My Short Story: The Trees

© 2009 Hachiko Yukimora

The sun was high up in the sky, beckoning for the snow to leave. As the two forces intercepted the little girl was out and about once more. Her little piggy bank went to Heaven, and she was holding in her pocket enough coins to hopefully buy her mother a little present. Passing by a man towing a tote of trees, she wonders to herself if mother was going to get one this year. One eye half open, she watches briefly as the man unloads the fresh pines in front of the store close by. Some were small, and some were big. She found one that seemed to be just her size, and was unsure whether anybody would really buy that tree. The man unloading the trees smiles at her, placing the last one on the ground. He was all ready to go, with customers waiting to be noticed. She runs off, having her own agenda.

Upon arrival, the store was already open, with the lights on within the store. The sign on the door had already been flipped around, with its old lettering enscribed long ago. A little bell tinkles as she lightly pushes the door open. She heaves a deep breath, walking into the wonderfully warm shop. She could smell carved wood and sawdust of all kinds. The old man, she saw, was sitting behind the counter, working away at his toys. Noticing a young customer in his midst, he smiles, as if he knew she could come in some day.

In a far corner, she is amazed. The tallest tree that she has ever seen was being put up. A woman was decorating with white frost and lights. Ornaments were put on the side, waiting to be hung. She wanted a tree like that this year. And perhaps she would have one, if her mother would allow her to hang an ornament for her.

“I would like to buy that over there.” She points towards it over by the window. The woman smiled, and carefully picked it up. And soon, the girl pays, receiving the carefully wrapped package in her hands.

At home, her mother makes breakfast just for the two. The girl hurries in with a parcel wrapped in beautiful red ribbon, in which she hands to the older woman. A small tree, the size of her daughter, stands on the kitchen table, adorned with a  pretty star and lit lights all around.

My Short Story: The Ornament

© 2009 Hachiko Yukimora

She walked through the abundance of snow the next morning. Her boots crunching into the plethora of frozen fluff, and it brought her great joy. The instances were tiresome, though, having to lift up her feet to keep her pace. Though her adventure was hard on her diminutive body, her determination took over, and she was once again, peering through secretly into the toy shop across the yard. The old man was missing, and it was dark inside. Only the light from the sky was giving her enough to look inside. The little girl could see her breath upon the frosty window, as it melted away insufficient ice into dew. She wonders where the man was, gaping here and there. There was nobody to be found, she finds herself alone, the snow around her untouched within nothing but her own footsteps. Everything seemed still.

I wish, I wish… The girl thought to herself, her eyes fixated on something round in the window. Squinting her eyes to see, she recognizes it straight away. It was so small, perhaps too delicate to hold. She thinks that perhaps her mother would like to have it. But what to do, since she was so small, she had no money to do such. And then, ah-ha!

She did not wait today for her mother to call. In fact, the little girl began to make her way towards the warm and hearty home that she shared. From time to time, the girl would look back, watching the shop grow smaller and smaller. Across the courtyard, she stops in front of the wooden door. Her mother was still sleeping, she knew. So, she slowly creeks the door open, and then slowly closed it.

My Short Story: Outside Looking In

© 2009 Hachiko Yukimora

In a small village, over the mountain and through the pretty meadow, a girl lives with her mother. It is just the two of them living side by side, through the good and the bad. It is the time of year where a new season would be brushing the old away. And this time, it is the advent of wintery days. Little red noses, and bundled up children—they will all be passing by as one would gaze through the windows. In particular, however, this little girl would draw her interest…

Through the frost covered window, the little girl presses her mitten covered hands upon the glass, her eyes meandering through the visible toy shop. Snow was beginning to fall high above, as the cold snow flakes land lightly onto her blue-yarn hat. She heaved a sigh, admiring the many handmade toys, wishing a merry Christmas soon to come. The bell begins to toll across the courtyard, now covered in a blanket of white snow. People were running to their homes, away from the blistering cold. A woman across the yard hollers her name, to come home, waving her arm. The little girl turns around, not so eager to leave the shop’s front. But the chubby man with a long white beard sitting inside the shop drew a twinkle in his eye. It made her heart flutter away with her self. She was not sure what to make of it. It was not till she reached her front porch that she realized. She was not scared, merely curious, and tomorrow she would visit the old man’s shop again.

My Short Story: The Glass Queen

© 2009 Hachiko Yukimora

A woman in a less gaudy sense of dress calmly situated herself upon a commoner’s cedar chair. Colors of the lightest blue, and elegant snow white laces and frills are amongst the beauteous features. Appearing to be merely within her mid-thirties, her facial features told whomever her eyes would fix upon that she had her wisdom and took in consideration utter cautiousness. She was a lady subjected to a life of gracious poverty by her own court. Though, the story is that she was a victim-- overthrown by malicious intentions. She sat before an audience with nothing but a smile drawn upon her. And she spoke with a voice belonging to a young girl’s, yet her intentions were no more misguiding than any person close by.

Without a glass palace, life becomes a burden. What, without the many walls to gaze through, and nobody to fully appreciate it all. Without a glass palace, my world would soon fall. Needless to say, there would be no need for a mesmerizing town and it’s kingdom to search for a perfect princess; a fairytale would never exist for children ever again. That kingdom exists as my glass pavilion, and I will forever be its Queen.

She paused without short fallen verse. This weary lady was swift to turn her gaze. From a downward bow to straight on glimpse, she sees and acknowledges, never missing the chance of simple hellos and goodbyes. Gray eyes; they were unbelievable in their own sense. Compare them to a painting, or to that of clear, glass stuck within a stone wall and you may have found them to be incomparable. Colored glass, in particular, is most unquestionably not as beautiful as these, particularly glass pearls. It is like watching a stormy cloud wayfaring in confined space. Her nature spreads into you, with you as her own. This woman’s voice still grasps your heart.

This glass pavilion sleeps as her master sleeps, acts upon her master’s rigid acts. This pavilion that I claim as my own chooses her master. She knows from righteousness and wrong doings. Now filled with crimson colored goblets between its see-through walls, it is screaming. I feel her pain; it is boiling inside, hot from exhaustion, and deafening tones. She has ways of warning those in debt of her: those of whom will protect her. Trumpets will sound, and all will be as it should be. The skies will roar with unavoidable anger, and tears will follow. Lightning will strike sandy beaches, and beauty will continue being renown.

My Poem: Metro

© 2009 Hachiko Yukimora

By and by, this scene drowsy. Dark and muggy, we see no human. Timeless hours pass by and by. Nothing has changed till one day, it lies. On a corporate plane, a city lives. Numerous shouts: a train is coming! Underground, it is, passengers scatter down those lofty steps, disappearing into tunnels of screeching cries of good-byes. Good-bye, good-bye, the hailing cries sing. A train is stopping, the doors flinging. An then there was nothing. This metro, you speak of. Where is it? I hear words, I feel the unforgiving breeze, but where… Oh where is it?! Drifting through time, feeling nudges, touches, figures passing by. Where am I, and who are these people, cloaked in black, menacing stares and glares. Lost. Confused. Lost, never to be found. I stood, by and by, watching as the lights flicker. Flickering and whickering at the approaching train. Off and on, one by one. Eerily like no other. This isn’t right, this night, I ponder, even the arch is awkward. And with my screaming terror, all the faces look on over. With a blink, it was graciously over.