Category: The Trinkets

The moon shone high in the night, radiating icy white light over the plains surrounding the campus of the Barrow Academy. Aside from a handful of students with impending finals, the lonely lands that stretched for miles held only dormant life. Gail never had the fortune of being invited into this dormancy.

A gust of wind pushed past the curtains into the room, allowing the lengths of white cotton to waltz aimlessly, framing the near midnight sky without: the whole and brilliant moon guarded by loyal stars. The image was otherworldly.

For a moment too long, Gail stood mesmerized by the image of a perfect night. It was the kind of beauty that deepened the pain of loneliness. The breeze blessed her once more with its cool caress and Gail leaned out of the window to receive it. 

The weariness of another restless night dissolved with the sight of the night that stood before her, holding mysteries that were veiled thinly. 

On another night, with good company, perhaps she would chase the stars to the horizon. When finals end, and she has the time and energy to give proper attention to the beauty that surrounds her, she would surely run to meet it like an unbridled stallion. 

Such were the lies she amused herself with to gain courage to face another day. 

An alarm sounded. Her laundry would be ready by now. Perhaps with at least clean sheets to sleep on, her mind can rest for what precious few hours remained of the night. 

The hallway lights were always left turned on in the dormitories, even in the dead of night. It was something that Gail could never get used to. When she moved in as a First Year, it seemed to be a waste of resources. Now, with no time but midnight to do her laundry, she knew better than to question the small conveniences provided for her, regardless of their apparent lack of necessity. 

The nearly full length windows in the laundry room —yet another seemingly useless feature— presented the image of the midnight sky once more. There was a red dot blinking though the sky and the moon stood fragmented as a double image against the panes of the window. With fluorescent lights that could have disoriented the average person’s circadian rhythm, bright green walls that peaked between washer-dryer units and confetti tiled floors, the laundry room stood as its own otherworldly image. 

Standing there, with a laundry bag, ready to fold towels, sheets and underwear all the same at two in the morning, Gail wondered at what point the sparks of impulsivity that sustained the momentum of her life could be diagnosed as insanity. 

Gail settled the laundry bag on the ground and reached for the dryer handle, ignoring the green letters that flashed on the tiny screen by the buttons. Clean, warm fabric might be enough to justify this madness. One can imagine her shock when her fingers tangled in just the opposite. 

Push start and begin the cycle. 

Gail blinked. She read the green flashing letters once more, not for want of confirmation, rather as a challenge to reality, daring it to push her over the edge.

Push start and begin the cycle. 

It’s—O.K. Just stay calm. 

Gail’s toe slammed metal, denting the machine slightly. Aside from shooting pain up her foot, the act did nothing. It was an ugly dent too. Looking up, Gail caught the CCTV camera glaring at her with condescending judgment. 

Swallowing her pride, Gail did what she should’ve done an hour ago and pushed start to begin the cycle.

All rights reserved © 2022 Josephine Joyil

As Sage watched the world beneath her shrink into a thousand diamonds, a prayer ran through her mind. This was not a plea to God for safety, nor a cry in desperation — as its many predecessors have been — rather a humble request.  The lyric of a hymn to the immaculate Mother surprised the girl as it sounded from her mind, seemingly from dormancy. Seeing her motherland disappear from the airplane window, she repeated the words to herself, placing weight in each one.

I beg that you’d watch over the land of my birth. 

Just three short weeks ago, these words would have been a hollow title, a happenstance. Birth was merely the event that started the string of chaos that followed. After a lifetime of detachment, Sage did not expect to find herself sentimental over this vaguely familiar notion: national loyalty. But the knowledge was there, deep beneath the layers of denial, that this was the country that generations of her ancestors have lived, loved and bled for, the one her parents called home: the land of her birth.

Hearing her mother-tongue spoken freely around her— without a moment of hesitation— drew out sadness that she hadn’t know persisted. For these last few hours, in this plane full of strangers, she will not be a minority. She is amongst countrymen. 

The right to belong may be one Sage gave up — voluntarily at times — but the girl sought comfort in knowing she will always be entitled to her motherland: the land of her birth.

All rights reserved © 2022 Josephine Joyil

It’s a silly fear, a child’s fear, but one that sends cold shivers down Sage’s back even now when she wakes from a restless nightmare featuring it. Marking her earliest memories, it was her oldest companion, this fear.  

Sage was a girl of seven, or eight, too old to have such silly fears. The thought occurred to her on the car ride to the hotel, it was a vivid image of five sharp blades conjoined in the center, surrounded by a perfectly square frame. Always presiding in the top corner of the shower window, it watched you, naked as you are with nowhere to run. 

No, Sage told herself, it won’t be there, not this time. 

But praying and wishing never kept it away. 

The elevator was ascending now. Excitement sparked amongst the other family members. Mom’s been waiting for this vacation for ages. Dad’s been researching the local scenic spots, eager to fill his new camera with family photos. Even Mai seemed vaguely happy at that moment. 

“Now don’t sit there sulking, Sage.”

But she couldn’t help it. Sage closed her eyes and it was waiting for her: five sharp blades spinning fiercely. 

The bellboy was walking them to their room, and Sage already had her senses on high alert, waiting for signs of its presence. 

The key clicked and the door swung open. Crossing the threshold with her breath held, she listened closely for the persistent hum. It was distant and faint, so quiet, for a moment Sage allowed herself to believe that she imagined it. 

“Help your sister with the bags.”

Sage made herself step forward, following the hum. It was cut off by silence. 

“Sage.”

She took a few curious steps towards the bathroom. When the door swung open, she didn’t flinch. 

“What?” her father laughed nervously, “Go help Mom unpack.” He was never a good liar. 

Pushing past him, she grabbed the bathroom door handle. Though there was hesitation, she pushed through. 

The ceiling was too high and the lights too dim. The bathroom mirror only reflected the lower half of the room. It was a room hand tailored to deceive Sage. She knew what she ought to do, so her work commenced.

Her reflection caught her eye —angry and prepared— and ordered her to stay strong. She scanned up to the top of the wall and was relieved to find its corners bare. Inching her focus to the left, she found two more corners that housed nothing but an abandoned spider web. 

One more corner, she told herself. 

Empty. 

One more—

The door was in the way. She’d have to step in to get a proper look. Bracing herself, she treaded the tiled floor carefully. 

Just a little further in. 

The sight pricked fear into her heart. 

“Why are you just standing there? Oh—” Mai’s disappointment could not have been more thinly veiled, “Mom—”

It took a minute for Sage to force herself to look at the Fan. It lay dormant, a subtle breeze might wake it. Its blades were still, too still. If she broke her gaze, they were sure to move, so she never broke her gaze. There was an illusion of safety that the glass shower door provided Sage with, as it stood transparently between Sage and the Fan. 

The Fan grinned slyly down at her, knowing it had the power to pin her in its presence. The glass door that stood between the pair will soon cage her in. It has a long term alliance to consider and no time to spare Sage’s feelings regarding the matter. 

All rights reserved © 2022 Josephine Joyil

Sage looked around to see faces broken open in glee. Red faces, freshly blushed from the midwinter storm that they just walked in from, smiling at each other in familiarity. There were no eyes willing to meet hers. 

Of course. 

People were too predictable.

Sage looked down at her own hands, fingers darkened and slightly swollen from the aggressive cold. Clenching them, she tried to calm the buzzing of her frozen nail beds. A sigh escaped her before she tried to pull a smile onto her face, to match those surrounding her. 

At times like these, she was sure she had made a mistake. 

“You’re doing this out of habit.” 

Her roommate’s words were far from a lie. It was a foolish pattern Sage had fallen into. When days blended together into a predictable march, a kindle sparked within her. She needed to burn down the life she built for herself just to know she can build something different from its ashes. Now, looking around at the damage she had done, she realizes she has no idea which pieces she needs to pick up to put back together. 

To make things worse, there were just too many people here, too many faces that have already grown familiar with each other. It would take a decade to beat this cacophonous noise into a predictable march. 

Is this what you moved here for?

The question, with all its bitter contempt, slapped her back into the present. 

No.  

There would be time later to mope around and feel sorry for herself, or maybe there won’t. Right now, she had ashes to collect and not time to focus on the unfamiliar noise. 

Scanning the room, she was adamant to find a space to pry herself into amidst the chaos. A friendly face caught Sage’s attention, and she fought her gut instinct to break eye contact. Though she couldn’t put a name to it, she feigned familiarity, and waved. They waved back. 

Of course. 

She could not help but let her smile grow genuine. 

People were too predictable.

The latter beckoned her over and she obliged. 

All rights reserved © 2022 Josephine Joyil

The wind blew through Mai’s hair. Sand rushed past her toes when she wiggled them. To her left, the waves crashed desperately against the shore, only to be dragged back into open sea by the currents. Someone kicked, from behind, at the soft spot on the back of her knees. She knelt on the sand, having no reason to stand back up. Her palms sank into the soft sand. Succumbing to its invite, she leaned in, until the warm grains pressed against her cheeks. 

Someone laughed. She looked up to see them run before her. Someone else called for her to follow, and for a moment she almost got up to pursue her company. But she waited for too long and that made all the difference. For just a moment too long, she stayed put in the sand, allowing it to pour over her, against the howling wind. 

Maybe she would wait, and they’d return to fetch her. Maybe they won’t. The seconds poured in, the laughter grew to a distant echo and all she could hear was the desperate crash of the waves inching its way closer to her lying form. Growing closer by the second, never to reach her. 

All rights reserved © 2021 Josephine Joyil

Sage wished she could go back to a different time, a simpler time perhaps, and live life from there. Maybe, with what she knows now, she would be able to keep life simple. Sage would not need to open her eyes to the ugly truths that exist before her. If that were the case, she would have never gained knowledge. In the absence of new knowledge, growth becomes stunted. The world discards that which could not grow and keep pace with its changes. A stubborn seed that will not sprout will fail to become a tree.  

Sage does not need to agree with this world to understand it. Understanding is simply a means of learning how to survive. On its own it is useless. Sage must utilise it to navigate this world without allowing it to consume her. She would like to believe that is one of the most important things that she learned from this world: to understand something that is disagreeable without hating it. 

Once, when Sage was a child, she lived without consciously understanding life.Sage might have been about ten. It was at that age that a conscious being awoke within her and decided that it desired to experience this world. Sage believes that is where childhood begins to die. Its decay is a slow and painful process, one that Sage believes is coming to an end soon. What comes after? Sage does not know. 

Until that delicate age, however, Sage was in a blissful state of dormancy. She  was like a seed held and protected within a fruit. All fruits fall from its tree and begin its slow and painful decay. The seed then finds itself in the midst of detritivores and dirt. It must be trampled on and pushed into the dirt to discover its true destiny. 

All rights reserved © 2020 Josephine Joyil

No irrational emotions. Completely collected and calm in public. Mature when interacting with all company. Only your select social circle is privileged to hear your clever notes of humor. Of course, there is not a place for one of the common folk, such as Sage, in such a circle. She really should not know that such a side of you exists. No, in front of Sage you will be calm, collected, and mature. 

Sage looks up to see you hold your head high above her. Your eyes remain fixated in a distant nothingness. Her attempt to discover what keeps your attention is unfruitful. So she stands expectantly beneath you, but you will not lower your eyes to her standards. Do you fear the sight of her will taint you in some way? The air you breath must be of a better quality than that spared for Sage. 

It is difficult to get your attention. She wants you to see all the good that she can offer, but you refuse to lend your attention when the occasion calls for it. She wonders if she will ever be anything more than one of the masses that drowns beneath each other as they drift past you. Tell her how she has come to earn the title of irrelevance. 

Perhaps the fault is hers. Has she not offered you the joys and pains of being acquainted with her? For too long, she has been fixated on the idea of you. She permitted nothing to interfere with this vision of what you could be. A word uttered too loudly might break this illusion. This fear of corruption repels her. You must remain this rational, emotionless being. You must remain a figure to be looked up to. That is her mistake, for which she will be sincerely sorry.

She will try harder next time. Of the next peer she will make a friend. Over the next fear, she will gain victory. The next goal will be pursued until the end. It is time to give up on you, however. It is too late to try with you. Time had grown tired of lending her its seeds. It gained no harvest and thus is displeased. 

All rights reserved © 2020 Josephine Joyil

Morning broke to the rage of a storm. Sage watched the raindrops roll down her window pane in what appeared to be barrels. She always positioned her head in a manner that allowed her to have a view of the window. It helps her fall asleep- the gentle swaying of the trees without- and sleep is perhaps the only  treasure she cherished. 

That morning, it was the rain water sputtering through the cracks between the window panes that awoke Sage. The droplets brought with it fragments of the various substances that sought refuge in the gaps between the panes and the damp mold stained window frame. Sage wiped the few droplets that landed on her skin onto her threadbare blanket. Her gaze returned to the raindrops that fell from the sky and landed on the glass before her. She focused her attention on a single drop of rain that landed on the pane and refrained from racing down the pane to its own destruction.

The image of the world through this raindrop was blurred and upside down. It seemed more comprehensible this way, the world, when it was categorized into an assortment of nonsensical colors and shapes. Through the raindrop, the world lost its sharpness and devolved into a passive haze. 

 A sigh grew weary in her lungs and let itself out. She pulled her blanket closer to her face and allowed its cool fabric to graze against her face. A sharp jab traveled across her shoulder, but it failed to persuade her to shift the weight of her body off of it. The rain had captivated her attention, it called to her to watch it dance across the window panes. The jab gradually matured to a persistent ache, but it could not divert her attention. Her focus shifted from the single raindrop to the divers cluster that settled on the pane. Each with a uniquely difficult path that laid before it.

All rights reserved © 2019 Josephine Joyil

Juniper laid on her bed, with her back pressed against the duvet and her eyes fixed on the ceiling fan. The smell of dust, the periodic creaking of loose floorboards and the antique ceiling fan that whined as it spun. This was home. There was, indeed, no place like it. It is the place that you return to when your presence is no longer required in the outside world. It is the place where you feel whole, surrounded by those whom you love. Everything here feels unforgettable. Yet, when Juniper laid on her bed that evening, something felt forgotten. It was like a word that you had at the tip of your tongue, or a dream you had at the break of dawn, it is forgotten. Its absence can be felt, and you can almost hear it laughing at the back of your head at your foolish forgetfulness. But that is the only remaining evidence that it ever existed.

Juniper got up, and examined the perimeter of what was once her childhood bedroom that she shared with her sister. On the wall was an oil painting that her sister had painted when she was about thirteen. Their mother was so proud of her. “This one has a true talent,” she remembers someone saying. She doesn’t remember who it was that said this.“This one has a future.”

Juniper and her sister seldom fought. Her sister being the civil lady that she was and Juniper knowing that she wouldn’t be the one winning. She was envious of her sister, but her love overshadowed her envy and allowed her to disguise her envy as pride for her sister. She would often comment on the many gifts that her sister possessed. She still speaks highly of her sister. It’s easier to hide the envy now that her sister is but a memory. Her body- which one radiated the dazzling rays of youth- is now one with the dirt and worms.

“Who has a future now” Juniper would often smirk, but the morbid thought saddened her more than it pleased her. She often feels that the wrong sister had been effaced from the face of the earth.

When her sister was alive, Juniper was a memory- a forgotten memory, even- one that was so faint that it almost didn’t exist. She knew that she could have been remembered and that knowledge gave her hope when she was a child. It was the kind of hope that fueled her will to live until her entire existence depended on it.

All rights reserved © 2015 Josephine Joyil

23 August , 1933
It started out as a flash of light from the heavens above. The beautiful rays that radiated from this flash expanded and kissed the horizons surrounding them. The people looked up and marveled at the malevolent beauty of their own destruction. Children glared at the ostentatious light flashing in the skies above them. It was almost as if they did not know that such ostentatious gifts always comes with a prize. I suppose ignorance was indeed bliss. Or maybe it was not ignorance at all that brought the people of Fernweh Street to come out and indulge in the enchanting light show. Perhaps it was the knowledge that death was,in fact one of the most genuine and inevitable aspects of life. Perhaps the people of Fernweh Street wanted to spend their last moments on earth cherishing the beauty of the savage way they were about to die. Perhaps they preferred to perish standing hand in hand with their kin. Either way, the people of Fernweh Street were standing on the streets there that night with their eyes fixed on the beams of radiation expanding out into the horizons. With a smile on their faces, they accepted death with open arms.

All rights reserved © 2016 Josephine Joyil