my family, all my friends that meant something to me, told the one I liked that I liked them and now what? She read my fortune thrice, and every single time somehow the same results appeared in front of us. The same dreaded cards, not one slight variation. What are even the odds? Maybe I should try today too… But what if I am killed on my way? Shit… Then what if I did a reading of my own? If I remember correctly mom left a deck of cards in the upstairs cupboard. I was right it seems… Let’s try this. How did it go? You ask a question, then shuffle them to transfer your energy into the cards. Okay, now… If I remember correctly you need to put the cards face down. So the first one is upright, the next one is horizontal over the first one, like a plus. Next one is above, then under, then to the left and to the right. Now the last four going upwards…. Now, to read them…

How did she do it? She took the second card off and turned the first one. Let’s see… The Devil, she said that this could mean like four things for me right now in the present. The six of swords. Shit! It’s repeating itself. So that means, experiencing the blues. So those are the present and what’s impacting me, the next one is my consciousness. The four of pentacles. Great. The unconscious is? Nine of swords, so depression, anguish, suffering. What’s behind me in the recent past? King of Pentacles. Everything is repeating once more, this too. So what lies ahead? Eight of cups. No! Why? Growing weary. Shit! Then that means that the lesson I should learn is… Ten of Wands, of course, to struggle. And that means that the world sees me as… Four of cups, obviously, self-absorbed. And the last two must be just like last time too… The Tower, a sudden change and destruction and the last one is Death. God damn it! And none of this tells me what exactly to look out for.

Did I hear something fall? In the kitchen? Everything seems fine. In the living room? No, everything is fine here too. Basement? What if someone broke in? What if that’s how I die? Why is it so dark in here? I hear the police siren. You know what? I’m not going down there. Let’s just lock the doors. That’s one… That’s a second… That’s a third. Now, that feels better. I’m all a sweat. Why? Why am I sweating? What’s wrong with me? Am I having a heart attack? No one will find me, I need to unlock the door, call an ambulance. There’s a knock on the door… Why is there a knock on the door? Who is it? I’m not expecting anyone. Are they here to kill me? I’m dead, aren’t I? Who’s there? Why aren’t they responding? Why do they keep knocking? I said… Who is there? What the fuck… What the fuck… I don’t want to die. I need to see who it is…

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I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 7 - Hotel California

As my eyes flow upon the message that is asking for help regarding something absolutely trivial, my hands starts itching and my leg starts bouncing. My fingers start writing and my mind start constructing any and all excuses to solve this in the most unorthodox and idiotic way. As I tell her that I can’t visualize nor really understand what she needs, I ask if she can break some time off to talk face to face, as it would be easier for me to understand, help and solve her problem then and there. The three dots keep appearing and disappearing, my mind is racing trying to read any and all possible responses. She after a few minutes agrees and tells me that she is free, proposing that we see each other at a bistro in an hour. With the biggest smile on my face, I agree and run to get ready. Thinking how incredible this is, how impossible it seemed and how it just worked.

Arriving at the bistro twenty minutes early, I sit down, browse the menu, order a drink and pop open my laptop. Thinking about what she needs help with and how I could solve it, my heart starts racing as the minutes pass. The smell of the fresh pressed coffee, the soft music playing in the background, the hard wood floors of the bistro are creating a refreshing scene that fills me with joy. I space out, as my mind turns blank and I can’t pull back into reality. Everything becomes a blur and the sounds turn indistinguishable from each other. A cold hand on my shoulder gives me shivers down the spine as it wakes me up form the nothingness I was looking into. Hey. I hear from the voice from the dream from last night. I sit up to kiss her on the cheek and greet her. She sits right next to me, surprised, my eyes can’t help but fixate on her red lips.

As she starts explaining the matter she needs help with, I can’t help but imagine all the things we’ve done in our dreams. The air of familiarity, the laughter, the jokes and atmosphere around our table makes me feel elevated. As we’re getting closer and closer towards the finale and the resolve of her problem, an awkward air sets between as we don’t know what to do with ourselves. My eyes keep getting drawn by her brown eyes, her lips, her thighs, the mole on her chest, just as my fingers keep moving on the keyboard as I write and erase and write again. Engrossed in the moment, as I look at the screen, she grabs my right hand and pulls it towards her. I, petrified, turn towards her, she draws nearer and nearer towards me. I look into her eyes just as…

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