fact or fiction
Is it a fact or is it merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores relationship myths and truths to get your head out of the clouds and back into romantic reality.
Never ending love
as Magen sat at the kitchen coffee table I looked over at her, she was holding a coffee mug that said ,” girls will be girls” with a black silhouette of a women dancing with butterflies that were spread out across the mud. She sat there so perfectly, as her clear glasses frames sat so elegantly on her perfectly slim nose. I envied how her stunningly blue eyes shone so brightly from the frames. You could tell Magen was in her own train of thought as she looked off into the distance. She clearly had something on her mind.
8:59 pm and a half hour til the end of my shift. The evening summer air was cool and I drove around the little community in circles, idling the time away. A lone firework shot up from a nearby neighborhood and exploded with a loud boom and blossom of red sparks that shimmered and faded away.
They say when you die, you’ve got to follow the bright white angelic light and *poof*, you’ve made it to heaven. You’re saved. Jesus loves you. Congratulations. Well, they’re not wrong, but they’re certainly not right. There’s no angels beckoning you into the beyond, no fanfare, no bearded skinny white man standing at a gate with open arms, calling me son and telling me my sins have been forgiven. Alternatively, there’s no fiery red horned demon with a pitchfork cackling in glee as I descend into some kind of pit for eternity either. My mum will be so disappointed.
“I have watched the moons path stretch across night skies. Repeated in its numerous steps, shimmering in its silver. I have watched the world open and close at the flicker of sunlight that rushes in with stillness and splendor. I have watched her eyes twinkle and sparkle over and over again. From each crushing blow and assured defeat arose a Phoenix. But it makes me wonder…..does the Phoenix like the fire? Does it like the burning and the black and the ash? Does it hurt? Does it cry? Is this what it wanted to be? Something constantly destroyed to the be pushed back into life? Will it ever be allowed to just be?”
Why The Guilt?
I’m a Manager with a small team of three employees, that I supervise in an office environment. One employee, is every Manager’s dream and has been with the Company for ten years now. I’ve only been employed with this Company for five years, so he’s been there twice as long. He does as he’s asked, he shows initiative, very accurate and enjoys his work. In the five years that I have worked with him, he has taken three hours sick leave and only because I told him to go home. Reliability is his middle name.
By An Angry SE Asian
The history is skewed to the side of the victors. It is known, and it has been established that what we know to be true is on the bias of the victorious. We are not privy to the knowledge of the forsaken, the ones who were forced to flee. We are not privy to the side of the people whose cultures were cut and slashed, thrown into a puddle to be picked up and pieced haphazardly by the next generation.
The Raging Bull And The Black Man
I was gonna give you a story about a raging bull walking in the forest but the whole time all I could think about was the raging bull and the black man. In 29 years I've seen a lot in this life being a black man in America. I'm not a racist. I just wanna be happy like everyone else. Walk my dog. Have my home. Live my dream. Take care of my family and enjoy my life. I looked up information on a raging bull and I seen all kinds of images. Still in my mind all I can think about is how many black men our sitting in prison because they were a raging bull. I'm not saying that everyone in prison was right or wrong. I'm just saying that being a black man sometimes things go left when our anger gets the best of us.
This is the moment I've been waiting sixteen grueling years for. Finally I stood there waiting impatiently for my chance. Before I can even begin to fathom what it is I was about to walk into, the last contender is down and my name is called. I am up to face the beast. Nothing could have ever prepared me for the power of the beast I was about to face. Before entering the pen I take one last look back at the crowd, with the deepest of breathes that my lungs will allow me to take in; all that is left for me to think of are the wise words from my grandfather (slash mentor): "You should not run and we do not hide, to truly tame the beast you must ride". I push open the gate and enter forward. Now I am face to face with the raging bull. It takes all the courage I have left in my body to match its gaze. For in its optics I attempt to find a soul of any kind. Nevertheless all that is left to be discovered are the cold, black, lifeless beads that we call its eyeballs. I move slowly and carefully with purpose and caution. Once I begin my descent it jolts, as if there were a bolt of lightning ignited inside. I grab its horns and hold on as tight as my adolescent body will allow. Then I climb atop the monster regardless of my fright of being flown thru the rafters above. It was then that I could feel the weight of the world drown away; nothing left but me and the deadly steer. The tension in the air keeps me from fully escaping, it grounds me here. Every second that passes is an hour and every minute feels like an eternity. One wrong move and I know no-one will have the chance to save me from perish. My grip tightens as the bulls speed increases. I can no longer feel my breathe underneath the fear that has been instilled in me over the years; I have watched this same raging bull defeat even the most respectable men over and over again. Was this really the best way to gain the respect of my peers? I start to question the reasons I am even here. Moment after moment I am still surprised I'm alive. It is at this point, I've closed my eyes and any faith I had in surviving gradually fades with each smokey exhale made by the vicious creature. That is until the bull begins to slow and suddenly its ferocious leaps come to a holt. I was so lost in action that I could not even hear the roar of excitement exuding from the observers. When the time comes for me to look up and open my eyes the first thing that I can sense is rush of emotions coursing thru my body and the smile that has over taken the face of my father and his father. It isn't until I am being lifted to the heavens in celebration by my brothers that I realize I have conquered the beast. The same voice that announced my name to begin now calls it again with such gusto I can do nothing but cry with pride when I hear it say that I have defeated the challenge and am crowned King of El Rancho. I can not even begin to believe what I have accomplished. It was only two years ago that I had first met that monster I still remember the way it taunted me from across the room. Alas at that time I was not old enough to take on the challenge and yet now here I stand only sixteen; A King. Who would have guessed that it would be little old me: crowned slayer of the mechanical raging beast at the most popular (authentic) Mexican themed restaurant any town as ever seen. And all it took was five incredibly intense minutes for me to receive riches beyond belief... free steak fries for life.
The Last Time
A child laughs. I turn my head to look out my childhood bedroom window. After looking at the neighborhood kids chase one of the neighborhood dogs across the sidewalk chalk drawings, I begrudgingly return to packing.
I thought I was dressed for the occasion. Sports pants and bra, ball cap and sunglasses. Water shoes. I struggled a bit as I unloaded the bulky kayak from my trunk, almost dragging it to its launching spot on the Colorado mountain lake. A perfectly still lake that morning. Yes, I was dressed for a morning of sport, but I might have lavished a little more attention on myself if I had known--on that day, I would be finding Hemingway.
How A Raging bull
Set in the prairie, a large fence sticks above the grass, falling to ruin in some places. There, in the field stood a once proud bull, now reduced to weary bones covered by a thin sickly hide scarred and bug-bitten. His eyes, already lifeless and empty had gained even a glassier look, like he had no will left in him to fight anymore. That was even more evident when I entered his paddock, and he didn’t even lift his head, let alone chase me off. It was almost sad to load him up to take to the factory, where his skin would be tanned and turned into leather, while what little meat we could find was sent away to be packaged for distribution.
The star marked Bull
Harkey, one of the members of the landlord Major Ba (Ba: Father as a respect in Nepali and Major his army title, now retired)’s big family was the first to notice the birth of Tarey (meaning one with star, reference to star mark on its forehead) by its mother Ratu (the Red one, name of the cow) on the wee hours of the dawn. Major Ba was such an encouraging father figure that he wanted to give something extra on his work compared to Mailo or Birkhey who were also domestic helpers of Major Ba. That is why, even Majorni Ama (Wife of Major Ba) complains less about his work; a workhorse herself and difficult to please strict personality. He always was the first to wake up in the Major Ba’s extended family of 13 with 4 helpers. As he had seen labor pain and birth by many cows before, he knew some of the nitty gritty of facilitating birth in case of some anomalies. For Ratu, it was her third time giving birth. She had given birth to two baby cows before, who were members of the illustrious cow family of Major Ba. It was a very short labor this time and he need not interfere. After few minutes, when the newborn stood on its own, seeing the male sex of the newborn calf, Harkey told to himself, “You are possibly guest for a year”.