While awaiting for a knock on the mahogany Door guarding the luxurious hotel room where I am in,I temporarily maneuver to position myself at the edge of a the balcony where one can overlook the setting of the hotel's empty and wet carpark and the gorgeous scenery having an eye to eye contact with the hotel.
With a zesty breeze against my ceaselessly traveled body and my eyes sloped upward blankly staring at the starry vast space called sky sharing a canvass with a radiant moon, I am giving my self a calm-and-prepare-yourself second because few minutes from now, I will be asked to trail down the function hall just blocks away from this room to fulfill the curiosity that different press people from different zones of the world have brought with themselves.
After my first book has topped and overthrown the works of E.L James and Dan brown on different book reviewing agencies worldwide, International media, I think, have realized the worth of traveling from their respective nations just to attend a 30-minute press conference with me here in the Philippines. But the topping of my work isn't merely the cause of their arrival because one thing that boosted their interes of having an interview with me is my amazing tale being the youngest New York Times Best Selling author afing sixteen.
When I was just 13 I indulged my self on writing both short stories and novels which i published online. My works earned numerous reads and actually broke the previous record of "Highest number of reads on the first day of online publishing" lifting me up from being an amateur writer to being the most subtle author whose books are sought after worldwide. This happened when the Scholastics Press, a prestigious publishing house which provides internationally renowned books, had summoned me for a project. I accepted the project and created my first scientifically fictional work which i focused on the story of a princess born to human and robot who fell in love with an orphaned talking faun.
My hurdling and vast imagination rooted in every chapter of the book hailed me as the youngest best selling author. And now, in the launching of my second book, sequeling the first, the world that's seated on chairs situated in a hall few blocks from here, awaits me to witness my further plight as writer.
The View from this blacony which is tiled with antique ceramics (truly luxurious) and fenced with elegantly shaped 24k gold bars with diamonds on the corner, feels just so easing. Beautiful sceneries viewed from here include the world famous Ana-ahat Mountains internationally praised for its hypnoyizing beautiful shape layered with varieties of flowers which are believed to be cure for elepanthiasis, persuading gorgeous pre-historic architectures preserved to still live in our time and the wave-like flocks of people in their bicycle.
On the open ground of this hotel are beautiful grafitis which are aimed to to show the visitors the colorful culture of the Philippines and few yards from those is a garden filled with colorful flowing liquids trailing a mini-river and wonderful genetically engineered tress made look like cherry blossoms of Japan and Korea.
I now take the pleasure of wandering my eyes throughout the whole captivating scenes. Through it, I get so completely calmed making me remincisce the days when I could still hear the scolding words of my parents. When I could still sense their hands pounding on my bedroom door whenever iI would get locked in it to express rebellion against their prohibition to my want to attend parties. When I could still showcase my puppy eyes to them whenever a new Iphone version is out. When I could still fall asleep on their sgoulders during our out-of-town trips.When they could still summon me for dinner. When they could still scream at me whenever I was on my 100th year of stay inside the Shower room. when they could still ask what's my preferred dish for dinner. When they could still advise me with stories to write ------ When they were still here. When they were still living.
Yes. 3 Years from now and an inch of pierced knives caused by their departure still remains entrenched within. I could still remeber how dark were the days, how cold were the nights, how miserable was living that time. I did not know if continuing to live still mattered. I really had had no idea who to further live for. I isolated myself. I was snobbing everyone who tried to extend help. I was like imprisoning myself in a dark room erected in a very remoted nowhere. I lost myself.
Things weighed even heavier 5 days past the burial of my parents’ remains. Little did I know, greater devastation, greater than what I had, was troubling my 10 year old brother. He was truly elite in hiding his emotions that he just seemed to absorb everything, that time, as an ordinary show. It was like he already got used to it---- to losing special people in death. He acted the way he normally did on ordinary days. No one would really have the slightest volunteerism of talking to because it was no use when one perceives it. And so he ran through it alone, with no one in companion, with no one to listen, with no one to answer. Everyone, me included, was faintly aware what he’s bearing. Until one day, a cloudy morning wore on with his room empty. His wardrobe was left emptied. His stuffs…. books …. his favorite silky blanket with avengers’ faces on it, the Jimmy Neutron merchandise tumbler, notes on papers pinned on his vibrant study desk, .. everything had left the room with him unnoticed. It was how his sickness was driving his system. Backtracking the days afore our parents’ departure, they already walked through a hospital hallway and set my little brother for a “Mental Health Appraisal” as how the receipt I found goes. “Phenylketonuria” … that was what a scentless paper I found inserted in my mother’s documents. The somewhat like retardation I couldn’t read was tagged, as I googled it, as “a terminal mental disorder which likely results to setting disorientation, severe madness, and total loss of memory ….. but 7 years after its conception will be the healing period of person from the suffering of such.. “
*(Note the way the sickness is described here isn’t really the way it’s described by the scientific world)
7 years have already passed and we still have no idea of his whereabouts or if he still lives, if he still remembers the people he was with.
Hello readers ! The chapter does not end here ! This is yet to be conitued! I would very much love if you'll wait ! Thanks ! :* Comment and Vote ! :)
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Handcuffed
Hayran KurguThis is about a girl who always wakes up in the morning with conspicuous confusion from which She is handcuffed. She still doesn't sort out how to live and what to live for. She's been to place she once considered as a "no-no-no-do-never-go-to-that"...
