Tuesday, July 14, 2009

And all the things that you never ever told me...and all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me.

Never coming home, never coming home. Should I? Could I? And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me...for all the ghosts that are never gonna............................
[The Ghost of You--My Chemical Romance]
God, I love My Chemical Romance.
You may wonder why I'm blogging today, as opposed to, oh say, nothing. Indeed, there is no real reason. Whatevs.
Nat is right (for once :P). I should do something with my hair! Unfortunately, curling it is not an option (trust me), and I can't seem to find the darn straightener. BAH.
I really, really, really need a haircut. My hair is all frizzy and there's a ton of dead-ends and fly-aways. It's also getting too long for my taste (almost an inch past the shoulder; heresy!). I don't know why I ever grow it back out. It only looks good long.
[Desolation Row--My Chemical Romance]
I can't write anything good anymore! It's like my inspiration (or skill) has jumped out the window. Everything I write sounds like crap, doesn't flow, or sounds like a twelve-year-old's work (which is what it is, but I thought I was better than that). This is the best of my recent work:
Everything was set. Three large brown suitcases were stacked in the back of our gold Kia Sedona, one for each of us. Jeffery’s was the biggest, crammed full of all his brightly colored toys. He giggled happily from his car seat in the middle, waving his pudgy arms at the back of the driver’s seat. Mom, her eyes tired, stared straight ahead, as if she did not see us.
I traced the details of my house on the window; the huge disproportionate roof, the oblong porch that stuck out from one side, the tiny round windows in the top floor. It looked so hollow and empty. Because of its abnormal shape, it wasn’t quick to sell, and Mom was in a hurry. My home for fifteen years was to be demolished the coming Saturday.
The drive to our new house was going to take fourteen hours, crossing through Canada, but Mom wouldn’t just buy plane tickets. She said it would take too long. She, unlike me, wanted to get out of Rockford, Michigan as soon as possible. She was still reeling from the divorce and desperate to escape Dad, who, by an ill twist of fate, was her promoted to her boss a day after divorcing her. Three days after everything became final, she started packing our bags.
I asked her where we were moving. She stopped throwing things in a bag, stood up, and stared at me till I left. At dinner that night, she announced we were finally going to make use of the old house her uncle had left her in his will.
“I thought you said it was too old to be an actual house,” I say, bored. She will probably change her mind by tomorrow. There’s no way we’re moving to Vermont.
Mom shoots me a sharp look. “Mia, I want the utmost cooperation from you. I’m going to busy with arrangements and I need you to watch over Jeffery.”
I look out the window, unafraid. “Why would we move to another cold state? Why not Florida?”
She doesn’t answer. She shakes her head and resumes eating dinner. She never lasts in any sort of discussion. She’s too weak. She’ll change her mind.
Mom had been serious about moving to Vermont. She could’ve gotten another job, but no, we had to move out of the state. I stared bitterly out the window, at my home. It would be gone forever in four days. My childhood, gone in four days.
Jeffery whined from the middle row, his round blue eyes confused.
“’Sokay, Jeffy,” I whispered. Mom must’ve heard me, but she didn’t say anything. She was too defeated to say anything to me. If it came to a fight, which it surely would, I would destroy her.
Strangely, after she had declared we were moving, we stopped fighting. I avoided her because I was furious; she avoided me because she was exhausted. It had been a strangely calm, yet tense, week.
Jeffery continued to whine.
“Throw him a toy, will you, Mia?” She didn’t look at me as she said it. Maybe she was worried our eyes would ignite the screaming match.
Jeffery’s tiny blue elephant, the only toy not in a suitcase somewhere, was shoved into the stuffed glove apartment at last minute, when Mom had realized he had nothing to play with.
He grabbed it as soon as he saw it, and immediately started chewing one of the soft blue ears. Mom saw it in the rearview mirror and sighed.
My home disappeared from sight too soon. I knew I’d never see it again, so I stared at it as long as I could, trying to hold the memory of it in my head. I looked for my bedroom window, but it didn’t come into view till we were turning the corner.
My breath caught in my throat. There was someone standing in the window. Their face peered out at me, cold as stone, with blood red lips and hollow cheeks, and eyes the color of the midnight sky.
And this is some of the best of my old work:
The silence engulfed me, clearing my mind. I didn’t breathe, for fear it would awaken the beast. Awaking the beast would mean death, I was sure.
It was not peaceful, even in sleep. It’s heavy back rumbled as it breathed like an earthquake, its teeth shivered with every breath. I had been taught to fear the teeth…and respect them.
Awaking the beast would mean death. I had to remember that.
Slowly I moved. Just a tiny bit, stopping suddenly in case it showed signs of waking up. The beast remained sleeping. Setting aside my relief, I completed the step closer to its massive hulking body.
A painful, horribly sharp noise burst over head of me. I didn’t have to look to know it was that of the colorful Gayana Bird, the loudest in the forest. In my mind, I saw the bright plumage, a rainbow of colors, always different…the sharp, golden brown beak and talons…the shining white eyes that never blinked.
The monster stirred, very gently, and I froze.
A grumbling sound, like a volcano, erupted from it, shaking the earth with its force. I refused to breathe, in case it would give away my position. I had to complete my mission…death, if I didn’t.
The grumbling stopped, and the beast was still asleep.
Again, I put aside the overwhelming relief and slowly, carefully, raised the sharp glinting spear over it. So close…I could not fail now.
In that moment, I realized I was alone. If I failed…if I missed the heart…no one could save me. This was my orientation. If I did not learn, I would die. It was simple…it was terrifying.
I closed my eyes…they would betray me if I saw the disgusting scene about to unfold. Whether it would be mine or the beasts, blood was about to spill. My one weakness…gore. One of the many reasons my orientation was so much more deadly than others. I had to overcome my fears, or else I could not survive. Only the strongest survived, and I had to.
My eyes did not give me away…my terror did. As I raised the spear higher, I could not fight back the sharp intake of breath as I thought about the impossible task I had been assigned to.
In that one instant, I saw the monster’s horrible blazing eye, red like fire, staring at me.
No, I thought. I’m not going down without a fight. Not like this.
No longer hesitating, I shoved the spear into its chest, praying I would hit the heart.
The red eyes still stared at me, but the looked not angry. Fear tainted them, not rage. I realized that I was so entranced by it, I had forgotten to close my eyes. But it didn’t matter…all I could see was that burning eye staring at me. I could not feel anything except what I saw in that eye…fear, sadness…loneliness. Time froze. Its eyes went blank.
The wind whistled briefly through the trees and almost seemed to say Thank you.
Time restarted.
See the difference? That's not even my best! I have to get good at writing again or I might as well go beg on the street now.

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