khepa's Stories

Gun

2008-01-25T00:57:34Z

There was no one else in the room. The walls had a warm whitewashed color, low-wattage bulbs in the ceiling. She was standing in the middle, blurred. Her hair was silvery, she was calm. I wasn’t. I wanted to get out of the room, but couldn’t. I turned around, looked outside through the small windows, cobwebs in the corner. I heard some noise, she moved, still calm. I wasn’t. She was holding a gun.

Cooking and Flying

2008-01-09T04:58:39Z

He could fly, she could cook or let’s say, she could fly, he could cook. Doesn’t matter, take your pick. One may wonder, these two virtues, if we may say so, are rather in odds with each other. Flying, here we are referring to the brave act of flight as a bird would perform not the act of sitting in a chair and pressing some buttons, need not to be disturbed by gastronomical desires. But like a bird one would get hungry, eventually. Knowing how to cook can come in handy.

Dancing...

2007-11-18T02:09:32Z

Dancing, prancing…as I read those menacing words in the text, I realized the pain. The black murmur hidden in my mind is now wide awake, squirming, yet with a calm posture, like the sound of page turning. Mild. Ruffle. Soothing. Scratch, the page breaks.

I knelled down and gather the dust from the pages, softly in my hand. I threw it into the wind. Hopeful transition. Perplexed. Behind me was the shadow, reading, glancing cautiously at the text, those menacing text. Hopeful. I felt the pain again and wanted to leave, far, far away from this room.

Alley

2007-10-06T00:18:14Z

I was sitting alone in the dark alley while a cat whispered in my ears. What are you doing in the dark, asked the cat? It is my alley, I replied. I am the alley man…ailman…allman. There’s no place for a alley cat here. Are you an alley cat? Or just a cat wondering in the depths of the mind? Cat replied no, I am not an alley cat, just an ordinary cat. So scoot, go away, I shouted. Left…Alone. It was still dark then, but now I was alone again. No cat. Just me in the alley.

Amber Lights

2007-08-03T01:09:25Z

One day he ran into the middle of the street to look for his eyes. The eyes that were letting him see this mundane world. He needed them to capture his feelings and soak into his ideas gently, yet certain times he was perturbed by the sights.

He could still see without those eyes that were running away from him down the street. The sockets in the absence of the usual apparatus would have been a scary sight. But it wasn’t. Instead there was a glimmering amber light.

It was still scary but illuminating enough that didn’t drive people away. While he was running there was smudge of light flowing besides him. People were following him, surprised, frightened, didn’t know how one could loose eyes and yet still see.

They would be surprised if they knew, he could see much better than before. But still he was looking for those eyes, he missed the mundane world.

62nd Floor

2007-07-20T02:34:59Z

I decided to take the stairs, all 62 of it. I had the latest issue of the New Yorker with me. Also a pack of gum, a half eaten cucumber and a bottle of cola. I stopped at 17th for a quick break. I settled down and finished the cucumber. I started reading about the guy who went to fishing with his dad and something happened, something horrible that is worthy enough for New Yorker. I resumed my journey. When I reached 29th, I heard a loud noise, possibly from 27th. I wanted to go back but at the last moment changed my mind. I landed on 39th and page 45, another story. This is about love, breaking up, and all that jazz. I sipped on my cola. It might be the caffeine. I hurried all the way to 59th. The door was open, it was dark. I finished the cola and started reading one of the book reviews, there were quite a few good ones, I have to make a note to myself. I realized I could walk slowly and read at the same time. Finally, I reached 62nd, that’s the roof, the end. I put a piece of gum in mouth and then I jumped.

Darwin

2007-07-14T15:35:45Z

I think I will call him Darwin. I thought about naming him Newton, but I think, for a monkey, Darwin is much more suitable. However, as I am writing my sermon, I realized that it won’t be easy to bring him to work (there is bring your dog to work day!). I don’t think the congregation will appreciate a banana peel throwing creature beside me in the pulpit, even though some of them might have the impression that they, the monkeys, are our ancestors. We actually never had that discussion, perhaps this is a good time for that.

In any case, you might anticipate that at certain point of the story, I will reveal that the monkey is the devil or the devil appeared before me in the middle of night and gave me Darwin in exchange for my soul, or something of that nature. Sorry. This is just a plain old monkey, no devil involved. But I did buy him from Chinatown. For all that matters, he might be Chinese.

Instructions on How to Kill a Poet

2007-07-08T23:25:05Z

First of all, read all the works. It is crucial to understand the words, to get a feel for the ideas created in the solitude which can be used in our advantage so that we can arrive in the solitary escape and find our target, alone in deep thoughts, the most vulnerable place for a poet. Second, observe the poet carefully in this natural habitat. Although alone, the words will surely be his or her strongest weapon, an obstacle for us. The more familiar we are with the nuances, the easier it would be to find the blank stare and break the rhythm, gently and calmly. Hesitation is our weakest link, as the poet thrives on those moments, those stammering thoughts, those precious glimpses that can be thrown towards us like bullets. And yes, surely, one can use the gun. But afterwards, remember to burn the books. All of them.

Café

2007-07-06T04:39:41Z

The taxi dropped me near the café. The name of the place was Lonely Café. Perhaps it was Paradise Lost or Lonely Paradise. Something to do with loneliness or paradise. I vaguely remember the name but the roaming smell of hamburger is still vivid in my mind. I am sure I was not drawn to that place for its crumbling facade and definitely not the name, if that was the case I would have remembered it better than the smell.

I walked towards the door. Few heads peered though the flickering neon sign. It was bright red but don’t remember what it said. I was certainly hoping this was a film noir and I was the detective. I was expecting that if I walk through that door I will see Madeline standing by the counter. Her red luscious lips and gorgeous black hair will stare at me like some dead sailor’s binoculars. But sadly it wasn’t any film. It was real. I remember taking another few steps. I surely recall the handwritten sign next to the door. Help wanted. I walked inside. It was my first job.

Only one pair of shoes

2007-07-05T05:07:37Z

I could make Imelda Marcos jealous. A billionaire like me could easily build a collection of three thousand pairs of shoes. However, as shocking as this might sound, I only have one pair of shoes. I might be one of the filthiest and richest sons of a bitch you have ever met, but I just don’t feel the urge to buy a second pair.

I have other ways to spend money, don’t worry. On a whim I might buy an Island. If I need to sneeze, I fly to Geneva. If I want steak, I go to São Paulo. If I am depressed, I gobble up corporations. Granted, I am no Manolo Blahnik loving character out of some Candice Bushnell bestseller. And I could easily afford the latest Italian or German shoes. Heck, I can get my own brand of shoes with whatever name I want on it. But I don’t feel like it.

I might be crazy about helicopters but not about shoes.
I love my only pair of shoes. It is comfortable. Yes, bit worn, does not really give out a billionaire vibe, but I don’t care. I am rich and I can afford to have only one pair of shoes.

Yard Sale

2007-07-02T16:18:09Z

I wanted to sell my soul at the yard sale but no one would buy it. No one! Even the devil was reluctant. After taking a quick glance he said, it stinks. What else you got? Nothing, I replied. What else could I sell? I only have my soul to spare.

It is not the case that people didn’t show up. They did. By word of mouth they found out soon that there is a soul at the yard sale. I was up for a bargain too. Trust me, I was not there for the money. I just wanted to sell my soul. But no one would buy it. No one! They all said, it stinks. What else you got?

Around the corner, the freckled neighborhood kid was doing much better on the lemonade stand. What was your secret? I asked the kid. You need to put lots of sugar. Lots of sugar? So I went inside to put some sugar in my soul.

Train of thoughts

2007-06-27T01:39:47Z

The train arrived at quarter past nine. I got inside and I felt I was part of the train. My thoughts were running wild, aimlessly. But the train was heading towards the big city. She is waiting for me. I will see her after five years or is it four?

The darkness slipped around me as the train picked up the speed. I could see the trees, the slum, the dots far away. The wide sky was opening up when the conductor walked into the car. I could see the lights ahead, the train was entering a small city before it will take me to the big one. I can see small apartments with open curtains, people watching TV, cars waiting. Graffiti and lamp posts flew by my window as the train slouched in the darkness again. I dozed off. I saw newspaper headline in front of me.

I woke up after few minutes and saw the platform with big signs. She was standing there with flowers. I saw an anxious yet excited look. I leaned back on my seat and closed my eyes. I will let the train take me to the next big city.

Retirement

2007-06-24T21:20:05Z

It was his last day at work. The new decree from the palace was announced today. He, the ultimate executioner of the Kingdom, known for his swift, clean slash of the sword, will be replaced by a machine. Few days ago an expert of this so called precise machine was brought in from far away. There is no need for his ‘inhumane’ delivery anymore. The majestic council found this new method more efficient and cost effective. And the crowd always likes modern, innovative techniques.

His last assignment involved a young man. The plight of the poor victim is none of his concerns. However, today he paused for a moment, looked carefully at his prey. As the victim was approaching the platform, he moved away, suddenly jumped with his sword. He pulled out his hood, the crowd cheered. This is the first time they saw those red blooded eyes. He didn’t waste a single second anymore. A sudden whish. That famous blow spilled blood for the last time. The crowd was silenced as they witnessed a great feat of self decapitation.

Black Ink

2007-06-23T04:02:13Z

Let the black words dance towards me, prancing away from the pages of the thick book. Don’t let the wind stop them.
I want to hold them. I want the ink smear all over me.

As if I am a cat, crawling by the desk. I plead them to come play with me, dance with me . I shiver as I look at the flowing words. Let the black words dance towards me.

I am a skeleton

2007-06-21T22:05:31Z

Hello. I am a rattling skeleton. I am all bones, hanging down from the door.

I am stuck here for eternity. I don’t get to move around that much. At least, I can see the sky through the window. Maybe I was a poet, when I had flesh and blood.

The room is small, with few stuff here and there. A laptop in the corner table, guitar stand with no guitar, a hideously green ottoman, a small chest drawer with broken handles, that’s about it. Oh ya, the Buddha candle holder by the bed. I kind of get the skeleton view from the top of the door. My owner tends to forget that I am attached to it. When he comes home drunk, often times with a female companion, he bangs open the door. Yes, I am a skeleton, I don’t have any feelings. blah blah blah. But who likes to get banged in the face? I don’t. Sometime it rearranges my bone structures, not pleasant.