"Cliche" (English Version)

That book was thick. Tucked away in a row of thick books of psychology. It has blood-red cover. The title was written with silver ink: Physician Desk Reference. In the body of the book there is a hole box. There, tucked a gun. The gun that spout out the mother's blood to my face. My father kept the gun to eliminate mother for the sake of other woman. But mother chose to do it herself. She went with my fetus sister who is still in her pouch. Mother said, we will be together in heaven. One day I had to do it myself. Everything happens for a reason. As soon as the last sentence of mother.

12:30 AM: Nightmare. Always the same nightmare. I feel my mother came and sat right next to my bed. Stroking to my hair with her fingers, smooth and cold. Just as she had done to me in that night. At that time I was sleeping. Mother sat right next to my bed and stroked my hair. She woke me up with silver-colored pistol. Aimed right, straight to her head, mother talked about father and that woman. It happened when I was seven. The age that does not understand about the meaning of betrayal.

“Everything happens for a reason, Maya”

I get up from my bed and lean into the window when I realized my body is drenched in sweat. Whether because of the hot temperatures or shocked with the nightmare. I don’t want to think about it. I just open the window to let the wind caressing my hair. Silent night. I could see every single corners of the city proud of here, cruel and crowded. Oh my.. the beautiful moon. The same moon when the first time I found you in the corner of city park. Yes you. Now I am here, in this room of the flats that I rent, because of you. I remember that moment. In the old chair in front of the lake, you're staring at the sky. It was a bright full moon. Very bright. Then it could reflect light into your face. Day by day I through to see you again. I went and sat in my favorite place. From there it was so visibly to be watching you. This time, you're wearing a brown coat with a black scarf. Bunch of papers were in your grasp.

Without my conscious I fell into your charms. Fell into the strong feeling toward you. Why did we meet? Everything happened for a reason, but I do not know where it supposed to be. I just follow where it will be. Until I have dwelt alone in the room next to you at the flats. And you came to me because of sacred notation, Ave Maria. Then I knew you as a writer. Your name is Edward. You share a room with your beloved, Rolin. It truly made me despond. Oh God, What a sorrow!

***

Maya, the white flawless girl. She lives right next to this wall. She is not like another girl, another girl in common. Indeed, Maya is not an ordinary girl. She had success to panned me out with her plays, cello. She is an expert in music. Her arrival brings different wind in this flats. Stranger wind. Neither love nor nostalgic appeared in her innocent face along with her presence, when the first time I met her. I wonder what.

What clear since the presence of herself is life of this flats will never be as before. That’s right, Maya is not Rolin and not like Rolin. Rolin has been here, in this room, long before the presence of Maya. Maya may better understand and inspire about all my writings, but still she could not replace Rolin. Rolin who gives me a headache, but when she disappears will leave a void in room 67. Yes 67, where I took off upset and nervous about the end of my writings with Rolin.

Maya. I remember when the first time I found you. It's started last week. At that time you're playing a cello. From behind the walls of this room, it was very clear rhythm sound that I heard. It was right from next to this room. Classical harmonic tones sometimes low, sometimes rising. Ave Maria, I was familiar with this song. Favorite song that always escort me when I'm writing. I can not resist the desire to join with it. I picked up my guitar, I played. Right here, I accompanied you. It was a perfect collaboration. When the song stopped, I was curious to know who's playing. So I went up to your room. I knocked up your door. When your face appeared I’m a smiling.

"Hi, it was a beautiful music, I'm impressed"

"Thank you"

"My name’s Edward. I live next door to your room"

"Hallo. I'm Maya, C'mon get in"

You invited me to enter your room. We chatted in the living room. We getting acquainted each other. Within 30 minutes we had been talking about a lot of things.

"Ave Maria. I love it. I tell you, it’s my favorite song "

"Really?"

"Yes, very emotional. I like to listen it while I'm writing"

"Oh, how can we have the same taste toward music? And we have the same favorite song which has each history for us. You know, I learned it since I was seven"

"So you're a musician?"

"No. It's just a hobby. Hobby that passed down mother to me"

"Is your mother who taught you to play the cello?"

"Yes she’s, I learned from her when I was seven, right when I was at the age that she died"

 "Oh sorry. Umm, why do you move into this flats?"

"My parents died long time ago. Previously, I lived with my uncle and now it’s time for me to live alone"

"Now tell me about yourself. You said that you often write. Are you a writer?”

"Yes, I'm a writer. That's why I stayed in this flats"

 "Why?"

"Because, you know, my friend told me, if you are a writer, just live in flats. You’ll find a lot of inspiration there. And he's right. Flats is always interesting. Like a circus. There are assortment of resident, there are many classes here. They have their own weirdness."

"Have you got the matter?"

"Matter? As I told you earlier. I always find lots of inspiration here. Many attractive people. However, I always sweat out to make the ending of every story that I wrote. Well, maybe because I use the ones on the flats as fictional characters in my stories"

" Why don’t you just make it up to finished it? "

"Cliche. When I started to put an end for my writings. Everything ends cliche. While I wish it will be end naturally. Something different from the common reality. That's why I quit"

***

That woman is gorgeous. She is really a girl. She always wears pretty clothes. She has smooth white skin. I bet, there’s no a man who didn't want to pet her. The classical melodies that never heard among the halls of this flats before, now loudly echoed in the strains of a cello. Ave Maria, sounds more like a requiem of death. That goddamn music brought Edward to her. Yes Edward, my dear. We live together here, not only share a room, but also hopes and dreams that we have designed together. He took me run away from my parents before. They didn’t bless our relationship, because of social class. Classic!. Sounds like the old story that you can find in the books dime novel. Where romance between different castes is taboo. But we are happy here. Because we’re together.

"For loving you, Rolin, even I have to bear the consequences as a form of my responsibility. I be hated, but you'll sit like a Queen"

Don’t you remember when we brace our finger? That’s before she was here. Maya, a woman who understand more about your writings. She, who is more getting sense of your stories. The only woman who able to reveal the other side of yours. While, I just a psychologist who doesn’t even know the way of your mind, can’t read the waves of your soul, unable to predict your inner world. Something ironic for psychologist. But the only thing that I knew, you’re hypnotized. On her who spread out the trawl. While I'm crashing like a leaf in autumn. Because my love is being jealous. I keep my eyes on, and catch that your relationship is getting closer. I want to go alone.

***

Yes, you are a writer who chose to live in the flats. You said, flats like a circus. It’s full-color and weird. Flats is always interesting. It becomes matter for your stories. You make their lives as your fiction stories. But because the characters of the story is still alive, you do not know how to finished it. Indeed, it’s easy for you to make up the ending. But you won’t. You want a natural plot. Maybe that’s the difference between fiction and reality. Fiction has an end. While reality, life goes on.

I was so curious. So I duplicated your scripts while you don't realized it. And I was drowning in your stories. My mind and imagination were spacing out. I read your stories. The first story, about an old artist who lives right across my room. In the fact, he never allow anyone to get into his room. He's hard to get along. Bad in interact. A rumor said, he became a bit insane after his wife's death. In your fiction-story, in his room, there is a portrait. He supposed that the portrait is the manifestation of his wife. Because the portrait is his wife, he never allows anyone to see it, admired it, and touch it without distance. Second story. Merry, a loyal woman, her hobby is collecting any kind of flowers around the world. She said, she would give it as a surprise for her couple when he home later. He was a sailor who always busy and never had time to visit her. But she trusted and kept waiting for him. In fact, she often wrote a letter to him. She occasionally checking the mailbox, may there a reply letter from him. The last is about an old woman, Mrs. Ross. She lives with her cats. So many cats in her room. She never left the room besides when she need to get some nourishment. Rumor said, she still virgin, she failed to marry, since her fiance was murdered. Somehow and what the reason is, her fiance death, but she found a cat beside of the dead body. Then, she supposed the cat as an incarnation of her fiance. It was an anomaly how the cat can breed, but guess what? those kitten must be their children.

I began to love your stories, like a fresh air for me. Fresh air that haunt me the fate of the end of every story. Then I played the notation of Ave Maria as my yearning expression to you. Here, when the heavy rain fell outside. Suddenly, I heard the sound of the door opening. There's a shadow came into my room. "Oh my, that crazy guy!" Crazy artist that told in Edward's stories. He came and gave me a little appreciation with claps. Then he pulled my hand, took me to his room. He told me about his deceased wife who has the same things with me, cello. He said that his wife likes to play cello, and notation that I played just reminded him to his wife, who always accompanied him with cello’s when he painted.

He asked me to play with his cello’s wife. Ave Maria, he said. Then the atmosphere becomes serene. We fell into desolation. I saw his tears was dripping down. Then he wiped his tears with a rag. Dirty rag. We drowned in an weird atmosphere. Then he took me into an obscure room, where stored a portrait, covered with silk cloth.

Sreett ...

Then, a portrait of woman with a red-blood clothes appeared on canvas full of dust. Beautiful. A beautiful woman. He said that I truly like her. That's why he let me to see it.

***

The gloomy morning, the clouds become gray. As gloomy as what happened this morning. Han the old artist was found hanged in his room. Before he was found discovered, people see a portrait glued in front of Han's door. A portrait of beautiful woman wearing a red-blood clothes. The portrait has been damaged, seen from scratches on the canvas. The frame was broke. When the people opened the door to tell Han, looked a pale-body was knotted and hanged in ceiling. There is something wrong with this flats. All happened suddenly, what was the motivation of this? And when I talk to Edward, he said,

"Shut up Rolin! I just got my inspiration back! "

Yes, since the tragedy this morning you write all day long and heed me out. You become potential When incident happened. And you will become autistic when you start to write. I want to go alone.

But I do not really go. I’m still here. Trying to fix my relationship with Edward. Properly his priority is himself, myself, his future, and of course our future. After he had took me to run away from my parents' house. Finally I'm here. That's because I believe in his promise. Should I regret it? After all this happened. But it isn't fair when I become a crybaby while I realized that I have to face my consequences of my choice. The choice that I've considered what risk when I choose to be with you. It’s not meant that I hate writer. I just hate why should you that be a writer.

I hate his stories. Especially the story that he wrote about us. But the more I hate, the more he immersed in his world. Until one day those terror happen again. Merry, a woman who lived on third floor was found died. She stabbed a knife on her stomach. She died while holding a piece of paper. A paper that makes she die. An envelope lying on the table, right next to her favorite flower. On the envelope was written a name in capital, very clear, so that everyone can read it: Rolando Fabian. Merry's husband. Rolando told her that he had married in Spain.

But the incident was not more suspicious than this morning. Mrs. Ross jumped from the fifth floor and tragically died on the ground floor. People swarmed. All panic. They said, someone seen her cats sprawled with mutilated condition in the trash. Sick! The people in this flats are already sick. I suspect one name involved for all these events. I want to tell you, Edward. But when I met you, I see you writing. Expressing ideas in of your mind for the tragedy that was happened. You're passionate, very passionate, like there was nothing more passionate. Now, I really want to go alone.

***

I’m conscious, my soul bubbling. The white paper has now been filled with black ink pens were scattered on the table. I used it to write the stories that I do not know where it ends before. As I told you, my writings are fiction, but I want the plot flows naturally, like a river flows to the sea and find a shelter.

One by one I began to finalized all my works. After all finished, directly I ran towards your room. I knock up your door, but there's no respond. I repeat it. Still, I got a silence. Accidentally your door opened. I rush out, but I don't find a sign of life, just a piece of paper with hand writing that is not strange for me.

All the story is over, Edward. Now only our story were left. I do it all because this strong feelings with you. The feeling that I didn't know why it chose to come to me. I was dragged into this flats, leaving my prosper life, for you. The stranger who hypnotize me strangely. I given you everything. I want to help you finish the story you've written. I know you will find the end of your stories. It is also because of your strong feelings for your future. Future that you promised to Rolin. Thus, you deserve to be happy with her. I went to see mom and my sister. When you read this letter, then we're happy in heaven. Yup, maybe it's cliche. But everything happened for a reason. And all stories must be end.

Congratulation Edward , your book will published!

Maya.

***

Sometimes people come into your life,

But you do not know that they were meant to be.

They teach you a lesson or serve some sort of purpose,

And figure out who you want to become.

You never know who these people may be,

Because so many stranger come and gone

Come and gone to your life that must go on.

But someday, you will ensure to realized on.

Everything happens for a reason.

Nothing happens by chance or mean of an event.

Happiness, injury, love, and lost are true seasons.

Do not question it, but let it flown

Every word has been composed

While story has been told
Do not be cold with your world
Because you will grow and getting old