Saturday, January 24, 2004
A dark haze filled the sky, covering her melancholy gray eyes. She looked at the ground, her flower stretching out from the various blades of grass. Its petals were white and soft to the touch, and it seemed to reach up to her - it is because of this she decided it needed her. Not her, exactly, but someone.
Anyone.
Thursday, January 22, 2004
Writing Exercise #1
words to use: drawl, curiosity, rise, wishful, contagious, treacherous.
maximum number of words: 440
No revisions allowed.
"You're back, I see." she said, her normal drawl sounding dryer than usual.
"I never really left." he said mysteriously. She hated that about him; that vague curiosity he caused to rise in her. He grinned, breaking her from her wicked mood, causing a smile to spread across her face; an aberration as it appeared.
“Liar.” she huffed. She smiled still; his smile was contagious, if nothing else.
“Ah, I know you really care about me. You’re just ready to show your true feeling yet.” His eyes seemed to laugh in the minimal lighting brought by the candles, and his hair landed gently in golden clumps across his forehead. Truthfully, she would have been happy to see him, if he had arrived on time. Instead he was late, as he usually was. And she had been early, as she usually was.
“You always were a wishful thinker.” She sighed, nostalgia taking her to another place completely. His eyes danced before hers, and she say enthralled by their many shades of blue. People laughed behind her, and he commented on them; his words were lost in the beauty of his lips.
“Love seems to be contagious here.” he repeated. She turned, perplexed by the smiling faces sitting at near-by tables. She stared longingly at the way they seemed so involved with each other. She looked back at him, a look of pure sadness on her face.
“It’s disgusting, isn’t it?” he said, the irony of the situation above him, but still he talked condescendingly, “I better go. Better business to attend to, and all those other common lies.” Picking up his stuff, he left her staring at his silhouette as it left her sights, and walked with simple strides as the rain began to pour outside and in her heart.
“You’re treacherous, Jason Blackling. Simply treacherous.”
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
Her laughter dies as the room folds open to reveal his lush form. She swallows, hoping to erase him from her sight. She can’t. His face was everywhere just last week, his words still cemented in her heart.
“I love you” he has said.
Lies, she had later revealed. It didn’t matter anymore, she told herself, she had someone new, and he was alone. She grinned. He was alone. Her grin faded just as quickly as it came. He deserved someone.
And she found herself walking towards him. Her friends begged her, don’t do this to yourself. She had to. He needed to know.
They all did.
“Hey.” She said coldly. He turned, his face badly masking his confusion as she rolled up the sleeve to her cardigan, the scars gleaming in the faint light of the room.
The room gasped.
She stared up at him revealing no emotion as his eyes betrayed everything of the last five months.
His love for her, her supposed betrayal, his own broken heart. Guilt surrounded her and she lowered her arm as their eyes made contact.
“I’m sorry” He said. As if his apology could make it all disappear. As if his words had the power to return him to his spot in her heart. She shut her eyes and breathed - he wouldn’t get off that easily, she told herself.
And she walked away.
Date of writing: 8.18.03
Monday, January 19, 2004
It's the single fact that your love for him can only be equaled by the pain you feel when he's not beside you. It's that immeasurable joy you feel when he's holding your hand next to his heart, and laying his head on your shoulder and yours on his.
It's the way you catch him looking at you from the corner of his eye, but doesn't think you notice. It's the way neither of you listen to what your friends say, yet you wouldn't mind listening to his voice all day, even if you didn't get to say a thing.
It's how truthfully he says "I love you", and the way your voice always cracks when you say it back, that scares you the most.
Her eyes adjusted to the sight before her, the demonic presence of destroyed lives and broken hearts. She placed her hand on the wall, but pulled back as she felt it crumble before her, the potrait falling with it. She lifted it to her face and studied it, the mirrored image, the sad frown on the person's face.
She loved that face. She loved the true depression in the eyes, the bloodied tears that fell the the ground before her. It striked her heart with anger and frustration, and she replied with kisses. After all, what else was she to do?
Sunday, January 18, 2004
There have been times when happiness came automatically, when nothing could bring me down at all. During those times, I'm a different person. One that I hate. I'm too cheerful, too much of a dreamer during those times, and my head doesn't feel right.
Other times I feel dead, like I've never known anything happy at all. Like I wouldn't notice if I just stopped breathing. This is one of those times.
Saturday, January 17, 2004
Generally when depression hits, it is unnoticeable until you are alone. Such times are now, when you can't escape the torment of your own mind, the elusiveness of your own writings. I've heard somewhere that writing vague is just your subconscious' way of saving you from yourself. It's times like these I wish that was true, that I could save myself, but I'm not the heroic type at all, and even if I was...
Even if I was, I wouldn't know how to live once I'm sane, once I’m saved.
Tuesday, December 30, 2003
She raced down the empty hallways, desperately reaching for the last door. They had said that nothing was left, that everything had burned in the fire that almost killed her. They had said they found nothing beside her except the burnt corpse of her brother. But they had to be wrong. Surely, not everything they said was true. Was it?
There the room was, bare and burnt, like a ashtray up to its knees in cigarette butts. Kicking aside ashes she finds the corpse and collapses beside it. The flowers embroidered on the shirt sleeves are still visible, if not unrecognizable, and this in itself causes tears to stream down her face. She was expecting a different sight, someone else laying there. Someone in jeans and yellow, someone without long hair, someone taller.
Someone not her.
Sunday, December 28, 2003
There are minor differences between good ideas and bad ideas. A good idea would be to just go to a hair dresser to get rid of your split ends. A bad idea would be to cut it yourself with a sharp knife at one in the morning. Some things are just not suggested, and that would be one of them. Of course, that's never stopped you before.
Saturday, December 27, 2003
It seems there is such a thing as too strong tea. It would be the tea you leave ignored for eight hours while you shop, waiting until you get home to even pour yourself a cup.
Sometimes you just need a change. A change of heart, a change of name, a change of style. And what if one of those times, what changes isn't really who you want to be, but pushes you in a different direction completely. It's like in poker; one bad card can throw you off for the whole round. You have two choices: to keep the card or trade it in.
And you aren't the type to pass up a chance to bluff.
