November 23, 2013: Mysteries Galore

Note: This meeting was best described as the solid proof of how easily us human can be primed, or simply a very spooky meeting :). For some unknown reason we started the day with chit-chatting about mystery books and authors and such, with one member after the other told others their favorite or their own spooky experience. Somehow the randomly chosen prompt ideas fit the mood perfectly, as well as the second prompt idea. Goosebumps anyone?

PROMPT IDEAS:
- I know I'm not the only one who sings in the car
- The grey beard is caked with blood
- And there at the bottom of the pool

The Life We Live

I know I am not the only one who sings in the car. He used to sing in the car too. Usually some crappy rap songs about women and drugs and the thugs life. Some days I ignore him, some days I sang along with him, some days I threw tantrums and told him to shut up. I hate those songs and the messages behind it. It made him a different person than he really is. 

"There's no such thing as easy life." I said.

"Yeah, that's what you think. This man ain't got time for slaving for other people."

"I don't think so. I know so. You know where I am from. Your "tough' life is a mere joke to my people."

He'd just shook his head and said I'm impossible. 

Days gone by and I found myself, lured and comforted by the easy life here, whining and complaining about simple things, about negligible things. I hated it, so I started to write about life of my people to help me remember who I am, to help me be me. It was a cold winter day when he knocked on my door, we haven't seen each other for a while. He was dressed warmly with a huge backpack as if he's going on a trip. 

"I'm going." He said. "I want to live this life you were talking about."

"But it's a difficult life. You will hate it."

"Nah. It's a fulfilling life. Those writing... it made me realise there is so much more in life. I want more of that." We hugged like there's no tomorrow. And there will be none, probably. 

A few months later a big storm hit the Philippines. It wasn't my country, but I watched the news closely. A footage showed an old Philippine man looking at his surrounding with pools of water everywhere. The grey beard caked with blood, the lined face etched with sorrow. And there at the bottom of the pool, the closest to the old man, I saw him. His clothes torn and his body was full of wound, yet he just lay there still as if he was asleep. 

I remembered his emails, his pictures, telling me he took a job as volunteer in the Philippines. He told me life was tougher there, but it only made him appreciate life more. In his last e-mail he told me his fear about the storm, but he believed all will be good. He ends it with :"You know, life is not that bad. I'd never thought I'd say it, but I do now." Rest in peace my dear friend.

***

Writer's Note: I have to say I was sorely tempted to write something mysterious, and others indeed wrote some magnificent piece about spies and chilling mystery (and one comical piece about Frank Sinatra and Beatles work of art). I made it a challenge to myself to not give in to the temptation and make a totally different piece instead, one that does not fit the mystery genre at all (which was very difficult considering the prompts were highly suggestive). I am glad that I can pulled this one out :)