schrodingers--lion

[schrodingers--lion]

6:46 a.m. January 17

Lying supine on the creaky bed, sleep evades me for the fourth night in a row. The rising sun fails to chase the unending dark clouds away. I am Deirdre. I shut the windows, petrichor invading my senses as I drag my skinny legs towards the window.

She picks out an uncharacteristically cheerful and trendy outfit, together with a bright yellow bandana. A pair of shiny contacts and a ponytail completes the fit for today. She smiles at the mirror. Retrieving her dusty schoolbag, left in the same corner since holidays began, she empties it’s content into a newer, flashier bag. She takes a brief look inside and zips the bag. This will be Deirdre today.

The rotten contents of my bag smells terrible. I check the time on my phone and stumble down the stairs, past several portraits of ancestors I couldn’t care less about, each looking gloomier than the next. I skip breakfast and ignore the dirty dishes at the sink. After all no one was home. Shuffling to the door, I waved to my parents, keeping my head down as I left. I am Deirdre.

12:02 p.m. January 19

She was Deidre and this was the 3rd day of her senior year. Not really outstanding in one way or another, she was a cheery and positive girl who was well liked by everyone. The lunch bell rings, 2 minutes off the schedule as usual. She hears the cluster of footsteps as her classmates leave their wooden desks and headed for lunch. Her friends soon fill up her field of vision as they ask her out for lunch. She accepts, flashing her signature eyes-closed, lips shut smile. The smile had always seemed a little out of place but her friends just joked that she had some kind of secret she might have exposed if she opened her eyes and lips while smiling. She finished packing and heads to lunch. This was Deidre.

9:43 p.m. April 4

I am a clinomania. Lying on my bed, the cracked screen of my old iPhone 6 lights up with a message. That’s strange. A message from Derek: “Are you still down to hang with us tmr? lmk!”

Wasn’t Derek the popular kid from class 3-A? All the girls in my class were swooning over him last year. The smell of the discarded instant ramen hits my nose as my fan blows it across the tiny room, scattered with discarded clothes around my bed. I pick up my phone and unlock it, curious. A long chat history occupied the rest of my night as I stuffed my homework back into my bag. Since when did I become so close to him? Apparently we were together in a group of friends, all popular kids from the names I recognise. Several group pictures only serve to mystify me more.

She had been on a mountain hike with them, taking a group picture with the rising sun on the summit. She had been on a road trip with them, a car selfie proved that, and she had even been to pubs and bars with them often it seems.

I choose to sleep on it. As usual, sleep evades me. I am….. Deirdre. Yes.

7:12 a.m. April 5

She jumps of the bed with an evidently good mood as she prepares for the day, making sure to put on just a little bit more makeup than she does usually. After all, Deirdre was going to have a fun day today!

12:03 p.m. same day

Is that Derek and the popular kids standing around my table? They look concerned…

“Deidre, are you okay?” I hear a voice.

Who is… Am I?

12:32 p.m. April 21

The aroma of spices is the first thing that fills my nose as I head into the Indian restaurant, passing glass doors being held opened by Derek. On instinct, I drop my head and avoid eye contact, muttering a thank you as I quickly head in and find an empty seat. A hand rests on my shoulder and I shudder, not daring to look behind. I stare at the intricate carvings on the wooden table as I hear one, two, and more voices gathering around behind me. Why won’t they leave me alone like they always have? Just go and talk to Deirdre!

4:45 a.m. June 26

The smell tonight is of the fried chicken I had earlier on. As one screen flickers with mindless comedy videos before me, another lights up next to me. This time, it is a text from a group “FAMBAM!”

“Deirdre! Your new post looks amazing! 🔥”

Oh, they are looking for… Deidre? How nice to be friends with them. I’ve always wanted friends. I really would do anything to be in her position now.

5:55 a.m. June 29

I can’t smell anything. My body feels hollow. Yet, sleep evades me. My cheery ringtone penetrates the peaceful silence of the night as the phone illuminate the tears rolling down my cheeks. My cheery ringtone?

A private number hides the identity of the caller yet the caller feels strangely familiar despite having not picked up the phone yet. I sigh, and answer.

It is

Is that my voice on the other end? No, it can’t be, it sounds different. Yet, there is no doubt it’s my voice. Deirdre?

It was the first time she had shown any negative emotion as Deirdre yelled into the phone and told the girl to stay out of her life.

But I am the real one.

There was a cruel and almost sadistic tone to Deirdre’s voice as she continued to belittle the girl.

How does she know all this?

She flaunts her friendships and how her friends all accepted and loved her. She flaunts her popularity in school. She was everything the girl wanted.

Shut up. I know.

“Get the hell out of my life, I don’t want or need you anymore.”

No, don’t forget me. I am all I have left. You’ve gotten everything I You wanted.

I am

She is Deirdre.

please… I won’t lie again. you have my word.

[schrodingers--lion]

It felt like he had been exposed even before she said it. Her cold and detached eyes, staring at him, unwavering, not a single shred of emotion remaining in them. 

  “Ask me why” she spoke, softly, but there was no mistaking the coldness in her voice. 

His hand fidgeted with the third button on his shirt, a telling sign of his nervousness. It did not go unnoticed. She leaned back in her seat, reclining against the expensive leather cushioning. Disinterested. 

  He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, biting his lip. He pursed his lips, as if he were afraid of what he might let loose if he let his tongue take control. 

  Breath quivering, he softly mumbled, “But why?” 

He looked down at the polished marble floor, one hand grasping the armrest of his seat, afraid to make eye contact, afraid to let go. 

Silence. 

His head rose slowly, carefully, as if any harsh movement would break all that was left in him. As he peered into her eyes, he found nothing but cold, calculating eyes staring into him. 

“I loved you…” he dared to whisper, barely audible. 

She shifted in her seat, tucking her fringe into the back of her ear, her every breath so clear and perfect, every movement of hers seemingly rehearsed over a thousand times just for this confrontation. 

Silence. 

“I loved the way you laughed.” he spoke, this time louder, “the way your eyes would sparkle when you saw something you liked.” 

He clenched his fist, holding in the last of his emotions. The last of his sanity. 

Still, silence. 

drip 

Then, it broke loose. 

“I LOVED YOU, AURORA, I LOVED THE SMELL OF YOUR HAIR, THE GOOD MORNING TEXTS, THE SPILLED COFFEE, THE 4AM TRIPS. I LOVED EVERYTHING ABOUT IT.” 

It was a cry from the bottom of his heart, or so it seemed. 

His voice softened and he took on a confused expression as if he never expected to say what he just did. The open windows creaked as the wind outside blew against them, strong enough to move them but not to shut them.

  “So why?” he spoke for the last time. 

For a moment, it seemed like she was convinced, her eyes showed the briefest hint of emotion and her breathing quickened. 

drip

Then, it was gone, almost like he imagined it. 

“It wasn’t love, it was lust.” she spoke, just like a well rehearsed line, her expression calm and her body relaxed. 

drip

“You thought you loved me. You-“ she hesitated for a moment, rubbing the shiny bracelet on her arm, “We rushed into it too quickly.” 

He dropped his head, having lost his courage to look her in the eyes. His sweating palm slipped off the armrest, drooping down by his sides. He opened his mouth, rubbing his sweaty palms together, but couldn’t find any words to say. 

drip

It seemed that her voice softened as she stood up and said, “Both of us got hurt, this is the best way to settle it.”

Then she was gone, a shadow disappearing into the dark corridor.

  drip drip drip 

The rain poured down from above, blending in with the tears from the both of them.

[schrodingers--lion]

How Cruel

How Cruel. 

A beautiful sunrise. Pink and rosy just like the day I met her. But also the color of her blood. The blood that flowed so slowly out of the gaping hole in her chest. 

Yet... There was something ethereal about the scene. She was just as beautiful as the first time I met her. The first time I touched her cheeks and kissed her rosy lips. 

How cruel that such a beautiful scene had to come at a price of a devastatingly heartbreaking truth. 

As if prompted by an invisible force. I dragged myself over to her, my feet dragging along the bed of roses being pierced by thorns every step. It hurt but it didn't matter. My heart hurt more. It was as if a thorn had lodged itself in the innermost confines of my heart and was slowly growing out from the inside. 

As I neared her, she turned to me. Smiled. The same charming smile that had captivated me the first time I saw her. Her eyes sparkled reflecting the bring red sun above us. 

How cruel. I knew this was a mere illusion. I knew none of this was real. How cruel. 

She reached out her hands. Her delicate and fragile hands somehow unstained by the blood flowing down her white dress. 

I held onto her, unable to go any closer to her. I looked into her eyes, full of guilt and regret, no longer the same cheerful eyes. 

How cruel. 

I reached out my hand to wipe away her tears as I looked straight into her blue eyes. 

"Pandora Dearest" I whispered, barely audible. 

Then she was gone. A single rose taking her place. 

How cruel.

[schrodingers--lion]

Fire

His passion used to burn brightly as the sun did, illuminating the way and even scorching others if they got too close. However, even the brightest fires are snuffed out when they're not given oxygen to burn. That was what happened to the once passionate boy. Little but little, his passion was whittled away, just like how the tide eroded the rocks by the seaside daily. Soon enough, all that was left was a few glowing embers. It signified passion, but the lack of opportunity. To the boy, this was the end of his passion. He gave up, not being able to notice the embers of passion left in him. After all, who would care about a small piece of ember when there was nothing to burn? Then the girl came. The moment the boy saw the girl, he knew something was different about her. There was a strange aura about her. Strange, but beautiful. However, the boy thought nothing more about it. To him, this was just another person with her passion still burning brightly, perhaps much more than others, but the same nonetheless. Little did he know, he was wrong. As science would have it, fires spread. The girl took interest in the boy, settling herself right into the middle of the boys life. The boy was annoyed, but he didn't mind the gentle warmth emanating from the girls deceptively large passion. Everyday, the girl would share her passion with the boy, telling him tales of her great adventures and her amazing endeavors. Just like that, the fire began to spread, bit by bit. The signs of life began to return to the boy's life and the little hidden ember he possessed evolved into a small flame. Yes, it was small, but it was a flame nonetheless. This flame began to grow, unaware of the danger in its surroundings. Everyday, when the girl shared her story, the boy would respond with stories of his own. He was eagerly awaiting for a chance for his small flame to once again return to the raging passion he once had. Suddenly. It happened. Just as his flame was about to grow into the raging fire he had eagerly awaited for, a bucket of water was thrown onto it. All at once, the boy lost all hope, losing even the smallest of embers and being completely devoid of passion. He was devastated. She was devastated. When the girl saw the boy in such a condition, she wept. How could such a thing happen to a poor boy when all he wanted was to do what he was passionate about? She resolved to help the boy regain his passion. However, it was much harder than expected. Devoid of passion and having not even a slither of hope left, the boy shut her out. He rejected her approaches and tuned out her cheerful talk, hurting her in the process. That didn't stop her. She gave it her all, pouring her heart into the task but to no avail, it seemed that the boy was gone for good. She wanted to keep trying, to keep going until the boys passion was back. But she was burnt out as well, too tired from all the failed attempts of engaging in conversation. Little did she know, she had already succeeded. The boy had small embers glowing bright and hot again.