Of Unfinished Works and Short Stories

He did not understand it, that piece of cardboard paper in his hand. It was handed to him after a he bought a can of coke and a week's worth of bread. He absentmindedly put it in his coat pocket along with the folded piece of receipt.

When he got home and finished watching the 8pm news and his fastfood dinner, he went to his bedroom, went through every pocket in his trousers, shirt and coat as he readied the hot water in the bathroom. It was then he found that piece of paper: a worn scratchcard. He used his keys to rub the silver coating off of the paper. At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks, but he squinted and read and reread each letter carefully. It was clear and absurd as any other fine print. It read:

"Congratulations. You won another lifetime."

because i see monsters, and those monsters look a lot like me.

she fell into a strange silence with small creases of frown forming in her forehead. her eyes squinted to a sideway glance. there was a quickness in her voice when she finally spoke that gave away the notion that something was wrong.

he was there sitting at the back. a reminder of a friend who wasn't one anymore. the awkwardness came like a disease from memory, never failing to give a bitter taste of why's and the reasons why it is.

a wave of resignation befell her. there was no saving here, and an attempt was simply futile. she gripped her books tighter as she got inside the van and sat up front. and there, away from the prying look, she closed her eyes and breathed a heavy sigh.

it is the same scene.