Hopeless

Why? Why did she have to kill her only son to save her dying daughter? What sort of world was this, where you had to pick and choose? She couldn't comprehend it. Only a complete blood transfusion from her son could save her daughter. Why? There was no justice in this. She wept and wept and wept some more. Cruel, cruel world... She didn't know what to do. She had just been reunited with her daughter due to the quake and now this? She just couldn't handle it. As she grasped the knife, she thought, Death will be such a relief.
She was found dead, the next morning in her house. Her daughter heard of this during the blood transfusion. The shock and grief of it all killed her. And the brother? Too much blood was given away. Another death. He could have lived. They had found some more blood in another hospital and that blood had just arrived. All three could have lived. But they died, due to one's folly. And yet life just went on, uncaring and cold. Maybe, you will comfort yourself by saying they are all together in death. I don't. She did not believe and now she will pay the price. And her children.

Trust

Trust no one.
That was his motto. He knew that if he ever trusted anyone, they would betray him. They would tell everyone his secrets, make known his darkest thoughts. He had learned this lesson when he was young. A classmate had asked to know his secret. He had told the classmate, to his regret and gratefulness. He regretted because it was a secret no longer but he was grateful as it taught him not to trust anyone. He had fancied a classmate and he told his secret. The next day, everyone was laughing at him. He was humiliated in front of everyone, all because he trusted. He did not believe in trust anymore. A friend will always let you down in the end, he now knew. He did not need friends. Trust will always rust. It deceived you, make you think you were welcome in a world where you only fended for yourself. He was going to die anyway. He trusted no one with the news. He had cancer, yet no one knew or cared or bothered to ask about him. He would go to the grave with eternal hate in his heart. Not that it mattered. His whole life was filled with hate and he knew it. He would not - could not - trust anyone. They would just humiliate him, shame him and laugh at him. He knew it would be his last thought even as he felt his body shrivel and die.
Trust no one.

Synesthesia

"Eww. This bread tastes bloody pink!"
"Pink? What do you mean, pink?"
"As in the colour, obviously."
"Yes, but taste? I didn't know pink was a taste."
"Ever heard of synesthesia?"
"No. What's that got to do with this?"
"I have synesthesia. Basically, it's a condition that mixes my senses up a bit. So objects could feel pink, sound sour, and taste loud."
"Are you serious? Sounds like one big joke to me."
"Nope. But I think its cool."

Infection

Syst went walking in the streets of Pero Diaz, closely observing his target. After a monotonous five minutes of following him, Syst went forward and approached him. The target turned around, and said, "Why have you been following me?". Syst came to a halt. "I have a suspicion."
"What of?"
"Lift up your hood."
"Why should I?"
"Just do it."
The target shrugged and lifted his hood. His features came into view. He looked like he was around his mid-twenties with dark violet hair, so dark as to be black. He had a hawkish nose, and eyes which Syst had difficulty making out the colour of. His neck bore a small symbol by the jugular vein, something that resembled a "c" with longer ends and a slash cutting through it and curving downwards to the left. He had a look of disinterest as he faced Syst.
"I was right! You're an AIDA!"
"And?"
"My name is Syst. Might I know yours?"
"Name? People have called me Lieth before."
"Nice to meet you."
"And you."
"I was told you would be the right sort of person for a little something I have in mind."
"And that would be?"
"Join my guild. I'll tell you everything. Suffice to say, it involves dancing with the law."
"Ah. That's fine by me. I hate it anyway."
They walked off, discussing about plagues in Pero Diaz.

Mirrors

They do it with mirrors, or so they say. When I was young, my grandparents brought me to a magic show. The magician showed the crowd a box large enough for an adult to stand inside. My grandfather told me that there was a mirror in there. The magician asked for a volunteer and picked my grandmother. She went in and stood inside the box. I was hoping she wouldn't sing one of her opera songs. Watch it lad, my grandfather told me, when they close the door, they'll move the mirror. The magician made some elaborate gestures and opened the door. The box was empty but we all could hear my grandmother sing. The magician's doing it, he said, it's a very good imitation. Another elaborate hand gesture followed and the box just collapsed to splinters, but we could still hear the singing. They moved her out before, he said. But he seemed more uncertain. After numerous other tricks, the show ended. We waited for my grandmother but she did not reappear. My grandfather cornered the staff, but they mumbled some excuses and walked away. I never saw my grandmother ever again.