{"id":151,"date":"2025-09-09T23:05:19","date_gmt":"2025-09-09T16:05:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/?p=151"},"modified":"2025-09-18T18:07:41","modified_gmt":"2025-09-18T11:07:41","slug":"poof-finished","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/2025\/09\/09\/poof-finished\/","title":{"rendered":"1. POOF [WORKSHOP TEXT]"},"content":{"rendered":"

Prompt: “Why is this so short?”<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

1. poof<\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

Being born with long legs certainly comes with its perks\u2026 And quirks<\/em>. Although the comments from people asking if I play basketball or \u201chow\u2019s the weather up there?\u201d get dull pretty quickly, there is one specific issue I\u2019ve been dealing with. It\u2019s sometimes hard to overcome, too. Well, not overcome<\/em>, in a sense. I can\u2019t control my height, unfortunately<\/em>. But when you\u2019re in a family that has the tradition of giving hand-me-downs instead of going to a store once or twice to buy your son a new pair of pants, jeans, or whatever trousers, they can get small on them pretty quickly. And there\u2019s nothing that I hate more than short pants.<\/p>\n

I jump, pulling up and adjusting the waistband of the jersey shorts Peter lent me as I catch sight of my own reflection in the mirror. Just by merely shifting my pupils to the right, I can see the owner of said pants sitting on my bed, slouching, and the palms of his hands resting on a pile of my crumpled clothes that are supposed to be in the laundry hamper.<\/p>\n

Peter\u2019s eyes were\u2026 Looking tired than usual\u2013eyelids hanging low. But that doesn\u2019t mean he\u2019s exhausted; he\u2019s unimpressed. \u201cDon\u2019t pull it up, you\u2019re just making it even shorter on you-\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy is this so short?<\/strong>\u201d I blurt out, initially supposed to be inside thoughts that escaped.<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018Cause it\u2019s shorts<\/em>, dumbass. It\u2019s supposed to be short.\u201d<\/p>\n

My eyes took one last careful look at the jersey shorts on my legs. The way the fabric hugged my thighs above the knee makes my leg unbreathable<\/em>, in a way. If I take no more than one step, it will ride up until it reaches my crotch, and I\u2019ve had enough of that embarrassing moment.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut this is too <\/em>short,\u201d I said, jumping up and down to test it. The fabric is already racing up to my crotch.<\/em> \u201cIf I knew your shorts were this<\/em> short, I wouldn\u2019t even ask to borrow yours from the start.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWill you just-\u201d Peter took a sharp breath between his gritted teeth. \u201cCan you just put it on for now and like, what, wrap a jacket around or something? We\u2019re getting late.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stood up with so much energy, he immediately marched around the room with his head swivelling left to right. He skips over a few comic books I left on the floor, masterfully dodging the controllers a few feet away from the comics, and goes ahead to the corner of my room to dig into my pile of dirty laundry. He is already too familiar with the layout of my room that it has become second nature to him.<\/p>\n

When Peter is still determined to get that jacket he mentioned, I quickly remove the jersey shorts before swiftly changing into my sweatpants that were just hanging on the edge of my bed. \u201cOr can we just skip this one game? Just for once?\u201d<\/p>\n

Peter finally turned around, not a jacket in his hands in sight. Maybe he gave up, or the thought of cancelling tonight\u2019s game riled him up so bad, he stopped. \u201cMason.\u201d He tilts his head, followed by an exasperated scoff. \u201cCome on. We never skip one <\/em>game. You really gonna let our streak die that easily?\u201d<\/p>\n

When do I tell him that I\u2019m not as interested in basketball as he is? I know he\u2019s not the type to associate me with \u201cbeing tall = plays\/genuinely adores basketball\u201d, but he has to understand that dragging me into these games every month slowly makes me want to run off into the woods instead. But now\u2019s not the time. <\/em>Peter was getting antsy as the time passed without us heading into the town\u2019s field. I know it on the top of my head now. He\u2019s tapping his feet like a restless bunny, arms crossed tightly against his chest, and his eyes stare off into the distance into\u2026 Godknowswhere.<\/p>\n

I sighed. \u201cRight. Let\u2019s just go.\u201d<\/p>\n

Peter\u2019s eyes lit up, and in a second, he was already out of my room.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I followed behind, jumping out of my open windows without bothering to close them. I\u2019ll be back in a few hours, anyway<\/em>. The biting breeze gnaws my skin, reminding me that fall is approaching. The neighborhood is getting quiet, too; it always happens when autumn or winter is near. People don\u2019t get as much out because the sun isn\u2019t there, and it\u2019s too cold to read at the park or walk your dog. Looking forward, Peter is already further away from me. He made it across the backyard and hopped over the high wooden fence. Judging by the sound of his landing, he made it safely.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, Mason!\u201d he shouted, as the shuffling of his feet against the ground was heard.<\/p>\n

Rushing over through the backyard, I arrived before the wooden fence, immediately jumping up to grip the edge, hopping over. Thump<\/em>. It was a lengthy landing, but a safe one. Hopping over the fence for years to sneak out and eat burgers with Peter has made me accustomed to the high landing; it\u2019s all muscle memory. Even Peter has it on muscle memory, too.<\/p>\n

The town\u2019s basketball field is no more than one block away from ours, so Peter is already dragging his ass as fast as he can to get there before the game starts. I took some time in my strides, looking left and right to see that the houses looked less colored than I remembered. Is it just because the cold season is around the corner? Although the houses don\u2019t look as bright as it was in the summer, warm lights are visible through their windows. In some houses, I can see their shadows or the silhouette of their figures. Passing by Mrs. Grossman’s house, a swift of chocolate chip cookies passes by as I see her slouched figure carrying a tray from her closed curtains. Skipping faster, to catch up to Peter, a pizza delivery guy just dropped a box in front of Bill\u2019s door; his father\u2019s silhouette is sitting on the couch, probably watching TV. It\u2019s impressive how you can witness the routines of individual lives just by peeking through their closed curtains.<\/p>\n

And just like that, the sound of cheering gradually grew clear\u2026 We are near<\/em>.<\/p>\n

I speed up my pace until I can see the field.<\/p>\n

The crowd soars. Every seat in the bleachers was littered with people shouting and jumping. It was weird to see such a small field filled with townspeople I would come across any other day. There\u2019s Todd in the far corner, but he\u2019s not driving his daughter to school. There\u2019s McKenzie in the bottom seat, but she\u2019s not doing random cartwheels in the street while her nanny watches (and worries). There\u2019s also Suzie in the middle, but she\u2019s surprisingly not knitting her half-finished sweater now. Then there\u2019s\u2026 An empty seat. Two<\/em> empty seats.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s go, buddy-o.\u201d Peter clawed my arm, pulling my feet off my glued position as he took me to our now designated seats.<\/p>\n

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\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8<\/p>\n

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The game was fine<\/em>, to say the least. It always has been. There\u2019s nothing much to say about it. People just love to see their friends or their children running around in a field, passing a ball to each other, and trying to throw it in a ring. At least Peter didn\u2019t get any more antsy, even though we were a tad late. But I\u2019ll get what I can have.<\/p>\n

People rise from their seats, some coming down to hype or congratulate the players, while others immediately walk home. Peter and I stayed in our seats for a while to let the crowd thin out.<\/p>\n

Silence stretches between us, a rare occasion for us chatterboxes. Usually, Peter would be the one to initiate the conversation, but he was being awfully quiet tonight. It was weird, considering he was just cheering and jumping throughout the whole game.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood game, huh?\u201d Peter finally <\/em>spoke up. Although judging from his tone, it doesn\u2019t radiate so much of Peter-energy.<\/p>\n

I face his direction, reading his face. Yeah, this is only small talk<\/em>. \u201cYeah. Good game.\u201d<\/p>\n

Another few seconds of stillness.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs there something you wanna tell me?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

His face contorts. \u201cNo.\u201d Liar<\/em>.<\/p>\n

I kept quiet for a moment, letting him contemplate his thoughts. \u201cPete?…\u201d<\/p>\n

A gentle scoff. \u201cFine. You wanna go grab a bite? I\u2019m starving.\u201d<\/p>\n

My brows meet together out of habit; they always do whenever Peter says something too obvious or borderline stupid. \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you just say so earlier?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018Cuz I know I already ruined your mood by dragging you into this game. I know you just wanna crash in your bed now.\u201d<\/p>\n

I blinked. \u201cYou\u2019re not wrong,\u201d I said. \u201cFine. What about tomorrow?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure. We can have breakfast.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I\u2019m totally sleeping in. Brunch?\u201d<\/p>\n

Peter scoffed again, almost too dramatically now. \u201cWho are we, Mrs. Grossman and her friends? Let\u2019s just get lunch.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAsshole. Being Mrs. Grossman\u2019s friend and having brunch with her doesn\u2019t sound so bad, y\u2019know.\u201d<\/p>\n

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\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8<\/p>\n

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The walk back to our houses is now more composed and collected, but there was still a rush that goes into it, at least for Peter. Or maybe he\u2019s just a fast walker overall; I always seem to get behind.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo\u2026\u201d I skipped forward until I was walking alongside him. I swear to God, if he leaves me for another second, I might as well get kidnapped, and he won\u2019t even notice. \u201cLunch, tomorrow?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah. The usual place.\u201d He didn\u2019t even look me straight in the eye.<\/p>\n

\u201cGot it.\u201d<\/p>\n

The loud breeze made it seem that the town was whispering us secrets, or maybe warnings. But Peter didn\u2019t take it seriously; he walked even further from me, trying to get away from me. What’s with this dude?<\/em><\/p>\n

He finally stopped, and he went quiet for a moment. \u201cText me when you get back.\u201d<\/p>\n

Huh?<\/em> \u201cWe live one block away.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoesn\u2019t hurt,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd thanks for coming to the game with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

And just like that, he walked off to his street… Leaving me standing there in the middle of the sidewalk, mouth agape.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Icky petey<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Today<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Home already<\/p>\n

Delivered<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Beat you to it<\/p>\n

Delivered<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Icky petey<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Yesterday<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Home already<\/p>\n

Delivered<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Beat you to it<\/p>\n

Delivered<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Today<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Pete?<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Delivered<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If you\u2019re not gonna text back in the next 10 minutes, i\u2019m gonna go get food with Mrs. Grossman and her friends<\/p>\n

Delivered<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the hell?\u201d I mumbled to my phone screen, rubbing the exhaustion out of my eyes, attempting to sit up.<\/p>\n

It was already late in the afternoon, judging by how the sun was judging me <\/em>through my open windows. Although the UV ray kills, the cold breeze also penetrates through my body. What a time to be alive\u2026 And awake.<\/p>\n

My texts remain delivered.<\/p>\n

\u201cAsshole,\u201d I mumbled again, clicking the call<\/em> icon beside Peter\u2019s name.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

No response? No voicemail?<\/em><\/p>\n

Do I have to come up to his place again<\/em> just because he overslept? No. I\u2019m done carrying his ass over when he\u2019s always the one making plans in the beginning. I walked more than ten times to his house that summer, always ending up drenched in sweat with an awful stench. It\u2019s freezing now, and I\u2019d rather stay inside and lather my skin in lotion than end up dry and cracked outside.<\/p>\n

I call him again.<\/p>\n

This time, I was finally greeted by a voicemail that I can\u2019t exaggerate enough on how many times it makes me wanna throw my phone out the window. I think I memorized his whole voicemail script more than The Declaration of Independence.<\/p>\n

\u201c… so, yeah, answer after the beep-<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m in your walls, dude, get your lazy ass out of bed!\u201d Silence. I sighed. \u201cLook, I can tolerate your, uh, this little sleep issue of yours in the beginning, but I’ve had too much now. I\u2019m not walking over there to wake you up myself first for the 100th time.\u201d Deep breaths<\/em>. \u201cI\u2019m waiting until you call back.\u201d<\/p>\n

I throw my phone away. Gently. Not out to the windows, but to the pillows beside me.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

Huh. Feels weird when you finally stand up against the thing that bothered you the most these past few weeks… But then, again… There\u2019s nothing to do right now.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

With a long sigh, I got out of bed to head outside.<\/p>\n

The aroma of fresh-baked casseroles greets me first, and the sight of my mom standing by the oven to get the tray out can\u2019t be missed. But I walked over her to grab my jacket from the coat rack.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere are you going, sweetie?\u201d she asked as the sound of the oven being opened and the steaming noise of the casseroles accompanied her voice.<\/p>\n

Slipping into my jacket, I replied shortly, \u201cPeter\u2019s. We\u2019re grabbing lunch.\u201d<\/p>\n

I turned around and stopped to study her reaction. Sometimes, it\u2019s a hit or miss. She\u2019ll only let me eat out if she wasn\u2019t already cooking, but she\u2019s holding a tray of casserole in her hands right now. Then again, I can\u2019t tell what her face is trying to say.<\/p>\n

\u201cDidn\u2019t you hear, sweetie?\u201d she said, her tone awfully\u2026 Bizarre than usual. I can\u2019t point out why exactly, but it\u2019s unusual.<\/p>\n

My brows meet hesitantly. \u201cHear what?…\u201d I asked quietly, stepping back from her as she approached me. \u201cAre you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

Mom placed the tray on the kitchen island. \u201cHis father just called. Peter isn\u2019t with us anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n

What?<\/em> …<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d I murmured. It was barely words and more air. \u201cMom?\u201d my tone raised, voice already shaking. \u201cWhat do you mean he\u2019s not with us?\u201d<\/p>\n

She smiled sympathetically? I don\u2019t fucking know. \u201cMason, listen\u2014”<\/p>\n

\u201cMom, what the fuck! Why are you smiling?\u201d I threw my body away, further stepping back until my head hit the door frame above me. Thump! <\/em>\u201cFuck! Why is this so short?<\/strong>\u201d I swore out of habit. Mom would usually stop me by now, telling me to insert spare change in the Swear Jar, or probably a dollar, since I swore twice. Yet she remained calm and steady.<\/p>\n

\u201cMason, sweetie\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to Peter\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n

I turned around, rushed back to my room, stepped over the comic books on my floor carelessly, and went ahead to my open window<\/span>.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I jumped out. That same biting breeze came to gnaw my skin despite the thick layer of my jacket. Everything was bright. Too bright<\/em>. I can now see every little microscopic being in this town, going about their day. The red trees dancing, birds flying above, ladybugs in my backyard, Terry drinking coffee by the balcony\u2014waving his hand over me… But the one that caught my eye the most was what\u2019s beyond my fence… The woods.<\/p>\n

Last night, it was black and invisible, like a secret location in a game you haven\u2019t unlocked yet. Now, it\u2019s all I can see past my backyard.<\/p>\n

People are crowding, black attire engulfing their frames. Some carry a handkerchief beside their cheeks, some hiding their faces against someone else\u2019s shoulder…<\/p>\n

Right, the old graveyard in the woods.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s been years since anyone has been buried back there, mostly because the graveyard itself was left abandoned… At least I thought it was, because why would anyone wanna be buried back there?<\/p>\n

Shit.<\/p>\n

It can\u2019t be Peter, right?<\/p>\n

No fucking way.<\/p>\n

I ran across the backyard to approach the fence, my curiosity already begging me to check the graveyard.<\/p>\n

I hopped over.<\/p>\n

Thump thump<\/strong><\/em>.<\/p>\n

\u201cShit!\u201d I gripped the edge of the fence before I fell into my demise.<\/p>\n

I could hear my own heartbeat in my head.<\/p>\n

I just skidded<\/em>. My feet skidded against the ground, and my body lost balance for a second. I never skid when I jump over the fence, <\/em>never since it\u2019s so tall. Most people would find themselves struggling to jump over high surfaces, but I always land perfectly because I can calculate how<\/em> I would land.<\/p>\n

I turn around to touch the fence. It\u2019s lower than my face\u2026 Now as tall as my chest. Why is this so short?<\/strong><\/p>\n

No, Mason, stop!<\/span><\/i> There\u2019s a more important matter at hand.<\/span><\/p>\n

I fixed my eyes back to the woods, and people in the graveyard are staring back, eyes wide and blank. There’s barely life behind those eyes.<\/p>\n

Not barely, none at all<\/em>.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Prompt: “Why is this so short?”   \u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8\u2ad8   1. poof   Being born with long legs certainly comes with its perks\u2026 And quirks. Although the comments from people asking if I play basketball or \u201chow\u2019s the weather up there?\u201d get dull pretty quickly, there is one specific issue I\u2019ve been dealing with. It\u2019s sometimes […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":22420,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,10],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-151","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-creative-writing-class","category-english"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/151","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/22420"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=151"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/151\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":167,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/151\/revisions\/167"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=151"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=151"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.unpad.ac.id\/sabila24003\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=151"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}