A Piece of Memory

It's a short story I did a few months ago but I am here to share it with you. If I say short story, I say 1000 words only. It was on a link in one of my post but I'll paste it here. I haven't really start on chapter 7 but here is to ease the mind. I need a publisher too. I need my sleep now.

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Poetry

Poetry; verses of lines which are used to express imagination and emotions. That is what this story is about. It is not about words that rhymes, it is about what’s behind those words. It is about the meaning of these carefully placed words. It is about something no one can see unless you look carefully.

“…And he was gone, swallowed by the night

Out of reach and out of sight...”

Upon completing his recitation, he said, “Thank you” and staggering nervously to his seat.

“Thank you John for that lovely poetry. Next is Sarah. Please step forward and recite your poem,” said the English teacher, Miss Ann. Poetry Recital was a special English program which Miss Ann would conduct every Thursday.

John is a student who is recognized by the rest for his poetry and intelligence. He is just a normal fifteen year old kid who, like many other students, is trying to fit in and go along with life. He has many friends who he enjoys hanging out with and he is very sociable. Though, he still feels that something is missing. He feels emptiness in his existence.

A loud ringing echoed throughout the whole school, signifying it was 3:15pm that the school had ended. Another day of school ended with nothing much accomplished for John. He grabbed his backpack, waved to his friends and waited outside for the school bus.

Unfortunately for John, it started to pour. Drenched and empty was what he was feeling. Today was similar to any other day in his life. He heaved sighed a sigh as he dashed for the nearest shelter. The bus came late again, which killed thirty minute of his precious time. He walked on the bus, soaked, along with his backpack and everything inside it, and sat down on the nearest available seat. He sat beside a girl who was his classmate. Her name was Jessica.

“Hey, John, nice poem,” she greeted.

“You think so? I thought I didn’t put enough effort in it…” he replied depressingly.

“No, you did a great job on it!” she commented.

“Thanks,” he thanked her. The bus jerked to a stop as it reached John’s house. He stood up, waved goodbye to Jessica and left.

Home sweet home, he thought. He got up to his room and lay on his bed. The first thing he does after coming home from school is check his hand phone. No new mail, no new call as usual.

John, what’s the point of looking at your phone if you know there wouldn’t be any messages.

Again, he heaved a painful sigh and decided to get things off his mind. He sat on his comfortable chair and switched on his computer. Once he was on the computer, he would chat to his friends or start writing a new poem or both. He looked on his list of friends who were currently online. In alphabetical order, he slowly scrolled down through the nicknames and spotted the one he wanted. He clicked on it and the window open.

“Hi.” He typed. He waited and within seconds she replied. Her name was Jane and she had been John’s friend since they were young. They recently managed to contact one another after a few years of being in different schools.

“Hey.”

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, just a bit tired. How about you?”

Just talking to her made my problems go away. It was like magic.

“Oh, I’m okay, I guess. We had poetry recital today. It didn’t go too well.”

“It didn’t?” Even though they were words, it sounded as though she was concerned. John searched for the proper words to explain it to her. But before he could reply, there was another message from her.

“What was your poem?”

Saved by that question, he thought. However, now he had to type down his whole poem and she would say comment on it. He grabbed out a copy of the poem and typed it down. After he done doing so, he waited nervously for her comment.

“Well?” He typed once more.

Finally a reply.

“It was beautiful.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m telling the truth. Hey, I got to go. Why don’t you recite me a poem next time?”

And she was gone. He sat there petrified. Recite a poem to her? His biggest challenge.

Days passed and they talked a lot, even till midnight. Once a while she would ask about the poem but he would say that there was something missing. And then one very night, he sat down on his bed and picked up his hand phone. The number was dialled but he hadn’t pressed the call button yet. He sat there staring at the phone for about ten minutes. Then he breathed in and puckered the courage he need. He pressed the call button. Amazingly, this was his first time talking to her on the phone. He had never done that before because he couldn’t really speak to a girl on the phone. But their conversation went well. He hesitated once or twice but apart from that, everything was fine.

John, you’ve got to do it. It’s now or never.

“Jane, remember you asked me to recite you a poem?”

“Yea.”

“Well,” he gulped, “Here it is.”

There was a silence as John stared at the paper where he wrote the poem. He tried to speak but words won’t come out.

You can do it, John, it’s just words.

“I think I should be going,
I think I should be sleeping,
And have wonderful dreams of you, I know,
So goodbye and see you tomorrow,
The pain I would not bare,
I should go now, so take care...”

There was a pause and he closed his eye, hoping the words would come out right.

“I love you, Jane,

I hoped we could meet again,” he said. It was followed by silence.

“John,” she finally spoke, “I don’t know what to say.”

And she hung up. John’s heart fell like a rock and shattered when it hit ground. He could feel tears were about to come out when suddenly his phone beeped. It was a message. It read: “I’m touched. Smiling. Shaky… Heart beating fast… Don’t know how to describe… Saying you love me through a poem is breathtaking… I never had a guy who ever said that they loved me before… I have to go now, goodnight.”

John smiled. He felt a part of his life was complete. It wasn’t just words. It was the feeling and the emotion that makes poetry wonderful.