You Don’t Always Have to be Okay


I should have just stayed home today.

I’m sitting at my desk, just scrolling through forums and looking at pretty pictures on photography sites. I don’t participate on my usual afternoon spree, because I am too tired to think of answers and all I want to do is close my eyes and sleep.

This morning, I woke up very happy because of some cotton-candy dream I’ve had, but my happiness dissipated quickly when I stepped inside the bathroom for my morning shower. There, on my inner thigh, was a constellation of pinprick bruises, looking for all the world like pretty red freckles.

Reality came rushing up like a riptide and I suddenly couldn’t breathe.

I ran to the mirror and checked every inch of my body. There was a faint sprinkling of the tiny bruises on my chest, on my lower back, and on my arms. And if that wasn’t enough, I finally gave up and let myself feel the aching in my joints and the slight-but-always-there nausea that has been beating down my defenses for weeks now.

The world felt like it was dark and screaming but I refuse to let it get me down. I tried putting on a brave face, but in the back of my mind, images of syringes and dark blood running through tubes and pristine white hospital rooms ran like a looped slideshow.

I don’t like crying. For me, tears are tools for persuasion, props that you can use whenever you need to get out of tight spots. That means that I can’t cry too much, because doing so would risk my cover getting blown. But right now I feel so lost and hopeless and I admitted to myself that I don’t always have to be okay.

I remember reading that when life pulls you down like this, you can react in three ways. Let’s say your troubles are like boiling water. You can start out soft like an egg and come out hard-boiled. You can start out tough like a carrot and end up in a pulpy mess. Or you can be like tea, loose-leafed and bitter, but when introduced to boiling water it blends in and makes things better.

I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t buy that crap. I choose to dig in with my heels and hang on with my teeth and refuse to let the bastard (i.e. life) grind me down and change me.

As far as I’m concerned, this is just one of those practical jokes that life seems to love playing on us. So I am going to laugh this off, forget about it, and continue to live out my short life to the fullest. I don’t always have to pretend that I’m okay, but I sure as hell am going to try to make the best out of this mess I’m in.

I can’t deny that I’m scared of what might happen, but isn’t that the point of living? Pain, experience and failures all help in molding us into what we’re meant to be. From failures we learn, and by learning we grow.

And, well…I can’t wait to see what happens next. 🙂


9 Things We Should Upgrade In Our 20s

Thought Catalog

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I turned 26 last November, which means I am officially in my late twenties. Scary! This means I have no excuse writing off behavior as being the effect of my twenties. I’m almost 30, who are we kidding. As soon as I got a full-time job with benefits (necessary post-college, especially if you’re drowning in loans like I am), I began to upgrade my whole person in little ways. I’m far from perfect and pulled-together, but I’ve been a 20something lady for long enough that I know what’s important. It’s just like that classic Beyonce song “Upgrade U.” Let me upgrade you, chicks.

1. Your underwear drawer.

At some point, you need to graduate from the butt-floss G-strings and Victoria’s Secret PINK thongs and boyshorts that you’ve had since 2009. Throw them out. You can buy new ones. Please do buy new ones. I used to do the 5 for…

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Hide and Seek

He stopped the car outside the house and exhaled sharply.

In the seat next to him, the girl in black squirmed and averted her eyes, focusing them on her short black nails instead. Her dark hair swung down, obscuring her face and shielding her from the boy’s obviously barely-controlled wrath.

“I don’t like it when you go with them,” he informed her shortly, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles, bruised from last night’s MMA session, turned white.

“They’re my friends,” she answered in a soft voice, pulling her sleeves over her slender wrists and rubbing them together, unconscious of what she was doing.

He sighed. “Look at me, kitten.”

When she didn’t move, he reached out and tilted her head up. She glanced up at him for a short while before lowering her gaze. Her lips were in a pout, flushed with red from being freshly bitten.

“I haven’t seen them in such a long time,” she said. “I thought you’d understand, just this once. I didn’t even go to that birthday party last week, because I thought if I didn’t, you’d let me come today.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, relishing how the pressure assuaged the dull pain that had built up there. “Oh, fine, Karin. I’ll allow you to go if you don’t stay overnight,” he grumbled finally, leaning back on his seat and closing his eyes. “Truce?”

She turned to him, a huge smile slowly spreading across her face. “Christian!” She laughed, tackling him in a tight embrace. “I knew you’d let me go.” She reached for his hand, threading her small fingers through his longer ones. She kissed his wrist affectionately.

“Promise you’ll be okay with them?”

She nodded, leaning closer to give him a tiny kiss on the lips.

Christian finally consented with a grudging smile. “Have fun. Call me when you’re ready to come home.”

He reached for his seat belt so he could get the door for her, but before he could, the door on Karin’s side suddenly opened. A boy with shiny auburn hair peered inside, said “heya” to Christian, pulled the girl out of her seat, and pushed her towards the house. Another boy appeared from beyond the dark doorway and drew her in, not giving her a chance to say good-bye.

“Karin!” Christian called in alarm, sitting up straight.

The auburn-haired boy slammed the car door shut and patted the hood of the car. “She’ll be fine. We’ll bring her back to you in a few days.”

Christian scowled. “She’s not staying overnight.”

The boy smiled, as if he didn’t hear what Christian had just said. “Drive safe, man.”

He sat there for a few seconds, debating whether he should run inside and grab her, when he felt his phone vibrate.

It was Karin. miss you already. see you tonight.

Once again, he sighed. But this time he started the car.


They sat in a circle on the floor, the candles throwing uneasy illumination across their faces. There were a few nervous giggles, quickly snuffed out by sharp elbow jabs and irritated shushing.

There were five of them – Karin, Clint,  Ian, Damien and Tristan. But at that moment, it felt like the room was populated by much more than five.

“What exactly are we doing?” Karin asked in her usual un-amused monotone.

Damien rolled his eyes. His auburn hair glinted in the wavering candlelight. “Summoning wraiths. Did you think we were raising Hitler from the dead or something?”

“I rather like Hitler,” Ian murmured, his trademark catlike half-smile stretching from his lips.

“We don’t need rituals to summon wraiths,” Karin responded. “Sometimes, they’re already here.”

“Shut up, you’re psyching me out,” complained Clint, who was in the middle of the circle and arranging the materials they needed for the ritual. A breeze snaked inside the room, making the pages of the spell book flutter. He cursed. “Close the damn window, will you?”

“Windows are all closed,” Tristan answered, not even looking up from his Nintendo 3DS. “I closed them before we started setting up.”

“You should keep that before I throw that fucking thing away,” Clint suggested amiably, a tremor of nervous irritation in his voice. He was sitting on his haunches, glaring at Tristan. The other boy ignored him and continued pressing buttons.

After a beat, Clint suddenly lunged at Tristan and wrenched the 3DS out of his hands. Tristan reared back in surprise and sucker-punched Clint, sending him flying back into the circle. The candles rolled every which way and sputtered out, plunging the room into a sudden gloom.

Tristan yelped. “Damn it, Clint! I almost got that shiny Gible too!”

Rolling his eyes for the nth time that day, Damien went over to Clint to help him up. Ian gave a quiet snort from where he was seated. “This is why Karin’s goody-two-shoes boyfriend doesn’t want her to hang out with us,”  he laughed. He looked over to the girl beside him. “Right, ‘lin?”

But the girl was gone.

“What the– “

The door creaked open and light spilled in, making the boys squint. Karin stood by the doorway, backlit by the hallway lights.

“Hey, sorry I took so long,” she apologized, “Christian almost didn’t let me go. But look! I brought cupcakes.”


They abandoned the idea of doing the ritual because Ian wouldn’t let them continue. Karin shrugged and said that it was fine with her either way, while Clint pouted and complained of all the efforts he had put into gathering the ritual materials. They regrouped in Damien’s basement, where their instruments were set up. They spent a couple of hours practicing a few Nightwish covers, with Karin and Tristan on vocals.

Early afternoon found the group sprawled around the living room, each of them absorbed in different gaming consoles while a slasher movie played on the wide screen television. There was a spread of snacks on the low centre table – flavoured popcorn, pizza, kettle chips, pretzels, candy, Combos, different sodas and beer.

Karin put down her pink 3DS suddenly, looking and feeling a little disoriented. Tristan, who she had been trading Pokemon with, noticed and asked her what was wrong.

“I don’t know,” the girl answered, rubbing at her arms where goosebumps had suddenly sprung. She felt something warm drip from her nose and she reached up to feel it. “Shit,” she groaned, looking at the streak of blood on her fingers.

“Are you okay?” Tristan put an arm around her, helping her stand up.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay, I just need to clean up,” Karin muttered, covering her mouth and nose with both hands.

“Can you get to the bathroom on your own?”

The other boys had paused their games and were all looking up at her. Karin felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She laughed a little awkwardly. “Of course. Carry on, I’ll be back.”

She closed the door after her, unaware of the sudden cold breeze that swept past her.


The hallway that led to the bathroom was dark and drafty, and Karin had to tread carefully in order to avoid dripping blood all over the Italian marble. She knew that Damien’s housekeeper wouldn’t appreciate bloodstains over the newly-polished floor.

She entered the bathroom, which was surprisingly light and airy, compared to the rest of the house. She turned on the tap and let the cool stream of water run through her bloody fingers, then began to wash her face.

The lights flickered.

Karin sighed in exasperation. You have got to be kidding me, she thought.

Something cold touched her ankle, wrapping around it with surprising strength.

Karin gripped the sink, gasping with surprise.

The clammy fingers tightened its grip and pulled.

She screamed.


The four boys found her sprawled on the floor, pale as death, with blood seeping from a cut on her forehead. Her nose had started bleeding again, making their hearts momentarily stop when they found her motionless.

“Karin!” Tristan yelled, kneeling down and lifting her up.

“They’re here,” she whispered through her cracked lips, her eyes still glued shut. “We have to leave.”

Clint suddenly backed against the wall, his heart racing with dread. “It worked,” he choked out in a horrified whisper. “It actually worked!”

“What do you mean?” asked Ian, opening a packet of kettle chips in an utterly unconcerned manner.

“What you said about tempting the spirits,” Clint half-shouted. “They’re already here! We didn’t even summon them and here they are, wanting to play!”

Damien emitted a surprisingly girlish giggle. Ian and Tristan both tried to hide their smiles.

“This isn’t funny!” shrieked Clint.

In Tristan’s arms, the girl’s body suddenly convulsed. She opened her mouth soundlessly, and her eyelids snapped open like someone had pulled them back.

Karin’s eyes were the colour of burning amber.

Alea iacta est,” she whispered. The die has been cast.

Then she gasped and sat up, hacking up a cough that sprayed the floor with droplets of bright red blood.


After Karin had been cleaned up and bandaged, she couldn’t stop laughing. Neither could the others, and even Clint looked at little amused, behind his sheer embarrassment and anger at being trolled.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” squealed Karin, delighted beyond belief. She was sitting on Tristan’s lap like a child, holding an ice pack to the side of her head, while Ian got to work patching up her forehead with Band-Aids. She had slipped on the floor and had hit her head.

“You read too many horror novels, man,” said Damien, clapping him on the shoulder. “Try to tone it down a bit. Not even Miss Goth Chick over here would have fallen for that.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh at me all you want,” Clint said darkly, glaring at his so-called friends. “I’ll get back at you somehow.”


Christian knew something was wrong. Even though he tried to shake off the feeling of dread that clung to the edges of his awareness, he couldn’t. He tried calling Karin’s phone, but it kept on redirecting him to voice mail.

She knew he hated voice mail.

Answer me, damn it, he thought.

“You okay, Christian?” His senior partner asked, looking up from his tablet computer bemusedly. “It’s rare that you’re this unsettled.”

“It’s Karin,” he grumbled, reaching up to loosen his tie.

“Your little firecracker? I like her. A bit too young, I suppose, but nothing time won’t fix.” His partner chuckled dryly. “You know what, take the afternoon off. You’re no use to the firm like this.”


It was almost four in the afternoon when Damien decided that he was bored. He stood up and stretched, then surveyed the roomful of sprawled people in distaste. “Let’s play something,” he suggested.

When no one responded, he plucked a throw pillow from under Karin’s head and beaned Tristan in the face. The other boy growled at him. “Not this time, Damien. I WILL get that shiny Gible and I SHALL have my shiny Garchomp. Fuck off.”

Damien ignored him and turned off the TV. The sudden loss of noise made them all look up at him.

“What should we play?” groused Ian. “Hide and seek?”

“I’ve got an even better idea,” smiled Karin, clasping her hands in anticipation. “Let’s play manhunt.”

They all stared blankly at her. “What the deuce is manhunt?”

Karin shrugged, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder in a hypnotizing manner. “It’s just like hide and seek, but if you want someone to be the next it, you have to physically catch him or her. So it doesn’t matter if you’ve seen my hiding place – unless you catch me and yell that I’m it, I can run away and find another hiding place.”

“That sounds interesting,” Ian said dubiously, setting his PS Vita down.

“What’s more is that we can’t hide in any place with light. Only the it‘s post can have light, the rest of the house has to be dark.”

Tristan cracked his knuckles. “Bring it on. Clint’s it!”

“No way, man,” complained Clint.

“Yeah!” The others started getting up and filing out of the room, leaving Karin and Clint looking at each other.

She gave him a sweet smile. “You can do this, sweetie.”

He grumbled. “Fine. I’m going to start counting!” He yelled.

“Not too fast, bitch,” he heard Damien call back.

“Jerk,” he huffed. He leaned against the door, closed his eyes, and started counting to twenty in the most ominous tone he could muster.



Tristan knew where he wanted to hide the moment they decided to play manhunt. The grandfather clock at the end of the hall was huge, with a secret compartment that could hide a person. He made a mad dash for it and closeted himself inside, confident that nobody would guess where he had hidden.

Once he was settled down inside, he took out his 3DS and opened it, fully intending to spend the rest of the game working on his chaining and finally, finally catching that dastardly shiny Gible.

When the illumination from the screen brightened his small space, he breathed in shock when he saw another face lit up in the glow of his 3DS.

She had a mouth full of tiny, sharp teeth.



Damien knew his house like the back of his hand. He was also a veteran at hide and seek, and knew that the best places to hide were the places where no one bothered to look. He took his time heading up to his room, where he opened and closed the door as quietly as he could.

His bed was a king sized model, and he had bedclothes that reached the floor. He lifted a corner of the coverlet and slid underneath the bed, grabbing a pillow to keep him comfortable.

He lay down and took out his phone, letting the coverlet fall back in place.

He didn’t even notice the set of bare feet stop walk up to the bed and stop just right in front of where he was hidden.



Ian didn’t know where to hide, so he headed to the pantry where he could at least get a snack before Clint inevitably caught up to him. When he peeked inside, he saw Karin’s bare legs splayed out of the floor behind the counter.

“Hey,” he whispered.

She looked up. She was never surprised. But right now, she looked blank, a pint of matcha ice cream on the floor beside her. There was a spoon in her mouth.

“You couldn’t find a place to hide?” He asked, sitting down beside her.

She shook her head.


Karin took the spoon out of her mouth and placed a finger on her lips. “Shhh.”

Something hit him on the head, and he didn’t even have time to react before he fell face-down to the ground.



Karin touched her bandaged head gingerly and tried not to wince. Her hiding place was quite a tight spot, but she was sure that Clint would never, ever look under the freshly washed laundry inside the hamper in the laundry room. Plus, the scent of fabric conditioner calmed her nerves.

The only problem was that she couldn’t hear Clint counting, and that the soft, warm nest of clothes was beginning to make her sleepy.

She knew where the others were hidden. She saw Ian head to the pantry, she witnessed Tristan slipping stealthily inside the grandfather clock, and she knew that Damien went up to his room. The thought gave her comfort, seeing as she was technically buried under a heap of clothes and was all alone in another wing of the house.

Karin yawned. She was feeling so drowsy that she almost hoped that Clint would come find her.

She heard the door open, and she gave a sigh of resignation, mixed with relief.

Her eyes squinted to adjust to the sudden light when the clothes were tossed off her. She saw just enough to barely dive out of the way when the knife came plunging towards her.


Dark. The house was completely dark.

That was Christian’s only thought when he parked outside the house. He left his keys in the ignition and jogged up to the front steps. “Anyone here?” He called. “Karin!”

The door wrenched open suddenly, and his girlfriend ran out. She was wild-eyed, dragging a slender boy out with her. The boy was drenched in blood, and there were chunks of flesh bitten out of his neck and chest. He saw Ian follow, carrying Damien, who was limp in his arms.

“Call the police!” Gasped Ian. “Someone’s trying to kill us!”

“No!” Karin said forcefully, opening the car door and depositing Tristan inside. “Christian, take them to the hospital! Ian, take Damien with you. Clint and I will deal with this.”

“Like hell you will,” snapped Christian. “You’re coming with me.”

“It’s fine,” Clint said from the doorway. He was watching them, his clothes stained with a fresh spray of frothy blood. He had a butcher knife in one hand and a vacant look in his eyes. “I dealt with him already.”

“You’re hurt,” Ian blurted out. “Look, we won’t fit in the car. You go ahead. I’ll wait here with Karin.”

Christian exhaled, willing his patience to last. “I’ll send someone to pick you both up,” he promised, putting a hand on Clint’s back and guiding him towards the car.

Before they left, Clint looked back at Karin and Ian. He had a sunny smile on his face. “I put him in the trunk,” he said. “That bastard thought he could kill me.”

“What trunk? What are you talking about?”

Clint cocked his head. “The one in the living room, of course.”

With a mutter of mixed annoyance and desperation, Christian gunned the engine and sped away.


They stood in silence, watching the car disappear into the woods.

“Bloody, fucking hell.” Ian heaved a sigh of relief and collapsed against the wall. “This is unreal,” he said, laughing grimly.

“Get a grip,” Karin told him sharply. “Stay here, I need to get something from the kitchen.”

She disappeared into the shadowy house, and Ian felt his heart race. He knew that the threat had been eliminated, but he couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. “Hey, wait up. Do you know that I thought I saw someone who looked exactly like you in the pantry a while ago?”

Karin didn’t answer.

He suddenly remembered Clint’s comment about the trunk. It was right there, made of heavy, polished mahogany and etched with intricate designs.

Ian hesitated. He certainly wasn’t keen on seeing dead bodies, but it might be the only time he would ever be able to see who it was that was evil enough to try to kill them. Some twisted part of his brain egged him on to open the trunk, and, throwing caution to the wind, he seized the handle and pulled.

The moment light flooded into the deep recesses of the wooden trunk, Ian gave a choked cry of surprise and stepped back.

Inside the trunk, bound and gagged, with wide, tearful eyes stark against her blood-stained face, was Karin.

“You should not have opened that,” a disappointed voice chided.

A shadow slanted across the open doorway, and the butcher knife’s reflection threw a wavering beam of light against the wall.


The other Karin sighed, swinging the knife in a lazy arc and stepping closer to him.

Her smile flashed.

“Do you really have to ask?”

My Summer Wish List

HEYA HEYA. It’s summer once again! And the summer has made its voice heard here in the Philippines, as evidenced by the scorching heat and blazing sunshine outside.

I fucking hate summer, but I admit that vacations are also my thing. So, in honour of the lazy, hazy days ahead, I have compiled a short wishlist of things I want.

Here they are!

1. A shark-shaped deck chair. This is adorable! I can use this to lounge by the pool or at the beach. I can also bring this to the terrace at night to stargaze. I think it’s big enough to prop my telescope up beside me while I’m sitting down.

2. A Darth Vader toaster. As a person who’s always been a Sith at heart, this is the perfect way to get breakfast started.

3. A shark sleeping bag. If you know me in person, you’d know that I’m OBSESSED with sharks. This would be awesome for sleepovers or for camping by the beach.

4. A Nerf Vulcan sentry gun. OMG. OMG. OMG. My brothers and I could spend hours on this!

5. Light sabre chopsticks! Eating has never been this fun. They light up, too!

6. Shark tattoo. Or, specifically, a guy with a shark tattoo. Or maybe just that guy in the photo, with his veeeery nicely toned back and those shoulders…I’d love to sink my teeth in them and *CENSORED*

Sorry, folks. Got a bit carried away there.

7. A shark mobile! YOU CAN CONTROL IT.

8. A shark pencil case. The perfect container for my fineliners and my colour pencils.

9. Rainy days like these. Because I hate summer, remember? I can’t wait for the rainy days again. Days like these are best spent in bed cuddling with someone. Want to come cuddle with me? 🙂

So that’s my summer wishlist!

Thanks for dropping by. Have a great week ahead!



I’m Running Out of Time

Hey, you.

Yes, you. Come over here.

Now listen carefully, because you see – I’m running out of time.

Don’t you laugh at me and ruffle my hair like I’m kidding. I am serious as death right now.

I’m sorry. I thought I’d have more time because things were going along brilliantly and I was feeling so happy. I even started sleeping at night again. I felt absolutely wonderful.

But then I started waking up with the bruises and the nose bleeds, and I know that something’s not right.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to die. Not by a long shot. Only good people die young, anyway. So yes, you won’t be entirely rid of me, but I won’t be here anymore anyway.

I just wanted to tell you that it’s been great, this thing we’ve had, but it’s time for it to be over. It’s been doomed from the start anyway. You’re too good, too kind, too awesome…and I’m not. I am the opposite of everything that you are.

Don’t say anything. I know, I know what you’ve been thinking and I know what I’ve been reading between the lines. You like me, and it’s horrible of me to cut you down this way, but I can’t bring myself to say it in person.

If it’s any consolation, I feel the same way about you. It’s just…it’s not meant to be, okay? Some things, no matter how wonderful they are or how right they feel, are not meant to happen.

I am leaving, and in a sense I am saving you from being involved with me.

Now I need you to do a few things for me.

First, I want you to be free. Don’t spend any more of your time thinking about me, because you deserve all the good things in life, and I’m not one of them.

Secondly, I want you to be happy. Live, laugh, love. You are worthy of only the most joyous experiences, of the most marvellous people. Don’t let my memory hold you back.

And third, give me your blessing. If, in the future, we happen to meet again, I want it to be delightful reunion. I don’t want us to awkwardly turn away, pretending we didn’t see each other. I don’t want anxiety and dread. I would want us to be happy to see each other again. Please, at least grant me that.

I’m doing this because you’ve told me about all you want to do in life, all the things you plan to accomplish, and I want you to do all of them. Right now you’re spending too much time on me – which is flattering, but is doing nothing good to you at all. I’m trying to help you.

Lastly, please be okay. Whatever happens in life, now and in the future, I will always, always want you to be fine.

It was absolutely wonderful getting to know you. But now I have to go.


Mirror Image

Run, he told himself. Run as fast as you can, and don’t look back.

It was a cold night, and his skin prickled beneath the protection of his dark blue hooded jacket. Dry leaves crunched under the soles of his Vans, and he could see his breath steaming from his nostrils and mouth.

Where was she?

He fretted, chewing on his bottom lip with worry. The right side was bruised and already starting to sting.

Had he finally succeeded in losing her?

It’s too early for relief, he cautioned himself. Yet as he surveyed the still, twilit woods, it did seem likely that she had given up pursuit.


His heartbeat picked up its place and he backed into a tree, looking around frantically for the source of the voice. It didn’t seem to come from any particular direction.

Daniel began to hyperventilate. His heart was drumming so hard that he thought he was going to pass out. He imagined small, white hands closing around his throat, choking him…

“There you are.” A girl popped out from behind him with a mischievous smile. “I thought you’d left me behind!” She reached out and gripped his slack hands with her tiny, cold ones while peering up at him.

“What’s wrong?” She finally asked, looking concerned. For a few seconds, Daniel was mesmerized, staring at the girl who was a smaller yet almost exact replica of himself. If only not for her longer hair and more elfin features, she would have been his mirror image.

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “We’d better get going. It’ll be really dark in a few minutes.”

And we don’t want that…

“Mmkay,” she answered, looking slightly confused. “Are you really all right?”

“Yeah. Don’t be silly, why wouldn’t I be?” He drew her close and ruffled her dark hair, then discreetly wiped the blood spatters at the back of her neck with his palm. He put his hands in his pockets. “Let’s go.”

They trudged home, silent and contemplative.

Damn, thought Daniel. It’s impossible to kill her.


“Danieeeeeeel,” her voice started as a soft whine and rose to a wailing shriek. “It hurts! Stop it, please! It really hurts!”

Scared that someone might hear, he dove on top of her and slammed his hand over her mouth to muffle her cries. “Shut up, Cassie!” he hissed. “It’ll feel better in a minute, I promise!”

She shook her head violently, frightened tears streaming in hot rivulets down her cheeks. A pool of red had started to form at her stomach, darkening and staining the pale skin. The blood spread out in a crimson bloom, pooling on her sharply jutting hipbones and spilling over to the sheets.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he whispered, loosening his grip on her and kissing her damp forehead. “Don’t be scared. I’m here. I’ll always be here. It’s going to be over in a few minutes anyway.”

“Why are you doing this?” she sobbed.She looked so beautiful and innocent, not like the monster she really was. It angered Daniel to see this…this abomination take over the body of his beloved twin sister and use it to wreak havoc.

“Because you’re not Cassie, you demon,” he said through gritted teeth. “Cassie is dead.”

“It’s me!” she cried. “Please stop it, Daniel. Don’t you love me?”

“I loved my twin,” he answered. “Not you.”

Sensing she was weakened sufficiently, he got up slowly and reached for the bottle of dead man’s blood on the nightstand. He dipped his index finger into the dark liquid and began to draw the ancient sigils on Cassie’s bare flesh.

Every time the blood made contact with the girl, her skin sizzled. Her restrained body reared in pain, and she screamed so loudly that the window panes splintered.

“You’re insane!” Cassie yelled at him. “Look at what you’re doing to me!”

Undeterred, Daniel snatched a leather-bound book from under the bed and flipped the onionskin pages until he found the particular spell he was looking for. When he found it, he stood over his twin, who was chained to the bed and was lashing out at him, trying to free herself.
He began to recite the Latin spell.

Cassie didn’t drop dead.

“I told you! I’m Cassie!” Her voice broke. “Please believe me, Daniel. Your spell would have worked if I were…if I were something else, right?”

Daniel backed away, a trickle of sweat sliding down from his forehead. His eyes were wide with fear and his uncertainty was palpable.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t know!”

He really didn’t.


Daniel tossed and turned in bed. He couldn’t believe how badly he’d messed up earlier. A quick glance at the clock told him that it was almost three in the morning.

It was an unusually bright night. The sky was lit up with millions of pinpricks of light, and the bloated moon sat, immobile, to the west. The wooded area around the house was illuminated and the bare trees cast inky shadows on the leaf-strewn ground.

He threw the blanket off his legs and kicked it to a corner.

“I fucked up really, really badly today,” he murmured to himself, putting an arm over his eyes.

The patter of light footsteps outside his door made him sit up in bed. His hands slid under the pillow, automatically feeling for the knife hidden beneath.

“Danny? It’s me,” Cassie’s small voice pierced his train of thought. “Can I sleep here? I’m scared.”

The door opened with a creak, and his twin sister stepped into a swath of pale moonlight. Her bare toes curled and uncurled in apprehension. She bit her lip. “Please, Danny?”

Daniel exhaled in annoyance. “Fine, but try not to squirm too much, okay?”

“Okay,” she answered meekly.

Cassie climbed into bed with him and fluffed up the pillows before lying down. They were both silent for a few minutes. After the awkwardness had passed, Daniel cleared his throat and looked away shamefacedly.
“Look, I’m sorry for what happened today,” he said in a hoarse voice. “It’s just that I saw you kill that man, and I thought…I thought something had taken over you.”

Cassie said nothing, but she turned to him and wrapped her slender arms around his waist, burying her face in her twin brother’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” she answered in a muffled voice.

He hugged her back and patter her on the head. “I promise I’ll believe you next time.”

He felt her lips stretch in a smile. She giggled.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” said Cassie. Her arms tightened their grip on him, and he could not twist them off no matter how much he tried.

“Cassie! Oh, fuck.”

His twin sister raised her head and smiled at him. Her eyes were black as pitch and in her mouth were rows and rows of razor teeth.

“Oh, hello, Daniel. I didn’t notice you were here.” She placed a palm on his stomach, and felt a jolt of white-hot pain spread through his body. Cassie tossed his limp body back on the pillows unceremoniously. She tilted his head sideways, exposing his neck, which was throbbing with pulse.

“You know what? I’m going to have so much fun killing you,” she whispered, before sinking her teeth into his throat.


Night Shift

I have never wanted to become a nurse.

But, somehow, because of the twists and turns of fate, that despised occupation became compulsory for me to take. The harshness of life made it necessary for me to pursue a nursing course in college, and made me stick to my choice even though the clinical subjects and the difficult internships always made me want to break down and quit. 

My family wasn’t poor, we were upper-middle-class, but my extravagant lifestyle and mounting credit card bills made me realize that I wasn’t helping my parents in any way. I was excited to break free, to live alone, but I also wanted to support myself and not come crawling back to my parents. 

After I graduated from university and passed the nursing board exam, I aced my first job interview and I moved out of the house.


So, I became a nurse.


Suddenly, my comfortable, ho-hum existence became fast-paced and unpredictable.

Every day, I would wake up at five in the morning and rush off to work in the hospital, getting off at four in the afternoon. I’d be too tired by then to go clubbing with my friends. Before, I’d go shopping or bar-hopping with them, but now all I wanted to do was head to my condominium unit, eat an early supper, soak in a hot bath to scrub off all the memories of the ER from my mind, and collapse in bed. 

A lot of things changed, too—now, my parents were proud of me. My sisters envied me and my salary, I felt confident of myself. But I was morphing into a different person. Now, I didn’t have time to apply make-up or dress up in the latest fashions. I seldom watched television, seldom went online, and I even forgot to check my cell phone sometimes. My social life was a perfect zero, as dating seemed like a waste of time. My life was revolving around different things now.




I gently massaged my aching nape as I walked out of the hospital. I had been on night shift for almost a week, and I don’t deny that I prefer my old shift. I was terribly sleepy, and the ground seemed to be moving in circles. It took five tries to get the car keys inside their slot. Seated on the driver’s seat, I leaned my head on the steering wheel and tried to calm myself, closing my eyes and breathing deeply until the dizziness faded.


I made it home before I fell completely asleep.


I woke up at about one o’clock in the afternoon. My stomach was complaining of its emptiness and I staggered up, dusting off the cobwebs of sleep that still held me captive. My condo seemed deathly silent. I went over to my living room, plugged in my iTouch to the iPod dock, and put on music before heading to the kitchen in search of something to eat.

I pulled the refrigerator door open and gazed inside, contemplating what to prepare. My mom always made it a point to drop by my condo once a week and restock my food supply. She always saw to it that my cupboards were full of canned goods, my refrigerator filled to the brim with vegetables, fruits, juice, and milk. Thanks to her, I almost never did any grocery-shopping.

I decided on a veggie salad, tuna sandwich, and a glass of milk.

After eating, I paced around, feeling restless. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I didn’t feel like going back to sleep, so I tried checking my emails and my Facebook account. After a few minutes, a smiley icon popped up, indicating that someone wanted to start a YM conversation with me.

Shinigami09: hey Sheryn.

It was my fellow nurse, Keil. He had been posted on the same floor for the same shift. We had been friends since.

GlassBallerina: hi Keil!

Shinigami09: hav u heard?

GlassBallerina: abt wat? Tel me alrdy.

Shinigami09: 3 nurses & 2 interns resigned ths wk. 

Shinigami09: they all claim 2 hav been attacked by a patient. a kid.

GlassBallerina: oh! (Oo)

That was a surprise. A very disturbing one.

Shinigami09: u knw wat’s more disturbing? the patient’s alrdy listed as dead!

GlassBallerina: omg thaz crazy! pls tell me ur just tryn 2 creep me out

Shinigami09: don’t want 2 scare u, Sheryn, but it’s true. all of the guys hu resigned were assigned in the night shift. same as the 2 of us.

GlassBallerina: can we resign 2? :p

Shinigami09: shut up. Evry1’s running scared now. i stil don’t know whether 2 believe it or not.

GlassBallerina: guess I nid 2 wear my silver cross to work 2nyt. 

Shinigami09: don’t ya worry. I’ll watch out 4 ya. 😀

GlassBallerina: tnx Keil. that’s very nice of u.

Shinigami09: aww I get my kicks frm rescuing damsels in distress. Esp the pretty ones! ;p


That Night


 I went to work as usual, the YM conversation entirely off my mind. When I arrived at the hospital, it was quiet and lethargic as usual, as had been for a few days now. I went straight to the third floor, to one of the paediatric wards, after I had reported to the nurses’ station.

Keil was already in the children’s ward, checking the patients one by one. They were all asleep. He looked up when I entered and gave me a wink. “Hey Sheryn. Been here a while now?”

I shook my head. “No, just arrived. Been keeping busy?”

“As you can see.” 

We laughed. It seemed as if it was going to be another long night.

All of a sudden, Keil was summoned to the nurses’ station and I was left alone. He was requested to assist the EMTs in a roadside accident. According to what I heard, the freak vehicular accident cost more than thirty people their lives. Because of that, I was left alone.


I was moping because of boredom when the head nurse called my attention. She wanted me to take care of one of the dead bodies in the morgue because it was going to be picked up the following morning. 

So I went, heavy-hearted. I didn’t want to see dead children because somehow, they made me feel like a failure. Even though it wasn’t my fault that they died, I had a feeling that somehow, I could have done something to make things turn out differently.

I was already tagging the dead little boy, when a sudden noise made me straighten up nervously. “What was that?” I asked aloud. My hands were shaking.

Of course no one could answer me. I carefully picked up my clipboard and walked outside the morgue. Eyes seemed to be following me. I was scared, and I made it a point not to look the dead bodies in the face. If I did, their images would haunt me for weeks.

I quickly ran to the elevator and pressed for the third floor. But before I could close the door, I saw something reflected on the metal wall. I wasn’t alone in the elevator after all.

The doors closed.

“Hello,” a voice said.

I turned around, and came face-to-face with a little boy, wearing a white hospital gown. He was cute, with curly brown hair and dark eyes.

And he had a tag on his wrist.

I suppressed a scream, then pressed the emergency exit button on the elevator. It wouldn’t respond. I stabbed it with my forefinger desperately, cringing against the wall. My eyes filled with hot tears and my breath came in quick spurts. As I stood there, trembling, I heard a quiet, chilling, little laugh.

The boy smirked at me openly, then said sweetly, “You can’t get out, can you?”

I sobbed. “Wh-what do you want?”

In response, he clutched at his chest, then coughed. A spray of bright crimson blood spattered on my white uniform. He looked up again, his eyes white with fury and his teeth stained with blood. “You. I hate all of you for not making me better.”

The elevator lights faltered and the boy advanced towards me.

Then came darkness.


Presently I woke up, clutching my aching head. I was on the paediatric ward, sitting on one of the couches by the wall. I glanced at the clock.

2:13 AM.

Have I dreamed everything?

No. There were the bloodstains on my clothes to prove otherwise.

Suddenly, all I wanted to do was get out of the hospital. Unseeingly, I ran to the emergency exit but my knees buckled halfway. So I stepped into the elevator, which had another passenger. This time it was a teenage boy dressed in jeans and a black sweatshirt, with cuts and bruises on his face and neck.

“Going down?” He asked politely, finger poised on the ground floor button.

“Yes, please.” I leaned on the wall in fatigue.

The doors began to slide close. But before they completely blocked everything out, I saw a patient pass by. At that exact moment, he looked at me and smiled mockingly.

It was the little boy!

“Shit,” I said weakly, breaking out in cold perspiration.

The teenage boy looked at me curiously. “What’s wrong, nurse? Are you all right?”

I shook my heard. “No. Are you?”

He laughed pleasantly. “I got banged up in an accident a while ago. But what about you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I began to tremble. “I have. That—that little boy awhile ago..? He was dead, you know. I was the one who dressed him up. I was the one who tagged him, he had a tag like all the dead bodies have…”

The boy gazed at me in amusement. “Oh?”

I stared at him, realization hitting me like a sledgehammer. His eyes didn’t seem so friendly anymore. Not knowing what to do, I repeated, “He had a dead-body tag on his wrist…”

“Oh,” he repeated, pulling up his sweater sleeve and showing me his wrist. “Like this one?”


The End.


I’m Not a Real Writer

dsc_0017_副本Yes. I confess. I’m not a real writer.

This does not, however, mean that I plagiarise.

I say I’m not a ‘real’ writer in the sense that I’m not very good at all. I can spin pretty tales out of words sometimes, but after the initial blindness resulting from the dazzles and sparkles, you can blow on them and they will darken and crumble, just like dust, just the like the ashes they really are.

I like to fancy myself as a writer, but I know none of it is real. In my mind, it sounds wonderful. In my mind, I imagine myself making razor-thin scratches on great blank pages, watching ink blots splatter and smear as my words bleed on the paper.

I imagine making people laugh, cry, think.

I imagine too much.

It’s not like that, not at all.

Instead it’s a race against time, typing or writing the torrent of thoughts so fast that my fingers are cramped afterwards. It’s feeling empty, so drained that one little flick of the thumb could send me spiralling away.

I’m not a real writer because I actually hate writing.

I just write because I have no other way of getting the voices out of my head. If I don’t grab a pen or pull the keyboard towards me, the words and thoughts will build up and I will feel like drowning, suffocating beneath the tide of my own imagination.

It’s a pity that my words are never creative enough, never beautiful enough. It’s a pity that after I write I don’t even read them again, not even to edit.

It’s a pity that…oh, who cares.

I’m not a real writer because I suck.

You Don’t Understand

I toss and turn again all night

Cold fingers in the morning light

But you take me in your arms and I’m all right.

You ask me “sweetie did you rest?”

I answer “well, I tried my best”

You sigh but try your hardest to jest

And let me forget

But I can’t

And I won’t

Because I’m haunted

And you don’t understand.

As night falls I feel my pulse start to race

And fright appears upon your face

As you take in my unfocused gaze

I ask you “sweetie can’t you see?”

You answer “darling, why ask me?”

I clutch your hand but they won’t leave me be

Can’t you see that they’re dragging me, dragging me!

So I scream 

And I cry

Because they’re hurting me

And you still can’t understand.

As the days go by I grow steadily weak

We stop talking altogether and my voice has gone meek

Now you’re looking at me like I’m some kind of freak.

You shake my shoulders and scream at me

I beg you “Stop!” but you won’t set me free

I crawl away but you’re after me

So I turn.

And I stab

And I choke

Because you’re not helping me

And you don’t understand.




Flames that are spear-points of light in the dark
Ease now my pain, and on a journey embark
To touch those in sadness, in misery–
Unlike this poem, which will never reach me.

Deep in my sadness, I do understand
Against this false evanescence, I will contend
I will seek my Elysium in places afar
Where my soul will be safe from this damaging war.

I toiled every day, and I’ve prayed every night
I bloodied my body in search for the Light
Seeking for assurance from the Heavens, ’til Dawn
Steals back once again, for the light has regrown.

But even in Death, I still could not rest
I finished what I should, and I did all my best
Now in this false slumber, I still toss and turn
While outside my grave, the Sun’s splendour will burn…

…but not for long

For even the candles are smothered and snuffed
I am plunged into darkness, but it’s still not enough
The Shadows with eyes are calling ’round me again
To see if I would be a part of their mayhem.

And like the proverbial poet, the ill-fated man of men
I must spread the word that Night will be broken
In avenging the souls of the beaten and damned,
Succeeding in teaching the shadows to have calmed..

Let the flames’ reassurance be seen once again
When, in the candlelight’s radiance, the darkness is taken.