Dead in Seven Days

The grim reaper, whose eyes I can’t see but I dare not imagine, stood on my bed side.

“You’re telling me that I get seven days to live? Why do I get to know when I will die? Is this some sort of a special privilege?” I asked, a little vexed.

The dark figure only stood in silence. I clenched my fist in anger, blood rising through my IV tube.

“You might as well kill me now! What difference would it make if I die today or a week after?!”

The figure spoke in a deathly whisper, “Live in seven days,” and disappeared into ghastly smoke.

Live? What do I do with seven days?! There’s nothing left for me. It’s better to be dead.

I hastily pulled the tube from my arm and walked to the nearest window. Seventeen floors.

I dare you Death!

I jumped out of the window and as I was free falling to my anticipated death, a truck of styroballs parked in my supposed landing area.

The next day, I stole the nurse’s scissors and slit my throat. I woke up in the intensive care unit, my hands and legs bond.

Five days before my presumed end, I tried biting my tongue off to bleed to death. The nurse caught wind of my intention and my mouth got restrained.

Four days. I stopped my breathing. How idiotic of me. I’m in the hospital. Of course the alarm would go off.

Three days. I asked the nurse for a phone, lying that I would call my mom. I hired a killer.

Two days. I waited for my death-bringer. The hospital was thrown into chaos. A wanted criminal entered the premise, about to open my door.

One day left and I stared at the ceiling, feeling lost. The days have gone by after I challenged Death with his due date.

You win, Death.

On my supposed last day, I was counting the seconds pass by when somebody opened the door. She was in a wheelchair, her right arm in a cast and her forehead covered with bandage. She looked at me, tears filling her eyes. Her beautiful face, even though bruised, glowed, and her voice, soft like a whisper, was soothing as always.

“I’m here Jake. It’s alright. I survived the plane crash. You don’t need to die. I’m here.”

My tears ran on my cheeks, down to my pillow, soaking it wet. My mouth was still gagged and I couldn’t tell her I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I thought you died.

I’m sorry I couldn’t imagine living without you.

I’m sorry I tried killing myself.

I’m sorry I bribed the nurse to inject me a lethal dose.

I’m sorry, my love, but the grim reaper is now pointing his scythe on my head.


 

I hope you enjoyed this story. It’s tragic, and it won’t be the only one. As a matter of fact, most of my stories end tragically. I’m not a masochist. I just like the beauty of sad stories because it makes you think of how you live your life.

Regret.

Despair.

Death.

They are realities of life and no matter how much we avoid them, we will always end up meeting them.

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Message

Find the message written in someone’s mind
But first, you ask, “Is it worth the time?”
Learn the story behind every word
But first, you doubt, “Do I have to mind?”

Why do you read a story?
To escape the boring one you live?
Is it not for a purpose that maybe
You’ll discover the Author’s plead?

The beauty of having the words that express
Even if it’s not entire but at least the meaning of the message
Is it not through this that we find ourselves
Longing for someone to discover our essence?

The reason why this poem is written is because of the Author
So are the stories you’ve read before and you’ll read after
Now I ask you, where should understanding of the poem come from?
Is it from the reader’s opinion or the Author’s wisdom?

You can say, “Of course I am the one reading to amuse myself of this
So is it not obvious that I read this poem according to what I think?”
Indeed you are free to interpret the message through your own accord
But whether you get the real meaning of it is not really assured

Or you can say, “I am not the one who fixed these words in such a way
Only the One who wrote it can show why in this manner, they are arranged”
And I tell you, in accepting the need of the Author’s guidance
Much more than the mystery of the words’ arrangement is what you’ll understand!

 


One can interpret this poem as me, the writer, telling you, the reader, to understand my message as I understood it rather than understanding it on your own.
However, if you noticed, the word “Author” is capitalized, hinting that this poem can also be interpreted as understanding God’s word as He understood it rather than our own understanding. As Proverbs 3:5 stated, “lean not in your own understanding”.

The Faithful’s Cause

What does faith have to offer?
Why have faith when all is pointing to doubt?
What’s the use of looking for the unseen
When the evidence of it is not out?

How does one prove the existence
Of something that senses can’t reach?
How can you explain to the people
The assurance of what you preach?

For it seems that faith has become a foolish attribute
The world see it as a childish reason
When you tell them that faith can make things possible
They seem to have mocking opinions

Now if you ask a faithful what faith can do
The faithful will smile and say, it changes you
And when change begins from your deepest soul
Your faith can make all things possible

When you rest your heart that Someone’s greater
Your fear subsides and soon you are able
To take the risk that the world considers impossible
But since you have that Someone, then you become courageous

Was it not through faith that France succeeded?
If a young farm girl ignored what God commanded
Would the French army have the guts to fight though they’re losing?
But impossible to that era, it was a girl that changed history

Was it not through faith that a young dreamer saved Egypt?
He faced the Pharaoh and relied to his God
He interpreted a dream to warn about a famine
It was through him that Egypt didn’t suffer a lot

Was it not through faith that people are capable of sacrifice?
Was it not through faith that people could be selfless?
Was it not through faith that a young Nazarene should die
Just to show the world that God’s love is boundless?

But indeed it is, but only the faithful ones could know
For the foolishness of their faith the world can’t imagine
They seek out for these promised miracles
When the miracle starts when faith is planted

Like a mustard seed, Jesus said
Let your faith grow as large as its tree
Don’t let the thorns choke you
But be the living proof that God is mighty

There are those who can make the world easy
But there are only few who can make it beautiful
And let me tell you what faith can offer
It fills the world with love because you are faithful

To have faith is to be sure of the things we hope for, to be certain of the things we cannot see.
– Hebrews 11:1

Not the First, but Hopefully the Last

The man I married was not the first person I loved, but I hope he is the last. My previous relationships have taught me a lot of things and 21 years after, I decided to tie the knot and use all the lessons I’ve learned to love the man I’ve promised my whole life with.

This blog is the same. I have created so many blogs ever since I owned a computer. I lost count of them and some, I don’t even have access to. The first time I posted my stories, only my friends visited but only out of curiosity and never to return. The next time was for bragging purposes. I cleaned my grammar and only re-posted refined gems. Again, no one visited. When I joined the workforce, I realized that there is magic behind the words and the websites they are posted to. They were governed by the powerful Search Engine Optimization or for short, SEO. When I applied as a writer to a journalism website, I have learned the basics of its spells. I can now cast them in this blog and use its power to summon readers.

I’ve loved, lost but I learned. I’ve written, been unnoticed but I learned. I’m hoping that my legacy will finally start here and the lessons will keep coming so I’ll keep learning to be better.