GINGER COOKIES

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You just took a shower. The hot steam filling the bathroom makes it a little hard to breathe. You thus open the door, seeing the shadows of the plants casting on the wall. Looking at the plants, you think, "They probably need to be watered." Then you realize that there is a jar full of ginger cookies sitting right behind the plants. It wasn't there before. You take a closer look at the jar and find some sparkling things on those cookies. You: [[keep staring at the sparkling cookies for a few moments. For some reason it is even harder to breathe.]]

You are now on a beach, which is not made by sand but by ginger cookies. You are surrounded by a mini-scale palm-tree forest where dogs are walking other dogs. Looking further away, you find out that the sea is brown instead of blue. You: [[sit down on the beach and eat more ginger cookies.]] [[follow a Corgi around.]] [[walk to the sea and use your finger to take a sip at the sea.]]

You are laying on your bed, scrolling through social media on your phone. You feel a breeze, but you remember that you have closed the window this morning before you left for work. You turn around and find the window half open. You get off the bed to shut it down, but when you're stand by the window, you see: [[a corpse laying by the window right across from your apartment.]] [[a huge ginger-cookie-like balloon floating midair. There is a note attached to the string.]] [[a little girl on the roof holding the same cookie jar while staring straight at you.]]

<<audio mainsong play>> You forget when you sat down, but you've been on the floor for a while. Everything feels a little brighter when you sit down. There seems to be something in the creaks on the wall. The more you look at it, the more you feel unsettled. You turn your head away, only to find out that there is something between the table and the wall. You reach over and unfold the crumpled paper. It's the lyrics you wrote for your ex. You: [[sit there and read through the whole thing.]] [[recrumple the paper and throw it into the trashcan.]] [[tuck it back between the table leg and the wall.]]

The more cookies you eat, the harder it is to stop. Your teeth keeps chewing and making the crunching noise, while your throat is having a hard time transporting the poorly dissected cookies into your stomach. You feel like you're going to be choked by yourself, but your whole body seems to be manipulated by some grander power and thus has to keep going regardless of your instincts. Time has passed, and things around start to fade. [[You pass out.]]

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You scream out loud and

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You haven't played your guitar for a while. Reading through the lyrics just makes you want to write something again. You take your guitar out of your bedroom and sit down in the hallway again. You look straight at the pale white walls, fingers start playing with the strings. The moment when you find yourself going back to the tunes you used to play a lot, memories rush into your head. You're thinking about: [[a sea]] [[a cabin]] [[a roof]]

The clock chimes. It's already 8 o'clock. You haven't eaten anything after you got off work. You walk downstairs to find some food in the fridge, but it's basically empty. You were supposed to do grocery shopping on the way back home today, but you completely forgot about it because you got off work late and you were not in a good mood. Looking at what is left in the fridge, you decide to: [[turn on the oven and heat up some frozen pizza.]] [[microwave the left-over thai food from the night before.]] [[grab a bow of yogurt and some nuts.]]

It's cloudy out here. The sky is evened out, leaving the world with no highlights or shadows. You're standing on the reef, looking down at the sea. Waves beat against the rocks. Seagulls play around near the horizon, barking from time to time. There's a smell of magnolia in the air. You know where it is from. You cross the reef all the way to see a huge [[magnolia]] tree lying on the beach. You approach the tree on which the [[leaves]] still have [[morning dew]].

Trees of flowers surround the cabin. The dirt is still wet and soft. There are footsteps leading to the house. You know there is something hidden in the two ceramic pots on the side. you manage to walk through the untrimmed branches and grab one of the pots. You tilt the pot upside down. A watch [[drops]] on your palm. You start to hear someone [[singing]] in the house. The voice is gentle. You stand still, [[waiting]] for the sun to come out.

You give out a sigh and lean your back against the stair handrails to have a rest. You don't know why you're this tired. The steam running out of the bathroom soon disappears in the air. The world becomes quiet and cold again. You look up at the ceiling. It has been repainted several times, but you can still tell the edges of a hole. It was because you were so angry after a fight that you threw a [[stool]] onto the [[ceiling]]. You sit there, imagining the white ceiling to be red, then blue, then yellow. "[[Yellow]] might be a great option for the next round of repainting," you think.

After the plastic stool reached the ceiling and threw a crack on it, it fell next to your toes. You moved your feet and kicked it away to the corner. The stool seemed just fine, quietly sitting on the floor with its legs facing the ceiling. You felt like it was laughing at you. Your fist was still clenching like a rock. You couldn't help but threw the fist at the wall. It hurt, but not as much as your heart. You didn't know if you were upset more because of the fight or yourself. You: [[kept punching the wall until your hand started bleeding.]] [[tried to calm down and got your self a cup of whiskey.]] [[dropped some tears, and then started laughing at yourself for what you had done.]]

However hard you try to repaint the ceiling, there will always be some pearl white [[wavy patterns]] on it. It is not easy to tell, but once you stare at it long enough, you'll be able to see it. The lines are kind of shiny, sometimes even seeming to move like those ocean waves. There were some white crumbs on the floor. The hole in the middle of the ceiling was dark, surrounded by thin cracks that spreaded like a spider web. You wondered if you had just broken the floor of the [[attic]] too. Actually, you had never been to the attic, but you once dreamed about being told that the previous owner's grandmother died there. It was a suicide. You somehow believeed that the dream was telling you the truth, and you had been wondering what was [[the last straw]].

The pizza is not as good as you expect, but at least it's enough to fill the belly. The show you are watching doesn't really have a plot. The characters just get into endless crimes and struggle with tangled-up relationships. It's pretty messy, but you are already half way through and you feel too much effort switching to another show, which might be as bad as this one. A while after your [[stomach]] stops digesting, your [[head]] starts hurting. You can hardly focus on the show, and the white noise around just becomes unbearable. You turn off the TV and look for some pills in the kitchen. You water them down the [[throat]] and wait for them to kick in.

You mix some curry in the pineapple fried rice and pour them into a porcelain bowl. While waiting for the microwave, you pour yourself a cup of orange juice. The [[microwave]] beeps. When you take the bowl out, you find some thin cracks on its white surface. It looks weird, but you're not too concerned about it. The rice tastes juicy with the curry. You're happy with your decision. You grab your laptop from the bedroom and start scrolling through youtube subscriptions. You find out that your favorite youtuber decides to take a rest from uploading videos. You're a little upset, but you tell yourself, "that's alright. I have other options." After finishing the Thai food, you set the bowl in the [[sink]] and come back to the laptop for more videos. Then, the [[bowl]] suddenly breaks.

You just don't feel like eating. However, you know your stomach is going to hurt later tonight if you don't feed it anything. You pull out a jar of nuts and pour some in a bowl. Then you take a strawberry yogurt out of the fridge. You go back to your bedroom and sit yourself on the bean bag, starting to mix the yogurt and nuts together. The longer you sit there, the less the sense of a concrete body exists. You feel like you are gradually [[melting]] in the chair, just like the yogurt melting in your mouth. With only the table lamp on, your room is already dim, but you wish it can be even dimmer. You set the bowl aside, completely giving your body to the chair. Everything around the table is sitting in the [[shadow]], silent. You try to avoid staying alone with your [[thoughts]], but you are doing it now.

It's the lily magnolia. You've seen it around your ex's house, but not on a tree this huge. The petals have a gradient of white and pink, a part of which are wrinkled. The magnolia on the bottom side of the lying tree hug the beach. They are pushed close together without any space to breathe. The rest of them don't look as beautiful as they are under warm sunlight, but they seem to be the most aggresive ones in this peaceful environment. You close your eyes and draw a deep breath, feeling the sweetness in the smell of magnolia. It takes your mind further away to the fluffy clouds.

You reach your hand to the leaves. They're soft, almost too soft. Your finger slowly touches the uneven edge. It feels like a needle is talking to your skin. You find the greens of the leaves unreal. They almost look like the fake plants with over-oily luster being sold in the department stores as home decorations. But you've touched those fake plants before, and they felt real. You suddenly feel nostalgic about that feeling of paradox. Then those leaves seem to have read your mind and bunch together to grab your wrist. You're stuck.

It's like bubbles created by soap. You're scared that you will destroy it by a single touch, but you always want to see that happen. The trancient moment excites you. You carefully let the dew slip off the edge of the leave and land on your index finger. You lift it up right in front of your eyes. Through the morning dew, the wrinkles on your finger blend in the tree behind in a highly distorted way. Everything feels normal but also insane. You walk to the beach, covering the dew with another hand, and then let it slip off your finger. It's gone in no time. It's back to the cycle.

The watch lands on your palm. The leather is beaten up, and it smells somewhat moldy. You turn it around to check the letters you have carved on the back of the leather. They are not as clear as before, but you can still tell the traces. You bought the leather from a local vintage store. The owner was an old lady who dressed in shawls every day. When she heard that you were going to make a watch strap, she took you in front of this closet full of leathers. You liked that light brown one the most. The old lady smiled at you and said, "whomever this gift belong to will like it." Pulling your thoughts back from that sunny afternoon, you can't move your eyes away from the soft dirt on the ground at this moment. You clutch the watch in your fist. You wonder how things would turn out if either of you would step back for just one time.

You've heard the voice a thousand times over. It's still rich and sweet, just as the first time you came across it. You would never forget the band playing in the background, the drum, the trumpet, the trombone, and the saxophone. Even everything else was perfect, your attention was completely drawn by the voice. You sneaked through the back door hidden in the bush. You stood in the corner, only seeing the back of them. You could not help but stayed there for the whole afternoon until the rehearsal got over. Now you are standing there, listening to the voice in the cabin. You don't dare to imagine what is it like inside the house, but you know that you already have a picture in mind that can't be told. It feels like nothing has changed, but evertyhing has.

You don't know why every piece of memory is connected to the sunlight, and it's always in afternoons. You look up to the sky, things crazily flashing back in your head. The sky looks sad. Clouds are slowly moving around. The sun is hiding behind, but you can tell that its light is about to penetrate the marshmellow floating in the air. A bird flies by. It chiprs a little, and you hear another chirping from the other side of the forest. Something clicks in your mind. You wait for another while. The sun still hasn't come out. You put the watch back to the pot, and finds your way out.

It'a almost sunset. The sun takes a sip at the sky, the bloody orange spreading out like ripples on the lake. As time goes by, the sky turns from orange to pastel pink and blue. You've been siting on the roof for almost an hour. Your rabbit is jumping around in the backyard. The [[glass lightbulbs]] are swinging as the wind comes and leaves. There's a [[rocking chair]] under the tallest tree. A piece of [[blanket]] is left on the backrest of the chair.

That string of lightbulbs are rarely used now. Only when your mom vist will the lightbulbs be turned on because she loves the dangling glimmer in the unbearable dark nights. You have a picture of a broken lightbulb saved in your phone. Your ex always complained about it ruining the mood, but you insisted on keeping it. You found it speaking to you. It being the only lightbulb that was not functioning in a whole group was almost like a self-portrait of you. The sunset is reflecting on the lightbulb's transparent surfaces. You are pretty far away from them, but you can imagine how glowy the glass is, and how gloomy it will be moments later. When the sun has completely set, these lightbulbs look almost emotionless, although it never has emotions before.

You're never in the mood of moving it under the roof. It has been raining a lot lately, and the chair is probably soaked. For some reason, sitting on that specific chair makes you feel uneasy. You will somehow start thinking about conspiracy theories or the philosophy of human lives when you just want to escape from everything else and chill a bit. Your ex loves it though, saying that it's the best chair ever in the world. The sun is almost gone. You finish the last sip of beer and finally decide to take the chair inside once you get back down. As you're thinking, the rabbit jumps under the chair and lies down. It slowly looks up at you as if it was going to say something. You've never felt such a strong connection between you and that tiny creature. You get startled.

You finally stopped. The sense of pain arised again. Your ears were humming, and your vision was blurry for seconds. The stream of blood pumped out as your heart beated. "One, two, three, four..." You started counting as you saw the blood forming a tiny arc between the phalanges. You tried not to think about what had just happened, and you got yourself some alcohol cotton and gauze. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, you didn't know what to do. You felt lost at this moment just as you did in your life. You somewhat enjoyed the dull pain coming from your hand. It forced you to think. Your body started cooling down, so did your heart. At some point that night, you might had found the answer.

You tried not to drink a lot of alchohol when you got into that relationship, but sometimes things got hard. You didn't know which part of life was the hand trying to press that trigger, but you were always fighting hard to prevent that from happening. You felt exhausted. You hoped that there could be a time, just one time, when you didn't need to try but wait for it to fire, when you didn't know what the consequences would be but didn't care to know. Unfortunately, that could only be the alternative reality. You were trying your best to manage your life, and you believed that it was getting better. Or was it?

The time when you notice the patterns moving is usually at dusk or early morning. Every time when it happens, you desperately want someone to be present and prove that you are not insane. It has a magical appeal. You've seen the particles consisting the patterns for several times, and other times you can see the ivory turns a little lighter or darker. There are multiple shades of white, and whenever it is changing from one to another, you feel like those lines are speaking. They are more like a friend. They just happen to know what mood you are in, and their "emotions" will adjust alongside yours. There definitely exists some sort of connections.

You've pictured how the attic looks like in your mind: it is dark, and the only window is locked by wooden frames with newspapers glued on. The moment when the attic door gets open, the smell of mold will crash on your face along with the visible dust in the sunbeams. There are a few wooden chairs lying on the floor, a wooden bed sitting right under the window, and a wooden box hidden in the darkest corner. A circle of candles surround the box with a half rusty and half sparkling lock. Nothing weird has happened with the attic like those horror films say they will, but somehow you can feel the soul of the dead grandma. You can feel the magnetic dynamic here changes dramatically from time to time. Your instinction tell you that the hole on the ceiling is under one of the chairs, but you will never know if that is true beacuse you won't go up there and check it out. You like having a space for imaginations only, or say, you don't want to be disappointed when there is actualy nothing up there.

Was it the silent treatment that her partner and her were giving each other? Was it the disrespectful word that slipped through her daughter's mouth when they were having the first family renuion in ten years? Was it the death of her pet? Was it the resignation of the housekeeper who had been with her for the past twenty years? Was it the butterfly that flew in through the half open window, sticked around for a few days but eventually flew out? Was it the rain that went on for a whole week and left everything wet and sad? Was it the sip of coffee that was too sweat to have the actual taste of coffee beans? Or was it the pill? The milk? The wine?

You have a werid relationship with your stomach. When you grew up, your parents were barely at home and thus didn't have enough time to cook decent meals for you. You ate little, sometimes even nothing. Surprisingly, it didn't act on you at all. However and whatever you ate, your stomach was fine with it. Though it sometimes rumbles, before and after meals, you've never been tortured by stomachache like your mom has. You remember the time when she suffered from vomiting and diarrhea after having something fairly normal, and you hoped that this would never happen on you. The fact that eating hasn't caused you too much trouble is one of the few things you're genuienly happy about. Afterall, the mandatory eating every day for your brain to function as an intelligent organ is troublesome enough.

You can't recall when exactly you start to have migraines. It's like toothache, born in neurons. That's the worst pain ever. Most of the time you can handle it with pills, but recently, they don't work as well as before. You friend told you that smoking might trigger more migraine attacks. You tried to quit, several times actually, but when the craving and the pain hit you together, you felt like you were stuck in the void. You know you think too much. Sometimes you can even hear the humming sound of the overheated brain like the main engine of a computer. Then you force yourself to temporarily "shut" your brain. However, the process of transitioning from something to nothing in mind is like swimming upstream with waves crazily beating at you. You realize that everything good for your physical and mental health is just quite hard to achieve.

When the water flows down, your throat feels a little sore. You wonder if you have caught a flu by chance. You swallow your saliva again to test the pain. You are tackling an important project which can basically decide whether you get the promotion or not. At this time being, you really don't have time to take care of a sick body. It still feels sore. You let out a deep sigh, trying to find some other pills to kill the flu before it starts functioning. You once again feel the stress, anxiously imagining every consequence this sore throat might lead to. You need to go to bed, like right now.

It's a normal-look microwave. Sometimes it does not work appropriately. You've thought about getting someone to fix it, but you keep pushing it off because the problem does not affect you that much. You muddle along. You don't care a lot and you find most of the issues bearable. Everything is not that important. Everything is like the microwave. You weren't like this when you were still in school. Back then you felt the urge to get involved in everything. You told yourself that you were going to live up to your full potentials. But what does "full potentials" even mean? You started to realize that your expectations on yourself might just be implanted by your strict parents. You'd never truly understood yourself. That's when you stopped acting like that. Now you don't know if you're still in the process of figuring things out or you've already found your answer. You only know that life moves on, and you might just go with it.

There are a few dishes left from yesterday and the day before. You plan to put them in the dishwasher tonight after dinner. You don't want to admit but you have found the sink pretty intimidating since your childhood. When you were young, you often stood in front of the sink and couldn't stop thinking about yourself being thrown into a sink way larger than humans. Anyone could flip up the switch and you would be flushed down and shredded in no time. The most scary thing wasn't even that but the fact that you would never be able to feel or know stuff. It was very threatening. You don't think about things like this now, but the sink keeps giving you a weird feeling. Whenever you turn on the disposal machine and things get sucked down there, you feel kind of dizzy. Those half-a-second movements draw you in. Then you look down to see a tiny part of the sewer, the uncertainty makes you creep. You never know how to deal with it.

The bowl was brought by your friend who settled in another country two years ago. You two were pretty close when you worked in the same company. You hung out a lot because you had many common interests. Then your friend got a job offer oversea. The bowl was a farewell gift. It is an ivory bowl with subtle golden patterns on. You haven't used it a lot becaues it looks way fancier than the other utensils you have. Also, seeing this just reminds you that you don't have anyone in sync in real life anymore. Tonight it's the first time in a couple of weeks that you feel like using the bowl. Then it explodes. You have no clue how that has just happened. There are four huge pieces in the sink. You look at them for seconds and decide to throw them into the trachcan. You haven't talked to the friend for a while.

It's about the relative temprature, the feeling, and the texture. Though it is a one-subject action, it does involve two variables. It's really out of your control. Sometimes you even don't notice when things start falling apart. The moment when you realize that something is going on, it's already too late. So, does the soft lose to the hard? Well, it depends on how you look at it. It loses its bones and structures, but it can flow anywhere now. There's no such thing as "obstacle" anymore.

It's hard for everyone's heart to find a bright place to live. This kind of place is exclusive to people who know their way out, or at least know a thing or two. Shadow is dark, but also pretty safe. You can see things outside, and they can't see you inside. How wonderful is that. Sometimes you do feel like you need to get bathed in sunshine, but you always regret your decision after spending ten mintues there, and you rush into the indiscernible mass. Leaning your back against the door that never exists, you let out a breathe you didn't realize you'd been holding. At least you're home right now.

The addiction to the pain and suffer in relationships is real to you. You're always anxious, anxious about staying productive and about the feeling of staying productive. When you stepped into the world that you'd always wanted to be a part of, you felt lost. Nothing was as clear and exciting as you expected. You started asking yourself, "is everything I did worth it?" However hard you try to stay on the track, something appealing and mysterious will keep pulling you out of it. They tell you that you are free now. Are you? You are the popping pimple. Your whole body is fueld up with pus, and you will explode whenever the external pressure is executed. The end of the story is already known.

[[GINGER COOKIES]]

It's a brown and maroon blanket with black stripes on. It might be one of the items that you've had for the longest time. You bought it at you and your ex's favorite store. The blanket is so normal and plain that it becomes precious. It reminds you of the time when everything moves slowly and smoothly, and there's not too much stuff to worry about. It helps you calm down and focus on one thing or not focus at all. You're now surrounded by the grayed out sky and the barely lit field. The sun is gone. You know that those sweet times in your memory will never come back again.

Your head feels dizzy and things around seem blurry. You make a huge effort to open your eyes wide and hold your body upright. You are still at the same beach, but all the ginger cookies and dogs are gone. You struggle to stand up and walk around, only to realize that there is no one around but you. Then the sound of whistle comes out of nowhere. The moment when you turn around to check the surroundings, you see that [[a white rabbit lands on the beach with her magical cloud.]] [[a squirrel stands right behind you and starts talking.]] [[a whale lies on the beach and baths in the sunlight.]]

The rabbit is surrounded by a floating silk ribbon whose tailes keep flying around with the wind. A glowing bowties hovers right above its ears. She jumps right in front of you and hand you a ruby. You take the ruby, still surprised by the rabbit and its magical cloud. You try to talk to her. "What's your name?" The rabbit blinks at you a couple of times without saying anything. "Can you speak?" She keeps staring at you, as if she was telling you who she was and where she came from. Of course she doesn't make any sound. You crouch down trying to pet her, but as soon as your hand touches her ear, she jumps away. Her cloud appears again. You watch the rabbit jumping on the cloud and taking off, her ribbon still floating. When they are blending in the cloudy sky, you suddenly hear a little girl's voice: "It was nice to meet you. The ruby is a gift from my family on the moon. Feel free to do whatever you want with it." Looking at the ruby, you decide to [[keep it in your pocket and find a way out of the beach.]] [[throw it into the sea.]] [[bury it in the sand.]] [[swallow it.]]

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You have a handful of yellow items at your place. There are a piece of tablecloth, a clock, some tulips in the vase, and an ancient Chinese container. You thought about adding some bright colors to the apartment, because you felt like it looked really dull. You were worried that the guests might think you were just as dull as this place. In fact, you never invited anyone in, and no one really asked to pay a visit. Naturally, the thought just slipped through the cracks. Then there was this hole, which gave you the chance to realize the "more colors" plan. You ended up painting it white again.

You never showed other people your real self, even to your partner. You hardly ever cried, and you felt stupid to, becuase tears couldn't resolve anything, right? When you realized that your tears dropped at that point, you felt surprised. In rare circumstances where you felt that the soul was reaching the top of your body and ready to break through the tear gland, you always suppressed it, but not that day. It actually, felt alright, like finally letting things out of your chest, like confessing a lie you had hidden from your friend for a long time. Now you felt stupid for throwing the stool onto the ceiling. You had to fix it and repaint it, but probably not anytime soon.

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