Trang Dinh


I like to read, play games, and listen to music. I have one policy, don't like don't read. My writing is not the usual things and usually contains dark materials.

Message from Writer

Constructive criticisms would be ideal. I hope you can point out errors I make during the construction of my piece of writing.

The Heart

August 27, 2014

PROMPT: Unrelated


In the middle of the city stands a tall skyscraper. Recently built, it soon grabs the attention of investors and businesses. Many shops and brands fight for a spot in the state of the art. On top of that skyscraper, snuggles close to the corner, is a small cafe. The owner of the cafe must not expect profit, for it is so infinitesimal you can barely see it unless you look close enough, and usually only regulars can spot it. Besides, tourists who climb up to the top floor for the view enjoy the occasional fast foods and drink stands better than sipping espresso in this cramped, narrow twenty meters square of a cafe. I, however, love to go there. Sometimes, I would skip work, take the elevator to the top floor, order myself a cappuccino, huddle up in a corner where a huge sofa is placed, and look out, gawking at the view outside with an astonishing awe like it is the first time I see it. Since two years or so I have not been alone in my endeavors, for Ellen is with me.

Ah, Ellen, sweet, kind, innocent Ellen. What can I say about her besides the fact she is anything I could wish for. She is gorgeous with her strawberry blonde hair, milk-color skin and red heart-shaped lips. Beauty doesn't make her arrogant, as she is benevolent to everyone around her, regardless of age, gender and level. If somebody tell her to do something, she would gladly do it right away with a smile on her lips. Ellen is always optimistic and encouraging, and during my darkest times, she is right there, putting her soft hands on my back, lovingly, soothingly.

She has my heart in her palm the first day we meet, and in a way, I have hers.

There was a time in the past when she stood to me a goddess. But now it all has changed. There is a fault in her now, an unforgivable, sinful fault. She is unfaithful. Sure, I wouldn't believe it if I haven't seen it for myself. But there it is, displaying before my eyes, mocking me, telling me how could I be so stupid, to fall for her, to fall for one of her tricks.

It all happened two days ago, when I was out shopping for my mom's birthday. I considered dragging Ellen through this torture, but she sent me a message, telling me she was busy and shall see me later in the day. I thought little of it, focusing solely on the task that was assigned to me. That was when I caught a familiar figure in a familiar pink dress and stilettos. I checked my eyes a couple of times to make sure, but I was not wrong, for it was her, all dolled up and smiling, eyes twinkled like it was our first date. She looked almost in love, and suddenly my heart felt a pang it had never felt before. My worst nightmare happened. A handsome brunette walked out of the dressing room, smiling at her while asking her opinion. She returned his smile, telling him in hush whispers how good he looked and how the shirt fitted him so well. She then proceeded to press her lips against his while I stood there like an idiot. In the evening we had a big fight and before I knew it, it was all over. Two years of sweet love was gone in one day.

But worry not, her heart is here with me, always, even if she does not wish so.

So here I am, sipping the bitter substance while my broken heart is weeping and crying and beg me to go to her. So I do. I stand up and head for the stairs. Today I walk.

As I descend from the stairs, I couldn't help but think of Ellen, of her charming smile and her full red lips and I almost, almost want to take her back, but I can't. All I can hope is that in the future, I can forget it and move on. It is raining heavily, little droplets of rain soak the whole city, and I myself feel soaked as well, chill to the very bone, if not physically then mentally. I quiver a little, pull out my raincoat hastily. Another pain invades my heart. Ellen gave me that raincoat a year ago on my birthday. And now it's all over.

It's all over.

Somehow, I try to run, madly, barbarously. Storming through the throng of people, I kick and cry and try so hard not to scream.

It's all over.

I find myself in an abandoned warehouse. The house is old and unstable and damped, rid of any single living soul apart for the occasional drug addicts. My clothes are drenched from rain, sweat and tears as they cling to my chest and legs uncomfortably. I couldn't care less. I come here for a reason.

I carefully open the door and surreptitiously sneak in, feeling the droplets of rain from the obsoleted pipes land on top of my head. I pay them no mind, only focusing on the path I'm walking on, eyes trying to find that one precious door, ears listening tentatively to the noises in my surroundings. I relax a little, knowing I am safe and no one is here and no one, absolutely no one, will know.

I find the door at last. The knob is rusty, broken and slimy against my fingers when I twist it. I cringe as the door creaks, opening me to the sight inside. Ah, just as I have left it.

There is Ellen, who is now no longer beautiful. Her blond hair is dirty and black from the mud and blood, consequences of hours of being dragged through the cold dark night. Her blue eyes dull and lifeless, pupils dilated widely, horror courses through them. Her lips, once red and moist and kissable, now white and dry up. Her skin, once shines with a healthy glow of white and pink, now pale and purple with bruises. She is no longer perfect.

And there it is. Sinking down her chest, right where her heart use to be, is a sharp knife now covered with blood, a gift from a good friend some years ago, telling me it's good for self-defense, being a weak guy I am. The knife is not used to its purpose then. I smile, a thought slips through, telling me to pull the knife off, end her of internal misery. I throw it away casually, eyes wandering to the forest near the warehouse. Somewhere in there a hole has been dug carefully for the sole purpose of this occasion. Tonight is the night.

I kneel down with my arms extend and gently lift her off the ground. I kick the door open and rush through the dirty road, trying as fast as possible to reach the forest. When I arrive to my desired destination, I do not repeat my gentleness. Instead, I dump her down the hole like a sack of potato. She lays there, lifeless, bloody and miserable. I almost feel sorry for her. Two years are not short. So, reluctantly, I take off my raincoat and cover her head. In a sick and twisted way, it has been her shroud.

I cover her with dirt and run as fast as possible. All I can think about is how to get out of here, to go back to my safe, warm home. Nobody would find me there. Nobody would suspect me there.

I run and run and run.

I find myself on top of the skyscraper two days later, contemplating the could-haves and the should-haves and the could-never-bes. It is windy and I wrap my new raincoat around myself a little bit tighter. This one is thicker and more to my taste, but nothing can ever replace the old one. Nothing can ever replace her.

I am wrong for killing her, and she is wrong for giving me a reason to.

I should not have done the things that I do, but to say I regret it would be slightly inaccurate. But now, what? My life turns upside down for the last two days. Because of my "unprofessional manners and conducts" I am fired from my job. Ellen's mother has started putting up missing person posters, promising my doom. Soon they are going to find her body, and trace the evidences back to me, and then what? Jail? What do I do then? All going against me and no one is there to comfort me. No Ellen.

No Ellen.

I laugh and snicker and scream at the irony of the whole situation.

What do I do now?

I put my arms on the rails of the balcony, feeling the wind blowing my hair, and do not resist the urge to look down. Tall. Very tall. If I jump down I would surely die. But I die knowing I have her heart, locked up where it needs to be.


It is a beautiful day to die anyways.

"Police found the body of young Peter *, 26 years old ex-employee of T*** corporation, who fall from the top of the skyscraper S*****12. Evidences support suicide."

"On other news, body of a Jane Doe, later identified as Ellen ***, Peter's girlfriend, is discovered in the U* Forest by campers. Victim suffer a lethal stab to the chest. Signs of abuses discovered, suggesting she put up a struggle. She has long scar down her chest from a surgery. Pathologists shockingly discovered her most vital organ missing.

Where is the heart?"


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