Living Dead Girl: December 2006

a matter of perspective

A ceremony never meant to happen...the deed was done, the papers were signed...she was his, the world was over. And this new feeling that was created was nothing short of exhausting and heartbreaking. She had lost this war with herself, trying to decide whether or not it was right in her own mind. Trying to decide whether she was ahead of herself. It was autumn now and the shopping season was coming round. The children were running about in the streets, having fun. There had been a time in her life that she had been happy...there had been a time when she was carefree and didn't need to make decisions...when had everything gone wrong?
A downward spiral into a seclusion that seperated her sanity and her morality and caused her to stumble. Her body was lost in the spokes of an always-turning torture wheel of decisions. Her eyes were put out and she was forced to see what he wanted her see. Like what he wanted her to like. Do what he wanted her to do. Think the way he wanted her to think. Was there another way, she thought? Besides death? Besides leaving her shell of a broken body behind and sinking into an oblivion of confusion and darkness and lies that she had been forced to swallow all this time? To keep her mouth shut... Ladies do not discuss such matters. She had witnessed it, but the red-hot strike of him across her face had hushed her. He told her to keep quiet. His tongue was more like a whip, his words breaking her down and murdering her spirit. Every night she heard it cry a little more. Every night he choked her soul a little harder before lying beside her to sleep.
Her husband you ask? No one of the sort. Her demon. He had been there ever since she had first seen a dark act. Her father beating her mother. The demon had appeared and whispered evil things to her, telling her to give in to the darkness. She had been to little to realize to resist. Her body was mangled now, left to rot in a dark, secluded area in the back of her mind where no matter how much she screamed, clawed at the walls that had carvings spelling out evil on them, and prayed..no one could hear. The darkness had choked her, confined her, blinded her and now owned her. "my god..." She whispered, laying in her spiritual agony, hearing the cogs of an inevitable death turning and hearing the shriek of her frightened heart grabbing at her chest. suddenly all was quiet. the demon's usual hum of a voice was gone...was everything ok? She saw a light...perhaps she wasn't forsaken after all...she reached up..."my lord?" she asked. The demon grabbed her. "samantha! do not leave me!" he yelled. the claws of the beast tore into her and ripped her to pieces right there, but her hand remained raised. "you own me no more." she spoke, her voice setting the creature aflame. Soley the fact that a flutter of what seemed like hope flashed in the woman's eyes had given her soul new life. God had never left her...she had left him...

A wet perspective

It's raining over here. Its so pretty how all the little droplets look so cute splattering in my pool in the backyard. I stare at them and think about the beauty of each individual one...i see as i look closely and pick one up all the little lights and images that appear in a single drop. A parallel universe i'm looking into? Or just a beautiful water mirror of minimum size? I let it fall and i look up to see all the other little droplets fall and join thier departed brothers. I let my hands start catching them and i put them in a bucket I found. Why let them die? Why let them splat on the ground? i can't save them all though..there are too many...i hold the bucket close as it fills up slowly with all the little droplets. I stare into it until i get sleepy and go inside for i am now shaking with cold. "mother," i say, "i'm catching the droplets."
"The what?" she asked, once again unaware of what i was talking about. I sighed, a tad frustrated that my mother never knew what i was talking about. "i'm catching the rain."
"You can't catch the rain, dear. It infintily falls from the clouds then gets sucked up into the air and falls again later." I stared at her, looking outside at my little bucket, catching the droplets. "You mean...these droplets have been falling for years?"
"No, not really...but perhaps..." Mother answered, almost absent-mindedly.
I trudged upstairs, looking out on the rain from my bedroom. These droplets...could've been falling during...an ancient time...I thought, opening the window and letting my hand touch them. They could've touched the face of kings on a mighty battle field. They could've touched the face of a new born child as it's mother ran from the hospital to the car...They could have witnessed the crucifixion of Christ... I ran outside and grabbed my bucket, running back upstairs and locking my door. I stared into the bucket. "Tell me stories..." I told the water, and it did nothing. "Tell me of your travels..." It still did nothing. I sighed and pushed it under my bed. I sat on my bed, thinking about everything. Was i making it to complicated? Was it really very simple to hear a raindrop's story? I reached into the bucket and say many drops on my hand. "Come on, tell me." They didnt speak. I dried my hand off, thinking I was drying away history...as i rubbed my hand off i thought that perhaps...i was destorying history...
Father said i was a fool for thinking these crazy things. Father said i, in my mere five years of age, know nothing of the real world. I still keep that bucket under my bed. I feel like i have a little bit of history there. Just maybe...So what if no one else believes? No one has to! I'm the only one that wants to. I still hear the raindrops fall and hear stories of where they have been and not just a pitter-patter...

Invincible

A click. A click in the silence. Her eyes opened, to find the dust had only gathered further around her. What had the click come from? She sat up, hearing the ligaments and tendons in her body stretch as she stood. She walked over to the corner of her room and saw in the mirror she was nothing more than a skeleton with a few muscles and what used to be huge, beautiful eyes. Her body was sickly. Her clothes had rotted away and her pale, chalky skin glowed a shiny, milky white in the moonlight. She sat down and felt more of her hair fall off of her head. She coughed and it made a ghastly sound. She realized then that the click had been coming from the clock in the other room. She rose and entered the other room, checking to see if something had moved. Nothing out of the ordinary. Still not a soul dwelled around her. She walked over to the clock and gave it a swift, hard hit to stop the clicking. Silence again. She wished to dwell in utter silence.
Sadly, she drifted back to what she wished could be her deathbed. She remembered that at one time in her life, she had been happy. She closed her eyes recalling moments of dancing in huge ballrooms with eager young boys. Getting kissed...she could smell the wine she would sip inbetween giggles. A whiff of her mothers perfume caught her nose...She opened her eyes to return back to her musty life. Everyone had died long ago. Her mother, her father and brother, her husband...her children...and thier children...and thier children...
She sat back and felt around her chin with the one finger that still had a bit off skin on the end of it. Most of her chin was bone as well. She looked up and stared at the dusty, dirty ceiling. She remembered back when she was only ten years old. She had fallen while getting riding lessons and hit herself on the chin in that spot. She remembered the pain...she remembered the dirt...the taste of blood as she bit her tongue and hit the ground. The humiliation of the laugh of her brother...She felt nothing such as this anymore. She hadn't felt pain nor humiliation for hundreds of years...She had given up on making friends so long ago, she couldn't even remember any of thier names...for years and years she had sat in this tower, hoping one day to recieve the sweet release of death...
"You will never die" the merchant potion seller had said.. "Take this potion and you will never die! Think of how wonderful that will be!" She had taken it then...at the tender age of twenty...thinking it was a load of tripe...
"Now look at yourself..." She whispered, her voice nothing more than a screeching, worn out croak. "Five hundred years of life..." She looked at her hand, seeing her wedding ring still dazzling in it's white gold shine on her thin bone of a finger. She stared at it and remembered him. Remembered watching him die...remembered seeing the life leave his eyes...
She had tried to die after that, but she always woke up the next morning. She had stabbed herself...posioned herself...shot herself...hung herself, but everymorning woke up on the same pillow...in the same lonely position in the world...forever cursed to walk the earth alone...forever cursed to wait around and watch her friends die...forever cursed to sit in this tower, watching herself fade away...forever missing the true feeling of a beating heart, which had given away hundreds of years ago...tears couldn't even fall for her tear ducts were dry. "Oh..God..." She whispered..."Please deliver me..."
She had chosen this life. She had taken the vile, thinking it would be interesting to be invincible. Now...she was doomed for eternity. Her eyes then closed, and she clutched her chest, hoping to drift to sleep, never to wake up...hoping...praying...hoping.....dreaming...

wince

Evan glanced quickly around, his prying eyes studying the face of each and every person in the crowd, as he sipped his wine. This was simply a ground breaking ceremony for Jack Johnson's new blood draining, mind numbing company. In Evan's eyes, exactly what Jack didn't need was another buiness to rub in everyone's face. Evan sipped once more, when he noticed her looking at him. Samara. The one.
She was strong. She was known around the planet for her necromancy. Many feared her, many envied her. And her well known rivalry with the Prince's son, Cain, intrigued Evan. He waved a short, charming wave at her. She stared right back, and her sophisticated, unconquered body turned away. "Cold," He whispered, walking over to the Prince's side. "Like the festivities?" He shrugged and sipped his own wine. "I would like for Jack Johnson not to force us to come to these ridiculous ceremonies...I would much rather be worrying about my son." Evan eyed Samara, as she looked back at him. Evan smiled, "Cain couldn't make it?"
"I havent seen him in a week or so. I have a feeling I won't wake up one morning."
"Oh, do not say such things." Evan watched as Jack cut the ribbon to the building and a small applause followed. The people scattered and the Prince turned to Evan. "Watch him, my friend. I do not know what he's planning." Samara was at Evan's side, curtsying for the Prince. "My Lord," Her kind, low voice spoke, cutting into Evan's soul. The Prince smiled.
"The pleasure's all mine, Samara. You seem to have developed quite a reputation for yourself, you know."
"Unintentional, i assure you." She answered, turning to Evan. "I must speak with you." She said. He could see something in her eyes. Evan nodded, bowing to the Prince and walked away with Samara. The crowd was gone then, and the leaves blew around thier feet as the completly exited from the scene. Samara lead him down an old abandoned road, twisting into a tiny spit of forest off of the shore of the lake where the ceremony had taken place next to. She stopped suddenly and turned to him. "I'm in trouble." She simply said. Evan blinked a few times and glanced around. The trees were absolutly breath-taking. The wind blew the leaves around his face, and for a moment, Samara seemed to dispear. An old necromancer parlor trick. He sighed,
"How could you be in trouble?I think anyone who tangles with you is in huge trouble, my dear Sam." He said, taking a seat on the ground under a tree with tiny pink leaves that fell gracefully on his tuxedo. He looked at her from his seat. She was wrapped in a gothic black shawl that covered a very skimpy outfit, and she held her cane by her side. A cane meant, of course, not for walking, but for her spell casting. She was delictable, no question, but never had she shown affection for a man. A temptress, some called her, but Evan knew better. He teased her instead. She looked at him with her sharp silver eyes. "I really, truely am, my friend. I come to you in need, do not deny me aid."
"I would never," Evan answered, his voice more serious than before. He glanced up, "Who is hurting you."
"No one...but myself." She said, deciding finally to sit by him. He looked deep into her eyes.
"Cain is becoming strong. He will defeat me. And besides that, a necromancer can only keep thier bodies for so long, before they...become a Grim." She laid back, shutting her eyes. "Everyday I wake up and feel a little...darker. I feel myself losing this battle." Evan stared forward. He was a human. No special powers...no special abilities...What could he do to help her. He stood, brushing himself off. "Cain is a powerful sorcerer. But you are more powerful. You've defeated seas of men. You've defeated kings, Samara. Don't lose faith in yourself." Evan said, turning to the road. "We need you during this time of war and turmoil. The side of evil is getting stronger."
"Our stalemate will not last forever." Samara answered, leaning on her stomach and laying her cane down. "He will come."
"Yes he will, Sam. That's why we need you." Evan left down the path, leaving her there.
A kingdom teetering on the brink of utter internal destruction. A mutiny had murdered a king, and Samara had been summoned to protect the Prince and Jack Johnson's kingdom. She stood, feeling her blood boiling at the sound of an outsider entering the kingdom. She raised her arm and felt a rush, seeing her mutant minions rise up out of the ground. Cain was a powerful sorcerer, eh? She fell over in pain as more minions rose. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she gripped her cane. Swirls of evil, roars of monsters, she controlled them...they were her pets. Cain...she could hear him laughing at her...Her time was coming near...
And to think what seemed like only a year ago...she was sitting in her mommy's lap listening to her sing and playing with the dollies her brother had made her...
-"Wince" (about part 12)

I am...

I am a mother, even though i have no children. My family and friends are my children. I care about every living soul that comes in contact with me. Even if they fill me with a hate that makes me taste bile. If they are studying for a test, i hope they do well...its odd how i came into this frame of mind. I used to hunch in the corner, thinking nothing of anyone. I only cared about what was to come of me. My dark ages...when i thought there was no God...when i thought i was forsaken...when my innocent little sister would rub her little body on the carpet and scream in pain while she had Fifth's Disease...and cancer at the same time... I would get on my hands and knees and scream into what seemed like nothing at all. My sister never lost faith. She is in perfect health now. I may have lost my faith once...but i never will again. Nothing any person could ever say would make me. I care about everyone now. No one shouldn't be loved..............
I am lonely. I may not seem lonely, but there is a hole in my heart. It constantly eats away at me. A hole of death...the thought that children die every day and there's nothing I can do about it. I sit and cry, when my mother tells me another one of my sister's cancer patient friends has passed away...another mark on the wall...another man to tie me up and whip me in my mind. Tell me I'm killing them. Rape me and tell me i'm useless. I wake up from my horrible abyss then and find myself in tears, shaking. Am I so insignificant? Am i so useless? Or is it Satan, whispering in my ear, trying to push me over the edge...trying to gain another soul...trying to win a little innocent woman like me? Well, he won't. I am lonely, and that is all.
I am yours. I am here for God and you. That's it. My needs and wants mean nothing.I am here to help you. I am here to praise my Lord and help you get through a life neither of us deserve. Know this forever. Know that I am here, praying for you, hoping your life is going well. You may not believe in God...you may not think he's there. But he believes in you. After seeing my sister writhe in pain on the ground, begging for the sweet release of death, i still believe in him. my story is this..

We took her into the bathtub. She was still screaming. We turned on the hot water and she still screamed, grabbing us. My mother was crying uncontrollably, and i was yelling for my sister to calm down. My mother suddenly fell to her knees and screamed, "why, why her. God?? What has she done?? What have we done? Please, God, please help her! Please." I told her to stop, for i thought nothing of it. My sister was quiet then. She looked at us and smiled, saying, "i feel better mommy." I felt shivers in me i have never felt. It was God. There was nothing else it could have been. He has been in our bathroom with us. That is my faith and i will never doubt it again. Never in my life has anything like happened before or after this instance. God wasn't about to lose us. I wasn't believing in him that night, but my mother was. She was praying with all her heart and soul...and he gave us a miracle. I feel ashamed for ever losing my faith.

my worlds

I feel powerful. I sit here, my heart burning with a sensation to write. My hands are shaking... It's like they have a mind of thier own. It's like when I write, i create worlds, people, love, happiness, sadness, cures, anything and everything. I can sit in a chair and make my own world on paper. I can kill who i want, I can stop what I want. I can love who I want. I can hate who i want. No one tells me I do it wrong. No tells me how to do it. No one tells me because I'm the best at it. ^_^
Writing is so much more than a pencil making words to me. To me it's an escape. It's a spiral only a selected few enter into billions of worlds that you control. Hundreds of thousands of people to use and billions of relationships that swirl around my head. My mind is constantly overflowing with a melting pot of millions of ideas. Him, her, they, that, Xira, Slater, the ocean, thier love...I sit in my room, tears running from my eyes. It overwhelms me. I was meant to find this power. I was meant to discover it's firm grasp. I was meant to master it and become such a skilled, powerful writer. Whenever I hear music, stories unfold in my head with the music. I sit there, unblinking and feel people scream, feel thier pain, happiness, sorrow, and love as if it were my own.
I am quite sure that without my writing, I would have gone insane a long time ago. I was born with a talent, and if i had never picked up that pencil for the first time, I would be tied up now, gagged from screaming. The ideas, the scenarios, the people, the time...I write for hours, letting my fingernails bleed. I cry and laugh with the characters, feeling them inside of me.
I know it sounds odd, and a bit creepy, but writing is my parallel world. And im in charge.

war on christmas

the war on christmas is ultimatly just an asinine excuse for non-christians or bitter people to get a leg up on christians. They hate us, for reasons even i cant conjure, and choose to try to take rights from us.
Now, stop your offended looks. I know I'm coming off as rude, but...don't I have a right too? If i cant go to school and say "Merry Christmas" without someone harrassing me and telling me "I can't say that" umm....last I checked, the 1st amendment says "freedom of speech" and there's another amendment called "freedom of religion". (i'm not a real history buff but there is one that says that). So...they, if anyone, are the ones being rude.
I guess the tone of this post is kind of rude because the overall idea of the war on christmas infuriates me quite a bit. I don't let people know though, because they'll know they can get me angry. A lot of people would say for me to "get over it" or "forget about it" and tell me to stop being so rude. Umm...another thing I last checked, I'm allowed to be mad about something and develop an opinion on the matter. So...if you don't agree with me, it's perfectly fine as long as you don't dog me for having an opinion.
I think I should be allowed to tell my friends Merry Christmas. It hurts no one. It causes no problems. Why does it matter at all? People who dont believe in Christmas put themselves in the position of hearing "merry christmas" at christmas time and they know it. Maybe they need to "get over it" seeing as how we are the ones just passing our beliefs and traditions on. Why can't people just let us? This is our tradition. It's our freedom in America to have what religion we want.
Now, lets say in a strange scenario, christmas was actually some sort of offending, hostile holiday (which is kind of a oxymoron, huh?). Then, i would understand why people were offended by Christians participating in it. But we are celebrating our saviors birth and giving gifts to our loved ones...
...hmm....doesnt offend anyone i know. Maybe the people who have ditched thier ancestors traditons should be the ones that "get over it". Maybe I'm wrong in someone's eyes, maybe i'm insensetive and rude in someone's eyes. But, it's just my opinion, which I'm entitled to, so, don't wet your pants or anything. ^_^

eye part one

He could hear them from his room. The crashing, the yelling, the screaming. The unbearable sound of such magnitude made tears fall down his cheeks. He got mad then, hitting the lamp off of his desk. His anger leveled a little then, and he sighed, picking up the pieces of the lamp. He cut himself on accident, and watched the blood drip down his finger. "Ow." he quietly said. He left the pieces on the floor and turned, opening the window. His life sucked, that was obvious, but how much did he know it really sucked? Did it really?
He wandered the streets, holding his finger out in the street, humming to himself, until he saw a light go on. He looked up into the window and saw a girl looking down at him. She was beautiful, but he could barely see her. She stared down at him. "What are you doing, boy?"
A void was in his mind. A void from child hood. A void of fear swallowing his personality and forcing out some muttering no body whom no one could stand. Everytime he had tried to speak to his parents, they had shushed him. Shush, they had said. Don't speak now. He stared up at the girl. She cared. She wondered what was wrong with him...What he was doing...Why? he was hopelessly lost. He had no care to do anything about it too. He shrugged. "Walking." he said. She stared down at him and smiled. He walked away then, letting her face settle in his mind. That sweet, innocent smile. That cute, perhaps, ignorant cheerful mood. He turned back to see her light was off. She wasnt there anymore. He sighed and continued down the street.
Was going away good? Was seeing new people, getting away from the same torture good? Was sitting here under this tree helping? He sighed, smelling the cold, brisk familiar smell of winter. He sat up, hearing a sound. The girl was standing by him. "What do you want?" He asked. She sat, her back agasint his. "I dunno...i wanna talk I guess."
"Where you dropped as a child or something?"He asked. She giggled at that.
"Probably. Why do you care?"
"I dont...Just wondering." He turned back and let his back rest against hers. A quiet, actually comforting silence passed between them. She sighed after him. She groaned after him. Copied everything he did. He turned finally, "Listen, i wanna be alone."
"I know. that's why i'm here." She said, not looking at him.
"No, you stupid blonde, you dont get it."
"I'm not stupid. Just be quiet and hear the night." She cheerfully said, touching his hand. "I can tell it's hard for you to make friends, but can you come out of your shell just for me?" He was surprised at this. She did much more than care about him. She wanted to know about him. Wanted to help him. He scooted up to her and stared up at the night. He liked her. There was something silly and likeable about her. "What...what makes you think you can help me?" He asked.
"I don't." She simply said. "Just sit here with me." He was not used to this at all. Fights and yelling and cursing pushed most of his gentle side away. He leaned in, on impulse, to kiss her. She let him, then she giggled and got up. "Come on, boy." She said, running into the dark swamp next to thier town. He stayed, watching her run away. "Boy, come!" She called. He felt his heart pounding. Never had he felt this.
-end of part one of "eye" by me

maybe not so alone

There were times long ago, when i felt like such a lonely spirit. I felt my heart was lost and i was never meant to love outside my family. I know i'm pretty, but guys dont show interest. It's like I was just meant to be alone. I got over it for a while. Guys who seemed like gods to me would walk up to me, almost menacingly, and ask me for stupid things like a spiral or help on homework. My answer would usually be something along the lines of muttering a small, meek yes into my bag, getting the thing they needed, or handing them my homework.
I'm older now. I'm wiser now. I seem, in opinion, to have mastered human thought. I can have a two minute conversation with someone and know enough about them to know if i want to be thier friend. Any of my friends can confront me with a problem and i can always solve it. Trouble is, i seem to have trouble solving my own problems. Like my obscene lonliness. Somehow, in all of these motherly gestures, and moral speeches, I am the one left alone, which hardly seems fair. I help everyone so easily, but they can't ever help me. Que syrah sirrah right? Should i just learn to live with this lack of romance? or should i be more aggresive?
I think it may be because I'm not a "slut". I think it's because I am a rare species. A woman who wants to save herself for the proper man, for marriage, for holy matramony. For a symbol that i wont wake up the following morning alone and pregnant. Is that so wrong? If they want to run around humping every girl they see, how validated should i feel by being with one of them. Why, i probably dont mean anything at all. Guess I have to wait until they all grow up into men...how long does that take i wonder...
a scene from the simpsons, and one of my favorites scenes of all time-
""Lisa and Mother simpson-[singing] How many roads must a man walk down, before you can call him a man?
Homer- Seven!
Lisa- No, Dad ,it's a rhetorical question.
Homer- Rhetorical, eh??.... Eight!""

whatchyall think?

I'm writing a new novel. I was wondering what you guys thought of the synopsis. I got into an anime called "serial experiments", and this story line is sorta off of its plot. (I've been out of anime for like two years now. Getting back into it is almost comforting. ^_^)

-A senior in high school who has a hollow, loveless family who seems to reject her for no reason. She was once blind, and when she was ten years old, then she woke up one morning with sight. Her family almost seemed mad at her, and she can't figure out why she can't please them. She is slowly losing her mind to a depression that she barely sees coming.
-A man who ruins his life by murdering his wife's secret lover and swore revenge on her, finds himself falling into himself and finding things out that he's never known. He wonders everyday why his life turned out so horribly when he never did anything to hurt anyone...
-One morning, both of these two wake up tied up in a truck, being taken to some crazy man's asylum where experiments of the mind are performed on certain people. When these two, Jack and Rain, are brought in, the experimenters find that these two carry a gene that has never been discovered and can link thier minds into other people's minds. They decide to lock them up. Jack and Rain decide that they are destined to find each other and find out the secrets of their lives together.

Parental Guidance Suggested

My feelings on sex. Well, having never experienced it, can't say much about the actual intercourse. But the fact that I've been offered counts, right?? *sigh* who am i kidding...
I know it has to feel good. I know it has to be a rush. I know you'll lose your breath and for a second or two, belong to the other person. The wonderful rush has to put you in such a nirvana. I think about it all the time. It facinates me also, how a human being can never get "tired" of sex. It's always thrilling. It's always wonderful. it always makes her quake and him groan. Her whimper and him chuckle...
Another thing...my role in all of it...I am quite submissive to attractive men. I would do anything some of them say, but outside the bedroom, i'm actually quite aggressive. Strange, huh?
I'm the kinda girl that falls in love with the villian in movies and books. I wanna be the love behind the evil...I wanna be the girl at his hand, doing his evil bidding...sitting by his throne, kissing his neck and telling him how powerful he is.
Only to get something in return. I actually get turned on thinking about being forced into making love with a hot villian. How he would laugh at my whimpering, it's like it gets cancelled out by the fact that he's paying attention to me. I'm odd that way.
This is hard to talk about. Strange how easy it is to type. I guess its about time I get out how i feel. I'm definitly into the whole "male dominance" in the bedroom thing. Wouldn't have it any other way. Mmmmm. ^_^ just kidding.
Anyway, if this changes your opinion of me, it shouldn't. Still the same woman, know you just see me in a new light. ^_^

Equinox

I'm feeling angry lately. More than a normal woman of my age. I guess its normal...maybe ignoring it isnt the best solution though. All my friends are fighting and there's nothing I can do about it...I try, but it's like they ask me for help and then don't care about what i have to say. I try to help and no one believes me. If only they'd DO what i say, they'd see...but, i can't make them...
Anger is a better feeling than depression, i also discovered. I stand here in my mind, feeling the waves of the giant beach of My Place cover my toes, and i kick the beautiful water in the air, letting my anger create. I jump and scream and curse, then giggle at how silly it sounds. When im depressed, i feel nothing. When I'm angry, i feel my emotions improve, sharpen and become stronger. I feel stronger as a person. I overcome. I am better.
I've been in My Place more lately. Ideas have been swimming around my head like little fish that are hard to grab. I take my pen, and my paper and my ideas all crash together in a clash that confuses me.
In My Place again. Swimming again...I jump and now I feel joy. I stare at the sunset and sit by the water. Why must i leave here? I'm happy here, in this place that I've made. In this place where I'm safe, unharmed, and happy? What's wrong with this?
I close my eyes and hear the beautiful splash of the waves on the shore. Open them to see my love staring at me. He reaches out to me and I take his hand, going into the water with him. He's here too...which is so wonderful.
I guess I'm feeling happier than I thought. I wish I could be in true love. I wish i could run around town hand in hand with some great guy. I wish i could be in a hospital room helping a bunch of cute little kids get better. I wish i didnt have to deal with the asinine repetetivness of early education that seems so endless its nauseating.
Well...people in Hell wish for ice water, so i suppose i should stop bitching ^_^

innocence

[[Her mind had always been restless. Since the first moment she was born, a sense of unrest had always overtake her mind. Her parents labelled it a "mental disorder" and forgot mostly of her. She was would sit in the corner of her kindergarden class, coloring in vibrant ways that the teacher called "reckless" and "disorderly" and made the small girl cry. The little girl would come home to a family that didnt except her, didnt want her and felt ashamed to be with her. She sat on her tiny bed and let the tears fall, wondering what in the world she had done to deserve such treatment. She honestly felt nothing was wrong with her little mind.
She would lay awake at night, thinking about the cosmos and why she was even here...why was she unloved? What had she done?
All of it changed when her father bought the piano. It facinated the little girl from the first moment it was brought into the house. The big mover men put it in the Big Room, and there it stayed for a long while. The little girl would pass the Big Room dozens of times everyday, staring at the majesty of the piano. It was what her father called, "retro music material". But to his tiny "metally challenged" daughter, it looked like an escape. She finally found the courage one day to climb up onto its wonderously large bench to let two fingers settle on two keys. Two distinct, crystal clear pitches rang in her little ears, causing her body to tremble. She let all of her fingers land now, making a scale that sounded heavenly in her ears. The sound rang in the Big Room as she giggled and moved her fingers. Some of the sounds weren't as pretty as others, but ultimatly, she was astonished by the beautiful sound. She let her hand flop from one end to the other and giggled at the strange sound that she seemed to recall as the type of sound used in a cartoon when one character was falling.
She found the flawless, ivory keys wondrous and studied them for hours, pushing the key and singing it in her head, memorizing it. Music was more to her than just sound. As she pressed the key down and made another scale, she giggled at the feeling of self satisfaction it gave her that she was acutally making something. Not only something, but something beautiful. She sang a little as she continued pressing more and more...then a figure caught her eye. Her mother was standing in the threshold of the door. The tiny girl climbed down from the bench and ran over to her mother. "i didn't break it." She stated clearly. The mother was staring at the child in a way she never had stared at anyone.
The mother realized then the horrible mistake she had made. As she stared down at her adorable daughter, a mind in this child's head completely devoid of corrupt thought, she realized her daughter was nothing as she assumed, but a musical genuis with the restless mind of an artist. She hugged her daughter, apologizing in the little girl's ears. The little girl smiled.
"I know mommy." She said, hugging her mother back, and skipping out of the room.
The little girl had made everything right. That also satisfied her. She felt, just then, that she had earned a cookie for the afternoon and entered the kitchen to get one.]]
-"Innocence and Other Stories"- by me