Wednesday, December 31, 2008

January 1st.

She blinked.

It's December 31st.

Fast forward: Turning fifteen and hours of listening to music and swinging and going to school and biking riding and crushing and writing and dreaming and napping and playing the flute and taking tests and going to Atlanta and a mission trip to Missouri and working at a day camp and not taking any finals and going to band camp and starting her sophomore year and getting her permit and marching competitions and writing Augustine and joining the Bayou Writer's Group and MAKING HER FIRST B ON HER ALGEBRA II MIDTERM AHH and making videos and reading and all of her series have ended and a bunch of other stuff she has forgotten.

2008. A whole year of her life. Used up. Did she live it out to its fullest? She's gotten more in tune with herself. She thinks.

And now 2009. She blinked.

It's December 31st.

Also, click here.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

poe

Click here.

She can't tell if the noise she hears is the wind or a hundred fluttering wings.

Thursday, December 25, 2008

Memories of Christmas

The vibrant thread slowly stitched together to form a recognizable image. Colors flowed into the newly formed picture, rivers of emotions flooded the scene. The memory.

Throughout time, more memories caressed into each other. They formed a figure. Sometimes one at a time, sometimes in waves, they splashed into their position, creating legs, arms, and a torso. Thousands of images. Thousands of occasions. Thousands of memories.

All standing still.

The body, the human, was there. The eyes peered out but saw nothing. The ears strained for a sound but heard nothing. The mind was mindless. The heart was there but felt nothing.

Then He came. (Yes He not he.) He walked silently up to the body and touched it. His hand wrapped around its., jump starting it. The standstill pictures suddenly awoke, the eyes opened and drank in sights; the ears welcomed whispers; a door had been unlocked and the mind entered a world of its own; and the heart brimmed with life, flooding the human with love.

He walked back, smiling to himself. But he never left.

Memories create who you are.
— Roger Templeton.



---

One more day and it’s all slipping with the sand.
Her insides threatened to spill out. Threatened to scream, rip, cry, plead. Emotions clouded her mind and her vision, confusing and misleading her. Through the night she streaked down the street, as the tears were streaking down her face.
We got nowhere to go and no home that’s left.

The water is rising on a river and turning red.
Panic choked her, despair made her choice seem more reasonable.
If everything we’ve got is slipping away,
I meant what I said when I said until my dying day.
No one would miss her. Not after what she had done.

You touch my lips and grab the back of my hand.
She shook off the clasp, she wanted to be left alone. She turned away, back into the darkness and He shook his head.

Maybe it’s all gone black but you’re all I see.
The light of the moon illuminated her. She searched the sky to find the white orb, but found none.

The walls are shaking, I hear them sound the alarm.
Glass is breaking so don’t let go of my arm.

Her world as she knew it collapsed. The barriers melted. She blinked and could see.
The tears are coming down,
They’re mixing with the rain.

Her new vision was pooled with tears, but she didn’t mind.
I’m holding on to you, holding on to me.
Maybe it’s all we got but it’s all I need.
You’re all I need.


A smile.
And if all we got is what no one can break.
I know I love you, if that’s all we can take.


A laugh.
We’re grabbing at the fray for something that won’t drown.

Merry Christmas.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Dedicated to Samantha for her civics midterm:

I walked into the band room feeling confident about my biology midterm that I was supposed to kill later in the day. Samantha, however, was having the opposite feeling. She had her civics review splayed around her, tears in her eyes. Half her hair was torn out. She was in a nightmare.

But when she saw me, hope ignited her eyes.

And then after five minutes, she was helpless again.

I called out the questions, but her mind drifted to other things, therefore making her distracted. Our first attempts of studying went like so:

Me: "The Bill of Rights guarantee what?"

Her: "Huh?"

Me: "The Bill of Rights guarantee what?"

Her: "Uh.. DANG IT. My stupid parents wouldn't help me study! They just wanted to watch tv and wrap presents! That can be done at a later date! I just know they want me to fail."

"But what do the Bill of Rights guarantee?"

"I don't know."

"The right to a speedy trial by jury, freedom of speech, and the right to bear arms."

"Mmk. Jury, speech, and right to bear arms. Got it."

"So what does the Bill of Rights guarantee?"

"... Wait! Hold on... Uh.. Jury? .. GAH WE WENT OVER THIS LIKE TWO SECONDS AGO!"

I know.

But Samantha had cookies in her backsack, and I dare say they saved her. In French we worked out a system where every time she got an answer right, she got a piece of cookie. Even if it made her hyper.

Her: "Cool! I know this one!"

Me: "Good. Now---" *Samantha gets distracted.*

*I wave the cookie in front of her face. Her attention snaps back.*

*She starts laughing for no apparent reason.*

We're good.

At lunch she zipped through the notes, and my feelings of dread had subsided. She knew most of it. But would she do okay? She couldn't make a B. She was worried she would fail with a B. I hoped she could scrape an A together..

At the end of the day, after I was drained from taking my own midterm, I headed to my locker, wondering if I would see Samantha.

I saw her.

Tears were in her eyes.

Fear choked me. What..?

"I GOT A 99!"

Friday, December 12, 2008

the teen age

Our backdrop is night. The city lights illuminate our presence. Hard rock runs through our blood, which we enjoy spilling. Fast cars adds to our adrenaline rush, zipping down the concrete that is spattered everywhere in our word. We naturally choose the color black to cloak us; besides, it goes well with our midnight guitars. Neon is our stars, of which we don’t see anymore. We have too much on our mind to stand in awe of the sky. Too many emotions pulsing our heart and mind. Too vibrant of emotions. Not just a little hate. Not just a drop of love. They dump themselves into our hectic lives. Having to fit school into our system; it’s too mellow, too drab. Where’s the color? Where’s the flashing lights and the screeching music? It’s a drug, these lights and songs and life; we need it to escape ourselves. We don’t know our real selves. Who wants to? Who wants to see what’s underneath our tattooed skin? We don’t like truth. But racing through the night, the world a blur, you can forget.

But then, when it’s over, we feel more alone than ever.

And then, when it’s over, we’re handed the world.

--
Funny, how she can write something totally unlike her nature while listening to rock music.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

don't really know, but kind of cool

He ravaged through the land, a monster building inside him. All this rage, all this passion, and he had no where to dump it. His hands grew into claws and foam dribbled down his chin. His eyes held a permanent glare, spattered with hatred. Or was it love? He didn't know nor cared. All these emotions, all these thoughts...

He reached the edge of small cliff. Half of his crazed mind told him to fly off, but he saw a figure at the bottom. He could clearly see that it was a girl with a book in her hands. She looked up at him and smiled.

So pure, so innocent. A smile. A book. A dress. The wind. Caught the papers of her book and splayed them into the air, but she didn't move her gaze.

A flower blossomed inside his chest, its petals dripping the sweet smell of love.


But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough, can you see the stars.
--Martin Luther King.

Monday, December 8, 2008

misfortune and luck

Misfortune and Luck stood side by side, comparing two souls. They were nothing at the moment. No thoughts, no emotions, no life. Yet. Soon they would enter the world, gifted or cursed.

Misfortune smirked and decided to stain the soul on the left. See what would be become of this little girl now. Luck uneasily shifted its weight and granted itself to the boy on the right. If only it could save the girl too. But alas, it was not meant to be.

Years later.

He set his home-cooked meal on the table. His youth group was giving a free meal to the homeless. They would file in, eat their fill, and the church teens would give out gifts. It was most likely their only Christmas present.

He entered the kitchen for a knife to slice his brisket. After rummaging through a drawer, he found a large one and went back into the church gym, where the poor would eat.

Shattering pierced his ears and a liquid showered his back. He swiveled to find the punch bowl splayed on the ground and, once he looked at his Hollister jacket, punch dripping from it. He laughed. What a stain.

One of his friends crawled to him and begged for his forgiveness. Sure, he said. After all, it was only a jacket. As long as his cell phone wasn't ruined. His quickly slipped it out of his pocket to check. All good.

The homeless came. Many women were shawled in ragged clothes, and small children were wide-eyed and silent. Men were sparse, but those who were there weren't dressed any better than the women. A teenage girl caught his eye. Her svelte body was covered in a t-shirt with no jacket in the December weather. She instantly locked eyes with him. He tried to cast his gaze downward but couldn't look away. They seemed to share something.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

music unites.

He struck a chord on the piano. His fingers slowly unfurled and stretched to cradle the melody. He held it, then opened his hands and watched the notes fly away.

The small girl skipped down the dirt path, swinging a straw basket in her tiny hand. A halo of flowers rested on her black hair. The notes found and kissed her, and she started singing in tune with the song.

A man sat at his desk wondering when the day would close. His twirled his chair to face the window and gasped at the sky's canvas. The sun did make an excellent artist before it's bedtime. The song crescendo in his ears, and he too fell into the melody.

They swaggered down the street, boasting and thinking they were invincible. The notes brushed them and they stood still. Tears fell, but they couldn't help but sing.

The village's battered instruments accompanied the song.

A nation heard the music and the people cried out in unison.

The world's voices now produced the song, everyone untied. Every living thing singing the same thing.