Việt H. Nguyễn's Blog: Just your typical talkative Introvert

Happy Mother's Day? Not really sure how to title this rant...

I’ve never paid any attention to Mother’s Day – one, since it’s a Western Day that never fall on the same date every year, and two, since I’d much rather just write random stuff about my parents on any day I feel like, rather than limiting them to a few days a year. But since it’s been a while since I was able to write anything – due to life, school/Uni work, and other personal reasons, I’m about to go mad if I don’t write SOMETHING! But since I don’t actually have time or can get into the right mindset to write what I’d really want to write right now (the novel), I’ll have to settle for something else instead. So here we are, almost right before Mother’s Day is over, and I’m about to pour my heart out about how great my parents are. No, this is not just about my Mom, because my parents have always been a single unit with a hive mind; there’s no point whatsoever to separate them into two people. And, I admit, yes, this is partially because I’ve just finished A Pho Love Story, and it got me thinking about my parents, again.

Now, if there truly was a previous life, then I must have done some great good deed in my past life, because I pretty much hit the ultimate jackpot in terms of reincarnation. My parents were – are – weird! In the best ways possible. My parents tricked me, my entire life, about what was the norm. It wasn’t until College that I learnt that the way I was brought up was far from the norm for anyone my age.

My entire life, I’ve never felt any pressure about being anyone but myself. And considering who my family members were and are, that is saying a lot. Sure, they complained; sure, they compared me to other kids – all of whom were geniuses and monsters, btw; and sure, there were moments when they said they wished I’d grow up a bit faster and be better. But really, never felt any real pressure. They’ve always been there to catch me whenever I’d fall, with their “I told you so” ready. But really, can’t really blame them for that since they did really tell me, I just needed to fail a few times, or multiple times, to learn… Okay, fine, it was a lot of times! They’ve always supported whatever I wanted, even when I didn’t even know what I wanted. I mean, they did give me an ultimatum to find out what I wanted within a set amount of time, but really, I was already asking myself that question when they did, so it’s more like they were telepathic rather than pressuring me.

My entire life, I’ve never heard about the notion of gender role. My mom was often the one fixing electronics and build stuff in the house, and my dad actually made great food (still prefer mom’s cooking, though, and not just because I actually have to tell my dad what I wanted to eat while with mom, she just knows). My parents shared all the work, and I mean all of them. They are the CEO and CTO of the same company they founded, and they shared the housework, too. It did mean that I had to learn to do everything around the house (whenever I couldn’t find an excuse to bail, that is), but now I’m just grateful.

My entire life, I’ve never been yelled at. No, really, they can scold me without raising their voices. They can make me cry and feel bad without actually yelling at me. And the frustrating thing is, they’ve never done so unjustly. So, every single time, every damn time, even if I got mad and stormed off, said hurtful things, or slammed the door in their faces, I’m always the one to feel bad later on, and had to go apologize. And they have never had to resort to the “we’re your parents, you have to do as we say!” Not really. They’ve always treated me like a person, and not just their son. Every time I’d done something wrong, mom had sat me down and explained to me why it was wrong and why they had to do what they did. And while I didn’t always appreciate it at the time, I’m grateful now. So really, my parents are my best friends growing up – dunno whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, or whether I should feel happy or sad about that, but it is what it is.

My entire life, I’ve always known my parents are just humans. Actually no, the jury is still out on that one and I’m still considering the alternatives. I mean, the only signs I’ve seen so far of them being humans have been my mom crying when I was 4, my dad looking at porn that one time when he thought I wasn’t aware, and they have both been sick a few times each year. While the evidence to the contrary is stacking up. They’ve never broken a promise – to me or other people; they’ve never failed to deliver on anything I’ve asked for help on, and some of which were downright impossible to me. And for someone who remembers everything, and I mean everything – every mistake, every shortcoming, every joke, etc. made by me or anyone else, my mom, and my dad, too, I guess, have always taught me to never hold those against people. The random lessons taught in offhand remarks caught me by surprise every time, because only when an unexpected situation arise would my brain suddenly recall those remarks, and I’d have an epiphany about my next course of action. Like one of my favorite lesson from Dad had been “Only the weak pushed others down to raise themselves up. The strong raise people up and walk on their own two feet.” Like seriously, he just casually slid this into conversation while we were watching TV. Or that other time he said, “Jealousy is just a sign of lacking in confidence or ability” when asked about whether or not he was worried about other people pursuing my mom when they were still dating.

So yeah, anyway, I think I’ve ranted long enough, and my sanity has somewhat been stabilized. This is my signing off without any warning whatsoever!

Eyes is live on Reedsy Discovery

Eyes is live on Reedsy Discovery and will be available in more stores since May 12th onward when KDP Select period is over and we go wide via Draft2Digital.

Short stories #2

In the never-ending and boring af effort to get our names out there and promote our book, my best friend and co-conspirator, Nghịch Tử, had roped me into weekly writing contests on Reedsy. So as we now write short stories every week, might as well share them up here.

Below is the second short story titled He died, and I woke up... in response to the prompt: "Start your story with an ending and work backward toward the beginning."


It was in the afternoon when my grandpa passed away. As I woke up from my nap, I was in a daze. My grandma was in shock; she was crying. My parents came home early that day. As everyone was scrambling around, I fell into my own bubble of thoughts. A world without my grandfather was not going to be an easy one. This, I knew in my heart. Still, the final lesson he had managed to teach me in the last month we spent together was that “sometimes, in life, when nothing seemed to be going your way, you just have to take a leap of faith.” And so, with those words still ringing in my ears, I took a leap.

***

Earlier that day…

“So what was it you wanted to tell me earlier, grandpa?” – I asked as I sat at his desk and was coloring the picture he had drawn me. I was in third grade. It was a beautiful day, and I didn’t have to go to school. As usual, my parents had already gone to work, so there were only my grandparents and me at home. My grandma was cooking in the kitchen, and my grandpa was entertaining me after I was done with homework.

When he didn’t reply, I glanced over to see him staring at me, apparently deep in thoughts. Slipping down from the chair, I came over and hugged him. He patted my back before started to say something, just as my grandma’s voice came in:

“Lunch is ready, you two! Come out and eat!”

That sentence rang up a sense of déjà vu, and I vaguely heard my grandpa mumbled something about “goodbyes” and “timing.” But as I shook my head to clear the ringing in my ears and looked up at him, he simply smiled and said:

“Let’s go eat, kiddo! I’ll tell you later.”

***

That morning…

My dad was seeing the acupressure doctor, Mr. Long – who treated my grandfather, out when the medicine man suddenly turned around and walked back into the house. As I had no school that day, I shifted at the breakfast table and craned my head to hear what he told my grandmother and parents:

“I have a bad feeling today.” He’d said, “And I fear he felt as much given what he told me. He may not make it until tomorrow. It’s best that you make preparations.”

A vague sense of déjà vu washed over me, and I didn’t quite hear what my grandma had said. Knowing her, though, it was probably overreaction or something along the line of asking if there was anything he could do. My grandpa hadn’t been well for quite some time now. Over a year ago, he had a stroke during one of the meetings he was usually going to back in those days. Ever since, he had been in and out of hospitals, meeting all kinds of doctors, both western and eastern ones. This acupressure doctor had been a miracle worker, or at least the most suitable. My grandpa’s conditions were getting noticeably better by the day.

I slipped down from the chair and ran into my grandpa’s room. He was sitting in his favorite chair, reading a newspaper. Seeing me, he glanced up and smiled:

“Ah, there you are! No school today?”

“No, Grandpa! I’d told you two weeks ago, we have two days off this week.” There was that déjà vu again… I guessed this wasn’t the first time my grandpa had forgotten something like that.

“That’s good, child. It’s good that we get to spend this day together. Now, I’d like to tell you something.”

“Yes, grandpa?”

He looked at me and was about to say something when my parents called from outside:

“Nam! We’re leaving for work. Come out and say goodbye!”

I glanced back, my grandfather simply nodded:

“Go ahead! It can wait.”

***

Three days earlier…

It was a Saturday afternoon. I was waking up from my nap when I heard my grandparents talking.

“Promise me!” He was saying, “Promise me you’ll see him finish University before you join me!”

“What are you on about?” She replied, “You’ll live through this and see it yourself!”

Silent. Then, “Just promise me!”

“Oh, alright, fine! I promise!”

“Good,” My grandpa said, “He’s waking up!”

I groggily rubbed the sleep – and an odd sense of déjà vu – away and sat up as my grandma came over to the bed. As my house only had two bedrooms, I usually sleep in my parents’ one. However, today workers were cutting down trees outside the window of that one, so my grandparents let me sleep in theirs instead.

“What were you two talking about?” I asked. My grandparents glanced quickly at each other, and then my grandma said:

“Nothing, dear! Just old people stuff. You had a good sleep, I hope?”

“Yes, grandma. It was great.”

“Good. I shall go get you something to eat!” She said as she stood up and walked out of the room.

“So what were you talking about before I woke up?” I tried to ask my grandpa again.

He looked at me for a long time before finally said:

“I supposed I should tell you now. Come here, Nam!”

Just as I got down from the bed, though, my grandmother came back with a cup of bean soup in her hands. As I took it from her and started sipping, my grandparents began talking about my studies. When I looked at him with a silent question, he simply looked back with eyes that said, “it can wait.”

***

A week ago…

I came home that day with a bad grade in Literature. It wasn’t the first, and I knew it wasn’t going to be my last. So much for dreaming of becoming an author someday. My grandma was strict, so she had me knelt out in the yard as punishment. It was supposed to last one hour, but fifteen minutes in, my grandpa came out with a mischievous smile on his face:

“Come on, kiddo! She’s busy cleaning up the mess I made. Now you and I are going to have some fun.”

Our fun activity had simply just been tending to the garden, but I didn’t mind. Watching my grandpa gardening had always filled me with happiness I could never quite explain.

“Do you know why I garden, kiddo?” My grandpa suddenly asked as he plucked out a rotten leaf.

“Because the plants in our garden can be used as medicines and save lives?” I ventured a guess.

“True, but that’s just why these particular plants are grown here, not why I tend to them.”

“Then why?”

“Because I love to do it, kiddo. There needn’t be any other reason.” He replied, “Gardening makes me happy.”

“But I thought drawing makes you happy. Or playing the flute.”

“In a way, they do. Because they make you happy, and that always makes me happy. But no, before you, drawing and playing the flute helps me relax; it’s not the same thing as being happy. Gardening makes me happy, just like telling stories makes you happy.”

“But I’m no good at it.” I looked down to the ground.

“You can always learn to get better at something, kiddo. But not everyone is as lucky as we are to have already found what makes us happy.” He turned around and beckoned me with one hand, “Now come here. I want to show you something!”

I stood up from the step I was sitting on and jogged over to him. In front of us was his kumquat tree; its fruits are often used as cough medicines. My eyes followed my grandpa’s fingers to find a grey and odd-looking shape underneath one of the leaves.

“That’s a swallowtail butterfly cocoon.” My grandpa explained, “I saw it a few days back and was going to get rid of it, but I figured this is something you’d like to see happens.”

As I watched, the cocoon slowly cracked open, and low and behold, a butterfly – one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen emerged before our very eyes. Still marveling at the sight, I heard my grandpa said beside me:

“You know, Nam, when that butterfly was just a caterpillar, every day was a challenge for it. I could have caught it at any point, and because this was my garden, I would have wanted to get rid of it, so it couldn’t harm the trees I have growing here. Even when going into that cocoon, it didn’t know whether or not it would be able to come out as a butterfly, or I’d have gotten rid of it even then. But here we are, witnessing it emerging as a beautiful butterfly. You are like that butterfly, my boy!”

“I am?” I looked over at him in surprise.

“You are. As you grow up, life is going to keep throwing challenges at you. And sometimes, it’ll get so hard you’ll wonder if you could even keep going. But at times like that, I want you to remember today – this very moment – and have faith. Sometimes, all you can do is have faith, keep looking forward, and make a jump for it. And just like I’d decided to let the butterfly live for you to see, life will sometimes let you spread your wings and fly, too. But you must first have faith in yourself. That’s why they call it a ‘leap of faith,’ kiddo!”

“Have you also taken leaps of faith, grandpa?”

“Yes, plenty, my boy!” He smiled warmly at me. Then something flashed underneath his eyes, and his tone turned serious, “Now, there is something else I must tell you. I fear there isn’t much time left!”

“Yes, grandpa?”

He stared at me, but before he could say anything, the gate bell rang, and he looked over to see who was there. The smile returned to his face as he glanced back at me:

“Maybe later, kiddo. It can wait!”

***

Two weeks ago…

“She said in two weeks, we’d have 2 days off from school, grandpa!” I excitedly told him as I saw that it was him who came to get me from school that day. Ever since he had that stroke, he’d hardly walked me home from school anymore. Before that fateful day, he used to walk me home almost every day. Before that day, everyone used to say he was strong for his age, able to jog for miles without needing to catch his breath. Now, he needed a cane to walk anywhere, and ever so often, he’d need to sit down and rest.

His canes were about the most marvelous things I’ve ever seen, though. They were all carved in dragons’ shapes, with the handle being the dragons’ heads, their snout biting down on different sizes orbs. No two canes of his were exactly the same, either. And he had a total of five. He would often let me play with the ones he wasn’t currently using, pretending I was a wuxia character.

As I cheerily told him about my day at school while we walk back home, he laughed encouragingly and asked more questions for me to keep going. As I told him about the Literature exam that I was pretty sure I had failed, he simply smiled and said:

“Don’t worry, kiddo! I’ll have your back if anything happens.”

When we were nearing our house, waiting on the last traffic light to cross the street, my grandpa suddenly said:

“There is something I should probably tell you!”

I turned to face him, “Yes, Grandpa?”

But just as he was about to speak, someone called out:

“Oh, Mr. Độ, is that you?”

We looked over; it was a man in his forties. He jogged over to us, smiled at me, and said:

“And you must be his grandson!”

My grandpa smiled:

“So you have come to see me off? I must say, though, this is better than you see me weak and frail on my deathbed.”

“Oh, master, always a joker!” The man said, “You will live until you’re a hundred.”

“It’s good to see you again, Quang!” My grandpa chuckled, “Though I doubt I’ll live that long, it’s nice to know you think that highly of this old fool.”

He then turned to me and said, “Nam, I’d like you to meet Mr. Quang, my old student. Quang, as you have guessed it, this is my grandson, Nam.”

After the pleasantries, we invited Mr. Quang into our house, and I went to do my homework while my grandpa and his old student reminisced about their shared past.

***

Three weeks ago…

“What has gotten into you, child?” My grandma half-scolded me, “Your grandpa needs rest if he is to recover! You shouldn’t come here every night demanding he read you a bedtime story. You’re almost ten years old!”

The words brought up uneasiness and an odd sense of déjà vu in me. It wasn’t as if I didn’t understand what my grandmother was saying. It was just that, for the past week, I’d been having a gripping fear something terrible was going to happen soon and that I should spend every waking moment I can with my grandpa.

“It’s okay, dear!” My grandpa said, “Let the boy come. I want to spend time with him, too.”

“I give up!” My grandma said, “You two are always like that! Fine, have it your way! But five minutes! That’s it! You need your rest!” She told my grandpa, then turned to me, “And you need to let your grandpa rest!”

As she finished, she retreated back to her bed on the other side of the room.

My grandpa beckoned me over to sit next to him on his bed. He took the picture book I hold in my hands from me, opened it up, and started to read.

The story was “Sơn Tinh, Thủy Tinh.” It was about the eighteenth Hùng Vương – one of the first kings of Vietnam – looking for a husband for his daughter. Two contenders showed up: Thủy Tinh – symbolizing water, flood, nature itself; and Sơn Tinh – representing the mountain, dams, and the will to conquer nature. In the story, Sơn Tinh eventually won the hand of the princess; and Thủy Tinh, in his rage, raised the flood to attempt to take her back. The people and animals joined Sơn Tinh and built dams to hold back Thủy Tinh, who eventually lost and retreated. But he would come back every year to challenge Sơn Tinh, beginning a rivalry that lasted through centuries.

As the story was coming to an end, my grandpa looked over at me and said:

“And just as Sơn Tinh has always been there to beat Thủy Tinh back every year, I’ll always be here when you need me. So there’s no need to fear, kiddo! Fear is a part of life, but you mustn’t let it control you. The people in the story, they feared Thủy Tinh, too. Because he was a force of nature, something we can’t really win against,” just like death. “But they stood up to him and joined Sơn Tinh in the fight against him. Be brave, my grandson! Be brave, look toward tomorrow, and make sure it’s better than today! And trust that I’ll always be there for you,” even after I’m gone.

Another wave of déjà vu washed through me as I made my way back to my parents’ bedroom. Oddly enough, the gripping fear that had clawed at my heart ebbed down after that night…

***

A month ago…

He died, and I woke up…

Cold sweat soaked the back of my shirt as I sat up on my bed…

It was an afternoon just like this one when he passed away…

And… I think my grandpa knew it was coming! He had said his goodbyes to everyone, from his student to his friends and family, even the doctor who was treating him.

“Have you had a bad dream, child?” My grandma asked.

I dizzily glanced over to see her sitting in the chair at the edge of the bed, watching over me with worry in her eyes. Blinking, I realized I had been crying in my sleep and raised my hands to wipe away the tears as I answered her:

“It’s nothing, grandma! I just miss grandpa so much!”

“Me, too, dear! Me, too!” The worry in her eyes was replaced by warmth, “But, he’s just gone for a routine check-up. He’ll be back with us in two days!”

A pang of déjà vu hit me so hard my ears were ringing as I asked:

“He’s alive?”

“Well, of course he is, dear!” Then dawning realization seemed to flash under her eyes as she came over and hugged me, “It was just a bad dream, my boy!” she said as she patted my back, “Your grandpa will live until he’s a hundred…”

Those words seemed familiar. So familiar I could have sworn I heard my grandpa chuckled with a reply, “I doubt I’ll live that long.” But the overwhelming relief at the fact my grandpa was alive, and it was just all a bad dream pushed the thought to the back of my head.

He was alive! And I still have time to spend with him! I’d make sure I’d make every minute count. I’d spend every waking moment with him!

***Author's note: While this was the chosen prompt for submission, I thought I'd challenge myself a bit, so elements that could make this short story fit into other prompts are also presented, though they are up to interpretation.

Here's the link to the story on Reedsy

Short stories #1

Guess since I have this space, might as well use it.

In the never-ending and boring af effort to get our names out there and promote our book, my best friend and co-conspirator, Nghịch Tử, had roped me into weekly writing contests on Reedsy. So as we now write short stories every week, might as well share them up here.

Below is the first story, A re-telling gone horribly wrong... in response to the prompt: "Write about an author famous for their fairy tale retellings."


I was the young king of my own fairytale-retelling now, and my queen was coming to kill me!

It was not always the case, though.

Before all of this had happened, I remembered being on my laptop, reading negative reviews and hate comments I had gathered throughout the years. Fun times! Reading the words of snobs who think they were saying something you didn’t already know really helped keep the writer’s blocks away.

Truth be told, they weren’t saying anything but the obvious to me. I knew that all the logical flaws that supposedly inspired my writing mean something: the folks’ wishes, the dreams of the people, all that worthless crap. I knew that all along. You had to know the rules before breaking them, didn’t you?

Those imbeciles! Had they sold a book, a single copy, in that miserable time they called life yet?? The kids could read the original tales as many times as they want. The adults, however, wanted something else. They wanted it to be dark, twisted, and new. They wanted the villains and the heroes to switch places, as “fairytales were written by the victors,” to quote a fan. And I should know. I had all the best-sellers, the award-winners, to back me up. It was just how the industry worked. It was just how life worked. I might be a liar and didn’t appear as innocent as I presented myself to be. But so what? I had to keep my image. The author was a brand nowadays. Established names sold printed copies; debut names hardly did the same.

Well, I could say all the retellings and twists and turns did stem from wishes and dreams: mine. I had always dreamed of owning that villa since my childhood.

***

I woke up in this bedroom, clad in royal clothes, surrounded by servants. It took me nearly half a day to understand my situation: I was in the middle of my unfinished manuscript – a retelling of the famous folktale “Tấm Cám.” As for how I knew this was not the original version? I had made a renowned comedian cameo in one side character. His humor was too modern for the original story.

Those of you who didn’t know, “Tấm Cám” was the Vietnamese version of “Cinderella,” with some changes. Some were mine, others weren’t. But let us focus on my excellencies. In the original fable, Tấm – the goody two shoes - was killed by her jealous half-sister and cruel stepmother. Then she just kept reincarnated, constantly taking on new, unnatural forms to come back to life. There were four of them: a talking oriole, two trees standing side by side, a talking weaving frame, and a beautiful woman walking out from a fruit. She then won the king over again in that overrated “happily ever after.”

Were there only four?? I couldn’t know since after she won the king back, she killed her stepmother and stepsister in the act of bloody revenge before they could do anything.

She was better suited to be a horror story villain than a fairytale protagonist. So I chose that idea as my starting point and worked from there. A vengeful, unstoppable, unkillable evil spirit taking the form of a sweet country girl would work perfectly.

I would have had to find a way to explain Cám’s reason behind killing Tấm, though.

In my retelling, Cám – the ugly and lazy half-sibling of the heroine – was a sorceress whose mother had sealed that evil spirit away in the body of an infant – Tấm. As her beloved sister grew up, the evil spirit grew more powerful until that faithful night – the prom – when it ultimately took control of the host. Tấm was gone, for good. And now, with new, dark ambition in mind, she went to the palace, seduced the young king – that would be the current me – with a spell left on one of her shoes, and become his queen. Desperate, Cám tricked the evil spirit and killed her. “The easiest way to create depth to a character is by whitewashing it,” – said my mentor. What wise words to live by!

I was pretty proud of this... how should I put it, new breath in an old story. But right now, I knew it was not the end. The evil spirit was coming, and my best bet would be the sorceress I created.

***

Cám was crowned the new queen the next day after her sister’s demise, and the kingdom cheered. It should be no problem at all. This happened in the original version, too. The king’s – or should I say my – servants were more than happy that their old queen was gone. I overheard how thrilled they were that the sun shone on the palace once again. The sky above was clear, and no dark clouds gathered in a hundred miles radius. Cám put a protection spell on the whole capital and even burnt down the place where Tấm used to live. Yet, I could see the worries clouded her eyes. It seemed like we both knew the event that took place a couple of days ago wasn’t the end of her sister.

I regretted planning a tragic ending for this novel. It would definitely have helped with the sales, but I have my own life to worry about now that I’d been sucked into this world…

Days had gone by, and the talking bird had not shown up yet. The long wait burnt my confidence away, bits by bits, and I grew wary that things might not pan out as planned. Yet, life must go on, and the kingdom needed its ruler. I couldn’t hide in my room forever now, could I?

Immediately, I was knee-deep in reports, all of which I had to read through and made decisions upon. The responsibilities weighed me down as if a dozen elephants had just decided to start their own circus on my back. At least half of the reports reminded me of my early query letters. The officials wasted paragraphs after paragraphs just to show that they could write beautifully and use fancy words. Why couldn’t they get straight to the point?

The job sucked; the responsibilities were even worse. But the palace and the servants were something I could get used to. My bedroom was twice the size of my entire apartment out there, and the servants didn’t even dare to talk back.

Cám bid me farewell just a month after our very much political marriage. She said she had to go to a goddess’s shrine to learn the evil spirit’s true identity. That was supposedly the only way to defeat Tấm. Or at least, that was what I had in mind while crafting the manuscript. She left a protection charm just in case and went.

***

The bird had shown up.

Or, to be more precise, it decided to make an appearance last night as I was up late doing my kingly duty. It hid behind a wooden beam near the rooftop, right in plain sight and under our noses this whole time.

In the original story, the king asked: “Oh oriole, if you are my dear wife, please nest in my sleeve.” I thought if I were to say nothing, then the story wouldn’t continue. No such luck!

The protection charm Cám had left fended off the spirit. I guessed it worked brilliantly. After getting hit by the spell, the oriole could not keep its harmless form and turned into a grotesque, distorted shape. A half-woman, half-bird abomination with throbbing veins and pulsating chunks of out of placed muscles was indeed a sight to behold. And to forget as soon as possible. The evil spirit tried to say something, but its voice was muffled by the spears of my guards.

I insisted that she be burnt until even her ash could not be found.

Unlike in the fable, I was not going to make the same mistake as her stepmother. She left some of Tấm’s feathers, and from that new life sprung. I, however, incinerated everything. The evil spirit wouldn’t be able to come back from that, would it? Still, could anyone blame her?? Not only was I a modern man, but I was also the author of this retelling. Knowing both what should and would happen gave me an unfair advantage over everyone else.

I patted myself on the back over this victory.

Perhaps staying and being a king in this world wouldn’t be so bad after all. And why would it? There was no vengeful spirit chasing after me anymore.

That had not turned out to be the case.

***

It had been nearly a month since I had to evacuate from the palace.

At the place where the evil spirit was taken down grew a pair of trees. It went from a sprout to sky-touching tall overnight, destroying the roof in the process. People started going insane here and there, claiming they could see a pale shadow hidden between the branches, hanging herself with a noose from her own hair. They said she whispered something to them in a language they could neither understand nor pronounce. Those poor souls went mad, and their lives were cut short, either by diseases or by suicide.

The information regarding this event couldn’t be contained. Terrified officials fled the imperial city while the worried people demanded an answer. It had become crystal clear either I had to do something about the damn tree, or we had to choose another capital.

Was there an escape, though?

Nothing was stopping the spirit from chasing after me now, was there?

A decision had to be made shortly afterward.

Sometimes a man had to face his fear.

I ordered the demon tree to be chopped down and burned the following day. What needed to be done had to be, sooner or later.

***

The tree spilled blood!

As the soldiers rammed their axes onto the tree, thick, red blood oozed out of it and spattered everywhere. The tree twisted and turned, its leaves rattled, making howling and crying sounds.

Tấm’s face manifested on the tree barks’ various spots, begging, threatening my soldiers to stop chopping. A woman face carved out of wood, hissing insults with her wooden tongue. A soldier tried to swing his ax to cleave the thing down, but it just moved to another part of the tree almost instantly to avoid the slash. How she managed to do all of that was beyond me. If I had learned something from my writing career, it would definitely be: sometimes, the best explanation was “it’s magic.”

The tree eventually fell, though.

And the screaming, hissing, cursing, threatening from that wooden face went silent.

She was cremated the second time. And this time, I was making sure that she wouldn’t be able to come back anymore. I ordered the ash of the tree is sealed away in four different pots, each of which buried in the four guardian shrines in each direction of the capital.

This should definitely be the last time I saw her!!

But, as it turned out, I couldn’t be more wrong, apparently.

***

Accidents happened every now and then. It was a part of life and what made it unpredictable, even to the brightest of minds.

But occasionally, accidents happened in such a way that makes you wonder if some force of nature or super-nature was working against you! A strong wind suddenly blew in the city that very day, knocking down the sealed pot. The ash of the tree scattered throughout the imperial city, turning everyone coming into contact with it into wooden statues with a zombie-like mentality. And this curse was infectious, just like a virus. In no time at all, the whole capital was overrun by these creatures.

There was no place to hide, no way to stop the madness that I created myself.

The evil spirit had found my hiding place.

The surrounding area was utter silent, indicating the demise of my guards.

The cloth that made the hut door was rolled up, then Tấm floated inside. Her skin was pale and had a blueish tint, her hair was wet and covered with mud, her eyes were all white, and her piercing gaze fixed upon me as if glued to my face. She came closer. Maggots wiggled happily from her rotten, swollen flesh – before falling all over me.

It was her corpse!

In both versions, traditional and mine, Tấm was killed by chopping down a betel tree she was climbing. She drowned in the pond in her old house.

I burnt her oriole body. I cremated her tree.

I had forgotten about her original corpse.

I screamed at her face, half panic and half angry. Was I always this brave?

“What do you want? Eh? What do you want?”

She remained motionless and silent.

“Look! I’m not who you think I am! I’m innocent! I’m not the king; I’m not who you’re looking for. Let me go! Please!”

I begged the corpse in front of me. Yes! I lied. But was I to blame?? I was sure that anyone in my position would do the same.

The corpse came closer and opened her mouth.

Her tongue was missing, her teeth were nowhere to be found. And yet, words escaped and echoed in my ears.

“But I know who you are... father. You created me this way, remember??”

What she said filled me with fear and panic.

“You don’t know what I wanted?? How strange. You must have known. You should have known. It was you who take it away from me from the first place: my innocence.”

She continued. Her face was unhinged. With all the rotten flesh and muscle, it was hard to express any emotion. Yet, her voice seemed joyful.

“All you had to do was right there in the book. Not yours, the fairy tale. Or are you too arrogant to admit their existence now, father? You just have to play along. But. You. Refused. You haven’t realized, have you? Too full of your ‘brilliance’ to notice? There was no evil spirit. What sealed inside me has been your ill intention all along.”

She stopped and looked down at me for the last time. Her eyes were all white, yet I could tell the despisal in her gaze.

The evil spirit, no, Tấm leaned down for one last whisper:

“Now, finally... I got the pen for a change. Wanna know what I’m gonna do with it? Do with you?”

I tried to scream, but the sound that came out was unrecognizable to my ears. My throat was muffled, filled with a taste I was already too familiar with: the taste of ink.

Tấm took hold of me and started to laugh – an agonizing laugh that sounded as if she was crying.

There was no more feeling from my waist down. A quick glanced at the mirror revealed why: Half of me was already a puddle of ink on the floor.

***

For a brief moment, before she faded away, she was herself again.

She was Tấm – the princess or the queen - as she was always supposed to be.

A great wrong was done to her. She was made into something she never wanted to be.

And all this time, all she had been doing was fighting back.

She wanted to be herself, her true self. She wished to be good. She wanted her innocence, the innocence that was cruelly ripped away from her, returned.

She wanted to speak the truth, her truth, to power that had gone and changed everything – her creator, the author – the man that had taken everything from her. And so, she did… at the cost of her very existence.

She left the world she was born into in a peaceful sadness…

***

“The evil spirit leaned in and whispered something to the young king. His eyes widened in fear and a dawning realization.

He screamed… a muffled scream.

The spirit laughed… a twisted and unnatural sound, almost as if it was crying itself.

The two sounds blended into one and echoed through the tiny hut as the spirit took hold of the king.

And then, both of them were no more…

As our story comes to an end, I have one last question for you, dear readers. I know who you are.

But what about you?

Do you know who I am??”

That was the ending of the newest best-seller from S.S. Manny, the author famous for his retelling of Vietnamese tales. The author himself was reported missing; no one seemed to know his whereabouts, with the detectives working on the case refusing to comment at this point. Already, fans had taken to the internet to decipher his confusing ending and speculate on potential sequels. Meanwhile, anti-fans claimed his disappearance as a publicity stunt and raged about his disregard for original source materials.

***Author's note: While this was the chosen prompt for submission, I thought I'd challenge myself a bit, so elements that could make this short story fit into other prompts are also presented, though they are up to interpretation.

Here's the link to the story on Reedsy

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