The man with the balloons.

The ringing sound of the alarm had woke him.

Deryk sat up and stretched his arms.

Nothing annoyed him more than being awaken from an unfinished slumber.

Dissatisfied, he got out of bed and slipped on his comfy bedroom slippers.

"Deryk darling, come now, I've made your favorite breakfast- eggs Benedict and honey soaked pancakes. "

Deryk smiled as soon as he heard those words.

His bubbly wife always knew what to say to cheer him up.

He headed to the showers, washed up and went to the kitchen for breakfast.

He greeted his loving wife with a kiss, and sat down to have his breakfast.

As he ate. he looked out the kitchen window and thought.

Life was terribly dull, and nothing had gone as planned.

His dreams of becoming a pilot only resulted in his daily 9 to 5 job.

Flying high was always his passion, but now he earned his living

stuck in a solid cubicle.

He reminiscence the days where he was a care free spirit,

and life was nothing but a vast unknown adventure that awaited him.

The sound from the television distracted his thoughts,

and his eyes drifted to the animated screen.

The television was showed a house carried by countless balloons,

floating up and down through the skies.

His wife, although mature on the outside,

never fully outgrown her childish side.

Down, or whatever direction it was called,

had always been one of her favorite movies.

It reminded her of the impossibilities in life;

the fact that mere balloons were able to lift a house into the sky

was already something both impossible and yet inspirational at the same time.

As he watched the movie, a small idea began to form in his mind,

growing and growing until it became something he had to do.

Deryk wolfed down his breakfast and headed to the closet.

A box of balloons were kept there, goodness knows why.

He took the box out, picked up a couple rubber balloons and blew into them,

filling them up with as much air as they could hold.

He headed to the kitchen window, with the balloons tied to a string looped through his hand.

Deryk placed his right foot out onto the ledge, and before placing his left,

he stretched out his free arm and grabbed onto his briefcase.

He starred out at the city, and clutched both objects in his hand tighter.

He thought about the good old days, the rebellious free spirit he once was.

"Let me see if I can defy logic," he thought.

If balloons could life a house, shouldn't he be able to fair the same?

Ignoring his frantically screaming wife,

and the outcomes of what he was about to do,

Deryk took a deep breath and jumped.

This was written two days ago.

Have you once read your old posts and wondered:

"Ah, how silly and naive I was back then, to only care about such foolish things.

For my mind to be filled with anxiousness and anxiety over a flaw on my face" ?

There is a reason why the past is kept hidden.

2012 is a year away, do you think the Mayans might have been on to something?

Mother Nature unleashes her wrath continuously,

and souls leave Earth by the thousands.

Yes, I will admit- I am scared.

Afraid, terrified of what the future holds.

Will I graduate? Get married and have a job that I love?

Will I stop selfishly thinking of my own needs before others?

Will humans ever learn to love and accept each other for who they are?

The latter is, IMHO, the main problem with society.

We do not know how to love those that love us.

What if the world were to end tomorrow?

Would we want to leave the earth in this state of being?

With unresolved issues; unknown experiences.

Are you ready to leave earth as you are?

If I were to die today, I would be terribly upset over the fact

that I had spent my past living years studying.

What a waste of my precious life.

The Green Ribbon.

A Tale of a Tail That Once Was.

The vast sky is pinkish red, with the puffs of clouds reminding me of cotton candy.

The glorious sun leans down to kiss the surface of the ocean goodbye.

I watch the evening sky set in, before the sun fully sets and the stars come out to play.

I watch this scene unfold before me as I sit perched on an uneven rock.

The coarse surface hurts my bottom, making me regret sitting here in my nakedness.

I glance down at my body once again,

paying more attention to the limbs that were under my hips.

I stretch my legs alternately, wiggling each of my tiny toes- a perfect ten in total.

This is something I will have to get used to.

I stand, slowly steadying myself.

And just when I think I have enough balance- I fall.

Gripping onto the corner of the rock for support, I slowly elevate myself once again,

not letting go off the rock for fear of falling.

I place my right foot forward, and when I'm confident; I place my left.

I leave the rock by repeating this process of movement; leaving a bloody trail behind me.

No, I wasn't injured; my body was free of impurities.

I was bleeding through my feet.

Witch Hazel had promised it wouldn't hurt-

all that would happen is just the splitting of my tail into legs.

I dreamed of having legs ever since listening to my Grandmother tell the story of Ariel-

the one who had gave up everything for nothing.

| Ariel was adventurous, and had seen the people above countless of times.

Of all the humans she has seen, one had particularly caught her eye.

He was a dashing young prince, who had still so much of the world yet to explore.

And on the day that she first saw him, she promised him his heart.

To meet her prince, she had to first get a pair of legs.

She went to Witch Hazel for help, and in return she gave up her voice.

She soon met her prince, and they both fell in love.

Unfortunately, not in the same way.

The prince was promised to his father to a princess of another kingdom,

and a wedding was soon held.

Ariel, the girl whom the prince loved as his own sister,

could take the pain no longer.

Given the choice to once again return to the ocean,

but only through the death of the prince's fiancee,

Ariel decided to take her own life instead.

Returning once again to the ocean in a different form. |

Ariel's story is a tragically sad one, I must admit.

Ever since Ariel's death, the idea of inter-marriage was no longer promoted.

But, I, however, am a strong believer of the impossible.

After all, if it is possible for a strange group species to move around on legs,

would it be any stranger to want to be like one of them?

I look down once again at my drippy feet.

Well, I suppose all transformations have their side effects,

a little loss of blood couldn't hurt too much, could it?

Looking around cautiously, I spot a large brown sack in a fishing boat nearby.

The sack, nice and warm, fit me smugly.

A tip I always remember was to cover myself up when in the presence of humans.

They detest nakedness- something which I find utterly bizarre.

I leave the beach and begin making my way to the row of houses located by the pier.

My family, friends and aquatic home all play their memories in my jumbled mind.

Tears begin to well up in my eyes but I stifle them, reminding myself of the reason I came here.

I walk up to a house, rap on the door, and greet the world with a smile.

My Sausage McMuffin Lover.

I'm sorry if my posts lack the charm they use to have.

Or I thought they used to have.

The sunlight seeped through my lazy eyelids, its radiant rays nagging me to wake.

I sat up and stretched my arms as I looked around the room.

The curtains that were drawn across the window are now tied up at the side,

as if someone wanted the sun to wake me.

On the bed is a tray, the bed-in-breakfast kind, to be exact.

A pile of toasted pancakes, drizzled with honey and covered with berries sat in the center of a plate, while a handful of delicious, red strawberries crowd in a tiny bowl on the tray.

A glass of freshly squeezed orange juice was there too,

a refreshing complement to my morning meal.

Amidst the delicious feast prepared, I noticed a folded piece of paper placed next to the plate.

I picked it up and read the note, my eyes scanning through the written sentiment.

A smile crept across my face as I thought lovingly of the writer.

I placed the note down and picked up my cutleries,

silently reminding myself to thank the writer once he got back from work.

Some may crave Ikea's Sweedish Meatballs, or Ben &Jerry's Ice-Cream,

But McDonald's Sausage McMuffin with Egg is the perfect ~~breakfast~~ burger for me,

not a burger I've tasted can ever compare with this.

Mmm...you are oh-so-mouth watering.

Switching gears...

I realize I splurge too much on books.

I have a stack of them, both own and borrowed, in my drawer,

patiently waiting to tell their stories.

I need to get my priorities straightened out.

"Love is love, if love can learn to love."

Roses are... (extracted from Chinese Defects)

Using most of the energy he had left, he thrust his weapon forward diagonally. It was finished. That was the final blow. He stood back to admire his artwork- the bloody mess splattered beautifully across the walls which were once pearly white. He dropped the blood-stained axe next to the chopped up, disfigured organism. Smiling proudly to himself, he headed off to the bathroom to clean up. The streaming water from the pipe soon filled the bathtub as he gently lowered himself in. Exhaling a relaxed sigh, he leaned back and let the morning occurrence play through in his mind.

She was about a hundred feet in front of him. Laughing cheerily, she continued talking on her cellphone, completely unaware of what was coming for her. Judging on what she was saying, she was on her way home to celebrate Valentine's Day with Henry, whom he supposes is her lover. Henry had everything planned out for them- specially prepared Valentine's dinner followed by a romantic evening of togetherness. A bouquet of red roses, red heart chocolates and other delights awaited her. With an "I love you, too.", she hung up. And that was when he decided to strike. Chasing after the victim this time had been slightly tricky; she had decided to go through the woods to escape her perpetrator. Nevertheless, the poor working lady had her heels on, and it wasn't long enough 'till he caught up with her. As like all his other victims, she put up a struggle before the last bit of breath escaped her. From then on it was easy.

He dragged her body and placed her comfortably in the boot of his car. His home wasn't far, just a couple of blocks down the road. Soon, it would be time to begin his masterpiece. He carried her body cautiously into his home, and placed her strategically against the white wall. He brought out his axe, recently sharpened, from the basement. Gripping the axe tightly with both of his hands, he swung his arms back and began. Slowly but surely, her insides began to splatter into a work of art.

He smiled at himself, thinking of what he had done. The working lady is his eighth piece of artwork, not the very best, but certainly not the worst. Her blood was his art, and her death was a mere small sacrifice to produce such an extravagant wonder. His house was now a museum, each room a canvas for his work. The past seven souls have gone on to a better place, and he felt that he had made their death worth it.

Slowly, his mind began to devise another plan. The next room to paint white, the next victim to strike. He wondered what Henry did that night.

One of my proud extracts, with all its grammatical errors and mistakes included.

"The living souls may dance."

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