*Yes you read that right. I was SO engrossed in her Merry Gentry series at this point I literally couldn't think of anything else. So I created a character that would blend right in with the world, the place, and the characters I was reading about. And added a bit of "fleshed out" side story that blended too. I have a 3 page character sheet with info down to her astrological sign and family history so I may take it further. Heck, One day I may have the courage to send it to my beloved author, but for now... well, this is as far as I'm taking it! Behold, my one and only fan fiction!
* In two parts: 1 was a dialog bit, the other internal.
btw, here is Laurell's website: http://www.laurellkhamilton.org/
The Internal View:
Zeyriah stood on the crest of the hill, feeling the breeze play along her skin. It always amazed her how much the gentle winds felt like a parents arms, embracing her. The sunlight glinted off her skin, sending little lavender glints off into the already coloring sunset. She sighed and looked over at Lissen. Even at her 240 years, she was a baby compared to him. He was well over a thousand...in fact he had seen the last weirding that stripped them of so much power. He remembered vividly when the Each Báis were still how they got around. She could only remember stories of the death steeds, the dark faerie mounts that the royal guard rode across the land and the skies. The closest she would ever get was her ancient sword, her Titim Bais. She rested her hand on the pommel of her sword thinking how appropriate it’s name was today. Death Fall seemed strangely right after the last 4 hours. Years ago she had in her mind renamed her blade “Echaus” but after today she’d be using it’s true name again. To not do so would be dishonor to the magik relic that she held. She had thought the name silly before, not truly realized what an object of magik and power it was. It had cut through the immortal fae like they were simple humans. She had never seen her blade do that. Wound, yes. Maim, yes. But to kill an immortal with a single strike...there were only 4 blades she knew of that held that much power...and 2 were in the unseelie court. One with the queens Darkness, the other in the hands of her Killing Frost. Guards of over a 1000 years of age. One of which had been a warrior of her own Seelie court long ago. Both were strong, fierce, and feared. And in her hand was another killing blade. Who was she to wield it? A lesser royal guard. A winged abomination to some of the Seelie court. Why the wings skipped 3 generations ad “blessed” her with their presence she’d never know. Her great grandfather had been demi-fae, one of the few who had become Sidhe through magiks long before the last war. Her great grandmother had seen him for the man he was and rather than see his wings as an abomniation, she had instead seen them as an added beauty to his already magnificent looks. Zeyriah sighed thinking of her grandparents. She wished she could ask them so many questions after today. About the last weirding, about her grandfathers visions, about herself. The fact that she made royal guard at all was a mystery to her as she had one of the only full human parents in all of faerie. Her mother had been taken by a seelie sidhe as a child and by the grace of Danu had been adopted as a child rather than been turned into an entertainer or servant. She had ended up being one of the ladies in waiting for the courtiers of King Taranis and had so met Zeyriah father, King Taranis’ personal Guard, Nuerl. She was half human and would never have been guessed for one. Even her mortality had been taken out of contension years ago when another seelie had tried to kill her to keep her from sullying their shinning throng. At age 8 it was apparent that she was fully her fathers child, for she was wounded but healed at fae speed, and did not die from human-standard fatal wounds. When your throat is slashed and you recover, it tends to prove your immortality. So in some ways, it was like people ignored her mothers lineage. Hell, half of the sithen didn’t even remember her mother was not any part fae... she looked the part. Tall, slender, beautiful silken blond hair. Her only tell tale signs were the lack of tri colored irises and her wrinkles. The Fae didn’t wrinkle. Zeyriah loved her mothers wrinkles. While she aged much slower in the sithen, 328years on a human still aged. She might only look 75, but that meant that she had maybe 20 years. Nothing to a fae. A flies lifespan. The wrinkles told stories, showed a life lived fully, but most importantly they showed the emotions that so many of her fellow fae hid.
Zeyriah shook her head. It was folly to think about all that now. She needed to focus on what was going on. Or rather what wasn’t going on and what all that implied. Never before had she been so conflicted and hesitant. Not even when she fought against the cwn annwn. The hell hound had gotten her, and the wound never healed cleanly. Just thinking of it brought her hand to her side where the raised claw-like scars sat. If anything should have given her pause it would have been that night. Nothing prepared her to meet one of Arawns phantom hell hounds. They had not been seen in centuries, and yet it was there. About to attack Taranis and his mistress. It had not even occured to her to hesitate, to not fight. She had slain the hound, and with her scars and her promotion into Tranis’ royal gaurds had moved up in the sithen. Few people made the same desparaging remarks towards her wings anymore. In fact it would go days now where she wasn’t reminded how non pure Seelie she was, or told to go to the Unseelie where she belonged with the other lesser sidhe. A sentiment that Zeyriah would never agree with. Why should having a difference in hair colors, or additional magiks make you less? Of course, she kept that thought to herself. She was still an outsider, and would be forever. She was tollerated, but not embraced save but for her family. And Taranis. Although he valued her skill, not her. And after today, she wasn’t sure she wanted him to value her either way.
Could it be possible? Could Taranis really be dooming the Seelie to extinction? The rumors that he was infertile and therefore the rest of the court was as well were growing. And after todays meeting with Princess Meredith of the Unseelie court, Zeyriah was starting to believe them. The princess had brought up several subtle points. Points that Taranis himself probably missed, since he never paid much attention to what anyone but himself had to say. But the guards, they heard it all. Heard what it hinted at, heard what did make sense.
And what if it was true? Did she follow Lissen? Did she leave the Seelie? How could she bare to leave her family? To never hear her grandmother call her “my little duine fein sciathan” again? While others made fun of her wings, her grandmother had seen them as a reflection of her wonderful husband. Zeyriah loved to hear her grandmother call her “her little wing bearer” in the old tongue, it made her feel a part of faerie down to her soul. Could she give that up? Could she leave her mother? But mostly, could she truly leave the Seelie? Once you were gone, you could never come back. Not if you went to the Unseelie court. If Princess Meredith was right, the Unseelie court was the only place with a hope at regaining the lost magiks, regaining what they once were. But to even think of it seemed like being a traitor. She had served Taranis for over a hundred years. But if he truly was dooming them, what loyalty did she owe him? If he would forsake his own people for his pride?
The Dialog View:
Lissen paced the meadow as if he would grind a centuries old path into it in an hour.
“Lissen, we need to talk about this. I need to know what to do. I need to know your thoughts.”
“You saw what just happened. You heard what she said. Can you truly tell me that it doesn’t ring true to you? I have tried, Goddess and Consort but I have tried Zeyriah, with all my heart to be loyal to Taranis. I have served at his side since before we came here from Europe. Centuries I have given him. He is supposed to be the King of Light, of truth. Truth damn it! We have seen the maddness creep into him slowly. Don’t shake your head at me, you know it. We all do! He is not worthy of kingship anymore, the Sithen doesn’t even recognize him half the time!”
“ I hear you. I do. But Lissen, this is a choice that will leave us exiled from the Seelie court for the rest of our nearly immortal lives, thousands of years of exile... to never touch another Sidhe? Can you even imagine that agony? I have seen sidhe driven mad from exile in less than a century...”
“They were weak, and if I am right the court will no longer be at Taranis’ fingertips. If she is right, then the Seelie will do everything they can to see themselves saved. To save your race from extinction people will change a lot. How long have we heard the horror stories of the Unseelie? Did you see any deformities in her party? and spikes? any grotesqueness? I saw only beauty that rivals ours. I saw sharp minds and temperant people. And I am not suceptible to glamour. “
“yes, as I well know” the thought of a night long ago made her laugh out loud “ and that is why I believe you about Taranis. you said much of what he was “showing” as proof was simply his namesake, Illusion. I do not disagree that Taranis is unfit to rule. But I am afraid Lissen. What if she is wrong? What if we go to the Unseelie or follow Princess Meridith to her new Sithen and find out it was all a game of poitics? of intrigue? What if we find out that both Taranis and she are liars and unfit to lead? Then who do we follow? where do we go?”
“I will not follow someone who will doom all of Faerie or their own people for vanity and illusion. I will not follow someone who will turn us into nothing but a political battlefield. I believe the princess, truly and deeply but if I were to be proven wrong, I would take exile in the human world long before I would wish I had stayed following the lies and destruction of Taranis. You have heard he released the nameless?”
“I had heard rumor, but only rumor Lissen. It is not known who released it, Tranais himself has said that it was the Unseelie.”
“It is not rumor. He came to me to ask about certain things. He forgot that I was one of the guards of Knowledge when the nameless was created. I knew its resting place. It is no longer there. The only one with the power and knowledge to raise it is sitting on the golden throne as we speak, Queen Andais has never seen it’s resting place, and it was her bloodline that was attacked as well. She never would have risked her throne for that.”
The sudden overwhelming realization of how deep Taranis’ maddness was hit her. He truly was going to doom them all in his plots. “oh Goddess.”
“aye”
“So we leave. How do we know we will be welcome in her court?”
“ I have spoken with her Darkness, Doyle. He has said that we are welcome if the sithen invites us.”
“invites us? “
“it is not something the Sithen has done in centuries. But long ago when the Sithen recognized someone of it’s own court, it would open the door without us asking for it. There was no looking for the latch or asking. Out of the mound the Sithen would simply make a door open and sing for your entry... a light welcoming music, like coming home”
such a look crossed his face that in that moment Zeyriah knew that he truly knew what it was like to be Fae, to be Sidhe. To have all the power, all the magik... not to mimic the humans as the Seelie did now. It was a look she wanted to understand.
“And their Sithen does this?”
“When Princess Meredith created this Sithen with the Creation Magik the Goddess touched her with this last week, it was a Sithen of old. The hounds of faery we have at our sithen are few and sparce compared with the bounty of them who abide there. The demi fae swarm the halls. The gardens thrive, not live, Thrive.”
“You have seen this? yourself? Lissen, are you sure?”
“I have not seen it, but I know it to be true. I have heard Consorts voice this day again. Many years has it been since I have been graced with his presence.” He lifted his head as if in prayer, and a single tear dripping off his chin showed her all the proof she need.
“Let’s go. We don’t have long before Hugh will recind his offer of cover for us. I will trust him because you do. If he says that his ability to cloak us in the breeze is true, then we should go now. Before Taranis’ maddness progresses further and he seals the sithen as he eluded to.”
She picked up her cloak and turned to start the walk back when he grabbed her arm. She looked into his tri colored irisis... his electric blue outer rim that faded to a pulsing ocean blue and finally the innermost ring of ice blue. His eyes were truly Seelie. Hers with her lavender and violet and nearly black purple were Seelie enough, but not a true Seelie color. His were the eyes of storybook drawings. And never has she seen them so serious, so full of intent.
“I cannot gaurantee your safety. I cannot promise you will see your family again. Or be able to return to Faerie. I cannot say that we will win.”
“I know Lissen, but you can promise me that we will follow truth. That I am willing to sacrifice for.”
She turned and this time he allowed her to pull free of his arm and gathered his thoughts as he followed down the hill.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
I long to see
*assingment: take the short story "I long to see" and make one of your own.
I used just the title and feeling I got from it honestly, and here it is. This was my first assignment for my creative writing class.
I Long To See
A moment, a voice, a simple smile. Things that we take for granted...well I took for granted...every single day. A voice that I both loved and hated to hear sometimes. A moment that I reveled in and despised occasionally. A smile I always treasured. There are moments in my life I will never get back, and many I simply will never have. I will never see my mother hold my daughter. Never see her grin as she looks upon her face. I will never have the moment back where I rest my head on her chest and as she strokes my hair feel that the world is safe somehow, that I am safe somehow. There are words I will never hear again, and some I will have wished to hear my whole life. I will never hear her yell “congratulations!” to me at my college graduation, never hear that waver in her voice as she tries to hold back tears as she whispers endearments and encouragements for the rest of my life. I will never hear that simple sentence again “I love you”. There will never be a moment in my life when I forget her smile...but oh how I long to see it! I long to see her eyes light up, to dance with that joyous mirth when she told a joke...or pulled somones chain...or rubbed my huge baby bump. To see her full of life again!
For one day, one hour, one moment I long to see HER. All that made her who she was. Her humor, her pain, her constant love, her constant kindnesses. There was never a shortage to those moments of kindness or love. To people she knew her whole life or to people she met less than a minute prior; she never had a shortage of kindnesses to give. A hug, a wise piece of advice, a hand crocheted blanket or scarf, a book recommendation, a prayer, a bolstering word of encouragement, a single tear of shared grief. Nothing contrived, nothing forced, nothing that was not from the bottom of her soul HER. She was simply that good. Was. What a horrible word I have to use to describe my mother. A dirty word now in my life. Was. She WAS amazing, WAS beautiful, was was was... But I can say she IS who I strive to make proud, even now. She IS who I dream of being like in so many ways. She IS who I will remember and long for till the day I die and join her many years from now...and in that moment I will no longer long to hear, see, or touch her. I will simply be.
I used just the title and feeling I got from it honestly, and here it is. This was my first assignment for my creative writing class.
I Long To See
A moment, a voice, a simple smile. Things that we take for granted...well I took for granted...every single day. A voice that I both loved and hated to hear sometimes. A moment that I reveled in and despised occasionally. A smile I always treasured. There are moments in my life I will never get back, and many I simply will never have. I will never see my mother hold my daughter. Never see her grin as she looks upon her face. I will never have the moment back where I rest my head on her chest and as she strokes my hair feel that the world is safe somehow, that I am safe somehow. There are words I will never hear again, and some I will have wished to hear my whole life. I will never hear her yell “congratulations!” to me at my college graduation, never hear that waver in her voice as she tries to hold back tears as she whispers endearments and encouragements for the rest of my life. I will never hear that simple sentence again “I love you”. There will never be a moment in my life when I forget her smile...but oh how I long to see it! I long to see her eyes light up, to dance with that joyous mirth when she told a joke...or pulled somones chain...or rubbed my huge baby bump. To see her full of life again!
For one day, one hour, one moment I long to see HER. All that made her who she was. Her humor, her pain, her constant love, her constant kindnesses. There was never a shortage to those moments of kindness or love. To people she knew her whole life or to people she met less than a minute prior; she never had a shortage of kindnesses to give. A hug, a wise piece of advice, a hand crocheted blanket or scarf, a book recommendation, a prayer, a bolstering word of encouragement, a single tear of shared grief. Nothing contrived, nothing forced, nothing that was not from the bottom of her soul HER. She was simply that good. Was. What a horrible word I have to use to describe my mother. A dirty word now in my life. Was. She WAS amazing, WAS beautiful, was was was... But I can say she IS who I strive to make proud, even now. She IS who I dream of being like in so many ways. She IS who I will remember and long for till the day I die and join her many years from now...and in that moment I will no longer long to hear, see, or touch her. I will simply be.
Babska the Bear
*assignment 2011: childrens fable/lesson based story
This is the story of Babska. Now Babska was a very stubborn bear. When his mommy told him to go to sleep, he jumped around more. When his daddy told him to eat his dinner, he refused unless it was rainbow trout. He asked for rainbow trout every single day. Occasionally his parents could get him to eat other foods, but some days he would yell for it until they went out and caught one for him.
One day his father took him out into the Forrest to show him some special bear skills. As usual, Babska wasn’t paying much attention. He thought he already knew everything. His father pointed out the dangerous berries and said “now son, the spotted berries are not for eating. They'll make you sick for a day.” But Babska was already off chasing a rabbit. His father growled low and continued walking. Soon they came to a chasm through which a river flowed. There was a large log securely resting across it and when they stopped at the edge The big father bear put a paw on his sons shoulder. “son, over there is the most amazing river. once you cross the log there is a stream full of rainbow trout and lots of other fish. but you have to be so careful crossing here. you can’t run across, you must walk slowly and with each paw in front of the other or you’ll slip.” Babska was already thinking of the rainbow trout “yeah dad. I understand.” He said.
They headed back to their cave where his mother had spread new leaves and moss for their beds. They all laid down for the night and Babskas father said “remember all I taught you today son, for it will serve you well.” “mmmhhmm” he murmured, but the little bear was already half asleep. Babska woke up very early the next morning, before his parents in fact, and decided to go for an adventure. He wanted rainbow trout! He remembered how to get to the big log and spend the walk there chasing little animals and scratching his back on trees as he past them. Soon he was at the edge of the log. He put a paw on it and found it quite solid. “this is easy!” he thought and started across. Now it was a long log and he didn’t like going slowly. He started to get careless and walked faster and faster. Soon he was starting to trot across....when suddenly he slipped! Before he knew it his front paw had slipped out from under him and he fell “galumph!” onto the log. He scrambled with his claws and caught the tree so he didn't fall off. But now he was stuck! He had no idea how to get up without falling! Oh how he wished he had listened to his father! He put his head down on the log and started to cry. He didn’t feel like a big bear now, he wanted his mommy or daddy!
After a few minutes he heard a glumphing behind him in the Forrest and was afraid of what it might be, he couldn’t see! He was turned the other way! Suddenly he heard his fathers voice “You didn’t listen did you?” “no papa! “ sobbed Babska. His father sighed “have you learned your lesson?” “yes” he sniffed. “ok then...” and his father told him how to get up, to put on paw in front of him and balance his weight. In a few minutes Babska was up on his feet and finished crossing the log, slowly this time. His father followed him across and when they were both on the other side Babska leaned into his father and said in a quiet voice “I’m sorry papa”. “It’s ok son. Listen next time and you’ll be ok.”
Babska followed his father to the fishing spot to catch their breakfast and swore to himself that he’d listen more from now on. And you know what? He did! And He grew to be a strong big bear with a little cub of his own. And he never forgot that lesson in listening.
This is the story of Babska. Now Babska was a very stubborn bear. When his mommy told him to go to sleep, he jumped around more. When his daddy told him to eat his dinner, he refused unless it was rainbow trout. He asked for rainbow trout every single day. Occasionally his parents could get him to eat other foods, but some days he would yell for it until they went out and caught one for him.
One day his father took him out into the Forrest to show him some special bear skills. As usual, Babska wasn’t paying much attention. He thought he already knew everything. His father pointed out the dangerous berries and said “now son, the spotted berries are not for eating. They'll make you sick for a day.” But Babska was already off chasing a rabbit. His father growled low and continued walking. Soon they came to a chasm through which a river flowed. There was a large log securely resting across it and when they stopped at the edge The big father bear put a paw on his sons shoulder. “son, over there is the most amazing river. once you cross the log there is a stream full of rainbow trout and lots of other fish. but you have to be so careful crossing here. you can’t run across, you must walk slowly and with each paw in front of the other or you’ll slip.” Babska was already thinking of the rainbow trout “yeah dad. I understand.” He said.
They headed back to their cave where his mother had spread new leaves and moss for their beds. They all laid down for the night and Babskas father said “remember all I taught you today son, for it will serve you well.” “mmmhhmm” he murmured, but the little bear was already half asleep. Babska woke up very early the next morning, before his parents in fact, and decided to go for an adventure. He wanted rainbow trout! He remembered how to get to the big log and spend the walk there chasing little animals and scratching his back on trees as he past them. Soon he was at the edge of the log. He put a paw on it and found it quite solid. “this is easy!” he thought and started across. Now it was a long log and he didn’t like going slowly. He started to get careless and walked faster and faster. Soon he was starting to trot across....when suddenly he slipped! Before he knew it his front paw had slipped out from under him and he fell “galumph!” onto the log. He scrambled with his claws and caught the tree so he didn't fall off. But now he was stuck! He had no idea how to get up without falling! Oh how he wished he had listened to his father! He put his head down on the log and started to cry. He didn’t feel like a big bear now, he wanted his mommy or daddy!
After a few minutes he heard a glumphing behind him in the Forrest and was afraid of what it might be, he couldn’t see! He was turned the other way! Suddenly he heard his fathers voice “You didn’t listen did you?” “no papa! “ sobbed Babska. His father sighed “have you learned your lesson?” “yes” he sniffed. “ok then...” and his father told him how to get up, to put on paw in front of him and balance his weight. In a few minutes Babska was up on his feet and finished crossing the log, slowly this time. His father followed him across and when they were both on the other side Babska leaned into his father and said in a quiet voice “I’m sorry papa”. “It’s ok son. Listen next time and you’ll be ok.”
Babska followed his father to the fishing spot to catch their breakfast and swore to himself that he’d listen more from now on. And you know what? He did! And He grew to be a strong big bear with a little cub of his own. And he never forgot that lesson in listening.
Letting Go
*This was one of the hardest pieces for me to write, but also one of the most healing. It is not fiction. Not one word of it. And to lay it bare was one of the most terrifying things I have ever done. And it let go of some of that bitter hurt that had been lodged in my heart for a while now. It didn't fix it, didn't make the hurt go away... but it did change things.
I held her hand. I held it like it was my life line, but I held it like you would hold a baby bird. Gently, but with more need than I have ever felt in my life. This was the hand that had stroked my hair thousands of times to comfort me. This was the hand that cupped my face when she looked in my eyes and told me she loved me. This was the hand that rubbed my back as I fell asleep for years. This thin skinned, twisted hand was the strength of the world. The rock I clung to and the anchor in my heaving seas. Now it was the sea itself. There was no tension, no pain twitching the muscles. Just at peace. How often had I longed for her to have peace? To be free of pain? I stayed awake nights praying for hours on end for this. But not like this. I looked up and watched her chest rise and fall. And knew the steady rythm was numbered. 4 hours. I look up at the clock again. 3hours and 59minutes. How do you measure life? In daylight? In sunsets? In midnights and cups of coffee? No. In minutes. In heartbeats. In breaths. In circles drawn with your thumb gently on the aged skin.
How was I going to do this? What in Gods name do you do when someone tells you that your home, the very thing that gave you spirit and life will be gone in 4 hours? You sit. You sit and pray. You make phone calls. You pray some more. You try to find some peace so that there is no anger near them as they go. You sob uncontrollably first, then you sit and hold that hand. That precious gift that was yours for so long. And you prepare to put it down and walk away. Prepare is the wrong word, there is no way to truly prepare. No, you steel yourself to be able to walk away without screaming, without running back and clinging desperately to the sheets. You think of all the joy you had and what peace is coming for them now. You focus on the fact that there will be no more pain for them. You imagine them young and dancing again. You imagine that they will not miss you because in heaven they can still see you and they are at ultimate peace. You beg. You beg with every fiber of your being, silently, that somehow this is just a dream. That there is a miracle coming. That they will open their eyes. That the dr. is wrong.
The support comes, the few family members who are really the friends that make up your true family-the in laws, the best friends who consider themselves sisters, the people who love her- far better than just the flesh and blood family who can’t be there. They cry, they reach out for your shoulder. Part of you wants to reach out to them too, but you simply can’t let go of her hand. No, you have to stay here and though your skin, your very being show her how much you love her and that you’ll be here no matter what. You somehow try to say in that touch that it’s ok. That you understand and that you’ll let go when you have to. You lie. You mean it, but deep deep down it’s a lie. The friends whisper words of thanks, of gratitude, of sorrow, but mostly of love. Of how that face touched them and changed their lives. You listen not because you mean to eavesdrop but because it is further proof that the hand you hold truly does belong to a saint. To a person who brought joy and love and laughter and comfort to so many.
You try to joke, to laugh. Like some surreal dream you hold your world ending but chat like it’s a high school reunion. How are the kids? Isn’t it strange that we don’t have snow yet? Noone really means it. It’s what they say to keep from screaming “no!!! this isn’t fair! STOP IT!!!”. It’s what they do to keep control, control of the one thing they can....themselves.
It’s the same reason you don’t let go of that hand. You can’t control what is coming, but you can control how it happens. You can keep love and touch and some sense of togetherness longer. When you look up to her face your gaze doesn’t last as long. It’s easier to stare at a hand, you’re not expecting a hand to light up and smile at you. You’re not longing to see the unspoke words of love and acceptance in that hand. No it has simply always been the tool of physically showing it. It has always just simply been touch, and looks now just as it did then. Other than the lack of pain twisted muscles, it is the same. So in that way it is even better to look at. It is a reminder that this means release and relief. Stroking the soft fragile skin you start to realize what it all means.... then bury it again right away.. Now is not the time. Later.
You look up at the clock. 1hour. Where did the time go? Surely you haven’t been sitting in the same spot for 3 hours. For that matter, where did the food come from in here? Someone brought burger king? Why? ah yes it made them feel useful. Oh God it feels like time is rushing in. Shouldn’t someone be rushing in saying “we read the test wrong! she will wake up!” right about now? It’s getting awfully close isn’t it?
You place your other hand on her arm. Rubbing gently to bring some love and comfort to her even though you know she probably can’t feel anything anymore. You know she certainly won’t be able to respond, but you do it as if she can anyway. You never know. Somewhere in there she might be aware, they might be wrong about that. You lean over and whisper “I love you mama. Thank you so much for everything. Don’t forget I love you ok? I’ll be ok, I promise.” You finally let your head rest on her chest. That pillow of comfort and unconditional love that had been your resting place your entire life. Your safe harbor. You hear her heartbeat strong against your face and wonder how it can be so strong and yet she’s going. You lay there for a time, just taking in her smell, her heartbeat.
Eh hem. A voice. Not one that belongs here. It’s time. Suddenly your heart starts hammering. No. Not yet. How can they know? Her body is still here, still functioning. Her hand feels like the last solid thing in the world. You’re supposed to put it down now. You’re supposed to walk away. The machines will keep the shell of a body functioning till they can get the organs. That’s what you’re supposed to refer to her as now, a body. But this woman was life itself. Personality through the roof... how can that be gone? Surely you can will her eyes open. You pour all your love and desperation and feined acceptance into that hand. You try to meet other peoples eyes, thinking they can’t see the panic in your eyes. You carress that soft, thin skin over and over again. You finally make yourself stand up. The tears are fighting to break though in torrents, you turn to this body now and say two words “Thank You”.
And then you let go.
I held her hand. I held it like it was my life line, but I held it like you would hold a baby bird. Gently, but with more need than I have ever felt in my life. This was the hand that had stroked my hair thousands of times to comfort me. This was the hand that cupped my face when she looked in my eyes and told me she loved me. This was the hand that rubbed my back as I fell asleep for years. This thin skinned, twisted hand was the strength of the world. The rock I clung to and the anchor in my heaving seas. Now it was the sea itself. There was no tension, no pain twitching the muscles. Just at peace. How often had I longed for her to have peace? To be free of pain? I stayed awake nights praying for hours on end for this. But not like this. I looked up and watched her chest rise and fall. And knew the steady rythm was numbered. 4 hours. I look up at the clock again. 3hours and 59minutes. How do you measure life? In daylight? In sunsets? In midnights and cups of coffee? No. In minutes. In heartbeats. In breaths. In circles drawn with your thumb gently on the aged skin.
How was I going to do this? What in Gods name do you do when someone tells you that your home, the very thing that gave you spirit and life will be gone in 4 hours? You sit. You sit and pray. You make phone calls. You pray some more. You try to find some peace so that there is no anger near them as they go. You sob uncontrollably first, then you sit and hold that hand. That precious gift that was yours for so long. And you prepare to put it down and walk away. Prepare is the wrong word, there is no way to truly prepare. No, you steel yourself to be able to walk away without screaming, without running back and clinging desperately to the sheets. You think of all the joy you had and what peace is coming for them now. You focus on the fact that there will be no more pain for them. You imagine them young and dancing again. You imagine that they will not miss you because in heaven they can still see you and they are at ultimate peace. You beg. You beg with every fiber of your being, silently, that somehow this is just a dream. That there is a miracle coming. That they will open their eyes. That the dr. is wrong.
The support comes, the few family members who are really the friends that make up your true family-the in laws, the best friends who consider themselves sisters, the people who love her- far better than just the flesh and blood family who can’t be there. They cry, they reach out for your shoulder. Part of you wants to reach out to them too, but you simply can’t let go of her hand. No, you have to stay here and though your skin, your very being show her how much you love her and that you’ll be here no matter what. You somehow try to say in that touch that it’s ok. That you understand and that you’ll let go when you have to. You lie. You mean it, but deep deep down it’s a lie. The friends whisper words of thanks, of gratitude, of sorrow, but mostly of love. Of how that face touched them and changed their lives. You listen not because you mean to eavesdrop but because it is further proof that the hand you hold truly does belong to a saint. To a person who brought joy and love and laughter and comfort to so many.
You try to joke, to laugh. Like some surreal dream you hold your world ending but chat like it’s a high school reunion. How are the kids? Isn’t it strange that we don’t have snow yet? Noone really means it. It’s what they say to keep from screaming “no!!! this isn’t fair! STOP IT!!!”. It’s what they do to keep control, control of the one thing they can....themselves.
It’s the same reason you don’t let go of that hand. You can’t control what is coming, but you can control how it happens. You can keep love and touch and some sense of togetherness longer. When you look up to her face your gaze doesn’t last as long. It’s easier to stare at a hand, you’re not expecting a hand to light up and smile at you. You’re not longing to see the unspoke words of love and acceptance in that hand. No it has simply always been the tool of physically showing it. It has always just simply been touch, and looks now just as it did then. Other than the lack of pain twisted muscles, it is the same. So in that way it is even better to look at. It is a reminder that this means release and relief. Stroking the soft fragile skin you start to realize what it all means.... then bury it again right away.. Now is not the time. Later.
You look up at the clock. 1hour. Where did the time go? Surely you haven’t been sitting in the same spot for 3 hours. For that matter, where did the food come from in here? Someone brought burger king? Why? ah yes it made them feel useful. Oh God it feels like time is rushing in. Shouldn’t someone be rushing in saying “we read the test wrong! she will wake up!” right about now? It’s getting awfully close isn’t it?
You place your other hand on her arm. Rubbing gently to bring some love and comfort to her even though you know she probably can’t feel anything anymore. You know she certainly won’t be able to respond, but you do it as if she can anyway. You never know. Somewhere in there she might be aware, they might be wrong about that. You lean over and whisper “I love you mama. Thank you so much for everything. Don’t forget I love you ok? I’ll be ok, I promise.” You finally let your head rest on her chest. That pillow of comfort and unconditional love that had been your resting place your entire life. Your safe harbor. You hear her heartbeat strong against your face and wonder how it can be so strong and yet she’s going. You lay there for a time, just taking in her smell, her heartbeat.
Eh hem. A voice. Not one that belongs here. It’s time. Suddenly your heart starts hammering. No. Not yet. How can they know? Her body is still here, still functioning. Her hand feels like the last solid thing in the world. You’re supposed to put it down now. You’re supposed to walk away. The machines will keep the shell of a body functioning till they can get the organs. That’s what you’re supposed to refer to her as now, a body. But this woman was life itself. Personality through the roof... how can that be gone? Surely you can will her eyes open. You pour all your love and desperation and feined acceptance into that hand. You try to meet other peoples eyes, thinking they can’t see the panic in your eyes. You carress that soft, thin skin over and over again. You finally make yourself stand up. The tears are fighting to break though in torrents, you turn to this body now and say two words “Thank You”.
And then you let go.
Backwash
assignment 2011: Write for ten minutes in the present on your chosen topic. Use a timer. Stay in the present tense.
Reset timer. Write for ten minutes on the same topic in the PAST TENSE
Come back and write for another ten minutes in the present. This is another ABA form. It really helps access/clarify the use of flashing back in time.
so here was what I started with as my "topic" or idea where it was going to go: THE OCEAN/MOMENT AT BEACH/contemplative/sensory/escape/flow
I swear I understand that the above sentence probably makes no sense to anyone but me as to how it inspired the story below...
Standing here I can start to feel. The numbness is fading a bit. I think it’s the different sensory stuff here. This loud seagull keeps following me and scolding me for not having bread today. What can i say? I forgot. I guess I am starting to feel again cause I definately feel bad about not having his bread. I realize I need to take my shoes off. It’s funny how shoes feel all wrong at the beach. But somehow little things like that are important you know? Like hanging up a shirt when its’ out of the dryer so it doesn’t wrinkle. Or putting a knife in the dishwasher right away. You just... have to. Ok there, that’s better. ahhhh toes. Well there was a whole 10 seconds of comfort and distraction. Arggg!! How the hell could so much go wrong in one day? It started with the peanut butter side of a pbj going all over the kitchen counter, cupboard doors, and floor this morning. Swiftly followed by tripping down the steps which resulted in dropped cup of cofee. Then an ungainly run to catch the bus only to get to work late and be told that they were downsizing anyway and “thanks but we have to let you go”. Add that to the phone call I just got off of and today was in the running for worst day of the decade. I look at my cellphone, I know i need to call like 50 more people but damn it I just don’t want to. How many times will I have to say that sentence? ok, gotta do it. Looking around at the peaceful beach I say a little prayer for patience. I flip open the phone and call my Aunt Suzie and of course she answers on the 1st ring. “Hello?” “ Hey Aunt Suzie. Just thought you should know dad is moving into a nursing home, he had a stroke.... No no hopefully it’s just temporary. His vitals are all fine, but he needs a lot of rehab physically and with speech..... Yes I think he can understand you just fine..... No I’m not sure....... Yes I’m ok....... No you can’t do anything......... He’s in room 213 bed B at oakridge. ... yes the one by the bank.....Ok Auntie... Ok, well I gotta go. I have to call other folks now.” sigh, 3 ring circus that is my life. Why can’t I just be an annoying sea gull whose biggest concern is forgotten bread?
I can still remember that day clear as a bell. I had just gotten off the bus from work, where I had just gotten fired when my cell phone rang. This was just a few years really after they came out and I swear I had mine attached to my head half the day. I can’t remember exactly what all happened but I remember that it was a kind of crappy day right from the start. My boss had just told me they were letting me go about half an hour before I got the call so I was already upset at the world. I was walking back to the house from the bus stop when the hospital called. This nurse told me to get more things for dad, that he was going to the nursing home. Something about prolonged recovery time. I think I hung up on her actually now that I think about it. I just started walking. I was young, but so frustrated. At my age I shouldn’t have had to deal with ill parents, friend issues, and jobs falling apart. Or at least that’s how I thought back then. Now of course I realize I had it pretty darn good. I had my own house, my own dog, and still had my dad. But when you’re young you tend to focus on the crap sometimes. Anyway I ended up walking to the beach to try and think. It had always been my “thinking spot” from the time I was 8 and my parrot had died. It’s funny, I can’t remember what I was wearing or my ringtone, or whether it was cold or warm that day. I do remember the seagull though. I had this “pet” seagull who I routinely fed loafs of bread to. Almost everytime I went to the beach (and yes I spent a lot of money on bread I literally threw, and I didn’t care). He followed me up and down the beach scolding me for forgetting him. I remember feeling really guilty that I didn’t have any bread for him. But do you know that bird stayed with me while I called everyone to let them know about dad? He just followed me or hopped along the sand when I paused to sit. It was like he knew I needed a friend. I think I sat on that beach for hours thinking. Probably not even about the most serious things either. I think at one point I was talking to myself about how shoes just needed to be off at a beach. Couldn’t figure out why some people choose to stay in their tennies when there was soft sand to be had between your toes. Truthfully I still feel that way. But I digress. I stayed there a few hours before giving into reality and going home to gather up some belongings and a book. Despite my bitching there was no way I was going to leave dad to do the move and first night in a new place by himself. I stopped at our family home to get him some clothes and a few photos too so that he wouldn’t be stuck in the hospital attire. He was a very dapper man in general and I know that he was probably desperate to get out of those dotted monstrosities. It still makes me smile to think of him and his “dressing” in the mornings. He wasn’t fit to go get the newspaper if he didn’t have an ascot on and tied, his hair wasn’t meticulous, and his socks up to his knees. As I closed the door to his house I remember telling it, yes telling a house, that he’d be back soon not to worry. Silly the things we say for comfort isn’t it?
Locking the front door I start looking around for any of dads neighbors. I see Mrs. Linstron across the way pulling in, she is as good as telling everyone what’s going on. They will all know in half an hour. See, something is going right! “Mrs. Linstron!” “oh Amy, how good to see you dear! How is your father? is he home yet?” “no ma’am, actually I was going to ask you if you could watch over his plants for a while? He needs to have a little extra physical rehab and I don’t know how much time I’ll have to come back here every day to water them. The bus isn’t always a quick way to get around”. concern is written all over her face. Oh lord here comes the “I’m here if you need anything” speech again... “well hon of course, you know if you need anything just you ask ok? and give that man a hug from me. I’ll make sure we all keep an eye out for the house while he’s gone.” Oh Lord, I can feel the tears trying to well up. I am NOT going to cry over this. He is fine, he’ll be fine. I just need to get moving. “ok well thank you and I’ll keep you posted, I need to get his stuff to him now!” flashing her a smile I bail out of her driveway as quickly as I can. God I need to get a grip! I know it’s been a rough day but geez...
Taking a deep breath I lean my head back and open my eyes. I love the way the trees on our street have grown so much that they form almost a tall tunnel to drive through. It’s like looking up at a canopy of green leaves.. of life. The best is in the fall when they rain down. Ha! I remember crunching down this street for hours when I was little. Amazing how little it takes to be happy when you’re a kid!
Reset timer. Write for ten minutes on the same topic in the PAST TENSE
Come back and write for another ten minutes in the present. This is another ABA form. It really helps access/clarify the use of flashing back in time.
so here was what I started with as my "topic" or idea where it was going to go: THE OCEAN/MOMENT AT BEACH/contemplative/sensory/escape/flow
I swear I understand that the above sentence probably makes no sense to anyone but me as to how it inspired the story below...
Standing here I can start to feel. The numbness is fading a bit. I think it’s the different sensory stuff here. This loud seagull keeps following me and scolding me for not having bread today. What can i say? I forgot. I guess I am starting to feel again cause I definately feel bad about not having his bread. I realize I need to take my shoes off. It’s funny how shoes feel all wrong at the beach. But somehow little things like that are important you know? Like hanging up a shirt when its’ out of the dryer so it doesn’t wrinkle. Or putting a knife in the dishwasher right away. You just... have to. Ok there, that’s better. ahhhh toes. Well there was a whole 10 seconds of comfort and distraction. Arggg!! How the hell could so much go wrong in one day? It started with the peanut butter side of a pbj going all over the kitchen counter, cupboard doors, and floor this morning. Swiftly followed by tripping down the steps which resulted in dropped cup of cofee. Then an ungainly run to catch the bus only to get to work late and be told that they were downsizing anyway and “thanks but we have to let you go”. Add that to the phone call I just got off of and today was in the running for worst day of the decade. I look at my cellphone, I know i need to call like 50 more people but damn it I just don’t want to. How many times will I have to say that sentence? ok, gotta do it. Looking around at the peaceful beach I say a little prayer for patience. I flip open the phone and call my Aunt Suzie and of course she answers on the 1st ring. “Hello?” “ Hey Aunt Suzie. Just thought you should know dad is moving into a nursing home, he had a stroke.... No no hopefully it’s just temporary. His vitals are all fine, but he needs a lot of rehab physically and with speech..... Yes I think he can understand you just fine..... No I’m not sure....... Yes I’m ok....... No you can’t do anything......... He’s in room 213 bed B at oakridge. ... yes the one by the bank.....Ok Auntie... Ok, well I gotta go. I have to call other folks now.” sigh, 3 ring circus that is my life. Why can’t I just be an annoying sea gull whose biggest concern is forgotten bread?
I can still remember that day clear as a bell. I had just gotten off the bus from work, where I had just gotten fired when my cell phone rang. This was just a few years really after they came out and I swear I had mine attached to my head half the day. I can’t remember exactly what all happened but I remember that it was a kind of crappy day right from the start. My boss had just told me they were letting me go about half an hour before I got the call so I was already upset at the world. I was walking back to the house from the bus stop when the hospital called. This nurse told me to get more things for dad, that he was going to the nursing home. Something about prolonged recovery time. I think I hung up on her actually now that I think about it. I just started walking. I was young, but so frustrated. At my age I shouldn’t have had to deal with ill parents, friend issues, and jobs falling apart. Or at least that’s how I thought back then. Now of course I realize I had it pretty darn good. I had my own house, my own dog, and still had my dad. But when you’re young you tend to focus on the crap sometimes. Anyway I ended up walking to the beach to try and think. It had always been my “thinking spot” from the time I was 8 and my parrot had died. It’s funny, I can’t remember what I was wearing or my ringtone, or whether it was cold or warm that day. I do remember the seagull though. I had this “pet” seagull who I routinely fed loafs of bread to. Almost everytime I went to the beach (and yes I spent a lot of money on bread I literally threw, and I didn’t care). He followed me up and down the beach scolding me for forgetting him. I remember feeling really guilty that I didn’t have any bread for him. But do you know that bird stayed with me while I called everyone to let them know about dad? He just followed me or hopped along the sand when I paused to sit. It was like he knew I needed a friend. I think I sat on that beach for hours thinking. Probably not even about the most serious things either. I think at one point I was talking to myself about how shoes just needed to be off at a beach. Couldn’t figure out why some people choose to stay in their tennies when there was soft sand to be had between your toes. Truthfully I still feel that way. But I digress. I stayed there a few hours before giving into reality and going home to gather up some belongings and a book. Despite my bitching there was no way I was going to leave dad to do the move and first night in a new place by himself. I stopped at our family home to get him some clothes and a few photos too so that he wouldn’t be stuck in the hospital attire. He was a very dapper man in general and I know that he was probably desperate to get out of those dotted monstrosities. It still makes me smile to think of him and his “dressing” in the mornings. He wasn’t fit to go get the newspaper if he didn’t have an ascot on and tied, his hair wasn’t meticulous, and his socks up to his knees. As I closed the door to his house I remember telling it, yes telling a house, that he’d be back soon not to worry. Silly the things we say for comfort isn’t it?
Locking the front door I start looking around for any of dads neighbors. I see Mrs. Linstron across the way pulling in, she is as good as telling everyone what’s going on. They will all know in half an hour. See, something is going right! “Mrs. Linstron!” “oh Amy, how good to see you dear! How is your father? is he home yet?” “no ma’am, actually I was going to ask you if you could watch over his plants for a while? He needs to have a little extra physical rehab and I don’t know how much time I’ll have to come back here every day to water them. The bus isn’t always a quick way to get around”. concern is written all over her face. Oh lord here comes the “I’m here if you need anything” speech again... “well hon of course, you know if you need anything just you ask ok? and give that man a hug from me. I’ll make sure we all keep an eye out for the house while he’s gone.” Oh Lord, I can feel the tears trying to well up. I am NOT going to cry over this. He is fine, he’ll be fine. I just need to get moving. “ok well thank you and I’ll keep you posted, I need to get his stuff to him now!” flashing her a smile I bail out of her driveway as quickly as I can. God I need to get a grip! I know it’s been a rough day but geez...
Taking a deep breath I lean my head back and open my eyes. I love the way the trees on our street have grown so much that they form almost a tall tunnel to drive through. It’s like looking up at a canopy of green leaves.. of life. The best is in the fall when they rain down. Ha! I remember crunching down this street for hours when I was little. Amazing how little it takes to be happy when you’re a kid!
Midge: a fable
*just a short little kids story. Not as good as it could be, but not too shabby either :)
Once there was a small horse named Midge. Midge was the only one in the whole stable who was small. He had never gotten bigger than a foal really, after all a miniature horse was supposed to be small! When he had been born his mother and the rest of the herd were just like him and he never thought anything of it. But one day he was sold to a man who ran a large stable. Midge was sorry to leave his mother but excited for the new adventure and new friends. Sadly when he arrived at his new home that had not been the case. He had expected friendly faces and others to play with. Instead there had been these huge giants of horses, what he soon learned was what everyone thought a “normal horse” was. He was an outcast. He had one single friend in the donkey, but he was always teased by the other horses.
“pip squeak. why you’re not even a pony!” “and who would ride you?”
The worst was when he watched them being taken out to be ridden. Oh how he longed to soar over jumps like they did! To feel the ground thundering under his hooves.
As the weeks went by he found himself spending his days pining over wanting to be a bigger horse. a REAL horse as he had started to call it in his head. He was lonely and so very unhappy with who he was.
Then one day a new family came to the barn. A man and his wife and their small daughter. The man Midge had seen many times before, he was a famous show jumper and his horse Griphon was one of the horses who teased Midge the worst. He would always snort and swish his tail as he went out to the jump course. The mans wife was easily happy around the horses and bought her daughter towards Griphons stall with a smile on her face.
“look honey! this is who you’ll start riding! then you can be a famous rider like daddy is. isnt’ he pretty?”
And to everyones shock, the little girl took one look at Griphon and started crying!
“no mommy! no no no!”
Her mother was baffled and put her daughter down to turn and talk to her husband. While they argued about how it was silly of her to be scared and what to do....the little girl has stopped crying and was walking down the aisle. Suddenly she saw Midge.
And Midge saw her. Her pretty little tearstained face, her sweet little ringlettes, her eyes wide at the sight of him. And to Midges surprise she came to him! She reached out her little hand and started to pet him. He closed his eyes and just stood there feeling happy. He took a deep breath and snuffled out a big sigh into her palm... which made her laugh out loud!
Her parents spun around and froze. Here was there little girl turning down teh champion horse for this little minature creature. But there was no denying that she was enraptured. Her father turned and went to the office to have some words with the barn owner. Soon her returned and took his daughters hand and they all left.
Days went by and Midge found he was even sadder than before. He had really enjoyed the little girl, loved her light touch and her smile. And just as he was thinking about how much he wished she would come by again... he heard her laugh!
“Mine? daddy mine? MY HORSE? thank you thank you thank you thank you!”
And she came rushing into view and just about flung herself into the stall. Midge was surprised but happy and leaned into her pets nudging her shoulder with his nose. He looked up, scaresly daring to hope that his thoughts might be right.
“Yes baby, he’s yours. Take good care of him and you’ll learn a lot. Now he won’t be big enough for always, but he can be your friend even after you’ve outgrown him”
Midge and the girl looked at each other, each with shining eyes as she looked at him very seriously and said “I’m Jennie.”
And from that day forth the two were inseperable. The other horses in the barn realized that even though Midge was small, he was important. After all he was the horse of the famous jumpers daughter, and that man knew horses! Midge was happy he was small, because if he had been big, he wouldn’t have had her in his life.
Small sometimes is Just Right!
Once there was a small horse named Midge. Midge was the only one in the whole stable who was small. He had never gotten bigger than a foal really, after all a miniature horse was supposed to be small! When he had been born his mother and the rest of the herd were just like him and he never thought anything of it. But one day he was sold to a man who ran a large stable. Midge was sorry to leave his mother but excited for the new adventure and new friends. Sadly when he arrived at his new home that had not been the case. He had expected friendly faces and others to play with. Instead there had been these huge giants of horses, what he soon learned was what everyone thought a “normal horse” was. He was an outcast. He had one single friend in the donkey, but he was always teased by the other horses.
“pip squeak. why you’re not even a pony!” “and who would ride you?”
The worst was when he watched them being taken out to be ridden. Oh how he longed to soar over jumps like they did! To feel the ground thundering under his hooves.
As the weeks went by he found himself spending his days pining over wanting to be a bigger horse. a REAL horse as he had started to call it in his head. He was lonely and so very unhappy with who he was.
Then one day a new family came to the barn. A man and his wife and their small daughter. The man Midge had seen many times before, he was a famous show jumper and his horse Griphon was one of the horses who teased Midge the worst. He would always snort and swish his tail as he went out to the jump course. The mans wife was easily happy around the horses and bought her daughter towards Griphons stall with a smile on her face.
“look honey! this is who you’ll start riding! then you can be a famous rider like daddy is. isnt’ he pretty?”
And to everyones shock, the little girl took one look at Griphon and started crying!
“no mommy! no no no!”
Her mother was baffled and put her daughter down to turn and talk to her husband. While they argued about how it was silly of her to be scared and what to do....the little girl has stopped crying and was walking down the aisle. Suddenly she saw Midge.
And Midge saw her. Her pretty little tearstained face, her sweet little ringlettes, her eyes wide at the sight of him. And to Midges surprise she came to him! She reached out her little hand and started to pet him. He closed his eyes and just stood there feeling happy. He took a deep breath and snuffled out a big sigh into her palm... which made her laugh out loud!
Her parents spun around and froze. Here was there little girl turning down teh champion horse for this little minature creature. But there was no denying that she was enraptured. Her father turned and went to the office to have some words with the barn owner. Soon her returned and took his daughters hand and they all left.
Days went by and Midge found he was even sadder than before. He had really enjoyed the little girl, loved her light touch and her smile. And just as he was thinking about how much he wished she would come by again... he heard her laugh!
“Mine? daddy mine? MY HORSE? thank you thank you thank you thank you!”
And she came rushing into view and just about flung herself into the stall. Midge was surprised but happy and leaned into her pets nudging her shoulder with his nose. He looked up, scaresly daring to hope that his thoughts might be right.
“Yes baby, he’s yours. Take good care of him and you’ll learn a lot. Now he won’t be big enough for always, but he can be your friend even after you’ve outgrown him”
Midge and the girl looked at each other, each with shining eyes as she looked at him very seriously and said “I’m Jennie.”
And from that day forth the two were inseperable. The other horses in the barn realized that even though Midge was small, he was important. After all he was the horse of the famous jumpers daughter, and that man knew horses! Midge was happy he was small, because if he had been big, he wouldn’t have had her in his life.
Small sometimes is Just Right!
Personal Space
assingment 2011: Take a character you are working with or want to develop. It can be a character from the sketch, a story, the brainstorm list, or a brand new one. Write for 10-15 minutes and just let the character speak. She or he can tell a story, argue a case, complain, entertain, confess, or anything at all.
this one just popped into my head. I saw her sitting there in my head and the rest unfolded. Truly my prefered way to write I think...
So, there I was. Sitting in a bus stop shelter, minding my own business, trying to listen to the soothing sounds of 5finger death punch, when out of nowhere this guy just flops down next to me. And I mean NEXT TO ME. As in thighs touching, shoulders touching, you know. Anyway I turn to give him a scathing glance and he isn’t even looking at me. It’s like he has no idea that a) he TOTALLY just infringed upon my personal bubble, which I have been guarding since about age 6 and b) that I even exist, so my trying to glare at him just comes off looking stupid. Usually I give that look and the person wilts and moves away. Easy. Now here is mr.-sit-wherever-I-damn-well-wish and me with a pissed off expression getting me nowhere. At this point I have no idea whether to tap him, clear my throat, say something mean, get up, or just ignore him. This is not normal for me. I mean, I know usually just what to do in any given situation. I’ve never had this situation. Now he has pulled out a book and has moved his elbow even further into the folds of my lightweight black hoodie. At this point I just stare at him, I mean HOW the HELL do you not notice or care that you are half in some strangers lap?! Part of me wants to just hit him and tell him to bugger off, but the other part of me is so shocked at a person being this...senseless that I want to wait and see what he does, or if he’ll even notice.
He doesn’t. I am now totally confused. He has made no ill attempt to hit on me, hell to even converse at all. Not even to tell me to fuck off, or ask how my day was, or comment on the weather. Nothing. Not a word. I turn back to look at the road, checking my phone to see how much longer till the bus gets here. I know I could just get up, but then that seems like loosing. No, better to stand my ground. I don’t give way to anyone, never have, certainly not going to start now with a complete stranger. Sigh. 8 more minutes. Maybe the bus will be early. For the first time I have seen merit in my friends comments about me getting a car. In my own car this certainly wouldn’t have happened. If some stranger ends up in my passenger seat out of nowhere then there are obviously problems much greater than personal space going on in my life that day. Such as the gun they’d have to be pointing at me. 8 minutes. ok, well that’s 2 songs worth. I’ll just concentrate on the lyrics. Another furtive glance towards him finds that he is still oblivious to his bodies proximity to mine. Is that even possible for guys? I mean c’mon. Not that I’m a hottie or anything, but I AM female. Shouldn’t a guy notice when he’s half sitting on a girl? I’m just saying. By now I guess it’s not that big a deal. I’ll just deal with it. At least I’m warmer right? The minutes were eeking by and when I checked my phone for the twenty fourth time, it was finally only a minute till bus time. I found that at this point, I wasn’t all that irritated anymore. No one who walked by tried to make any contact which was nice, no random conversations or rather avoiding of them. And he didn’t smell gross or anything. Certainly nicer than most of the people I’ve had to share bus stops with. No annoying loud phone calls or making out with girlfriends or reading out loud to himself. I have also developed over the last 5 minutes a burning desire to know what the hell he is reading that has made him so oblivious. It has to be good right? Hell I could use a good escape like that. Unfortunately he has it open enough to where I can’t see a thing. I see the bus a light down, and figure what the hell. I clear my thoat. “eh hem... so I have to ask, what are you reading?”
He finally looks up with startling blue eyes and says two words “Personal Space”, flipping up the cover so I can get a glimpse.
With a small grin he picks up his bag and walks onto the bus which is now in front of us. I can’t help but to miss the contact for just a second I guess I really did just get used to it, I stare for a second then get up and start up the bus steps.
And that was how we met.
this one just popped into my head. I saw her sitting there in my head and the rest unfolded. Truly my prefered way to write I think...
So, there I was. Sitting in a bus stop shelter, minding my own business, trying to listen to the soothing sounds of 5finger death punch, when out of nowhere this guy just flops down next to me. And I mean NEXT TO ME. As in thighs touching, shoulders touching, you know. Anyway I turn to give him a scathing glance and he isn’t even looking at me. It’s like he has no idea that a) he TOTALLY just infringed upon my personal bubble, which I have been guarding since about age 6 and b) that I even exist, so my trying to glare at him just comes off looking stupid. Usually I give that look and the person wilts and moves away. Easy. Now here is mr.-sit-wherever-I-damn-well-wish and me with a pissed off expression getting me nowhere. At this point I have no idea whether to tap him, clear my throat, say something mean, get up, or just ignore him. This is not normal for me. I mean, I know usually just what to do in any given situation. I’ve never had this situation. Now he has pulled out a book and has moved his elbow even further into the folds of my lightweight black hoodie. At this point I just stare at him, I mean HOW the HELL do you not notice or care that you are half in some strangers lap?! Part of me wants to just hit him and tell him to bugger off, but the other part of me is so shocked at a person being this...senseless that I want to wait and see what he does, or if he’ll even notice.
He doesn’t. I am now totally confused. He has made no ill attempt to hit on me, hell to even converse at all. Not even to tell me to fuck off, or ask how my day was, or comment on the weather. Nothing. Not a word. I turn back to look at the road, checking my phone to see how much longer till the bus gets here. I know I could just get up, but then that seems like loosing. No, better to stand my ground. I don’t give way to anyone, never have, certainly not going to start now with a complete stranger. Sigh. 8 more minutes. Maybe the bus will be early. For the first time I have seen merit in my friends comments about me getting a car. In my own car this certainly wouldn’t have happened. If some stranger ends up in my passenger seat out of nowhere then there are obviously problems much greater than personal space going on in my life that day. Such as the gun they’d have to be pointing at me. 8 minutes. ok, well that’s 2 songs worth. I’ll just concentrate on the lyrics. Another furtive glance towards him finds that he is still oblivious to his bodies proximity to mine. Is that even possible for guys? I mean c’mon. Not that I’m a hottie or anything, but I AM female. Shouldn’t a guy notice when he’s half sitting on a girl? I’m just saying. By now I guess it’s not that big a deal. I’ll just deal with it. At least I’m warmer right? The minutes were eeking by and when I checked my phone for the twenty fourth time, it was finally only a minute till bus time. I found that at this point, I wasn’t all that irritated anymore. No one who walked by tried to make any contact which was nice, no random conversations or rather avoiding of them. And he didn’t smell gross or anything. Certainly nicer than most of the people I’ve had to share bus stops with. No annoying loud phone calls or making out with girlfriends or reading out loud to himself. I have also developed over the last 5 minutes a burning desire to know what the hell he is reading that has made him so oblivious. It has to be good right? Hell I could use a good escape like that. Unfortunately he has it open enough to where I can’t see a thing. I see the bus a light down, and figure what the hell. I clear my thoat. “eh hem... so I have to ask, what are you reading?”
He finally looks up with startling blue eyes and says two words “Personal Space”, flipping up the cover so I can get a glimpse.
With a small grin he picks up his bag and walks onto the bus which is now in front of us. I can’t help but to miss the contact for just a second I guess I really did just get used to it, I stare for a second then get up and start up the bus steps.
And that was how we met.
Fall Morning
*assignment 2011: write a brief story in 3 points of view. see how you can change it with each.
on a side note, I had NO idea where this story was going. I had a single sentence in my head when I started: she stood shaking. and an image, fall leaves. I am slightly concerned as to where my mind goes with these two ideas.. but here it is.
My favorite:
She stood shaking. In a way it fit in with the fall day, she matched the dead leaves shaking and twisting as they held on with deaths grip to their branches in the breeze. How could this have happened? Numb. Everything was so hard to feel, to understand. She couldn’t even see the people passing by on the path. She missed the little terriers antics while it was anxiously waiting on his master to start running again. She never saw the parents cooing over their newborn in the stroller. Two men slowed down from their run and asked her if she was ok and she didn’t even see their faces let alone hear there words. But she noticed the trees. Noticed how bare and full of death they were today. Not only minutes ago they had seemed lovely in color and simply embracing the change. Now she saw them as they were. Desperate decaying things that used to be vibrant and beautiful. “why?” the one whisper leaves her lips. Out of her silence comes a great racking “WHY????” as she collapses to the leaf covered grass. She doesn’t notice the people rushing in to her. She doesn’t hear the 911 call being made. All she hears are those words in her head over and over....”your son was shot and killed at school today. I am so sorry”.
Self:
I can’t feel my body. I should be worried about that right? God how did I think that brown leaves falling off a tree were beautiful? It’s nothing but death. All of it. Death. Oh God...This can’t be happening. Not my Scott. He had football practice today, I have his jersey in the car. He never finished his essay for next week. I can’t go home....home? Jared. Oh God I have to call my husband.... Jared. Oh God Jared our child! no no no, I can’t think. I can’t ...
“why?”
Looking down I see nothing but dead leaves covering the vibrant grass. Death covering all that is beautiful in this world.
“WHY????”
I can’t think. How could they just call and say that... who calls and says things like that? “your son was shot and killed at school today. I am so sorry” killed, killed... my Scott.
3rd person:
Laura stood shaking. I can’t feel my body, she thought, you’re supposed to be able to right? She notices all the dead leaves at her feet. God how could she have thought they were beautiful a minute ago? It’s all death. Death, oh God her Scott! How could this have happened? what do you do? home, there is no home anymore.. how can she walk through that door? She can’t even form full thoughts of her own. She doesn’t notice the runners, the antsy dogs on the trail, all she can hear are those words over and over “your son was shot and killed at school today. I am so sorry” Who calls and says things like that? one word finally escapes her lips, a whispered “why?” that whisper growing into a full throated cry of grief “WHY????”
She doesn’t even notice the people rushing up to her or the dead leaves crunching on her knees as she collapses. Truthfully she wouldn’t care even if she could see it.
I can’t do this, i can’t I can’t. Scott, my baby.... Her mind is riddled with half thoughts and the desperate attempt her body is making at staying numb so she doesn’t go insane. Like how at a bad car accident or crime scene the mind won’t let you truly see the horrors at first, won’t let you distinguish a body part truly. She didn’t want to feel.
I just want to fall asleep, never wake up. I can’t do this. Flashes of images of a coffin race through her head, bringing another sob. I CAN”T!!!
on a side note, I had NO idea where this story was going. I had a single sentence in my head when I started: she stood shaking. and an image, fall leaves. I am slightly concerned as to where my mind goes with these two ideas.. but here it is.
My favorite:
She stood shaking. In a way it fit in with the fall day, she matched the dead leaves shaking and twisting as they held on with deaths grip to their branches in the breeze. How could this have happened? Numb. Everything was so hard to feel, to understand. She couldn’t even see the people passing by on the path. She missed the little terriers antics while it was anxiously waiting on his master to start running again. She never saw the parents cooing over their newborn in the stroller. Two men slowed down from their run and asked her if she was ok and she didn’t even see their faces let alone hear there words. But she noticed the trees. Noticed how bare and full of death they were today. Not only minutes ago they had seemed lovely in color and simply embracing the change. Now she saw them as they were. Desperate decaying things that used to be vibrant and beautiful. “why?” the one whisper leaves her lips. Out of her silence comes a great racking “WHY????” as she collapses to the leaf covered grass. She doesn’t notice the people rushing in to her. She doesn’t hear the 911 call being made. All she hears are those words in her head over and over....”your son was shot and killed at school today. I am so sorry”.
Self:
I can’t feel my body. I should be worried about that right? God how did I think that brown leaves falling off a tree were beautiful? It’s nothing but death. All of it. Death. Oh God...This can’t be happening. Not my Scott. He had football practice today, I have his jersey in the car. He never finished his essay for next week. I can’t go home....home? Jared. Oh God I have to call my husband.... Jared. Oh God Jared our child! no no no, I can’t think. I can’t ...
“why?”
Looking down I see nothing but dead leaves covering the vibrant grass. Death covering all that is beautiful in this world.
“WHY????”
I can’t think. How could they just call and say that... who calls and says things like that? “your son was shot and killed at school today. I am so sorry” killed, killed... my Scott.
3rd person:
Laura stood shaking. I can’t feel my body, she thought, you’re supposed to be able to right? She notices all the dead leaves at her feet. God how could she have thought they were beautiful a minute ago? It’s all death. Death, oh God her Scott! How could this have happened? what do you do? home, there is no home anymore.. how can she walk through that door? She can’t even form full thoughts of her own. She doesn’t notice the runners, the antsy dogs on the trail, all she can hear are those words over and over “your son was shot and killed at school today. I am so sorry” Who calls and says things like that? one word finally escapes her lips, a whispered “why?” that whisper growing into a full throated cry of grief “WHY????”
She doesn’t even notice the people rushing up to her or the dead leaves crunching on her knees as she collapses. Truthfully she wouldn’t care even if she could see it.
I can’t do this, i can’t I can’t. Scott, my baby.... Her mind is riddled with half thoughts and the desperate attempt her body is making at staying numb so she doesn’t go insane. Like how at a bad car accident or crime scene the mind won’t let you truly see the horrors at first, won’t let you distinguish a body part truly. She didn’t want to feel.
I just want to fall asleep, never wake up. I can’t do this. Flashes of images of a coffin race through her head, bringing another sob. I CAN”T!!!
invisible words
*The assignment 2011: Take two characters you are working with. Have one say to the other: "We have to talk." See how the other responds. Be spontaneous. Write for 10 minutes or so--figure that is 1-2 pages. Post on the discussion board for the class. Remember that one person can talk at more length than another and dominate the conversation.
*Characters created for this assignment:
Layla and Nayli: sisters, twins-fraternal. age: 32 live in the same town, and are close. They have similar personalities but are not identical as people. However they understand each others differences and rarely have conflicts.
Layla sat staring at her phone. At some point she would have to pick it up and dial. It had been a full day, longer than she’d ever gone without telling her sister something important. But how the hell do you say this? She reached out her hand and pulled it back again. Biting her lip to keep back tears she knew she had to call. She needed Nayli more than she ever had, even knowing that she was about to cause Nayli more pain than she would wish on any enemy.
Her hand finally picked up the reciever. letting the cord dangle and curl on the kitchen table. Her shaking fingers dialed the number without even a thought. “Hey girl! Beautiful day isn’t it? You comin over today?” The lightheartedness of her sisters voice brought new tears and a tightness to Laylas throat. “Nayli.” “What’s wrong?” There was an instant change in her sisters voice, she knew. She knew something was coming she didn’t want to hear. “Remember when I went to the last checkup and they wanted to run extra tests to make sure I didn’t have thyroid problems like mom?” “oh my god Lay, I am so sorry! It’s ok, mom has been on meds for a while, we’ll get you through this! They caught it early, it’s easy to control and hardly means anything but a few pills a day.” Silence. “Really, girl, you’ll be fine. It’s not that big a deal, I mean it sucks but...”
Layla cleared her throat. She could do this. “No. It’s not that. The tests, they ran a full panel, you know where they look at everything from endocrine system stuff to white counts to sugars, it helps them catch anything I guess it’s full coverage but probably just a ploy for them to make more money at the labs, I mean who needs to know if they have diabetes when they’re looking at thyroid right? I really am not sure why they do this, but that’d be my guess..”
“Stop. Stop babbling. You only babble when things are really wrong. This isn’t about thryoid at all is it? What did they find? It can’t be that bad, nothing we can’t get you through. Talk to me, talk to me. Please.” the first hint of tears were audible. That slight waver in her sisters voice. That sounds that meant she was invested with all her heart in what she was doing, what she was saying. “Please.”
How? How do you tell your sister, your best friend? How do you even say the words out loud? They didn’t even seem real from the nurse who told her. Like a movie line, something that should mean something but somehow just can’t be real. Like Shea LeBouf telling Megan Fox he loved her in Transformers. Just not real. She took a deep breath. That’s what she had to do, treat it like a movie line. Just say it.
“I..” the second her mouth opened, she lost it. She started sobbing harder than she could ever remember crying before. “ I need you! God Naylie I need you... I can’t.. I can’t... I can... Nay.. why?” her words disolved into nonsense. The words, the sterile words that should have been so easy to say just wouldn’t come out. Just the pain, the fear, the need. The last thing she remembered before passing out was her sister saying “I’m coming, wait for me”
And then the world disappeared, like it would soon enough for real. Maybe this was just practice.
*Characters created for this assignment:
Layla and Nayli: sisters, twins-fraternal. age: 32 live in the same town, and are close. They have similar personalities but are not identical as people. However they understand each others differences and rarely have conflicts.
Layla sat staring at her phone. At some point she would have to pick it up and dial. It had been a full day, longer than she’d ever gone without telling her sister something important. But how the hell do you say this? She reached out her hand and pulled it back again. Biting her lip to keep back tears she knew she had to call. She needed Nayli more than she ever had, even knowing that she was about to cause Nayli more pain than she would wish on any enemy.
Her hand finally picked up the reciever. letting the cord dangle and curl on the kitchen table. Her shaking fingers dialed the number without even a thought. “Hey girl! Beautiful day isn’t it? You comin over today?” The lightheartedness of her sisters voice brought new tears and a tightness to Laylas throat. “Nayli.” “What’s wrong?” There was an instant change in her sisters voice, she knew. She knew something was coming she didn’t want to hear. “Remember when I went to the last checkup and they wanted to run extra tests to make sure I didn’t have thyroid problems like mom?” “oh my god Lay, I am so sorry! It’s ok, mom has been on meds for a while, we’ll get you through this! They caught it early, it’s easy to control and hardly means anything but a few pills a day.” Silence. “Really, girl, you’ll be fine. It’s not that big a deal, I mean it sucks but...”
Layla cleared her throat. She could do this. “No. It’s not that. The tests, they ran a full panel, you know where they look at everything from endocrine system stuff to white counts to sugars, it helps them catch anything I guess it’s full coverage but probably just a ploy for them to make more money at the labs, I mean who needs to know if they have diabetes when they’re looking at thyroid right? I really am not sure why they do this, but that’d be my guess..”
“Stop. Stop babbling. You only babble when things are really wrong. This isn’t about thryoid at all is it? What did they find? It can’t be that bad, nothing we can’t get you through. Talk to me, talk to me. Please.” the first hint of tears were audible. That slight waver in her sisters voice. That sounds that meant she was invested with all her heart in what she was doing, what she was saying. “Please.”
How? How do you tell your sister, your best friend? How do you even say the words out loud? They didn’t even seem real from the nurse who told her. Like a movie line, something that should mean something but somehow just can’t be real. Like Shea LeBouf telling Megan Fox he loved her in Transformers. Just not real. She took a deep breath. That’s what she had to do, treat it like a movie line. Just say it.
“I..” the second her mouth opened, she lost it. She started sobbing harder than she could ever remember crying before. “ I need you! God Naylie I need you... I can’t.. I can’t... I can... Nay.. why?” her words disolved into nonsense. The words, the sterile words that should have been so easy to say just wouldn’t come out. Just the pain, the fear, the need. The last thing she remembered before passing out was her sister saying “I’m coming, wait for me”
And then the world disappeared, like it would soon enough for real. Maybe this was just practice.
Elevator Music
*here is the second part, the fight in the elevator.
not nearly as easy for me, but still a great experience for me!
a fight in an elevator
Cruelty. This was utter cruelty from the fates above. How in Gods name they got stuck in an elevator together, one damn floor from his destination was the definition of irony. For days he’d been imagining what he would do if they were alone together with no witnesses. Ok, granted the fantasies regarding the piano wire or silenced handgun were not serious thoughts, but the others...those were seriously entertained thoughts. And yet here he was. Standing not two feet from him. And wouldn’t you know it, not a damn thing he could do! “God damn all my Murphy ancestors!” he thought. If this wasn’t the curse rearing it’s ugly head, nothing was. There was time to do what he wanted, oh yeah. But of course, they were stuck in the elevator where they worked. If he gave in and pummeled him like he wanted to, at some point they’d open the doors and then he’d be fired. And most likely arrested.
Arg!!! This was flat out not fair, first the little bastard steals his project ideas and gets recognized as a rising talent at the firm because of it. Then he comes home to find his daughter, who is only 17, in a non-platonic position with this douche. Only his daughters tears and pleading had kept him from pressing statutory rape charges, that and the fact that supposedly they hadn’t gotten that far. What the HELL was a 30 year old man doing with a 17 year old girl?! For the first time in his life he had been glad they didn’t keep a gun in the house. Just thinking about it made him want to purchase one. And now he was even more fuming than before. A quick glance in the reflective steel told him that his face had gone from pink to the full on red of rage. You invite someone home to dinner and help them out and the next thing you know they are stealing your job and corrupting your daughter. What the hell was this world coming to?
And now he had to sit here, calmly, with no witnesses and nothing but time on his hands and not turn around and pummel this prick. His palms literally itched with desire to throttle him.
“he hem” came a slight throat clearing from just behind him. He gritted his teeth and put his fists into his pockets.
“So, how’s Chrissy?”
Ok, now his face was the color of rage. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. Did you really just ask me about my daughter? Did you DARE just fucking say her name??? What the HELL is your problem Jeremy?! I have had it with you. Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I didn’t press charges? That I don’t tell our boss? “
“ You really think they’d believe you? The word of a soon to be washed up designer who is now days later making accusations that are unfounded and unprovable? C’mon Peters, who do you think they’re going to believe?” Jeremy smirked, leaning in as he said the last bit.
If this little upstart thought getting in his face was going to stop the ass kicking that was coming, he was waayyyy off. A slow grin came upon his face. Fuck it, it’d be hours before they were rescued, or at least half an hour right? And surely Jeremy would fight back which meant that they would both be banged up. He grinned more, one thing this kid wouldn’t know is that people will always believe that an old guy is the victim when there is physical conflict. All he had to do was say that Jeremy swung at him and he defended himself. Ahhhh.... sweet revenge. Maybe being stuck in an elevator wasn’t so bad after all.
“Oh Jeremy, see the thing is they don’t have to believe me on all that.” He flexed his hands in preperation. He wanted that first hit to come out of nowhere, to make maximum impact, and to take this little shits smirk off his face. The look on Jeremys face said that he clearly didn’t believe he would do anything. That made it all the better.
He let go in a flash of speed and felt the nose break on impact. Crunch! God that sound was music to his ears! Next thing he knew he was standing over Jeremy hitting him as if it was nothing, blocking most return blows but allowing a couple to get in to prove his self defense excuse. “You sorry now Jer?” hit. “You sorry?” hit. God this was satisfying!
The look on Jeremys face showed defeat. His return hits had turned to failing attempts to block the older mans blows. Clearly this guy thought that good looks and a showy body were worth more than real strength, somehow he had a feeling that would be changing in the near future. “I’m sorry!!!!!!”
“You bet your ass you’re sorry. “ the sounds of the rescue crew trying to pry open the outer doors was getting louder “You guys ok in there? what the hell is happening?”
He grinned and looked at Jeremy.... “ Hurry! This guy just flipped out and started going at me, I’ve got him down but I’m not sure for how long! I’m an old guy, he’ll recover before I do...help!” He leaned down nose to broken nose with Jeremy...”who do you think they’ll believe now?”. He went back to the corner of the elevator he started in and sat calmly, humming along with the terrible elevator music their company insisted on playing 24/7.
not nearly as easy for me, but still a great experience for me!
a fight in an elevator
Cruelty. This was utter cruelty from the fates above. How in Gods name they got stuck in an elevator together, one damn floor from his destination was the definition of irony. For days he’d been imagining what he would do if they were alone together with no witnesses. Ok, granted the fantasies regarding the piano wire or silenced handgun were not serious thoughts, but the others...those were seriously entertained thoughts. And yet here he was. Standing not two feet from him. And wouldn’t you know it, not a damn thing he could do! “God damn all my Murphy ancestors!” he thought. If this wasn’t the curse rearing it’s ugly head, nothing was. There was time to do what he wanted, oh yeah. But of course, they were stuck in the elevator where they worked. If he gave in and pummeled him like he wanted to, at some point they’d open the doors and then he’d be fired. And most likely arrested.
Arg!!! This was flat out not fair, first the little bastard steals his project ideas and gets recognized as a rising talent at the firm because of it. Then he comes home to find his daughter, who is only 17, in a non-platonic position with this douche. Only his daughters tears and pleading had kept him from pressing statutory rape charges, that and the fact that supposedly they hadn’t gotten that far. What the HELL was a 30 year old man doing with a 17 year old girl?! For the first time in his life he had been glad they didn’t keep a gun in the house. Just thinking about it made him want to purchase one. And now he was even more fuming than before. A quick glance in the reflective steel told him that his face had gone from pink to the full on red of rage. You invite someone home to dinner and help them out and the next thing you know they are stealing your job and corrupting your daughter. What the hell was this world coming to?
And now he had to sit here, calmly, with no witnesses and nothing but time on his hands and not turn around and pummel this prick. His palms literally itched with desire to throttle him.
“he hem” came a slight throat clearing from just behind him. He gritted his teeth and put his fists into his pockets.
“So, how’s Chrissy?”
Ok, now his face was the color of rage. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. Did you really just ask me about my daughter? Did you DARE just fucking say her name??? What the HELL is your problem Jeremy?! I have had it with you. Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I didn’t press charges? That I don’t tell our boss? “
“ You really think they’d believe you? The word of a soon to be washed up designer who is now days later making accusations that are unfounded and unprovable? C’mon Peters, who do you think they’re going to believe?” Jeremy smirked, leaning in as he said the last bit.
If this little upstart thought getting in his face was going to stop the ass kicking that was coming, he was waayyyy off. A slow grin came upon his face. Fuck it, it’d be hours before they were rescued, or at least half an hour right? And surely Jeremy would fight back which meant that they would both be banged up. He grinned more, one thing this kid wouldn’t know is that people will always believe that an old guy is the victim when there is physical conflict. All he had to do was say that Jeremy swung at him and he defended himself. Ahhhh.... sweet revenge. Maybe being stuck in an elevator wasn’t so bad after all.
“Oh Jeremy, see the thing is they don’t have to believe me on all that.” He flexed his hands in preperation. He wanted that first hit to come out of nowhere, to make maximum impact, and to take this little shits smirk off his face. The look on Jeremys face said that he clearly didn’t believe he would do anything. That made it all the better.
He let go in a flash of speed and felt the nose break on impact. Crunch! God that sound was music to his ears! Next thing he knew he was standing over Jeremy hitting him as if it was nothing, blocking most return blows but allowing a couple to get in to prove his self defense excuse. “You sorry now Jer?” hit. “You sorry?” hit. God this was satisfying!
The look on Jeremys face showed defeat. His return hits had turned to failing attempts to block the older mans blows. Clearly this guy thought that good looks and a showy body were worth more than real strength, somehow he had a feeling that would be changing in the near future. “I’m sorry!!!!!!”
“You bet your ass you’re sorry. “ the sounds of the rescue crew trying to pry open the outer doors was getting louder “You guys ok in there? what the hell is happening?”
He grinned and looked at Jeremy.... “ Hurry! This guy just flipped out and started going at me, I’ve got him down but I’m not sure for how long! I’m an old guy, he’ll recover before I do...help!” He leaned down nose to broken nose with Jeremy...”who do you think they’ll believe now?”. He went back to the corner of the elevator he started in and sat calmly, humming along with the terrible elevator music their company insisted on playing 24/7.
The Moment
*assignment 2011: describe either a kiss or a fight in an elevator.
I did both. here is the first, the easiest of the two for me.
a kiss in an elevator
There were moments in her life when she was reminded of how truly blessed she was. Often they were fleeting, but when she noticed them they never failed to take her breath away. As they walked down the street smiling and talking about favorite books and tv shows that week there was an air of relaxed contentment. Nothing special, just calm enjoyment of each others company, a total lack of akwardness. He held open the door for her, and she gave a dainty grin as she ducked under his arm and entered the beautiful lobby. Rich red and gold carpeting quieted the footfalls of the dapper staff and the entitled guests that glided across it, their slight reflections echoing on the gleaming mahogany paneled walls. Places like this were always a treat. They didn’t get to be here often, but as they strode the halls they felt as if they belonged there just as much as those who could afford to travel this way normally. He offered her his arm and she accepted it like any other lady would. Both of them with secret smiles that to each other marked their game. It was always fun to pretend to be rich, and well worth the saving up to do so.
They reached the elevator doors and within moments of pushing the lighted “up” button the doors slid open, revealing the shining mirrors and glistening wooden railings. These older hotels always seemed fancier than the newer overly-done ones. Quiet statements that showed true opulence. Railings made of real mahogany, tiffany lamps in the quiet corners of rooms, brocades hanging on walls scattered throughout. They stepped in, still wearing their little smiles. She leaned against the railing, covertly admiring the ornate carvings on the molding and the beveling of the mirrors. The doors slid closed with a quiet “shoooosh”. She watched the back of his head as he reached out a hand to push their floor button, number 5. Top of the building. They always went for the best that they could on these trips. It added to the game, the escape. She loved how his hair shone, even though he did nothing to it. A four second toweling when he stepped out of the shower. High maintenance, that was him alright. She loved how he looked in his button down shirt, cuffs rolled ever so slightly. He almost never dressed up, but on these trips he did everyday. It was one of her favorite parts of the whole thing, seeing him look like the man she knew him to be. Noticeable, handsome, worth a second and third glance from people who believed in stations in life. If only the girl at the restaurant had known he lived in family guy t shirts and jeans normally. she might be horrified with herself for fawning over him. The thought only made her grin more. She loved him for everything he was; t shirts or a suit, video games or a book, eating filet mignon or a corn dog. He surpassed it all.
The mother of pearl button gleamed to life and a moment before the elevator started its slow accent he turned to look at her. The look in his eyes showing what she was sure reflected in her own. Love, a calm sense of ownership, playfulness, and a hint of heat for the things to come once they reached their room. He leaned into her side, his fingers gently but firmly entwining with hers. She grinned at him, that silly school girl grin she still got when he showed how much he wanted her. His other hand traced the side of her face gently, and she nuzzled her cheek into his palm. Resting it there she felt safe and happy and whole. She loved how much tenderness and emotion she could feel just from his hand on her cheek. The girl at the restaurant was right to be jealous. She opened her eyes to find him looking into them. She would never fail to be caught up in the liquid green and blue of his eyes. He moved in, calm and relaxed, and kissed her forehead. She raised her face and met his lips with her own. Gently, but alive with all the passion that they held for each other. Their lips never opened, yet more flowed between them in that moment than an hour of heavy making out gave other people. This was one of those moments. Blessed, she was blessed beyond measure. Nothing in the world was as amazing as this, no career, no fur coat, no amount of money, no fame.... nothing was worth as much as this simple and chaste kiss. A kiss that promised more, but didn’t demand it. A kiss that was a perfect meeting, neither pushing or pulling but rather melding into one living, sparking thing. As the kiss ended, the door opened and he regained his secret smile... his eyes twinkling as he pulled her out of the elevator with him. As they walked down the hallway full of expensive prints and antique lamps she watched the treasure that walked before her. Nothing could compare to the wealth of joy and love she got from him. This is where they belonged, surrounded by the best of everything to match him. To match this moment.
I did both. here is the first, the easiest of the two for me.
a kiss in an elevator
There were moments in her life when she was reminded of how truly blessed she was. Often they were fleeting, but when she noticed them they never failed to take her breath away. As they walked down the street smiling and talking about favorite books and tv shows that week there was an air of relaxed contentment. Nothing special, just calm enjoyment of each others company, a total lack of akwardness. He held open the door for her, and she gave a dainty grin as she ducked under his arm and entered the beautiful lobby. Rich red and gold carpeting quieted the footfalls of the dapper staff and the entitled guests that glided across it, their slight reflections echoing on the gleaming mahogany paneled walls. Places like this were always a treat. They didn’t get to be here often, but as they strode the halls they felt as if they belonged there just as much as those who could afford to travel this way normally. He offered her his arm and she accepted it like any other lady would. Both of them with secret smiles that to each other marked their game. It was always fun to pretend to be rich, and well worth the saving up to do so.
They reached the elevator doors and within moments of pushing the lighted “up” button the doors slid open, revealing the shining mirrors and glistening wooden railings. These older hotels always seemed fancier than the newer overly-done ones. Quiet statements that showed true opulence. Railings made of real mahogany, tiffany lamps in the quiet corners of rooms, brocades hanging on walls scattered throughout. They stepped in, still wearing their little smiles. She leaned against the railing, covertly admiring the ornate carvings on the molding and the beveling of the mirrors. The doors slid closed with a quiet “shoooosh”. She watched the back of his head as he reached out a hand to push their floor button, number 5. Top of the building. They always went for the best that they could on these trips. It added to the game, the escape. She loved how his hair shone, even though he did nothing to it. A four second toweling when he stepped out of the shower. High maintenance, that was him alright. She loved how he looked in his button down shirt, cuffs rolled ever so slightly. He almost never dressed up, but on these trips he did everyday. It was one of her favorite parts of the whole thing, seeing him look like the man she knew him to be. Noticeable, handsome, worth a second and third glance from people who believed in stations in life. If only the girl at the restaurant had known he lived in family guy t shirts and jeans normally. she might be horrified with herself for fawning over him. The thought only made her grin more. She loved him for everything he was; t shirts or a suit, video games or a book, eating filet mignon or a corn dog. He surpassed it all.
The mother of pearl button gleamed to life and a moment before the elevator started its slow accent he turned to look at her. The look in his eyes showing what she was sure reflected in her own. Love, a calm sense of ownership, playfulness, and a hint of heat for the things to come once they reached their room. He leaned into her side, his fingers gently but firmly entwining with hers. She grinned at him, that silly school girl grin she still got when he showed how much he wanted her. His other hand traced the side of her face gently, and she nuzzled her cheek into his palm. Resting it there she felt safe and happy and whole. She loved how much tenderness and emotion she could feel just from his hand on her cheek. The girl at the restaurant was right to be jealous. She opened her eyes to find him looking into them. She would never fail to be caught up in the liquid green and blue of his eyes. He moved in, calm and relaxed, and kissed her forehead. She raised her face and met his lips with her own. Gently, but alive with all the passion that they held for each other. Their lips never opened, yet more flowed between them in that moment than an hour of heavy making out gave other people. This was one of those moments. Blessed, she was blessed beyond measure. Nothing in the world was as amazing as this, no career, no fur coat, no amount of money, no fame.... nothing was worth as much as this simple and chaste kiss. A kiss that promised more, but didn’t demand it. A kiss that was a perfect meeting, neither pushing or pulling but rather melding into one living, sparking thing. As the kiss ended, the door opened and he regained his secret smile... his eyes twinkling as he pulled her out of the elevator with him. As they walked down the hallway full of expensive prints and antique lamps she watched the treasure that walked before her. Nothing could compare to the wealth of joy and love she got from him. This is where they belonged, surrounded by the best of everything to match him. To match this moment.
Descriptive Sketch
*This was an assignment in 2011, to describe an area around you. I was at SFCC, in my usual writing place when I did this.
and it was published on: http://miriamswell.wordpress.com/
The walls are the typical sterile off-white that some designer somewhere had decided was “neutral”. At least it isn’t that yellow-ivory color. The off white is almost pleasant. True white would have been so much more pleasing to the eye. Until you started to notice every smudge and fingerprint and scratch. Nah, off-white was best. Besides, it makes the print of Callah Lilies really pop out of it’s black background. Not all the artwork, well what was called artwork anyway, benefits from the “neutral” background. Posters, odd graphic arts, photographs, pop-art mixed media works, and collages all mixed with the occasional electric blue framed digital watercolors make for an interesting view. Regardless of whether or not you find any particular work impressive. Although I have never walked down this hallway or sat in this “lounge” and not found something I liked up on the walls.
That’s one thing this place has done right, showcased every students work of art who wants to show it. The campus is littered in a thousand different visions of art and interpretations. Here though, in this quiet sunlit area it’s all media arts of some form. The glass wall of windows to the right provides enough natural light that you almost forget there are buzzing flourescent lights above. You can escape from your work for a moment simply by looking out that window. Trees, sky, smooth stucco short walls that encircle the true courtyard of the school are plainly seen. You could literally walk through the glass (if you were capable of such a thing of course) and walk right into that park-like retreat. Wooden tables that were somehow still comfortable housing students eating, reading, or just visiting. Funny how some schools never saw the benefit of adding nature and reprieve to their students ciriculum. Or found it important to showcase the students, it’s always about the professors at other schools. Even out in the designed nature there is evidence of students and their journeys. Sculptures, or rather welded pieces of metal, adore the edges and journal/collage projects blown up to man hight are staggered throughout the area. Tales of addiction overcome, dreams lost and realized, family built, and wanderings of students you’ll never know distract and inspire as people stop to read them. Useful. Every step, every little adornment has been thought out to be useful and yet somehow just came into being on it’s own. God bless students sharing real thoughts and personal expressions.
Even the interior seating was carefully thought out. From the textured poles to the smooth and modern bench/couches. Set in the middle of the “lounge” with space running all around them...like a little island oasis to sit at and relax in between the busy classes. The same off-white smooth of the walls, but adorned with comfortable, rich brown cushions...the back cushions with modern and yet somehow retro geometric patterns of brown, orange, red-orange, and lime green run the lengths of the two long benches facing each other and each of the four mini seats. Amazing how when you look at it closely it’s so busy and vibrant but from a slight distance it’s simply a slight pattern. The floor in this couch/bench area tried to mimic the back cushions, poorly, but again somehow blend. Running around the outside of this cafe-like lounge area are the tables. Some short, some tall, all with chairs in popping colors. Lime green, teal, neon orange and a single boring brown char. Pops of color that all mimic the cushion pattern and against the off-white walls makes the whole area feel like a starbucks minus the barista and endless supply of caffeine. There’s even a “cyber cafe” section against the far back wall with two computers for students who don’t have a laptop...or for when the upteenth time the college wireless isn’t working.
To the left the hallway continues both in front of and behind me, worn with a thousand feet walking a thousand steps to hundreds of different futures. Kids who dream of being graphic designers, middle aged office workers looking to move up, people of all ages chasing careers and dreams one step at a time. The carpeting cushions each footfall, turning it into another whisper of things to come that echo through this school. Faint sounds of students playing music, dancing, creating new solar power options, learning how to read blood pressure readings, reciting poetry, giving speeches about who the are and what they would do if they had a million dollars. Echos of bowls being used to create culinary delights....those whispers mingling with the scent of fresh baked bread...of new starts and new delights. Pride filling the corridors like a gentle pressure. How could you not strive to be proud of yourself here? Every aspect is designed to make you feel at home, comfortable, and able to achieve. Look, here are 40 pieces of work from your fellow students, in the same classes you are taking now. Look where you will be soon! Strive, achieve...and while you sit here relax, or work on homework, or play on facebook...your choice. But bring your own coffee.
and it was published on: http://miriamswell.wordpress.com/
The walls are the typical sterile off-white that some designer somewhere had decided was “neutral”. At least it isn’t that yellow-ivory color. The off white is almost pleasant. True white would have been so much more pleasing to the eye. Until you started to notice every smudge and fingerprint and scratch. Nah, off-white was best. Besides, it makes the print of Callah Lilies really pop out of it’s black background. Not all the artwork, well what was called artwork anyway, benefits from the “neutral” background. Posters, odd graphic arts, photographs, pop-art mixed media works, and collages all mixed with the occasional electric blue framed digital watercolors make for an interesting view. Regardless of whether or not you find any particular work impressive. Although I have never walked down this hallway or sat in this “lounge” and not found something I liked up on the walls.
That’s one thing this place has done right, showcased every students work of art who wants to show it. The campus is littered in a thousand different visions of art and interpretations. Here though, in this quiet sunlit area it’s all media arts of some form. The glass wall of windows to the right provides enough natural light that you almost forget there are buzzing flourescent lights above. You can escape from your work for a moment simply by looking out that window. Trees, sky, smooth stucco short walls that encircle the true courtyard of the school are plainly seen. You could literally walk through the glass (if you were capable of such a thing of course) and walk right into that park-like retreat. Wooden tables that were somehow still comfortable housing students eating, reading, or just visiting. Funny how some schools never saw the benefit of adding nature and reprieve to their students ciriculum. Or found it important to showcase the students, it’s always about the professors at other schools. Even out in the designed nature there is evidence of students and their journeys. Sculptures, or rather welded pieces of metal, adore the edges and journal/collage projects blown up to man hight are staggered throughout the area. Tales of addiction overcome, dreams lost and realized, family built, and wanderings of students you’ll never know distract and inspire as people stop to read them. Useful. Every step, every little adornment has been thought out to be useful and yet somehow just came into being on it’s own. God bless students sharing real thoughts and personal expressions.
Even the interior seating was carefully thought out. From the textured poles to the smooth and modern bench/couches. Set in the middle of the “lounge” with space running all around them...like a little island oasis to sit at and relax in between the busy classes. The same off-white smooth of the walls, but adorned with comfortable, rich brown cushions...the back cushions with modern and yet somehow retro geometric patterns of brown, orange, red-orange, and lime green run the lengths of the two long benches facing each other and each of the four mini seats. Amazing how when you look at it closely it’s so busy and vibrant but from a slight distance it’s simply a slight pattern. The floor in this couch/bench area tried to mimic the back cushions, poorly, but again somehow blend. Running around the outside of this cafe-like lounge area are the tables. Some short, some tall, all with chairs in popping colors. Lime green, teal, neon orange and a single boring brown char. Pops of color that all mimic the cushion pattern and against the off-white walls makes the whole area feel like a starbucks minus the barista and endless supply of caffeine. There’s even a “cyber cafe” section against the far back wall with two computers for students who don’t have a laptop...or for when the upteenth time the college wireless isn’t working.
To the left the hallway continues both in front of and behind me, worn with a thousand feet walking a thousand steps to hundreds of different futures. Kids who dream of being graphic designers, middle aged office workers looking to move up, people of all ages chasing careers and dreams one step at a time. The carpeting cushions each footfall, turning it into another whisper of things to come that echo through this school. Faint sounds of students playing music, dancing, creating new solar power options, learning how to read blood pressure readings, reciting poetry, giving speeches about who the are and what they would do if they had a million dollars. Echos of bowls being used to create culinary delights....those whispers mingling with the scent of fresh baked bread...of new starts and new delights. Pride filling the corridors like a gentle pressure. How could you not strive to be proud of yourself here? Every aspect is designed to make you feel at home, comfortable, and able to achieve. Look, here are 40 pieces of work from your fellow students, in the same classes you are taking now. Look where you will be soon! Strive, achieve...and while you sit here relax, or work on homework, or play on facebook...your choice. But bring your own coffee.
The Bridge
Smooth. Shouldn’t painted steel feel gritty? Maybe everything isn’t as it had looked from a distance. The ravens flying by cawed occasionally to each other, swooping and dipping on the breeze. It looked so peaceful, so simple. But you knew that they spent tons of energy beating their wings against the gusts. Nothing was as simple as it looked. Not even the birds. Looking down at the water beating against the rocks brought back the physical senses. No more distractions. No more gazing off and analyzing useless things like how hard it was for a bird to swoop and stay in flight. Here and now. This is what needed to be paid attention to. No more avoidance. Feel the edge of the screw holding the steel support beams to the railing. Smell the slight fishy smell of the river below. See the cracks in the wooden slats that made the walk path of the bridge. Analyze this. How far down is it? How many people did it take to build this forgotten architectural masterpiece? How many cars even drove over it anymore? 2 a day? less? How many hours did people work; riveting, sawing, hammering, holding... useless.
Well not entirely usless. There would be a lot of use to what they built in a few minutes. If only the procrastination could stop. How long was this bridge anyway? 100ft? Had to be somewhere close to that, to span the rio grande like it did. Down below were the boulders that teenage boys had been coming to sit on and fish for years. Slick with spray from the churning river they were a challenge but had always been worth the risky climb for the plethora of fish that hung out near their bases. Someone would fish out something new tomorrow. The most sensational catch of the year to be sure. Would even get in the papers. Small towns like this were always looking for a good story, but this would be one even a big town would report on. Newsworthy, that’s what tomorrows fisherman would be. Maybe it’d be a teenage boy, he’d be asked to retell the details to groups of girls who would hang all over him like a celebrity: “Was it terrible? Would he have nightmares? They could comfort him...”
He’d be happy. Or maybe not. Judgement of people was clearly not a speciality. Places though, always a good judge of places. Places to live, to work, to get married, to camp, to die... Funny how the latest place had been so easy to analyze. A lot less variables I suppose when there isn’t any aftermath or possible outcomes. Just one.
Smooth. Red and smooth. A perfect balance of architecture. Supported, able to weather any storm, sturdy... made with the intention of lasting many lifetimes over. Thick wooden planks that were made for thousands of cars and pairs of feet to transverse. Peaks up above that came together in perfectly measured triangles. The gentle climb from hip hight to towering 30’ in the air at the center and back down to the inviting exit. Could just walk the 50 feet to the other side, take that exit and just try again. Or keep the plan and just see what the underside of the bridge was made like. See how thick the concrete supports really were. Those were gritty to be sure. Rough and worn from the constant rush of the river. They saw the reality of daily existence, of daily use. This bridge stood impervious to wear, rarely used, rarely troubled with the weight of passing burdens. Maybe that was why it was so smooth. If nothing ever touched you did you ever wear down? Was that the secret? To stay so high above the daily churning that nothing could harm you? Lonely yes, but undamaged. And was alone really lonely anymore? Maybe alone simply meant uninterupted, unburdened...unused but standing strong. Smooth.
The water seemed darker, looking up and seeing the lengthening shadows...been here too long. Now it’ll be too dark to see the bottom of the river. A dark journey is never interesting. Might as well be entertained on the way down right? Or maybe another week, wait for the fish to get more plentiful. Really there had only been a few down there today. If no one came to fish tomorrow it’d really be a shame. A story like this shouldn’t go unnoticed. Yeah, another week or two. When the fish were running thick in the stream, come back. After all, it was only a slight delay. Walking away on creaking planks, seems such an easy choice now. The fading light simply made the choice. Who knows, after tonight....might just be back tomorrow. Either way, the way down would be smooth. Just like the red railing running underhand. Smooth, until that last corner. Stinging and suddenly the railing is more red, drops of it adorning the single rough edge where the steel paint had started to peel. Maybe nothing was as enduring or smooth as it looked. Not even the way out.
Well not entirely usless. There would be a lot of use to what they built in a few minutes. If only the procrastination could stop. How long was this bridge anyway? 100ft? Had to be somewhere close to that, to span the rio grande like it did. Down below were the boulders that teenage boys had been coming to sit on and fish for years. Slick with spray from the churning river they were a challenge but had always been worth the risky climb for the plethora of fish that hung out near their bases. Someone would fish out something new tomorrow. The most sensational catch of the year to be sure. Would even get in the papers. Small towns like this were always looking for a good story, but this would be one even a big town would report on. Newsworthy, that’s what tomorrows fisherman would be. Maybe it’d be a teenage boy, he’d be asked to retell the details to groups of girls who would hang all over him like a celebrity: “Was it terrible? Would he have nightmares? They could comfort him...”
He’d be happy. Or maybe not. Judgement of people was clearly not a speciality. Places though, always a good judge of places. Places to live, to work, to get married, to camp, to die... Funny how the latest place had been so easy to analyze. A lot less variables I suppose when there isn’t any aftermath or possible outcomes. Just one.
Smooth. Red and smooth. A perfect balance of architecture. Supported, able to weather any storm, sturdy... made with the intention of lasting many lifetimes over. Thick wooden planks that were made for thousands of cars and pairs of feet to transverse. Peaks up above that came together in perfectly measured triangles. The gentle climb from hip hight to towering 30’ in the air at the center and back down to the inviting exit. Could just walk the 50 feet to the other side, take that exit and just try again. Or keep the plan and just see what the underside of the bridge was made like. See how thick the concrete supports really were. Those were gritty to be sure. Rough and worn from the constant rush of the river. They saw the reality of daily existence, of daily use. This bridge stood impervious to wear, rarely used, rarely troubled with the weight of passing burdens. Maybe that was why it was so smooth. If nothing ever touched you did you ever wear down? Was that the secret? To stay so high above the daily churning that nothing could harm you? Lonely yes, but undamaged. And was alone really lonely anymore? Maybe alone simply meant uninterupted, unburdened...unused but standing strong. Smooth.
The water seemed darker, looking up and seeing the lengthening shadows...been here too long. Now it’ll be too dark to see the bottom of the river. A dark journey is never interesting. Might as well be entertained on the way down right? Or maybe another week, wait for the fish to get more plentiful. Really there had only been a few down there today. If no one came to fish tomorrow it’d really be a shame. A story like this shouldn’t go unnoticed. Yeah, another week or two. When the fish were running thick in the stream, come back. After all, it was only a slight delay. Walking away on creaking planks, seems such an easy choice now. The fading light simply made the choice. Who knows, after tonight....might just be back tomorrow. Either way, the way down would be smooth. Just like the red railing running underhand. Smooth, until that last corner. Stinging and suddenly the railing is more red, drops of it adorning the single rough edge where the steel paint had started to peel. Maybe nothing was as enduring or smooth as it looked. Not even the way out.
What is this place?
Well, this is a place where I will be placing my writing. Short stories, poems, songs, character sketches...
Things are not uploaded in order of writing, so there are random mixes of time periods and stages of writing skills/interests. Just a place to record and catalogue some of my stuff.
As of now, this is a "friends only" page, but feel free to show your friends or pass it on if you feel so inclined. :)
Feel free to leave comments but please if there is critisism, make sure that it is constructive (not just "didn't like this" but WHY and an alternative idea). I may not agree with you always but I will always listen to what people have to say!
I DO want to know which pieces people like, don't like, and are indifferent about though so please share your opinion with me :)
Things are not uploaded in order of writing, so there are random mixes of time periods and stages of writing skills/interests. Just a place to record and catalogue some of my stuff.
As of now, this is a "friends only" page, but feel free to show your friends or pass it on if you feel so inclined. :)
Feel free to leave comments but please if there is critisism, make sure that it is constructive (not just "didn't like this" but WHY and an alternative idea). I may not agree with you always but I will always listen to what people have to say!
I DO want to know which pieces people like, don't like, and are indifferent about though so please share your opinion with me :)
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