Today is my parents' 27th Wedding Anniversary. Still together apparently. And going quite strong until eternity.
Not bad, eh? :)
I often have daydreams. Heck, I always have daydreams. Sometimes, it's a chronicling of what I hope was happening to me instead of my current life or a far flung fantasy which could only come true if pigs suddenly fly. But, I suppose it's entertaining or else I wouldn't have continued doing it for the last 25 years.
Here's my current one. Let's call it,
The Rebirth of Schahrazad
I am waiting to cross the street in a busy intersection. The pedestrian signal goes green. I cross. Coming from the other side is this frail old lady who can barely take 2 steps without shaking really bad. I opted to help. I get her safely to the side I came from and I take a look at the lights. It's still green. I probably can still make it to the other side if I walk fast.
I cross. Out of the corner, a car hurtles towards me, bumps me, sends me flying to the curb. The pedestrian light turns red. I black out.
When I wake up, I'm at the hospital and no one was there save for this stranger. He looked surprised I am awake. He's holding a bunch of papers. He tells me my sister just went out to buy coffee, and should he call the nurse? I answer ok, and who is he?
"I'm the guy who bumped you.." his eyes look sad and he motioned to my feet.
I see that both my feet are in casts. I can't feel them at all.
"More like crippled me, it seems." I tell him. "What are those?" I point to his papers.
"Insurance... I will help you pay the hospital bills."
I nod. I'm not rich so that'll help. "You have to pay me more than insurance."
"You mean, damages?, Uh, erm... I'll try... I should probably call a lawyer... I don't have much cash..." he fumbles.
"I don't need money." I tell him. He genuinely looks puzzled.
"I bind you to tell me one story a day, until I walk again."
"What kind of stories?" He sat down, probably needing all his brain energy to try and figure me out.
"Any stories. Yours, the world. One per day. You can miss a day, but then you'd have to tell me two stories the next time."
"You're weird." he tells me.
I raise an eyebrow. "Or, I could sue you for 50 million pesos."
He smiled. "Stories it is. Hardly a choice there. Telling stories are easy."
I smile grimly. "Really?"
"Yeah!" he very nearly gurgled, from the sounds of it. "I just get stories from people, from books, anywhere you can see..."
"And then when those runs out, where will you get your tales? You'd have to get them from somewhere inside of you. Darker, deeper, more personal. This deal wouldn't be easy for you. This will tire you. This will draw you out of your walls, your comfort zones. You will tell me easy ones at first. But it will get harder. Much harder."
His face shows he doesn't believe me.
"Shall we start?" I asked. "Why don't you give me your name and tell me the story why you deserve it."
"Huh?" he scratches his head
I smile. "Tick-tock."