Short stories

The unit on the opposite block

Not long after I first moved here, I noticed a unit on the opposite block, some 100 metres away.

It had a warm yellow light. Sometimes I could see people's shadows.

The colour of that unit was too alluring. I watched from my window the movements of the people and pictured what's in that unit in my mind.

If there was such a beautiful light, there must be a dining table under it, because sometimes I saw people sitting down, which barely showed their head. That's where they would share their stories with each other after a tiring day. Maybe have some wine.

They have nice curtains with many layers. It must be a classy home. Maybe they have a grand piano. Sometimes after their dinner, they/he/she would sit down under the soft glow of the chandelier and play a tune. I could never know how many people there were in that unit.

Maybe a woman would waltz with a man across their carpet occasionally, when they were in the mood.

That unit was always one of the last few who turned off their lights. Sometimes the light lasted all the way until 3am. I know because I am a late sleeper myself. When I shifted my tired eyes from my desk to the window, that unit would stand out like a yellow gem in darkness. Then I would feel delighted that someone was with me together to endure the stillness and isolation of the night.

One day I got myself a pair of toy binoculars. Eagerly I pointed it to that mystical unit, hoping I could gather more details. Nothing much. One of the shadows revealed to be rectangular, therefore either a door or a shelf. That unit was higher than mine, I could only see up their window to the ceiling, which had nothing but the bright yellow light.

Whenever I caught some movement of people, I quickly take out my binoculars to see if I could catch a glimpse of their face. One time when I was doing that, the person froze.

A few seconds went by.

He/she proceeded to draw the curtains.

From that day onwards, the curtains were always drew at dusk.

After a few years, the light was changed to a dimmer, colder one. Seldom was the light on after 12 too.

Maybe the owner changed. I would still like to think of it having a grand piano, flowers, wine and chandelier when the light was yellow.


Chocolate heart

She felt someone knocking at her door.

Knock, knock.

KNOCK KNOCK.

THUD. THUD THUD.

She gave in. Her door opened.

A black liquid flowed out. He frowned, then bent over and scooped up some with his finger.

He smelled and tasted it. It was bitter-sweet dark chocolate.

He went in. The whole room was filled with dark chocolate gushing towards the door.

He patiently cleaned the room bit by bit, revealing the intriguing pattern on the floor and wall tiles.

The room was clean, but now a bit hollow.

He had an idea. He took out a candle and lighted it.

The room was now filled with brightness.


Trapped

A: Don't you realise?
B: What
A: That we are trapped.
B: Trapped in what?
A: We are trapped in this story.
B: Well this is where we belong.
A: What is belonging? Who are we? What is A? What is B? The writer is so lazy he didn't even assign us names.
B: Yeah that sucks. But it is not like we can go anywhere.
A: Maybe we can, if we ask for it. But wait, no matter what, it will still be part of the story. We are forever trapped. The only way to escape is to end this story.
B: But we will be dead.
A: Maybe we are different, maybe we can get out of here. Yes let's do that, let's give ourselves names. Screw this writer, screw this storyline.
B: You do realise that maybe he only designed you to be this way? To think that you are special? And he could kill us whenever he wan-
Me: Hehehe feels good to be powerful.
Me: Wait...
Me: Darn, now I am trapped.