Gone Too Soon


Friday night was not just a party for some of my friends. It was a night to honor a good friend of theirs who sadly passed away.

Early this week, I saw a friend’s post on facebook remembering his friend, Jérémy, a young university student. Jérémy had passed away tragically with cardiac arrest. I was in shock, cause Jérémy was young, very young for cardiac arrest, too young for dying.

I never knew Jérémy.

Jérémy’s funeral was on Thursday. Friday night, two of my friends invited me out. These two were from a different circle of friends from the one mentioned above. I didn’t know that they had been to Jérémy’s funeral. As I got into their car, they handed me a bottle of liquor, asking me to sip in the memory of their friend.

I sipped and said To Jérémy. There was a seconds’ silence where I was afraid that I had said something I shouldn’t have. Then the conversation resumed.

The entire night, regardless of how great the pub music was, a tight sadness gripped the two and rightly so. I tried to imagine what they must be feeling like and I hoped they were alright. I asked how are they holding up and they said they are okay. Everyone always says they are okay, even when they probably aren’t.

They told me tales about Jérémy. They were talking about how great Jeremy was with his studies, how he was the first one to always finish up all the assignments and the preparations for the exams. How he was meticulously preparing for the triathlon. One of them suddenly got overwhelmed when talking about Jérémy.

They both shared a small laugh on how Jérémy was always ready to go out with them on Friday night.

‘If I call Jérémy now, he would be like let’s go.’

Then we toasted the third time in his name.

I couldn’t bring myself to ask how they were feeling anymore. They were grieving so I let them do it the way they wanted to. I tried to stand in their shoes and think about losing any of my friend.

How the friend’s contact will turn to a meaningless number where no one would answer or even worse turn into a hurtful reminder. I thought about the difference between ‘Somebody I don’t talk to anymore’ and ‘Somebody I can’t talk to anymore’.

I didn’t know Jérémy. But from what everyone said about him, I would have enjoyed his company.

To Jérémy, Gone too soon.

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Daily Prompt: Cling (Fiction)


The smell clung to his self. He could never wash it out, no matter how many times he tried to wash his clothes. He tried to eradicate it out of his self by trying different techniques, by using the ways of his victims.

He traded perfumes from some of the best manufacturers of the world. They asked him just before their end what did he want. He told them. They laughed and then he joined their laughter.

After hearing him laugh, all the blood had drained from their face. They hurried to bring him perfumes, the costliest ones and the strongest ones. He used them and went out, leaving his victims to live another day.

Literally another day.

Cause he would come back the very next day, angry that the perfume did not work. They would beg more but he would not relent, not this time. You can always make one deal and when you break it, there is no going back. He never regretted doing his job.

In fact he loved his job. He got to travel all around the world. He could go to a country of peace, a country of war and a country barricaded against all of the world. He would sneak in, finish his mission and get out before anyone can notice what had happened.

They would notice after his work is done. That surprise on their faces would always amuse him and he would laugh. His laughter would be silent this time, for no one should hear him laugh.

Regardless of how much he loved his work, it was after all just his day job. The demands of the work impacted his physical appearance and it affected his odor. He cannot take it anymore, the bad odor oozing from his own self. He could smell the lifelessness from his victims radiating from him.

He hated that. Not only did he have to deal with other’s demise but also he had to carry their odor with him.

Once, he met a great tailor who bartered for a new dresscode. He agreed hopeful for the smell to cease. It did, for a day and then the fabric could no longer contain.

It was like a dam had broken and the smell just burst forth. He had killed one person by that smell alone. He went back to the tailor again and he finished his mission. It was the last barter he ever made.

Now, whenever the mission calls he gets up. He looks at his own image in the mirror. The face was barely recognizable anymore, his cheekbones looked ghastly. He tried to find his eyes but he couldn’t help but stare into the abyss.

The job had taken too much from him. Now, there was no way to stop.

He grabbed his cowl, put it on and grabbed his scythe. He had missions to complete.

Why Do Dogs Have To DIe?


There is a bitch that stayed a couple of buildings away from mine. Or there was a bitch.

I never took any pictures of her, but whenever I walked Jimmy near her building she would run out, a huge doggy grin in her face and play with us. She would irritate jimmy by trying to sniff his ears, she would patiently keep her head pressed up against my knee for some petting and scratching. I really enjoyed petting her, her golden fur was one of the most softest fur I have felt, she would have double the energy of Jimmy on any day.

I remember once when I was walking Jimmy she came out of the gate and started pestering Jimmy. And whenever Jimmy tried to sniff her butt she would dash off to her building again, in solitude. That day she dashed off to the top of a nearby parked car. Jimmy tried to follow her but he lacked her height and her agility. So he stayed on his hunches on the road and she up on the roof, both making mopping noises but none moving; because of which I had to stand there holding Jimmy’s leash for about fifteen minutes before he agreed to move.

I hardly saw her recently. I don’t remember when was the last time I scratched behind her ears but whenever I passed her building I tried to catch a glimpse of her. Today I found out that her name was Grubby. WAS. She died seven months ago: run over by a school bus. The school bus being of the same school I passed out from. And I was devastated. She was just another stray dog that the building tenets adopted, no home and leftover food. Jimmy doesn’t remember her, if he would have then he would also wait for her to come out(he used to do that before). But I do. Golden fur, ears straight as an arrow, left ear had a cut and a long equine maw. She would attack Jimmy like a snake and me I would laugh at them for their plays.

My dad would say that it(dad wouldn’t use pronouns) had a fate like that, die by being run over by a car/bus. But she was a good dog. She would listen to her building owners calls, play and never bite. She would be full of energy, always running from one side of the street to the other. Always grinning. Always. And she is now buried in an unmarked grave opposite her building.

Everyone dies, I get it. But why the innocent animals?! They didn’t make the cars neither did they make the road. They are the ones being experimented on, they are the ones who can’t speak yet they know more about emotions than we do. They are simple minded creatures who can only care and for being more humane than we humans can, they get an end like this?!

Damn it! Where’s the Karma now? Someone tell me?