My name is Wednesday. Like the third day of the week – the day Mother Goose thinks is for unlucky children because it is so full of woe. I often ask my mother about my name, and she exhales a puff of silvery smoke, always saying, “You were born on a cold Wednesday winter day. That’s why.”

Nothing about me is deemed unusual. My hair is coppery red, with tangles of ash highlights. My eyes are catlike green, changing colors to topaz and aquamarine every once in a while. People think I’m a myth-like creature, but the truth is I am just a girl. A girl who lives in an extraordinary world long enough to forget the word ordinary.

A girl who wishes she knows how the word feels, and what it means.


I thump the cigarette butt on the linoleum floor with the edge of my boot. The room stinks of smoke and pot, of sweat and sex. The music is still blaring loudly from the attached speakers on the corners, and in the distance there is the sound of a girl crying, or a couple fighting. I take a swig of cold beer, a residue of someone’s leftover on the bar. A couple of guys sitting on the stools eye me and wink, and I wink back.

Stacey, a high school dropout I know from years ago, tapped me on the shoulder and slipped a pack of pot on the back pocket of my jeans. I smile my thanks and she nods it back.

“It’s getting too packed in here,” she shouts over the music.

“Yeah,” I reply in a normal tone. She pretends she can’t hear me, and walks to the dance floor alone, bobbing her blonde head.

I ignore the sweat forming underneath my shirt and fan myself with a coaster, but for the second time that night, someone taps my shoulder and sneaks an arm around my waist. I turn my face to look at the intruder, only to find my lips smashed in a cold, unfamiliar kiss. I kiss him back, whoever he is, because it is harmless. Because I want to.

When it is over, he pulls back and laughs. A silvery laugh that sends tingles down my spine. A laugh from a boy who knows how to have fun. I smile back and follow the sound of his laughter, tracing my fingers on his hollow cheekbones. He does the same with my collarbone, his lips following his fingertips. I shiver although it is warm.

“Hey,” he whispers. His breath is hot against my neck.


I usually do better than a funny hello. Guys find that sexy about me. But there is just something about him that makes me unable to find my voice. It is just deep down inside of me, on the back of my throat, but I cannot summon it.

“What’s your name?” he asks, this time sitting straight. His hand rests on my thigh, the other holding a cold vodka bottle.

I smile coyly, wishing I’m more sober. “Wednesday.”

“Like the day of the week?” he asks, smiling again. He finds me amusing.

“Yeah,” I reply solemnly.

“I’m Skyes.”

“Like the sky?” I ask back, making him grin wider.

“Skyes, yeah,” he says.

We do not speak for a couple of minutes, merely switching turns to smoke his cigarette and downing his drink. His hand makes a circular motion on my palm, making me snap wide awake every time I feel drowsy.

“Wanna dance?” he whispers in my ears. I love it when guys do that – they do not have to shout over the music to be heard.

I nod, feeling his hand press on the soft spot of my back, leading me to the dance floor. We sway slowly, me resting against his shoulder, smelling his aftershave. He moves slowly, knowing what to do.

His hand moves under my shirt, his cold fingers crawling on my back, reaching to communicate. I try to shrug him off slightly, just to make room to breath, but he kisses me roughly. I get lost in that kiss. I am too tired to fight, too drunk to refuse, too tempted to say no.

And suddenly cold liquid that smells like rum and water runs down my neck. Someone has dumped an entire jug on my head. I turn away, angry but confused.

“What the..?”

A girl stands in front of us, her mascara streaks down her pale face. Her hair is a tangled mess, her clothes a size smaller than she actually is. She is sobbing hysterically, and my mind recalls a memory. Her name is Lisa. A year younger than I am, petite, pretty, and hysterical.

”You bitch!” she screams, this time ignoring the silence that has overcome the dance floor. I have never seen a silent party. This is new.

“Huh?” I mutter.

Skyes pull away from me, grabbing her hand. “Liss..”

“You’re cheating on me with her?” she explodes again, spitting and crying even louder.

“And that’s my fault?” I manage to sneer an answer, one that renders her speechless for a moment.

“You’re such a slut,” she whispers finally, and turns on her heels to the exit.

I smile despite being angry, and shake my head. “Is that the best you can do?”

The crowd parts as I walk away, wiping the rum off my face with the sleeves of my leather jacket. Skyes look uncertain for a second, but he shrugs and disappears in the thickening audience.

“Coward,” I mutter.

A tissue. I turn around. Stewart is standing in front of me, sympathetically offering me a tissue that looks like it has been wrenched in his jeans pocket for too long. I take it nonetheless, and try to smile.

“I’ll take you home.”


“I’ll take you home,” he repeats firmly, this time holding my hand. Good old Stewart. My childhood friend, someone who has become too nerdy for his own good. Even his name is a repetitive, redundant mess: Stewart Stewart. His last name and his first name do match, terribly.

He tugs at my jacket, wanting me to follow him. I glare at him, noticing that he is still wearing an old button-down shirt he has from forever ago. His jeans are too big, his shoes too preppy. What is he doing here?

“Let’s go home,” he says in an exhausted voice, and in the end I oblige.

“Not home. Here, under the stars.” I know I am slurring my words, but I can catch his smile.

“You want to sit here under the stars?” he repeats my question, looking amused. We used to sit on his car, looking up at the sky and counting stars, naming constellations. I have forgotten how it feels to sit under the whooshing dark sky, so wide it becomes a blanket of the world.

We sit in silence.

He breaks it first. “What are you looking for, Wednesday? What are you looking for in those parties?”

I close my eyes. “You have no idea.”

“I don’t,” he agrees.

I am looking for a trace of myself. My shadow that has long been gone. Love that has not found me.

“You won’t find yourself there,” Stewart continues. “We don’t find ourselves in places where we’re getting lost.”

“What do you know about getting lost? You’ve never lost your footing even once in your fucking life.”

He sighs. “Ever since your father dies, all you do is pretending you’re this tough girl owning the world. Everyone doesn’t know who you are anymore.”

I laugh. “Everyone hates me because I’m strong. I party with boys. I’m pretty, I’m smart, and they hate my guts. They just think I’m a bitch because they can’t be like me.”

“You’re not like that, Wendy.” I hate it when he uses my nickname like this.

“You don’t even know me.” He doesn’t know how it feels having a mother who smokes and gets drunk all the time. A whole school of people who think the world is such a perfect place. A father who doesn’t come back every evening and stays for dinner. A world of hypocrisy.

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

He runs his hand on my cheek, feeling it like velvet. “I do,” he whispers.

I take a long good look at him. His sincere gaze, the almond eyes behind those misty glasses, the wild hair of jet black, the smell of wood and rain on his clothes. The memory of us sipping caramel candy and hot chocolate, our fingers sticky with cotton candies and the rain.

I move closer and kiss him on the lips, tasting once more the memory of our childhood. He kisses me back, softly at first. And then he shakes his head, turning away.


I sit back, feeling hurt wash me like sea foams. “Why not?”

“Because you’re going to forget this in the morning. I’m not that person for you, Wendy.”

But you can be.

He shakes his head, pity and longing mixing together and playing freely on his expression. “I’ve always loved you, you know.”

I don’t know why I start crying, but his face remains stony. He lets me out of his car and gently pushes me towards my house. Before leaving, he smiles and gives me a peck on the lips. “Do me a favor, Wendy. Kiss me when you’re sober.”

I feel myself nod. Tears flow freely on my face, but I’m smiling.


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Writer Zahra Salsabila
Zahra Salsabila at Wednesday (5 years 45 weeks ago)

Ka, terbitin novel berbahasa Inggris, dong

Writer Chandradyani
Chandradyani at Wednesday (9 years 48 weeks ago)

karena pake present tense smua jadi kerasa datar..tapi untuk grammar dah bagus kok..

Writer acu_saree
acu_saree at Wednesday (10 years 41 weeks ago)

honestly, I'm not into het story (yes, im that weird), but this is nice to read and well written.

Wednesday or Wendy, smart! And the grammar is much better than mine. Thanks for share the story~

Writer adrian.achyar
adrian.achyar at Wednesday (11 years 15 weeks ago)

Hey, winna. Sori banget baru komen ^^

He he he, komen saya kayaknya senada dengan yosi, kok tiba2 steward muncul di tengah2.

Terus, walau banyak orang yang bikin cerita berbahasa Inggris dengan menggunakan present tenses, kenapa ya saya merasa kurang sreg aja. Menurut saya sih lebih logis kalo dengan past tenses. Kan aneh kalo pake simple present semua, jadi kayak "the Sun rises from the east" He he he, jadi fakta alam semua donk :D Hmm... I really wanna discuss this with you. Kapan-kapan kita chat yuks ;)

Featured stories: Omega Series

Writer i-rash
i-rash at Wednesday (11 years 17 weeks ago)


Writer Bamby Cahyadi
Bamby Cahyadi at Wednesday (11 years 17 weeks ago)

Aku suka membaca cerita ini. Walaupun tergagap-gagap karena kemampuan bahasa inggris yang minim, tapi secara garis besar aku mengerti kandungan isi cerita ini.

Ini namanya learning by doing.Hehehe

Writer Zhang he
Zhang he at Wednesday (11 years 19 weeks ago)

Hwaww.. ending yang nice..
Inggris yg hebaat! ^^

Writer FrenZy
FrenZy at Wednesday (11 years 19 weeks ago)

rijon: thanks yah. hehehe nanti kubaca ceritamu.

yosi: iya, makanya kubilang ceritaku ini tak berstruktur. belum diedit dan masih mentah, walau memang stewart ingin kumasukkan di tengah-tengah. rencananya ini akan jadi bagian dari sebuah cerita yang sudah ada :) thanks ya sarannya, nanti kuedit.

Writer yosi_hsn
yosi_hsn at Wednesday (11 years 19 weeks ago)

Nice one, winna. Just thought that 'stewart' came up suddenly in the middle of the story since you didn't introduce him earlier. Halah, sotoy banget daku. keke

Writer Rijon
Rijon at Wednesday (11 years 19 weeks ago)


Grammar cc keren

Selamat yah cc buat launching Kenangan Abu-Abu

Aku dulu sempet pengen ngarang2 novel, pas kelas 1 SMP. Tapi terhenti, karena banyak ikut lomba2 di sana-sin. Apalagi waktu itu aku ikut kelas akselarasi >_<

Sekarang udah kuliah mau coba edit2 tulisan SMP (tapi belum diedit sampe sekarang, kuliah di kedokteran waktu mampet)....Mohon bantuannya cc di cerita2 aku, Dunia tak Bernyawa (ini tulisan waktu SMP dulu)......


Aku akan senang sekali kalau cc mau mengajari aku ^o^