The Short Story Game: The 5 word game to play for those creative writers!!

With gentle wings spreading through the air of the twilight sky, a voice sings with a sweet but yet sorrowful melody. An angel with hair of silver and eyes of blue flies just above the crystal clear ocean that waves calmly with the song being sang. She cries out and her tears spill out and fall steadily into the water.
Ice then started to spread across the ocean, creating a clear sheet, resembling a mirror. She glided gracefully down, her feet taking a few careful steps upon the glass before stopping, standing motionless in the midst of the frozen mirror like ocean. She sat down and huddled her knees towards her chest. She gazed down upon the mirror and saw her reflection. She lend a pale hand upon the cold glass, feeling it sink down and touch something.
She pulled out her broken heart, yet it was still beating. At each beat, it bleeds out and drips onto the mirror. Each droplet turns to rose petals, scattering around her. She lies upon the mirror, surrounded by the petals. She holds her broken heart close to her chest as she stares up at the sky. Tears stream out of her eyes as she listens to her broken heart. It beats quietly, it beats solemnly, it continues to beat till she decides to go. But she doesn’t want to go.
She’ll miss this world; she’ll miss everything about it. It was just too beautiful, but she knows soon that the world will end by human hands. Destroying land, killing animals, polluting the air. She has to go before that is to occur. But she has . . . passed on anyways, but she wanted to stay no mater what state she’s in.
Alas, what’s more to be upset about is not just the end, it’s how she’s leaving her most beloved. That is the reason her heart is slowly breaking, but it’s still beating. It’s beating ‘cause she still loves him, and it will never stop because of that. She needs to keep her heart shape which is filled with all of her loving emotions, all of her memories of her beloved hidden within the breaking heart.
Her broken heart which is to shatter and the broken pieces are to go with him. Inside of him and joining his own heart which is shattering. But the broken pieces will fill those empty gaps, and he’ll be able to live one without trying to commit suicide. She doesn’t want him too, nor does she want him to see the world ending in a chaotic fashion.
There should be a world for both of them to live together, living peacefully in harmony with no worries. No worries, no wars, no troubles, only happiness. That’s what she wants him to live on with, happiness and nothing more. Just happiness and this beautiful world that’ll soon be destroyed. She didn’t tell him how the world will end; he loves the world as much as she does. But soon he’ll see it, he’ll see what’ll happen, very soon he’ll see.
Her heart was shattering by the pain screaming out inside of her. Even though that she wasn’t part of this world anymore, she was still feeling pain. Even though her heart wasn’t inside of her, she was still feeling pain. Her emotions and memories were starting to burst out, she needed to leave soon. She needed to leave soon but she didn’t want too. She wants to see her loved one again, but he couldn’t see her anymore. She’s not part of this world anymore so she’s not visible to him, so he’ll never see her again.
Her pure white wings started to flap, rising up to the air. She had to go now, but she tightly held onto her heart. She cried, asking for a few more minutes but her time was over. She had to go now. She pleaded for more minutes, and then she got an answer, one minute left.
Her wings were spread apart from each other, letting her to float motionless in the air. The only thing that wasn’t motionless was the tears that were continuing to fall. She closed her eyes and saw the image of her lover in her head.

60. . . .

“I love you, my dear.”

55. . . .

“But I don’t want to leave you.”

50. . . .

“My heart is shattering because it is broken without you.”

45. . . .

“But the broken pieces will come to you.”

40. . . .

“And no one else will take my love away from you, nor will your love take away from me.”

35. . . .

“You are my one and only love.”

30. . . .

“And even though I’m disappearing, my love for you won’t disappear.”

25. . .

“When I reach out my hand, I can feel your touch. “

20. . . .

“But my wings want to take me away from you. . . “

15. . .

“I love you so much. . . I don’t want to go. . . I don’t want my wings to take me away.“

10. . .

“I want our hands to join once more.”

9. . .

“Because. . . “

8. . .

“You and I. . . “

7. . .

“ Can’t live without the other.”

6. . .

“But please. “

5. . . .

“Please. . . “

4. . .

“Please my love. . . “

3. . .

“Live on “

2. . .

“But do so before. . . “

1 . . .

“The earth ends.”

Just before she disappeared, she dropped the heart and shattered into millions of pieces, and soon the earth did too.

The Ordinary Life of a Homeless Girl

“I’m sorry.”

A lone dollar bill floats down in front of her, landing on the dusty brown grass. The woman straightens up and forces an empathetic smile on her face before hurriedly walking away. The girl picks it up, looks around, and folds the money unevenly before stashing it inside her socks.

She rather likes her socks. They are the kind that has a space for each of her toes rather than the normal ones. It used to be Halloween colors, bright orange and black striped together with little ghouls on each toe, but the dirt of the street covers them with soot and turns it dirty brown. That isn’t what she had likes about them, though; it is the little boy who had given them to her that made them so special, even when tearing at the heel and fraying at the toes.

Although it isn’t a surprise that he had felt piteous enough to give her some ratty socks. With only a grey sweatshirt, a ragged blouse, and streaked brown sweatpants in the merciless winds of late autumn, the waif looks completely pathetic. All for the better, she thinks bitterly, if that meant more money for survival.

She suddenly stands up and starts to walk, indifferent to where she may arrive or of what may happen to her. Humming tunelessly, the girl walks into a secluded alley in shelter from the dark, gray clouds looming overhead. A foul smell permeates the dank alley; she pays no attention to it and rests her back against the cobwebbed side of a deteriorating building. There is silence in the alley and in the streets, and the girl likes to think that everyone is breathlessly anticipating the first raindrop from the heavens. It would be nice, she muses absently, if there was a torrential downpour, with lightening illuminating the sky instead of city lights and thunder voicing its outrage to the world instead of blaring car horns. Then the white noise of rain would stop her train of thoughts and she might rest without a care for the world. She wants to hear the storm. She waits for it.

~*~*~*~*~

A while later she wakes from her slumber, yawning and looking around for what disturbed her sleep. It would have been nice if she had heard the harsh sound of heavy rain crashing down onto the sidewalk, but nothing of that sort. Only a light pitter-patter of raindrops falls down, wetting the ground but not much else. The putrid odor returns with a vengeance, and the waif wrinkles her nose in distaste. She considers running out to find a better scented alley before a pitchy, mewling sound stops her in her thoughts. So it was a cat she heard, she affirms with narrowed eyes. She sighs rather resignedly and gets up to walk farther into the alley where the cat mewls.

There is a large lump on the ground covered by a thick green blanket. She frowns and peeks into the fold. As she had predicted, a kitten nestled under the fold cries out desolately. The girl gasps and covers her mouth and nose from the smell emanating from the blanket. The kitten, now pawing at her hand, rests in between what were surely his siblings and his mother. A quick count shows four other dead kittens curled up against the wasted body of their lifeless mother. She wrenches her eyes from the sad scene and studies the skinny little thing pawing at her. There really wasn’t anything to see; the kitten was a sack of bones covered by skin with matted black fur. Other than his intense green eyes, he was quite ugly, and she thinks for a moment to leave him situated here, but his family had left him all alone and helpless in this damned world and she wants to help. Something resonates between the two of them because something about his story reminds her all too much of her own, but that’s okay because he’s only in his first act and she’s already at her third and he still looks so innocent and she is already too jaded.

The waif picks up the green-eyed kitten and sits him down on the opposite side of the alley. He lies down and watches while she gently ties a knot at the top of the green blanket to secure the mother and children. Once that is done, she looks around in hopes to find a tool that she could use to dig but to no avail. Shrugging unconcernedly, she digs her hands into the damp mud and continues tirelessly until she creates a decent sized hole on the ground. The girl picks up the kitten’s family, carefully places them inside the hole, and buries them. She smiles at her work, only a small mound and the lingering scent hinting at what had transpired. The kitten trots up to her and nuzzles against her calf. She pets him absent-mindedly and feels a sudden exhaustion overwhelm her. She settles her back against the wall once again and falls asleep.

The next day, she stands up and walks outside into the overcast sky with a black tuft of fur peeking out of her sweatshirt pocket.

~*~*~*~*~

“I’m sorry.”

The man looks down at her sadly and offers the girl a ten-dollar bill, a gold watch peeking out from beneath his business suit. She stares at the watch contemplatively and flicks her eyes back up at him, noting the posh suit and polished shoes and well-groomed appearance before taking the money. He gives her a nod and a little smile and walks towards a car with a woman in the passenger seat. They drive away, and she watches the gas from the car meander up towards the overcast sky. She exhales loudly and sees her breath twisting around as it floats upward. It’s cold today. She’s tired today.

A quiet purr interrupts her musings. The kitten is nibbling at her pants and looks up at her piteously, wanting attention. She smiles and picks him up, petting his head and scratching his neck indulgently. Even though she’s not quite sure if the kitten is a male or a female, the waif decides she wants him to be male. After perusing through a few shop windows a few weeks ago, she finds a television store and watches the movie playing. The hero’s name is Jeremiah. She likes the name; she calls the little ball of fur Jeremiah.

She buys a pack of granola bars with her newly acquired money from the dollar store and eats most of one bar, giving the rest to Jeremiah. He jumps on the food and chews on it happily, purring. The girl sighs and looks up at the sky. It’s cloudy today. Maybe it will snow today. It’s too cold today.

Her feet are already chilled and painful. There are two pairs of socks on her feet now: plain white socks covered by the Halloween ones. They feel uncomfortable on her feet, but it’s better than none. The sweatshirt seems too ragged and thin now; the wind blows right through her and leaves her shivering. There are too many tears on her sweatpants and it doesn’t help her resist the cold. And Jeremiah! His body is too skinny, his fur isn’t thick enough, and she worries for the wretched little thing because he’s as wretched as she is and she doesn’t want him to die so young. She picks up the kitten and covers him with her sweatshirt. He nuzzles into her stomach and mewls. His body is warm. It feels nice. She feels at peace with the little creature; he depends on her with complete faith, and she’s happy. The wind whipping around chills her to the bone, but she is still warm with him.

It’s too cold today. She’s tired today. She’s going to sleep for a while today.

~*~*~*~*~

“I’m sorry, bu–“

“NO!”

She wakes up with a jolt to this exclamation. Her body aches, her legs are sore, her eyes are drooping from exhaustion but she wonders where Jeremiah went. Then she wonders where the hell she is, because she doesn’t have a blanket or a bed or a room or a house. She has her kitten. She wants to know where Jeremiah is.

The floor trembles slightly as a pair of feet stomp up the staircase angrily. The person enters the room where the waif rests; it’s a girl who enters, she notes absently, and she stops in her tracks when she sees a pair of eyes staring at her. The other girl quickly recovers and smiles, kneeling next to the bed.

“I’m glad to see you’ve woken up,” she says. “You’ve been out the whole day. How do you feel? You need anything, or…?”

“Jeremiah,” she croaks, before wincing. Her voice sounds ugly and guttural, not at all like the soft, lilting voices of the heroine in those movies playing in the television store. The other girl cocks her head questioningly, and she tries to elaborate. “A cat. Or kitten, I guess. He was with me, small thing, had black fur. Where is he?”

“Oh, the kitten!” she exclaims. “He’s downstairs, napping. We gave him some food and milk to eat. Poor thing’s so skinny.” She scrutinizes the emaciated body on the bed. “You’re way too skinny, too! Do you want food, anything you want to eat?”

She shrugs coolly. “Why am I here?”

The black-haired girl looks put out but responds amiably enough. “I found you unconscious yesterday. It’s no wonder; it was freezing outside! By the way, my name’s Sophie. What’s yours?”

The waif looks away. “I don’t like my name. I have none.” They stay in an awkward silence for a moment before she turns toward her again. “Can I have some soup?”

“Of course!” she grins, relieved. “I’ll get you some.” Sophie gets up to walk out the door before hesitating. She looks back at her. “Do you mind if I call you a name to make things easier?” At the other girl’s nod, Sophie smiles. “What should I call you?”

“A heroine’s name,” she says quietly. “A pretty one.”

“Then, can I call you Sara?” she asks kindly. After a moment, she nods. “I’ll be back soon with your soup, Sara.”

After she leaves the waif unclenches her fist and relaxes. “Thanks,” she responds as an afterthought. It’s been so long, really, since she held a proper conversation with someone. It felt nice. She likes being taken care of. Maybe this is how Jeremiah feels when she dotes on him. If it is, she’s glad.

~*~*~*~*~

The ensuing week goes by. Sara cannot get up from the bed just yet without falling over. Sophie brings Jeremiah upstairs and watches him pounce on his savior with a soft smile. The two girls talk to each other more often and they form a tenuous friendship. The waif still falls asleep frequently and at odd intervals; she always wakes to the sound of shouting downstairs. It’s because of her residing here, she realizes soon enough, and there is a heavy, sinking feeling in her chest that is oddly painful. She thinks of leaving but then Sophie comes into her room with a wobbly smile and starts talking and she can’t bear herself to do so. Her mother with whom she argues so much visited her once this past week. It was awkward and silent and strained, but it is somehow important to her to meet Sophie’s mother, and so she is happy.

Another week passes. The shouting gradually stops, but the tension in the air is palpable. Sara hugs the kitten to her chest and sits on the bed. She can walk now, and when there is no one in the house, she goes downstairs to eat. The happiness with being taken care of slowly disappears, and she can’t handle the suffocation she feels when there is a silence between her and Sophie, or when the mother averts her eyes from this wretched little homeless girl staying at her house with her money without permission. But it’s the middle of winter and it’s cold outside and even though her friend had kindly offered her some warm hand-me-downs, it probably won’t be warm enough and Jeremiah might fall victim to the unbearable cold. Sara considers leaving the kitten here, where he seems to be thriving and growing steadily, but every time she has that thought her chest twinges and she thinks she understands that feeling of love they always idolize in movies. She can’t part with him, so she’ll keep him and wait for the right time before sneaking out with as much necessities as he needs. It isn’t the most logical or the most honest thing to do, but someone gets hurt either way and she’d rather it not be Jeremiah.

And as she becomes weary and falls asleep, Sara thinks of one last requirement: Sophie will not be present when she leaves. There are some things that ought to be left alone when trying to retrogress back to an unhappy life on the streets.

~*~*~*~*~

“I’m sorry Sophie, but we can’t afford to have another person living in this house!”

“Then where do you suggest she go? It’s cold, mum! My fingers turn numb when I go outside and I have gloves on! What will she do?”

“There are homeless shelters out there. I went by one recently, if fact. I don’t understand your aversion to it; we could just ask if she would mind, and let it go! You have to understand that if we go on like this for much longer, we’ll be in trouble.”

“She probably ran away from a homeless shelter or something! You can’t make her go, mum; just let us pretend that we have our family back, we can let Sara be part of the fami–“

“That is enough! How dare you think that our family can be replaced! This discussion is over, Sophie.”

The waif hears this conversation. She decides to leave tomorrow. Maybe this homeless shelter will take her in.

~*~*~*~*~

“W-what are you doing? You–Sara! Where–?”

“I’m leaving,” she says to the mother. There is a defiant shine in her eye as she holds Jeremiah close in one hand with a plastic bag full of various provisions in another. “To the homeless shelter. You said there was one nearby?”

The mother flinches. “…You heard that?” she whispers faintly. She is sitting down at the kitchen table, hands clenched together and with a troubled look in her eyes. “That was tactless of me. Forget what I had said, you can stay here for a while longer. I was just acting up!” she smiles anxiously.

Sara frowns. “Don’t lie,” she says quietly. The woman’s smile drops from her face. “Tell me the truth, please. You have no money to take care of me anymore, right?” The mother nods feebly. “Then I won’t impose. Where is the shelter?”

“But I’m sure if we just change a few things, we can save money and you can stay! At least, for a little while, until it gets warmer…”

The waif quirks her lips. “I’m not one to take risks. I won’t take that chance.”

The mother rests her head on the wooden surface of the table. “This doesn’t feel right,” she mumbles. “It’s too fast. If all of this happened during another time, things would have been different.”

“Maybe.” Sara doesn’t believe this. She has a nagging feeling Sophie’s mother doesn’t believe it either.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll drive you there.” The mother stands up and gestures her outside and into the car. Sara winces at the cold; the sun is out, but the winds are ferocious and there is frost on the grass. She sits in the passenger seat and plays with Jeremiah quietly as the other woman drives. The silence is not so much awkward as it is gloomy, with occasional sidelong lances towards the other, but this isn’t a fairytale and they aren’t going to win the lottery and Sara doesn’t have a secret fortune inherited from her father. Life goes on.

“Here it is,” the mother says softly. The house was not at all noticeable, but rather plain and simple. She likes it.

“Thank you,” Sara replies, opening the car door. The mother hesitates for a moment, biting her lip, before calling out once more.

“What should I tell Sophie?”

Sara pauses in mid-step. She bows her head. “Tell her I said thanks. And that I’m happy to have met her. And that Jeremiah will miss her.” She closes the door.

“Wait!” The mother hurriedly searches in her pockets and takes out a twenty-dollar bill. She leans over and opens the window to hand it to her. Sara looks at her impassively before smiling slightly and taking the money. The mother casts her eyes down. “I’m sorry.”

The waif hurries over to the home before the cold envelops her, hugging the kitten tightly to her chest. She glances back and waves goodbye to Sophie’s mother before opening the door and walking in. A secretary notices her and smiles. “How may I help you, miss?”

“Is this the homeless shelter?’ she asks.

The woman peers at her through her glasses. “Yes, it is. Are you in need of our services?” Sara nods; the secretary smiles sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”

She smiles and looks down at Jeremiah, petting him as he purrs contently. “Everyone else seems to feel sorry for us, too.”