Iridescent lights against the hues of white,
Vivid expressions amidst the pallor of lives,
Men and women grace their presence
Inside a chamber of lustful emotion,
Scotch and whiskey burn down-
the columns of their throats.
exoticism planted in the appearance of-
the hues of red on lips and their dress.
Maturity and adulthood forgotten
Simply for a night of exhibitionism.
Lovers and rivals gather,
Song and dance wither their chatter.
Beauties and handsomes' sizzle
Burning hard-worked bridges,
Mending an unamendable fickle.
Night of illusion; only a flicker. ©
Wei Ying stumbled into his apartment after a long night at the club. He had once again assumed wrong. Working as a bartender was a demanding job for a second-year university student like himself.
It was especially true on days like Sundays where there were too many people and he had classes to attend early Monday morning.
The fact it was already three in the morning didn't help at all. He had to wake up at 6 am again if he was to review his notes and be in class on time.
Groaning to himself of his unfortunate circumstances, he flung himself on the bed, stinking of alcohol and sweat and perfume and another variety of strange smells he didn't wish to get to the bottom of.
He really didn't mind of it. All he needed was some sleep to his tired self, and it took less than a minute for his eyes to fall shut completely. It felt like less than a second when the blaring of the alarm woke him up from his beauty sleep.
He got off bed albeit sleepily. With half-shut eyes and a scrunched nose, he shuffled into the bathroom.
He brushed his teeth until it sparkled white in the mirror and showered, scrubbing away yesterday's leftovers on his skin.
Shampooing his hair until it was silk to the touch, he waked out of bathroom donning a bathrobe and a towel around his neck.
He made himself a hot cup of coffee before seating himself on his study table, tidy in his view because he knew just where his things were, although it looked like a hurricane had washed over the contents on the table.
Clearing away some space to place his mac book he opened it and let it boot up while he went through his last week notes just so he could refresh his lousy brain.
Wei Ying was an impressive student despite his in flavorful situation. He was a creative writing and ICT major who topped his class every semester. A diligent student, despite his air of mischief. A kind person, despite his flaring temper.
Overall, Wei Ying was an intricate and almost perfect balance between yin and yang. He was flawed yet perfect in his own way. People appreciated him and were even convinced he was one of the best people one could be around, but he was a loner.
A loner by choice, not by nature. He loved the silence, not that he didn't love to chirp like an excited little bird. But he hadn't found someone interesting enough to talk delightedly.
Everyone around him had little to no imagination, and it pained him to talk to them who had no life enough to uphold themselves, so he stayed away from such crowds. He'd rather stay away from lifeless people.
Shrugging off his thoughts, he began reviewing his topics for his lectures today. When he was done, it was already seven fifteen, so he got dressed and rushed out of the apartment.
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Tip of the mountain
Freckled with snow
Beauty, in its essence,
Makes me soar.
Memories were made
Yet its people have flaked
No matter little mountain
Make me yours.
Wonder is yonder
What happens; a question
No matter my mountain
Life has its throes
Ridden of heart
Ridden of soul
Oh, my mountain,
My soul has left yours. ©
Lan Zhan awoke at five in the morning as his discipline had engrained in him. Now, it had become almost second nature to him, so he didn't mind, although it would have been rather incredible if he could sleep longer when he felt like it.
He switched on the electric kettle and settled on the high stool beside the counter and watched the view outside the window on a chilly morning. A lover for tea, he made himself the newest addition to his collection imported from the African continent; Kenya.
Kenyan tea was amber brown in color and brisk in flavor. The best kind for mornings like these. It would make his morning fresh and more inviting.
He thoroughly stirred the concoction before sitting at his study, opening up his MacBook, waiting for it to light up, eventually blessing his eyes with the scenery of the mountains in China. It used to be his creative inspiration until it didn't.
He was a lonely child, not by choice but by nature. His parents had died in a landslide while they were on their way to the airport from the mountains. As the only child, they gave his responsibility to his uncle, who was strict and was a loner himself.
His uncle had passed away two years ago, so he was alone now, but it was getting incredibly lonely and he didn't quite like it. There were so many who had partners, but he was never interested in anyone, neither girls nor boys, and he had many times wondered about his sexuality until he realized it was a useless cause to probe into his inner self.
Hence, Lan Zhan rarely spoke. There were times when it would be days before he heard his own voice because it forced him to interact with someone in the outside world beyond his bubble of loneliness.
He wasn't much of a speaker, but he would love to listen to someone. Someone who had the same altitude as himself. Someone with- if not a lot, at least a little imagination because then he could listen to them and have a look into their minds and how it worked, but most people he'd met were shallow and he'd never been interested in any of them.
But, just like his inspiration had changed, so has his views about a lot of things. He suddenly wanted to speak and listen. He wanted much more than he did earlier. He wanted and wanted.
Lan Zhan wanted. He wanted so, so much.
Opening up the word document on his device, he typed frantically, pausing in between thinking of the best alternatives before firing away once again. Yesterday had brought about his drop of inspiration and he had to admit it was better than it had been in a really long time.
By the time he had finished, his usual stoic demeanor had turned softer and more inviting to others than it had been before. He looked rather vulnerable like that, with all his emotions on the surface.
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As the embers of the night
Disintegrates into molecules
Of thin willowy air,
Glowing amidst us, but still unseen,
The shadow of your tired soul
Rigidly weighs on my door
When the weight is heavy laden,
For the carved wood at my side-
Somehow, you seem to know
Because then you leave
my lonely space into your own;
The yearning of my heart grows-
Rapidly like an inextinguishable fire,
Lighting up my boundless dark world
Like the mess of fireworks lit;
A celebration of the soul at its heights. ©
Lan Wangji walked down the pebble path with his hands in his pockets. The night was young, and he was looking forward to some inspiration for his new poem. Deep down, he was afraid his efforts would prove fruitless, since he had found no muse after his loss of interest in the mountains of China.
A month has passed since his unsuccessful attempts at finding a new muse. If he wouldn't find something soon enough, he would come to a sudden halt in his creative development.
Fear gripped him steadily as he moved along. This had happened two years ago when his only kin, his uncle, had passed away. It took him almost a year to come back to himself and when he did, he almost lost his mind.
He didn't like it when he felt clueless and when he couldn't let go of his emotions through words. His pen was his weapon, so when he couldn't use it any longer, he was at an utter loss until he cried to the mountains and, at the end; he found what he had lost, albeit a little painful.
Then his poems became simple. They weren't complicated like it used to be, but he never complained. As long as he could write it out, simple or complicated were the least of his worries.
While on his way, he ignored many steadfast gazes on his face. It was annoying. He didn't like it when people looked at him as if he was a big mac from the Mc Donald's. this was one of the many reasons he deliberately ignored people who were more interested in what he looked like than who he was.
He did not care for people like that. So, he walked faster, away from the crowd.
Grumbling to himself at the attention, he steadily walked down until he reached the leveled grassy space with flowerbeds of different shapes. The dew of the evening rested against the grass and it looked magical in Lan Zhan's eyes.
The blossoms in pink and orange, yellow and red. Beautiful and mystical. The breeze stirred the fragrance around the space, filling his nostrils with its sweetness. Amidst it all, the fireflies flying above him lighting up the darkened space were the final touch to a world of its own.
He imagined; his mind delving deeper into his creative spirit. He imagined a different dimension, filled with mystical forms of human belonging to different tribes. They would have a variety of powers from the souls of animals, each having a power of their own.
Oh, how enchanting it would be.
People would differ from the reality he faced every day. They would be more inquisitive and creative than now, when people were far more interested in other's lives than their own. This new world would inspire them to write stories and poems, sing and play music.
They would live in the world of unrivaled perfection; Utopia. He would name it "Haeream Dimensionem" as it should be. It should fascinate its inhabitants and inspire them to dwell into heaps of fantasy, as he does now.
He wondered if he would find someone who had the same love of fantasy as he did. Someone who would write poems like he did. Someone who would see nature as its lustrous beauty, like he did.
The idea was so far off; he smirked at himself. How could he find someone who was as crazy towards writing poems and creating worlds? It wasn't a possibility, so he sighed and planted himself on the ground, staring at the blinking stars in the night sky.
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Oh, my dearest night.
Don't I spare my glances
To you almost every night
Why is it you fail every time
To give me the love and pleasure
You seem to bestow on others.
Am I not allowed of such glory?
I ask.
Am I not allowed to see your best?
I plead.
Am I not someone you can rely?
I weep.
Like a whirlwind against the earth
Time passes by my frame.
I still sit on the ledge
Awaiting your gentle touch on my skin
Oh my dear night,
Why am I only showered with-
The air of your extreme ignorance
The flourish of your unloved cacophony©
Wei Ying's classes ended moments ago and he was headed to the library to get some of his work done and to grasp the sensation of silence. The silence he loved to be surrounded in. It gave him the sense of peace to plot fantasies in his mind, to get stuck in a world where he was either a hero or a villain, to fight wars and sign treaties, find live and go on adventures. It was his out and he loved it very much.
Hours were spent in a hidden corner of the library completing his projects. He read novels and wrote poems. He also had written quite a few short stories under various themes and he could say he was quite proud of his work. They were all written in that one corner of the library where his thoughts could run wild.
He never had a constant muse that boosted his writing unlike other writers he had encountered over the years but he always thought the night sky was fascinating and more often than not he stared at the sky, sitting at the ledge of the balcony for hours at end yet it had proved to be unsuccessful for his writing journey.
Staring at the night sky was quite like emptying one self of thoughts of any sort and his mind halted at one point in time and didn't move. It wasn't restraining nor was it freeing. Wei Ying could never put the feelings he felt into thoughts but he couldn't stop wandering at the sky night after night either.
Time and again his editor friend back at the Peking publishing house where he published his first series of poems had asked him of his muse was a person and he had laughed barreling forward as he held his hips and said it wasn't true. His muse was probably the instances in life of what he faced everyday.
It was the club where he worked, the sky he lamented at, the busy streets and the expressions on someone's face and also the flowers that blossomed and the branches of huge trees that swished gently when there was a wind. These things were what perked his interest and it was satisfying to do so.
He stood to leave and only then did he realize it was evening and he hadn't even felt the time passing because he had once again resorted to blame at the night sky like he always did. It was amusing how he blamed the night sky but had over fifteen poems dedicated solely to it.
Funny how his mind worked, he could say.
Wei Ying walked down the pavement and into a café buying himself a hot chocolate as the night grew colder. He stepped out of the very aesthetic looking café and looked about. There were few people around and he got many stares for slurping on his chocolate like a kid but he ignored it. He was never one to give a second away for people who judge him like a pathetically unfinished painting.
Setting his mind onto the field of flowers he had visited once before he walked in that direction, away from his apartment. he strolled along looking at people and their musings, paying attention to their details.
He looked at the curve of lips, the sharpness of a jaw, the hair that moved to the callings of the breeze and the blinking expressive eyes. He also looked at the clothes they wore, the color of their lip gloss, the shine of their eye shadows and the jewelry they adorned.
It was a pretty thing to do because when he sat down at a table to write he'll remember bits and pieces of what he's seen, what he'd liked and most importantly what would fit. He would collect those little pieces from a hundred people and fit it according to his taste into one character.
Days like those were always very entertaining and it always made him smile prettily and hum under his breath as he got lost in the character, fleshing them out like he wished to do and giving them characteristics, both good and bad.
When he'd finally arrived at the fields, he giggled. Monday was one of the only days he was absolutely free. He could do whatever he wanted because on the other days he was to report to work at the club.
He plonked on the middle of a bed of flowers and inhaled deeply. the scent made him heady and he fell backwards sprawling on the damp ground and closed his eyes. Oh, how beautiful the world was in the presence of nature.
Wei Ying felt lonely, he knew, he understood the stirring deep in his gut but he'd found no one who would vibe with him. Someone who had the same desires like himself. Someone who used the pen to fight and to heal. Someone who wrote verse like him.
Someone, it didn't matter who it would be, man or woman but someone.
Someone. Anyone. Only if he was lucky enough to find the yearning of his soul. Someone who he could share his thoughts, and his world.
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Hehe... New one shot. Just wrote it. Ignore the mistakes.
Weird human would like to know your thoughts. ^_^
~Rovena.