Writing 101, Day Two: A Room with a View (Or Just a View)

Prompt from here.
A tribute to tonight’s World Cup semifinal (hey, it’ll be 3AM Jakarta time when it plays).

Tomorrow we’re going to have the presidential election and everyone else is waiting for that, but really I’m more on the edge on the Brazil vs Germany match.

Placing one foot after another through the steps upstairs, he huffed each time his knee stings. The mug in his hands quivered unstoppably, almost making the iced coffee spill due to his arm shaking like the legs of a newborn deer.

‘Damn my leg!’ John Watson in BBC Sherlock once said.

That was exactly what he wanted to scream out. But then again his wife was upstairs with enough problems on her own and being a bored retiree didn’t mean he has the right to add to it.

She smiled at the sight of him. The dim lights illuminated her face, adding sparks to her eyes. He shot a smile back as he stepped on the second floor and joined her sitting on the couch, an old jersey of his laid across the leather arm as a reminder of the good old times.

‘Just in time,’ she said excitedly as she pulled the mug out of his hand to take a sip and brought her attention back to the television across the room.

The old man took a deep breath and leaned back. The fan hanging on the ceiling was creaking as it tries its hardest to keep working and the paint has turned a bit yellowish. The flowers on the wallpapers had faded a bit, leaving cloudy patterns behind instead of the peony petals it used to bear. The air was humid even though the window was open – the only square hole in the wall that allowed them to see the rare starry night every once in a while.

Then he heard them:
The voice of the commentator.
The voice of the crowd cheering.

He snapped his eyes back on the screen and saw the green field.
The scorching sunshine.
The running players.
The grand stadium.

In that instant, he could almost feel the wind blowing against his face.
The sound of forty-thousand supporters cheering in his ears.
The texture of the grass under his shoes.

In that instant, the pain on his knees were no more.
In that instant, he was back on the field.
And in that instant, he was back where he belonged.

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Writing 101, Day One: Unlock the Mind

Prompt from here.

Masterchef Canada’s on the TV.
My desktop timer will ring in 20 minutes to tell me free-writing time’s up.

I’m at home, half-confined due to being injured by something that I don’t know what to do with at the moment. My legs hurt. I feel like House. You know Greg House? The one played by Hugh Laurie?

House

House

Yep. That one. Except I don’t have pretty eyes (if you watched the show and saw the close up of his eye colour, you’ll see what I mean).

I have an almost-zero will to get my butt off the bed ever since I found out about the leg injury yesterday at the hospital, because apparently what I thought was nothing for the last one year has been accumulating to the point when I couldn’t walk without pain.

One thing I realised yesterday, though, was the fact that I love my legs more than that something I’ve been fighting for the last 1.5 years.

About 2 weeks ago, my current boss asked me the reason I work.
That. One. Question.
“Why do you work?”

I had to hide my smile but stayed silent because I know exactly the reason why I work.
It’s something that’ll probably cause your boss’s eyebrows raise.

“Because I want to see the world.”

What I realised yesterday was the statement wasn’t complete.
It’s supposed to go like…

“Because I want to see the world and walk it with my own two legs.”