#memedame’s Drafts

[sterling-starlight]

So @gcqaiumi and I are making the Expresshipping Selkie AU an actual thing with an actual plot. Alas I don’t have access to Word, so my stuff won’t be nearly as pretty as her art will be 8′( 

But since the mind of the writer is a fickle thing, my unpolished drafts will be posted to I can glam them up later.  In the meantime, have this thing

“You want to know about White?” One of the volunteers at the Nimbasa City homeless shelter, a portly middle aged woman with her blonde hair done in tight curls, looked at Ingo skeptically. “Why?” She added, her tone somewhat accusatory. 

“She has... become friends with my brother and I.” Ingo replied evenly. To be more specific, she had all but attached herself to his hip. Her upbeat, plucky attitude quickly won Emmet over. Ingo liked her fine enough (despite her completely shameless violation of his personal space), but there was something... odd about her. She claimed to have a lovingly family, and yet she had been wondering Unova with nothing but her hoodie, and she lived in a shelter. It didn’t add up. “As her friend, I have concerns about her.” 

The volunteer (her name tag read ‘Eva’), crossed her arms and cocked her hip. Ingo had seen White adopt that stance whenever she was particularly sassy or defiant “Nothing dubious? You don’t plan on hurting that poor girl, do you?” 

“You have my word.”

Eva glared up at Ingo a few moments longer, holding all the weight of a judgemental mother (Ingo almost felt like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar). She eventually deemed him trustworthy, and she huffed a sigh. “I don’t know what her life was like before she came here, and that worries me the most. She has no identification. No last name; at least not one she wants to say. She’s clearly foreign, given her accent. Girl didn’t even know how to read when she was brought in.” Eva snarled, her fingers digging into her sleeve. “Her case has Orre’s human trafficking written all over it.”

Ingo’s stomach lurched. Despite Cipher’s best attempts to make Orre appear to be an upstanding, if not down-on-it’s-luck region, everyone with eyes could see the filth hiding underneath. A cute young girl stolen from her home, stripped of her identity, and groomed to be a commodity for the highest bidder was disgustingly plausible.  He had the sudden urge to find whoever brought her to Unova and beat him senseless with his own two hands. He was literally and metaphorically jerked from his thoughts by Eva yanking on his tie to bring him to her eye level. “That said, if you do anything to her. If you hurt her...”

“Ma’am,” Ingo said. “I’d never dream of it.” 

[rinochii]

Pamit.. (draft cerpen yg mengendap bertahun2 :))

Senja yang meraung-raung. Menyesakkan dada. Menitikkan air mata saat mengingat esok sosokmu tak akan ada lagi disini. Bukan pergi, aku lebih suka menyebutmu menghilang. Menghilang dari pandanganku dan juga dari hatiku. Mungkinkah? Semoga Tuhan berbaik hati memberikan izinnya.

Aku melemparkan pasir laut di sekitar kakiku sekenanya. Senja yang harusnya menyejukkan mata, malah menumpahkan air mata yang tak habis-habis. Apakah cukup waktu yang tersisa untuk sekedar mengucapkan selamat tinggal? Yang bahkan kamu tak tahu sebegitu tersiksanya aku dengan jarum jam yang terus bergerak. Ah, kamu memang tidak pernah tahu apapun. Tidak dengan degup jantungku yang berdetak seribu kali lebih kencang saat berdiri di sisimu. Tidak juga dengan lariku yang terkencang sampai ke pantai ini begitu aku dengar kabar kau akan merantau ke seberang dunia sana. Apalagi dengan kuncup perasaan yang bersemi tumbuh sepanjang pertemanan kita delapan belas tahun ini. Kau tidak tahu apa-apa.

Aku sering mengutuk takdir perjumpaan kita. Yah, sesama anak nelayan miskin di tempat yang kecil ini pasti tinggal menunggu waktu saja bagi kita untuk bertemu. Lingkaran takdir ini mencekikku. Hahh… aku masih saja tanpa bosan membuang pasir-pasir ini seakan-akan ingin membuang seluruh perasaanku ke laut. Melupakan memori dan kenangan yang selama ini sudah terjalin kuat di setiap syaraf otakku. Sempat aku berpikir untuk melarikan diri dari bayanganmu yang selalu ada di setiap jengkal pesisir ini. Tapi kemana? Kalau arah saja aku buta, bagaimana aku bisa menjauh dari persembunyian nyamanku?

-o-

“Selamat tinggal Nila, semoga suatu saat kita bisa bersua kembali,” ucapmu dengan menggulung senyum tulus paling ceria yang pernah aku lihat selama aku berteman denganmu.

Aku tak bereaksi. Tak tersenyum sedikitpun apalagi melambaikan tangan penuh ceria. Bukan ini yang aku inginkan, bibirku mendesis getir.

Tapi kau tetap tak tahu apa-apa. Bahkan hingga beberapa jam sebelum kau sempurna menghilang dari daratan ini. Kau sempat menatapku sekilas dengan heran, namun hanya sekilas. Sebab sedetik kemudian kau sudah sibuk bercengkrama dengan teman-teman lain yang heboh mau meminta oleh-oleh atau sekedar berkirim surat sesampai kau disana.

Tatapan sedetikmu tadi tak lepas dari ingatanku. Sedikit kesal, aku berjalan meninggalkan kerumunan yang tengah merayakan kepergianmu sebentar lagi. Tak ada yang mengikuti langkahku dan memang aku berharap demikian. Karena perasaan ini tersimpan rapat di dasar lubuk hati tanpa ada seorang pun yang tahu. Cuma aku seorang dan mungkin selamanya akan seperti itu.

Dengan rasa lelah yang luar biasa aku rasakan, walau seharian ini aku tidak ikut membantu mengasinkan ikan tangkapan bapakku, aku duduk bersandar di pohon kelapa. Menikmati panasnya pantai siang hari yang tetap saja tak sepanas hati dan pikiranku saat ini.

“Melihat apa Nila?” suara itu serentak membuatku terkejut.

Aku menoleh tak percaya. Kau sudah duduk nyaman disebelahku dengan senyum polosmu itu.

“Kau bahkan tak menjawab ucapan selamat tinggalku tadi. Apa kau marah karena kau ingin pergi juga dari kampung kita?” kau berceloteh lagi, tapi aku tetap diam.

“Tenang saja Nila, kalau kau ingin pergi, aku berjanji akan membantumu. Asal kau bilang padaku saja,” nada ceriamu yang tak hilang makin membuat hatiku perih tersayat-sayat.

Berusaha kutepis semua perasaan sedih itu dengan bermain pasir sekenanya. Aku menatapnya dalam-dalam lalu membangun gunung pasir dan menghancurkannya. Kau tertawa kecil dan langsung bergabung denganku mempermainkan pasir tanpa kau tau bahwa hanya pasirlah tempat dimana aku bisa melampiaskan semua kekesalanku padamu.

Pasir pantai, tolong sampaikan padanya bahwa aku tak ingin dia pergi kemana-mana.

Tolong sampaikan padanya bahwa aku telah memedam perasaan ini sekian lamanya.

Tolong sampaikan padanya bahwa tak ada yang lebih membahagiakanku selain bercengkrama dengannya.

Kalimat itu terus aku dengungkan dalam hati berharap doa diam-diam itu akan merubah kenyataan. Bahwa mungkin Tuhan punya kuasa yang entah bagaimana caranya hingga dia mengubah keputusannya. Bahwa mungkin saja dia tidak akan pergi.

Permainan pasir pun berlanjut ke bibir pantai, menuliskan sesuatu kemudian hilang ditelan ombak dan tertawa sesudahnya. Kembali kulihat guratan senyum di wajahmu dan sorot mata teduh yang kusimpan rapi dalam memoriku, sembari masih berdoa dalam diam. Tuhan, jangan ijinkan dia pergi..

-0-

Doa yang sedari tadi terus aku bisikkan lirih, rupanya tak cukup kuat untuk mencegahmu pergi. Di pinggir pantai pulau kecil ini, kepergianmu membuat banyak orang turut memberikan salam perpisahan mengetahui kau takkan kembali dalam waktu yang singkat. 

Merantau.

Satu kata keramat itu adalah sebuah berkat bagi para pemuda dan pemudi yang ada di pulau kecil ini. Kehidupan yang terlalu sederhana disini adalah salah satu alasan dari sekian alasan lain generasi muda ingin angkat kaki dari dataran ini, melanglang buana ke pulau seberang yang terlihat lebih gemerlap dan lebih menjanjikan kehidupan yang layak.

Tapi tentu saja, kesempatan merantau tidak dimiliki semua orang. Hanya segelintir orang yang bisa pergi dari sini, dan lebih sedikit lagi yang akhirnya pulang dengan keberhasilan. Tak jarang para pemuda yang sudah merantau, kembali hanya karena tak tahan ditempa kehidupan terlalu keras di luar sana.

Terlalu banyak pengorbanan yang harus dilakukan sebuah keluarga untuk sekedar memberangkatkan anaknya mengadu nasib ke pulau seberang. Ongkos pergi, biaya hidup sampai mendapat pekerjaan yang layak, kehilangan pekerja untuk membantu pekerjaan rumah dan ladang, dan penantian yang tak berujung akan kepulangan buah hatinya. Itulah alasan utama kenapa aku tak pernah berfikir untuk pergi meninggalkan bapak, mamak dan adik-adikku. Aku tak tega, egois merantauku hanya akan menghancurkan hidupku dan keluargaku.

Namun kisah awang berbeda. Lelaki yang kusukai sejak aku mengenalnya sepuluh tahun yang lalu, memang memiliki nasib lebih mujur daripada kebanyakan orang. Kisah hidupnya memang mengharu biru tetapi perjalanannya selalu diiringi dengan kejutan-kejutan yang tak terduga.

“Kembali dari rantau kau harus sukses lay!” ujar Pak Banar, tetangga sebelah rumahku.

“InsyaAllah Udak, mohon doanya lah jangan putus buat awak” sahut awang dengan riang sembari terus bersalaman dengan penduduk yang memenuhi bibir pantai, turut melepas kepergian dirinya.

“Jangan lupa sholat lima waktu dan kabari keluarga kau disini ya wang,” pesan Buya Madi, guru ngaji kami di surau.

“Siap Pakcik, InsyaAllah ndak awang tinggal tiang agama awak,” tangan Awang bergerak cepat salim pada Buya yang dibalas pelukan erat dari Buya Madi.

Abang Salim, teman sepermainan kami namun berumur lebih tua mendekatiku, “Wahai Nila, kenapa muka kau pucat pasi? Apa ada yang belum terucap dari bibirmu pada pemuda yang hendak merantau ini?”

Aku terkejut bukan kepalang. Awang memandangku penuh pertanyaan. Abang Salim dan yang lainnya tersenyum penuh arti. 

“Ndak lah bang. Kenapa pula mukaku masam? Kau bergurau je sukanya” jawabku sambil menutupi raut wajahku yang salah tingkah.

“Sehat-sehat Nila.. nanti lama kita tak jumpa” Awang mengulurkan tangan untuk menjabatku, yang tentu saja kubalas dengan jabatan juga.

“Iya wang, semoga kau sukses disana ya” ujarku lirih.

Setelah momen pelepasan ini usai, kapal Awang mulai melepas jangkar dan bergerak mengarungi laut lepas. Pandanganku kosong menatap kepergian kapal itu hingga hilang ditelan laut. Satu per satu penduduk pulang untuk kembali bekerja di ladang atau mengerjakan pekerjaan rumah. Namun aku masih tertahan di pesisir pantai ini, menutup rapat-rapat kesedihan dalam hatiku dengan diam dan berusaha agar tidak ada air mata yang menetes.

Akhirnya kau pergi.. sambil membawa senyum termanismu menghilang dari pandanganku. Aku turut senang salah satu mimpimu akhirnya tercapai.

Selamat tinggal awang, selamat jalan kisah cinta dalam diamku..

Sampai berjumpa lagi entah kapan.

-0-

[sterling-starlight]

Guess who had a panic attack at work today? MEEEEEE.

I’m home and in my comfort zone now, and wanted to write another draft to soothe away the residiual anxiety. 

Note, as with all my drafts this is written on a tablet, and unedited.  But I really wanted to try and writing from a more... otherworldly perspective. There is a therory that Héctor’s guitar is sentient/semi sentient; a theory I absolutely adore. So here goes nothing.

I was not always... awake. My earliest memories- if they can so be called- are hazy. Trying to pick one out would be like trying to describe color to one without sight. Music to one who cannot hear. 

My first real memory is of Mi Musico. I was given to him as a gift by a person who loved him very much, and whom he in turn loved to the point of bursting. I was awoken by him playing a song on my strings; of his voice singing an upbeat tune to his beloved. Mi Musico was warmth. He was laughter. He was passion. He was love. He and I sang so many wonderful songs together. I knew, even in the early stages of my “life”, I was a part of a family, even though I could not dance, or speak, or give embraces. 

When Mi Musico and I left Home, I could feel nothing but dread. I could not share in Mi Musico’s excitement, or fully believe in the fantastic stories his brother told. Singing for others was fun for a time, I will admit, but the nameless faces were not who I was meant to sing for. Mi Musico felt the same after a time. He wanted to go home.

His brother killed him. His brother stole me, and left Mi Musico to die cold and alone in the streets. I hated him. I wanted to hurt him. Alas, I could do little beyond forcing my strings to break and fall out of tune whenever The Murderer played me. They were small victories. 

I remained in bondage with The Murderer for twenty-one long years. I am ashamed to admit that in that time, I was consumed with hatred and loathing for the one who stole Mi Musico from his family. I do not know if I was the one responsible for causing the stagehand to fall against the lever. I cannot remember if I was close enough to influence him to such a dramatic extent.

What I do know is that The Murderer died that night. 

[sterling-starlight]

Another one-shot idea.

Featuring that lady Héctor tries to fool with his Frida Kahlo costume, and the Head Clerk at the Department of Family Reunions (Delfina and Vicente respectfully)

...Vicente’s office was always a cluttered mess of Manila folders and papers. How the squat man could find anything was beyond Delfina, but he seemed to have some sort of organizational method to this mess. 

Afraid to move too much ,lest she dusturb the precariously tall stack of documents on his desk, Delfina sat with her hands folded tensely in her lap. 

“ Why the sudden interest in Héctor Rivera?” Vicente’s skull swiveled on his spine to give the officer a questioning look. He had pulled open a file cabinet as long as he was tall and filled to the point of bursting. His fingers expertly flipped across the tightly crammed folders, despite not reading the names typed neatly across the top. 

“Everyone talks about him,” Delfina replied evenly. “he has so many stories, and yet no one really knows him. I’m curious about the ‘real’ him.” Delfina paused, and felt phantom heat rise to her cheekbones. Saying it aloud made her realize her reasoning was flimsy at best and shallow at worse. 

Vicente made a clicking sound (something that should have been impossible without a tongue), and turned his skull to face the proper direction. “His stories make him much more... fantastical than he actually is.” He made a small noise of triumph and, with a considerable amount of effort, pulled out Héctor folder. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up.” Vicente slid the folder across the desk to Delfina, and shoved all his body weight against the drawer to force it shut. It made a horrible metal-on-metal screech, but eventually relented. 

Héctor’s folder was at least an inch thick, stuffed with papers and paper clips and colorful tags to designate documents of interest. Opening it revealed an impressive list of felonies to Delfina’s curious eyes: resisting arrest, attempted bridge hopping, un-lawful use of another’s femur... Delfina shook her head and flipped past Héctor’s criminal record.

There.

Delfina felt her heart drop when she glanced over his personal information. 

Born in Mexico City on November 30th, 1900

Left in the care of the orphanage in Santa Cecilia in 1903 (birth family unknown; possibly forgotten)

Death date: December 15th, 1921

Cause of death: Food Poisoning. 

There was more information, of course, that detailed snippets of his life. His marriage to Imelda Rivera. The restraining order she had filed against him (and renewed again, and again, and again...). How he had no picture on any ofrenda.

Delfina sucked in a shuttering breath, finding herself torn. On one hand, her curiosity about the man could finally be sated (and the nagging inside her skull to learn more about Héctor would finally be quiet). On the other, this almost felt like looking into a secret tragedy no one was allowed to see. 

[sterling-starlight]

Man, the writing bug’s bitten me hard.

Here’s the return of Delfina the Bridge Guard (possibly an end to the one shot I wanna write?

This Dia de Muertos was different than the previous ones, Delfina could feel it in her marrow. It was a subtle change of atmosphere, like a weight no one had realized that had been tied to had been cut away. As she walked through the Grand Central Dtation, sipping on champurrado, she realized what it was. Almost every image of Ernesto de la Cruz had either been torn down or painted over. His charming, smoldering gaze no longer seemed to look down upon those who couldn’t afford tickets to his Sunrise Spectacular or -Heaven forbid- decided to forgo the show to spend those last precious hours with their living families.

Frida Kahlo had swooped in on the now-vacant timeslot like a hawk. No longer restricted by de la Cruz, she was allowed to truly unleash her creativity. It promised to be a very confusing, but very enjoyable spectacle. And a lot more pyrotechnics.  Delfina’s beloved Juan, however, had absolutely no taste for the arts, abstract or otherwise. They would be spending their Dia de Muertos with their family in Monterrey, which was perfectly alright with her.

Her shift went on as it always did, and she greeted familiar faces with a warm smile and wished them a happy visit to the Land of the Living. Delfina leaned over the counter to glance down her line, fingerbones tapping idly against its surface. A part of her was wishing that the seemingly endless line of people would disappear so she could clock out and cross the Bridge herself. The other part, (the unforgiving older-sister mentality that stuck with her, despite Carla now being five years older than her), scanned the line for Héctor. 

He had nearly been Forgotten, but he had come back from the brink thanks to nothing short of a miracle. The Rivera Family were incredibly tight-lipped about Héctor’s condition, and those who were brave enough to try were either chased away by the boot-wielding matriarch of the clan, or her horrorfying alibrije. Delfina couldn’t help but worry, however silly she felt about it. She and Héctor had barely spoken. He only knew her as the nice guard who shared her offerings with him once he was released from custody. She only knew him from stories, his desperate attempts to cross the Bridge, and what information she could stomach from reading his file.

When Héctor did come into her line of sight, Delfina almost didn’t recognize him. He always seemed to be so confident whenever he tried to cross, carrying himself with the confidence of a man who was supposed to be there. Now he looked horrorfied of the departure gate, (he looked like a frightened twenty-one year old, not like a well-adjusted man pushing one-hundred-seventeen) one hand holding his hat against his chest like a shield. The other clung desperately to Imelda Rivera’s, like if he let her go for a fraction of a second, all of this would vanish.  Imelda said something to him, her other hand cupping Héctor ‘s cheekbone comfortingly. He practically melted into her touch, but his anxiety did not falter.

Delfina, with some reluctance called Imelda up to the scanner. Héctor held her hand as long as he could, and when he no longer had it, his clutched his hat tighter.

“It’s going to be alright, Héctor.” Imelda said gently. The scanner dinged it’s approval, and Imelda crossed through the gate unhindered. Héctor, by contrast,  looked like he had been rooted to the spot. Like he was fighting every urge to run away from the scanner. Or, specifically, the buzzer he had heard for ninety-six years. 

Delfina gave him a smile and called him over, sending a prayer to Santa Muerte that he would be allowed to cross this year.