ShInE oN yOu CrAzY dIaMoNd
July 15, 2009
Ok, so I can’t mess this up. Messing up is something that seems to come easy to me. For some it’s athletics, and to others academics. And even those who don’t possess a bold natural talent usual seem to do at least okay in something at least somewhat useful. But me, I’m useful at nothing but being useless and annoying. I get in the way of things. Teamwork in my life means ‘Jacob you sit down and we’ll do the work for you’. No, that doesn’t mean that I have such good friends that they’ll do my work for me, no. it means that I’m such a bother that it is easier for my teammates to push me to the side than utilize my presence in the group. Hell, they won’t even let me take on everyone’s’ least favorite role – the presenter. So I’m not even worthy enough for something that most people avoid at almost any cost.
When I was younger I used to aspire to be something eventually. I always thought that one day I would get my day to shine. And even if I didn’t get to experience the thrill of the spotlight I would get the chance to discover some sort of hidden talent. Maybe something exotic such a calligraphy or acrobatics. But as my luck always is I found no such talent. So as I aged I began to believe in nothing but a life full of dullness and a life full of being the extra in a team. Sure, this was a bit gloomy and disappointing. I mean who wants to aspire into a nobody? But trust me, you become accustomed to being ‘face’ in the back of the class. In the beginning you think that you must look like you blend into the wall, but after a while, you feel like you painted yourself right into the background.
It’s almost gotten to the point where I forget my own existence. Oftentimes I find myself gazing at the bricks in a wall and completely forget where I am and who I am. As if I had never existed. Now as you read…as you read I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. Showing me sympathy would no longer allow me to play my role as the one who takes up no energy for others. I wouldn’t want to disrupt yet another persons’ day would I? I mean in the harsh truth is that I’d prefer to be ignored. Being ignored is an adjustment, but once you get the hang of it you arrive in a place that is very desirable. In my own world I don’t have to worry about offending anyone. I don’t have to watch what I say, because, well basically, I don’t really say much of anything at all. The only thing I have to be responsible for is my own thoughts and well being. And when there are no outside forces threatening your well being there’s not too much to be concerned about. So, don’t be sad for me, don’t feel heartbroken. If anything feel jealousy.
Though I have become almost irrelevant in the world, and though I don’t really care, but rather prefer it, that does not mean I don’t ponder the reason as to why I turned out this way. Shyness, possible. Lack of social wisdom, possible. Luck of the draw, that’s what I think. I never did anything or said anything to really become completely isolated. Life and fate work hand and hand. Life decided that I was to be a loner and fate carried it out.
…
So there was a kitchen table in front of me and I was planted in the same uncomfortable kitchen table chair my family had always owned. Several inches away from my face was a birthday cake with 16 candles and around me was my family singing the same melody billions of people hear every year. This whole scene took me back a few years. I was eleven and my birthday cake was being sliced. All around me where smiles. I was too busy hoping that my wish to get a bicycle would come true. This was time where I wasn’t just a face. I had a name. I had friends. I had a smile.
Back to the big 16. I leaned in to blow out the candles and I wished that I could fast forward to 22. Out of college and on my own. Maybe then I could aspire to something. As I exhaled something strange occurred. I blacked out. I felt the ground beneath me and breath on my face. I heard voices. They were blurred. And I was scared. Would I never become more than I already was?
I opened my eyes. My family gazes met my own. I was in a hospital bed. My mother’s smile met me and I smiled myself.
“Did you eat the cake?” I asked.
“Oh, Jacob, you’re back.”
“Um, I’m confused. Two minutes ago we were at my sixteenth birthday celebration.”
“Jacob, five years ago you passed out and never woke up. You’ve been comatose for five years. Today is your sixteenth birthday.”
I was speechless. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and looked in the other direction, opening my eyes again. I saw four other teenagers in the room.
“Who are these kids?” I asked.
“They’re your friends Jacob. And they are so glad to have you back.”
Showing posts with label Short Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Short Story. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Sunday, September 7, 2008
My Vibe
Was it instinct that told me he was dead, or was it the wretched smell oozing off of his body? Looking back, I believe it was a mixture of the two, blending together in perfect harmony. Death is a curious thing; it tends to strike at the strangest hours, in the most peculiar ways. My father’s death was no exception. He was in perfect health, mentally, emotionally, and physically, so when I stumbled upon his dead body, next to an opened bottle of pills, I suspected his level of happiness was not as high as I thought it was.
I walked into my home, which was toasty from being cooked in the sun all day. We lived in the Mojave, and heat was something we learned to live with. Sweat pooled over my brow, and I loped to the fridge to get something to quench my unbearable thirst. When the cool water met my lips I was drawn into a heavenly sensation, one that filled my entire body - that is until something went wrong.
Ever since I was a little boy I had been known to sense things. No, I did not see the dead, but I did tend to feel a lurking evil, a lingering fear in the air. When I was five my mother got into a car crash, a crash that took her life. When the phone rang I told my father, “The news is bad, prepare yourself.” The call was from the cops; my mother was dead. I had rarely felt this “vibe” since then, but occasionally I would get it.
When this sensation entered my body, interrupting my joy of the water, fear shot through my spine. I slowly lowered the glass from my lips, and set it onto the table. A chill went down my back and to my fingers, causing me to shiver ever so slightly. I smelled the air, almost looking as if I was a starving animal, trying to smell the air for a hint of blood. Instinct pointed me to the stairs. At least I like to say it was instinct, but deep down I knew that it was my gift, my gift to sense death.
I slowly climbed the stairs, knowing that no one had been in the house except my dad. I had left early in the morning, about 8, and it was now 4 in the afternoon. If my dad had passed away while I was gone he could’ve been baking for hours. I shuddered at the gut wrenching thought. It had been years, as I said before, since this “vibe” had come to me. I felt it when I was 5 years old. Now I was 13, but the “vibe” was as keen as ever.
I reached the top of the stairs, and peered down the hall. It seemed to grow as if it didn’t want me to reach the end of it, where of course, my father’s room was. Ignoring the strange illusion, I stepped off the final stair and into the hallway. I cautiously walked down the hallway, half expecting a beast to jump out of thin air. The “vibe” intensified. My site blurred, and I felt sick. I not only felt sick, but terrified. Whatever lay at the end of the hallway was not pretty.
I walked on, trying to disregard my sickening feeling. I could hear the heartbeat of my very own heart! Oh, it was terrible, a very miserable state of affairs. I had finally reached my destination: the end of the hallway, my father’s room. I bravely stepped in the room, and braced myself for what laid beyond the doors.
I held my breath, closed my eyes, cleared my mind, and reopened my eyes. The site that lay before sent me into a vortex of pain and confusion. The stench was probably the cause of the sick stomach, for the stench of dead human flesh had to be the worst. The stench belonged to my father, lying on his bed, face up, eyes opened, staring into space. His palms faced towards the ceiling, one containing a bottle of pills (opened and half empty), and the other a rolled up piece of paper.
I walked slowly towards the body, head turned away, with one hand plugging my nose. When I reached the body, I took the note from his hands, and left the room as fast as my legs could carry me. The note was short, and simple, but it explained it all.
Billy,
I love you and I’m sorry, but I can’t take it anymore. Your mom meant the world to me, and without her, well the world doesn’t mean much anymore. You are a wonderful son, but I can’t go on – I’m sorry for being a coward. Your Aunt Carry will take care of you. Love you much.
Dad
The first feeling I felt was anger. How could he abandon me? How could he leave me to fend for myself? Why didn’t he come to me for help? Why was he such a coward? This terrible feeling pulsed through my body for several moments, but then it was replaced with something new; sadness. A teardrop fell upon the note, blotching out the words I love you.
The note fell to the ground, for my grip loosened, and my hand came up to hold my head. My head hung, and I sobbed into my hands. I loved my father, he was all I had left. He meant the world to me, and without him, well the world didn’t mean much anymore. A coward entered me, but I shooed it away. My parents taught me to be brave. I would live on in my family’s name, and nothing was going to bring me down.
The funeral wasn’t anything amazing. I didn’t cry, not once. I was done crying, done grieving. I needed to be strong for Aunt Carry – Dad was her only brother, her only sibling. The funeral ended and I got into my aunt’s car. She joined me momentarily. Wiping the tears away from her eyes, which were stained from running mascara, and she smiled to me.
“Thank you for being strong Billy. You’re a good lad,” she said with sadness in her voice.
“Anytime, anytime,” I replied as the car pulled away from the graveyard and off into my next chapter of life.
What I did not tell her was that my “vibe” was back, and it was pointing in her direction.
I walked into my home, which was toasty from being cooked in the sun all day. We lived in the Mojave, and heat was something we learned to live with. Sweat pooled over my brow, and I loped to the fridge to get something to quench my unbearable thirst. When the cool water met my lips I was drawn into a heavenly sensation, one that filled my entire body - that is until something went wrong.
Ever since I was a little boy I had been known to sense things. No, I did not see the dead, but I did tend to feel a lurking evil, a lingering fear in the air. When I was five my mother got into a car crash, a crash that took her life. When the phone rang I told my father, “The news is bad, prepare yourself.” The call was from the cops; my mother was dead. I had rarely felt this “vibe” since then, but occasionally I would get it.
When this sensation entered my body, interrupting my joy of the water, fear shot through my spine. I slowly lowered the glass from my lips, and set it onto the table. A chill went down my back and to my fingers, causing me to shiver ever so slightly. I smelled the air, almost looking as if I was a starving animal, trying to smell the air for a hint of blood. Instinct pointed me to the stairs. At least I like to say it was instinct, but deep down I knew that it was my gift, my gift to sense death.
I slowly climbed the stairs, knowing that no one had been in the house except my dad. I had left early in the morning, about 8, and it was now 4 in the afternoon. If my dad had passed away while I was gone he could’ve been baking for hours. I shuddered at the gut wrenching thought. It had been years, as I said before, since this “vibe” had come to me. I felt it when I was 5 years old. Now I was 13, but the “vibe” was as keen as ever.
I reached the top of the stairs, and peered down the hall. It seemed to grow as if it didn’t want me to reach the end of it, where of course, my father’s room was. Ignoring the strange illusion, I stepped off the final stair and into the hallway. I cautiously walked down the hallway, half expecting a beast to jump out of thin air. The “vibe” intensified. My site blurred, and I felt sick. I not only felt sick, but terrified. Whatever lay at the end of the hallway was not pretty.
I walked on, trying to disregard my sickening feeling. I could hear the heartbeat of my very own heart! Oh, it was terrible, a very miserable state of affairs. I had finally reached my destination: the end of the hallway, my father’s room. I bravely stepped in the room, and braced myself for what laid beyond the doors.
I held my breath, closed my eyes, cleared my mind, and reopened my eyes. The site that lay before sent me into a vortex of pain and confusion. The stench was probably the cause of the sick stomach, for the stench of dead human flesh had to be the worst. The stench belonged to my father, lying on his bed, face up, eyes opened, staring into space. His palms faced towards the ceiling, one containing a bottle of pills (opened and half empty), and the other a rolled up piece of paper.
I walked slowly towards the body, head turned away, with one hand plugging my nose. When I reached the body, I took the note from his hands, and left the room as fast as my legs could carry me. The note was short, and simple, but it explained it all.
Billy,
I love you and I’m sorry, but I can’t take it anymore. Your mom meant the world to me, and without her, well the world doesn’t mean much anymore. You are a wonderful son, but I can’t go on – I’m sorry for being a coward. Your Aunt Carry will take care of you. Love you much.
Dad
The first feeling I felt was anger. How could he abandon me? How could he leave me to fend for myself? Why didn’t he come to me for help? Why was he such a coward? This terrible feeling pulsed through my body for several moments, but then it was replaced with something new; sadness. A teardrop fell upon the note, blotching out the words I love you.
The note fell to the ground, for my grip loosened, and my hand came up to hold my head. My head hung, and I sobbed into my hands. I loved my father, he was all I had left. He meant the world to me, and without him, well the world didn’t mean much anymore. A coward entered me, but I shooed it away. My parents taught me to be brave. I would live on in my family’s name, and nothing was going to bring me down.
The funeral wasn’t anything amazing. I didn’t cry, not once. I was done crying, done grieving. I needed to be strong for Aunt Carry – Dad was her only brother, her only sibling. The funeral ended and I got into my aunt’s car. She joined me momentarily. Wiping the tears away from her eyes, which were stained from running mascara, and she smiled to me.
“Thank you for being strong Billy. You’re a good lad,” she said with sadness in her voice.
“Anytime, anytime,” I replied as the car pulled away from the graveyard and off into my next chapter of life.
What I did not tell her was that my “vibe” was back, and it was pointing in her direction.
You're Tricking Me
I stood waiting for the 5 o’clock bus, in the cold, wet weather. I looked at my watch; 4:59. For some reason I doubted the bus would ever show up. I began to grow impatient, and my heart rate increased. This always happened when I got mad, always. My cell rung. I pulled it out of my pocket, and flipped it open.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Dad, it’s me, John,” said my son. He sounded high-strung, anxious.
“Yes? What do you need?” I said, slightly worried.
“Where’s mom?” he asked urgently.
“Well she’s standing right next to me,” I responding, glancing beside me towards my wife.
“You’re lying to me, you’re tricking me!” he hollered into the phone.
“Son, what are you-“ The line went dead. I looked back to my wife, and she read my face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“It’s John, I think he’s in trouble.” She didn’t respond, but when the bus pulled up we got on as fast as our legs could carry us.
We arrived at home and busted through the doors.
“John!” I hollered, followed by my wife. Silence, absolute silence. It was almost deafening.
John appeared at the top of the staircase. He looked frightened, terrified. He breathed heavily, I could hear it from downstairs. The whole house seemed to be on edge. My wife looked to me to say something.
“John, what’s wrong?” I asked as calmly as I could.
“You know what’s wrong!” he shouted. “You lie to me, you trick me, my phone told me so.” My heart went into a frenzy. Was my son crazy?
“Honey, what do you mean your phone told you?” my wife asked.
“It told me everything. Mom was here the whole time, you didn’t think I’d notice. But when I called her name she wouldn’t answer. You’re trying to scare me,” he said chillingly.
“John, come here,” I requested. Surprisingly he obeyed. He slowly moved down the stairs, looking terrified as he did before. “Now tell me, did you take your medication this morning?”
My son was schizophrenic, and he needed to take medicine for it every morning.
“What medicine? It told me you would ask me that. It told me!” My son was furious. His eyes filled up with tears. “Help,” he whispered.
My wife rushed over and held him close. She began crying as well. I went into the kitchen where his pills were located, and grabbed one. I brought it over to him.
“Now just swallow this and you’ll be alright,” I told him. He nodded and swallowed the pill.
“I’ll put him to bed,” my wife said. She took him up the stairs and I walked into the living room, plopped onto the sofa, and shut my eyes. I felt terrible for John, it must be terrifying to see and hear people that aren’t really there.
My wife entered the room and sat beside me.
“I think he’ll be alright,” she whispered.
“That’s what we said before we left,” I replied. Her arm wrapped around my shoulder, and I forced a smile.
“So how about we see the doctor tomorrow, see if we need a new medication.”
“I guess, what’s the harm?” I stared at the ceiling fan and the twirling blades made me feel very tired and woozy. I slowly drifted to sleep.
A hand touched my shoulder. I opened my eyes, and the world was hazy for a moment. My son stood above me. He was crying.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, I had to throw out my phone,” he said sounding very ashamed of himself.
“Why?” I asked. I was very confused. Why would he throw away his phone?
“It was lying to me. It said you didn’t love me, but I know you do.”
“Yes I do love you son.”
“It was tricking me.” He sat in my lap, closed his eyes, and fell into a very deep sleep.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Dad, it’s me, John,” said my son. He sounded high-strung, anxious.
“Yes? What do you need?” I said, slightly worried.
“Where’s mom?” he asked urgently.
“Well she’s standing right next to me,” I responding, glancing beside me towards my wife.
“You’re lying to me, you’re tricking me!” he hollered into the phone.
“Son, what are you-“ The line went dead. I looked back to my wife, and she read my face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“It’s John, I think he’s in trouble.” She didn’t respond, but when the bus pulled up we got on as fast as our legs could carry us.
We arrived at home and busted through the doors.
“John!” I hollered, followed by my wife. Silence, absolute silence. It was almost deafening.
John appeared at the top of the staircase. He looked frightened, terrified. He breathed heavily, I could hear it from downstairs. The whole house seemed to be on edge. My wife looked to me to say something.
“John, what’s wrong?” I asked as calmly as I could.
“You know what’s wrong!” he shouted. “You lie to me, you trick me, my phone told me so.” My heart went into a frenzy. Was my son crazy?
“Honey, what do you mean your phone told you?” my wife asked.
“It told me everything. Mom was here the whole time, you didn’t think I’d notice. But when I called her name she wouldn’t answer. You’re trying to scare me,” he said chillingly.
“John, come here,” I requested. Surprisingly he obeyed. He slowly moved down the stairs, looking terrified as he did before. “Now tell me, did you take your medication this morning?”
My son was schizophrenic, and he needed to take medicine for it every morning.
“What medicine? It told me you would ask me that. It told me!” My son was furious. His eyes filled up with tears. “Help,” he whispered.
My wife rushed over and held him close. She began crying as well. I went into the kitchen where his pills were located, and grabbed one. I brought it over to him.
“Now just swallow this and you’ll be alright,” I told him. He nodded and swallowed the pill.
“I’ll put him to bed,” my wife said. She took him up the stairs and I walked into the living room, plopped onto the sofa, and shut my eyes. I felt terrible for John, it must be terrifying to see and hear people that aren’t really there.
My wife entered the room and sat beside me.
“I think he’ll be alright,” she whispered.
“That’s what we said before we left,” I replied. Her arm wrapped around my shoulder, and I forced a smile.
“So how about we see the doctor tomorrow, see if we need a new medication.”
“I guess, what’s the harm?” I stared at the ceiling fan and the twirling blades made me feel very tired and woozy. I slowly drifted to sleep.
A hand touched my shoulder. I opened my eyes, and the world was hazy for a moment. My son stood above me. He was crying.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, I had to throw out my phone,” he said sounding very ashamed of himself.
“Why?” I asked. I was very confused. Why would he throw away his phone?
“It was lying to me. It said you didn’t love me, but I know you do.”
“Yes I do love you son.”
“It was tricking me.” He sat in my lap, closed his eyes, and fell into a very deep sleep.
Friday, November 23, 2007
I Made Him Smile
I Made Him Smile
The hall swarmed with faces that I saw everyday, but yet, I knew none of them. At least I had friends, scratch that, I had tons of friends. When you go to a high school with 3,000 students it isn’t that uncommon to not know someone. I stood with my back against the cool metal of my locker, waiting for my friend to show up. I stared into the sea of people in front of me, and Grey walked by. I didn’t know Grey personally, but I will tell you how I knew Grey’s name.
He was known as the school’s “emo-kid.” In other words he had long black hair, never smiled, never spoke, had no friends, and came across as very depressed. I don’t blame him for feeling the way he did. No one even acknowledged his existence, and if rumor was true he was a foster child. I would typically never dare talk to a kid with his reputation, for fear of ruining my own, but I decided that I would try something new.
My back left the lockers, and I strode towards Grey, who had stopped at his locker across the hall. I walked beside him, and leaned my shoulder on the locker next to his.
“Hey Grey,” I said, trying to sound like I wasn’t trying to make fun of him. He just ignored me, still rummaging through his locker, which was filled with different band pictures.
“Look, just leave me alone. I’m not in the mood.” He said this sternly, never taking his eyes away from the items in his locker.
“I’m not…” He cut me off.
“I said buzz off. If you’d like to make fun of me at least wait until tomorrow!” This time he was almost shouting, and several heads turned in our direction. A hand grabbed my shoulder facing the hallway.
I turned and it was Kate, the girl I was waiting for, my girlfriend to be precise.
“Hey what’s up?” I asked her, turning my attention away from Grey.
“Not much.” She shifted her gaze away from my eyes, and to Grey, still sifting through the objects in his locker. “Why are you over here with…him?” she asked coolly?
“I was just saying hi, is that a problem; and why did you say him with that tone of voice?”
“It’s not a problem; I just didn’t know you chose to spend your spare time with freaks.” Her boldness sent anger down my spine.
“Look, he’s not a freak, and if you can’t respect him for who he is, then we are over!” I was shouting. I was furious. She took the hint.
“Then I guess we are over,” she said sternly, and stormed off in the other direction. I was in utter shock. Did this really just happen?
Two hours later I walked into the cafeteria, and this time even my friends seemed not to know me. I guessed Kate had already brought them the “terrible” news. For once I didn’t care what people thought of me, I didn’t care if I was in the “in-crowd”. All I could care about was Grey, and how he felt after Kate’s obnoxious remark.
I spotted him at the end of a table, sitting all by himself, as he always did. I made two bold moves that day; 1.) I said hi to him, 2.) I decided to sit with him at lunch. I took my seat across from him, and watched as he stared at his empty tray.
“Already ate?” I asked, trying to get him to talk. No response. “Look, you know I’m not trying to poke fun at you, you saw how she bro…” He cut me off once more.
“She broke up with you, and it’s my entire fault - just another reason for the world to hate me.”
“The world doesn’t hate you Grey, they just don’t understand, and I’m trying to understand. All you have to do is let me in.” I said this as sympathetically as I could.
“Well…” he trailed off, looking as if he was pondering over what I just said. His black hair covered one of his eyes, and the other one was staring down. “I guess I could try. What’s your name?”
“My name is Kyle, and I’m glad to make a new friend.”
“Me?” he asked. I swore I heard a hint of excitement in his voice.
“Yes, you,” I said chuckling.
He looked up, exposing both of his eyes.
“Thanks, this means a lot.” He said this, but followed by a smile. I hadn’t seen this boy smile in the entire 2 years I had gone to school with him.
“Anytime,” I said simply. I was ecstatic. I made him smile. I made Grey, the “emo-kid” smile.
The hall swarmed with faces that I saw everyday, but yet, I knew none of them. At least I had friends, scratch that, I had tons of friends. When you go to a high school with 3,000 students it isn’t that uncommon to not know someone. I stood with my back against the cool metal of my locker, waiting for my friend to show up. I stared into the sea of people in front of me, and Grey walked by. I didn’t know Grey personally, but I will tell you how I knew Grey’s name.
He was known as the school’s “emo-kid.” In other words he had long black hair, never smiled, never spoke, had no friends, and came across as very depressed. I don’t blame him for feeling the way he did. No one even acknowledged his existence, and if rumor was true he was a foster child. I would typically never dare talk to a kid with his reputation, for fear of ruining my own, but I decided that I would try something new.
My back left the lockers, and I strode towards Grey, who had stopped at his locker across the hall. I walked beside him, and leaned my shoulder on the locker next to his.
“Hey Grey,” I said, trying to sound like I wasn’t trying to make fun of him. He just ignored me, still rummaging through his locker, which was filled with different band pictures.
“Look, just leave me alone. I’m not in the mood.” He said this sternly, never taking his eyes away from the items in his locker.
“I’m not…” He cut me off.
“I said buzz off. If you’d like to make fun of me at least wait until tomorrow!” This time he was almost shouting, and several heads turned in our direction. A hand grabbed my shoulder facing the hallway.
I turned and it was Kate, the girl I was waiting for, my girlfriend to be precise.
“Hey what’s up?” I asked her, turning my attention away from Grey.
“Not much.” She shifted her gaze away from my eyes, and to Grey, still sifting through the objects in his locker. “Why are you over here with…him?” she asked coolly?
“I was just saying hi, is that a problem; and why did you say him with that tone of voice?”
“It’s not a problem; I just didn’t know you chose to spend your spare time with freaks.” Her boldness sent anger down my spine.
“Look, he’s not a freak, and if you can’t respect him for who he is, then we are over!” I was shouting. I was furious. She took the hint.
“Then I guess we are over,” she said sternly, and stormed off in the other direction. I was in utter shock. Did this really just happen?
Two hours later I walked into the cafeteria, and this time even my friends seemed not to know me. I guessed Kate had already brought them the “terrible” news. For once I didn’t care what people thought of me, I didn’t care if I was in the “in-crowd”. All I could care about was Grey, and how he felt after Kate’s obnoxious remark.
I spotted him at the end of a table, sitting all by himself, as he always did. I made two bold moves that day; 1.) I said hi to him, 2.) I decided to sit with him at lunch. I took my seat across from him, and watched as he stared at his empty tray.
“Already ate?” I asked, trying to get him to talk. No response. “Look, you know I’m not trying to poke fun at you, you saw how she bro…” He cut me off once more.
“She broke up with you, and it’s my entire fault - just another reason for the world to hate me.”
“The world doesn’t hate you Grey, they just don’t understand, and I’m trying to understand. All you have to do is let me in.” I said this as sympathetically as I could.
“Well…” he trailed off, looking as if he was pondering over what I just said. His black hair covered one of his eyes, and the other one was staring down. “I guess I could try. What’s your name?”
“My name is Kyle, and I’m glad to make a new friend.”
“Me?” he asked. I swore I heard a hint of excitement in his voice.
“Yes, you,” I said chuckling.
He looked up, exposing both of his eyes.
“Thanks, this means a lot.” He said this, but followed by a smile. I hadn’t seen this boy smile in the entire 2 years I had gone to school with him.
“Anytime,” I said simply. I was ecstatic. I made him smile. I made Grey, the “emo-kid” smile.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Just Hold On
He held her in his arms, gently wiping the raindrops off her face. The more he thought, he began to realize that the rain was mixed in with his steady stream of tears. The sound of the rain and her raspy breathing was all he could hear.
Her eyes opened, glanced at her car, which laid upside down, half mutilated, then they turned to him – Peter.
“Peter, what happened?” Olivia asked. He could tell she was fading away. Instead of telling her about how he fell asleep, leaving her along at the wheel. And he didn’t tell her that she fell asleep because of the lack of company. He didn’t tell her that they crashed, and were sitting in the median, drenched in rain. Instead he told her this;
“I loved you. That’s what happened.”
“I love you too.” She smiled. He smiled. Their smiles seemed to last forever, but as always, forever is never long enough.
Her face twisted with pain, and she cried out; “Peter help!”
He just held Olivia tighter and tighter for there was nothing he could do. She let out a sigh. Her eyes froze. She was dead.
He kissed her, and allowed himself to give up. He had ignored his pain so she wouldn’t have had to watch him die. He said a prayer, and laid back. He did not bother to close his eyes. He wanted to belike her – he wanted it to be fair.
He positioned himself as comfortably as possible, and let the pain slowly take over him, causing his death.
Her eyes opened, glanced at her car, which laid upside down, half mutilated, then they turned to him – Peter.
“Peter, what happened?” Olivia asked. He could tell she was fading away. Instead of telling her about how he fell asleep, leaving her along at the wheel. And he didn’t tell her that she fell asleep because of the lack of company. He didn’t tell her that they crashed, and were sitting in the median, drenched in rain. Instead he told her this;
“I loved you. That’s what happened.”
“I love you too.” She smiled. He smiled. Their smiles seemed to last forever, but as always, forever is never long enough.
Her face twisted with pain, and she cried out; “Peter help!”
He just held Olivia tighter and tighter for there was nothing he could do. She let out a sigh. Her eyes froze. She was dead.
He kissed her, and allowed himself to give up. He had ignored his pain so she wouldn’t have had to watch him die. He said a prayer, and laid back. He did not bother to close his eyes. He wanted to belike her – he wanted it to be fair.
He positioned himself as comfortably as possible, and let the pain slowly take over him, causing his death.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
A Love Story
I was once told that I was not known, not known by the person who loves me so dearly. That dark comment frightened, and intrigued me. The person, oh how they were angry and bittersweet. They seemed lost, confused, hopeless. But can I blame them? Such feelings intertwined in their life, feelings that they say I cannot feel. But they are wrong, for I feel them. I wonder myself, why is it this way? Why can’t I open my arms to this person, and let them cuddle in. I suppose it is the fact that they also once told me that I was not the one. Oh!, how they felt for me, but the true love, My Flame, was not there, nor was theirs. To read this for most, is a mess of confusion, but for her, it is all the sense in the world. To get lost in her would be exhilarating, but her soft breath on my cheek would not be as comforting. For I wish it would work, dear stranger, the stranger I know so well. The curtain I hide behind, it drowns me in confusion of my own sanity. Making the ordinary extraordinary, and the usual unusual. As I said, the flame, My Flame, is the flame that burns, and the fear of losing this flame haunts my imagination. No, you would not dampen it, but me. I would kill My Flame. Getting to interwoven in the artwork of your personality hurts the loss more than ever, which is guaranteed to happen.
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