upon finishing his final sentence

the man closed the book and thought about all that was written since he started two months and forty-one days ago:

many amused him, some not as much;

some took more pages, some succinctly put in one or two words;

some were neatly cursive (and slanted upwards), some were scribbles (for the heck of it), some were sketches (when the man couldn’t puzzle himself together), some were doodles (which only he understood);

some had really nice drawings – a few black and white, the others colour-penciled. one was oil-pasteled and took two days and forty-one hours to complete;

one or two sentences followed the existent lines – most didn’t;

some pages were intentionally left blank;

there were a few he didn’t write down himself – the girl, the boy, the woman, the Stranger and the World did. some of them he liked, others not as much;

some were entirely new, most were repetitions (what a waste of good, solid paper, the man thought);

a few pierced through the Heart like a shard (a few pages were torn out) – a few more couldn’t stop It from laughing out loud (these, the man remembered the most).

almost-reluctantly, the man neatly arranged the book along the infinite wooden shelf, alongside the other two hundred and forty-one hundred books in which he had written.

he returned to his desk and found a new, fresh book placed in front of him.

the man cracked his knuckles, reached for his quill, and turned to the first blank page.

will write better this time, the man thought.

and so he started writing again.

with the last pile of soil on the now hidden casket

the boy thought about the Stranger’s life:

how It would wake up every day before sun rose to greet the World;

how It would sing on the top of Its heart for the World to hear;

how It would kiss the World goodnight before It dozed off, only to do the same the following day.

staring at the tombstone amidst the drizzle, the boy then thought about the times he and the Stranger had spent together:

how they held hands walking down the beach (and watching the sun cry after);

how they talked about the idiosyncrasies of the World until they fell asleep (the Stranger would usually doze off first);

how they bit off branches, twigs and leaves just to get to the lake amidst the dense, unforgiving forest (and the cuts and bruises that followed);

how they swam to the deepest parts of the ocean and spent countless nights there (and returning home with the chills after);

how they had countlessly professed their love for one another on top of the mountain (they had to scream on top of their lungs to be audible).

a large drop of rain (the size of a bowling ball) fell on the boy’s head and brought him back to the World.

it began pouring like there was no tomorrow.

if only It still had breath.

thunder and lightning ensued.

if only they were all real.

the rain drowned the tombstone, which quickly faded away.

if only It still had breath and they were all real.

soon the World was enveloped with rainwater, and the boy knew it was too late.

if only.

seeing a figure walk by the dusty, deserted path

the woman pulled over her junk-of-a-vehicle and with a smile, invited the Stranger in.

It was on Its way to the helipad.

with a tight handshake and tighter seatbelts, the woman stepped firmly on the gas and they were on their way.

soon enough, they reached the helipad two hours and forty-one minutes later.

the woman and the Stranger got out of the vehicle where the helicopter was. the rotors began spinning, going to full-force in the blink of an eye.

the Stranger walked up to the woman and hugged her as tightly as It could. It placed Its hands on her left chest, and told her to close her eyes.

very reluctantly, the woman did so.

*

the woman and the Stranger talked about the moon, the stars and the sky. they talked about their families, their friends, people whom they have just met. they talked about their dreams, their hopes, their aspirations. they talked about philosophies, theories and secrets the World didn’t know. they joked and laughed until the World shattered. they talked about their regrets, heartbreaks, and cried together. one became an ear for the other, and the Heart was reverberating.

sometimes they argued, and fought, and tore each other apart.

silence.

they then went back on to talking.

sometimes all they heard were the running of the vehicle engines.

the woman and the Stranger didn’t mind – in fact, they liked the silence, of not talking every now and then.

sometimes they would stop the vehicle by a route less-trodden and make love in the backseat.

all these happened during the journey.

the woman knew that the time would come, eventually.

*

when she opened her eyes, the helicopter was gone.

and so was the Stranger.

the woman knew It would never come back. nor would she see It again.

a water droplet fell from the World and splattered on her right cheek.

the woman got into her vehicle, tightened the seatbelt and pressed on the gas.

steering with her left, she brought across her right hand and placed it on her left chest. crusing amidst the now muddy and splotchy roads, the woman smiled.

the Heart reverberated like there was no tomorrow.

waiting for the 2.41 pm bus

all the boy wanted at that moment was to go back home and sleep until the World ended. checking his watch, he hasn’t had a shut-eye moment for two months and forty-one days now.

it was 2.39 pm.

the Stranger walked to the bus stop and stood beside the boy. clad in black (not the smartest thing to do considering the sweltering heat, the boy thought), It took out a torn handkerchief and sneezed hardly into it. the boy felt the World shake for a second.

odd that It was, the boy sensed an acquaintance with the Stranger in black, though they smelled completely different from the other - the Stranger too had fifteen fingers and he only had ten.

still, the boy smiled at It, and It smiled back. the Stranger checked Its watch, then scanned the horizon for the impending bus.

the bus came at 2.41 pm sharp – the attendant pushed his way out of the vehicle, and announced to the World that there was only space for one.

the boy and the Stranger looked at each other – It stretched out Its right hand (of eight fingers) and gestured for him to board the bus.

the boy took the Stranger’s hand and gently shook it. it was cold, calm, and reverberated with the Heart.

a moment later, the boy was waving at the moving bus with the Stranger on Its way to wherever It was going.

the boy knew he had to wait for another day for the next bus to come, so he took out a torn piece of paper from his backpack and doodled on it so he wouldn’t pass out.

maybe the Stranger needed to sleep until the World ended more than the boy did.

maybe. but it didn’t matter.

the Heart reverberated once more, as the boy continued on doodling.

turning to page 241 of the primeval cookbook

the girl went through the list again:

- white thread as long as time;

- an organic adhesive;

- generous amounts of breath by family members, companions, friends, acquaintances and strangers;

- a pinch of the past, present and future;

- a warm, wood oven; and

- the Heart, naturally bruised, battered and julienned.

carefully following the instructions in the book, the girl combined the adhesive with the Heart in a large bowl, coating It thoroughly. she then poured the breath over the mixture, taking care not to spill or waste any, and sprinkled over a pinch of the past, present and future. the girl finished up by tying the thread around the bowl (this took her two months and forty-one days) and the concoction was set.

the girl heated the oven to its warmest and with one deep breath, she stepped in with the bowl – clear, salt-like fluid (she tasted it to make sure) seeped out of the mixture almost instantaneously, and the girl recalled this warning. she shut the oven door and closing her eyes,

the Heart was well done, and It came back to life again.

when familiar noises came from downstairs

the man was writing in his bed. he knew the World had come.

It broke into his room and held him at gunpoint. kneeling with his head pressed onto the ground, the man was told not to make a sound. he complied.

the World rummaged through his drawers for the writings. It searched his entire den – the closets, under the bed, above the kitchen cabinets, in the bathtub, every possible crevice It could find.

exactly two hours and forty-one minutes later, It piled the man’s writings of two hundred and forty-one years in front of him.

the World then lit a matchstick and set the stack on fire. It sniggered at the man’s engorged tearducts. still, he did not say a word.

when all turned to ash, the World left the man, reminding him that It will come back.

reassured that the World was far gone, the man slowly got up to his feet. he placed his right hand on his left chest, then grasped it tightly.

he then heard the spark of another matchstick.

silence.

the man sniggered and broke into an uncontrollable, hysterical laugh.

the Heart. the Heart was laughing aloud too.

with a hammer and pieces of wood she gathered from the forest

the girl boldly walked towards the river dam the World bestowed onto her the moment she was born.

a tiny crack at the upper-left side of the dam had been bothering her for a few weeks now.

without passing a second, she skillfully hammered and mended the dam fracture.

the girl then noticed another fissure on the left. she fixed that one as well.

and then another caught her eye, this time on the upper-left. she recovered that quickly.

and then another came. and another.

this went on for a three weeks.

by the time the girl was done fixing the entire structure (which was now enveloped in pieces of wood, some being hammered on top of the other), she collapsed at the bottom of the dam. the girl was chronically dehydrated.

a drop of water on her cheek woke her up two hours and forty-one minutes later. another droplet landed on the side of her neck.

the girl forced opened her eyes and looked up the bright, sunny sky. 

she then heard a familiar sound.

a crack.

she turned towards the river dam and before she could muster the energy to reach for her hammer, the entire edifice ruptured and the World broke loose.

the strong, gushing water consumed the girl in a heartbeat. 

soon the girl found herself floating in the middle of the sea without a hammer, lumber, dam or forest in sight.

she looked up the sky again.

and she understood.

the girl then expanded her lungs and exhaled deeply, for the World to hear.

before he tucked himself into bed

the boy closed his eyes, and clasped his hands together.

he saw the faces of people. his family. his friends. people whom he knew many years ago. people whom he had just met the day before. people whom he ate today’s dinner with. people whom he had feelings for. people whom he had slept with. people who’ve hurt him. people whom he knew he’d never see again. people whom he grew up with. people whom he’d brushed shoulders with every day. people who’ve taught him. people whom he was thankful for. people who’ve betrayed his trust. people who’ve made his days better. people who’ve thanked him. people whom he didn’t really like. people whom he had helped. people whom he got help from. people whom he was inspired by.

people who have made the boy the boy he is today, no matter how brief the encounter.

people who were somehow connected to all these people.

as long as the boy could see their faces, he knew they existed.

the only thing that all these people had in common were the smiles on their faces.

he gently brought his clasped hands to his lips.

the boy then drew his blanket and turned off the lights.

maybe he did believe in the Maker after all.

in the role-playing computer game

there were monsters everywhere. of odd colours, shapes, sizes.

the girl stumbled upon them wherever she went – the woods, on top of a mountain, in a cave.

whenever there was this encounter, she faced them. or at least attempted to.

with every damage she took, she leveled up.

sometimes her health gauge would plunge so low after a few hits, but the game allowed her to keep a few medipacks which she picked up at random (sometimes hidden) places, so that came in handy.

sometimes just one hit would kill her instantly.

she could choose to reload the game from the last savepoint and start over, or she could abandon the game entirely and go do something else.

she had always chosen the former.

she’s at level 783 now.

at 2.41 am

the boy went to the balcony of his apartment and looked up the sky.

star. star. stars. clouds. stars. clouds. orion’s belt. stars. star. clouds. stars. loadsa stars. stars. clouds.

and he knew that somewhere else on earth, someone else is doing the same exact thing.

the boy smiled and went back in.

he slept better tonight.