intentionally left blank

WHAT HAPPENS AFTER LETTING GO?

A flash. A bang. The sharpness of white light at the wrong angle, draping itself on the wooden floorboards like a hungry great white shark, or a tiny pack of luminescent piranhas. Mornings, perhaps. Afternoons - unsure. Evenings, arriving much too soon and leaving much too long, like tourists loitering outside a museum after closing time. A mouthful of metaphors, nouns and verbs and adverbs, but nothing quite saying what you’ve been meaning to say, the words all mushed together, tired, bleary-eyed. Goodbye. I’m sorry. Farewell. Never got a chance to say any of this properly. We need to talk. I love you, or was it something about leaving? Was it something about an exit just south of town? Was it something about how Dante had to go through all levels of Hell, before ascending to Heaven?

WHAT IS THE COLOUR OF THE SKY, IN YOUR HEART?

Ochre. I’ve always wanted to say that, the sharp tang of it reminds me of when I cut my hand on something-or-other, and I brought it into my mouth, tasting the sweetness of it, like liquid steel. Maybe cerulean, on bad days. Otherwise, it’s the void, or maybe #8A2BE2. You never know, with all these colours and words and concepts floating around. Skies are closer in some places than others, wide open spaces where god’s whispers bleeds through, and you can hear djinnis plummeting into Earth, after overhearing the conversations of angels. My mother used to taught me that there is an angel for everything, and when I grow up, I got it in me (the way an idea sometimes opened the door of your mind, stepped in, closed it, and sat lounging on the sofa, watching television and drinking beer when all the other thoughts came home) that I was the angel of forgotten places, falling stars, and very old books. On Tuesdays, sometimes, I’m also the angel of running away, doggedly striding across time - imaginary conception - while reality was on my tail, chasing me, like a mad policeman, or a rundown private investigator. I was very good at it.

WHERE ARE YOU FROM?

I was standing in line in the grocery store when I realised, rather belatedly, that I have lost Paradise. I must have dropped it somewhere, but I can’t remember where it is.

WHAT MAKES YOU THE HAPPIEST?

This part was intentionally left blank.

—  THREE QUESTIONS WALKED INTO A BAR, Helix M. 
Young Sensei x García López de Cárdenas: A PSAT Fanfiction

“García! Thank you for coming, I brought you some soup!” said the Sensei, shyly. “They’re in the glasses-shaped bowls you like.”

“Thank you Kiichi!” replied the Spanish man. “How was your day?”

Kichii Shimano sighed. “Alright, I suppose, but an interviewer asked me questions like ‘What kind of ink do you use?’ I hope your day was better…”

 

 

14. This space was intentionally left blank.

 

 

 “You don’t get it, Kiichi. Everyone else is seeing the Grand Canyon, but I’m the only one who SAW it.” García complained.

“I know what you mean, García.” The Sensei replied. “Nature’s effortless beauty is so hard to capture in words. It’s bedazzling. Speaking of which, I’m writing a poem but-“

He turned around to find…that García López de Cárdenas was much closer than he expected.

            “Ah!” yelped Kiichi.

            “What is it?” García replied, innocently. “I want to read the poem you’re talking about, what are you so surprised at?”

            “N-nothing,” the Sensei spluttered, his face turning as crimson as the leaves.

Our faces… Kiichi thought …are so close…

He was embarrassed, but simultaneously at the same time, he felt a flutter in his heart.

Then, García looked at the Japanese man in the eyes, seriously.

            “Kichii…” he began.

The Young Sensei’s heart pounded so loudly that he was sure García could hear it.

            “Kichii…” he said again.

“I love you.” “I’ve fallen for you.” Kiichi wanted García to say something.

He did not say those words.

Instead, their faces inched closer and closer until…

Ding-dong

 The doorbell rang, and they quickly jumped back.

            “I-I’ll get it!” the Sensei said quickly, rushing to the door.

He opened it, and saw a young boy no older than 8 years old.

            “Will you buy candy please?” the boy asks.

            “I’m so sorry!” cries a voice.

A woman rushes over, hitting the child on the back of the head.

            “I wasn’t paying attention and my son ran off without me!” she apologized, and glared at her son.

            “You should positively reinforce your children,” said the Sensei.

            “Pardon?” she says, blankly.

            “Your children are like dolphins,” he explains. “You can’t leash them.”

            “I don’t believe in positive reinforcement,” she says plainly. “It’s dehumanizing.”

            “Come on!” she spats at her child, tugging him along.

Kiichi Shimano closed the door, sighing loudly. Then he stopped, seeing García gathering his belongings.

            “What are you doing?” The Young Sensei asked the conquistador.

            “I didn’t realize you had a wife.” The conquistador said, shaking his head. “Even a son…”

            “No wait, García, that wasn’t-“

            “No, it’s fine. I should have known,” he says, heading for the door.

            “García wait-“

            “Goodbye, Kiichi.”

            “GARCÍAAAAAAAAAAAA!” he screams.

García turns around, startled by the quiet, poetic Sensei, who had become a screaming machine.

“GARCÍA, I HAVE FALLEN FOR YOU LIKE THE CRIMSON LEAVES”, he shouts. “I JUST WANTED YOU TO LOOK AT ME THE WAY YOU LOOKED AT THAT CANYON. YOU’RE THE ONLY MAN TO ASK ME ABOUT THE SPIRITUAL MEANING BEHIND CALIGRAPHY, BUT I WILL ONLY EVER BE ONE MILLIONTH OF YOUR P.”

García’s eyes brimmed with tears.

            “KIICHI!” he screams back. “I FEEL THE SAME WAY!”

He flung his arms out and embraced the Sensei.

 “I am lucky,” he whispers quietly.

They kissed passionately for more than 23 seconds but less than 23.5 seconds.

After they pulled away, García López de Cárdenas said “Good girl.”

“Woof,” replied the Young Sensei.

anonymous asked:

Agree with everything you said. except I don't think Hook has low self esteem. Do you think he does?

Oh yes, I think Hook has some of the lowest self-esteems on the show, second only to a certain formerly-sparkly self-loathing sorcerer. In fact, I think Hook’s low self-esteem is key to explaining his ‘leering, jeering cad’ persona in S2. I knew a guy in college who had low self-esteem and was socially anxious, especially with women, and his solution was to compulsively make awkward sex jokes. (Yes, I know what Uroskodiji-whatsit is, and no, that shouldn’t be your opening conversational gambit with me.)

[THIS SPACE INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK OF TENTACLES]

People would be uncomfortable and usually insult him, and he would laugh it off and make another joke because this was a dynamic he was comfortable with. It wasn’t a positive dynamic but it was predictable and therefore comfortable. Getting a reaction, even a negative one, made him feel in control. He was afraid no-one would like who he really was, so he created a theatrical persona of Awkward Sex Jokes Guy because even if he was laughed off or insulted they were insulting the persona, not him. How much of this psychology transfers to Hook is an open question, but Hook’s leering in S2 is compulsive.

This is to Snow White two seconds after they met

Read on for more, more, more!

Keep reading

things psats taught me

- dolphins can’t wear leashes
- enforce your kids until they turn into dogs
- the grand canyon is a HOAX
- passage 2 really has drama with passage 1
- crimson leaves fall sometimes
- part 14 is left intentionally blank
- i need to work on my cursive
- f and x have a pretty tight relationship
- interviewers suck
- ppl don’t have time to write more than one 3 word poems in their life time