Comfort Room Consoling Duties

After my thumbs spent minutes meandering all over my phone's keypad, I finally hit 'send' and there went my lengthy text message, transported into the SMS pathway provided by the control channel, and was now on its way to be disseminated to another phone - my friend's. I set my phone down on the bed by my side and I lay there for a while, closing my eyes.

My friend has been in grave pain lately. And boy, is it a torment to my heart.

I had been exchanging long text messages with her, trying to be of even the tiniest bit of help for her. I wanted her to feel that even though we were physically distant, I was never really far to reach and I was there if she needed some instant solace (even if it really took a lot to even bring some sense of comfort to her). I was hurting that she was hurting. And conversations through SMS didn't really hinder pain from penetrating through my heart, as I felt every ounce of the world that has begun falling on her shoulders.

It was 11:00 PM and I was waiting for a reply. I was worried. I was surprised when, despite the anxiety welling in me, I had actually fallen asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Earlier today at 7:15 in the morning, I woke up to a relieving text message from her, sent at 3:04 AM. Through bleary sight, I read it and felt somewhat reassured. She was thanking me and said she was coming in to school. I was thankful. She may not be completely fine, and the dreadfulness has definitely not ended for her yet, but the text she sent me was more than enough to be grateful to the Lord. She's fighting, like how I know she always does, and forever will.

It was quarter to 10:00 AM. I was alone at a table inside the school's library, only a few pages away from finishing the book I've been reading for eight days now. As I turned another page, even with my eyes set on my book I saw a figure approach my table. I looked up to see her, her eyes seemingly on a stroll, and obviously puffed up from intense crying last night. She had a stoic look on her face. She looked normal until I looked at her with profundity and my eyes strenuously pierced through hers deeper and almost bore holes into them, and I could see that she was one distraught soul. I cringed on the inside. I managed to lift the corner of my mouth a tad and tried hard to send her a message that said something like, "You know what, you are blessed. I'm still thankful." As she silently walked to one of the chairs, it appeared that our hands just somehow automatically clasped each other, as if to pronounce a 'hello'. She took her seat, set down her backpack, and just sat there, all silent. She had her earphones plugged in, and I secretly (Oops, secret blown), genuinely hoped that whatever it was that she was listening to at the time gave her tranquility; and that means I hoped she wasn't listening to a Selena Gomez track which would have only given her more turmoil in the head. Love you like a love song baby? Oh brother. I'd be more than grateful if she had some Mayday Parade or Death Cab for Cutie busting through those earphones; that would've been of greater help, quite frankly.

She was silent. I never spoke either. If someone so troubled, so down and broken, sat next to you in silence, you'd be just as scared as I was to try to bring up something to talk about. I was careful. She seemed so fragile that it scared me, thinking I might let out a single word that could get her even more broken than she already was (and still is).

You're being an idiot, say something! My subconscious spoke up. What was I supposed to say? For one of those rarest moments in my life, I was once again too scared of my own voice that I decided to hold it back in and chose not to let it escape my throat and mouth.

"Thanks." Her voice startled me, snapping me away from my train of thoughts. She slid my notebook-binder across the table (which I lent her yesterday so she could copy the notes she missed).

"Were you able to copy everything?" I asked plainly but with genuine concern, as I took the binder from her hands. She nodded and I believe, even tried to smile, but only a hard line her lips managed to press into was all she could display. She was too sad and blue to fully smile. I cringed once more.

Then the familiar silence rose back up again.

Talk to her. Ask her how she's doing. Um? Ofcourse I already knew the answer to that? She wasn't fine alright. It was ridiculous that I was battling with my own subconscious. It was slightly detrimental.

Say something. Ask her if she's interested in playing Mortal Kombat. Err. Not a good idea. I hated that my subconscious tried to talk me into saying things that wouldn't have probably made sense to her. As much as I know how the entire installment of Mortal Kombat rocks (FATALITY! Yeah baby), it wouldn't have helped my friend ease her pain if I even tried to talk about it.

Alright, I know full-well how silence must always be observed in libraries, but it was killing me already. I wanted to say many things that I hoped would console her, or ease her pain a bit, but I was tongue-tied and terrified that it'd only cut through her more. I decided that she needed this quiet time to think..probably clear her head.

Right. So I let the silence be responsible for more torture for the next minutes. I focused back on my book.

Suddenly, she started pressing the edges of her hanky to the corners of her eyes. She had her head tilted up, eyes set on the ceiling of the libe (I invented this as a slang for 'library', dear naiveskis), and she continued to delicately press her purple handkerchief right to where her tears were supposed to run down. Flying freak. What the flying freak! What the actual fudge! I was panicking inside as I kept a steady gaze on her from the corner of my eye. She was frickin' trying to hold back the tears. The events that had transpired last night with her family were probably replaying in her head, going through it along with her problematic thoughts. And there they were, tears desperately trying to escape, and she was hindering them from falling. She was trying not to cry.

She almost didn't contain it anymore, as finally, right from deftly pressing her hanky to her eyes, she now put the purple sheet as some sort of mask to cover her entire face. Her hands slightly trembled against the cloth that was concealing her.

I felt a pang slicing through my heart.

I wanted to do something. For some reason I just couldn't even move a muscle. I just froze in my seat, book in hand, softly massacring my heart at the sight of my sorrowful friend.

After a few moments, she took the handkerchief off her face and I saw tired and watery eyes. Her gaze remained glued to the table.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

We were at the cafeteria around twelve noon for lunch. I knew she hasn't been eating properly lately with the circumstances she's been going through and I insisted her to eat, but she insisted she didn't have the appetite. I let it go. She started working on a homework and began writing on the yellow paper. I tore the wrapper of my favorite Voice Combo Sandwich (Thank you, Eliza) and started munching it.

Suddenly, she asked if I had extra load and if she could text using my phone. I nodded and handed her my phone.

When she was done, she handed it back to me and I slowly sauntered through my inbox to see who and what she'd texted.

When I read everything, it explained to me as to why she suddenly couldn't do anything to keep her dying tears from falling right when I looked at her next to me.

Then it happened. My beloved friend finally burst into tears as she buried her face in her hands.

I felt my heart beginning to crack slightly again, but even so, I inched to her side and wrapped my arms around her, resting my head on her shoulder and just softly rubbing her arms nonstop. Not too long after that, I slowly let her go and she looked at me, all tearful, held up her index finger as if to say 'I need a minute', before rising from her seat and storming out of the cafeteria.

My tablemates were dumbfounded by the scene that just took place, but I guess that even though they were worried, they understood that she needed to be alone and didn't ask any questions.

I sat there unmoving, except that I was chewing the delicious wafer-cracker-Voice-sandwich. Then a bulb lit up in my head and I decided she needed me. I rose from my seat and ran, exiting the cafeteria. But even at a very worried state, I couldn't manage to deprive myself of the luscious Voice Combo Sandwich so even as I ran around and out the cafeteria, worriedly searching for my dear troubled friend, I was chewing some of the bitten snack in my hand, confused about whether to feel delighted by its forever-glorious taste or to feel despondent for my tormented friend.

I knew where she could exactly be at that point, and I'd decided to finish my Voice sandwich. I put the huge remaining piece of the snack into my mouth, voraciously gnawing it before finally walking into the women's comfort room.

She stood at the corner, leaning her lower back against the sink, face buried in her hands, sobbing.

I slowly paced in front of her, as I silently leaned against the wall tiles.

I gently grabbed her by the shoulders and invited her into one of the longest embraces I've ever had. I decided she had to bring it in. Right when our arms wrapped around one another, her crying grew more intense and she sobbed harder. As I let her cry on my shoulder, my hands moved to rub her back, my fingers simultaneously fiddling with her beautiful, long hair strands. You see this, sweetheart? Even at your most broken state you still have hair more dazzling than Rapunzel's. A smile slowly spread on my lips at the thought. I wasn't saying anything. Her voice was the only sound in that place. Her wails grew louder, resounding through the whole girls' comfort room. I tightened my arms around her and somehow let her know it was okay, and that I was letting her cry everything out. She sobbed harder, almost as though her body couldn't control it. In my arms, her body convulsed with every sob she made, feeling her shoulders heavily raise and drop each time.

We had been hugging for literally like a minute in the CR. I was just there, holding her, not giving a flying freak about every other girl coming in and looking at us like we're mental hospital patients. I just didn't care. My friend was in a very unsettled condition with no choice but to extract as much pain as she could, and if they had a problem with that, they could screw their life right then and there. I was not going to let her go until she had cried enough.

I've always let her know that crying doesn't mean she's weak, that it's all right to cry.

The person I was hugging wasn't a weak person. In my arms, I was holding a very, very strong person. When I locked her in my tightest grips, and she started weeping, I felt at ease. Because I knew right then and there, that she was just someone who had gotten tired of being marked with tremendous problems. This was a person who just wanted a big break. She was tired. Physically, mentally, and emotionally worn out. But she wasn't gonna give up. She isn't. I know. I felt it when I held her at that point. And even though she'll find it hard to believe, I won't stop telling her just how I know so well that she still has heavy ounces of strength left in her body and soul. I know it, because she's a natural fighter. After everything she's been through, I just simply cannot come to think that she's giving up on this one. She's a very strong-willed girl. She is strong, and is gonna stay strong, and will even grow stronger...for her family. I know. God will provide. God has a purpose.

After her heavy breakdown, we pulled away from the 100-something-second-hug. We proceeded back to the cafeteria and sat back with our friends. Moments later, she whispered in my ear that she was going to the chapel for a while. She stood up and walked, disappearing quite in an instant.

Minutes later, she came back. Sitting beside me, she suddenly spoke.

"That moment when you walk into the chapel and find two people gossiping," she stated with disgust, rolling her eyes. I laughed.

After everything that transpired, I was very happy with the fact that we didn't leave the cafeteria for our next class without seeing her fully smile with sincere glee. She was even laughing, then. Even though we all know pain has never completely left her, she managed to fully expose those pearly white teeth. It was heartening.

Classes were finally done, and as we were walking the long path on our way out of the school, I asked her what she'd feel if someone kind of wrote something about her.

"I'd be pleased," she answered.

Note: Even if she said she wouldn't like it, I wouldn't have cared and this post would still be up on this page no matter what. I decide to talk about someone with a pure and strong heart for everyone to know, and I am doing it because I couldn't be more proud of her. She is someone to look up to.

SJ, I love you. You'll get through everything. Keep your faith up!

Alistair is just TRASH

"I knew Alistair. I knew him...very well. He used to be my partner in slaying demons. I was an ordinary dweller of my peaceful hamlet - peaceful yet always disturbed by immoral spirits lurking everywhere. Until I met this well-known rescuer. He carried a couple of strong and potent weapons..though he had a very special weapon that was useless with him, but still carried it anyways. The long-bladed weapon had been silent and unusable for the past 17 years of his existence...until my path intersected with Alistair's. He said that the moment he saw me, this spear weapon of his glowed...eerily. One time he took me to one of those demon-slaying nights of his. My emotions had been rampant and uncontrolled upon the live clash that was happening before my eyes...and his spear was of power for the very first time. Alistair's face was of sheer pleasure and enjoyed beating the demon with the spear.

The spear worked because of my presence. This was because I carried a precious jewel...a gem. I didn't just carry it. It was jammed in my flesh, since birth. This jewel was called The Virgin Paragon. It had been in my body...inside my chest. I never knew who my parents were. But they said I carried the blood of untouched power that could exterminate every force of evil; said I was born to save my hamlet. This explained why I had been able to protect my townspeople, in this most peculiar manner no ordinary human being is capable of. It's the Paragon. The Virgin Paragon in my body.

Alistair said he needed me. He needed me by his side. His spear was calling for the Paragon snowed under my flesh, in my chest. I agreed. We were powerful together. Slaying demons, night and day. The spear and the Paragon always in brilliant teamwork, worked in solidarity all the time. Our hamlet couldn't have been more peaceful. We had the happiest village.

Then came the day I didn't think was ever possible. The day where all vows were broken; where promises had forsworn me. Showing his true colors...one unnerving night - the most sinister night of my life...

Alistair's spear caught me offguard, driving into my chest, piercing me against an abandoned manor. The spear began consuming the power of my Paragon, feeding on my chest..devouring my heart. I was crying. I was screaming..all in pain - both physical and emotional. 'Til I was drained. The Paragon was gone from my chest...replaced with perpetual anguish. An undying misery. It felt so abnormal and different with nothing inside my chest but a haunting dent in it; left by Alistair. Since then, I became the Misery Priestess. I am the spiritual leader of misery, I preach it. I live in a world where no one appreciates me. I live in a world where no one appreciates me. I live in a world where misery is the main source of power...as I let it devour the depth of my spirit, I unleash insurrection and feel all powerful. It surely is a dark world for me. My future's looking even bleaker.

Was not sure what to feel upon hearing about the destruction of Alistair. Was still sorta woeful for it, but I absolutely feel that he deserved it.

Well well, Mr. Marksman, it's nice meeting you. It had been such a weightily profound meeting for us two."


The Misery Priestess shot a perfunctory smile - one that can be easily clearly understood as a misery-smile; only she does this. She stood, her dark eyes glued to the Marksman who remained sitting on the ground. She then looked away and looked far-afield as the cool night air whooshed, serving as a gentle breeze penetrating their skins, blowing through her jet-black hair - which was about to change into a fiery red mop, as her eyes were about to transform in an amber glow in simultaneity - this was the cue. The Misery Priestess: In Action.