Another Dimension

My stories are like the heat of a fire. You look at it and you wonder, what is this orange, goldish and red power in front of your eyes. It attracts you as it attracts oxygen, though it dries you out of it as well. You want to know it, you want to explore but, alas, the pain it may cause.

It is a reflection; the colors are memories. Feelings. You open it and you enter a whole new dimension of the unknown person you have known for so long.

US of A

“What’s the problem with just blue and white, Sarah?” my psychiatrist asked me, trying to understand the madness behind my words. It was just an obsession, I knew it long ago.

“Are you asking this seriously?” I asked him, arching my eyebrows, surprised how he couldn’t understand, “who wouldn’t want some red in their lives? Just a great addition to the lonely white and blue who are so sick of one another already.

The red, sir, the red is everything about this. The temptation, lust, eagerness. It is the red that the blue and white need”

He nodded, laying his mouth on his thumb “so you are saying, the red makes you feel….”

“It makes me feel good. Empowered, independent, invincible” I interrupted his words so he couldn’t be wrong about what the powerful red does to my life. “You see, the blue and white know everything about each other. They are incompatible, like oil and water. So, the white goes to seek something mergeable, till it encounters red. It is all about red, their culture, manners. Red is so different than blue and white sir, it accepts you. “

“What is so…different for you, Sarah?”

“Once you stare, once you observe you notice things you have never thought of before. Their attire, accessories, speech, language, even their skin sir, their body's hairs. It is the differences that attract the eye, the passion.”

I never wanted something different from myself, but lust got me. How could I ever resist this red fantasy?

“The red is the stain that connected two great nations” I was trying to explain it to my psychiatrist, why I was into something so foreign and unshared with my surrounding. 

My Detested Frost

You chased, you gave, you wanted, you cared, you prayed, breathed, wished, hugged, kissed…

You cried, you broke, you ached, you bit your lip out of the pain you went through, you screamed, you asked- “what is wrong with me?”

“Why do I deserve this?”

“What am I doing wrong?”

From the dark, cold winter to the beginning of the flourishing spring. You changed as the leaves. Vulnerability to stability, paleness to colorful, wrinkle to softness.

You stood there, whirlwind moving your hair, clothes, values. You did not blink. Your hands spread to the sides, welcoming. The cold wind penetrates everything. Your skin pores, your ears, mind, soul. You are cold, paralyzed inside. You hated to feel this way, but you were helpless.

And when it is over, you hear birds’ songs, the air is filled with blossoming roses’ scent. Sun touches your skin and you are breathing again. Sun gives you hope, melting the icebergs that were left in you from the passing winter. Cheeks turning reddish and so does your heart. From the embracing new breeze.

Although it is spring now, cold air comes and goes, cutting you like a knife. Reminding you it is always there.

Who let you in Frost? Your time has passed.

Lucy

You have a real fine girlfriend. She is everything you have ever wished for. She has long black hair, soft skin, long legs. Her beautiful tits are what make you lucky in life and her ass is all you ever needed. She is completely loyal to you, she would kiss you and tell you how much she needs you all the time. She dedicates her time, energy, efforts, and neediness all for you. She is a walking piece of heaven, you have been blessed. But when the two of you walk together and pass by other males, she would lower her tight shirt’s zipper to expose more of her solid, jutting tits. She would look at the floor, not making eye contact with the other men but she makes sure you see them drool. She would stick out her ass when you two standing and other men pass by. She would move her hair from one side to the other, over and over again. She would send you a screenshot of other men's comments on her sexy photos on Instagram just to show you that her "battery is about to die". She would make a good impression on your homies just so they “like her so much, maybe you should share”, your homie winks.

But you just stand there and wonder, why does she try so hard. 

Off-Target

I was waiting for the nine o’clock train to Tel Aviv. Right next to me I saw a well-built, young soldier, with a giant gun lying between his thighs. A long red Pringles tin was held in his left hand while his right hand was all the way inside it. I was sure it reached the bottom of the tin. I realized I was staring.

“Want one?” the lad’s right hand was now out of the tin, tilting it towards my direction with a sexy smirk on his face.

“ah, no. Thank you!” I said, blushing, but managing to show a soft smile.

He had the kindest eyes, a countenance of a strong but somewhat playful man.

“Where are you heading to?” he attempted to strike a conversation.

“Just Tel Aviv, to do some shopping and walking around” I said back while looking at his wrinkled uniform. I assumed he must not have a girlfriend, maybe not even a mother.

“What about you? Heading home from the base?” I almost forgot how to communicate.

He would laugh at everything I said. He kept on chuckling as if I was telling a joke and he was enjoying himself.

“Yeah, I have a month off” he said back. His voice was manly, thick, and pleasant.

“What's your job?” I was curious to know. I didn't know a lot about guns, but I could see that the one that laid there was one of a kind.

“I am a sniper, of a special unit” he said, as if he loved the sound of it, but didn't try to boast as he moved his eyes trying not to look straight into mine.

“That's impressive. Are you any good at it?” I asked back, trying to give him some confidence in his words. Though I liked to see how shy he was for talking about himself so much.

“I like to think I am pretty accurate…” he laughed slightly, lowering his gaze down to the Pringles tin in his hand. I let him lead the conversation because I didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable.

The sniper and I were the same age but for some reason, it felt like we had a wide gap between us.

“This is my stop,” I smiled as I grabbed my bag to leave.

“This my number, maybe we can hang out or something?” Of course, he chuckled again as he handed me a perfectly clean white piece of paper with a number on it.

We managed to talk everyday all day for two or so weeks. Our communication was constant, sharing photos, daily activities, we knew all about each other’s routine.

Our first date was simple and amusing. We concluded we like being in each other’s company, I saw a spark that started the fire of love- which led us to many more meetings.

We were sexually hungry for one another. We made love that set us on fire and caused us feel heat waves all over where our bodies touched. He used to bury his hands deep in my skin, holding me fiercely, without the pause of a second. His hard kisses turned into the bites of a starving man, he moved so passionately that I could see the hunger in his eyes, the kind you wouldn't expect to see on a patient sniper.

I thought I had made him softer, but my relationship with him barely held for a month. They say never expect anything from anyone, but when you love someone you naturally expect love from them, but it did not happen. We were sculpted from different materials. I was fire and he was stone, I pulled closer and he drew backwards because he did not let anybody step into his private world. He didn't know how to embrace what I was giving.

 When a sniper is revealed he is weakened. He can hurt you and reach to you only when he is disguised, then when I tried to reveal his emotions he pushed back.

“You are too much, you give too much, and you ask for things I am incapable of giving you. Haha” this was one of his last messages, he was devastatingly accurate, and I have realized, this sniper is disguised too well.

I spent months eating Pringles straight from the tin, recalling my salty memories with the sniper to whom I was too warm. I hated the fact that I was too much for a man. I hated being so extroverted for such an introverted person. He made me feel like a crazy person but as a matter of fact after thinking for so long, I was not. I just needed somebody to love but our definitions of the word “love” …were completely different.

Five years later, a risky army operation that required all the special combat units to get to the border was announced everywhere. Back then, I was already married to a great man. My life was pretty peaceful, the way it was before that day at the train station. I had a beautiful daughter-Genesis, to whom I had unconditional love for. I moved to Tel Aviv with my husband after we got married and our life put me at comfort. I became an English teacher, just like I always wanted. I was happy in my world after learning so much from my actual experiences. I spent time with my family with whom I had a reciprocated relationship.

But the day of the annunciation of the operation made me uneased. I was home with Genesis- the TV was on, screening the news- following the military chief announcing the main goals of this operation. I was concerned and focused on the news when I thought I heard hesitated knocks on the front door.

I asked Genesis to get it.

“Mom…. “she pronounced it longer than usual.

I came to the door to see the sniper standing there wearing his war uniform, which I never thought could be any more wrinkled than the time I saw him wearing it on the train. He did not look so well. He grew some beard, his eyes looked as if something was shut down in him. He gulped as he moved his eyes from little Genesis to look at me. I was paralyzed for that very moment, I just stood there frozen, in my own house. All I needed was to see his face again to remember, everything came back to me. A tear ran down my cheek, but it was not right, so I quickly wiped it off.

He was a good sniper, but this time he missed the target.

Skip Dinner Be Thinner

Skip Dinner Be Thinner

“Yo panda bear!” shouted Chris Donovan, the most popular jock in the school, while he laughed at Madison Eatmon with his jock buddies following him.

Madison was a tall, wide girl, presumably the biggest in her school. She had a beautiful face, but it did nothing to help her hide the extra 20 kilograms of her full body. She was bullied and laughed at almost every day, but this was her last day of misery; The last day of high school.

Madison was not the most social girl, but she followed every celebrity on Instagram. They became her idols, with their tight and skinny bellies, thick bottoms and narrow hips- all provided with a strict fitness routine.

“You can make it happen if you wish for it,” her dad said from behind after peeking at Madison’s phone. Madison kept staring at this strong fitness model on her phone, “you think so?” she did not wait for a reply since what she needed to hear was already said.

*Alarm ring*

8 in the morning. She looks messy but she reached that point of motivation. It has already been the 10th morning she went jogging. She would wake up and make a strong black coffee to give her the energy she needs because this is what they say to do. She would run miles over miles, not willing to stop. She would come home and trash the chocolate chip cookies she used to have every morning and replace them with a full meal of proteins and veggies. This was her limitless routine: run, eat, sleep, and repeat. Her old gigantic clothes did not fit her anymore- her body fat vanished within 4 months.

The day before college loaded her with extra motivation to keep pushing herself to the celebrity body she was aspiring for. She bought new clothes and tried them on over and over again, she took a closer look at herself in the mirror grabbing the extra skin that is left on her belly but then sighing with dissatisfaction.  

She did her morning run today too, of course, but she was not letting her new clothes be worn yet. “I did have an extra piece of bread this morning” she said to herself. She rushed to the bathroom, agitated by the thoughts of her breakfast, and without hesitating too much, she leaned down to the toilet, throwing up her morning meal. For a few seconds she breathed heavily, wiped her mouth, then washed her face to look refreshed and less pale.

First day of college she let herself wear the new clothes she had bought. She walked in the campus with her shoulders back, looking at people in their eyes and not on the floor- she went straight to her locker while people’s comments made her walk with a smirk on her face. She closed her locker and she saw Chris Donovan’s face right next to her, he turned his head to look at who was standing next to him and for a split second he did not recognize her.

“Madison?!” he arched his eyebrows together. She looked at him, taking a step forward “panda bear for you,” then walked away. She never entered the cafeterias, dining rooms or the food stores in the campus- she had her own box of veggies and a bottle of water. She did not need real food since people’s positive comments fed her well enough.

She couldn’t get enough of it, she threw up at least once a day, and with her weight loss increasing by each day, she measured her body every morning, kept track of her belly, always making sure it was skinny enough. This was her new routine, and since it was never enough, she never stopped. People now commented on her skinny body as they could see her bones- she was not getting any compliments now, so she pushed harder, running miles twice a day. Her skin never looked paler, and the black circles around her eyes became more and more visible. Her shoulders bent when she walked, once again to the bathroom next to her class.

Chris Donavon was right behind her, holding the bathroom’s door open before it closed completely. He heard her try to throw up, his jaw muscles tightened, his heart was beating fast, realizing what was happening. He burst in the bathroom when he saw Madison laid unconscious on her own puke on the floor. He rushed to her, carrying her in his arms “Madison wake up!! Madison…. I am sorry! Please wake up!!” 

Wilted Love in Little Tokyo

Wilted Love in Little Tokyo

My Japanese love started in 2016 when I was just 18 years old. On summer- break from college, I decided to go to Japan, to experience something different from the banal American culture that surrounded me. I met Ichiro at one of the bars I first attended to in Japan. Ichiro was almost six feet tall, his hair was black as coal with a sharp shine. He had a swimmer’s body, not too buff nor too lean- the one you would see in Korean fashion shows. Or maybe it was Japanese.

That night, when his mouth curved to a flirty smile exposing his white perfect teeth and his eyes narrowed till you could barely see them- I fell in love.

We spent this month together as if we were in a relationship for three years already. He showed me around more than I have ever expected to see, and this became a one-month routine. Our mornings started with a traditional Japanese breakfast and ended with several cocktails at the same bar, where we met, and finally making love in his bedroom.

We were on our way to the airport, holding our hands not ready to let go, “I will message you when I land back in California, drive safely back home. I love you” I said before I pulled him closer for a long farewell kiss.

“Okay” he said back, giving me that same first smile I fell for at that bar.

I landed in California and headed home to San Francisco, “I am home! What have you been up to?” I messaged Ichiro while I was waiting for a taxi. I held my phone so stiffly that it left a mark on my fingers- there was no reply.

After realizing I was just a one month stand for Ichiro by getting no response from him, I found myself depressed and desperate to reach him in any way possible, unsuccessfully. I wanted my time back, I wanted the memories to fade away but at the same time, I wanted to feel the same way as I did then. Wherever I went I saw him. I hallucinated Japanese people on campus all the time.

“Jess, if you really want to recall your experiences with this Asian dude why don’t you go to Little Tokyo?” My best friend asked me, persuading me to make a closure and leave my broken heart on the shelf of tiny furry hearts you see in the Little Tokyo resort stores. And so a week after returning from Japan, there began the end of my Japanese experience.

I clicked “accept”. Reserving a single room in “Kimpton Buchanan Hotel” in San Francisco Little Tokyo. “Be ready for a full Japanese experience” said the page after my payment. Was I ready?

I packed a bag and courage for three days, knowing that this is going to be a proper goodbye from my Japanese experience.

Everything in Little Tokyo screamed “Ichiro” to me, the red and white colors of the buildings’ walls, the Japanese letters on each store, the anime posters on the walls. It all reminded me of him.

I finished my nights with sushi and cocktails at Hinodeya Ramen Bar, just like we used to do together. Around me there were happy people, laughing and drinking as this was a vacation for them but for me a business. On my way back to the hotel I saw this one store called “Kawaii”, this is how Ichiro used to call me. I put my hands on the store’s glass to look inside. The store was of tiny dolls, Hello Kitty in so many sizes and colors, Pokémon creatures, small vintage furniture for decoration and plenty of tiny furry creatures with huge sweet eyes. I looked up again at the name of the store wondering what it was about, and why did this name fit me.

On my last day in Little Tokyo I decided to go to the famous event of the Cherry Blossom Festival. I thought it would be the proper way to separate myself from this colorful culture and put it behind me. The festival was just like I wished it to be. Food stands everywhere selling Japanese food on sticks and in origami boxes, actual cherry blossom trees hypnotizing by their delicate pink color. There were also Japanese melodies heard around, the ground was covered with hundreds of picnic blankets with families and couples dining on. I captured this moment in my head and my camera- this is how I wanted my Japanese experience to end, and not with a broken heart.

When I was waiting for a taxi to take me home, Ichiro’s name appeared on my phone: “This is Ichiro’s sister, I noticed you tried to reach him and I figured you were someone important since your name is shown as “Kawaii- My Cutie” on his phone- I got to turn on his phone just now. Ichiro was involved in a car accident on his way back from the airport last week. He was found dead”.