Hey are you listening to my voice
Will you try to understand my joys
And sorrows as they amble through
As I stumble through my life

Birds chirping and I feel the wind
They’re still singing though the rain is falling
Can’t fly today but tomorrow dawns
So why worry so much about the storm

Dropping, dropping, dropping
Living, living, living
Giving, giving, getting
Being, being loved

Hearing cars splash through the puddles on
The road as they pass through without
Any second glances back at me
Just like most everybody I know

Oh am I really left behind?
Just like the seeds from summertime
As the winter takes hold and chimes
Of bells trembling in place of my voice

Flying, flying flying,
Through the air,
Living, being, laughing,
As much as I dare

And the lights go down through the night
And I stumble on through my life

Autumn’s soft caressing,
Leaves fall down beside me,
Green become red and brown,
And I don’t make a sound.

In the best of situations, the person who holds you helpless in the palm of their hands is held helpless in yours. You cannot hurt them because anything they feel, you feel. It is beautiful, dangerous, ecstasy, and innocence. It is everything, you know there is nothing that you could ever trust or believe in more, but there is a lingering of doubt in the back – something of self-preservation, one would say. But when this sliver of doubt is overshadowed completely by the trust, by both involved – that, my dear companion, is the truest love. That feeling of finding one who you cannot willingly hurt, one whose feelings resonate with your very being, cannot be compared. You find yourselves steeped in power, but have not the heart to use it, simply content in quiet happiness and passionate, loving embrace. That, reader, is a soul mate.

The lab was empty, devoid of any life except for the tall man in a knee-length pristine white lab coat. Steel surfaces shone in the bright light and the soft whirring of the centrifuge could be heard over the low but continuous sound of the air conditioner.

There was a dropper in his hand, transferring solution from a beaker into a test tube. He was on autopilot. It was Tuesday night, and once again, he had skipped dinner to keep working. He was certain that the next few nights would lead to a discovery.

So why was it so hard… concentrating? Why did every single thought lead back to her…

The phone rang. He didn’t pick up – if it was important, whoever it was would call again. A few minutes passed before it rang again, and this time he did take it.

“Hey,” her sweet voice came across the line, “Are you busy?”

“Yeah, the project is coming to a close – I don’t think I’ll be coming home tonight.”

“Oh… okay, I understand. Call me later tonight, okay? I’ll be waiting.” The disappointment in her voice was just barely hidden.

“If I remember, I will.” He hung up, reading the particular paragraph in the lab journal that was still intriguing him – there was still so much to reread and understand…

At 2 am, his phone buzzed with an incoming text: “Hope you’re doing okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow after work. Love you, goodnight.”

—

“Hey silly boy, when are you ever coming home?”

He chuckled into the phone, before replying, “I know, I know, I’m silly. I promise I’ll be home at ten at the latest. I pinky swear!”

“With whom exactly?” He could hear the pout, even through the phone as she continued. “I’m just about an hour away, and a pinky promise does need—”

“Listen, I gotta go.” He interrupted, “We’ll talk later.”

“Oh… okay. Bye, I love –” She heard the dial tone. He’d hung up.

—

“Wanna have lunch together?” She asked softly.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I have to finish this or the professor is going to have my head. I already got something to eat with some of the other lab techies.”

“Oh. You can have lunch with those girls, but you won’t even consider stepping out of the lab to have lunch with your girlfriend?” Her voice filled with hurt, anger… frustration.

He heard it and was annoyed. “God, what is wrong with you? I’m busy, I have my own life, and I can’t revolve around you all the time. Stop being so selfish.”

It was silent for a couple seconds.

“When you want to talk like the person I am in love with – sweet, wonderful Alan who cares about me and who I would die for, who I would do anything and everything for – you email me a time and place.” She hung up.

—

“I can’t do this anymore.” Tears would not fall. Her eyes were dry, red, worn out.

“Don’t do this.” He started, his voice a raspy whisper.

“We’re running in circles. I feel like I’m just chasing your tail and you’re just constantly on the run. I’m tired, Alan. So tired.” Her expression said it all.

He was angry. This was all so… wrong! “You don’t think I’m tired? You’re on my case every single day, I have to call at lunch, at dinner, I have to come home, I can’t go out with my co-workers, I can’t do this, that, on and on. And you have the audacity to tell me that you’re tired? What about that one time with him? Remember that day? When you left me all alone to be with that ‘friend’ of yours?”

“Are you done?” She asked, her usually very expressive face showing no emotion.

His fists clenched and unclenched as he tried to calm down.

“I take it that you are. Goodbye.”

And with that, she walked.

—

He shivered and pulled his lab coat tighter around him. It would be getting dark soon. Everyone else was at dinner. He was having second thoughts about going as his stomach started rumbling. He quickly cleaned up the experiment, locked up, and walked out the door.

It was a cold, lonely night. The full moon glared down at the empty street.

Exactly how she felt.

She lay down, looking up into the thundering gray clouds above her. It was a beautiful night storm, filling her ears with the sound of water coming down in torrents. She felt it seep through to her heart, chilling it, putting it on hold for a moment. The thin windbreaker she had on was sticking to her, soaked with the rain.

The stars were out of sight, as was the moon. Her eyes stayed shut, regardless. Even she didn’t know whether it was to keep the tears in or to squeeze them out, to rid herself of it all.

And for a few moments, she was free to cry and scream; free to throw a tantrum and kick and punch, splashing mud everywhere, knowing that the sounds would be drowned out by thunder, wind, and night.

—

Inspired by “Before the Worst” by The Script

The sound of the cash register ringing at the convenience store where he had worked, the cheerful banter of the women who came in shopping for little necessities, the beautiful brown eyes of his first girlfriend in high school – he missed them all.

Now, he had everything. He had his name in lights. He had million-dollar deals for shows all over the world. He was invited to the biggest parties filled with actors, singers, and sports stars – anyone he could possibly ever want to meet.

But it was funny how all he could remember were those sweet afternoons filled with nothing (they didn’t have enough money to do much beyond the necessary) and joking with his friends, winking at the girls walking by, catching a story of the neighborhood drama from one of the grandmothers.

Nowadays, he could barely go outside without the paparazzi catching him. He couldn’t date, or it would be a scandal. His managers had made sure to let him know that his ‘net worth’ would suffer if he was no longer a bachelor. Nights were spent either working on the next project to be released, or sitting alone in a rather large apartment and reading.

Now, every time he closed his eyes, all he could see were all the people he’d had to leave behind.

Being a billionaire, being famous… wasn’t all it was cut out to be.

With a shrug, he shook his head, bringing himself out of the reverie. Flipping through the latest issue of Forbes, he smiled wryly at the cover story. They definitely hadn’t gotten his good side.

—

This was inspired by the song “Billionaire” by Travie McCoy. The link to the left is the clean version, while the embedded video below is the regular version. Thank you!

“Pick up! I know you’re there, come on, Annabella. I need you. I’m sor— ”

Beep. “Second new message:”

“We need to talk! You can’t just ignore me forever, Anna, God! Just pick up the phone! I lov—”

Beep. “All messages in the inbox have been deleted. You have no more new messages.”

She sat down on the soft rug in the middle of the room, dropping her cell phone as if it were covered in poison. Until further notice, it was poison. Every text, every call.

A knock at the door brought her out of her burning thoughts. With a sigh, she picked herself up off the floor. Opening the door, she saw who it was.

Him.

“Anna, God, I was so worried – you didn’t pick up my calls or answer my texts. I didn’t know where you were! Shit, I was so scared.” His eyes were red. Had he been crying?

She closed the door again, leaving him screaming and knocking loudly again in the hallway of the dorm building.

“Annabella, god damn it! We need to talk about this! Please, let me in, please! Don’t do this–”

“Go away,” she whispered, her back against the door as she slowly slid down to the floor once again. She couldn’t handle this.

His arms around another girl, his lips against her skin. His eyes widened as his gaze met her frozen look. She ran out, pulling the door closed. He called out her name.

She kept running.

“Anna, I need you so much. Please, just listen to me. I know what I did to you was horrible, and I won’t make excuses, but please, give me another chance. I don’t want you to leave me.” His voice, the voice that had comforted her, that had joked around and made her laugh, that had loved her.

Or had it? Was any of it real?

Tears didn’t fall, wouldn’t fall. “Go away,” she whispered again.

He stopped his ranting. “Did you say something? I can’t hear you, Anna, what did you say? Can you just let me in, and we can talk about this?!”

With her face in her palms, her knees hugged up to her body, and her mind closed to the world around her, Annabella just stayed where she was. Maybe… this is for the best.

—

Inspired by the song “Watcha Say” by Jason Derulo.

Neither the lights in the buildings passing by in a blur, nor the honking cars in adjacent lanes, nor even the beautiful violet-streaked sunset in the city smog registered in her mind.

She laid her head against the glass of the bus window. One hand grazed the cool glass, her fingers jumbling and drawing nonsense in the collected fog. If only life was like this window – transparent. If only…

“You sure?” His low, almost rounded voice had asked the day before.

And she remembered her silence. Complete. Sharp-edged silence.

—

This was inspired by Orient Express, an example entry for the Interpretations film-making challenge, written/produced/directed by Wong Fu Productions. It was a wonderful video by Wong Fu, and I hope to see a lot more from them.

This scene was inspired by the video and could be seen as a continuation of the scene that they import on the audience. However, it is up to interpretation. Thank you.