11:11

Some people make a wish every time they look at the clock and unintentionally notice 11:11. They said that what they wish for will come true right when the clock shows those same numbers.

She knows it's just a myth, something people got from mouth to mouth. No one’s been able to trace the origins of this though, they just probably do it for fun. Or simply believe it.

But it happened to her a lot, too often to be a coincidence, thus made a little faith growing inside her. She started to consider this as a message from the universe.

It doesn't make sense, she might be expecting things, but there is always a reason for everything. She takes this as a sign to keep her wishes and see what will happen. So she surreptitiously gives it a shot every time she notices 11:11 on the clock.

She wishes for love to come her way.
She wishes that he would love her back.

But he didn't.

Different

This story was inspired by August Pullman, the incredible kid from R. J. Palacio's remarkable novel, Wonder.

*****

People usually glance at me.

And it inevitably leads to various reactions—probably not too various, since it's never been good anyway.

I can see if they're scared.
Disgusted.
Startled.
Speechless.
Flustered.
They can't help but getting freak out and that's pretty obvious to see.
Even at some point I could get unlucky—wait, unluckier—that they'd add it with a scream. Or mean questions. No, actually not that mean, I know it just sort of comes out of their mouth naturally. Like it's the first thing you'd say when you see something horrible.

I am horrible.

I have been living through that for years, long enough to finally get used to it.

It's easy to notice my presence everytime I don't cover my face properly. People tend to pay attention to something beyond normal, you know, something unusual. Different. And this scarce deformity thing is an absolute controversy. They don't explicitly show it, but I know they try so hard not to take a second look at me, because the second time you look at me it'd be difficult for you to control your face expression. They try not to get any closer to me, like I'm sort of a plague. Like it's spreading. The gap they create is barely seen but it's real. I know. I always know.

I have been suffering hard enough to finally accept the fact that society is a big deal.

But I never cried it out. I never took my feelings quite seriously. It'd sting and then disappear in no time. Life is tough, so in order to survive I need to be tougher.

Until one day, I stare at myself for the longest time I know since I started to avoid mirrors and that's when I shattered.

For once, it hurts. It really does.

The Condolence

Hello, I'm coming up with a new project—regarding my goal to be productive during holidays. I'm planning on doing a 1 Day 1 Story (hopefully). It's sort of flash fiction challenge. Pardon my writing flaws, hope you guys enjoy it!

*****

"I am deeply sorry about your loss."

"Thank you for keeping him company when he was still here," the middle-aged lady replied, smiling mirthlessly despite the unfathomable grief that the parents must've felt when their only kid died in such an miserable condition.

He responded with a bitter smile nevertheless. "Your son was and will always be a great friend of mine. However..." he took a deep breath before continued, "I still can't comprehend what was going on. How could all this happened to him..."

"Neither all of us," the man with scar on his face interrupted with a rasping voice. "I know it must be hard for you too, since you're the one he was closest with."

Silence. Each of them seemed to drown in their inexplicable sorrow, until the sound of a phone call cracked it off.

"Excuse me." He went to the bathroom to answer his phone. "Hello?"

"Hello? Dear? That guy in the news, he is your friend, isn't he? I'm so sorry to hear about him. It's just terribly shocking. I mean, he was brutally murdered. Moreover the suspect is still out there..."

He didn't answer. Instead, he leaned himself to the wall and got something out of his pocket.

"Honey? Are you okay?"

It was a blood-stained photo of the middle-aged lady and the man with scar on his face.

"I'm fine."