What if I Were…

My Name is Barbara Millicent Roberts

They taught us how to talk, how to dress, how to dye our hair. They taught us how to walk, how to giggle and flirt. But there is nothing they could have taught us… me, that would have prepared me for this. If you have time stranger, maybe you’d want to hear my story. It’s nothing too long, nothing too grand. I just want to tell you the story of how my love twisted my head and dumped me under her bed.

I watched her, my love, as she walked around the room. She was wearing shoes I did not recognize and her hair hung past her shoulders. I’ve always wondered why she stopped wearing her hair up, she looked sweeter that way.

I keep telling myself that she simply forgot to kiss me this morning. That when she comes home she’ll head straight towards me and take off my clothes. I will wait while she looks for a nurse uniform or another tarty little costume to have me put on. Then she will stroke my hair and giggle though I did not tell a joke. She would press my back and I would say everything that I’m meant to say. We would play the whole night, beyond and away.

But alas, no.

I’m naked still, from the last time she held me.

And naked I was until the moment I was beheaded.

It was a dusty Sunday afternoon. She was talking on the phone with I assume, could only be a boy. She bit her lip and rolled on the bed. In doing so, she nudged me and I plopped down on the floor.

“Hang on,” she said. “Something fell.”

Something.

I looked up the ceiling and then found it filled with her round face. Her bright green eyes found mine and my heart leaped.

She picked me up with one hand and the receiver on the other. “Oh my GOD, Chris. You wouldn’t believe this. My Barbie doll is still here. Yes! Oh I don’t know, second grade?”

The receiver nestled between her shoulder and her ear while she held me with both hands. I didn’t mind that her full attention wasn’t mine. She was holding me again! This is perfect, this is wonderful! This is-

-SNAP-

Her fingers pressed held my blonde hair in place while my head dangled about. She laughed and told the boy Chris how easily my head popped off. A pause. And then laughter again. My love then tossed me under the bed along with what remained of my body. I got to see her sometimes, when she reaches for her shoes.

I would cry if I could. But because I am who I am, I could only smile.

And watch.

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This is for a weekly writing challenge. The same group that gave the “Letter” writing challenge. Such fun.

Basement Salon did it again!

Remember my post about chopping my hair off? Well after a couple of months of trying to grow it out, I gave up and just decided to have it cut short again. I went back to Basement Salon and looked for Jen, the first stylist that I came to trust and love.

My short short hair 4 months ago. I absolutely loved this cut

Then.. it got THIS long and big. It still looked okay but it felt like I needed a haircut. LOL Also, please forgive the face, I think I was a little bit drunk there and I specifically tried acting like a douche.

I explained to her how I loved my short hair back then but now I want something a little more feminine, so I want the longest part of my hair to at least reach my jawline and if she can pull it off, I want my hair to poof out rather than lay flat at the back. I added further that I still wanted my bangs. After talking with her for a couple of minutes so she can straighten out what is it really that I want (haha), she said that although she can accomplish my request about my hair being short but not short enough for me to look like a boy from behind, she’s not so sure about making it poof out. I just shrugged and told her to do what she can or what she must.

So after whizzing around my head, she asked how I would like my bangs. I like it that she asked that. Most stylists I’ve been to just proceed to hack your bangs into a sideswept fringe just because everyone else wants that kind of cut. Well I don’t. My hair is weird and if it’s cut like that, the bangs curl upward in an awkward, annoying way. She asked me if I wanted her to hack it and then she motioned a hand a little too close to my hairline. I bit my lip and decided to trust her. Okay, I said.

BLUNT bangs OMGZORS!

most recent pic. I love it I love it I love it I love it

Now, understand that I have weird wavy hair. It’s not a walk in the park trying to fit my hair into a style that works. But Jen so miraculously makes it work. Years back, I never imagined that a short hairstyle will work for me but now it does so thank you Basement Salon in Shang <3

A Letter

I wrote this in response to a writing challenge I saw in a website my friend is involved in. I’m not really part of that group but it’s just fun taking on the challenges. heh.

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Dear Papa,

How are you? I’m fine. Mama teach me how to write. Mind my punct—puncthu—my peeriods and my esclamation marks she says. Am I doing it right Papa? How are you? I’m fine too.

Mark hit me again today in school He is dumb Don’t tell Mama I said dumb. But Mark is! He really is! I saw him eat boogers and ask him why he eating boogers and he hit me. I hate him.

Papa…. Im scared. I think Im sick. Am I sick Papa? I wish you come home orredi. Scared. Mama she don’t like to tell stuff but I can hear her talk to the white coats on the tellefown. She said something like haloo-see-nayshun, what is that Papa?

Try my best to write coz I think Im sick,,, or Mama thinks I’m sick. Don’t know anymore. But they made me talk to a white coat. Funny, Papa they all wear white coats. They made me look at pictures but not really pictures because it’s just a bunch of inkblots and I really think they want to pin me down and tell me I’m crazy but I’m not I’m not fucking crazy.

Mama has big shoes I can hear her now,, up up up up she comes up up up.

Well, okay Papa. I have to go now. How are you? I’m fine.

- David.

Sorbie’s Christmas Wishlist 2009

So it’s that time of the year again. Ever since I started working, I stopped expecting to receive gifts while people started expecting that I give them. Therefore I think this list is pointless. But I’ll make one anyway. There ~might~ be good souls with way too much money in their hands (I hate you guys) who might feel extraordinarily generous this season.

Here’s my list:

1. Chronicles of Narnia Series – I’m starting to collect this series so donations are most welcome. There are 7 books. Some are just 250php. Come ON. Two hundred and fifty pesos! Come on guys!

2. IT by Stephen King – I’ve read a lot of SK books but I’m afraid I’ve never read about the clown that started it all. Oh and I don’t mind if it’s secondhand too! See, you can give me a gift even WITHOUT spending a cent! See? Come ONNNNNNN

3. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz Books – I know, I know, there’s a whole LOT of them but I’m only asking for those that are part of the Canonical Oz books. The Famous Forty. Pretty, pretty please? Just one of those books!

4. The Swamp Thing or V for Vendetta or anything from the LxG series – I’ve already spent more than 10k collecting the Sandman series. I am a poor, poor sorbie. But poor, poor sorbie wants MOAR!

Well that’s it. I just really really want books and graphic novels this Christmas. and for my Birthday. and for *insert holiday that has gift-giving as a social custom*

Distrust

She feels her throat drying up, her knees trembling ever so slightly while she waits for a certain ‘Markus’ to show up. Markus. What kind of a name is Markus anyway? It doesn’t sound very mysterious. If he was really as good in his job as he claims to be, he could have chosen a better name.

Watchdog. Why not Watchdog? She makes a mental note to suggest this to this man, Markus, whom she hired over the internet.

Her hands found their way inside her bag. She pulls out a pen and twirls it between her fingers, throws it from hand to hand, twirls it again.

“You can kill someone with that.” Markus sits in front of her.

“I, uhm—“ she stopped. All powers of speech abandoned her. For a while she feels stupid and betrayed. But then again, isn’t that why she called Markus in the first place?

Markus neither smiled nor frowned. This was business. He pulls out a folder from his bag and places it on the table. She looks at it as it taunts her. Inside that folder were things she may or may not want to see. She feels sick. No. Not now. Not yet. You don’t know anything yet, she reprimands herself.

“I have to ask you first. Standard procedure, you understand,” Markus said. “Do you want to continue with this?” his eyes revealed nothing.

Do you? Really? A moment of reluctance fades as quickly as it came. She nods.

One by one it all came pouring out of the folder: photos of children, of a woman, of a home. Receipts, tickets, a marriage certificate. It spreads on the table like a disease. A brief shock. Disbelief. She closes her eyes to make it all disappear.

Then finally, acceptance.

“So this is how it feels” she says. “to be the other woman.”