Rubah Beternak

BRIME always likes stories. From modern to classic, from tragedy to lighthearted ones, Brime would have eaten all them up. But sometimes, like life, fictional stories just wouldn’t go in the direction we want. Sometimes it ends in a sad ending, and sometimes it ends in a direction where it doesn’t make any sense from a character’s personality perspective. It’s… unsatisfying. So that’s how Brime got into writing. Disappointment after disappointment, one agony after another, Brime finally decided to pick up a pen and started writing his own version of the story. The couple doesn’t get together even if it’s obvious that they should have gotten together? Fixed. Characters haven’t gotten enough agony even though it would be more entertaining if they have? Fixed. This character acted like an asshole as a father in the sequel even though in the original story it was obvious he was going to be a great father? Say no more. Brime loves writing a story. It gives him the freedom that he rarely eve...

I have dreamed of you. Leaning on the fences of your balcony, the morning sun shines behind you. A smile was plastered on your face as you told me about what happened to you today. I can't remember what you said, but you were happy. And I, too, was happy to see that. To see that you are happy. I have dreamed of you. And you were so beautiful when the morning breeze played with your hair. When the sunlight kissed your face. When you smiled and outshined the sun. When you— I will be honest with you, but I think you are beautiful even when the only thing you do is breathing, and alive, and exist. Have I told you that I like how you smell like the coffee you brew for your customers? I don't know when it started, but I began to associate the dark liquid with you. The smell, the dark-brown color, it's you. You, you, you. I think it's unfair how you took up and claimed colors as your own in my head. Because how is it fair when various ranges of brown make me picture you, worki...

 The Angel came to tell me that my days are numbered. The Angel? The Devil? At this point, I don't know anymore. "I will give you the time to do 10 things you wanna do before you die." And I said, "Neat. Did you give my friends the same chances when you came to pick them up?" "No." he said, "You are a special case." "How so?" I asked. "The Gods are pleased with you," "Oh? Is He?" I snickered. "For keeping Him entertained the whole time?" The Angel was silent for a moment. "No." he said, "For keeping Them company the whole time." "But They have decided they stall you for too long." "You may go home now."

Sometimes I feel like… I should have died in that surgery. I should have died, dying, dead, in that surgery. Sometimes I feel like I shouldn't be breathing at all right now. Wasting good oxygen that could have been breathed by someone better than me. Sometimes I feel like… I should have died. Buried six feet under. Rotting with maggots and worms. I should have died. And at least my corpse would be a good enough fertilizer for the soil in the graveyard. Sometimes I feel like I shouldn't even be here. Writing this sentence by sentence. Should have been unable to breathe. Or to have my heart beating in my chest. Shouldn't have— There is broken glass in my room. Right under my bed. What would happen if I put it on my wrist? What would happen if I grazed it on my pulse? What would happen if it bleed and drenched the cloth that I wear? The red would be so… pretty. It would be so pretty you could draw roses out of it. It would be so pretty my grave will have roses growing on it. I...

 Love hurts. That's what I learnt when I saw pain in my mother's eyes when she talked about my father. “It was a beautiful day. The birds are singing and flowers are blooming” But it was wound in her eyes as she spoke. Love hurts. That's what I learnt when I saw the rooks she built collapsing. Tight woven bricks crumbling onto the floor. Tight woven bricks that were so fragile it was unable to stand. Love hurts. That's what I learnt when I saw my father with his new wife. My… my new mother ? It was tightness in my chest and squeeze of my heart. And I thought, Oh, so love hurts . Love hurts.  Because it was red on Maria's blanket as she bled to death. Love hurts.  Because it was the vehicle that I rode as I carried her to the hand of God. Love hurts.  Because I felt tightness in my chest when I saw my wife sleeping on the bed we shared. Because I felt like combusting when she looked my way. Because I love, I love, I love her so much it feels suffocating. Because, oh,...

 We share a lot of traits—me and my husband. For example, both of us like the cookie part of OREO more than the cream. Both of us also like the rain, and the beach. And we listen to the same music. And for another example, we can be pretty stubborn when we want to. In his part, I will give you an example, back before we were even a thing, we were talking about the concept of soulmates. And, I know what you are thinking, that was stupid, that kind of thing wasn’t real, yada yada. I also thought so. And it probably doesn’t exist… But Beeroo wouldn’t let me take back my belief and retreat in shame. I still remember how my heart skipped a beat when he cut my shameful retreat and looked at me straight in the eyes. He looked more stubborn defending my belief than myself—like, that kind of look that just screams, I won’t let you talk shit about it ? Actually, I think that was the very moment I fell in love with him, haha. In my part, well, for context, my husband’s childhood was… pretty r...

 Sometimes, when I was asleep, I would feel a hand playing with my hair. Tenderly tucking it behind my ear. Warm breath against my skin, and gentle kiss on my forehead. Sometimes, I would hear my name spelled out like a reverent prayer in the midst of the night. A spell of love confession that I had never intended to hear. Fingers playing with my own, intertwining in the deep of the night. Thumb caressing the band around my ring finger, before pressing the back of my hand to the lips. Sometimes my hand would be put against the forehead. As if it was a sacred object that could put blessing onto the owner. And sometimes long eyelashes would just flutter against my knuckles. Hand tightened where our fingers tangled. Sometimes I would like to act as if I didn't know the worship happening the night before on the next morning. Pretending that I spent the night in silent deep slumber instead of being disturbed by the welcomed reverence. And my husband would act exactly the same the next m...

 They said, when you are attracted to someone, there will be this electric shock, electric spark , that will appear when you and them were in close proximity. I think it was nonsense. After all, electricity, static or otherwise, has rules. It doesn't just happen for no reason. But then, there it comes that Physics class. The immensely boring class  that was basically just the teacher yapping, yapping, and yapping  about every little things in the world. Like, why are we overthinking this anyway? I looked at the whiteboard boringly. The professor had written an equation on it : I rolled my eyes. The Coulomb's Law. Aren't we all familiar with it already? The equation that we use to calculate the force of attraction or repulsion between two electrically charged particles . Counting in the factors that affect the magnitude of the force. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. We have learnt this since middle school. I have graduated that place since three years ago. It's not like I eve...

“Goblok lu” adalah ‘panggilan sayang’ Beeroo untuk sahabat sembilan tahunnya. ‘Sahabat sembilan tahun’ di sini maksudnya mereka umur persahabatan mereka sembilan tahun. Bukan si sahabatnya itu yang umurnya sembilan tahun. Yah, pokoknya begitu. Eric, bestie Beeroo sejak mereka masih di kelas 2 SMA, adalah target dari panggilan sayang tersebut. Si goblok ini beberapa waktu lalu baru saja bilang ke Beeroo bahwa cewek barista di cafe dekat tempat tinggal mereka adalah ‘Yero-nya Eric’. Yero sendiri adalah nama pacar Beeroo. Umur hubungan mereka baru beberapa bulan. Tapi kita sekarang bukan lagi ngomongin tentang Beeroo dan Yero. Tapi tentang Eric dan ‘Yero-nya Eric’. Jadi, kenapa Eric gak bilang cewek itu ‘gebetan’ dia aja? “Dulu tuh gue sama dia tetanggaan” kata Eric sambil fidgeting gitu. Idih. Kayak anak SMA aja lukh. pikir Beeroo. “...Lu sama Yero juga dulu tetanggaan, kan?” Mata Beeroo berkedut, “Yaa… iya sih…” “Nah, iya makanya” kata Eric, menjentikkan jari, “Makanya gue bilang di...

 “I think I know that person,” Eric said, crossing his arms. “Who?” Beeroo glanced up from his cup of coffee. Following Eric’s gaze. “That barista. The girl that’s on the same shift as your girlfriend” Beeroo frowned, staring at the girl with a ponytail behind the counter that was talking to his girlfriend, “Jessica?” he said, “Yero had talked about her several times before. She said she is a smart cookie. Still in college. Maybe she was one of your underclassmen?” Eric frowned, shaking his head. “No… she was not” “What?” “No, she was not my underclassmen,” he repeated. “How do you know, man? You barely remember your herd.” Beeroo teased, “Maybe you met her in one of your clubs? You keep going in and out different clubs when you were in college” “No…?” Eric’s frown deepened. “I don’t think so? I think she’s…” His voice trailed off. …Huh…? He looked up at Beeroo slowly, his eyes widened as he spoke in a low voice, “I think… I think she is my Yero” “ ...What? ”