Auras

It was the surreal, bird's eye view that kept drawing her back. Or maybe it was how the lights twinkled up at her from the condos. Or the blinding sunsets that illuminated the skyline in fiery reds and oranges, shimmering off the pink ocean. Anyhow, she would come here whenever she could; on days where the sun dazzled the little people below with its bright smile and on days where it was feeling a little too grey to show its true colours. Every time, there would be something new to see; something she hadn't noticed on the last visit. Today, it was the way the setting, winter sun reflected off of the house windows, lighting them on fire. They glowed intensely as though possessed, and the deep blue sky contrasted magnificently. It was only five, and the sun was already almost gone.

Her legs dangled loosely over the precipice, feet bobbing to the beat of the song she was currently listening to. She turned her head to the left and watched the waves for a while.

For months, she had stared at the cliff blankly everyday. Five weeks ago, she'd dragged herself to the top of it against her will. Every cell in her body had been screaming with adrenaline, but her heavy, bitter heart had kept her feet moving. She'd sat down a good fifty metres from the edge and closed her eyes. She knew she was going to die. And she knew she wanted it to happen this way, not with a rope or a pellet of lead, or with bottles covered with warning labels. Just jumping off, and never feeling the ground. As a matter of fact, that's how she had convinced herself to come this far. It would have been just like flying. Or skydiving.

But when she had approached the void, trembling and crying silently, what she saw stopped the shaking. And the tears. She had been shocked. Completely shocked. All self-destructing thoughts had left her head. The view had been absolutely astonishing.

She knew she should have been home half an hour ago. But that was okay. Her homework could wait. This was absolutely paradise.

***

It was the quiet, solemn atmosphere that kept drawing him back. Or maybe it was how the tombstones stood out majestically against the soft, green grass. Or the eerie sunsets that illuminated the white marble in pastel pinks and oranges, shimmering off the laminated caskets. Anyhow, he would come here whenever he could; on days where the sun sparkled between the branches of the old weeping willows, and on days where the sky cried a river for every buried body. Every time, he would find a new tombstone to read; a dedication he hadn't noticed on the last visit. Today, it was an old, stone obelisk isolated from the main group. He couldn't read the words on it because it was five in the morning, so the sun had not yet risen. He'd stumbled upon it after getting lost on the cemetery paths.

For weeks, he'd been visiting the place. It all started one day when he and some friends had decided it would be funny to carve obscene phrases into the stone. He'd felt bad about doing it, but his friends' impressions of him were a priority. He had always been the gutsiest, and he wasn't about to give that title up.

But when he came back the next day with spray paints, smug and ready for some fun, the curious tingling he felt stopped him dead in his tracks. Alone, the graveyard had a different feel. There was something that demanded respect, softly but firmly. He had thrown all of his equipment in the garbage, and walked around slowly, seeing his environment in a new way. Oddly, the more time he spent next to those passed away, the more compelled he felt to join them. Their spirits tapped into his flesh and left a longing in his heart. Sometimes he would even shiver as their icy hands touched his face.

"I'll join you guys someday," he whispered to the door of a tomb. "Soon, I'll be with you all."

Part 2: Stop

This is in continuation of Somersaults. :)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meet me outside the main entrance. 8pm. Before I go.

The note had been left outside his dorm door, a ripped piece of yellowed parchment. It wasn’t signed, but the loopy, elegant cursive made clear instantly who it was from. Her.

For awhile after the gift incident, he had wondered what she’d thought of it. Was it too much? Too classy? The thoughts had swarmed his head constantly; during class seated two spots to the left and one behind her, lying awake in his bed at night. There was no indication she’d received it at all – the dark, cold stares and harsh sarcasm wars continued. It left him in a bitter mood the days leading up to Christmas. Yet still each time he saw her, his heart threatened to jump out of his chest.

And now, finally, was his chance. Perhaps she’d chosen this moment simply to make him wait. Maybe she had finally remembered the note tied to the box. Whatever the reason though, he knew he had to go. Instinct told him it was his only chance.

***

The neon glow of his watch read 8:02. She still hadn’t come. It’s against her nature to be late, he thought. In fact, she’s usually at least ten minutes early. He waited anxiously for her arrival, wondering what he was going to say when she finally came.

At 8:26, he got angry. I’ve been stood up. How dare she? No one stood up to Draco Malfoy. The hope that had flickered on inside him since the discovery of the note slowly drifted away with each passing second.

By 8:41 his mood had taken a turn for the worse. Enraged and shivering from the snow that had begun to fall, he trudged back inside to the Great Hall and up the stairs. Suddenly, he paused, hearing voices coming out from one of the unused classrooms.

“…Be fair. You liked me perfectly fine in fourth year!”
That was two years ago! We’ve both changed since then. I don’t have the same feelings for you anymore.
“At least give me a chance! I’ll be good for you.”
Ron, I see no point in continuing this argument. It’ll end up hurting both of us.
“Trust me! I know you inside out. Who could be more perfect for you? Just let me give it a shot. I’ll prove my worth.”
…Fine, you know what? I’ll go out with you, and we’ll see how it goes. I’ll give you a chance. Are you happy now?
“The most, Hermione. I promise you I’ll be good to you forever.”

As soon as he heard those words, his heart stopped.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Two comments/notes:
1. Did you notice the Marianas Trench reference? Haha. I was actually thinking about them when I wrote that line.
2. Tomorrow is December 1st! Thus I probably won't update for awhile... you'll see why soon. :)

Wanna Trade?

I had a dream

but now it's gone.

I've lost the dream, you see.

It's not here

it's not there

it's not anywhere.

It's a trick,

smoke and mirrors.

Or some other foul play.

Green fog,

dark clouds,

something wicked this way comes.

There's nothing I can do,

and already I miss it.

I was happy, really happy.

Fields of flowers,

clear lakes,

emerald frost on windowpanes.

Suddenly, the facade fell

revealing the man behind the curtain.

Frightened, scared, that's all I felt.

Thunderstorms,

bloodstained sheets,

black holes sucking me in.

I had a dream

but now it's gone.

It left something in its place.

Emptiness,

loneliness,

a nightmare of a day.

Wanna trade?

---

There you go, Grace!

A Moment's Hesitation

She knew him all too well.

The cold indifference and endless supply of cruel words, carelessly thrown about. Only a protective covering for the torn heart of a boy not-yet-man. Torn between doing what was right, and everything he'd ever been told to believe in. Everything he should have done without a second thought. Like kill. With 6 syllables, without hesitation.

But hesitate he did. Like the useless imbecile he was always told he was, he froze, just for a second.

And so here she was, standing right of front of him, an uncomfortable silence that hung like a dirty dishrag, neither wanting to touch it. The freshly fallen snow lay clean and white on the ground. The clearing was completely silent, except the eerie howl of the wind. Then the moment passed, her lips moved, and she began to speak. You don't belong with them, you're too good. Come to our side, we can help you.

"Help me," he whispered, "Help me?" he repeated, louder, laughing humorlessly. "I'm afraid it's a bit too late for that now." No, it isn't! But he didn't hear her. He had already began reaching for the instrument that would destroy her, like how he should have the first time. As his hand wrapped around what he reached for, he felt a warm body against his, and arms wrapped around his neck.

Don't do this. I know you're not like that. And of course, she was right. She knew him all too well. He lowered his head, and ever so gently brushing his lips against hers. "I'm so sorry..." It's okay, everything will be okay. And in that moment, there was nothing he wanted to believe more than that.

He heard a rustle. He lifted his head, and looked around. Nothing.

Suddenly, the sound of quick footsteps reached his ears. Avada Kedavra! Then a scream. "Nooooooooooooooo!"

------

Don't kill me for this, but that's really the end. I'll leave it up to you to interpret what happened, and feel free to comment about that. As to who the characters are ... you can probably guess, eh?

By the way, I am challenging somebody to write a piece with the phrase emerald frost. It's the nail polish colour I am wearing, and it would be interesting to see what you can come up with. Good luck!

Rollercoaster

Twisted paths
Loops and more loops
Of who knows what?

Shouts and screams
Sharp right
Sharp left
Upside down
Sideways
Spinning out of control.

Gear up
To head up
Maybe this time
The momentum of the moment
Can keep it going
All the way to the
t o p.
v e r y

In the front seat
Nerves swinging high
Tensions pushed to the limit
Hoping
wishing
praying
Maybe this time
It won’t all come crashing
d
o
w
n.

Stopping for just a second;
A cruel moment
For crying out; a last wish perhaps.
Maybe this time
The seatbelts, restraints will do their work
And not all will be
l
o
s
t.

I’m afraid not.

Stereoscopic Images

This is a pretty quick post, and I actually should be working on Science Fair right now, but I just saw this (while procrastinating on science fair) and it was too awesome not to post.

Maybe you guys have heard of sterescopic images before? Well, basically, they're two images that, when overlapped, form a 3-d image (this is an extremely crude "definition" that I'm coming up with myself. You can probably get a better idea yourself).

I found a nice pinecone picture that's pretty detailed. But simple. There's an explanation on how do it at the bottom of that page, but there's a better set of instructions here. Basically, it tells you to hold out your finger in front of you, halfway between the screen and your eyes, and focus on that. You move your finger around a little until you can see, behind it, 3 fuzzy images, one which should be right behind your finger. Now, this is the tricky part, where you have to focus on the middle image without uncrossing your eyes. Don't try to move your eyes apart, but rather, let your eyes focus. Try it a few times. You might get it.

I only stumbled across a stereo, and it took me a while to get the whole cross your eyes thing, but once you get it (it's kind of hard to help you here, but keep trying) it looks really cool. If I had more time, I would do this all the time.

Although, come to think of it, it's probably not that good for your eyes.... Oh well. >.> [>.<]

Try it out and tell me if you can see the awesome 3-D ness? And if you can, isn't it so cool?!!

I've seen these kinds of the things at the science centre, but they have eye holes (kind of like binoculars) so it's a lot easier. And this, you can do on your computer screen.

~Yaning

You have no idea how excited I was when I first got the eye-crossing thingy. New favourite way to waste time.

Steve's Life

While on the Don Mills bus home today, I saw a new ad by Covenant House advertising homelessness and how we shouldn't look down upon homeless children, situated beside Koodo's El Tabador guy. It was a pretty cool idea. There was a sentence at the top that was a bit too small to be visible, but it said something like "Why can't homeless kids just get a life?" Then there was a huge paragraph of text in fine-ish print, and then a large concluding sentence: "That's why." I wondered vaguely what was contained in the paragraph that nobody would ever look at, but I obviously didn't want to read it.

However, once I got on the Finch bus, I noticed that there was another one of the ads right behind where I was standing, and the bus was pretty empty, so I walked under it and began to read. It was an example of a day in the life of a homeless kid, who the story decided to call Steve. And because I have nothing better to do, let me summarize it for you.

Steve wakes up on a park bench, shivering, but he snaps awake to check under the bench on which he was sleeping to make sure his backpack containing a few sweaters and a thermos is still there. He recalls the night before, where three teens around another park asked him if he had a cigarette. He ignored them as usual, but they followed him. One pulled out a knife and tried to give chase, but by then he'd already run ahead. He begins to look around the city for a place to sleep again, and finds an alleyway nearby, where he is sheltered from the wind. He tries to sleep, and starts to dream about his home, but is shepherded away by a police officer. As he searches for... something... (uh, I don't remember what he was doing, I think he was just wandering around), he reflects on his dream, which leads to the back-story about how his father lost his job and then started drinking a lot and beating his wife and son. So Steve ran away, but memories still haunt him. He begs for money, and receives about seven dollars by the end, not to mention several hateful comments and stares. He buys a burger, creating impatience in the long line behind him as the cashier counts all the change, and takes advantage of the water in the burger shop and washes himself, before getting kicked out by the manager. He then sees a sign in a shop that is hiring a part-time assistant, and asks the owner, only to be rejected completely. And now my memory starts to get blurry... I think that was the end.

The whole thing took me from Bridletown to Kennedy to read. The hardest part was probably finding where the next line was, because the ad was so wide. But it killed a lot of time, so I'm glad I decided to look at it. And reading bus ads is not a pointless and stupid past time! Besides, how many other people can say they're in the know?

...I Say Hello

Under The Radar: You Say Goodbye...

Please read Teo's prose before this. Actually, it might be more interesting if you read this first, provided you haven't read hers yet.

The man was leaning against a large column. His red and puffy eyes stared down at the ground, counting the number of stains on the large grey floor tiles. His inflammed nose was itching in a very irritating way. He opened his mouth and closed it several times, thoroughly annoyed that whenever he was about to sneeze, the tingling sensation went away.

The train to Anchor City was late. There was some sort of major delay in Belleville, and he would probably have to spend the night in a hotel nearby. He would be searching on his iPhone for a cheap place to have dinner, but his battery had died half an hour ago, and the bitter wind outside snuffed out any willingness to walk around and take a look. He shuffled with his luggage over to a rusting metal bench which had just been vacated by a woman reading off of a scrap of paper. As he sat down, he swung his backpack around, pulling out a small map of the city. Silence hung loosely in the air as he scanned it, trying to locate the train station.

His nose began to prickle again, and this time, he let out a violent sneeze, as though the pressure was building up the whole time. Gingerly, he dug around in his coat pocket for a napkin, first passing over a bus token, then a note pad, and finally, the much needed tissue. He blew his nose, then turned around in his seat to throw it into the garbage can, and as he did so, a Coca-Cola ad caught his eye. It was a vintage style one, with Santa Claus holding a bottle on the front, standing next to a plate of cookies in someone's home. Santa's face was a tad bit too red for that frothy brown liquid to seem like a soft drink.

The man's eyes skipped over to the next ad, and his stomach churned unpleasantly. Words like GONORRHEA and HIV jumped out at him, clawing into his mind. It hadn't been long since he dumped his girlfriend. Just a few months ago, they'd had a bit too much fun at his place. She had chosen not to tell him, not until the symptoms started. He had been furious. He'd told her he never wanted to see her again, and if she had any decency, she should allow herself to be raped. At least then, some creep would have to face the consequences of a lack of protection.

He turned back around, and stared hard at the riders inside the train closest to him.

"Attention passengers," said a boring, male voice through the loudspeakers. "A piece of unattended luggage has been brought to the information booth of the east wing. Anyone missing their bag should check in at the desk..." The man looked at his own black luggage, content with its presence.

 The train engine hissed, then started to get louder. Small vibrations travelled through the platform and into his feet. He watched as the cars began to move. One after the other, they left, each passing faster than the one before.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the five o'clock train has now left the station. I repeat, the five o'clock train has now left the station. Please stand by for further notice about the delay in Belleville." Great, so his ride was still obviously stuck there.

A small piece of paper blew into his lap. Curious, he picked it up and turned it over. On it was what looked like a phone number.

Five four nine, one one two six.

There was no area code. He looked up, and saw that the woman who he'd seen with it earlier was still standing at the edge of the platform. He tensed the muscles in his legs, about to get up and return the slip, but something told him not to. Relaxing, he watched as she pulled a cellphone out of her backpack, and began to dial. Her blank expression remained unreadable as she snapped her phone shut a few seconds later. His eyes lowered back to the paper. The number seemed rather familiar.

Five four nine, one one two six.

He gasped. He remembered why he knew it now. His eyes narrowed on the woman, who was walking away. He got up and rushed over to her quickly, repeating the number in his head.

Five four nine, one one two six.

Just Don't

Just don't
     sweat it.
It's a lot of work
     to pick up the phone and call sometimes.
It takes too much time
     to think up what to say.

Just don't
    forget it.
Pretend you're doing fine
    because you probably are.
Ignore the stack of letters
    on your kitchen table.

Just don't
    cry over it.
Tears aren't meant to
    be wasted sparingly.
Use that energy
    and make yourself a sandwich.

Just don't
    lose it.
Ignorance is bliss
    not knowing is the new black.
It would be nice
    if it had never happened.

Phoned

The darkness was pouring in through the windows of the small room. It cast long shadows behind the plastic table and chair, dimly illuminated by an old, white lamp. A history textbook was open to page two hundred and twenty six. Below it, pages of lined paper were scattered in piles, some crumpled and full of blue pen marks, others smooth and bearing just a few sentences.

The blue ballpoint pen was hanging loosely in his grip, suspended over the table. His unfocused eyes were directed at a graph in the book, but his mind was cast ten miles away. He couldn't stop thinking about David. He wanted - needed - to talk to him. For the whole afternoon, he'd been distracted. No comprehension questions had been done, and he was worried that his work would spill over to the next day. Again.

He snapped out of the inertia and tried to concentrate on the questions. His brown eyes contracted in focus, but somewhere in the middle of the page, his vision started to blur. His mind was racing, but his heart was sluggish to keep up. He bit down hard on the pen and closed his eyes, thinking. Finally, he stood up and moved to sit beside the head frame of his bed. The black telephone stood out on the light wooden end table. It reached into his soul and beckoned him closer. He obliged. A pale, trembling hand extended into the gap. It hovered above the headpiece for a second, and then closed in. He shuddered as the cold plastic stole the little heat in his palm, and heard the soft click of the receiver being lifted.

He dropped it back down. No, there was obviously no point. David definitely didn't want to see him again, much less talk to him on the phone. Even if it was important. Even if lives were at risk. David probably thought he was the most annoying, attention-seeking, stubborn, self-centered person in the whole world.
And so he lifted up the phone again, his left hand pushing the little grey buttons automatically.

"Hello?"

"David?" There was no answer. "David?" he repeated, a little louder. He knew the other boy had caller ID, and the lack of response wasn't a good sign.

"...Yes?"

"Ummm... Are you busy right now?"

"Um, kinda. Both my parents are here."

"Oh. Ok, then. Nevermind. See you tomorrow."

"Bye."

That was it. That was about as much as he cared. Enough to answer the phone, and probably make up an excuse.

The boy's mind drained. He picked up the phone and ripped the cord out. Opening his window, he threw the handset down twelve stories where it was engulfed in darkness. It landed in the parking lot with a faint smash. Then he remembered that he was supposed to call his mother at nine.

He jumped out of the window to retrieve it.

A Series of Surprisingly Strange Statements

Five o'clock yesterday, I said goodbye to Jack, except he was spouting the following statements, all of which were quite puzzling and nonsensical.

"Back in June, we delivered oxygen equipment of the same size to my neighbours.

My Uncle Crazy Frederick bought many very exquisite opal jewels;

That weekly magazine is requesting help for and by junior executives;

A quart of oil mixed with zinc oxide makes a very bright paint;

This weekend, can you just work on basic techniques for improving and maximizing typing scale?

Would you please examine both these sizes of jade figurines quickly?

Six crazy kings vowed to abolish my quite pitiful jousts;

Farmer Jack realized that the big yellow quilts were too expensive.

An inspired calligrapher can create pages of beauty using stick, ink, quill, brush, pick-axe, buzz-saw, or even strawberry jam."

Obviously, I was exceptionally flabbergasted, and told him he might very well quack like a duck if he wasn't going to just communicate ordinarily like a normal person.

What a tremendously ridiculous excerpt of confusing literary oddities!

If that was your response to the above post, you are correct. These sentences are rather odd. In the meantime, you should probably consider quacking like a duck. It might earn you less confused looks.

If, however, your response went "well, that was an odd post," you are also correct! And, there is no need for any quacking of any sort.

Can anyone figure out what is so peculiar [so very, perplexedly, mind-bending-ly peculiar- Oops. I'll stop. I promise.] about those statements? Can you identify the odd one out?

And no cheating. That includes, but is not excluded to, Googling it. Or, if you absolutely cannot resist the overwhelming[ly taunting] temptation of doing so, post a reply following the pattern [<--- would it be called a pattern? I'm not sure. Whatever. You know what I mean.] of the statements. So it doesn't get spoiled.

Quack

~Yaning

Pindisic

Isn't that such an interesting word? No, you won't find out what it means by Googling it. Nor will it appear in a long forgotten ancient tablet. Pindisic isn't even a word at all. It's just what Google's comment verification just asked me to type. So now, I will attempt to define this word and use it, just because it's actually pronounceable ! Hm... Pindisic... What does that sound like? Any suggestions, people? I'm pretty sure that it should be pronounced pin-DI-sick (with a soft "i" sound, kind of like an "e"), but it doesn't give me any emotions or reminding thoughts. And it sounds like an adjective to me. Though I guess it could be a noun, as in "antiseptic".

UPDATE: Yaning has won the non-existent contest for defining such a wonderful, non-existent word. She will receive a non-existent prize for her non-existent intelligence! (Ooops! That didn't come out right. Sorry Yaning, but I had to stick with the adjective.)

Pindisic (pin-DIS-ik): adj. Of, or relating to spirals. The pindisic staircase was covered in a red, velvety carpet.


Pindicy (PIN-da-see): n. A state of spirality. The cyber art student's sketches are a great example of pindicy.


Pindicize (PIN-da-size): vb. 1. Of an object, to make spiral. 2. derrog. To be redundant or make rhetorical. Your pindicizing has gotten us absolutely nowhere.


Pindisicly (pin-DIS-ik-lee): adv. In a pointless or repetitive manner; meandering. The water flowed pindisicly down the toilet.

Untitled

The jealousy of the greens entwine
            Choking the deep, burning anger of the reds
      Creating a potent explosive.

The sadness of the blues slowly creep
            Into the bright, live energy of the oranges
      Taking away all warmth;
      freezing all happiness.

Then there is the foul, evil black, forcing its way
            Within the warm, glowing atmosphere of the yellows
      Stealing all light;
      arousing fear and suspicion.

And there, alone, sits purple
            Alive with wisdom and royalty, but only heard by deaf ears
      Ignored by the tangles and messes of all the rest.

The colours of sun and rain should not mix
The plethora of personalities spring out
They cannot co-exist:
      The cold ones steal with greed
            The warm ones left to bear the pain
Together, they make personality chaos.

Personally, I think of it as Multiple-Personality Disorder.

But maybe I’m just a pessimist.
Because the optimistic ones,
They like to call it
A rainbow.

Eavesdropping

"Hey, guess what?"

"What?"

"Guess!"

"No, just tell me."

(Sarcastically enthusiastic) "I brought water to school today!"

(Imitates tone) "Oh my gosh! Water! That's so cool! I've heard so many good things about it!"

"And it's Nestle Pure Life."

"Wow, really? I've heard that that's, like the best brand there is."

"I know, right? And its even got this sort of... calcium stuff in it. Apparently, that's really good for you."

"Yeah, that's cool."

"You know, I've never actually tasted water before, have you? I mean, this is my first ever bottle."

"Really? Well, yeah, I've drunken it a few times."

"What's it taste like?"

(Uncertain) "It tastes like..." (Suddenly mysterious) "Nothing you've EVER tasted before."

"Oh, I see what you did there!"

"Yeah, eh? Literally, NOTHING you've ever tasted before."

"Good one. But you know, this water stuff is pretty rare."

"Yeah, I've heard. Like, only 2% of the water on Earth is good quality."

"Yeah, it's so stupid! I've heard that most of the water is salty. I mean, that's just gross. What kind of inhumane beasts would put salt in water?"

"I totally agree."

"What is that even called? Like... salty water... watered... salt?"

"Hmmm... I'm not sure. Maybe it's something like salt water?"

"Oh, of course. Silly me."

(Exasperated) "I believe it's called brine."

(Sheepish) "Oh, hi Yaning. Um... Didn't notice you there."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...We're not retarded, if that's what your stare implies! Fine, head to class and leave us. I'm not sharing any of my water with you!"

Waiting

3:15 pm
I wait for you by the side of the road
Rain or shine, snow or storm.
No shelter from the harsh winds
Yet I still wait;
You promised you will come.

Popping a strawberry Starburst in my mouth
Taking out the daily newspaper
I lean against a sign post
Wondering when you will grace me with your appearance.

3:40 pm
Starburst long dissolved
Horoscope read
Sudoku and crossword complete
You’ve still not arrived.
The clouds roll past, as if in a hurry
I am in a hurry too;
But I must rely on you.

Digging through my backpack for
That last piece of gum I swear I still have
Pulling out a novel for English class
I remain by the side of the road.

4:10 pm
Gum chewed until stiff and flavourless
One more chapter until the story ends
I wonder where you are.
Hurry, I urge
Without you I won’t go home.
I am always the one waiting;
You are always the one late.
Still, I faithfully stand.

Tapping my feet
Frozen fingers reach for my earphones
Counting the number of blue cars that pass by
As I continue to linger on the side of the road.

4:35 pm
Feet sore from tapping
6 songs,
27 blue cars passed
You are still a no-show;
I am growing impatient.
I want to leave without you
But inside I know there is no choice but to stay.

I run out of things to pass the time with.

4:45 pm
I finally catch a glimpse of you
An hour and half late.
I am angry;
You made me wait
Stand in the cold for all this time
Torturing me knowing I will not leave.
I swear to give you a piece of my mind.

But as I step into the warm air
Sink into a red seat
Knowing I will be home soon
All other thoughts falter.

I’ll forgive you this time
But please
...can you not be late tomorrow?

Free Rice

This is an excellent way to waste time while procrastinating on summatives and other large projects.

I'm pretty sure you've heard of this before,

Free Rice

in which case, you'll probably agree that yes, it is an exceptionally great way to waste time.

I went up to Level 38 (and 1600 grains of rice) before deciding that I should probably work on something else.

See if you can go higher! [Which you probably can. But no cheating!]

~Yaning

The Usual

I've been tracking the progress of the moon for the past week, everyday I get home from school. It's waxing. Very slowly.

French is boring. Today, we watched The Simpsons... in English. The only French compensation was that Bart went to France, so the characters were sometimes speaking French. I spent my time doing music theory (for music class), but then I got bored and noticed that people were playing Sevens, so I joined them. (BTW, Sevens is a card game.) I won 2/3 times. Or maybe we played four times. I don't remember. I don't really care.

Mrs. Hafner... save me... It's been deemed illegal to use the imperfect tense... I considered proving to my teacher that I was a trained professional in applying the principals of the imperfect technique with those sheets Mrs. Hafner gave us last year... but then I decided that it was inappropriate, and my teacher probably still wouldn't let me. There is not a single thing that he's taught us so far that I didn't know before. And yet his oral marking is harder than Hafner's.

Ha, science fair. Yes, I'll do that... later.

I think my Geo average is going to go down, after those recent quizzes. Is that how you spell the plural of quiz? It looks right, but that's an irregular rule. I think. Maybe not. I'm sleepy right now, so I'm too lazy to think. You are supposed to double the final consonant normally, right?

Funky. I pressed the enter key once, and it jumped down two lines.

My cherry tree is the only one on the street that still has leaves. It's like that every year. Right now, some of said leaves can still be considered green-yellow rather than yellow-green.

Lamb dumplings taste weird. In neither a good or bad way. They're just... weird.

Why does there seem to be a universal agreement that olive is an ugly colour? Not saying that I like it, but why can colours now be classified as ugly and pretty too?

The Front Seat

"Honestly, Fairly Odd Parents? Aren't you a bit too old to be watching that?"

He scowled at his father, huddling into a ball on the couch. Sure, 16 was a ripe age, but he was still a child. Why shouldn't he act like one? After all, you're only young once. He couldn't - wouldn't - imagine what living life as an adult was like. Oh, how boring it must be, sitting in front of a computer all day and then coming home and making dinner and reading giant manuals and then going to sleep, he speculated. And then the whole chain would repeat itself. The prospect scared him. What would it be like ditching Spongebob and Patrick for "real friends", as his mother called them? Couldn't she see that Bikini Bottom was where he belonged, where he was happy?

He could tell that his teachers hated him too. They'd constantly follow him around and ask weird questions like "Do you feel comfortable at home?" or "Has anything bad happened in your life?" to cover it up, but he always received the lowest marks in the class, no matter how hard he tried. Ms. Front had even removed him from her English class. Instead, he was placed with a group of six or seven students who all worked with a man in a private room. It was something about being Special. He liked being Special, but he was confused as to why everyone else looked down on him. Maybe they were just jealous. Jealous that all they did everyday was stand around and talk, or breathe smoke out and try to look cool with their creepy tattoos and obscene jackets.

Then there were relationships. And girls. Why did everyone make a big fuss out of them? Everywhere, on TV, at school, some more on dramas that his mother watched, in the news, and even in cartoons, people were tripping, colliding, and falling into bottomless pits of love. What is love, anyways? Was it that funny feeling he got in his stomach whenever Hailey passed by? Whatever, it hardly mattered. From what he'd seen, love just made you crazy. Everywhere, girls gossiping about who hooked up with whom, who was "Facedumped", and which two people should win the cutest couple award. They were all wasting their lives, making lists and matching names.

"Why don't you come to the supermarket with me? You can pick whatever vegetables you like."

"But Fairly Odd Parents just started!"

"If you're not coming, I don't know what you'll eat and what you won't. You don't want a baked asparagus incident again, do you?"

He crossed his arms tightly and glared. "Fine."

Five minutes later, he was sitting in the back seat of the car, waiting for his father to grab a few reusable shopping bags. The car door opened and his father got in. He started the ignition, and began to reverse, but put his foot firmly on the brake. "Why aren't you sitting in the front seat?"

The boy's heart sank. "What do you mean? I always sit in the back."

"No, I told you to sit in the front seat from now on. Move up."

He knew that his dad wouldn't let up, so he got up and switched seats. As the red Audi rumbled along the old road, he tried to ease the fear in his chest. There was something weird about the front seat. It was as though his protection had been taken away; the safety net was shredded up. From the front seat came a different view of the world, one that required responsibility and maturity. He didn't think he could handle that. As much as he wished he could stay with Peter Pan and never grow up, a part of him knew that he'd never survive in the "real" world. His mind flicked back to the meeting with the principal.

"...You're son needs remedial support..."

So this is how it would be. Once that life support was disconnected, he would drift aimlessly through time, half asleep and half awake, absorbed into the world. No more superheroes to save him in times of need. Just his own strength and intelligence, unmatched in weakness by any other. Why did he have to turn out this way? He was probably just a disappointment to his parents. They pulled into a parking space at the back of the lot.

"Alright, let's go."

Putting on a fake smile, he shoved away the consuming thoughts and walked towards the store, knowing that they would without a doubt come back to haunt him later.

Elephants: Chapter 3 - Silver

Maria frowned slightly as she stirred the dead water with a driftwood branch. It wasn’t murky, but the surface was stale, and gave off a vaguely unpleasant smell. She cast the stick to the side and tapped a pencil, caught between her fingers, on a large notebook. It made a sharp, hollow kind of sound. She imagined it echoing across the water like tolling bells that left ringing impressions in your ear even when they stopped. Her pencil met the paper, and, like sand under water, time started to blur.

***

“I don’t see why you insist on coming here all the time. Like, it’s not even pretty.”

Maria started with a small jerk of her head, then threw a half-hearted glare at the owner of the remark, and turned back to her book and the still water.

It looked silvery and flat, like mercury.

“Wow, it must have taken you this whole morning to think of such an utterly profound and fantastically witty response.”

“Car,-”

“I mean, isn’t our repartee just delightfully wonderful?”

“Michael.” She didn’t look back this time, but he deflated immediately, almost visibly so.

“Okay, fine. What’re you doing that so incredibly urgent? And don’t call me Michael.”

“It’s not urgent. I was drawing, Carmichael.”

He flopped, knees first, into the ground beside her chair, leaning so that he fell onto his back. “Don’t call me that either. And don’t you have, like, 50 sketches of this exact same thing by now? And they’re all with pencil. Not even something exciting, like crayon. Or sparkles. You should add sparkles. Water sparkles on sunny days, right?”

She sighed through her nose, keeping her eyes on the lake. The sketchbook shut with a snap, and the pencil was tucked back into her sleeve. “You want to know why I keep coming back here? I’m trying to get the perfect picture. Look at the water. Describe it for me. One word.”

“Quicksilver.”

“Exactly. It’s too thick, too opaque. The water’s too still.” Her eyes had unfocused a bit, and her hands started to gesture towards the water, her mouth in a thin line.

“Stagnant.”

Her eyes were completely closed now, and her palms motioned fluidly, painting the scene for him with flying fingers and sheer will. “I want something… picture perfect. The ones you see when the sky is really a really clear and deep blue, and the water looks like a million cool crystals.”

“Aha! Sparkles!”

“…Sure. Like something out of a movie, except even more spectacularly blinding.”

He paused before he spoke, chewing his idea slowly before swallowing thoughtfully. “You know what I think? I think your perfect picture is closer than you can imagine.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, like butter before the fridge, malleable and velvety.

***

“Hey, Car? Can you do a favour for me?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“I’m only asking because I know you’re free next Saturday, and-”

“Let me guess, you want me to fill in for whatever duty you’ve contemplated faithfully completing, but aren’t doing because you’re shirking it for some other, infinitely more important matter.” He didn’t turn his head, because better her icy glare bore into the back of his head than his burn his eyes. Despite himself, he smiled a little.

“Lina wanted me to help out with one of her friends. Said it would count as volunteering, except all I have to do is deliver groceries or mail once in a while. Disabled,” at this, her fingers dragged through the air to hook the word, “apparently. Didn’t tell me what with, but I guess that’s why he needs deliveries and all.”

“I’m not going grocery shopping with you, right? I did that once, and it was a nightmare, absolutely, terribly, insurmountably-”

“Relax! No shopping-”

“But what about-”

“Or physical labour. No, uh, Lina just wants me to meet him before I start working – or, helping him with stuff. So he knows who I am.” Her chin dropped onto the heel of her hand, and she looked across the water.

“Ohhhh. I see. Kay, next Saturday-”

“By the way, you have exactly two minutes and thirty-one seconds until your Lit class.”

“What!? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” He ripped himself up off the floor, jumping into a sprint. The soles of his shoes slapped sharply on asphalt, rhythmically punctuating his shout. “Call me with the time and place! Tell Lina I said hi!"

Maria let her waving arm fall back to her side. She picked up her notebook and looked at her morning’s work. Quicksilver, she thought, was a perfect name for the fluid lines and irregular, contrasting shadows. It reminded her of small silver bells echoing across still water, their tolling leaving displaced ringing in her ears even when they stopped…

MLIA

Yesterday I fell asleep while standing up on the bus. I've only done that one other time, while holding on to one of those bright yellow poles. The bus did a funny jerk that immediately smoothed out, so that my legs moved beneath me and my body stayed still, which woke me up. I think I hit the pole, though. Don't remember much.

This time was really weird too. I was holding the strap, and everything got fuzzy, but then my legs gave away. So as I dropped, I woke up, and by the time I could tense my legs, I was half squatting. This reaction gave me a two second stare from the man sitting in front of me. I almost fell asleep again, so I decided that it might be safer to sit, even though it was almost my stop. Yes, I fell asleep again. Luckily, I had five seconds to realize where I was, that I should be getting off, and to pull the cord. The whole ride seemed longer than it should have been, so either Yaning was right about Finch being faster, or it was just because I was subconscious half the time.

Walking Home

The dark clouds hang low,
Under the soft orange sky,
Reflecting our lights.

The bitter wind blows,
Quivering the tree branches;
No more leaves to hide.

The sound of traffic
Is muffled by the cold air;
Ambience alive.

Darkness has risen,
The warmth is falling asleep.
Absent in our minds.

New Blog!

Hey guys,

I was extremely bored one day (don't all good stories start like that?) and I was like, "OH! I KNOW! WHY DON'T I MAKE A BLOG FOR FUN! SO NOBODY WILL READ IT! AND IT'LL BE FUN! AND I'LL PUT OFF SOME LONG-AWAITED STUDYING FOR MY ALGEBRA QUIZ SO I CAN FAIL IT ON MONDAY! AND IT'LL BE SO FUN!"

It sounded a lot better in my head.

http://willworkforbrains.blogspot.com/

Have FUN!

Elephants: Chapter 2 - Rose

When he woke up, it was the kind of clear morning where rays of sunlight solidify inside of perfectly still houses. Where soft light cuts through window panes and pools on dusty tables and worn upholstery, and, were his curtains not tightly closed, they would have fallen on his sheets and tickled his eyelashes.

When he woke up, it was completely dark. He lay with his eyes closed, still burrowed underneath his covers, and, just like every other day, reveled in the absolute feeling of awakening. He inhaled, and let the breath permeate through his consciousness. Then he stood up and proceeded to make breakfast.

He noted, while halfway through his bagel, that it was slightly stale. He would have to tell Rose to buy more groceries. Then he remembered that Rose could no longer fetch his groceries for him, and the proverbial ice-cube slid down his spine. He exhaled slowly, eyelids crumpled in thought.

He avoided calling Rose if he could, but the anxiety had finally settled in, and he called her anyway.

The bagel was left, half eaten, on the table, while he slowly dialed the numbers he'd long ago memorized but never used.

"Hello, Rosalina speaking..."

***

“…Yes, I am sure. Don’t tell her. Let her find out.”

***

The receiver clicked as it dropped into place. He sank into a faded red armchair, which creaked every so often as he shifted. He was thinking about hollow clicks, the resonating colour of red wine, and the warm weight of a hand in his.