Monthly Archives: March 2012
On this day,
The sun is almost too bright,
But yet I see you clearly.
My thoughts are with you
Through the night,
But my heart shall miss
On this day, when your eyes met mine,
I couldn’t help but wonder…
How those eyes have been changed
And how my eyes were being
On this day,
Your hand in mine,
Nothing could be sweeter.
Until we meet again, in time,
Where our love is so much
Let me share a secret that no ones supposed to know
I have a best friend named Anorexia and I can’t let her go.
She makes me feel beautiful inside and out, being skinny is what my life is all about.
At first it wasn’t as bad, I could eat a little of what I had.
But later on as we came closer, she began to move in, and take my body over.
My ribs stick out, you cam see every indention.
I enjoy it cause I get all the boys attention.
I smile on the outside like nothing is wrong, but if you look deep into my eyes, you know it won’t be long.
My body is weak, my skin is pale, Anorexia said she’s never leave me, but her premise was a fall.
My heart’s pumping, but it drops and drops and drops and drops.
Until that final beat came to an instant stop.
I like to write and photograph.
I like to listen, but not to talk.
I prefer nodding or smiling. I enjoy the company of friends and strangers alike when pushed together at journalism conventions. I like talking to teachers more than students. I like having mature conversations.
I like taking pictures of people
I don’t know and of abstract ideas.
I like walking through woods by myself, camera in hand.
I like hearing the pounding of hooves on dirt when I stand at the race track in the early morning.
I like seeing my articles published in newspapers, the words rippling like water under a gentle wind as the pages are moved.
I like knowing random facts, but not being too fancy or too tarnished.
I like editing articles, but not all the time.
Words and meanings being twisted-
I like that least of all.
One day a mother gives birth to her son. The year was 1756, and the mother and father were walking home with their new son. The father was a high ranking samurai who served under Lord Hubachi Hanasuma. They had a long day and all they wanted to do was go home, but their trip was cut short by the notorious assassins named Shadow Ryu. The blood-thirsty clan ambushed the travelling parents and killed the father and mother, leaving only the blood-soaked child. The harsh rain that barely nipped through the trees washed the baby from the warm, thick blood. The assassins took the baby and made him into a savage beast that will become the world’s best assassin.
1771. The boy is fifteen years old. The Shadow Ryu put him up to his first challenge… his first assassination. He had to kill the “Samurai of 100 Corpse” also know as Eiku Tachibana. While Eiku walked through the bamboo forest, the boy stalks him through the dense, shadowy forest. Just as the great “Samurai of 100 Corpse” stops to urinate, he feels an intense piercing and then stares at the bloody blade shoved through his chest. He drops. The boy rips the blade out of the mangled body… and smiles.
1783. The boy who is now a man at 27 years old. He starts to see what life should be and then wonders about his parents. So he asks his master. The master tells him that he doesn’t know because they found him stranded on the road side. The man accepts it and doesn’t bring it up again.
One day as the man was on an assassination mission, he was about to slaughter his 138th victim, which was a traitor of the Shadow Ryu. The traitor informs the man that the Shadow Ryu steals children and raised them to be killers, and almost every member is a stolen child. Hatred flourished from the man’s heart. He is now hell-bent on making the Shadow Ryu pay for stealing his life. The man’s name… is Kagahisa Shizuma.
I woke up to a text saying “I miss you”. Unfortunately, it was from the wrong person. This was not the person I missed too, this was just a random guy who thought he knew me, but he didn’t. I stared at the text for a long time, wishing I could change the number it was sent from and wondering what I was supposed to say back. I went and ate breakfast, buying myself time by making him think I wasn’t awake yet. I opened the text ten more times, typed something out, then deleted it. I didn’t want to lie and get his hopes up. I didn’t want to hurt him like I’d been hurt, but I didn’t want to be mean either. I looked at the text again. “I’m sorry” I thought as I typed out my reply. “I miss you to” and send. He texted back “Can’t wait to see you, what are you doing gorgeous?” I felt sick. Little did he know, my simple “I miss you too” meant so much to him and so little to me. To me, it meant “I should just let you go”, “I’m not being fair to you”, “You don’t deserve this”, “You’ll never be him”. I sat there staring at his last text and sighed. After thinking of several things I could say, I decided to with “yea. nothing.” and send. Knowing I’d crush him, I set my phone down and went outside. When I came back, I had to build up the courage just to check my phone. He had texted back, “I think I love you”. I threw the phone against the wall. Why couldn’t I just say what needed to be said.
We were driving, my best friend Lace and I. Well I was driving. She was fixing her make-up with the car mirror as we sung along to the Taylor Swift song playing on the radio.
It was a special day: my nineteenth birthday. Ah my special extravagant present was a car! I’d been begging for one since I got my drivers permit at fourteen, but I didn’t get one then. Neither did I get one at my sweet sixteen, not even for graduation.
I wasn’t expecting one this year; my dream of someone buying a car for me died long ago. Though I guess sometimes the unexpected happens.
“Crap!” said Lace.
“What?” I said, turning on my blinker.
“I dropped my lip gloss, its right under you foot, hand it to me” she ordered at me. I guess lip gloss is important.
I reached for it, bending down. I then heard Lace scream “Watch out!”. After that I felt the car crash into us hard, flipping our car. It just kept flipping; me and Lace screamed. Not one of those screams when you ride a carnival ride or your little brother goes “boo!” at you. This was a scream that was screamed when you know it was over. When you know there’s no way to save yourself. The scream of death.
It finally stopped flipping. We stood still, rocking only a bit. I cough from the car exhaust or whatever that was. I screamed when I tried to move my definitely broken arm. And I cried as I looked at the blood on Lace’s head and her unmoving body.
I screamed for her to wake up, as I yelled for help. I shook her, helplessly. I cried, I cried, and I cried. We were upside down, and if I was thinking about how nauseous I was, I would have thrown up.
I cringed as I moved my broken arm to unbuckle my seatbelt. I fell a bit. I struggled to push open the door. It just kept falling back on me. Finally I pushed it hard enough, though I let out quite a scream.
I fell to the road, as glass, rocks and everything else stabbed and poked me. The road was deserted. My life now changed forever. What life? It’s all over now. I then laid on the glassy ground and went to sleep, hoping it was but a dream.
Change happens whether we like it or not. Nothing can prepare us for change or warn us that change is coming. Maybe that’s why change is so scary. It happens when we least expect it and can turn a person’s world upside down. I would have never guessed that in one moment, my life would be irrevocably changed. Everything I had come to accept as normal would be wiped away in a matter of seconds. All it took was one phone call. It all started on a day no different than any other.
“Wake up, sweetie,” my mom said as she gently shook my shoulder. I grunted and pulled the covers back over my head. My mother laugher her loud, goofy laugh and shook me one last time. I begrudgingly rolled out of bed to greet the new day. I walked down the stairs following the aroma of pancakes and vegetarian omelets. My father and brother were already seated at the table and scarfing down their breakfast enthusiastically.
My mother was wearing her crazy apron with pictures of all different kinds of cartoon frogs. She had on our ancient radio and was singing (horribly off tune) along to a Beatles song as she cooked. Just as I sat down, she put a plate with a tower of hot, steaming pancakes in front of me. I gratefully dug in. when she passed my father, he pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. She playfully slapped him with her spatula, her eyes twinkling. I rolled my eyes and laughed as my brother made gagging noises. Our parents were like that all the time. After breakfast, my mother drove my brother and me to school. She drives an old, beat-up van that is painted neon green. It embarrasses me to go anywhere with her because she is so different. To make matters worse, she honks and waves at us when she drops us off.
I turn bright red and don’t bother to wave back. I will probably regret that for the rest of my life. Then I rush over to my best friend Skye.
We talk until the bell rings and then we head to class. Skye has been my best friend since elementary school. We do everything together and tell each other everything.
School is the same as everyday. Boring and redundant. Although that day something horrible happens. In fourth period, my principal bursts into the room and speaks to my teacher in a low, serious tone. The news must be bad because my teacher pales and starts fidgeting. Please don’t let it be about me. Please don’t let it be about me. Please don’t let it be about me, I silently pray. Then my teacher solemnly says, “Bliss Haven. The principal needs to speak with you.” There was something in his expression, brimming behind his eyes. I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. I got out of my chair and tried to avoid all the eyes on me.
My limbs felt like lead as I made my way to the principal’s office. It took all my strength to lift my feet. Almost as if my body knew what was about to happen and it was warning me. I took a deep breath and turned the knob, even though I wanted to run away in the opposite direction. The principal was on the phone and was pacing back and forth.
“Yes. She’s right here.”
He handed me the phone. My heart started thumping faster and faster, and I could hear a roaring in my ears. I wasn’t ready for this. I suddenly realized what I recognized in my teacher’s expression. Pity.
“H-hello,” I croaked.
It was my dad. His voice was ragged as if he had been crying.
“Yes. I-it’s m-me.”
“There’s been an accident. Your mother. Not going to make it.” He sobbed, unable to from coherent sentences. My hands started to shake, and I dropped the phone. I fumbled around the floor, trying to find it. But I couldn’t because everything was blurry. Then I looked up and saw the phone in the principal’s outstretched hand. He actually had tears in his eyes.
“She’s gone. She’s gone,” my dad was repeating. I don’t think he even remembered he was on the phone.
“Dad,” I said worriedly, but he just kept repeating it.
“Tell your brother she’s gone.”
I will, Dad. I will. I’m coming home. Just stay there. Don’t move. I’m on my way.” I sobbed.
“She’s gone, Bliss. The love of my life is gone.”
Then the line went dead, thus ending the moment that forever changed my life. Now everything about my life is a reminder of all I’ve lost and all the things I took for granted.
Now I awake to the blaring of my alarm clock. That is if I’m even able to get any sleep. These days sleep is impossible. The emptiness in my chest keeps me awake all night. I always get up, though, no matter how tired I am. I know my family needs me, so I gather what’s left of my strength and face the day. I make breakfast for my little brother and my father. I have to take it to my father’s room each morning. Day after day he lies on his bed, staring at the TV, even though it’s turned off. Countless bottles of beer litter the floor. I have no idea where he gets them, but I always throw away the empty ones. The next day there would always be more. I never ever go in my mom’s office. It is too painful and overwhelming just to know she will never be scurrying around with her paintbrush in her hand and a crazy, goofy grin on her face.
Then I walk to school with my brother as an oh-so-familiar ache forms in the pit of my stomach. School is like a prison to me. Everywhere I go, people are staring at me. Some try to hid it by peeking at me out of the corners of their eyes, while others openly stare at me with wide eyes. The all have the same look in their eyes: pity. I can hear their whispers everywhere I turn.
“Is that the girl whose mother died?”
“Isn’t she the one with the weird mother?”
“Oh… that poor girl. I can’t imagine what its like for her to lose her mother at this age.”
“She looks like a zombie. Just because her mother died doesn’t mean she can walk around like that.”
“That’s the girl whose mother died. Yeah. And I hear her dads becoming a major alcoholic. I know! It’s so tragic. I’m so glad that’s not me.”
I was the talk of the school. Even the teachers and faculty referred to me as, “the Girl”.
Many of my teachers had told me that I could have extensions on all of my assignments. A few even said that if I needed to talk, they were there for me. I am getting so much attention when all I really want is to disappear. I got through each day of school in a daze. By the time I get out of school I don’t even remember one thing my teachers said. I’m not even sure how I travel from class to class, but somehow I’m where I’m supposed to be. At least my body is where it’s supposed to be, but my min is far, far away.
I think about my old life. About how much I miss my mother. Without her, my entire life has changed. I’m responsible for all the meals and cleaning and I have to keep an eye on my little brother. I’m really worried about him. He’s barely said one word since our mother’s funeral. I hear him crying at night through my thin walls. If eel horrible because I don’t know how to comfort him. I can’t bring out mother back, nor can I replace her.
I’m just doing my best to keep it all together and not have a mental breakdown. It’s bad enough that my old best friend Skye tries to reach out to me.
The other day she came up behind me while I was at my locker. She tapped my shoulder and said, “We need to talk, Bliss.”
“No… I’ll be late to class,” I said brusquely.
She cocked her head in a painstakingly familiar way. I got a pang in my chest just listening to her. I wish we could still be friends, but things are different now. I’m different now. She’s just a reminder of my old life, and it would be too painful to bear to pretend like everything is okay.
“You know that doesn’t matter to you anymore,” she said sadly.
I couldn’t argue with that, so I said, “Make it quick.”
“I miss you, Bliss. I miss all the things we used to do together. I miss being able to tell you everything. I miss spending time with you. I just… I really miss you.”
She had tears dancing in her bright blue eyes. She reached out and put her hand on my shoulder. I brushed it off and ignored the look of hurt that contorted her face.
“I miss you too, but we can’t be friends. Besides, the girl you used to be best friends with doesn’t exist anymore.”
She just stood there with pity written all over her face. I could take that from every other person in the school, but not from her. I didn’t want her pity. I wiped the tears from my eyes and walked away without looking back.
One minute changed my life forever more. Nothing will ever be the same again. I will never hear my mother’s laugh, watch her face light up in a smile, or feel her arms around me. I will miss her until the day I die. I know now that everything is always changing.
The plastic wrapper crackled as I greedily tore open the fortune cookie. Then, I broke the fortune cookie in two, and I didn’t even bother eating it. I unfolded the fortune and my heart sped up in anticipation. Even though it’s a silly superstition, I believe whatever fortune you get will come true. It read: Don’t be hasty; prosperity will knock on your door soon. A feeling of disappointment settled in my heart. This wasn’t even a real fortune. No sooner had this thought escaped me, all the lights abruptly went out.
This wasn’t the kind of dark where you could see the outline of shapes being illuminated. This was a pitch black dark. It was as dark as I would imagine the deepest corner of a person’s mind being. Where everything that has been forgotten or discarded lies.
“That’s because that is where you are at,” a thunderous voice sang out. The voice was deafening and seemed to be coming at me from every direction. I covered my ears and meekly replied, “I’m inside my own mind?”
“Precisely,” the voice boomed.
My brain was swimming with questions. What did this strange voice mean? I couldn’t be inside my own head, right? That’s insane. Not to mention impossible. Or…is it.
“So who are you and how are you inside my head?”
“You will know soon enough.”
I had no idea what to make of this.
“Can you tell me why I’m here?”
“No, but I can show you.”
Before I could even contemplate what this meant, a whoosh resounded in my ears, and my body began disintegrating. I felt as if I was being sucked up a straw, but I couldn’t see anything because I was blinded by the bright light. Or was it the pure darkness?
With a thud, I was thrown onto solid ground by some inaudible force. In front of me there lay an ominous steel door with no clear knob. I looked around for the source of the strange voice, but could see nothing but the darkness stretching on forever and ever in both directions.
The only thing that was visible to my naked eyes was the steel door and the small patch of dirt I was sprawled across that was directly in front of the door. I crept up to the door and pressed my ear to its cold, hard surface. I struggled to hear what sounded like a cross between a faint whisper and a hiss. Once I could finally decipher the whispers, I wished I could erase them from my mind. The voices were chanting help me and let me out over and over until I thought my head would explode. I backed away from the door and curled into a ball, but I could not get the voice out of my head.
“Help me!” I cried, “Get me out of this place.”
A shrill silence was the only answer I got. I had never been so alone or so scared as I was in this instant.
I heard a tinkling, melodious laugh on the other side of the steel door and I froze. All of a sudden, the temperature dropped about twenty degrees, and I could see my breath coming out in little puffs.
“Do you not want to join them n their eternal misery? But you couldn’t even if you wanted to because there’s no way in and there’s no way out.”
“Why are they in there?”
“Why isn’t it obvious? Because you put them there.”
This voice was starting to aggravate me. Its confusing answers only made me ask more questions.
“Just get me out of here.”
“Not just yet. You still have a lesson to learn. Choose wisely.”
Just then, a different door appeared on the opposite side of the first. It was wooden and actually had a door knob. It looked much more inviting, and heat practically radiated from the crevice at the bottom. I rushed over and flung the door open. Instantly I knew something was wrong. I took one step before I realized there was no ground to step before I realized there was no ground to step onto. As I was falling, I could hear the voices hissing in my ear. The longer I fell, the louder the voices grew. Right when I was about to hit the ground, the voices reached their epicenter. Then everything was silent.
I was terrified of what was going to happen next. I frantically looked around. All I could see was the dirt floor, but at least it wasn’t pitch black anymore. There was almost an iridescent glow descending around me. Then a bright white light shone on a little girl that was crying a couple of feet away. I asked her what was wrong, but she wouldn’t answer me. She kept crying out for her mommy and clutching her knee. When she lifted her hand, it was covered in blood. I rushed over and tried to her, but the strangest thing happened. I went straight through her. Even stranger, a second later she disappeared, only to reappear riding a bicycle. As I watched the scene play out, my mind began to cry for her mommy, but her mommy never came. I must have pushed this memory to the back of my mind. Tears filled my eyes as I watched the painful memory replay itself.
The sound of footsteps quieted my sobs. I whipped around and gasped. I was face to face with… myself. Although this version of myself had gleaming red eyes and long inky black claws. When she spoke, I was a flash of pointy teeth that resembled shark teeth.
“It’s such a sad sight, isn’t it?” she cooed. “And now because of your hasty decision you will have to watch it as well as all your other forgotten memories replay themselves forever.” She swept out her arm dramatically and thousands of other beams of light switched on. They were each illuminating a different memory.
I covered my mouth with my hand, suddenly horrified with myself.
“You see, if you would have chosen the steel door, a moment later you would have heard my good friend opportunity knocking. The door would have swung open and you would have been freed. Of course you didn’t because the wooden door seemed more inviting. Well, maybe next time you won’t be so hasty.”
She smirked and laid her hand on my shoulder, being sure to dig her claws in.
“Now you’re mine forever.”
I screamed and screamed until I felt my eardrums bust, and blood ran down my neck.
I woke up screaming my head off in a small run-down Chinese resteraunt. The waiter was giving me a mischievous look.
“Did you learn anything?”
“Y-y-yes m-m’am…. I learned—-” my voice died ash she disappeared. She reappeared at a table on the other side of the room and gave the customer their fortune cookie. Then turned towards me and winked. Her open eyes glowed red.
When I stand at the rail
I can’t help but overhear
Conversations about the next race,
Conversations about bets,
Conversations about past performances.
I look over and see a motley crew.
Young and old.
Plain and sophisticated.
Smart and yet dumb.
These people don’t see
What really goes on.
They don’t see “behind” the gate.
Only before it.
Instead of looking at the people
They only see the names they think matter.
They see the jockey who maneuvers,
The trainer who fine-tunes,
The owner who drops the money.
What of the stable-workers?
The grooms who brush, feed, clean?
The hot walkers who cool the horses out?
The exercise rider who gets thrown?
The agent who’s always on the phone?
These people, the ones I overhear,
Don’t care about everything
That goes on.
They only want to see
Colors flash by them as
And dirt flies.
They don’t want to recognize
If the names aren’t at the
Top of the line.
If they aren’t Zenyatta or Secretariat,
Calvin Borel or Mike Smith,
Bob Borel or Steve Asmussen,
These people don’t care.
They call this the sport of kings.
But even kings recognize the peasants.
I am from books stacked so high they topple over, a sacred spot on my dresser for the Harry Potter series, pieces of hay clinging to hoodies and jeans, my photography framed in my room, artwork preserved in plastic page protectors, pencils and papers, cat toys scattered through every room, horses, and cowboy boots laying wherever they were pulled off.
I am from pine trees and the smell of their needles as the fall, old halters, lead ropes, and a mounting block, apple trees and rose bushes.
I am from nickers and neighs, neighbors who don’t speak much and neighbors who help catch horses when they break the fence, a pack of wild dogs who kill the cats in the area.
I am fro Memaw Kathi and Papa Dick in Tennessee, from Meme and Papa, Uncle Rob at the race track, Aunt Jennie and Aunt Kris. I am a Sis and a C.
I am from “Don’t let your grades drop,” “You are going to college,” “Clean your room,” “Put the book down, turn off the light, and go to sleep,” my sister arguing over who’s turn it is to have the bathroom first, “I want the front seat!”, and “I told you so.”
I am from turkey with stuffing, deviled eggs, green-bean casserole, lemon cake, red beans and rice, pecan pie, and sweet tea.
I am from the wood that makes up Moon’s stall, from memories that sometimes seem like a dream, from boxes hidden in my closet, and diaries disguised on my bookshelf.