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Thursday, November 13th, 2008
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6:17 pm - PART III
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The fuzziness in my memory starts here.
After my birthday he asked me to reconsider going out with him multiple times, and every time I refused. We were still hanging out in a group, though, and to me nothing was different. We were friends, even though every night when I got home to check my Email he was online waiting to talk to me. I talked to him, of course, and I didn't want to hurt his feelings because he seemed like a genuinely nice person. But despite all his best efforts I continued to say no whenever he asked me to be more than friends.
If you ask him how it proceeded, he'll say that I realized I liked him as more than a friend too, and I said yes. What really happened was this: His best friend Chris was listening to me complain about how he wouldn't leave me alone, and why doesn't he get it that I don't like him? Chris said something along the lines of, Because he knows, and we all know, that you do like him, you're just playing hard to get. Why don't you just give in to him and shut him up?
Unfortunately that philosophy of giving in to shut him up followed me through the entirety of our relationship.
I consulted almost all of my friends on this matter, and everyone agreed with Chris. So that's what I did. I gave in, and I told him we could hang out as more than friends to see if it worked and take it from there.
I don't remember if we went on a date or not. I don't remember hanging out with him alone.
I remember one day at school during lunch block my friend Billy saw us trying to secretly hold hands, and he said very loudly, "Oh my God, are you guys holding hands?!"
After that I think we were a couple, but I can't be sure. I just know the relationship started.
I remember the situation of the first time we kissed, but I don't remember where it fits on the time line or how it came about. I know we were in his driveway waiting for his mom to drive me home. He would have driven me himself, but his license had been suspended because he was pulled over for speeding while he only had his license for a few months, and all of our friends were in the car. I was lucky enough to miss this experience. I actually went to class. But anyways, we were in his driveway at night, and I think we were leaned up against his moms car. I know he said something corny about the night sky, but I don't know what it was. And then we kissed. I don't know who kissed who first. I want to believe he kissed me, and I didn't volunteer myself, but who knows. I had already kissed 3 boys and 1 girl before him, and he had only kissed 1 other girl, so probably I kissed him. I don't know why it matters.
Like I said, it's all blurry now.
I don't remember the timing of any of this.
I know that around the same time we became a couple I started going to counseling on a regular basis for depression. I know I thought he was the only thing making me happy, even though I was cutting myself all the time. I know that a little before Christmas he told me he loved me, and it took me a couple hours, but I said it back. And I know that a week later, before New Years Eve, I was having sex with him.
The story gets fuzzy at these parts because I don't want to remember them. It gets messy now. I've reached the point of my story that's difficult to tell. This is where I lose it. This is why the story is coming in pieces.
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| Friday, May 30th, 2008
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11:44 pm - PART II
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My 16th birthday was just around the corner, and my mom was planning a huge party for me. My whole life I wanted to be sixteen. Sweet Sixteen, I thought, was going to be the best party, and the best year, of my life. I blame Neil Sedaka and all of his cohorts for these delusions. All of my friends were invited, and my entire family, plus all of their friends were coming. The hall was rented, and the DJ was booked. I was planning on going down in history. Looking back, it was all just a big waste of money and effort. I will always feel guilty and indebted to my mom. Always.
I can't remember if I invited him or not. Either way I somehow approved his desire to come to my party, and he was there. We were pals, him and I, and I never thought twice about him coming to my party. A day or two before the big shindig I was talking to him on instant messenger. He told me he liked me, and asked me if I'd like to go out with him sometime. I was so uninterested, but being me, I couldn't just tell him that. I told him that my heart was still broken from my last relationship, and I really wasn't ready to date again yet. He said that he understood, and we went back to being just pals.
But the knowledge of his crush empowered me, and my pending party made me bold. I got cocky, and maybe I asked for it by being unusually friendly, and I suppose flirty. Maybe I brought the whole thing upon myself, but I still want to know what I did to deserve the kind of punishment I got.
My party was, generally, a success. My best in the whole world, Lizz, showed up unexpectedly, and everyone I knew and loved was there in celebration of me. I got sick half-way through the night, and I ended up in tears by the end of the night, but I never could handle pressure or attention. As a whole it was a lot of fun. I danced and soaked up all the attention I could. I've been told that there was a lot of drama that happened between my friends, but I didn't notice any of it. I was having too much fun.
There was a moment, though. The boys were on one side of the dance floor in a line, and the girls were on the opposite side, and we were sining Greased Lightning from Grease back and forth to each other. He ended up across from me, and after talking to his friend next to him, he motioned for me to come over. It looked, to me, like he was motioning for me to run over and jump, and he would catch me. I had a glimmer of hope that he would catch me, and it would be wonderful. I started running excitedly, and after it was too late I realized that he wasn't going to catch me, and that's not what he ha wanted at all. I skidded to a stop in front of him, disappointed and a bit embarrassed. He proceeded to ask me something, but I have no idea what it was. I don't remember, and I returned to my side afterwards.
I believe there are moments in life that are foreshadowing. This was one of those moments.
He never caught me. Not once. Not ever.
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| Sunday, May 4th, 2008
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2:13 pm - I'm going to do this in sections, because that's all I can handle. - - PART I
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I want to tell it like a story, a story that's completely independent of me and my life. I'd like to tell it like it's a juicy gossip story, like something I heard at school in the hallways. Unfortunately, I can't do it that way. I can't tell it in anything but the first person because it happened to me. I wish to God it hadn't, but I don't believe in regret, and I do believe that it's a part of who I am. I've never written anything completely autobiographical before, and maybe I still won't at some pints, but either way, the story of a certain year in my life needs to be told, no lies. I can't promise that I'll remember everything, or that I'll remember it right, because I've been trying with all my mite to block it out, push it away, ignore its existence. But it's time now. Time to write it down and move on with my life. Yes, it's time now.
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I was fifteen years old when it started. Fifteen is young, even though you don't feel young when you're that ago. I know I didn't, at least. I was a junior in high school. I've always been young for my grade, since my birthday is in November. I was starting to think about college plans, SATs, ACTs, and should I take APs? I was starting to find myself academically, starting to get all A's and realize that I'm actually an intelligent girl. My English class, Early British Literature, was taught by an adorable blonde woman, Mrs. Carr. My friend's Rachel and Chris were in that class with me, and although I hated Beowulf, I loved the class.
Cassandra and I have the same birthday. She's also Rachel's best friend, and Chris's girlfriend. They're still together today, and a ring is involved, though no one knows what that means exactly. I used to spend, at that point, a lot of time with Chris, Cassandra, and Rachel. Chris has a specific group of friends, and I should mention that he was a senior in high school. I liked his friends. They were nice, and all lived in the same neighborhood, and their parents were close friends, too.
One of Chris's friends spent a lot of time with us, and my group of friends. He always seemed really nice, too, though he never interested me at all, but we were friends. The summer before junior year my boyfriend broke up with me out of the blue. he never gave a reason, and I was heart-broken beyond all imagination. I had written off males all together, because he had been it for me, and no one else could compare to him. And I really didn't want to get hurt again. I didn't think I could handle it. Famous last words, I suppose.
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| Wednesday, November 14th, 2007
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10:11 am - Self-Realization Piece...
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It's really not a real piece of writing, but it was something I think I needed to do. Originally I was aiming for some real writing, but I got a bit carried away. So now it's basically just an emo thing. At least I tried again?
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| Sunday, November 12th, 2006
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6:48 pm - college essay #1
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About five years ago my life changed forever. Growing up, I lived in a small apartment in Acton, Massachusetts with my mom. She always worked full time, so my grandmother came over every afternoon and took care of me. Though I never really knew my grandma very well, I felt we had a special kind of bond because of all the time we spent together. I considered her house a refuge of sorts, and when life alone with my mom got too scary I would hang out there.
The summer after I turned twelve, my mom and I moved to Sudbury, and in with my grandparents. I was devastated leaving behind my home, my friends and everything familiar. Immediately I was leading a different lifestyle. I was living in a house that had yards, a swing and no brick walls or parking lots. My friends were able to come over and I had my first real sleepover. I had more than three windows out of which I could look, and instead of seeing other apartment buildings, I could see trees, neighboring houses and kids about my age running around outside.
It was easy for me to adjust to that, but it was more difficult learning to live with my grandparents. For the majority of my life thus far, it had only been my mom and me, and now there were two other adults. I suddenly had three parents instead of just one or even two. Having two mothers gets confusing, especially when they each do things in completely different ways. It was also strange for me to see my mom interact with her parents. I had never before seen her be the child in a parent/child relationship.
We all bicker with each other. With three different generations living in one house, it’s bound to happen. Each of us has very different ways of looking at things, different habits that annoy someone else, and on top of that we’re all very opinionated people. It’s a challenge to not go crazy, but we’ve done it so far. Though sometimes we really do feel like we’re going crazy, we’ve learned to just take a step back and remind ourselves that the reason we’re arguing is because we’re all so different.
Thinking about it now, I’ve never really had a traditional family unit to come home to everyday. It’s not the cultural norm for someone to live with their grandparents and their mother, but not their father, and it’s still not the usual case for someone to live with just their mother. It’s never bothered me, though. I feel blessed to have been able to spend this much time with my grandparents and I know my mother and I share an unbreakable bond since we spent so much time on our own.
Every change I’ve experienced the last five years has been a positive one. I believe that living with so many different personalities has made me a more tolerant person, and I definitely feel that I have more respect and acceptance toward the elderly community. I also feel that living with all older people has made me more mature than the average sixteen year old. Despite all of the difficulties and arguments, I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.
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| Saturday, September 30th, 2006
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1:27 pm - the first thing i've written in a long while
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Lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling, I wish I were someone else. Nothing's right and everything's wrong. And honestly my biggest frustration is that I haven't been able to write anything decent in over a year. Writer's Block is one of the most painful ailments. So far I've found no cure but to write about my lack of imagination. The first sentence was a weak attempt at a new story. I know what my problem is, too. I could write more when I was younger because I was a drama queen. Everything needed a story because everything merited an "omigod!". I'm older now, and though a lot more has happened, it all seems too trivial to write about. Either that or I just don't remember any of it. I blame that on all of the inhalants I've done the past few years. Apparently, that shit really does kill brain cells. Who knew? But that's not the point. I'm not going to write about how high I used to get. It's all too trivial. I want to write about something that matters, something real. But what's real, really? And does it matter enough to write about? Probably not. I could write about what's going on in the world: the war, the pending elections, global warming, whatever. But I really don't know enough to do that. I know we've traded a lot of freedoms for our "safety" and I know gas prices are unreal because of the war(s) in the Middle East. I only really know what I hear, and that isn't a lot because I don't watch the news, I don't read the paper or listen to talk radio. It's all too depressing for me. So I remain an ignorant American who can't understand what the Korean lady at the dry cleaners is saying. What else do people write about? Love. I've been in love once or twice, maybe never. But those stories have already been told. Not by me, but by every other sappy girl who met a boy. It's always the same, no matter how you swing it. Boy meets girls, they kidd, snuggle, fall in love, fight a time or two, kiss again, or not. And then it's over. Ending in heartache for both. No matter how a relationship ends, BOTH people still end up hurt, because both have lost a significant person in their lives. So I won't write about the boys I've dated. If I ever meet a real man, maybe I will, but until that happens, love is out of the question. I could write about my family, but nobody cares. We all have baggage and we all deal with it differently. That's not worth writing about. What about my own life? It's too trivial and it hasn't really been lived yet. I grew up in suburbia with my little family and without my dad. I won't write about my daddy issues. I promise it's been told before, way too many times. SO what else do people write about? They write fiction. Mysteries, comedies, tragedies. But I'm not talented enough for that. Some people, specifically my writing teacher, would disagree with me on that. She always liked what I wrote. None of it was my own, though. I didn't plagiarize or anything, I wrote it all myself, but the ideas were never mine. I wrote what the assignment sheet told me to write about. I'm half expecting myself to come up with a brilliant topic to write about soon. Like the saying "fake it til you make it". Well, that's what I'm doing now. Writing about nothing until I find something worth writing about. Maybe I'm just too picky. I've been told I'm very picky. I just shrug and say I just know what I want. The truth is, I just know what I DON'T want. And maybe not even that. I envy people who know what they want and don't want. I also envy people with imaginations.
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| Wednesday, June 14th, 2006
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3:29 pm - Creative Writing Final Project - A
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You've read most of these, but now they're all together and I got an A on it. Holla. It's long, so for the first time, my writing is behind a cut. Enjoy it, please. Cooments are nice. :)
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| Sunday, June 4th, 2006
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3:24 pm - An Episode in the Life of Maddie - A-
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In a small kitchen/dining room is a wooden oval table with 10 chairs crowded around it. Eight of the ten chairs are occupied. Order doesn’t matter. Mounds of food are on the table and everyone is stuffing their faces and talking extremely loudly over one another. There are 2 dogs and 3 cats running around, and a birdcage hanging in the corner. MADDIE hovers in the doorway to the kitchen, looking like she needs to say something but is afraid to. Eventually she speaks.
MADDIE (To ELLEN): Um… Mum?
ELLEN: Huh? You say something?
MADDIE (Speaking louder): Mum. The toilet is overflowing.
ELLEN: What’s that? I can’t hear a damn thing.
MADDIE (Even louder): What? No! The toilet is overflowing!
ELLEN: What? Say it again!
MADDIE (Yelling over everyone): THE TOILET IS OVERFLOWING! (The whole room goes silent) Uh. Yeah. It’s not my fault.
GRAMPA: Jesus Christ, what did you do to the damn thing?
MADDIE: I said I didn’t…
ANDY (To GRAMPA): Don’t worry, Jack, I’ll fix it.
GRAMPA: Like hell you will. I can fix my own damn bathroom.
GRAM (To GRAMPA): Jack, don’t get so worked up over it. It’s just the hopper. We can use Diana’s.
DIANA: Uh, actually, Ma, we only have one functioning bathroom, too.
JOHN (To no one in particular): I knew, just knew, moving into this house was a bad idea.
GRAMPA (To GRAM): I am NOT running across the street every time I need to use the bathroom.
MADDIE (To herself): It’s still not my fault.
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| Thursday, May 11th, 2006
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11:46 pm - Never In My Life
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Never in my life had I been on the road without a penny to my name, but here I was, walking down an old forsaken dirt road, with nothing but a few pieces of stale bread, a canteen filled with murky tap water and a worn out blanket for when the nights got cold. I had nothing and I had no one, and most of all, I had nowhere to go. I had o go somewhere, though, I couldn’t just stay in one place all the time. All my life I’ve wandered. As a kid I’d diappear for hours at a time, scaring my parents half to death. I left home a lot as I got older, never showing up for school or whatever odd job my parents had put me in.
Now, with no one left in my family but a sister I never knew, I had he freedom I always wanted. But now I had no one to go back to when I ran out of money. That’s why I came home in the first place. I expected to spend a day or two catching up with the folks and then head out to where ever the wind took me. What I got instead was coming home to find the last of my family dead in their rocking chairs, with no money lying around, no explantion for heir departure and dead air. Dead air meant no wind. And no wind meant no indication of where I should go.
It’s morbid, I know. But when you’re so different from every person you’ve ever met, it’s hard to not be morbid. I loved my mother and father, don’t ever doubt that, they were always just so set in their ways. Change was always the enemy. My mother wore the same dresses all her life and my daddy only wore his one, dirty, old hat. My sister, who was twelve years older than me married the guy next door and they had all sorts of children. Her husband died after some time, leaving her with all the kids. I don’t know where my siter is with all the kids now. Probably in the same house our parents bought her when she got married. She’ll be there the rest of her life.
So, after finding my mom and daddy dead in the house, I burried them in the back yard, scrounged for whatever I wanted in the house, which came out to be nothing, and hit the road. Now I really had no one. I guess it’s not so bad, since I never really wanted anyone in my life anyways. It’s not that I don’t like people, either, they just hold me back, tie me down and prevent me from doing my own thing.
So, there I was, by myself, with nothing, no one and nowhere to go. Usually I had a general idea of where I wanted to explore next in my life. But this time, well...this time I was clueless. Not even a slight breeze told me where I wanted to go. Where could I go without any money? Anywhere I wanted, I guess, as long as I didn’t have to pay. I was used to campng out, so that wouldn’t be a problem, but I wasn’t used to finding my own food. I shouldn’t have worried about food, I still had the problem of my destination. Maybe I’d head as far West as possible. I hadn’t been that direction yet, and you never really know what you’ll find when you go west...
current mood:  blah
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| Sunday, May 7th, 2006
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2:03 pm - A Brief Encounter With Heaven - A -
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Today had been, by far the worst day I had ever experienced. My teachers were full of pop quizzes and large homework assignments. My friends had been more gossipy and uncaring than usual, my locker got jammed twice and I spilled my Diet Coke all over my tan sweater. Now my History teacher was being a pain and a half, accusing me of cheating. First of all writing is what I do; I would never need to cheat off somebody else. Second of all, my morals are better. What the hell?
“Do you understand, Lillian?”
“Of course I do,” I sang sweetly.
No way was I going to lose my temper in front of this man and have him send me to be locked up.
“I’m glad. Now, do you have an explanation?”
“The only explanation that I have, Mr. Morando, is that I did not cheat nor have I ever cheated before. I have strong morals and would never jeopardize my future by doing such a thing.”
“Well, this paper suggests otherwise.”
“It’s merely a suggestion.”
He sighed. He was fed up and ready to yell or suspend me.
“Lillian, I don’t know what to do with you. Your grades are high, but your effort is low and personally I don’t care for your attitude. Please come to detention for the next three weeks.”
“But, I . . .”
“Enjoy your weekend, Lillian.”
“You too,” I grumbled as I left the classroom.
Such utter bull. I felt the rage brewing deep within me as I realized that I had to catch the bus about 30 seconds ago. I sprinted towards the main entrance and died a little bit when I saw what was happening.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I heard my voice yell as I saw the last school bus pull out of the parking lot.
It was November 6th and just starting to snow, most likely a ‘Nor Easter. The flakes were falling gracefully as I realized what missing the bus and not being able to afford a cell phone meant. I had to walk home. In the cold and snow. Without mittens or a hat or a scarf. I had a long afternoon ahead of me.
As I trudged along the side of the road it progressively got colder. The snow was beginning to accumulate, so the trudging was slippery. I zipped my warn-out coat all the way up and as I shoved my hands into my pockets as a weak attempt to stay warm I discovered a giant hole in both pockets. Beautiful, I thought, just beautiful. I prayed to God at that moment an angel would drive by, pull over, hand me a new winter coat and offer me a ride. Unfortunately, because of the way my day had been going, I had no such luck.
In order to get to my street, there is a long road on the side of the woods with a sidewalk. I crossed the street and started heading down that road. I did not want to go home. In fact, home was the last place I wanted to be. My family probably wouldn’t even be there when I got home. If I just disappeared no one would even notice. My teachers would rejoice, my family would move on and my friends would find a replacement. There was no purpose to my life.
I pondered this heavily as I made that lengthy walk down the sidewalk, but stopped in my tracks. Out of the corner of my eye I saw an almost hidden path leading into the woods. I shifted my glance a bit and saw that the crossing to my street was not far ahead of it. I walked slowly towards both, wondering how I had never seen that path before and where it leads. I slowed my pace down.
I could just go down it for a few minutes and see what happens. My family won’t notice. No one’s around, so I won’t be seen.
The entrance to the mysterious path got closer and closer and my temptation grew with it. I stopped when I reached it to stare at it. I looked to my street, and back to the path. Maybe I’ll just . . . and I was off down the path.
I walked slowly, being careful not get my bag or clothes stuck on anything. It was like an ordinary path, one with a specific destination and no way to get lost. I liked it better than gallivanting all through the woods. The floor of the woods was not snow covered, so I had no chance of slipping, but something, a feeling I had, made me take caution while I walked.
Despite all the bad things that could’ve happened to me at that particular moment I felt no fear. All I felt was the intrigue that kept leading me down the path. It was so dense with trees that I couldn’t see anything around me, but I didn’t mind. I walked for a long time until I came to the end.
I gasped.
Right before me was the most beautiful pond I had ever come across. Despite it being November in New England, the trees and plants all around it were green and fertile. Birds were chirping and bumblebees were buzzing. There were flowers of such vibrant colors that I had only dreamed of before. The most fantastic thing was the pond itself. It was crystal and the most wonderful shade of turquoise, just like in the tropics. The sun was shining brilliantly and I realized that I was sweating in my jacket.
I stripped down into just my jeans and a tee shirt, leaving my winter things in a pile on the ground. I was amazed, but I didn’t question it. I walked around the perimeter of the pond with my mouth gaping. Then I saw the most spectacular thing. The edge of the pond came to an end and there right before my eyes was a magnificent waterfall with another oasis at the bottom. There was no way this could be happening to me. There was no way any of this was possible.
I had never seen such beauty in my entire life. Not even in pictures or movies or anything. The water in the pond looked so peaceful and soothing. I wanted to swim in it forever and never leave.
With one swift movement I took off my jeans and stepped into the pond. The water was warm, as I had suspected. Slowly, cautiously, I walked into the pond until I was waist deep. In one fluid, waveless flop I was swimming the nicest swim I had ever experienced. I wondered if I had been hit by a truck without knowing it and was in heaven. I soon forgot about that as I reached a point of happiness I never knew existed. I laughed out loud to myself, floating around the pond, soaking up every color and every lap of water.
All of a sudden I saw the sky change and the colors drain. It got cold again and I thought I would get hypothermia. As I came to I realized that the pond was draining and falling down the waterfall. I was being pulled along with it. Oh my God, I thought, I am going to die today.
I was being sucked down with the water and the fall was approaching rapidly. I screamed out for help, but no sound came from my mouth. I tried to swim, but my arms and legs wouldn’t move. I was helpless and I was going to die.
The fall got closer and closer and my fear grew with it. All of a sudden I was at the edge and then I was falling. I fell for an eternity, trying to scream for help and flail my limbs. I spun around in the air and I was diving head first into a sharp, rocky, bank.
I don’t remember hitting the water, and I certainly don’t remember all the pain I must’ve felt hitting the rocks. What I remember very clearly is waking up in a snow bank in an unfamiliar clearing in the forest. I was lying there in a tee shirt and my underwear. I was shivering and could barely feel my body.
I also remember climbing up a very tall hill and finding my things in a little pile on the ground. The rest is a haze. I ended up dressed, somehow found my way home and collapsed. I was put in the hospital due to hypothermia and delusions. There’s still no explanation for what I saw, and I doubt there ever will be. Maybe I’m crazy. That’s what everyone says. But maybe, just maybe, those woods opened up its inner tropical oasis to me for that brief time. I really don’t know. All I know is that I’ve never felt such bliss or inner serenity as I did that day swimming is the beautiful warm water.
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1:58 pm - Broken Boulevard
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A man and a woman stood huddled next to each other in the middle of an empty street. They stood under the circle of the light from the street lamp. Down the street the sign for a nickelodeon glowed into the darkness, hoping to attract some passersby with a late night movie. Faded beams of light floated around in the background, from people in their apartments in the city and businessmen pulling all-nighters.
The couple was alone. They stood in the street for a long while. The man held the woman’s waist and she lightly laid her hands on his shoulders. They were in love. The woman, a small blonde, had to stand on the tiptoes to reach him. She wore a simple brown coat that went down almost to her knees. The hem of her black dress showed only a little past her coat. The man had slicked back black hair. The woman’s pale hands stood out against his black leather jacket.
They were mismatched, but it worked. Beneath the leather jacket and the bleached blonde hair, they were the same. Alone in their tiny apartment they read poetry together and danced to the latest Sinatra song on the radio. They sang to each other and often with each other. In public, they showed a silent love for each other. Nobody else needed to know how deep their feelings ran; it was private.
But at this particular moment, late at night in the middle of the street, they clung to each other and looked deep into the others eyes. Nothing else existed. There were no buildings, no lights, no cold airs, and no barking dogs. There was only them. There was only the beating of their hearts and the love in their eyes. It would’ve been to perfect time to utter I love you or marry me, but neither of them spoke. They just looked at each other and loved each other and lived in the bliss they felt.
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| Monday, April 3rd, 2006
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9:32 pm - My Island [parts of speech assignment] - A-
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The warm sea breeze washes over me as the shimmering sun surrounds the island. What seems to be thousands of seagulls fly outside my window, circling the tourists as hawks circle their prey. The island bustles with life; the town is waking up. With a soft crash, each ocean wake rolls onto the sandy coast. Screaming children running around outside are the monsters of this island. Before the tourists arrive, it is a beautiful place to waste away the time. A secret little beach just down a windy path is the key to the long gone memories of my past. There, nothing is as it is in the real world. Suddenly you are able to believe in the prospect of world peace, all anger floats away and you are filled by the overwhelming sensation of serenity.
This particular island was once a hidden treasure, a secret kept safe from the rest of the world. The warm weather is detrimental to the health of the island, since it brings hoards of people, in their khaki shorts and goofy hats, who litter and pollute the islands gorgeous land. This place has a personality all it’s own. The people who live there contribute to it, but are not the main factor. The grass, rocks sand, air, all have their own characteristics that make the island what it truly is. The only real way to experience this personality, as far as I’m concerned, is to stand on the edge of the rocks at the ocean, close your eyes and breath. Your sense of smell recognizes the soothing salt air and you hear nothing but the wind, the water and sometimes the whispers of the sailors who passed away on the island long ago. The air you breath in will be the purest, sweetest, tourist-polluted air you will ever encounter.
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| Sunday, April 2nd, 2006
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6:44 pm - The Automat
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She had to run. But to where? There was nowhere to go. She had no idea where she was or even when she was. How long had she been out? What happened to her? Leslie had so many questions for which she needed to find answers, but right now there was no time to think. She needed to find somewhere to hide out. Just until she could get her bearings and figure out what was going on.
As Leslie ran through the strange city, looking for an abandoned place in which to hide, her long black hair followed loosely behind her, getting knotted and tangled in the wind. Down a back ally way, she saw a lonely old automat, with a half flashing sign, beckoning her to hide there.
In the darkened automat, the dim lights flickered, casting shadows onto the linoleum floor. The empty chairs laid in wait of the next lonely passerby, longing for the warmth of human contact. Bare teacups were stacked in a disheveled manner next to the whirring coffee machine. A forgotten glove remained beneath a stranded table, missing the hand it had once protected from the harsh city weather.
Leslie barricaded the entrance door with a couple chairs and a table. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt the need to be protected. With everything locked up, she took a look around, soaked it all in and sighed. She noticed the solemn glove lying on the floor. As she picked it up, Leslie noticed how very small it was. So small it must’ve belonged to a child. She thought of how the child must’ve been scolded for losing such a nice looking glove.
Holding onto to the glove, she decided to look around a bit more. There were no other lights besides the half-dead fluorescent fixtures hanging overhead, making it slightly difficult to see. The floors were a grimy, light blue color, obviously very old and very worn. The counters were the same light blue with white and extra grime.
Something made noise. It almost sounded like a moan. It came from behind the counters and lasted only a split second before returning to an uncomfortable silence. Leslie began leaning over to see what made the noise.
“Why are you here?”
Leslie jumped and turned around only to find a little girl standing behind her.
“How did . . .” Leslie began.
“Why are you here?”
The little girl looked to be about seven. She was blonde with curls, thin and very pale; almost unusually pale. She wore a ragged white communion dress with white dress shoes. On top of her dress she wore a very old coat. The dress was torn in multiple places, her jacket was worn out with rips here and there, and her stockings barely existed. The most striking things about this little girl were her eyes. They were extremely wide. It was almost as if her eyes had grown but the rest of her had stayed the same. The odd part is that it didn’t look awkward or wrong. They were beautiful. A very light blue color.
But from where did she come?
Leslie looked around her. The doors were still barricaded and all the windows were closed. The little girl must have already been in the automat when Leslie arrived.
“You need to leave,” said the little girl.
“But I just got here,” replied Leslie.
“Get out. This place is haunted.”
Leslie thought she heard the moaning noise again and turned around quickly. She saw nothing and turned back around. The little girl was gone. She was nowhere to be seen. Leslie figured she was imagining things now. She had been running for a long time and her mind must just be over exhausted.
She decided to have a cup of coffee, a muffin and sit down for a while. The coffee was too strong and the muffin was stale, but it was the closest thing to nourishment she’d had in a while. The whole situation was odd, thought Leslie. She was more than uncertain about what she would do next. Sleep would be nice. But where? There were no benches or anything remotely comfortable in the automat. She got up to put her now empty teacup in the small sink used for dirty dishes and noticed a door she hadn’t seen before. Maybe there’s a random couch in there, thought Leslie.
As she finished washing out the teacup, she heard the groan from before. This time it was louder and instead of coming from behind the counters, it was coming from behind the door. Leslie figured it was her imagination again, and ignored it. Or tried to, anyways. The more she tried to block it out, the louder it got. It persisted. Louder, harsher. The sound started to surround her. It was closing in.
“OKAY, I get!” she yelled.
The noise stopped immediately.
“Finally,” breathed Leslie, turning around only to come face-to-face with the mysterious little girl from before.
“Why were you yelling? You shouldn’t still be here.”
Leslie closed her eyes. What’s happening to me? She wondered. When she opened her eyes the little girl was gone, as she expected.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Leslie whispered her herself.
She got up from the small aluminum chair in which she was sitting and practically bolted for the door. She started throwing the chairs and tables piled in front of the door away, in any direction. She was breathing heavily now; half from fear, half because the furniture was much heavier now then she remembered it being before. In fact, they were getting heavier by the second. Soon everything was far too heavy for Leslie to lift. It was as if everything was super glued to the floor.
“You need to get out of here, Leslie,” said the little girl, reappearing right next to Leslie.
“I’m trying,” Leslie practically screamed at the girl.
“Try the door,” said the little girl.
The other door, thought Leslie. She had forgotten about it. Maybe instead of holding a random couch, it was another way out.
She bolted to the door, dashing straight through the little girl, without even realizing it. Ripping open the door, Leslie let out a shriek. It was a closet. Within that closet were five or six dead bodies. Not just any bodies either. They were all women Leslies age and height. She slammed the door closed and whipped around. The little girl was standing there waiting.
“Those were the last people who didn’t listen to me,” she said.
“You k-killed them for not listening?”
“They also tried to take the glove my mommy gave me.”
Leslie looked down at her hands. She had been carrying around the child’s glove the entire time.
“H-here, take the glove, just let me leave,” shook Leslie.
The little just shook her head.
A few night guards two blocks from the automat heard Leslie’s screams of pain.
“Looks like she got another one.”
[supposed to be a horror/mystery story...clearly not my strong point]
[this took me FOREVER to write, and it still sucks A LOT]
[was inspired by a painting.... this one:( Read more... )
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| Sunday, March 19th, 2006
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7:37 pm - Irony - A-
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My grandfather was an addict. First, he was addicted to cigarettes. He smoked two packs a day for 43 years. He kicked that habit the day he blacked out while driving down the road with my grandmother in the passenger seat. He scared to light up again and just stopped cold turkey.
He picked up a food addiction. He lived on beef, salt, ice cream and cookies. He ate in enormous proportions, multiple times a day. Everything had been be fried in fat, extra cholesterol, if you please. He started eating salads again once he had a heart attack and had to have quadruple bypass surgery. He was in the hospital for months. He lost almost 100 pounds, no exaggeration.
His heart attack forced him, not only into healthy eating habits, but retirement. It was about time since he was 70 years old and still owned, ran, and worked three dry cleaners within the greater Boston area.
Since he no longer worked from five in the morning to seven-thirty at night, he needed to find a hobby.
He tried yard work. We all bough him garden tools for Father’s Day and his birthday and Christmas. This worked really well until my grandmother came home one afternoon and found him on the roof with a broom and the ladder on the ground. He was trying to clean the gutters, he said. He’s not allowed to work outside anymore.
For a while after that, my grandfather spent all day everyday in front of the television. It was always at full volume, annoying the rest of the neighborhood. But it kept him happy, so nobody complained. After three straight months of WWF wrestling, Judge Judy and The Price Is Right, the 15-year-old television exploded. Wires went everywhere, sparks were flying and the speakers were no longer among the living.
After this, everyone was stuck. He could just wander around anymore; he was driving my grandmother mental. He was too weak to play golf, or pick up bowling. He couldn’t work or watch television. He would’ve rather died then learn how to cook. The only thing my grandfather could still realistically do was drive, gamble and sing along to every Johnny Cash song ever created. Somehow, we combined all three.
Supplied with a full tank of gas and the Johnny Cash CD box set, we sent him off in the direction of Foxwoods Casino. That must have been the biggest mistake anyone in my family had ever made. We were all still very much in debt. We’d filed bankruptcy three times over between all of us, and we still had hundreds of thousands in debt. Why we thought gambling would be a good hobby, I will never know. Not to mention the fact that my grandfather has to be the unluckiest person to ever walk the earth.
It started small. In their thirties, my grandparents would take trips to Atlantic City, just for the sake of getting away. They owned racehorses back when they lived on a farm in New Hampshire, but they did it for the love of horses. Every once in a great while, they’d spend a weekend at Foxwoods or Mohegan Sun. Nothing too big.
With his newfound freedom, my grandfather spent every day he could at the casinos or at the dog tracks. The only days he didn’t head out were when he was too tired. Even on those days, he would stay home and watch the World Poker tournaments on the Travel channel. His addiction spread quickly. First, he’d only spend two or three hours at the casino. Then he discovered the buffet dinners they offered. Soon, he wouldn’t walk in the door until nine-thirty or ten at night, having left the house around seven that morning. He bought lottery tickets; Mass Cash, Mega Millions, whatever he could find. He bought scratch tickets by the bundle.
If we thought our debt was bad before, it was nothing compared to what it was then. The worst part was that he never won. Maybe 20 or 30 dollars here and there, but that was nothing compared to the amount he spent.
The way things in my grandfathers life has been going, we half expected gambling to suddenly become illegal, or for Foxwoods to blow up in a freak electrical accident. But there was nothing. No hints of disaster for five straight years. It was eerie.
And then one day it happened. He hit The Big One. My grandfather won 2 million dollars from the lotto. But the thing is, he never found out. He had left the tickets with my grandmother while he went to the casino. My grandmother jumped for joy. We were saved. No more debt, no more bankruptcy! She tried calling my grandfather on his cell phone, but there was no answer. We all figured he was blaring his Johnny Cash CDs.
Then we got the call. There was a car accident. There were no survivors.
My grandfather had won the lottery the day he died.
Almost six years of gambling and he finally won the lottery right before he got into a car accident on the way home from the casino.
[generally, this is 100% true. but if it actually ends the way i have it end, i'm going to kill myself and burn everything i've ever written.]
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6:24 pm - Supposed to be the setting for a horror story - not graded [thankfully]
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The waters depth was no known to anyone. The bottom couldn't been seen or felt. It was always calm, except for the splashes made by kinds goofing around. When the sun was out at high-noon, the water was beautifully illuminated. But any time after that, the shadows fell. The cove would darken, except for the orangey-red reflection of the cliffs. Off to the side, there was what looked to be the entrance to a cave. Even when the sun was at full strength, the opening was overcast with shadows and arkness. Nobody ever swam near there. Not becasue of fear, but because of oblivian. It was easy to ignore the darkness when everything else was bright.
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6:20 pm - Important Object - not graded
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I love every inch of it. Every crinkle, every ink stain, every line. Every pencil mark, every stupid doodle. The one day I left it at home I was lost and empty. It contains things I could care less about, but every once in a while it has the things I never though I'd write down. It's running out of space now and I'm going to need a new one. That's ok because it will fill up quickly. Classes demand that I use the balnk pages for education, but I make sure that there are pages dedicated to me educating evryone else.
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6:15 pm - "If Only" or "What If" - not graded
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If only I hadn't said those things to you. if only I had kept my mouth shut. Maybe everything, right this very second, would be completely different. Maybe I'd know how you are, who you're friends with. If only it weren't so easy to yell. If only I had a calmer temper. Maybe we'd dtill be friends. Maybe we'd hate each other. If only I could say "I'm sorry". If only I were sorry. Maybe you'd be sorry too. Maybe we'd still be angry. But maybe we wouldn't. Maybe, just maybe, things would've gone back to how they were. Maybe you'd still be my rock. Maybe I'd still be your support system. If only we could go back and fix what went wrong. Maybe we shouldn't. Maybe it's too late for us. If only I hadn't lost you. Maybe I haven't just yet.
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6:08 pm - The Dog and the Shadow - not graded
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The rotwhiler roamed the forest looking for her next victim. She wanted to taste the blood and flesh of rabbit or human. It was the afternoon and the sun was out, but in the woods everything was darkened by the giant trees. Light was not permitted and the creatures of the forest liked it that way.
Walking ever-so silently, the vicious dog searched for food, meat, anywhere she could. She was tense. She needed this meat to survive. She also needed to feel the tendons in her mouth, to see the fear in her prey. Nothing was as satisfying as ripping apart an innocent meal.
As the dog hunted she kept very quiet. Everything was still, quiet and eery. A loney rabbit say in a small patch of brown grass nibbling away. He was by himself and unsuspecting. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. There hadn't been a wind or even a slight breeze in months . . .
[never got around to finishing it. it kinda sucks too much to be continued.]
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6:01 pm - Creative Morning Announcements - not graded
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- If anyone finds a pink jumpsuit, please return it to Dr. Ritchie immediately . . . he wants to go jogging
- Interested in buying a fuzzy binder? Contact Thingy Girl in S10
- Parents' Disco Night April 7th --- Buy tickets now!
- Party at Theoroe's Cabin Friday night at 9 pm --- Schecter is NOT invited
- Needed: Volunteers to bring Clauda Ring to firey mountain of doom in Ireland - species not an issue
- Want to meet Jesus? Come to The Other Place for a night of enlightenment
- LS hockey team needs zamboni drivers!
- Warning to all freshman: High risk of DEATH this month - take caution!
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6:00 pm - Beginnings . . . - not graded
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In a darkened automat, the dim lights flicker, casting shadows onto the linoleum floor. The empty chairs lie in wait of another lonely passerby, longing for the warmth of human contact. Empty tea cups are stacked in a dissheveled manner next to the whirring coffee machine. A forgotten glove remains beneath a stranded table, missing the hand it once protected from the harsh city weather.
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