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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/980947-Im-a-Hack
Rated: ASR · Short Story · Satire · #980947
Writer's block and broken hearts.
June 6, 3:00 a.m.

I can't recall what I dreamed but I remember laughing a lot. I saw a smiling face. I saw beauty and no more. My eyes didn't focus on her face. And so she vanished.

I sleep like a corpse, but one sound never fails to pull me away from the unimaginable light to the sensible darkness.

First I hear the gentle echo of a beep. It could be millions of miles away. A fraction of a moment and its big brother shows up. The echo eases me to the door. The ear-dividing beep shoves me through it.

I got the point. A text-message waited for me. I really hate my cellphone.

My eyes swung open but refused to focus. I could make out the small red flashing light and not much else. I stared at the wall above the table that doubled as my nightstand. The flags stared back at me. One Star-Spangled Banner sandwiched between two Tae Gu Ki's. It always looks out of place, but content.

Are you wondering what I'm droning on about? I know I am.

My groggy mind began to thaw. I saw her pale face against the shadow of her long black hair. She smiled at me from under the center flag.

I ran to the table/nightstand. I scooped up the offending phone and flung it open. The date glowed yellow like a lightbulb in my head.

One by one the images surfaced. June sixth. Korean Memorial Day. Chung Pyung and sightseeing, but all with her. A glimpse of her fantastic smile, and maybe a stunning black and white photo or two of us at the beach. A conversation with the only person alive who has more dreams than there are stars in the sky.

Yes, I think in sentence fragments, especially in the morning. Don't you?

I looked at the picture again. "Was it you? Were you in my dream?" I could see her smile, but not much more.

I knew what it said, yet I checked the message anyway. Maybe I was wrong.

I tapped the glowing yellow mailbox, then clicked "new messages." I checked the name. It was her. Against any good reason I read it.

im sick so sorry maybe next time

I slapped the phone shut and questioned the irrationality of killing the messenger.

I counted to ten, set my phone gently on the table then walked to the sink. The cool splash of water on my face worked like green tea. I eased my way back to the table. The clock announced 3:00 a.m.

Again I defied logic. I looked at her picture. I didn't see a smile. Now I saw a mocking laugh.

The phone was once again in my hand. I autodialed 3.

"Hello?" She sounded strong enough.

"Hi, it's me." I sat on my cot and stared at the lone flag.

"I'm so sorry!"

"Don't be. What happened?"

"I catch a cold." Her voice grew faint, and I heard a cough.

I stared at the white stars against a dark shade of blue. They didn't look lonely.

"Hello?" She sounded weaker by the second.

"I'm here. Did you go to a hospital?"

"Yes. They give me medicine. I'm so sorry!"

I almost snapped into teacher mode, but snapped right back out. Past tense be damned. At least for the time being.

I had to understand her."It's okay."

"We already change plans three times."

"You got sick. You can't control that." My eyes darted around the room. The picture was the only other solitary thing there.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault!" I closed my eyes until I saw amazing globs of red. I deemed them angry red devils.

I clenched my teeth, opened my eyes and finished the fight. "It's okay. I understand, alright?"

"Okay. See you again."

"Right." I closed my eyes and lay back, counting angry red devils until I fell asleep.

4:00 a.m.
The cough began in the back of my throat, forcing me awake. I saw her face, watching me in silent solitude. When we were together, no one stared at us. It seemed normal to see these two walking together.

How much seems to change in a year. People get busy, follow their dreams. Two islands a few miles apart might as well be a few million miles apart.
I stared at her face, smiling like a ghost in another person's dream.

"You know what gets me? You don't. You can't understand. Crazy as it is, I would have went anyway. You can't get it."

My cough gained momentum and humidity. I ran to the sink and finished my cough as I planned my free day.

I'd wander the city, observing long rows of rice fields behind supermarkets. Somehow the former didn't clash with the urban environment. I'd fade through the crowds, watching families and couples buying fruit and vegetables from a truck. I'd smile as teenagers would buy mystery meat on a stick, then race for water as they'd figure out it's nuclear.

Everyone does the same as me, only in groups. You'd think with all the observing I do I'd be a better writer.

4:30 a.m.
I counted fifty tissues as I stared at the clock. There wasn't much else to do. I officially had a cold. Orange juice and cough drops would keep me company for the next week or so.

4:45 a.m.
I don't know how I managed to fall asleep, but there I was. I stood on the beach and watched the deep blue waves roll sand off my bare feet. Someone held my hand. I saw the infinite strands of black hair and the flowing green dress as the warm breeze met my face. Her hand felt warm in mine. I met her eyes, but I don't know why. Her face was a blur.

© Copyright 2005 Martin Mills (martinmills78 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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