I hate it when I wake up in a good mood, only for it to turn around and crash a few hours later.
It's rainy today. Of course it rains when I have to walk all over campus all day.
And of course I have to tote a laptop around, in the event I'll need it.
Only to learn later I'd have been better off leaving the stupid thing at home because I didn't need it after all.
At least I could blog. Hooray.
At least after this class I'll have somebody to socialize with until my class at 1:30. Unless he bails on me.
I wish I'd have woken up in a bad mood, because then I wouldn't feel so miserable that I was in a good mood until a little while ago.
Oh well.
Sorry for the half-hearted rant. I didn't feel it necessary to go into a big rant... just enough to get it off my chest and get it over with.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Let a New Week Commence...
Yeah, so begins another new week when I wake up tomorrow.
It's been a rough few days, but I think I'm finally on the downhill side of things... which is great. I've been a little bit tired of having to claw my way up the hill... it's happened a lot lately.
I'm getting bit adventurous with eating, it seems. Tonight I tried a small TV dinner... unfortunately it didn't sit well and was out quicker than it went in. Tomorrow morning I take my first B-12 dose since my surgery, and I can also start eating small, moist fruits and vegetables. I'm gonna try to get some tomatoes, grapes, and maybe even some kiwis into my system. I'm also going to look for more drink flavors, as I'm getting weary of the same flavors over and over.
Tuesday I get to go to the dentist before class, and Friday afternoon has me taking my one-month post-op check up. It feels like it's been longer than one month since I was laid up in my hospital bed... I dunno if this is a good thing or a bad thing.
Classes are... classes. My "team" in College Algebra has proven completely useless; neither of my "teammates" bothered to show up Friday. I'm also way ahead of the game in the class, so I spend 50 minutes in boredom. Art Appreciation bores the hell out of me. Sociology is turning into a disaster -- which makes me sad considering I actually enjoy the subject. Gotta love professors who ruin it for you. I'm not even discussing Geology.
I can't say I'm exactly enthusiastic abotu this semester. In fact, it's very hard just to get up and go sometimes -- and not just because I'm still recovering from a major surgery. But it's important... trying to get back that scholarship...
I've not been sleeping well lately. Perhaps I'll sign this thing off and try to actually sleep for a change. Sleep is good. I'm just not allowed to have any.
Please, God, let this week be better than last.
It's been a rough few days, but I think I'm finally on the downhill side of things... which is great. I've been a little bit tired of having to claw my way up the hill... it's happened a lot lately.
I'm getting bit adventurous with eating, it seems. Tonight I tried a small TV dinner... unfortunately it didn't sit well and was out quicker than it went in. Tomorrow morning I take my first B-12 dose since my surgery, and I can also start eating small, moist fruits and vegetables. I'm gonna try to get some tomatoes, grapes, and maybe even some kiwis into my system. I'm also going to look for more drink flavors, as I'm getting weary of the same flavors over and over.
Tuesday I get to go to the dentist before class, and Friday afternoon has me taking my one-month post-op check up. It feels like it's been longer than one month since I was laid up in my hospital bed... I dunno if this is a good thing or a bad thing.
Classes are... classes. My "team" in College Algebra has proven completely useless; neither of my "teammates" bothered to show up Friday. I'm also way ahead of the game in the class, so I spend 50 minutes in boredom. Art Appreciation bores the hell out of me. Sociology is turning into a disaster -- which makes me sad considering I actually enjoy the subject. Gotta love professors who ruin it for you. I'm not even discussing Geology.
I can't say I'm exactly enthusiastic abotu this semester. In fact, it's very hard just to get up and go sometimes -- and not just because I'm still recovering from a major surgery. But it's important... trying to get back that scholarship...
I've not been sleeping well lately. Perhaps I'll sign this thing off and try to actually sleep for a change. Sleep is good. I'm just not allowed to have any.
Please, God, let this week be better than last.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Twice.
I don't know what happened with this piece.
Abandonment
An expression of nothing
Will tell you everything;
Abrupt and sudden silence
Speaks louder than any words.
She was left long ago
Abruptly abandoned
With no notice as to when
He'll bother to return.
She still sits loyally
Where she was left
Even when the cold sets in
And even as the darkness
Draws close.
Her thoughts are brimming
With getting up and retreating --
Walking away with no
Intention of ever coming back.
Curling up, she uses the darkness
As her blanket as she
Closes her eyes,
Given up on staring into a
Horizon that provides no relief.
This feeling drives nails into
A heart that already pulses hard
With double confusion and grief.
But she tells herself it's okay --
The pain is temporary,
He'll come back again.
But she's so tired of
Being the patience-filled loyal
Lover she's trained herself to be
Spending countless hours
Boiling with heartache and anger
Only to wash it down when
He comes back, apologetically.
Swallowing bitterness
Is medication she no longer
Wishes to receive.
Sometimes she contemplates
Absolutely disappearing
Getting up and fleeing into
The distance, with no signs as to
Her time of return.
She'd love to flee and,
For a moment,
Reverse these roles.
But she knows it to be selfish
And wrong to treat a heart
In such a way.
But the allure of making
A hasty retreat
Always creeps into her mind
When she's been left behind.
Just like now.
So finally one day
The loyal woman loses her will
To remain steady,
And by the time he's come back
He returns to an empty spot
Without a message,
Without an estimate of
When she'll be back.
Abandonment never knows
The pain it causes.
It never bothers to ask
"When are you coming home?"
And it takes just one visit
For anybody to realize just
How horrid it can be.
And so she gets up,
And disappears into the night.
Another abandonment awaits.
An expression of nothing
Will tell you everything;
Abrupt and sudden silence
Speaks louder than any words.
She was left long ago
Abruptly abandoned
With no notice as to when
He'll bother to return.
She still sits loyally
Where she was left
Even when the cold sets in
And even as the darkness
Draws close.
Her thoughts are brimming
With getting up and retreating --
Walking away with no
Intention of ever coming back.
Curling up, she uses the darkness
As her blanket as she
Closes her eyes,
Given up on staring into a
Horizon that provides no relief.
This feeling drives nails into
A heart that already pulses hard
With double confusion and grief.
But she tells herself it's okay --
The pain is temporary,
He'll come back again.
But she's so tired of
Being the patience-filled loyal
Lover she's trained herself to be
Spending countless hours
Boiling with heartache and anger
Only to wash it down when
He comes back, apologetically.
Swallowing bitterness
Is medication she no longer
Wishes to receive.
Sometimes she contemplates
Absolutely disappearing
Getting up and fleeing into
The distance, with no signs as to
Her time of return.
She'd love to flee and,
For a moment,
Reverse these roles.
But she knows it to be selfish
And wrong to treat a heart
In such a way.
But the allure of making
A hasty retreat
Always creeps into her mind
When she's been left behind.
Just like now.
So finally one day
The loyal woman loses her will
To remain steady,
And by the time he's come back
He returns to an empty spot
Without a message,
Without an estimate of
When she'll be back.
Abandonment never knows
The pain it causes.
It never bothers to ask
"When are you coming home?"
And it takes just one visit
For anybody to realize just
How horrid it can be.
And so she gets up,
And disappears into the night.
Another abandonment awaits.
Lyrics.
I got to downloading music today. A song struck deep with me: Call Me by Shinedown. It feels... almost accurate. So I've been laying here, listening, singing, brooding.
...Wondering.
And composing.
The Game
It used to be
A game of great enjoyment --
Pieces on a board of bright colors
That moved with ease
Along the cardboard world as if
There wasn't anything wrong here.
Picked up the cards and did
The silly challenges requested.
It used to be
Great enjoyment, this game.
But somehow the rules got twisted;
The players became disgruntled.
Pieces suddenly took to the air
Flying in rampages occurring over
Another broken rule.
And now they're all on the floor.
The world is now upside down
Flipped over in a curse-filled tirade
Of disputes that were for nil.
The cute little board is now a
Twisted heap on the tabletop,
Halfway dangling along the edge.
Nobody will come back and
Pick it all up again --
People have been enraged and
Feelings have been torn.
Nobody with an angry eyesight
Will move from their bitter corner
And instead will thrash the game more
For not picking itself up from
Its disgraceful new position.
Their eyes flicker with the crimson blinks
Of rage that, in the end,
Will never be remembered.
Then there's the wounded victims
Who quietly bandage their gaping holes
Staring at their bleeding scars
With confusion and bitterness.
It was just a game, they originally thought,
But it's turned serious and
Now they're hurting.
The game now makes them wary --
Nobody willingly wants to be wounded again.
And so their worlds are bluish grey,
The color of the nasty bruises
That now belong to them.
It was meant to be a game of great fun,
A game where anyone who played
Could be a winner.
But instead the game became corrupted.
Instead everybody lost.
And so the wounded players walk away --
After such an awful round,
They're never going to play the game again.
The board gathers dust,
And the colors in the pieces fade.
But nobody cares.
It used to be a game of enjoyment.
But then the enjoyment went away.
...Wondering.
And composing.
It used to be
A game of great enjoyment --
Pieces on a board of bright colors
That moved with ease
Along the cardboard world as if
There wasn't anything wrong here.
Picked up the cards and did
The silly challenges requested.
It used to be
Great enjoyment, this game.
But somehow the rules got twisted;
The players became disgruntled.
Pieces suddenly took to the air
Flying in rampages occurring over
Another broken rule.
And now they're all on the floor.
The world is now upside down
Flipped over in a curse-filled tirade
Of disputes that were for nil.
The cute little board is now a
Twisted heap on the tabletop,
Halfway dangling along the edge.
Nobody will come back and
Pick it all up again --
People have been enraged and
Feelings have been torn.
Nobody with an angry eyesight
Will move from their bitter corner
And instead will thrash the game more
For not picking itself up from
Its disgraceful new position.
Their eyes flicker with the crimson blinks
Of rage that, in the end,
Will never be remembered.
Then there's the wounded victims
Who quietly bandage their gaping holes
Staring at their bleeding scars
With confusion and bitterness.
It was just a game, they originally thought,
But it's turned serious and
Now they're hurting.
The game now makes them wary --
Nobody willingly wants to be wounded again.
And so their worlds are bluish grey,
The color of the nasty bruises
That now belong to them.
It was meant to be a game of great fun,
A game where anyone who played
Could be a winner.
But instead the game became corrupted.
Instead everybody lost.
And so the wounded players walk away --
After such an awful round,
They're never going to play the game again.
The board gathers dust,
And the colors in the pieces fade.
But nobody cares.
It used to be a game of enjoyment.
But then the enjoyment went away.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Frustration.
Last night turned out to be another bad night of sleeping. Right as I was about to actually dip into the deep, restful sleep... my cell phone rings. Gotta love timing. After that, I couldn't make myself sleep longer than 30-minute bursts every hour and a half or so. I don't feel like I've been battered this time, primarily because I don't remember any dreams I might've had.
Today's gonna be one of those days. After I get out of class, I have to go find a lab and go get myself prodded yet again. With how many I've had lately, you'd think I'd like it or something. Meh. I'll have to overcome the ill effects on my own and drive myself home... that'll be a fun endeavor.
But once I get home, I'll have the house to myself for a while, which may be something I'm in need of. If worse comes to worse, I can come home and sleep all day... I'll have Saturday and Sunday. But I dunno if I'm gonna do that or not.
My body frustrates me. But I guess it's time to get up and start getting stuff done so I can get to class on time.
Today's gonna be one of those days. After I get out of class, I have to go find a lab and go get myself prodded yet again. With how many I've had lately, you'd think I'd like it or something. Meh. I'll have to overcome the ill effects on my own and drive myself home... that'll be a fun endeavor.
But once I get home, I'll have the house to myself for a while, which may be something I'm in need of. If worse comes to worse, I can come home and sleep all day... I'll have Saturday and Sunday. But I dunno if I'm gonna do that or not.
My body frustrates me. But I guess it's time to get up and start getting stuff done so I can get to class on time.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Random Writing, Take Two.
So I had a very strange dream last night. And it's lingered heavily on my mind, as I've been attempting to pick its details apart. I decided to write it out into a story form as that often helps with picking out key details. So far I've noticed tons of emotional symbolism, but that might be an explanation for another post.
Enjoy the bittersweet, tragic read that is my dream.
Tale of the Isle of Cursed Desertion
It was called the Isle of Cursed Desertion -- an abandoned stretch of land that had birthed legends of death and insanity to those who ventured to it. It looked like a town frozen in time, yet weathered by it. The allure of dilapidated structures complete with untold history was what was claimed to lure people into its vicious clutches. And none ever returned.
And there they were -- three more soon-to-be victims. None of them could remember ever venturing out to the Isle, the only memory was a blink of the eye and standing at the gates of a large, dilapidated facility. Despite this strange incident, the three seemed more intrigued by gaining access to the building rather than attempting to recall the last few hours. The youngest, a teenage girl, turned her eyes curiously up at the towering structure. Her face bore a look of awe and childish excitement that lit up her face. It had been her dream to explore an abandoned building, and now she was getting to.
The middle was a teenaged male who seemed fascinated by the building but also a bit uneasy. Something in his stomach told him that something was amiss; that they should not be there. But he saw it in the eyes of his girlfriend -- the oldest of the three -- that there would be no leaving. At least, not now. He was extremely loyal to the owner of his heart, and whatever she said -- or suggested with her eyes -- was law. He told himself to shake off his paranoia and enjoy the afternoon of adventuring that lay ahead.
"What do you think this building is?" The older female asked.
"Looks like a hospital," the younger female, her sister, replied excitedly. "Just what I've always wanted to explore."
"I wonder why everybody left," the solitary male murmured to nobody.
Suddenly, an authoritative voice called from behind them. "Intruders! Stay where you are!"
The three would-be adventurers jumped and turned around to see two uniformed officials marching their way. The oldest female narrowed her eyes and stood defensively before the other two, but it was obvious she was a bit rattled. Her accomplices stayed quiet.
The first official declared, "You are all trespassing on private property. You have two choices."
The second finished, "You can surrender peacefully, or you can add to your trouble and attempt to run."
"Weird options," the anxious boy murmured again. "What do we do?"
The younger girl stepped forward. "I'll surrender quietly. I want to avoid as much trouble as I can."
The older girl shuddered, then shook her head. "No. Not me. You'll have to kill me first." With that, she set off into a fevered dash.
Her boyfriend's eyes seemed to widen, puzzled. "Where are you going!" He shouted. "Wait! Stop!"
"What's your decision, son?" The officials asked of the remaining party member.
"I..." He took a quick look at the younger girl, a strange mist in his blue eyes -- as if he'd never see her again. He then shook his head and started running after his girlfriend, ever loyal.
The lovers ran through the large, open wasteland while a voice boomed overhead: "Foolish captives! If you can make it twenty-four hours without being captured, we will release you. However, if you are captured before the limit expires, you will be executed for resisting arrest. Good luck..."
"Why are we running!" He shouted at his girlfriend as he jogged up beside her.
"Trust me," she breathed hastily. "Just trust me."
Suddenly the field sprang to life beneath their feet, explosions firing off around them. The field had been rigged with explosives, and was now a bed of firecrackers. The pair jumped and weaved as explosions sent waves of dirt and debris around them. He lowered himself closer to the ground, searching the grasses for any sort of secure place to duck into. A few moments later, he caught sight of a bunker and grabbed his girlfriend by the arm.
"Over here!" He insisted, pulling her towards the ditch. They both threw themselves into it, with him shielding her with his own body. A large shockwave suddenly sent violent, horrid pulses through the pair, causing him to press down harder against her. The world turned dark as a huge cloud of dust blocked out the already limited daylight. And they waited.
A few minutes passed and he rolled over beside her, nearly hyperventilating from panic. "Are you okay?" He demanded.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Are you?" She sat up and squinted through the dust.
"Barely. Are we sure we can do this? What if every single step is rigged like that!"
"Then we find higher ground... C'mon, we gotta move." The pair cautiously climbed out of the ditch, covering their faces with their hands to try and limit the breathing of the dust that still hung overhead. Their eyes were scratched relentlessly by the cloud's sprinkling of debris.
They trudged cautiously through the remains of the once-explosive field, scanning the limited visibility of the horizon when suddenly she stopped and stood rigid.
"What?" He asked of her, her stance causing him a great deal of worry.
"Run. Run now!" She snapped in a high voice as a huge blade of sorts fell right behind them. As if pushed by an unseen giant, it raced towards them. Although they swore it to be physically impossible, they ignored that fact and ran as fast as they possibly could go. The miserable visibility had them practically running blind, but fear gave them enough sight to keep going forward.
"It's going to kill us!" He shouted frantically.
"Shut up!" She snapped back, not wanting to hear what sounded like the truth. Suddenly her eyes caught sight of something -- a ladder. She pointed. "Look! Quick! Into the tower!"
They reached the tower's ladder and scrambled up it, looking behind them as the large blade continued to carve a deadly path towards them. The ladder seemed to reach up into the heavens themselves, and they wondered if they had been set up. Finally a little opening presented itself, and they fell inside of it. The blade slammed into the tower and shook it violently, causing both of them to grasp the wall and cry out with fright. The tower swayed ominously for a full minute, then came to a stop.
"We're safe here for now, right?" He asked warily.
"Hopefully." She replied, then looked out and down. Her phobia of heights caused her to immediately freeze. They were well over two-hundred feet up.
"Don't look out there!" He instructed. "Let's just sit in here and hope we make these next..." He stopped dead in the middle of his sentence, the color lost from his face. He looked at his shoulder and saw nothing, but swore a hand was laid there.
"They tell us you will be next," a voice echoed in his ear. He jumped forward and rested against the other wall, only to have his ears assaulted by another disembodied voice.
"We never escape, you know."
He grasped his girlfriend's wrist and squeezed violently, stuttering with fright and unable to say anything logical. He stared at the wall on the other side of the room and saw a wispy figure staring back. "I don't want to be in this tower!" He shouted suddenly.
His girlfriend twisted around, alarmed. "We have no other option..."
"But... the..." It seemed that they were only tormenting him. The only thing that seemed to alarm her was their extreme height off the ground.
"You won't make the twenty-four hours," a voice warned him.
"You'll become one of us," another said softly.
"We do feel bad for you..."
"Spending your remaining hours in untold levels of panic and dread..."
He shut his eyes tight and quivered. "Ma-make th-th-them stop," he begged of his girlfriend.
The tower suddenly rocked, hard. "Join us now!" A multitude of voices suddenly exclaimed. The tower rocked again, and tilted sharply to one side. The unfortunate souls looked around in a panic, suddenly realizing the exits were gone. The young man, already having been put through his paces, simply stared through dilated eyes and said nothing, rocking softly, slowly seeming to be diving into morbid insanity.
"Leave us alone!" The female shouted angrily, tears of fear in her eyes. She cried out as the tower rocked again, knocking her off balance. She fell against the wall and screeched again. "Stop it now! Leave us!"
"One of us!" The voices declared victoriously before the tower lost its balance and tumbled through the dusty skyline. The forces of gravity shifted the two lovers until they were forcibly pinned to the top of the tower. She passed a look in his direction but saw no sign of anything in his eyes -- the spirits had driven him to temporary insanity. Or had he just tired of the running and wanted to be put out of his anguish?
Here we are, about to die, she thought to herself silently. We're plummeting to our deaths, and he's completely numbed. Wicked demons... they drained the life right out of him! Why did they torture him and not me -- I could've withstood their taunts... If we do survive, I wonder how they will drive me insane... It must be hell, the state of knowing you're slipping into insanity and trying to fight it... Just like this, this horrific knowledge that death is seconds away and there's nothing I can do to prevent it... all I can do is wait...
She closed her eyes tight and tried not to tense her body. If she were to die, she would want it to be painless. The last thing she would remember would be the explosion of bricks she witnessed as the tower slammed into the ground.
Hours passed, and the massive pile of shattered rubble began to quake with life. Somewhere underneath it, a life was stirred. He found himself pinned beneath two large concrete pieces, but it had created a bit of a "bubble" around him that had kept him safe in the landing. His body pulsed with returning feeling, which he decided was a good thing. But he looked around in his bubble and saw nobody. Had she...? What had happened? His whole short term memory was suddenly gone.
It almost feels safe in here, he thought, but I need to climb out. I need to find her. Was she as fortunate? I don't know what I'd do if I found her and she... I knew there was something wrong about this place from the very start. I don't want to leave this little pocket... it feels so secure, even though it could collapse in on me at any time...
He pushed away debris and squirmed about until he was out in the faint daylight again. Immediately he began digging through the massive pile of damage, shoving aside ton-sized blocks as if they were nothing. Twenty minutes of frantic digging later, and he found her, also encased in her own little bubble. But claustrophobia had set in, and she was a shuddering heap.
"Look," he said quickly, "it's an open space now. Don't--"
He found himself grasped from behind and lifted to his feet. Over his shoulder, he saw the uniformed official again.
"Twenty hours, and you've been captured. As per the rules, you are sentenced to die for evasion."
The two were taken to a large and run-down building, where they were separated and locked in holding cells. She looked up at the ceiling wearily, wondering where he had been taken to. Her body was wracked with exhaustion, but her mind kept fueling her to go on. She needed to get to him, so they could escape. They had gotten so close -- they couldn't let it all go now. She began tugging and beating on the rusty iron bars of her tiny chamber, yelling aloud but finding she wasn't producing sound.
Here, she swore she was yelling. I'm right over here.
She continued her assault on the door for quite some time, before her body gave out on her and caused her to collapse to the floor. She cried out in frustration and curled into a little ball, wondering why she ever chose to run in the first place. Perhaps if she hadn't have run, she wouldn't be in this position. Perhaps she would've been cited or lectured -- a slap on the wrist -- and sent on her way. Suddenly surrendering seemed so easy. But instead, she was set to die.
But then a sound. She weakly rolled over and saw her lover beating frantically on the bars of her confinement.
"How did you..." She spoke softly.
"Ask me later," he replied. "Hurry, these bars are weak and will break if you keep abusing them."
The pair worked furiously until finally the bars were shattered and she was able to climb out. He quickly swept her into his arms and held her close, resting his head atop hers.
"We have to get out," he spoke quietly. "And I know a way."
Instead of heading to the bottom level, he took her up to the top level, stepping out onto the dilapidated roof. He pointed at the large tower, which seemed to have rebuilt itself.
"There's a bridge on the other side of it," he explained, "and apparently it takes you 'outside.'"
"Outside?" She asked.
"I don't know, but I assume that's better than being here..."
They managed their way to a hill and began clawing their way up it when they heard the same ominous voice from earlier declare, "This world is set to disintegrate in thirty minutes, foolish captives..."
With renewed fear and vigor, they climbed up the large tower and made it to the site of the bridge. The winds howled and whipped angrily, causing the flimsy bridge to sway and wobble. It was written on their faces -- neither wanted to test their luck on it. Behind them, an awful sound: the world was slowly melting into oblivion. Things were being sucked into the air and falling into nothing, and with rapid speed. It wouldn't be long that they would be part of the devastation -- it had taken twenty minutes to climb so high.
"We have to go!" The young woman finally announced. She pushed him forward, onto the bridge. "Go!"
"But you..." He insisted. "You should go first."
"Now isn't the time to argue this point! You're already on the bridge, now go!"
"You're going to be right behind me?"
"I will."
He stepped forward once, warily, then turned again. "I love you."
"I love you too," she said calmly, then pushed him again. "Now please... go."
He gripped the railings of the bridge in his hands so tight the color in his hands were lost. His steps were short and fearful, and his eyes were locked upon his feet. A gust of wind tilted the bridge beneath him, and he yelped softly and tried to lean his weight against it to balance it out. Suddenly he felt a tugging behind him and saw his girlfriend holding tightly onto his shirt. He strengthened his resolve and the pair moved in a strange harmonious unison of utter fear and desperation to survive.
The bridge swayed again, sharper, and the two cried out frightfully. He continued trudging forward, knowing he would be impairing her if he froze up. The bridge behind them began melting away. Their pace increased, and they finally collapsed on the other side. On solid land. Wracked with exhaustion, they immediately lapsed into unconsciousness.
The pair came to quite some time later, surrounded by complete strangers who suddenly seemed like their closest friends.
"Oh God, they're actually alive!" Somebody exclaimed. "Call for an ambulance!"
She sat up, only to be enveloped in a powerful hug from her boyfriend. He held on tight and showed no signs of letting go. His body trembled softly, in relief and slight distress, and he said nothing... he simply held her hard and buried his face into the nape of her neck.
"Check it out, the first ever survivors of the Isle of Cursed Desertion," somebody breathed, awestruck. "It's gotta be a miracle -- nobody's ever survived!"
"What now?" The dazed young woman demanded, her face pale.
"The Isle of Cursed Desertion has never had survivors. It belongs to a group of extremely violent people who randomly kidnap people and slowly drive them insane before eventually killing them. Nobody's ever come out of there alive -- at least, not until today. You two survived! You two..."
She didn't hear the rest. She broke away from the grip of her boyfriend, who looked up and watched her quietly. She looked back at the bridge. His eyes misted again with the same sadness as before -- when he had last looked at the youngest member of their group, he had known deep down he'd never see her again. But having to face it made it harder.
"I'm going back, for my sister," the young female announced, her voice trembling with disbelief and impending sorrow. "Surely she's alive in there..."
He grabbed her around the waist, his eyes watered with warm tears of sympathetic misery. "It's too late," he said softly, "it's already too late."
"No!" His girlfriend announced, trying to wriggle from his grip. "It's impossible! I know she's alive! I know it!"
He shivered violently, hearing the cracking in her voice. It was the trembling of a woman in denial; the shattered song of somebody who had yet to realize. He closed his eyes as a few tears spilled over, and his own quivering voice insisted, "She's not. When she surrendered..."
He opened his eyes again when the woman in his grip suddenly grew limp. She wobbled and buckled under her own weight and sank to the ground, facing the bridge. Her body was trembling so hard he visibly saw it. He held his breath and tried to be the pillar of strength, but even he felt his heart breaking deep inside himself. The notion that he had been the last person to see the young girl alive... it was sickening. A heavy burden he'd always carry. But heavier still was having to witness his girlfriend's sobbing as she slowly came around to the conclusion that her sister was lost forever. He knelt down at her side and cradled her softly, utilizing the fact that she couldn't see his face to do some silent mourning of his own.
And even though the two of them had escaped the Isle of Cursed Desertion in the physical sense, they never would be allowed to escape it with their emotional sense. They would always be bound to the horrific locale, staring safely at it from a distance while knowing that somewhere within, an innocent soul wandered aimlessly.
And that somewhere within, another pair of souls would be forever corrupted.
Enjoy the bittersweet, tragic read that is my dream.
It was called the Isle of Cursed Desertion -- an abandoned stretch of land that had birthed legends of death and insanity to those who ventured to it. It looked like a town frozen in time, yet weathered by it. The allure of dilapidated structures complete with untold history was what was claimed to lure people into its vicious clutches. And none ever returned.
And there they were -- three more soon-to-be victims. None of them could remember ever venturing out to the Isle, the only memory was a blink of the eye and standing at the gates of a large, dilapidated facility. Despite this strange incident, the three seemed more intrigued by gaining access to the building rather than attempting to recall the last few hours. The youngest, a teenage girl, turned her eyes curiously up at the towering structure. Her face bore a look of awe and childish excitement that lit up her face. It had been her dream to explore an abandoned building, and now she was getting to.
The middle was a teenaged male who seemed fascinated by the building but also a bit uneasy. Something in his stomach told him that something was amiss; that they should not be there. But he saw it in the eyes of his girlfriend -- the oldest of the three -- that there would be no leaving. At least, not now. He was extremely loyal to the owner of his heart, and whatever she said -- or suggested with her eyes -- was law. He told himself to shake off his paranoia and enjoy the afternoon of adventuring that lay ahead.
"What do you think this building is?" The older female asked.
"Looks like a hospital," the younger female, her sister, replied excitedly. "Just what I've always wanted to explore."
"I wonder why everybody left," the solitary male murmured to nobody.
Suddenly, an authoritative voice called from behind them. "Intruders! Stay where you are!"
The three would-be adventurers jumped and turned around to see two uniformed officials marching their way. The oldest female narrowed her eyes and stood defensively before the other two, but it was obvious she was a bit rattled. Her accomplices stayed quiet.
The first official declared, "You are all trespassing on private property. You have two choices."
The second finished, "You can surrender peacefully, or you can add to your trouble and attempt to run."
"Weird options," the anxious boy murmured again. "What do we do?"
The younger girl stepped forward. "I'll surrender quietly. I want to avoid as much trouble as I can."
The older girl shuddered, then shook her head. "No. Not me. You'll have to kill me first." With that, she set off into a fevered dash.
Her boyfriend's eyes seemed to widen, puzzled. "Where are you going!" He shouted. "Wait! Stop!"
"What's your decision, son?" The officials asked of the remaining party member.
"I..." He took a quick look at the younger girl, a strange mist in his blue eyes -- as if he'd never see her again. He then shook his head and started running after his girlfriend, ever loyal.
The lovers ran through the large, open wasteland while a voice boomed overhead: "Foolish captives! If you can make it twenty-four hours without being captured, we will release you. However, if you are captured before the limit expires, you will be executed for resisting arrest. Good luck..."
"Why are we running!" He shouted at his girlfriend as he jogged up beside her.
"Trust me," she breathed hastily. "Just trust me."
Suddenly the field sprang to life beneath their feet, explosions firing off around them. The field had been rigged with explosives, and was now a bed of firecrackers. The pair jumped and weaved as explosions sent waves of dirt and debris around them. He lowered himself closer to the ground, searching the grasses for any sort of secure place to duck into. A few moments later, he caught sight of a bunker and grabbed his girlfriend by the arm.
"Over here!" He insisted, pulling her towards the ditch. They both threw themselves into it, with him shielding her with his own body. A large shockwave suddenly sent violent, horrid pulses through the pair, causing him to press down harder against her. The world turned dark as a huge cloud of dust blocked out the already limited daylight. And they waited.
A few minutes passed and he rolled over beside her, nearly hyperventilating from panic. "Are you okay?" He demanded.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Are you?" She sat up and squinted through the dust.
"Barely. Are we sure we can do this? What if every single step is rigged like that!"
"Then we find higher ground... C'mon, we gotta move." The pair cautiously climbed out of the ditch, covering their faces with their hands to try and limit the breathing of the dust that still hung overhead. Their eyes were scratched relentlessly by the cloud's sprinkling of debris.
They trudged cautiously through the remains of the once-explosive field, scanning the limited visibility of the horizon when suddenly she stopped and stood rigid.
"What?" He asked of her, her stance causing him a great deal of worry.
"Run. Run now!" She snapped in a high voice as a huge blade of sorts fell right behind them. As if pushed by an unseen giant, it raced towards them. Although they swore it to be physically impossible, they ignored that fact and ran as fast as they possibly could go. The miserable visibility had them practically running blind, but fear gave them enough sight to keep going forward.
"It's going to kill us!" He shouted frantically.
"Shut up!" She snapped back, not wanting to hear what sounded like the truth. Suddenly her eyes caught sight of something -- a ladder. She pointed. "Look! Quick! Into the tower!"
They reached the tower's ladder and scrambled up it, looking behind them as the large blade continued to carve a deadly path towards them. The ladder seemed to reach up into the heavens themselves, and they wondered if they had been set up. Finally a little opening presented itself, and they fell inside of it. The blade slammed into the tower and shook it violently, causing both of them to grasp the wall and cry out with fright. The tower swayed ominously for a full minute, then came to a stop.
"We're safe here for now, right?" He asked warily.
"Hopefully." She replied, then looked out and down. Her phobia of heights caused her to immediately freeze. They were well over two-hundred feet up.
"Don't look out there!" He instructed. "Let's just sit in here and hope we make these next..." He stopped dead in the middle of his sentence, the color lost from his face. He looked at his shoulder and saw nothing, but swore a hand was laid there.
"They tell us you will be next," a voice echoed in his ear. He jumped forward and rested against the other wall, only to have his ears assaulted by another disembodied voice.
"We never escape, you know."
He grasped his girlfriend's wrist and squeezed violently, stuttering with fright and unable to say anything logical. He stared at the wall on the other side of the room and saw a wispy figure staring back. "I don't want to be in this tower!" He shouted suddenly.
His girlfriend twisted around, alarmed. "We have no other option..."
"But... the..." It seemed that they were only tormenting him. The only thing that seemed to alarm her was their extreme height off the ground.
"You won't make the twenty-four hours," a voice warned him.
"You'll become one of us," another said softly.
"We do feel bad for you..."
"Spending your remaining hours in untold levels of panic and dread..."
He shut his eyes tight and quivered. "Ma-make th-th-them stop," he begged of his girlfriend.
The tower suddenly rocked, hard. "Join us now!" A multitude of voices suddenly exclaimed. The tower rocked again, and tilted sharply to one side. The unfortunate souls looked around in a panic, suddenly realizing the exits were gone. The young man, already having been put through his paces, simply stared through dilated eyes and said nothing, rocking softly, slowly seeming to be diving into morbid insanity.
"Leave us alone!" The female shouted angrily, tears of fear in her eyes. She cried out as the tower rocked again, knocking her off balance. She fell against the wall and screeched again. "Stop it now! Leave us!"
"One of us!" The voices declared victoriously before the tower lost its balance and tumbled through the dusty skyline. The forces of gravity shifted the two lovers until they were forcibly pinned to the top of the tower. She passed a look in his direction but saw no sign of anything in his eyes -- the spirits had driven him to temporary insanity. Or had he just tired of the running and wanted to be put out of his anguish?
Here we are, about to die, she thought to herself silently. We're plummeting to our deaths, and he's completely numbed. Wicked demons... they drained the life right out of him! Why did they torture him and not me -- I could've withstood their taunts... If we do survive, I wonder how they will drive me insane... It must be hell, the state of knowing you're slipping into insanity and trying to fight it... Just like this, this horrific knowledge that death is seconds away and there's nothing I can do to prevent it... all I can do is wait...
She closed her eyes tight and tried not to tense her body. If she were to die, she would want it to be painless. The last thing she would remember would be the explosion of bricks she witnessed as the tower slammed into the ground.
Hours passed, and the massive pile of shattered rubble began to quake with life. Somewhere underneath it, a life was stirred. He found himself pinned beneath two large concrete pieces, but it had created a bit of a "bubble" around him that had kept him safe in the landing. His body pulsed with returning feeling, which he decided was a good thing. But he looked around in his bubble and saw nobody. Had she...? What had happened? His whole short term memory was suddenly gone.
It almost feels safe in here, he thought, but I need to climb out. I need to find her. Was she as fortunate? I don't know what I'd do if I found her and she... I knew there was something wrong about this place from the very start. I don't want to leave this little pocket... it feels so secure, even though it could collapse in on me at any time...
He pushed away debris and squirmed about until he was out in the faint daylight again. Immediately he began digging through the massive pile of damage, shoving aside ton-sized blocks as if they were nothing. Twenty minutes of frantic digging later, and he found her, also encased in her own little bubble. But claustrophobia had set in, and she was a shuddering heap.
"Look," he said quickly, "it's an open space now. Don't--"
He found himself grasped from behind and lifted to his feet. Over his shoulder, he saw the uniformed official again.
"Twenty hours, and you've been captured. As per the rules, you are sentenced to die for evasion."
The two were taken to a large and run-down building, where they were separated and locked in holding cells. She looked up at the ceiling wearily, wondering where he had been taken to. Her body was wracked with exhaustion, but her mind kept fueling her to go on. She needed to get to him, so they could escape. They had gotten so close -- they couldn't let it all go now. She began tugging and beating on the rusty iron bars of her tiny chamber, yelling aloud but finding she wasn't producing sound.
Here, she swore she was yelling. I'm right over here.
She continued her assault on the door for quite some time, before her body gave out on her and caused her to collapse to the floor. She cried out in frustration and curled into a little ball, wondering why she ever chose to run in the first place. Perhaps if she hadn't have run, she wouldn't be in this position. Perhaps she would've been cited or lectured -- a slap on the wrist -- and sent on her way. Suddenly surrendering seemed so easy. But instead, she was set to die.
But then a sound. She weakly rolled over and saw her lover beating frantically on the bars of her confinement.
"How did you..." She spoke softly.
"Ask me later," he replied. "Hurry, these bars are weak and will break if you keep abusing them."
The pair worked furiously until finally the bars were shattered and she was able to climb out. He quickly swept her into his arms and held her close, resting his head atop hers.
"We have to get out," he spoke quietly. "And I know a way."
Instead of heading to the bottom level, he took her up to the top level, stepping out onto the dilapidated roof. He pointed at the large tower, which seemed to have rebuilt itself.
"There's a bridge on the other side of it," he explained, "and apparently it takes you 'outside.'"
"Outside?" She asked.
"I don't know, but I assume that's better than being here..."
They managed their way to a hill and began clawing their way up it when they heard the same ominous voice from earlier declare, "This world is set to disintegrate in thirty minutes, foolish captives..."
With renewed fear and vigor, they climbed up the large tower and made it to the site of the bridge. The winds howled and whipped angrily, causing the flimsy bridge to sway and wobble. It was written on their faces -- neither wanted to test their luck on it. Behind them, an awful sound: the world was slowly melting into oblivion. Things were being sucked into the air and falling into nothing, and with rapid speed. It wouldn't be long that they would be part of the devastation -- it had taken twenty minutes to climb so high.
"We have to go!" The young woman finally announced. She pushed him forward, onto the bridge. "Go!"
"But you..." He insisted. "You should go first."
"Now isn't the time to argue this point! You're already on the bridge, now go!"
"You're going to be right behind me?"
"I will."
He stepped forward once, warily, then turned again. "I love you."
"I love you too," she said calmly, then pushed him again. "Now please... go."
He gripped the railings of the bridge in his hands so tight the color in his hands were lost. His steps were short and fearful, and his eyes were locked upon his feet. A gust of wind tilted the bridge beneath him, and he yelped softly and tried to lean his weight against it to balance it out. Suddenly he felt a tugging behind him and saw his girlfriend holding tightly onto his shirt. He strengthened his resolve and the pair moved in a strange harmonious unison of utter fear and desperation to survive.
The bridge swayed again, sharper, and the two cried out frightfully. He continued trudging forward, knowing he would be impairing her if he froze up. The bridge behind them began melting away. Their pace increased, and they finally collapsed on the other side. On solid land. Wracked with exhaustion, they immediately lapsed into unconsciousness.
The pair came to quite some time later, surrounded by complete strangers who suddenly seemed like their closest friends.
"Oh God, they're actually alive!" Somebody exclaimed. "Call for an ambulance!"
She sat up, only to be enveloped in a powerful hug from her boyfriend. He held on tight and showed no signs of letting go. His body trembled softly, in relief and slight distress, and he said nothing... he simply held her hard and buried his face into the nape of her neck.
"Check it out, the first ever survivors of the Isle of Cursed Desertion," somebody breathed, awestruck. "It's gotta be a miracle -- nobody's ever survived!"
"What now?" The dazed young woman demanded, her face pale.
"The Isle of Cursed Desertion has never had survivors. It belongs to a group of extremely violent people who randomly kidnap people and slowly drive them insane before eventually killing them. Nobody's ever come out of there alive -- at least, not until today. You two survived! You two..."
She didn't hear the rest. She broke away from the grip of her boyfriend, who looked up and watched her quietly. She looked back at the bridge. His eyes misted again with the same sadness as before -- when he had last looked at the youngest member of their group, he had known deep down he'd never see her again. But having to face it made it harder.
"I'm going back, for my sister," the young female announced, her voice trembling with disbelief and impending sorrow. "Surely she's alive in there..."
He grabbed her around the waist, his eyes watered with warm tears of sympathetic misery. "It's too late," he said softly, "it's already too late."
"No!" His girlfriend announced, trying to wriggle from his grip. "It's impossible! I know she's alive! I know it!"
He shivered violently, hearing the cracking in her voice. It was the trembling of a woman in denial; the shattered song of somebody who had yet to realize. He closed his eyes as a few tears spilled over, and his own quivering voice insisted, "She's not. When she surrendered..."
He opened his eyes again when the woman in his grip suddenly grew limp. She wobbled and buckled under her own weight and sank to the ground, facing the bridge. Her body was trembling so hard he visibly saw it. He held his breath and tried to be the pillar of strength, but even he felt his heart breaking deep inside himself. The notion that he had been the last person to see the young girl alive... it was sickening. A heavy burden he'd always carry. But heavier still was having to witness his girlfriend's sobbing as she slowly came around to the conclusion that her sister was lost forever. He knelt down at her side and cradled her softly, utilizing the fact that she couldn't see his face to do some silent mourning of his own.
And even though the two of them had escaped the Isle of Cursed Desertion in the physical sense, they never would be allowed to escape it with their emotional sense. They would always be bound to the horrific locale, staring safely at it from a distance while knowing that somewhere within, an innocent soul wandered aimlessly.
And that somewhere within, another pair of souls would be forever corrupted.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Miserable.
Sometimes I'd love to scream at the top of my lungs.
I'd scream, "Why don't I ever get anything right?"
And then I'd realize it did nothing.
Sometimes I'd love to tell everybody I know and love to go the hell away and never bother me again. And then I'd disappear so that they couldn't find me even if they wanted to.
But who would bother hunting me down? After all, I'm just the kid who never tells anyone anything. I'm just the uber whiny child who runs people off because I get mad at nothing. I'm just the girl who fails at life and love. I should never have been given a heart. Or emotions. Or a mouth with which to express myself.
I should be alone. I'll just be mad when people start trying to talk to me again. I never let things die. I'll be mad and wounded when conversation starts again.
But I'll suck it up. I always suck it up. I give off the wrong impression when I dare to be angry.
When do I get to be angry? When can I be allowed to erupt for no reason?
I should be alone.
I want to be alone.
Forget being social, or trying to maintain connections with people.
It never works.
Not for me.
Farewell.
I'd scream, "Why don't I ever get anything right?"
And then I'd realize it did nothing.
Sometimes I'd love to tell everybody I know and love to go the hell away and never bother me again. And then I'd disappear so that they couldn't find me even if they wanted to.
But who would bother hunting me down? After all, I'm just the kid who never tells anyone anything. I'm just the uber whiny child who runs people off because I get mad at nothing. I'm just the girl who fails at life and love. I should never have been given a heart. Or emotions. Or a mouth with which to express myself.
I should be alone. I'll just be mad when people start trying to talk to me again. I never let things die. I'll be mad and wounded when conversation starts again.
But I'll suck it up. I always suck it up. I give off the wrong impression when I dare to be angry.
When do I get to be angry? When can I be allowed to erupt for no reason?
I should be alone.
I want to be alone.
Forget being social, or trying to maintain connections with people.
It never works.
Not for me.
Farewell.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Scheduling.
My 150th post, and it's my schedule for the semester. Epic. XD
Anyway, here it is:
Monday
8:00 - 8:50 College Algebra
9:00 - 10:15 Art Appreciation/History
11:00 - 11:50 Introductory Sociology
Tuesday
11:00 - 12:15 Geology (lecture)
1:20 - 3:20 Geology (lab)
Wednesday
8:00 - 8:50 College Algebra
9:00 - 10:15 Art Appreciation/History
11:00 - 11:50 Introductory Sociology
1:20 - 3:20 Legal Ethics in Business (random filler class...)
Thursday
11:00 - 12:15 Geology (lecture)
Friday
8:00 - 8:50 College Algebra
11:00 - 11:50 Introductory Sociology
The day so far has been better than I expected, despite my parking in the wrong lot. I'll post more about it later.
Anyway, here it is:
Monday
8:00 - 8:50 College Algebra
9:00 - 10:15 Art Appreciation/History
11:00 - 11:50 Introductory Sociology
Tuesday
11:00 - 12:15 Geology (lecture)
1:20 - 3:20 Geology (lab)
Wednesday
8:00 - 8:50 College Algebra
9:00 - 10:15 Art Appreciation/History
11:00 - 11:50 Introductory Sociology
1:20 - 3:20 Legal Ethics in Business (random filler class...)
Thursday
11:00 - 12:15 Geology (lecture)
Friday
8:00 - 8:50 College Algebra
11:00 - 11:50 Introductory Sociology
The day so far has been better than I expected, despite my parking in the wrong lot. I'll post more about it later.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Another Random Writing...
Yeah, I've not had much to say lately... expect a post tomorrow about something I'm still processing.
In the meantime, another short story with my two favorite characters. This one comes from the sequel, when they're responsible for a friend's infant daughter. As you'll see with the length, I really, really enjoyed writing this piece. I hope anyone who reads it enjoys it as much as I did.
It's another piece with a lot of focus on the emotional/mental side of these two characters. It's another piece where the characters undergo a near radical change of mind/heart at the end of things... only instead of being sad or angry, I've actually written one with a pleasant, heartwarming ending.
A Midnight Raid
"How do we find ourselves in these sort of things?" He asked while gently petting Neon, their green-furred cat.
"Eya is a close friend of mine," the redheaded woman replied briskly, pacing about the room with the crying infant on her shoulder. "Until she escapes, somebody has to look after Mayre -- not only can Mayre not defend herself, she needs to be alive... just in case Eya doesn't make it alive."
"You sound so calm about the prospect of your friend being killed, y'know." He stared at the green cat, which stared back through goldenrod eyes. Having the child around had greatly annoyed him, as it cried through all hours of the night and made it impossible to sleep. Not only that, the child was being hunted... as if he and his girlfriend needed any more bounties placed on them.
"It's a very real possibility. It's always a possibility."
"Why can't we have any period of time longer than three days that isn't hectic?" He got up. "I'm going to take a walk. I won't go far."
Why does he bother to tell me that, she thought to herself. He never strays far from me, always afraid something'll happen. She watched as he walked from the room and heard the front door on the bottom floor shut a few moments later. She sat on the side of the bed and looked at the child, a pale-skinned baby girl with tiny curls of red on her head. The normally tough and stoic woman couldn't help but smile.
"Don't worry about him," she reassured little Mayre, who yawned. "He's just stubborn. Give him time and he'll protect you just as strongly as he protects me." She held the infant closer and rocked her body slowly, feeling the child gently nuzzle against her neck. She hummed a song, a lullaby she remembered from her own mother, and shivered softly.
"Sing me the song, Mommy," the little blonde girl asked as she sat up in her bed. Her eyes glittered with childhood innocence and happiness, the very definition of a child unscarred and greatly loved.
"Only once, my little princess, and then it will be bedtime." A beautiful young woman with flowing brown hair smiled at her daughter. In sweet chords that could only be produced from angels, a song took form.
In the darkness of the night,
My child, I will be your light.
There will be no need for you to fear,
Just call my name and I will appear.
My little girl, you grow each passing day
But please don't ever grow away.
The redheaded woman opened her eyes from her reverie, green eyes misty with remembrance. She rocked a bit slower, held Mayre tighter, and sang the words softly to her.
The peace was abruptly shattered by a flurry of sounds. Growling, snarling dogs; screeching cats; multiple pairs of stomping footsteps. The woman snapped immediately out of her brooding and looked up at the bedroom door as it was broken in. A flood of undead soldiers poured into the room, swiping and growling. She jumped to her feet and withdrew her sword from the pillow on which it was rested, holding Mayre tight against her shoulder.
"She... is... ours..." The creatures groaned. "So... are... you..."
The redhead shook her head and swung the blade with remarkable force, stepping back as they swung back at her, swinging for the child. Mayre began to sob, awoken from her sleep and sensing the situation.
I hope the blood plant still works, the woman thought frightfully to herself, gradually backing up more. She focused her energy as best she could, and hoped.
***
He was leaned against a tree about a quarter mile from the house, dog Chelsea at his side. She seemed to follow him everywhere, and was quietly leaned against his leg as he stared off into nowhere.
He was growing weary of the fighting. Ever since he had been with her, all they did was run, hide, and fight. She was a strong, stubborn woman, and she fought with the strength of a man... while it was incredible and it was something he loved about her, he also felt himself a bit inferior. He'd grown up to expect that the male protected his lover. And while he'd come to her rescue many times, she always said, "I had it handled!" Every time she said that, it felt like another little dagger.
Chelsea's ears perked up just as he stood upright, a very strange expression suddenly bore on his face. He reached into a pocket and pulled out the crimson root he always carried with him. It was the blood plant -- an alchemist had bonded the two lovers by taking three drops of blood from each of them and mixing them upon the root of a flower, and then enchanting with a salve. Presently it was giving off a strange, pale glow. His glance peered over his shoulder into the night, and a dreadfully familiar feeling rushed over him.
"Gotta get home," he murmured softly. Halfway into the first syllable, he was sprinting through the night, gripping the sword at his right side. He made the quarter mile jaunt in very little time, stopping and quietly approaching the house.
The fur on the back of Chelsea's neck stood on end, and a soft growling rumbled in her throat. She stood between her master and the house, her pale brown eyes never releasing grip on the sight of the house. He looked up at the front door and found it broken off its hinges, laying in the living area. Moving shadows on the second floor caught his eye, and he both shivered and growled at the same time.
He practically leapt into the living area, sword withdrawn and defensively held in front of himself. He could hear the horrid sound of Mayre crying -- though presently, it held a whole new dimension to him. It suddenly wasn't annoying; it suddenly was his responsibility. He heard a metallic sound, awful groaning, and a feminine shout. He ran up the stairs, three at a time.
He found them all gathered in the bedroom. His love was huddled in a corner, her sword having been knocked to one side, out of reach. She was cowered on the floor, hunched over in an effort to protect the innocent child from harm. Her back and shoulders had suffered several lacerations as the creatures slashed at her.
A quick thought passed his mind -- if this would've been the sight before him a year ago, he'd be nearly paralyzed with fear. But things were different now, and what would've been fear turned into an instinctual anger. He closed his eyes and thrust his blade through the midsection of the nearest creature, bracing for its screech.
The others, five of them, turned around. He took a half step back as one of them stumbled forward and an eye fell out of its socket. Another's skin crawled with maggots and insects. A third one's head had been cracked open, probably from the earlier struggle, revealing a pulsing mass. The fourth had no torso to speak of -- instead it was a gaping hole with its ribs and spine visible. The fifth was steadily falling into pieces. A disgusted shiver ran through him, but the fear within him was extinguished everytime he spied his girlfriend huddled in the corner.
Chelsea lunged forward and grabbed hold of one of the demons in her teeth. She growled and swung her neck back and forth, ripping off the victim's already loosened arm. He took the opportunity to behead it with one quick swipe of his blade. The other four closed in, and he took a half step back. Chelsea jumped again and sent one tumbling to the ground. One of the remaining three took a swing at the dog, and found its arm sliced off. It attempted to wrestle the sword from its attacker, but failed and found itself torn into pieces.
The redhead looked up from her defensive position, her every movement sending stabs of pain through her body. Mayre was unharmed, only distraught by the situation and sobbing loudly as a result. She looked on as her normally collected lover was swinging with a passion she'd only seen once before in her life -- when she was at the mercy of the Ghost King himself. A quick smile passed her lips before she noticed one last undead soldier preparing to attack from behind. She hid the baby underneath some clothes and crawled weakly to her sword, which had been kicked nearly under the bed.
He turned in time to have his sword knocked from his hand. His eyes locked with the one eye of the last demon, and he shuddered despite himself. Chelsea threw herself forward, but was easily thrown to the side by the creature. He shut his eyes tight and waited for the onslaught, only to hear the awful sound of tearing flesh. He opened an eye and saw his girlfriend, trembling from effort, her sword cut straight through the creature. It screeched an awful screech, and seem to melt into a pile of dust.
The raid was over.
He exhaled the breath he was unaware he was holding, and looked down at the dog standing loyally at his side. He knelt down and wrapped his arms around her neck, praising her softly. "Good girl," he murmured. "Very good girl."
The world seemed to reappear, and the buzzing that had filled his ears suddenly became audible sounds. A soft, pained coughing caught his attention, and he quickly stepped forward to catch his precious lover as she collapsed, unable to support herself any longer.
"I know I shouldn't ask," he spoke, almost bitterly. "But are you alright?" There was no response immediately, which prompted him to hurriedly retract her away far enough that he could see her face. Her eyes were shut and she was trembling, and this scared him. He shook her softly. "Are you alright?"
Her eyes opened halfway and she murmured, "Mayre..."
"She's fine," he replied. "What about you? I assume you had it handled?"
She looked at him with a look of relief and submissiveness he'd never witnessed before. Something about her body language suggested weakness and fragility, two things she never exposed. "No," she spoke softly, lapsing in and out of consciousness. "I... I didn't."
He blinked and nearly dropped her. "Wh... what?"
"I didn't... have it handled. Not this time..." She smiled weakly at him. "Thank you..."
"For what?"
"For helping me... I couldn't do it on my own."
He beamed, albeit sadly. It was bittersweet. He had finally heard what he had waited so long to hear, but hearing it while seeing what had to be endured put a bad taste in the back of his mouth. He hugged her close and gently laid her on their bed, running two fingers gently along the curvature of her face.
"Don't worry about Mayre," he said softly to her. "I'll take care of her. You've been injured. You need to rest."
"But I thought..."
He smiled, ever reassuring. "I changed my mind."
She gently squeezed his hand in hers. "Thank you..."
He felt her grip on his hand loosen, and watched her eyes roll back. She limpened and lapsed into unconsciousness. He felt a tightness in his chest as he thought how close he could've come to losing her. And all because of his depressed bitterness. But he'd heard what he so desperately needed to hear, and his spirits were renewed.
No more feeling sorry for myself, he instructed himself. It's so much bigger than me or her. She needs me to be here, one-hundred percent... not anything less. She can't do it on her own, and I'm going to make sure she doesn't have to... and I'll do whatever it takes to prove it. To her... and to myself.
He gently picked up little Mayre from her hiding place, his ears immediately assaulted by her screaming sobs. But rather than hold her out and away like he had done all along, he smiled awkwardly and held her against his shoulder. He found himself slowly saying aloud to nobody,
"There will be no need for you to fear,
Just call my name and I will appear..."
In the meantime, another short story with my two favorite characters. This one comes from the sequel, when they're responsible for a friend's infant daughter. As you'll see with the length, I really, really enjoyed writing this piece. I hope anyone who reads it enjoys it as much as I did.
It's another piece with a lot of focus on the emotional/mental side of these two characters. It's another piece where the characters undergo a near radical change of mind/heart at the end of things... only instead of being sad or angry, I've actually written one with a pleasant, heartwarming ending.
"How do we find ourselves in these sort of things?" He asked while gently petting Neon, their green-furred cat.
"Eya is a close friend of mine," the redheaded woman replied briskly, pacing about the room with the crying infant on her shoulder. "Until she escapes, somebody has to look after Mayre -- not only can Mayre not defend herself, she needs to be alive... just in case Eya doesn't make it alive."
"You sound so calm about the prospect of your friend being killed, y'know." He stared at the green cat, which stared back through goldenrod eyes. Having the child around had greatly annoyed him, as it cried through all hours of the night and made it impossible to sleep. Not only that, the child was being hunted... as if he and his girlfriend needed any more bounties placed on them.
"It's a very real possibility. It's always a possibility."
"Why can't we have any period of time longer than three days that isn't hectic?" He got up. "I'm going to take a walk. I won't go far."
Why does he bother to tell me that, she thought to herself. He never strays far from me, always afraid something'll happen. She watched as he walked from the room and heard the front door on the bottom floor shut a few moments later. She sat on the side of the bed and looked at the child, a pale-skinned baby girl with tiny curls of red on her head. The normally tough and stoic woman couldn't help but smile.
"Don't worry about him," she reassured little Mayre, who yawned. "He's just stubborn. Give him time and he'll protect you just as strongly as he protects me." She held the infant closer and rocked her body slowly, feeling the child gently nuzzle against her neck. She hummed a song, a lullaby she remembered from her own mother, and shivered softly.
"Sing me the song, Mommy," the little blonde girl asked as she sat up in her bed. Her eyes glittered with childhood innocence and happiness, the very definition of a child unscarred and greatly loved.
"Only once, my little princess, and then it will be bedtime." A beautiful young woman with flowing brown hair smiled at her daughter. In sweet chords that could only be produced from angels, a song took form.
My child, I will be your light.
There will be no need for you to fear,
Just call my name and I will appear.
My little girl, you grow each passing day
But please don't ever grow away.
The redheaded woman opened her eyes from her reverie, green eyes misty with remembrance. She rocked a bit slower, held Mayre tighter, and sang the words softly to her.
The peace was abruptly shattered by a flurry of sounds. Growling, snarling dogs; screeching cats; multiple pairs of stomping footsteps. The woman snapped immediately out of her brooding and looked up at the bedroom door as it was broken in. A flood of undead soldiers poured into the room, swiping and growling. She jumped to her feet and withdrew her sword from the pillow on which it was rested, holding Mayre tight against her shoulder.
"She... is... ours..." The creatures groaned. "So... are... you..."
The redhead shook her head and swung the blade with remarkable force, stepping back as they swung back at her, swinging for the child. Mayre began to sob, awoken from her sleep and sensing the situation.
I hope the blood plant still works, the woman thought frightfully to herself, gradually backing up more. She focused her energy as best she could, and hoped.
He was leaned against a tree about a quarter mile from the house, dog Chelsea at his side. She seemed to follow him everywhere, and was quietly leaned against his leg as he stared off into nowhere.
He was growing weary of the fighting. Ever since he had been with her, all they did was run, hide, and fight. She was a strong, stubborn woman, and she fought with the strength of a man... while it was incredible and it was something he loved about her, he also felt himself a bit inferior. He'd grown up to expect that the male protected his lover. And while he'd come to her rescue many times, she always said, "I had it handled!" Every time she said that, it felt like another little dagger.
Chelsea's ears perked up just as he stood upright, a very strange expression suddenly bore on his face. He reached into a pocket and pulled out the crimson root he always carried with him. It was the blood plant -- an alchemist had bonded the two lovers by taking three drops of blood from each of them and mixing them upon the root of a flower, and then enchanting with a salve. Presently it was giving off a strange, pale glow. His glance peered over his shoulder into the night, and a dreadfully familiar feeling rushed over him.
"Gotta get home," he murmured softly. Halfway into the first syllable, he was sprinting through the night, gripping the sword at his right side. He made the quarter mile jaunt in very little time, stopping and quietly approaching the house.
The fur on the back of Chelsea's neck stood on end, and a soft growling rumbled in her throat. She stood between her master and the house, her pale brown eyes never releasing grip on the sight of the house. He looked up at the front door and found it broken off its hinges, laying in the living area. Moving shadows on the second floor caught his eye, and he both shivered and growled at the same time.
He practically leapt into the living area, sword withdrawn and defensively held in front of himself. He could hear the horrid sound of Mayre crying -- though presently, it held a whole new dimension to him. It suddenly wasn't annoying; it suddenly was his responsibility. He heard a metallic sound, awful groaning, and a feminine shout. He ran up the stairs, three at a time.
He found them all gathered in the bedroom. His love was huddled in a corner, her sword having been knocked to one side, out of reach. She was cowered on the floor, hunched over in an effort to protect the innocent child from harm. Her back and shoulders had suffered several lacerations as the creatures slashed at her.
A quick thought passed his mind -- if this would've been the sight before him a year ago, he'd be nearly paralyzed with fear. But things were different now, and what would've been fear turned into an instinctual anger. He closed his eyes and thrust his blade through the midsection of the nearest creature, bracing for its screech.
The others, five of them, turned around. He took a half step back as one of them stumbled forward and an eye fell out of its socket. Another's skin crawled with maggots and insects. A third one's head had been cracked open, probably from the earlier struggle, revealing a pulsing mass. The fourth had no torso to speak of -- instead it was a gaping hole with its ribs and spine visible. The fifth was steadily falling into pieces. A disgusted shiver ran through him, but the fear within him was extinguished everytime he spied his girlfriend huddled in the corner.
Chelsea lunged forward and grabbed hold of one of the demons in her teeth. She growled and swung her neck back and forth, ripping off the victim's already loosened arm. He took the opportunity to behead it with one quick swipe of his blade. The other four closed in, and he took a half step back. Chelsea jumped again and sent one tumbling to the ground. One of the remaining three took a swing at the dog, and found its arm sliced off. It attempted to wrestle the sword from its attacker, but failed and found itself torn into pieces.
The redhead looked up from her defensive position, her every movement sending stabs of pain through her body. Mayre was unharmed, only distraught by the situation and sobbing loudly as a result. She looked on as her normally collected lover was swinging with a passion she'd only seen once before in her life -- when she was at the mercy of the Ghost King himself. A quick smile passed her lips before she noticed one last undead soldier preparing to attack from behind. She hid the baby underneath some clothes and crawled weakly to her sword, which had been kicked nearly under the bed.
He turned in time to have his sword knocked from his hand. His eyes locked with the one eye of the last demon, and he shuddered despite himself. Chelsea threw herself forward, but was easily thrown to the side by the creature. He shut his eyes tight and waited for the onslaught, only to hear the awful sound of tearing flesh. He opened an eye and saw his girlfriend, trembling from effort, her sword cut straight through the creature. It screeched an awful screech, and seem to melt into a pile of dust.
The raid was over.
He exhaled the breath he was unaware he was holding, and looked down at the dog standing loyally at his side. He knelt down and wrapped his arms around her neck, praising her softly. "Good girl," he murmured. "Very good girl."
The world seemed to reappear, and the buzzing that had filled his ears suddenly became audible sounds. A soft, pained coughing caught his attention, and he quickly stepped forward to catch his precious lover as she collapsed, unable to support herself any longer.
"I know I shouldn't ask," he spoke, almost bitterly. "But are you alright?" There was no response immediately, which prompted him to hurriedly retract her away far enough that he could see her face. Her eyes were shut and she was trembling, and this scared him. He shook her softly. "Are you alright?"
Her eyes opened halfway and she murmured, "Mayre..."
"She's fine," he replied. "What about you? I assume you had it handled?"
She looked at him with a look of relief and submissiveness he'd never witnessed before. Something about her body language suggested weakness and fragility, two things she never exposed. "No," she spoke softly, lapsing in and out of consciousness. "I... I didn't."
He blinked and nearly dropped her. "Wh... what?"
"I didn't... have it handled. Not this time..." She smiled weakly at him. "Thank you..."
"For what?"
"For helping me... I couldn't do it on my own."
He beamed, albeit sadly. It was bittersweet. He had finally heard what he had waited so long to hear, but hearing it while seeing what had to be endured put a bad taste in the back of his mouth. He hugged her close and gently laid her on their bed, running two fingers gently along the curvature of her face.
"Don't worry about Mayre," he said softly to her. "I'll take care of her. You've been injured. You need to rest."
"But I thought..."
He smiled, ever reassuring. "I changed my mind."
She gently squeezed his hand in hers. "Thank you..."
He felt her grip on his hand loosen, and watched her eyes roll back. She limpened and lapsed into unconsciousness. He felt a tightness in his chest as he thought how close he could've come to losing her. And all because of his depressed bitterness. But he'd heard what he so desperately needed to hear, and his spirits were renewed.
No more feeling sorry for myself, he instructed himself. It's so much bigger than me or her. She needs me to be here, one-hundred percent... not anything less. She can't do it on her own, and I'm going to make sure she doesn't have to... and I'll do whatever it takes to prove it. To her... and to myself.
He gently picked up little Mayre from her hiding place, his ears immediately assaulted by her screaming sobs. But rather than hold her out and away like he had done all along, he smiled awkwardly and held her against his shoulder. He found himself slowly saying aloud to nobody,
Just call my name and I will appear..."
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Rainy Day Story.
Tonight I present a short story, featuring two favorite alter egos. This is probably going to wind up fitting into my YPP fiction.
As the weather here is rainy and gloomy, this is going to be a slightly emo, piece of work. I hope it's enjoyable regardless.
Leaving the Light On
There was a ticking in his world. But there were no clocks anywhere nearby.
There was silence now, a silence so strong that it made him nearly claustrophobic. He had been staring at the front door ever since it slammed shut. It had shut with such a force it seemed to cause a minor earthquake that had made him shiver. And she was gone. And to think all of it had started because he was expressing his concern for her wandering off at night after he had gone to sleep.
He sat on one of the couches, surrounded by a pack of dogs that seemed to understand the icy atmosphere. None of them wagged their tails, but instead looked upon him with curious question marks floating about their eyes. He leaned forward and began to pet one of them, not even bothering to look at which one it was.
"Sometimes she drives me insane," he murmured distantly to nobody.
He loved his girlfriend, and had sworn he'd stand beside her through everything. It was his luck he would fall for a girl who was required to fight a mythical demon king. But he had learned so much at her side, and had gotten so much stronger and braver. Besides that, he got to know her. These far outweighed anything else. But the entire ocean was under the grips of the evil monster, and he and his love had found the vast majority of the population turned against them. But it didn't bother her, it seemed -- she went out every night after he went to bed, returning in the breaking of dawn.
All he did was mention his distress at her secrecy. He didn't know it would cause this -- a fight so intense it was worse than any demonic force he'd ever encountered, followed by her abrupt leaving despite his protests that she should stay.
He wasn't going to chase after her, though. She was far too mad; he was far too sullen. He looked out into the raining night and shook his head slowly.
***
She stomped through the night, growling and mumbling to herself, curses and swears of all varieties leaving her lips. In her hand, her sword was gripped tight enough to turn her knuckles white. Her hair draped her face in wet, messy clumps, but she could have cared less. She had not bothered to look over her shoulder to see if he had followed.
She was so tired of hearing the same thing -- stay inside, you're only going to get hurt. She had handled everything on her own just fine, and he just happened to stumble into the picture. If he would've just minded his own business so long ago... if only he'd just left her alone... just like everyone else.
Unbeknownst to herself, her rage was cooling and turning into a passionate longing to go back home, where she belonged, and apologize. She found herself thinking back to their hidden little house, wondering what he was doing. Had he started searching for her, or was he just sitting in the house, waiting on her return? Had he decided enough was enough, and had he made a retreat while she was gone? He was only looking out for her.
She growled loudly and swung her sword violently, leaving a two-inch wound in the trunk of a nearby tree. Her emotions were conflicted, and it was something she had never experienced in her life. She had grown up being cold and distant from everybody, not wanting to be hurt again. Yet here she was, her heart reaching out for somebody else. In her own efforts to prevent herself from feeling any pain, she was the sole reason she was hurting now. She cried out again, louder, and swung her sword blindly once again.
"What the hell is wrong with me!" She exclaimed, never feeling such a way. She swung her sword repeatedly, until her strength depleted, and then she stared at the damage she had caused. She blinked through her wet red hair, staring at the battered tree. The sight had struck another new nerve in her emotional arsenal -- was that what she had done to him with her words? What was she feeling now?
Her body began to quiver, and her tears mixed with the rain. She had so much learning left to do, and all of it was overwhelming and confusing. Learning to have emotions and caring for another was so hard, so taxing, so... frightening.
She needed him. He was always behind her, catching her when she fell. And she had just learned it. She knelt down to the ground, burying her face in her hands.
Back where she belonged, he had retired to bed. But he had lit a solitary candle, a faint symbol of hopefulness, worry, and welcoming that he hoped she would see.
And he slept with another candle at his side, hoping he would see his own message to himself.
As the weather here is rainy and gloomy, this is going to be a slightly emo, piece of work. I hope it's enjoyable regardless.
There was a ticking in his world. But there were no clocks anywhere nearby.
There was silence now, a silence so strong that it made him nearly claustrophobic. He had been staring at the front door ever since it slammed shut. It had shut with such a force it seemed to cause a minor earthquake that had made him shiver. And she was gone. And to think all of it had started because he was expressing his concern for her wandering off at night after he had gone to sleep.
He sat on one of the couches, surrounded by a pack of dogs that seemed to understand the icy atmosphere. None of them wagged their tails, but instead looked upon him with curious question marks floating about their eyes. He leaned forward and began to pet one of them, not even bothering to look at which one it was.
"Sometimes she drives me insane," he murmured distantly to nobody.
He loved his girlfriend, and had sworn he'd stand beside her through everything. It was his luck he would fall for a girl who was required to fight a mythical demon king. But he had learned so much at her side, and had gotten so much stronger and braver. Besides that, he got to know her. These far outweighed anything else. But the entire ocean was under the grips of the evil monster, and he and his love had found the vast majority of the population turned against them. But it didn't bother her, it seemed -- she went out every night after he went to bed, returning in the breaking of dawn.
All he did was mention his distress at her secrecy. He didn't know it would cause this -- a fight so intense it was worse than any demonic force he'd ever encountered, followed by her abrupt leaving despite his protests that she should stay.
He wasn't going to chase after her, though. She was far too mad; he was far too sullen. He looked out into the raining night and shook his head slowly.
She stomped through the night, growling and mumbling to herself, curses and swears of all varieties leaving her lips. In her hand, her sword was gripped tight enough to turn her knuckles white. Her hair draped her face in wet, messy clumps, but she could have cared less. She had not bothered to look over her shoulder to see if he had followed.
She was so tired of hearing the same thing -- stay inside, you're only going to get hurt. She had handled everything on her own just fine, and he just happened to stumble into the picture. If he would've just minded his own business so long ago... if only he'd just left her alone... just like everyone else.
Unbeknownst to herself, her rage was cooling and turning into a passionate longing to go back home, where she belonged, and apologize. She found herself thinking back to their hidden little house, wondering what he was doing. Had he started searching for her, or was he just sitting in the house, waiting on her return? Had he decided enough was enough, and had he made a retreat while she was gone? He was only looking out for her.
She growled loudly and swung her sword violently, leaving a two-inch wound in the trunk of a nearby tree. Her emotions were conflicted, and it was something she had never experienced in her life. She had grown up being cold and distant from everybody, not wanting to be hurt again. Yet here she was, her heart reaching out for somebody else. In her own efforts to prevent herself from feeling any pain, she was the sole reason she was hurting now. She cried out again, louder, and swung her sword blindly once again.
"What the hell is wrong with me!" She exclaimed, never feeling such a way. She swung her sword repeatedly, until her strength depleted, and then she stared at the damage she had caused. She blinked through her wet red hair, staring at the battered tree. The sight had struck another new nerve in her emotional arsenal -- was that what she had done to him with her words? What was she feeling now?
Her body began to quiver, and her tears mixed with the rain. She had so much learning left to do, and all of it was overwhelming and confusing. Learning to have emotions and caring for another was so hard, so taxing, so... frightening.
She needed him. He was always behind her, catching her when she fell. And she had just learned it. She knelt down to the ground, burying her face in her hands.
Back where she belonged, he had retired to bed. But he had lit a solitary candle, a faint symbol of hopefulness, worry, and welcoming that he hoped she would see.
And he slept with another candle at his side, hoping he would see his own message to himself.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Regaining Ability.
And it goes a little something like this.
This is one of my rare narrative poems. As such, it is very long. Bear with the length, and I hope it's as good as my other works.
Living Through the Storm
The sky turns black and ominous
The air turns heavy with hostility
Winds are warm as blood and
Sears the body to the core
Then there it is --
The first crack of lightning
Splits the sky
With abrupt violence that
Leaves a gaping wound
Thunder roars, demanding argument.
The lightning cuts the sky
Repeatedly, a samurai's accuracy
And murderer's coldheartedness
Until finally there is rain.
Heavy, hot, hard rain
Full of emotion and while it
Is devoid of voice,
It tells the tale of misery,
Despair, and anguish.
And somewhere in this torrent
Of terror and destruction,
There is two, captured in the
Crossfire of warring forces,
Sparring for control.
The innocent run, but are
Stricken blind by rain
Nearly ruined by the lightning
Deafened by the thunder.
Hell has fallen upon the world,
And has taken two prisoners.
The storm tears between the two,
Its brutal nature seeping
Into the innermost workings of
Their minds,
Twisting them into creatures
That are defending only themselves,
Sending waves of bitterness
Crashing over two souls that once
Were bound to protect the other.
Distorts the words of peace
Into daggers, causing injury.
And it rages on for hours
Before the energy ebbs away,
And an eerie silence floats down.
The sky is grey with numbness
And the wind weakens until it dies.
The land is nearly devastated,
Branches of once beautiful trees
Laying scattered on a battered earth
That once held beauty,
But now holds bruises of a
Turbulent time.
Underneath one of the trees
There she is, laying in a
Foundation of mud and debris,
Her body quivering with distress
And her eyes staring blankly
As they look around and wonder
What has occurred.
She rises to sit, tucking her body
In close, resting her head upon
Her knees, revealing bruises
Upon her arms and scratches
Along her face.
She is battered,
She is beaten,
But she still holds on.
There is a force stronger than
Pain and war that keeps her
Holding on.
That force is her bind to another.
In a little cavern hidden
Quite a ways from there
He's hidden himself inside
And stares at the wall.
The cavern is not much longer than he
And he's taken sanctuary in
This womb of darkness,
Waiting it out. Not just the storm,
But also his warring thoughts.
What made him run from her
In the midst of all that destruction?
What made them throw daggers
To begin with? What insanity drove
Them to this point.
He begins to wonder where she is,
And crawls out from his protective
Hideaway. He sets into search,
Hoping to God he isn't too late.
She's been pacing around the lands
For three eternities, to her it feels.
Her mind can't help but drift backwards
As her eyes look forward at the sunset.
She folds her arms tighter across herself,
Shivering with emotions swelling.
Emotions of dread, sorrow, and fear,
All answering a single question:
What if he doesn't come back this time?
Suddenly, a gentle force up from behind,
A pair of arms around her shoulders,
Pulls her back, and makes her turn around.
She peers up and into
A pair of timidly hopeful eyes,
That match beautifully with a smile
That brims with relief and uncertainty.
At first, there is an empty look
Upon her battered countenance,
As it takes a moment to all sink in.
But then a smile settles on her lips,
And her eyes fill up with eager tears
Throwing herself into the arms of her protector,
The force to which she is forever bound.
His arms tighten around her, and he rests
His head atop hers, closing his eyes
And silently voicing his relief to the air,
Feeling as if the missing half to his being
Had finally found its place once more.
And they both silently breathe
A sigh of relief,
Reunited once more after
Living through the storm.
This is one of my rare narrative poems. As such, it is very long. Bear with the length, and I hope it's as good as my other works.
The sky turns black and ominous
The air turns heavy with hostility
Winds are warm as blood and
Sears the body to the core
Then there it is --
The first crack of lightning
Splits the sky
With abrupt violence that
Leaves a gaping wound
Thunder roars, demanding argument.
The lightning cuts the sky
Repeatedly, a samurai's accuracy
And murderer's coldheartedness
Until finally there is rain.
Heavy, hot, hard rain
Full of emotion and while it
Is devoid of voice,
It tells the tale of misery,
Despair, and anguish.
And somewhere in this torrent
Of terror and destruction,
There is two, captured in the
Crossfire of warring forces,
Sparring for control.
The innocent run, but are
Stricken blind by rain
Nearly ruined by the lightning
Deafened by the thunder.
Hell has fallen upon the world,
And has taken two prisoners.
The storm tears between the two,
Its brutal nature seeping
Into the innermost workings of
Their minds,
Twisting them into creatures
That are defending only themselves,
Sending waves of bitterness
Crashing over two souls that once
Were bound to protect the other.
Distorts the words of peace
Into daggers, causing injury.
And it rages on for hours
Before the energy ebbs away,
And an eerie silence floats down.
The sky is grey with numbness
And the wind weakens until it dies.
The land is nearly devastated,
Branches of once beautiful trees
Laying scattered on a battered earth
That once held beauty,
But now holds bruises of a
Turbulent time.
Underneath one of the trees
There she is, laying in a
Foundation of mud and debris,
Her body quivering with distress
And her eyes staring blankly
As they look around and wonder
What has occurred.
She rises to sit, tucking her body
In close, resting her head upon
Her knees, revealing bruises
Upon her arms and scratches
Along her face.
She is battered,
She is beaten,
But she still holds on.
There is a force stronger than
Pain and war that keeps her
Holding on.
That force is her bind to another.
In a little cavern hidden
Quite a ways from there
He's hidden himself inside
And stares at the wall.
The cavern is not much longer than he
And he's taken sanctuary in
This womb of darkness,
Waiting it out. Not just the storm,
But also his warring thoughts.
What made him run from her
In the midst of all that destruction?
What made them throw daggers
To begin with? What insanity drove
Them to this point.
He begins to wonder where she is,
And crawls out from his protective
Hideaway. He sets into search,
Hoping to God he isn't too late.
She's been pacing around the lands
For three eternities, to her it feels.
Her mind can't help but drift backwards
As her eyes look forward at the sunset.
She folds her arms tighter across herself,
Shivering with emotions swelling.
Emotions of dread, sorrow, and fear,
All answering a single question:
What if he doesn't come back this time?
Suddenly, a gentle force up from behind,
A pair of arms around her shoulders,
Pulls her back, and makes her turn around.
She peers up and into
A pair of timidly hopeful eyes,
That match beautifully with a smile
That brims with relief and uncertainty.
At first, there is an empty look
Upon her battered countenance,
As it takes a moment to all sink in.
But then a smile settles on her lips,
And her eyes fill up with eager tears
Throwing herself into the arms of her protector,
The force to which she is forever bound.
His arms tighten around her, and he rests
His head atop hers, closing his eyes
And silently voicing his relief to the air,
Feeling as if the missing half to his being
Had finally found its place once more.
And they both silently breathe
A sigh of relief,
Reunited once more after
Living through the storm.
The Pseudo World.
The pseudo world exists, and anyone can find it.
It's the light and scenery that is seen with closed eyes. The sounds are created by the slow and gentle drumming of a resting heart. The breezes are created by gentle sighs heaved by drowsy lungs. The feelings are felt by receptors numbed with slumber.
The pseudo world can be anything, everything, or nothing. Sometimes it's a single scene in a world of scenes. Other times it is an entire universe than spans far beyond into infinity. Occasionally, it's a black hole, empty and hollow. And while dreams of anything and everything are occasionally forgotten, the dreams of nothing are always remembered.
"I didn't dream." Oh, but you did. You dreamt of floating in the black hole. You were drifting idly in the void of space that is never seen but always imagined. Interesting how nothing can be so intriguing.
My pseudo world used to be a 22-story house. The ground floor and the floor above it were decorated much like a normal house -- a living room, kitchen, entertainment room, and bedrooms. These two floors were the only floors ever seen by my guests, if in my dreams, I had any.
These two floors represented what other people see of me... my mask of sanity; my facade of normalcy.
The top ten floors were incredible. The floors were made of polished white and black marble; the walls were marble as well. The furniture in the rooms of the upper floors was plush, fancy, beautiful. These floors were immaculate, massive, and amazing. They were crammed full of parchments, books, and papers... yet everything was neatly organized. Yet everything was covered in dust. I never made it far beyond the upper seventh floor. In the center of that room was a beautiful stained glass mural that reflected with sunlight, yet revealed no world outside. The house floated in its own void. A room on this floor was a bedroom of sorts, in which several kittens romped and played. But as I never ventured up that far, I never knew who tended to them.
These top ten floors represented my mind and intellect... large, beautiful, but also neglected. My inability to climb beyond the seventh floor revealed in me a fear of pushing myself beyond what I am capable of.
The bottom ten floors were awful. There were few lights in these lower levels, and each floor got steadily darker until by the lower fourth floor, there was no light at all. Except for one room. This room on the fourth floor was a beautifully decorated bedroom, that looked inviting in the sea of darkness. However, if you stepped into that room, you were overwhelmed by a demonic sense of fright and evil. I always turned that light off in my dreams, but it was always on again. The lower eighth floor was a flooded cellar that was home to chattering ghosts that would talk about you and laugh at your fear. They would gather around you and laugh in your ear, loudly, until you panicked and ran. But as it was total darkness, you would hurt yourself. The floors would get progressively colder; the furniture more deteriorated. Every floor had a spirit or ghost of some sort waiting to call you out, but the lower eighth was the scariest. Often times, I found myself running through these lower ten floors attempting to hide from somebody, and would wind up running as ghosts terrorized me relentlessly.
These bottom ten floors represented my fears, insecurities, and emotions... dark, cold, horrifying, relentless. My constant venturing into their depths revealed how much I was focusing my energy on all the wrong things about myself, and with each dream, I'd venture further down the depths.
In my dreams, I was never allowed to leave this house. I was locked within it, and none of the doors leading out would open. I spent countless nights wandering the darkness of the basements, as if I'd find a key to get out. Of course, I never would.
When I realized what the message was, I had the final dream of the building. I opened the front door leading out, and the world set out before me. Everything materialized before me, and I took my first step outside of the house.
The dream never returned.
Now my pseudo worlds seem to be revolving around schools that I've attended. The location is never the same and the dreams are spread a week apart from one another, and there has yet to be a clear sign as to what I'm looking for.
The pseudo world can be just as vivid as the real world, if not more so. Is it possible that our dreams are our real worlds, and the real world is our pseudo world? If so, do we all live on our own separate planets.
Perhaps we do. Then perhaps the pseudo world causes our real worlds to meet and cross.
Reality and imagination. The line between them is so vague.
It's the light and scenery that is seen with closed eyes. The sounds are created by the slow and gentle drumming of a resting heart. The breezes are created by gentle sighs heaved by drowsy lungs. The feelings are felt by receptors numbed with slumber.
The pseudo world can be anything, everything, or nothing. Sometimes it's a single scene in a world of scenes. Other times it is an entire universe than spans far beyond into infinity. Occasionally, it's a black hole, empty and hollow. And while dreams of anything and everything are occasionally forgotten, the dreams of nothing are always remembered.
"I didn't dream." Oh, but you did. You dreamt of floating in the black hole. You were drifting idly in the void of space that is never seen but always imagined. Interesting how nothing can be so intriguing.
My pseudo world used to be a 22-story house. The ground floor and the floor above it were decorated much like a normal house -- a living room, kitchen, entertainment room, and bedrooms. These two floors were the only floors ever seen by my guests, if in my dreams, I had any.
These two floors represented what other people see of me... my mask of sanity; my facade of normalcy.
The top ten floors were incredible. The floors were made of polished white and black marble; the walls were marble as well. The furniture in the rooms of the upper floors was plush, fancy, beautiful. These floors were immaculate, massive, and amazing. They were crammed full of parchments, books, and papers... yet everything was neatly organized. Yet everything was covered in dust. I never made it far beyond the upper seventh floor. In the center of that room was a beautiful stained glass mural that reflected with sunlight, yet revealed no world outside. The house floated in its own void. A room on this floor was a bedroom of sorts, in which several kittens romped and played. But as I never ventured up that far, I never knew who tended to them.
These top ten floors represented my mind and intellect... large, beautiful, but also neglected. My inability to climb beyond the seventh floor revealed in me a fear of pushing myself beyond what I am capable of.
The bottom ten floors were awful. There were few lights in these lower levels, and each floor got steadily darker until by the lower fourth floor, there was no light at all. Except for one room. This room on the fourth floor was a beautifully decorated bedroom, that looked inviting in the sea of darkness. However, if you stepped into that room, you were overwhelmed by a demonic sense of fright and evil. I always turned that light off in my dreams, but it was always on again. The lower eighth floor was a flooded cellar that was home to chattering ghosts that would talk about you and laugh at your fear. They would gather around you and laugh in your ear, loudly, until you panicked and ran. But as it was total darkness, you would hurt yourself. The floors would get progressively colder; the furniture more deteriorated. Every floor had a spirit or ghost of some sort waiting to call you out, but the lower eighth was the scariest. Often times, I found myself running through these lower ten floors attempting to hide from somebody, and would wind up running as ghosts terrorized me relentlessly.
These bottom ten floors represented my fears, insecurities, and emotions... dark, cold, horrifying, relentless. My constant venturing into their depths revealed how much I was focusing my energy on all the wrong things about myself, and with each dream, I'd venture further down the depths.
In my dreams, I was never allowed to leave this house. I was locked within it, and none of the doors leading out would open. I spent countless nights wandering the darkness of the basements, as if I'd find a key to get out. Of course, I never would.
When I realized what the message was, I had the final dream of the building. I opened the front door leading out, and the world set out before me. Everything materialized before me, and I took my first step outside of the house.
The dream never returned.
Now my pseudo worlds seem to be revolving around schools that I've attended. The location is never the same and the dreams are spread a week apart from one another, and there has yet to be a clear sign as to what I'm looking for.
The pseudo world can be just as vivid as the real world, if not more so. Is it possible that our dreams are our real worlds, and the real world is our pseudo world? If so, do we all live on our own separate planets.
Perhaps we do. Then perhaps the pseudo world causes our real worlds to meet and cross.
Reality and imagination. The line between them is so vague.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Riddle Me This:
My two favorite people ever are doing badly, it seems.
Shelby's having some kind of crisis. She's not behaving at all like herself -- she's picked up smoking, is talking about experimenting with various things, and has been purposelly mean to people (she's never been that way, ever). She just doesn't seem to be herself any more.
Phil seems like he's down and out -- maybe bitter? -- about something. The past few days, I've been trying to talk to him, only to get short responses and a feeling of tension. I channel it. But if I were to ask what was wrong, I'd probably get "nothing" again. I almost always get "nothing." Then again, maybe he knows better than me when he doesn't say anything -- it's not like I'm good at cheering him up, anyway.
How can I be happy for myself and excited when my two favorite people seem so damn miserable? I feel selfish and wrong when I'm in such high spirits. I feel confused and bothered when I watch their recent behaviors. I feel so much pain and sadness when I realize there's nothing I can do for them. And often when I try to be the cheery ray of bouncy sunshine, neither of them are the least bit cheered up and I wind up sad and hopeless...
I hope both of them feel better soon. I want them back. My progress and recovery means nothing to me when both of my support columns are wobbling under other pressure. The more steps I take forward while they're in such states, the worse these steps seem to feel.
I refuse to talk about my recovery and progress any more. The more I seem to talk about it, the worse people seem to get. Besides, what's the point of being excited and proud when it only takes two minutes to have that completely smashed into the ground?
Just, damnit, get better. I'm begging you. I can't stand to see all this depression and bitterness. It hurts so much. I'd have written a poem... but I've lost the will to bother.
Shelby's having some kind of crisis. She's not behaving at all like herself -- she's picked up smoking, is talking about experimenting with various things, and has been purposelly mean to people (she's never been that way, ever). She just doesn't seem to be herself any more.
Phil seems like he's down and out -- maybe bitter? -- about something. The past few days, I've been trying to talk to him, only to get short responses and a feeling of tension. I channel it. But if I were to ask what was wrong, I'd probably get "nothing" again. I almost always get "nothing." Then again, maybe he knows better than me when he doesn't say anything -- it's not like I'm good at cheering him up, anyway.
How can I be happy for myself and excited when my two favorite people seem so damn miserable? I feel selfish and wrong when I'm in such high spirits. I feel confused and bothered when I watch their recent behaviors. I feel so much pain and sadness when I realize there's nothing I can do for them. And often when I try to be the cheery ray of bouncy sunshine, neither of them are the least bit cheered up and I wind up sad and hopeless...
I hope both of them feel better soon. I want them back. My progress and recovery means nothing to me when both of my support columns are wobbling under other pressure. The more steps I take forward while they're in such states, the worse these steps seem to feel.
I refuse to talk about my recovery and progress any more. The more I seem to talk about it, the worse people seem to get. Besides, what's the point of being excited and proud when it only takes two minutes to have that completely smashed into the ground?
Just, damnit, get better. I'm begging you. I can't stand to see all this depression and bitterness. It hurts so much. I'd have written a poem... but I've lost the will to bother.
Potential Thought-Train.
I don't know where this entry is going to go. Given my state, it might become a thought-train. Be on your guard.
Y'know, fear is a funny thing. I'm normally a very squeamish person who panics and behaves like a child at the sight of needles; somebody who gets nauseous at the sight of bodily fluids/organs/etc. My surgery had me face all those fears. Out of eight needles I received during my stint in the hospital, I only panicked at four. The first four. (The second one was a shot in the leg that hurt like hell and left a bruise.) The last four, I willingly offered up my hand and never flinched, winced, or cried. In fact, I giggled through one of them.
Tonight, Mike had gone to bed and I needed my drains emptied. As Mama cannot stand the sight of the drains, I was on my own. So I handled it, by myself, flawlessly, not even bothered by it. Any other time, I'd have squirmed and flinched and screeched my protests and refusals.
I'm horrified of rodents -- especially anything that resembles a rat -- and will either screech or freeze up if I see one. A while back, Mama and I were sitting at the table when she turned pale. I asked what it was, to turn around and see a huge rat hanging onto a pole just beyond the window (which was three feet from me). I calmly got up, put myself between Mama and the window, so that she wouldn't have to see it, and managed to get her calm enough to leave the room. As she was leaving, I stared at it while it stared back at me, and I never flinched. The second she was out of the room, I backstepped and felt my skin crawl.
When our beloved cat Snoopy was being "attacked" by our three large dogs, I was petrified, as was Shelby. Shelby locked up and couldn't/wouldn't move. The next thing I knew, I'd thrown open the back door and launched myself into the pack of dogs, kicking and pushing them away as I grabbed Snoopy and started running towards the safety of the house. I had dogs jumping and snapping at me as I ran. The whole thing felt like it took forever, but I know it was only a minute at most.
Apparently, when people around me are afraid, my own bravery increases by about five hundred percent. If somebody around me is afraid, suddenly I seem to know no fear, and can stand up tall and act calm and collected -- even if it's something I absolutely dread. If I'm alone and a fear of mine rears its head, I'll freeze up, whimper, shiver, cry, and even run/hide. What is it about me that makes me brave when others are afraid? My "want to protect everyone" nature? The human brain -- especially mine -- perplexes me.
Pain is fickle, too. Take my recovery, for instance. I've been doing remarkably well, according to anybody and everybody who's watched my progress from day one. I'm up and mobile, doing a lot of stuff for myself, and forcing myself to start bending and lifting more. When people are watching me, it's as if I never had a major abdominal surgery.
Then I get alone. I get alone and I realize how badly I hurt sometimes. My drains will ache me severely -- sometimes to the point of tears -- my back will pulse and cause me to writhe, and my legs will ache non-stop. All the pain I didn't notice suddenly will flood back, and make me feel like I'm taking a step back rather than a step forward.
I'll do this with just about any form of pain. I'll be fine when people are around me, then I'll get alone and realize how bad things are. Is it that I'm prideful and don't want people to see my weakness? Is it that I don't want people to worry so I subconsciously block out my pain auras, effectively allowing me to look like I'm doing wonderful? It's an up-and-down ride with me, doing so well during the day only to crash hard when I'm alone. Am I doing well or not?
Today I wanted a day alone. I'm normally somebody who wants to be in a crowd -- even though I'm anti-social and probably will never utter a word. I like being around the action and taking it all in. I'm the ever-vigilant observer who likes to analyze things and look for small details. I'm nearly a professional body language decoder, and know so much about the human nature that you'd think I was some sort of psychologist. It was nothing I was born with, but rather something I trained myself to do. And with my semi-psychic channeling, empathy, and visions, studying the nature of humans was never hard for me.
Yet with all of this on my side, how could I not decode why I felt the need for space? I was finding myself disgruntled and irritated when I had anybody in my "bubble." It was so unlike me. However, I had my time to myself, and once I had it, I felt much better and seemed to just bounce right back into the groove of things.
It was probably a good thing I kept my space today -- everybody in the house is mad at everybody right now, with the exception of me. I'm mad at no one, nor is anyone mad with me. Perhaps I subconsciously knew something would occur.
I'm thinking about beginning meditation and self-hypnosis again. I noticed that when I did meditation (which I often did before bed or before naps), my channeling and "seeing" ability were sharper and more improved. I forget why I stopped. Meditation is actually hard to do, but will produce amazing results if you can harness it...
It's how I had the vision of December 11... and that vision was had sometime in July.
And this turned into a pseudo thought-train. For anybody who read this far, I hope this entry wasn't too dull.
And you got another peek into my never-resting mind.
Y'know, fear is a funny thing. I'm normally a very squeamish person who panics and behaves like a child at the sight of needles; somebody who gets nauseous at the sight of bodily fluids/organs/etc. My surgery had me face all those fears. Out of eight needles I received during my stint in the hospital, I only panicked at four. The first four. (The second one was a shot in the leg that hurt like hell and left a bruise.) The last four, I willingly offered up my hand and never flinched, winced, or cried. In fact, I giggled through one of them.
Tonight, Mike had gone to bed and I needed my drains emptied. As Mama cannot stand the sight of the drains, I was on my own. So I handled it, by myself, flawlessly, not even bothered by it. Any other time, I'd have squirmed and flinched and screeched my protests and refusals.
I'm horrified of rodents -- especially anything that resembles a rat -- and will either screech or freeze up if I see one. A while back, Mama and I were sitting at the table when she turned pale. I asked what it was, to turn around and see a huge rat hanging onto a pole just beyond the window (which was three feet from me). I calmly got up, put myself between Mama and the window, so that she wouldn't have to see it, and managed to get her calm enough to leave the room. As she was leaving, I stared at it while it stared back at me, and I never flinched. The second she was out of the room, I backstepped and felt my skin crawl.
When our beloved cat Snoopy was being "attacked" by our three large dogs, I was petrified, as was Shelby. Shelby locked up and couldn't/wouldn't move. The next thing I knew, I'd thrown open the back door and launched myself into the pack of dogs, kicking and pushing them away as I grabbed Snoopy and started running towards the safety of the house. I had dogs jumping and snapping at me as I ran. The whole thing felt like it took forever, but I know it was only a minute at most.
Apparently, when people around me are afraid, my own bravery increases by about five hundred percent. If somebody around me is afraid, suddenly I seem to know no fear, and can stand up tall and act calm and collected -- even if it's something I absolutely dread. If I'm alone and a fear of mine rears its head, I'll freeze up, whimper, shiver, cry, and even run/hide. What is it about me that makes me brave when others are afraid? My "want to protect everyone" nature? The human brain -- especially mine -- perplexes me.
Pain is fickle, too. Take my recovery, for instance. I've been doing remarkably well, according to anybody and everybody who's watched my progress from day one. I'm up and mobile, doing a lot of stuff for myself, and forcing myself to start bending and lifting more. When people are watching me, it's as if I never had a major abdominal surgery.
Then I get alone. I get alone and I realize how badly I hurt sometimes. My drains will ache me severely -- sometimes to the point of tears -- my back will pulse and cause me to writhe, and my legs will ache non-stop. All the pain I didn't notice suddenly will flood back, and make me feel like I'm taking a step back rather than a step forward.
I'll do this with just about any form of pain. I'll be fine when people are around me, then I'll get alone and realize how bad things are. Is it that I'm prideful and don't want people to see my weakness? Is it that I don't want people to worry so I subconsciously block out my pain auras, effectively allowing me to look like I'm doing wonderful? It's an up-and-down ride with me, doing so well during the day only to crash hard when I'm alone. Am I doing well or not?
Today I wanted a day alone. I'm normally somebody who wants to be in a crowd -- even though I'm anti-social and probably will never utter a word. I like being around the action and taking it all in. I'm the ever-vigilant observer who likes to analyze things and look for small details. I'm nearly a professional body language decoder, and know so much about the human nature that you'd think I was some sort of psychologist. It was nothing I was born with, but rather something I trained myself to do. And with my semi-psychic channeling, empathy, and visions, studying the nature of humans was never hard for me.
Yet with all of this on my side, how could I not decode why I felt the need for space? I was finding myself disgruntled and irritated when I had anybody in my "bubble." It was so unlike me. However, I had my time to myself, and once I had it, I felt much better and seemed to just bounce right back into the groove of things.
It was probably a good thing I kept my space today -- everybody in the house is mad at everybody right now, with the exception of me. I'm mad at no one, nor is anyone mad with me. Perhaps I subconsciously knew something would occur.
I'm thinking about beginning meditation and self-hypnosis again. I noticed that when I did meditation (which I often did before bed or before naps), my channeling and "seeing" ability were sharper and more improved. I forget why I stopped. Meditation is actually hard to do, but will produce amazing results if you can harness it...
It's how I had the vision of December 11... and that vision was had sometime in July.
And this turned into a pseudo thought-train. For anybody who read this far, I hope this entry wasn't too dull.
And you got another peek into my never-resting mind.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Curiosities.
Things happen.
For reasons I'm not always sure of.
Today was a day of this.
For starters, a freak thunderstorm in the middle of January, one of hail-producing capability. Of course, the meteorology junkie in me completely devoured this, but the intellectual side of me questioned it. With a thunderstorm "season" of late March through late August... a January storm... I can't remember the last time it's ever happened. It provoked a strange excitement.
Next, I find out my little sister has started smoking. I'm not angry nor frustrated with her, as I believe in the policy "to each their own." But it makes me sad, confused, and a bit disturbed. Growing up, I was the wild child who was always getting into trouble, and Shelby was the living example of an angel -- a mean look in her direction made her cry. So how is it that so many years later, I'm the one who hasn't picked up smoking, or any of that? Albeit I'm guilty of stupid things -- unprotected sex and an addiction to sleeping pills, both of which I no longer indulge in... I just... I wonder.
She says she's depressed. Should I be more attentive? No, I should have been. I just wonder for how long.
Third, I've begun to have a very strange "condition." I call it the "sleepy shudders," as I've no better term for it. Lately, I'll get waves of shudders/spasms that run through my body -- they're no different than a normal shudder, until my eyes roll back in my head and my body grows limp. I tend to make a noise to "rouse" myself before anything happens, but ten minutes later, I have another. It's as if I'm attempting to faint or black out involuntarily. I can't remember ever having this condition before... it's intriguing but a bit scary. I don't know what to make of it.
Finally, I'm realizing I'm having another series of "repeating dreams." The new motif is not of the 22-story house like it used to be. The 22-story house dream turned into a huge message. The house itself was my body, with the attic being my logic, intellect, and good traits; the basement was my sorrows, fears, morbid natures, and bad traits. (The house ALWAYS looked the same. Nothing ever moved, and I had this dream over the span of several months.) In my dreams, I'd find myself often running through the basements, running from somebody, looking to hide. I could never figure out why I ran through the basements, as they always scared me...
That dream was a huge message, telling me to re-evaluate what I was focusing on in my life. When I learned the message and took its advice, the dream disappeared. I've not had it since.
Now I'm beginning to have repeating dreams about schools. Primarily my old high school, Northgate. All kinds of things are occurring in these dreams -- wandering the halls idly; nightmarish adventures of being chased or attacked; roaming the hall looking for the ghost of the campus (the school was built over a cemetery from the Civil War era). But primarily in these dreams, I'm visiting the front office, getting my schedule changed, or looking for it as they have misplaced it.
Last night I had a dream about a school. But it was different. Instead of being at Northgate, the campus resembled Madras, my second middle school (I changed schools in the middle of seventh grade due to Mama moving out of town and having custody of Shelby and I). However, it was my old elementary school. I was having a frantic search looking for my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Moses, who thought the world of me. I found her in the exact same spot in the hall her class was located back when I actually attended school, and there she was, teaching math to a group of kids.
I sat through the course of the day, just observing and watching the children. She gave them a test, and graded it and handed it back in the same day -- something I can't remember her ever doing. The final bell rang for the day and dismissed the students, and I exited last. I said to her, "Nice to see you again."
She replied, "So my name is Mrs. Train now..."
...I woke up. I have no idea what's the deal with my latest episode of repeating dreams, and all I can do is pick apart at them until something comes of it.
Mrs. Train. Why did I need to know that? Something about that sticks out so much in my mind.
I'm the only person I know who is so obsessed with picking apart dreams for messages. I like picking apart other people's dreams, too, because sometimes I see the messages in them that they don't. Then again, I'm not sure if anybody besides me has visions or repeating dreams.
Nor do people seem as open as I.
I would love to have somebody lay out a lot of information about themselves, or weird dreams they've had, or weird things about them... and I would love to be able to analyze it, pick it apart, and tell them what I know.
I'm obsessed with analyzing things and learning about them.
Things happen sometimes for reasons I don't know.
And I'm the curious sort of person who wants to try and find out why.
For reasons I'm not always sure of.
Today was a day of this.
For starters, a freak thunderstorm in the middle of January, one of hail-producing capability. Of course, the meteorology junkie in me completely devoured this, but the intellectual side of me questioned it. With a thunderstorm "season" of late March through late August... a January storm... I can't remember the last time it's ever happened. It provoked a strange excitement.
Next, I find out my little sister has started smoking. I'm not angry nor frustrated with her, as I believe in the policy "to each their own." But it makes me sad, confused, and a bit disturbed. Growing up, I was the wild child who was always getting into trouble, and Shelby was the living example of an angel -- a mean look in her direction made her cry. So how is it that so many years later, I'm the one who hasn't picked up smoking, or any of that? Albeit I'm guilty of stupid things -- unprotected sex and an addiction to sleeping pills, both of which I no longer indulge in... I just... I wonder.
She says she's depressed. Should I be more attentive? No, I should have been. I just wonder for how long.
Third, I've begun to have a very strange "condition." I call it the "sleepy shudders," as I've no better term for it. Lately, I'll get waves of shudders/spasms that run through my body -- they're no different than a normal shudder, until my eyes roll back in my head and my body grows limp. I tend to make a noise to "rouse" myself before anything happens, but ten minutes later, I have another. It's as if I'm attempting to faint or black out involuntarily. I can't remember ever having this condition before... it's intriguing but a bit scary. I don't know what to make of it.
Finally, I'm realizing I'm having another series of "repeating dreams." The new motif is not of the 22-story house like it used to be. The 22-story house dream turned into a huge message. The house itself was my body, with the attic being my logic, intellect, and good traits; the basement was my sorrows, fears, morbid natures, and bad traits. (The house ALWAYS looked the same. Nothing ever moved, and I had this dream over the span of several months.) In my dreams, I'd find myself often running through the basements, running from somebody, looking to hide. I could never figure out why I ran through the basements, as they always scared me...
That dream was a huge message, telling me to re-evaluate what I was focusing on in my life. When I learned the message and took its advice, the dream disappeared. I've not had it since.
Now I'm beginning to have repeating dreams about schools. Primarily my old high school, Northgate. All kinds of things are occurring in these dreams -- wandering the halls idly; nightmarish adventures of being chased or attacked; roaming the hall looking for the ghost of the campus (the school was built over a cemetery from the Civil War era). But primarily in these dreams, I'm visiting the front office, getting my schedule changed, or looking for it as they have misplaced it.
Last night I had a dream about a school. But it was different. Instead of being at Northgate, the campus resembled Madras, my second middle school (I changed schools in the middle of seventh grade due to Mama moving out of town and having custody of Shelby and I). However, it was my old elementary school. I was having a frantic search looking for my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Moses, who thought the world of me. I found her in the exact same spot in the hall her class was located back when I actually attended school, and there she was, teaching math to a group of kids.
I sat through the course of the day, just observing and watching the children. She gave them a test, and graded it and handed it back in the same day -- something I can't remember her ever doing. The final bell rang for the day and dismissed the students, and I exited last. I said to her, "Nice to see you again."
She replied, "So my name is Mrs. Train now..."
...I woke up. I have no idea what's the deal with my latest episode of repeating dreams, and all I can do is pick apart at them until something comes of it.
Mrs. Train. Why did I need to know that? Something about that sticks out so much in my mind.
I'm the only person I know who is so obsessed with picking apart dreams for messages. I like picking apart other people's dreams, too, because sometimes I see the messages in them that they don't. Then again, I'm not sure if anybody besides me has visions or repeating dreams.
Nor do people seem as open as I.
I would love to have somebody lay out a lot of information about themselves, or weird dreams they've had, or weird things about them... and I would love to be able to analyze it, pick it apart, and tell them what I know.
I'm obsessed with analyzing things and learning about them.
Things happen sometimes for reasons I don't know.
And I'm the curious sort of person who wants to try and find out why.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Random Musings of Medicated Girl.
(Notice: This post is one of my occasional "thought train" entries. Occasionally I write an entry that is nothing more than the train of thoughts running through my head at the given time. My thought trains can occasionally be radical and strange. Thought trains occur when I induce a waking trance and let the intellectual spirit of my body play as the dominant force. As such, thought trains almost never have my "voice." Feel free to ignore this entry, unless you want a glimpse into my intellectual spirit. Feel free to comment about any of my strange musings. Without further ado, a thought train...)
Time is a weird concept to me. We spend our lives worshipping the clock, which is nothing more than a mere circular device with numbers and "hands." Nine out of ten people you see on the streets are often wearing watches on their wrists, constantly looking at them, almost as if forgetting to look would cause instantaneous death. Even I'm guilty of it when I'm out and about on campus.
We divide infinity into seconds, and when enough have been collected, they become minutes. Minutes become hours; hours become days; days become weeks; weeks become months; months become years. But why must we overcomplicate things? If clocks were to vanish, and calendars to be erased, would the world suddenly end? The sun will still rise and set, as will the moon -- they don't need a clock or calendar to tell them that.
Then why do we? If the world can go about without a "sophisticated" system of digits, why can't humans?
Humans are such counter-productive creatures. In all our efforts to advance ourselves, we have only taken steps backwards. We preach "equality for all," yet racism runs rampant. Take the past election, for instance. You could ask any black person you saw, "Who are you voting for this November?" and the answer was the same: Obama. Why? Color. They didn't care what the issues were -- did anybody? A lot of whites were guilty of the same concept with McCain. This election past was not an election for repairing the country... this election was an election for color. In all the editorials you saw throughout the campaign period, anybody who was seen flaming Obama was responded to with "You're a racist!" and "How can you be so closed-minded?" This is equality?
Justice is also a lie. So prisons exist -- they house convicted criminals at the expense of the innocent. So court systems claim to "stand up for the middle class" -- Yet decisions are made by who can write the biggest, fattest check. The killer of my great-aunt has been housed in a prison cell for going on five years. Will he ever be convicted? Probably not. They have infringed on his right to a speedy trial, and will have to release him. And he will walk out into the world a free man, while my family never receives its closure for the loss of a beloved family member. Murder for $34 -- $34 that was never taken. And he walks away. That's justice.
Money is a curse. Money talks, not people. Money is the puppeteer, and humans its stringed, dancing figurines. The more money a person has, the more wonderful they are. And that money turns to power.
And power is a curse as well. The more power given to any one individual, the more corrupt they will become. A pure mind can turn rotten if handed a lofty position. With power comes money, which can be used to buy a person's way out of anything... why be honest? With that money, a person could hire all the assistants in the world to do his or her bidding... his or her thinking... why bother being educated? If you're powerful, you don't have to be intelligent... you can get away with anything. Powerful people don't realize that their power slowly kills them, until they are nothing more than overly popular, upright, walking, talking, living vegetables. Sure, they're alive -- but they don't do their own thinking. They don't have to. A snap of the fingers and -- boom! -- their request is fulfilled.
The night brings forth the deepest of thoughts. They say that people should be weary and sleep when the world outside is dark... but then there is me, the soul whose mind springs to life after dusk. I sit awake for hours at a time, staring into the dark oblivion of my room, pondering. A thousand topics can pass my mind in a single span of thinking, a long train of thoughts that eventually can circle back around from the caboose to the lead car again.
My dreams are not dreams, but rather, visions. Every dream I have involves something I have thought about in the stages right before unconsciousness. Indeed, the dreams can be remarkable adventures, but there is symbolism in the adventures. When I wake from a dream, I will lay in my bed and pick it apart, piece by piece, until the message becomes clear. Dreams are psychic messages sent to inform, not to entertain. But perhaps, me being a "semi-psychic" makes me believe that dreams are more than imaginary fiction.
Dreams are remarkable things. In essence, sleep is much like death -- the heartrate lowers drastically, the breathing slows tremendously, and you don't hear or see anything again until you awake. Unless you fall into stages of "half sleeps..." Where the body picks up sensations around it and the brain responds by building a pseudo world around you.
It's almost as if there's no real "reality" at all.
Sometimes I wonder if anything is real. Maybe we're all just dreams being had by an unseen being...
Time is a weird concept to me. We spend our lives worshipping the clock, which is nothing more than a mere circular device with numbers and "hands." Nine out of ten people you see on the streets are often wearing watches on their wrists, constantly looking at them, almost as if forgetting to look would cause instantaneous death. Even I'm guilty of it when I'm out and about on campus.
We divide infinity into seconds, and when enough have been collected, they become minutes. Minutes become hours; hours become days; days become weeks; weeks become months; months become years. But why must we overcomplicate things? If clocks were to vanish, and calendars to be erased, would the world suddenly end? The sun will still rise and set, as will the moon -- they don't need a clock or calendar to tell them that.
Then why do we? If the world can go about without a "sophisticated" system of digits, why can't humans?
Humans are such counter-productive creatures. In all our efforts to advance ourselves, we have only taken steps backwards. We preach "equality for all," yet racism runs rampant. Take the past election, for instance. You could ask any black person you saw, "Who are you voting for this November?" and the answer was the same: Obama. Why? Color. They didn't care what the issues were -- did anybody? A lot of whites were guilty of the same concept with McCain. This election past was not an election for repairing the country... this election was an election for color. In all the editorials you saw throughout the campaign period, anybody who was seen flaming Obama was responded to with "You're a racist!" and "How can you be so closed-minded?" This is equality?
Justice is also a lie. So prisons exist -- they house convicted criminals at the expense of the innocent. So court systems claim to "stand up for the middle class" -- Yet decisions are made by who can write the biggest, fattest check. The killer of my great-aunt has been housed in a prison cell for going on five years. Will he ever be convicted? Probably not. They have infringed on his right to a speedy trial, and will have to release him. And he will walk out into the world a free man, while my family never receives its closure for the loss of a beloved family member. Murder for $34 -- $34 that was never taken. And he walks away. That's justice.
Money is a curse. Money talks, not people. Money is the puppeteer, and humans its stringed, dancing figurines. The more money a person has, the more wonderful they are. And that money turns to power.
And power is a curse as well. The more power given to any one individual, the more corrupt they will become. A pure mind can turn rotten if handed a lofty position. With power comes money, which can be used to buy a person's way out of anything... why be honest? With that money, a person could hire all the assistants in the world to do his or her bidding... his or her thinking... why bother being educated? If you're powerful, you don't have to be intelligent... you can get away with anything. Powerful people don't realize that their power slowly kills them, until they are nothing more than overly popular, upright, walking, talking, living vegetables. Sure, they're alive -- but they don't do their own thinking. They don't have to. A snap of the fingers and -- boom! -- their request is fulfilled.
The night brings forth the deepest of thoughts. They say that people should be weary and sleep when the world outside is dark... but then there is me, the soul whose mind springs to life after dusk. I sit awake for hours at a time, staring into the dark oblivion of my room, pondering. A thousand topics can pass my mind in a single span of thinking, a long train of thoughts that eventually can circle back around from the caboose to the lead car again.
My dreams are not dreams, but rather, visions. Every dream I have involves something I have thought about in the stages right before unconsciousness. Indeed, the dreams can be remarkable adventures, but there is symbolism in the adventures. When I wake from a dream, I will lay in my bed and pick it apart, piece by piece, until the message becomes clear. Dreams are psychic messages sent to inform, not to entertain. But perhaps, me being a "semi-psychic" makes me believe that dreams are more than imaginary fiction.
Dreams are remarkable things. In essence, sleep is much like death -- the heartrate lowers drastically, the breathing slows tremendously, and you don't hear or see anything again until you awake. Unless you fall into stages of "half sleeps..." Where the body picks up sensations around it and the brain responds by building a pseudo world around you.
It's almost as if there's no real "reality" at all.
Sometimes I wonder if anything is real. Maybe we're all just dreams being had by an unseen being...
Just Scribbling.
Can't you see her,
In trembling defensive stance
Grasping her ears,
Digging her nails in
Innocent skin and
Closing her eyes tight
Unwilling to open them again?
From the tears in her skin
Several reddened drops
Tracing down her fingers
And sliding to the floor,
An unseen symbol of how hard
She tries to block it out.
From her tightly closed windows,
Leaks have sprung somewhere
And two small drops of crystal glass
Make a journey down the curves
Of her face that bears no smile,
But the distortion of bewilderment
And confusion.
These drops will land without a sound
Upon her shirt, and they shall pass.
An untold story
Of willingness to speak and
Fear of daring to try.
Her little cell of isolation
Is without light, and she doesn't care
To turn it on.
There is no need presently,
And she's just too tired to walk that
Little distance.
What is it that this deranged girl
Is so afraid of that
She's wounded herself so?
Guilty wounds on an innocent conscience
Punishment undue for crimes undone
By a victim who won't accept the truth
That she puts it all on herself.
She confesses to another sin
And throws herself into prison once more
Shivering and aching,
Bleeding crimson drops of passion...
Showering crystal tears of genuine remorse.
And while the passersby may not notice,
They wonder why she won't clean up the trail
And curiously glance in direction of her sobs.
They shake their head and walk away, never
Hearing the explosions in nothing.
Post-Op: Day 3.
My recovery is still moving at a remarkable pace. Or so I'm being told.
Today I woke up at 6:00 AM due to inability to sleep any longer. I'm able to get up from a sitting position by myself without hardly any pain to speak of. When I walk, I'm more upright than hunched, my pace is a bit faster, and I can stand up for longer.
The medication did make me doze off early in the afternoon, which irritated me. I would sleep for 20 to 40 minute bursts, which seemed to amuse Phil while annoying me. (Then again, we both get enjoyment outta picking on one another, and I've been tagging him for a while about things, so I guess it's just karma.)
Today I managed to consume:
-14 ounces of water (still drinking, too)
-5 mini-popsicles
-2 containers of lime Jello (each container eaten in a 45-minute period, as not to move too fast)
-Half of a banana protein shake (I figured it was time to start trying them)
Tonight we've decided to try and let me sleep in my own bed. The walk up the stairs was actually a ton easier than I thought it would be... Shelby told me to slow down because she couldn't keep up! She was walking behind me just in case I stumbled. So I'm presently laying in my bed under my beloved fan, and I feel so comfortable.
I can get up from a laying position without assistance, with very little pain! Yay!!
Tomorrow I'm going to get my first shower on my own since my surgery, and I'm also going to remove almost all of the dressings. The surgeon told me that the extra bandages would be counter-productive, and I only need the bandages around where the drains actually protrude from me.
I'm also going to start walking the driveway a few times in order to get my mobility improved.
Mama told me tonight she has absolutely no fear of me going back to school, as I've been improving so well. That made me feel so excited and happy, as everybody was so afraid I was going to do poorly.
I have to admit, I'm loving the ego boost I get when people tell me, "Oh my God, you're doing so amazing... you're making it look easy!"
I'm in a good mood. For now, it's time to get my blanket and take one last dose of medication before attempting to sleep.
Today I woke up at 6:00 AM due to inability to sleep any longer. I'm able to get up from a sitting position by myself without hardly any pain to speak of. When I walk, I'm more upright than hunched, my pace is a bit faster, and I can stand up for longer.
The medication did make me doze off early in the afternoon, which irritated me. I would sleep for 20 to 40 minute bursts, which seemed to amuse Phil while annoying me. (Then again, we both get enjoyment outta picking on one another, and I've been tagging him for a while about things, so I guess it's just karma.)
Today I managed to consume:
-14 ounces of water (still drinking, too)
-5 mini-popsicles
-2 containers of lime Jello (each container eaten in a 45-minute period, as not to move too fast)
-Half of a banana protein shake (I figured it was time to start trying them)
Tonight we've decided to try and let me sleep in my own bed. The walk up the stairs was actually a ton easier than I thought it would be... Shelby told me to slow down because she couldn't keep up! She was walking behind me just in case I stumbled. So I'm presently laying in my bed under my beloved fan, and I feel so comfortable.
I can get up from a laying position without assistance, with very little pain! Yay!!
Tomorrow I'm going to get my first shower on my own since my surgery, and I'm also going to remove almost all of the dressings. The surgeon told me that the extra bandages would be counter-productive, and I only need the bandages around where the drains actually protrude from me.
I'm also going to start walking the driveway a few times in order to get my mobility improved.
Mama told me tonight she has absolutely no fear of me going back to school, as I've been improving so well. That made me feel so excited and happy, as everybody was so afraid I was going to do poorly.
I have to admit, I'm loving the ego boost I get when people tell me, "Oh my God, you're doing so amazing... you're making it look easy!"
I'm in a good mood. For now, it's time to get my blanket and take one last dose of medication before attempting to sleep.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Better Post to Follow.
I had (not so) random inspiration strike.
When I was going under the anesthesia, I remember fighting it and feeling weird.
It inspired this. Enjoy my latest surreal drabbling.
The Moment Before
Wired up creature
Taken into a chamber of
Lights ablaze,
Center stage.
Stared at with mutiple
Pairs of eyes
Staring down,
Murmuring loud.
Suddenly a strong inhale
Of intoxicating air
No fragrance,
No resistance.
At first there is nothing
And then
The eyes retreat back
The body falls off track.
The lights of the room
Slowly swirl into a vortex
Wrapping around the
Creature who inhaled the
Poisoned air.
The creature feels unstationary,
Floating away into space
Writhes desperately
Afraid of the heights...
The creature sails.
The bodies belonging to the eyes
Have become fuzzy blobs
In a gelatin universe;
Their voices turned to
Buzzing static...
The creature claws at the nothing
Spiraling and whirling in midair
All the colors melding
No more lights,
And no sounds.
Stop spinning
Can't stop
Dropping
Falling
Stop.
The eyes go back.
The creature sleeps.
And the world returns to peace.
When I was going under the anesthesia, I remember fighting it and feeling weird.
It inspired this. Enjoy my latest surreal drabbling.
Wired up creature
Taken into a chamber of
Lights ablaze,
Center stage.
Stared at with mutiple
Pairs of eyes
Staring down,
Murmuring loud.
Suddenly a strong inhale
Of intoxicating air
No fragrance,
No resistance.
At first there is nothing
And then
The eyes retreat back
The body falls off track.
The lights of the room
Slowly swirl into a vortex
Wrapping around the
Creature who inhaled the
Poisoned air.
The creature feels unstationary,
Floating away into space
Writhes desperately
Afraid of the heights...
The creature sails.
The bodies belonging to the eyes
Have become fuzzy blobs
In a gelatin universe;
Their voices turned to
Buzzing static...
The creature claws at the nothing
Spiraling and whirling in midair
All the colors melding
No more lights,
And no sounds.
Stop spinning
Can't stop
Dropping
Falling
Stop.
The eyes go back.
The creature sleeps.
And the world returns to peace.
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