School-ish

            I laugh at you. Yes,  you at the window. You at the desk, with your psychology book in front of you, pretending that you’re memorizing Piaget’s morality and a diagram of the eye. But I know better. Every few seconds, you look up at the snow, watching the roads to see if it’s sticking. Calculating the odds of there even being the test tomorrow, glancing at your computer. Longing to pick it up and troll the web or play stupid games or all those things you haven’t been able to do in days and days because they put all this emphasis on Finals, Finals with a capital F because you know that’s the grade you’re going to get if you say fuck this, the psychology book doesn’t control me, if you fling your hands in the air and run outside barefoot. Catch snowflakes on your tongue and laugh because you can count on one hand the amount of times per year it snows, but you’d need all your fingers and toes to rate on a scale of one to ten how upset your parents will be if you fail all your classes. How upset you’ll be, and college and jobs and Reality shit. I see you, and I laugh at you, because I’m already outside.

Forever-ish

Who Wants to Live Forever - Queen

            The first time he hears Queen, he’s eleven. ‘Who Wants To Live Forever’ is playing on the radio. Slow, measured. His mother is doing the dishes, shiny cups and bowls spilling water all over the counter.

            Who wants.

            And she takes a deep breath, glaring at the dishes as though they might be frightened into doing themselves.

            To live.

            A half turn towards him, an order to go do something productive instead of standing there, staring.

            Forever.

            Her face is red, eyes drooping.  

            The second time, he’s in the hospital. Cold white walls not cheered by the numerous paintings. The waiting room, with the quiet music. 

            Who wants.

            He should be in with his mother at the time, but she’s asleep. And if he spends another minute in the cold pentagonal hospital room, he’s afraid he’s going to scream.

            To live.

            They’ll be out of here soon. They’ll be out of here soon.

            Forever.

            She’ll be okay.

            The third time is two years after the funeral. He’s in his car. On his way from point A to point B.

            And we.

            He turns it up, just a little.

Can have.

And for a few seconds, he lets himself remember.

            Forever.

Setting-ish

So... I'm at a writing camp. And we had to describe a setting. And I realized I hadn't updated this blog in awhile. I'll give it a picture when I get home and can upload stuff.

Cold.

Dark.

Still.

The darkness hides the cracks. Cracks that break the cement floor up into crooked triangles. Cracks that creep towards the walls, as though one could watch them grow. Cracks filled with the fallen flecks of paint held down by the water that occasionally drips from the pipe.

Drip.

Drip.

And the Still flees.

The pipes are sheltered by a sink, once silver, now brown with rush. Several names have been scratched into the side with sharp objects—the ghosts of knives, flashlights, pins, needles and sharpies still linger. Jason has claimed the east wall as his own, while NA and KT are trapped together in a heart.

Shoved off in the corner is the toilet. Porcelain shiny white and crack-free, it lords over the rest. The cracks pool at its base, but it pays no heed to the lowly, the rusty, the broken. It knows that it is the only thing visible in the never-ending dark.

Shiney New Story Idea-ish

One moment, the parking lot is quiet. Empty but for one car shoved in the corner, engine rusting, gas tank empty. And it’s alone. Surrounded only by the cement walls, the ramps going higher and higher…

The next moment, it’s noise. A crash, a gasp, and a screech of metal as the elevator doors are forced open. A metal crowbar is thrown up, lands on the cold grey floor. And then four hands reach skyward.

The first face to appear is a girl. Dark hair, desperate eyes. She pulls herself slowly, painfully out of the shaft. Then she turns, reaching for a boy a little older. She has to half drag him, and when he tries to walk, he limps.

They run a few steps, yet somehow end up standing still. Gasping for air as though they were about to run out.

“They’re going to find us,” the boy says.

“Yeah.”

“Five minutes. Maybe less.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Slowly sits down in a parking spot. “Yeah,” she says again. As if to prove the boy’s point, a truck rumbles past outside, and they both look to one of the narrow windows.

“We might be able to make it." But her voice is empty.

He says nothing.

And she takes another breath, reaches into her pocket. Pulls out the small handgun. “We’re not going to be able to fight them off.”

He pulls out his own gun. “There’s going to be so many.”

They’re speaking softly, as though worried about echoes. As though worried that the people following them don’t already know where they are.

And they stare at each other for a moment.

“I can’t,” he mutters.

She reaches out, grabs his hand. “Please.”

They both take another breath. Look around, as though there is still hope of an escape.

His hand shakes as he lifts the gun.

“Not the face,” the girl says. “They’ll release pictures.”

“Gotta look pretty for our last pictures, yeah?” His smile is bitter.

“No,” she whispers. “Iza. She’ll probably see. ”

“Oh.” He nods. “I… I better aim then. It’s hard to...”

“Yeah.”

She presses her gun against his chest, hand shaking. He mirrors the movement, and they sit for a moment. Connected by the death waiting between them.

“It’ll be quick,” she says. “A minute. And then we’re free.”

“Calm. Quiet.”

They look at each other for several long seconds.

“I feel like I should make a speech,” he says weakly, nodding to the security camera in the corner. “A great meaningful one to give inspiration to... everyone.”

She looks like she’s considering a smile. “You mean you don’t want to spill your guts and tell me how I’m the greatest younger sister anyone could ever want and how you didn’t mean all the mean things you’ve ever said?”

“I totally meant them.” He swallows, and the façade breaks. “On… on three?”

She nods. Blinks hard. Another breath.

“One,” she says slowly. “Two.”

Long pause. Then, a whisper.

“Three.”

But neither of them move. They just stare at each other. Frozen.

“It only works if we—“ she starts. Now he is the one to close his eyes.

“Just a finger-twitch.” He mutters. “Easy. Okay.”

“On three,” she echoes. He squeezes her non-gun hand tighter. “One.”

“Two,” he says.

“Three.”

Her finger twitches a little, but still doesn’t pull the trigger. They both sit, as if frozen. Muscles not letting them do it.

He shakes. “I don’t—God. I don’t… I can’t. I can’t. I don’t want—”

“Me either.”

They’re surrounded, and they know it. They can hear the fist people on the lower level. There’s nowhere to go but up, and once up, they’ll be trapped.

She pulls her hand away from his, wraps it around his gun fingers. “Need me to—do us both?”

“It’ll be slower.”

“Probably.”

“I can do this.”

“Hey!” And it’s not either of them that is speaking now.

They can see the first few. Men in uniforms, approaching them. They don’t even have a second anymore.

There’s no countdown this time. It’s instinct. Panic. Desperation.

Hope?

Two gunshots echo for a long time in the cement tomb.

Accident-ish

So... confession time. I didnt' write it this week . Or even this year. The word was actually "escape" and I wrote something and then I lost it. And then I realized I hadn't posted in like three weeks. So... then I found this.

:S

            It was an accident.     

            An accident, but it doesn’t matter.

            It was an accident.

            He only meant to pick it up, to examine the shiny metal object, always locked up. He had been told not to touch it, and so that desire had become his obsession.

            It was an accident.

            Who would have known it would make such a big noise? He hadn’t. He only wanted to hold it, not hurt it.

            It was an accident.

            Something had broken off in the explosion, and was now embedded in his foot. It hurts. It hurts so much. But he is too scared to scream, because he might get in trouble. And they might not believe him. They might have thought he did it on purpose.

            It was an accident.

            He is bleeding. He is bleeding and it hurts and he is crying, crying, crying. But he must stay silent or he might get in trouble.

            But it was an accident.

            He is afraid he will be punished anyway.  Still. Why would his parents leave something so dangerous in the house? It was always carefully shut away, but he had only wanted to look. He didn’t mean to break it.

            It was an accident.

            Someone was running up the stairs, close to him now. He stares at the blood coming out of his foot. He tries to stand, to hide. But there is not time. His mother’s worried face appares. He wails.

            “It was an accident!”

            She closes her eyes and her mouth opens. This is it. He will be yelled at now. He lowers his head in shame. But she doesn’t yell. She lunges for the phone and presses tee buttons… and she cries too as she talks to someone on the other end.

            “It was an accident,” she says.

            The sirens pull up. He is surrounded by yelling and noise and strangers. Is this his punishment?

            It was an accident!

            They rush him away to a large building. Jail? And his mommy is with him, and she is crying at what a horrible thing he has done. She didn’t need to cry. He isn’t a bad person.

            It was an accident.

            Years later, he goes through life with a piece of plastic. He puts it on in the morning and leaves it by his bed at night. The prosthetic foot keeps him from running and some sports, and things all his friends do. But it can’t be helped. Still, he doesn’t like to think about what happened. Whenever someone asks, he only ever says the same thing.

            “It was an accident.”

            They never ask again.

            It was an accident.

            Just an accident.

Midnight-ish

<- picture taken when I was waiting for the Supermoon. Said pictures of the moon didn't come out in focus, which was distressing, but I thought this one looked sort of cool.

Midnight Show

            She soaked up the midnight. Spread her arms, let it sink into her skin. The soft, clean air. The stars. The dying streetlamps.

            Happy birthday to me.

            She lay back on the grass. Slightly damp, it stuck to her skin. Itched, a little, but she didn’t move.

            Beauty. That’s how the sky looked. Heaven, reaching towards her, palms outstretched. She could live forever in the stars, the constellations shining so bright. Never ending. Eternal. Far away.

            She rolled over then, dirt touching her face. Caressing it, almost. The spot where the lump was.  

            But it was her birthday. Twenty seven years ago, she entered this life. A screaming baby with a clean brain.

            Lights are still on. Lighting the street. People up late working or perhaps just relaxing. And even more people asleep. Sleeping because they have all the time in the world. Heartbeats, years, lifetimes ahead of them.

            She doesn’t.

            It’s another half hour before she goes back inside. But she won’t sleep. She’ll be awake, doing everything. She’ll enjoy it, make herself enjoy it, because she’s perfectly functional. She’s a person on her 27^th birthday.

            And she’s earned that birthday.

            Awake for the next twenty four hours. Because that way, she’ll be tired when she finally swallows the pills. That way, it will seem like falling asleep. Because she’s going to die a human being, independent. Happy.  

            I’ll be there soon, she tells the stars, staring at them through the windowpane. She’ll be with them soon.

            But until then, she has things to do.

Monster-ish

Monsters.

They're running running running at her and she stops and looks back but they're chasing her, monsters with scary faces, faces of people she knows or knew she doesn't know which but they're chasing her, and it's monsters monster monsters so she turns and keeps running running towards the edge and she reaches the cliff and it's such a long drop so she stops again and wonders if she'll have to jump but the monsters are coming for her and the ground falls away and she is flying.