Micro Fiction Monday: A Light in the Dark

The last thing you expect to hear at five am on the beach is singing. Maybe three hours earlier, when clubbers were still stumbling down the boardwalk, high on the intoxication of alcohol and a summer getaway. Maybe three hours later, when the families with young, early-riser children start to make their descent onto the beach, flooding the air with the scent of sunscreen and the sound of childish laughter. But not at five. Five is the transition point--the point where it stops being late, and starts being early. At five, some people are waking up, but no one is on the move—or even singing at all, for that matter.

And yet, I’m standing here in the moonlight, surrounded by the voice trickling down from God knows where.

I look across the boardwalk, but all the expensive villas, tourist shops…even the convenience store is dark. There isn’t a soul awake, a single window brightened. Except…

There is one single, giant lightbulb illuminated. It sweeps across the ocean, disappearing into the distance before rounding back again. In all the years I’ve been here, out of all the nights spent partying around bonfires on the beach, never have I seen the lighthouse functional.

Then again, never have I ever been out here at five am.

As I approach the towering monument, I start to see a figure standing in the window. A portion of the glass is propped open, allowing her song to drift down to the sand below. The song is unfamiliar, and the voice is the most stunning I’ve ever heard, but that’s not what sends me gaping at the building.

No, what catches me off guard is the long, billowing stream of human hair, flowing out the window and waving at me in the wind.

Singing (Micro Fiction Monday)

She was singing again.

She sang every morning. I heard her sing when I was eating breakfast, as I was heading out the door for class...I even heard her through the loud pounding of the water when I was having a shower.

The walls of a college dorm are not very thick. I knew this when I applied to live here, and when I wheeled in my two bulging, crammed-to-the-point-of-exploding suitcases into the building on move in day. I shouldn’t have been surprised when, the morning after my first night in my room, I was awoken by the sound of my neighbour singing along to Let It Go from that new Disney movie.

But I was. I was surprised, I was caught off guard, but most importantly, I was irritated.

I didn’t say a word. Not when I was woken up at 6 am by the opening words of Shake It Off, not when my early morning cram session was interrupted by the chorus of Breakaway, not even when I could barely hear my mom on the phone over the belted lyrics of the Friends theme. I stayed quiet, because it was her home, too—and I didn’t want to start any drama.

But her singing was bad. It was wobbly and off key and too loud when it wasn’t supposed to be. It was driving me crazy, and as soon as she started up Classic at seven in the morning, I lost it.

I stormed out of my room, not caring when the door slammed loudly behind me. I stomped the ten feet between our rooms and pounded my fist against the door marked “Lizzie” in big, bubbly, colourful letters. My scowl didn’t lessen when her singing cut off abruptly, and her padded footsteps made her way towards me.

What made my scowl disappear entirely was her honey coloured hair, cut short and sticking out wildly in all directions, and her green eyes that seemed to almost twinkle—like she had been expecting my arrival all along.

Damn it, she was beautiful.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, like I was her best friend, and not someone that she had only met once—briefly—during orientation. “Emma, right?”

Maybe I could put up with the singing, after all.

Just Dance It Out!

Today's and every other blog post published in November has been pre-written and scheduled for upload about a month or so in advance. The less I have to blog, the more time I have to dedicate to my NaNoWriMo project! Just like last year, you can put your attention towards the progress bar on the right to see how I'm doing.

See you all in December!

~~

I feel like I get stressed really easily.

This may come as a surprise--it sure does to me. Me, who worked in a restaurant--arguably one of the most stressful jobs you can get--for four years. Me, who finds it necessary to take on a bajillion different projects at once, simply because "eh what the hell". Me, who insists on pursuing careers that require more time, effort and luck to make a decent living off of.

You'd think I'd be used to it by now. Apparently not.

I get very easily frustrated when I'm stressed. If something doesn't turn out right the first time I do it, I get upset and just want to throw in the towel right away. When I'm stressed, my mood turns sour faster, and I find it harder to be my usual perky self.

I do what I do to have fun. So what do I do when the thing that's supposed to be fun fails to improve my mood?

I dance.

Make no mistake: I suck at dancing. (And singing.) But that will not stop me from jumping around like some maniac when Shake It Off blasts through my speakers, singing all the way. I adore dancing; not because I'm good at it (again: I'm not), but because it's fun.


What do you do to relieve stress?

Until later,

- Jusyne