Short Stories Anthology

Procrastination

* This was a work that I think I wrote somewhere back in the days of Middle School. It was my first time writing, so it is evidently unpolished.

Mark was used to procrastinating on Saturday nights. He would waste most of his time staring up at his white ceiling, like it was the most interesting thing he had ever laid his eyes on. He liked the peace and tranquillity that came from thinking, and thinking. He liked listening to his own heartbeat that seemed to thump along with the music that came from a neighbor's house that was a few blocks away from him. But there were also times when he hated this lonely peace that seemed to swallow him whole. It was quiet, cold, and the rustle of leaves driven by the wind from outside his room made him feel disorientated. He felt wrung out. His head ached. His eyes were gritty and sore. But that only occurred on days when he felt so down even his favorite TV show wouldn't be able to cheer him up. To sum it up, Mark Lee was bipolar, his temper something so complexed even scientists would have a hard time solving and figuring out.

But it was different this time. Mark found something, or someone in particular that he found amusing and interesting and pretty soon, she took up much of his brain. Whenever he shut his eyes, her soft features always seemed to come up. However, Mark had no complaint against that. He liked seeing her face even in his sleep. If not for their different schedules, Mark would have liked the idea of staring at her in general.

There were so many things to like about her even if they were qualities usually disliked by the majority. Mark liked to call himself different. She was loud, stubborn and aggressively opinionated, not to mention, headstrong as well, from what he had noticed over the last few weeks. He didn't know when this had exactly started, but he found himself searching for her in crowds, more specifically, her fiery red hair that complimented her personality. Mark was drawn to her character, and became increasingly invested. Soon, she was the one he procrastinated about on Saturday nights, when the TV was on and his favorite characters were on screen yet they failed to take his attention away. Mark though that for a girl that claimed to be so independent, her eyes were remarkably lonely, similar to him. Perhaps it was the similarities and the differences between their characters that led Mark pondering on how a single human being can be surrounded by many people but at the same time, be lonelier than ever. And that was exactly her situation.

Mark recalled the time when their eyes met, at the school's cafeteria, on accident yet they remained locked, her gaze never wavering. He was lost in her hypnotic black pair of black holes that threatened to suck him in. From the on, Mark thought she had the face of a woman warrior who rode stallions bareback and cut her enemies' heads off with a scimitar. Maybe it was human nature to figure out things they held curiosity toward. Because she had Mark wrapped around her slender, bony finger without even realizing it.

When Mark said she was direct, she was really direct, and he meant it. Ultimately on the day of Prom, they managed to bump into his each other on the balcony, no matter how cheesy and cliche it might have seemed. Mark came alone, while she attended to the party with a date, but left him mid-way.

She stared at him and he stared at her. It was never ending. Words weren't needed when silence told everything Mark had ever wanted to say to her. Mark wanted to tell her she didn't need to cry over a boy she fell in love over internet, she didn't need to stress over looking her best all the time because she already looked out-of-this-world in his eyes. He wanted to tell her she needn't feel so bad rejecting her friends just so she could help out her grandmother, who was a florist, with arranging the flowers. She had smiled at him for the first time. A million dollar smile that sent Mark shivering.

They talked and chatted for hours, without even noticing, until a song he was very familiar with, When a Man Loves a Woman, interrupted their conversation. And he mustered enough courage to ask for her hand, and they danced, with him stepping on her feet majority of the time, and apologizing for it. She laughed it off to his relief. And that was how the most special day of his life ended, with a sweet and passionate kiss shared between only the two of them. No one to watch them. It was just two lonely people finding comfort in each other.

But sometimes, the best things in life came with a price. Mark knew he shouldn't have been too happy. There was this lingering feeling of something worse about to come yet he chose to ignore all these signs. He indulged in his happiness too much he ignored her very own.

Perhaps Mark should've seen it coming. He was sure if he cruised through his memories, inklings and hints of what transpired probably might've raised through the cracks. This could have been prevented if he wasn't so selfish and had focused more on how she too, was feeling. For a full year Mark's mind prepared for everything to twist and morph into something unrecognizable and yet there was something that shimmied through the cracks, something that couldn't be prepared for.

One night, she had pulled him aside and told him that she had loved him during the time they were dating, but she wasn't able to satisfy Mark's insatiable need for love and affection, since she, too needed some of her own. He moved closer and reached out with one hand. She leaned out of reflex. She apologized over and over again yet these words didn't reach Mark's ears. He was dazed that night when she left with all her belongings and was no longer heard from. High School Reunion hadn't even given the chance for them to reconcile.

In the end, it was just him and his bed. Like always, like before. He lapsed into a daze of morbid thoughts. Mark let his eyes fall closed, struggling to focus on anything other than the fear creeping from all sides. Fear of never seeing her again. He would have been satisfied even with only one glimpse of her but reality liked to disappoint. He started to cry—the ugly, blubbery kind of crying with a runny nose and hiccups and shoulder-shaking sobs. Sure enough to wet his pillow casing. Once again, lonely Mark procrastinated on a Saturday night.