canned thoughts

(Author’s note: this was one of the first short stories I made when i was still working in the Trinity Observer. I posted it at highfiber.org and published it in Trinity Observer’s literary folio, Adobong Rosas. Enjoy!)

It was a gloomy Friday afternoon. Thick clouds hovered the horizon. Michael felt it would be raining soon. He was meeting with his girlfriend, Anne, in their spot in the college open field. Today was the 13th; a day believed by some to be unlucky. But for him, it was special.

Today was their second-year anniversary.

He looked at his watch. The short hand was in the number six while the long hand had just reached the number 12. Anne should have arrived by now.

A few minutes later, as Michael was looking at his watch for the nth time, he saw Anne from afar. He then stood up from the concrete bench he was sitting and quickly gave the dozen white roses he bought for her.

"Happy anniversary," Michael greeted Anne.

"We need to talk," Anne replied.

Michael didn’t remember how everything started. He couldn’t even remember most of the things Anne had said. But there were few words that he remembered. And those few words opened his eyes for his tears to flow.

"I love you Michael. And I know you also loved me. It’s just that for the past several weeks, everything we had seem to fade. We don’t see each other that much like how we used to. You are too occupied with a lot of things, except me. I’m tired of being alone and always waiting for you. I’m sorry…"

Suddenly, just like Michael’s tears, rain poured down from the heavens.

Michael watched helplessly as Anne leave. As she vanished into the horizon, he stares into oblivion, as both the rain and tears washed away all the things they built and believed in, and all the dreams and memories they shared.

He was alone now. The hours passed liked eternity. All he did was desperately begged to the heavens for a miracle. All he saw was a lone star that desperately glimmered amidst the dark sky and the heavy rain.   

"Hey," a voice called Michael.

"…"

"Are you alright?"

"…"

"Do you always enjoy getting soaked in the rain?"

"…"

"Are you planning to get sick? ‘Coz if you do, I’ll bet you’ll be successful in getting yourself at least a cold, or a pneumonia or something."

"Oh I get it. You’re deaf," and the stranger gave a quick, sardonic smile.

"I don’t talk to strangers," Michael answered.

"Me neither. By the way, I’m Michelle. Now you know my name and I’m not a stranger to you anymore. Does Mr. Wetpants have a name," she retorted.

"Michael."

The heavens suddenly stopped grieving for Michael. The night sky suddenly became clear and stars twinkled in a silent tune.

But his lone star was nowhere to be found.