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Just Try An’ Pursuade Me By Jesyka
There was light. Everywhere. Everything was so pure and white. It was clean. Lines melted with shapes. Sounds mixed with sight. It was a whimsical world full of nothingness. So weird.
And then I woke up.
Or did I? I was awake. Yes, I was sure of that, but I didn’t want to open my eyes yet. It was too easy feign sleep right now. ‘Just keep your breathing slow,’ I thought to myself. My eyes were already cemented with sleep.
‘Ugh.’ I rolled onto my back and breathed deeply through my nose. ’I’m going to have to get up eventually. Plus Mom’s gonna come in here pretty soon and crow at me…’ I groaned quietly. ’You know what? I don’t care…If she yells at me then I’ll just whine and make her feel bad for being so mean this early in the morning.’
I noticed my eyelids were still black on the inside. ’It’s still dark anyways. It’s probably, like, one in the morning…Yeah, that or it’s seven and you’re gonna be late like yesterday…Okay, dude. I wasn’t even late. I got there before the actual bell rang! The five minute one doesn’t even count. It’s just a baby bell!….A bell is a bell…And an opinion is an opinion and should be kept to one’s self…I AM keeping it to myself…Good Lord, I’ve gone mad…Yeah you have…Shut up.”
The light turned on in the hallway and the floorboards screamed as my parents shifted around in their room getting up. ‘Oh, no. Here it comes…’ I felt my muscles tighten and I squeezed my eyes shut, preparing for that horrible heart stopping moment that comes every morning. ‘MOMZILLA!!”
“Jessica, Erica, It’s time to get up,” my mom said as she brutally flipped the switch on in both my room and my younger sister’s room. ‘…Hmm, well that was anti-climatic. She must be in a good mood this morning…WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!?! MY EYES ARE BURNING!!! THEY’RE BURNING AND THEY’RE NOT EVEN OPEN YET!!! YOU KNOW THOSE ONE THINGS CALLED CORNEAS?!?!? YEAH! I DON’T HAVE THEM ANYMORE!!!…Should I get up now and play off of the good mood thing? Or take advantage of the fact that she didn’t yell this time and sleep a little longer?…MY EYES!!!! GAH!!! I’M BLIND!!! SOMEBODY STOP THE PAIN!!!’ Stretching out, but not getting off my bed, I felt along the wall for the light switch. It was just barely an arm’s length away, and if I pulled my body half-way off the bed, I could reach it. Not only did I bring relief to my eyes, but it was also an ab-workout! Two-in-one deal! The light clicked off. ‘Oh, thank God!…Okay, well now she know I’m awake. So should I just get up?…I don’t think I can, my eyes are still throbbing! Give me time to heal!…Okay, I’monna see what happens when I open my eyes…NOOOO-’ Too late. I ripped open my sleep-encrusted, third-degree burned eyes before I could dissuade myself and stared at the ceiling. The glow-in-the dark stars I’d worked hard to attach to my popcorn ceiling were fully charged because of that two minute exposure to light and were glowing brightly down at me. ‘The second star to the right, shines in the night for yoooooou…Ohmigawd, you’re singing in your mind…Hey! I’m trying to get into a good mood before I officially get up.’ My radio turned on and my stomach dropped. ‘Holy crap. Will I ever get used to that?’ About a month ago I figured out how to get the radio to turn on every morning at six and turn off at seven. I always hope that I’ll wake up to a good song and that’ll put me in a good mood, but before I even hear the song, I think that there’s somebody in the room turning on my radio. ‘Dude, just listen to the song…Good song? Bad song?…Good song.’ Okay! Now I was going to get up. I lifted my torso up into a sitting position and cracked my neck. ‘Owww…You know one of these days you’re going to twist your head off and die.’ I turned my body around and cracked my back. ‘You know one of these days you’re going to twist your spine too far and die.’
I gave a sigh and stood up. Head rush. I sat back down. ‘Attempt numba’ two!’ I stood once more. No head rush. Okay, I’m going to the bathroom now.
One foot in front of the other. I walked down the hall, deciding that today was going to be a good day and that the conversation with myself was done. As I began to take another step and I could see everything in slow-motion: My big toe sticking out, the hem of my pajamas folded up, the deep ’woosh’ of my foot coming forward and the ’crack’ of my toe as it got caught on my pants. And then life was in fast-ward; The seam of my pants ripped an inch and my face embraced the floor a mere inch from a litter box.
‘Fail.’
BURN-HAZARD · Tue Feb 03, 2009 @ 05:17am · 1 Comments |
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The Shoe That Never Fit By Jesyka
Once upon a time there was a girl, a girl who was left alone in the world. An orphan brought up by her stepmother, then forced to her knees as payment. This girl, beautiful beneath the dirt and rags, was happy. She was happy because she held hope in her pocket, hope in the form of a glass slipper and a slip of paper announcing the prince’s search for his tiny-toed bride.
There was a knock at the door and her heart soared with the trill of the trumpets. She left her mop were it was, formulating her dramatic entrance. How happy he would be when she entered. She’d wait until her two step-sisters had tried the shoe on, and maybe even her stepmother too, and then she’d step out from the shadows, the glass slipper in hand. The prince would look up and their eyes would meet. He would take her up into his arms, and kiss her passionately before whisking her away from this horrible place to marry him at the palace.
She peeked around the corner and watched her first step-sister slip her foot into the glass mold. It didn’t fit, but she tried to squish her foot in anyways. Even at a distance, the cinder-girl could see her sister’s foot stuffed like dough and falling over the edges of the shoe. The prince shook his head and took the shoe back, handing it to the second step-sister. From her angle, she couldn’t see the step-sister’s shoe. It was hidden behind her sister’s dresses. She let out a gasp as her step-sister moved to a standing position, the shoe a perfect fit.
“No!” She gripped the shoe in her apron and ran out to meet the prince. “No! I’m the girl from the ball!” She slipped the shoe onto her foot. The prince looked from the step-sister in her clean, vibrantly colored clothes to the cinder-girl, in little more than rags. His reputation weighing too much on his mind, he turned away from the cinder-girl, convinced he would never dance with a scullery maid.
He scooped up the step-sister and nonchalantly left the house, never giving a second glance to last night’s affair.
* * * *
Wouldn’t that be a horrible story? Could you imagine being a little kid and actually understanding the real world? Wow, you’d be scarred for life by life. When did you realize that it was impossible to have the smallest feet in the entire kingdom? When did you realize that the man in a red suit at the mall didn’t bring your presents on Christmas Eve? And that reindeer couldn’t fly? When did you realize that the footprints smashed in the mud weren’t the Easter Bunny’s, and that while you were sleeping a fairy didn’t come to your house and pay you to take your tooth? When did you realize that no matter how happily you thought, Peter Pan was never going to come and you would never fly?
Dear Diary, Looking back now, I think I realized it all too soon. I was the only kindergartener that had already figured out that if a man came down your chimney you should call the police, and if somebody leaves candy in your yard, you probably shouldn‘t eat it. I was too smart for my own good, and I guess that messed me up, because first it was ‘the shoe would never fit,’ and now it’s ‘love at first sight is stupid and fake.’ I know that no prince will come, and that my heart will break. I know that the presents are bought and the eggs recycled from last year. I know that I’m no fair maiden, and if I drop my tissue, the only reaction I’ll get is a grimace.
But what if I don’t believe, but WANT to believe? What if I look and stare and search all the time for magic? What if I look at every boy hoping they’ll see something in me that will stir their emotions? What if I write long stories and read long books about the impossible becoming possible? Does that make me more than a pessimistic teenager that’s afraid of vulnerability? Does the ability to dream help or hinder? Does knowledge bring pessimism and skepticism?
****
It started one day my freshman year in high school. My head was pounding, beads of sweat forming and my stomach squirmed like a baby wanting to be put down.
“Can I go to the nurse?” I asked. My voice sounded too strong, and I wanted to ask the question in a voice more fitting for my condition. But apparently my face showed my feelings because the teacher nodded with little more than a glance, and I grabbed my stuff and left. A few people turned to look, but most kept their faces down to their desks as though the sounds echoing in the quiet room were not being made.
I weaved into the hallway, my vision narrowing into a small circle surrounded in darkness. I put my hand out to open a door. I saw it move slowly in frames, like a ghost fluttering by my eyes. The door was locked.
I was going to have to turn around and find another way out. I stopped for a moment to rest my head against a locker. The metal was uncomfortably cold, but it helped stop my sweating. I felt my knees start to give, and then a sound I didn’t want to hear--the passing bell.
I pushed myself from the locker and tried to find my way as the echo of voices spread. The sound they brought with their footsteps made me sick-- sicker than I already was-- and I eventually fell into a corner to wait out the storm.
The way their feet hit the ground, never at the same time or at the same pace, reminded me of insects; bugs crawling around, ants in their hill, scorpions ready to strike. I was alone in a spider’s web. It was on this day that I made my first realization: high school sucks. There are always those clichés that say that your high school years are the best years of your life. But at that moment I was begging any supreme being with control of my life to tell me this was not true. ‘If I’m at the peak of my life,’ I thought, my eyes squeezed shut and my mouth hanging agape, dragging in long breaths to hold back my nausea. ‘Please, just kill me now so I won’t have to struggle on in a life that has little for me to enjoy.’
I didn’t die, so there must be more to life than high school, or this supreme being was too cruel or hard of hearing. And the ants went marching on.
****
Do you remember back in grade school when teachers preached equality? Do you remember when you could wear high-waters and not be embarrassed because chances were two or three other people would be wearing them too? Do you remember when your circle of friends was so big your mom had to limit you to ten guests at your birthday party? And your whole class would fawn over you to get an invitation and then cry if they weren’t invited? I miss those days.
Dear Diary, It’s September 12, exactly one week from my birthday, and I don’t have a single person fawning over me (In fact, I‘ll probably have to remind people it‘s my birthday anyways). I don’t have enough friends to have my guest list limited. And to top it all off, today I wore those horrible, awkward-length socks (You know? The ones that go past your ankle and stop at the bottom of your shin?). I didn’t realize it, and I can almost feel the disgusted stares.
Why should I care? I can wear what I want and I can say and do what I want, and it doesn‘t matter how many friends I‘ve got, right? No. This is my society and I’m bound by these unspoken rules. I could say that I don’t care, but that wouldn‘t be true. Don’t lie, you would too. Why do we gussy up everyday for school? Why do we contemplate changing out of our sweats to go to the supermarket? Why can’t we wear awkward length socks with our low-top Chuck Taylor’s and not feel like an idiot? Because we need to belong.
Nobody wants to be the sore thumb. Nobody wants to be pointed at or laughed at, so we dress to please, even if our best won’t be enough. It’s sad, really, that we’ve come so far only to fall off a cliff.
Guess what? I have a dream. I have a dream that my future children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color or length of their socks, but the content of their character.
****
Have you ever tried to create a moment? You saw it in your head and you wanted it to come true, so you did this or that, hoping this sequence of events would lead to a happily ever after?
Dear Diary, When I was younger, I used to grow my hair out. I used to think that I could “attract a mate” with my long hair. All those skinny little princesses had long hair, but I couldn’t get it to flow like hair in water. I used to fall asleep and dream about my handsome prince and hope that if I stayed asleep as long as I could, my parents would get worried and send for a prince. I used to dance in the woods behind my house and sing the melodies from the movies in my child-like voice. Once I even ran away from home, hoping that when I got lost in the farmers market, someone would find me and take me away to an Arabian kingdom.
But then one day, I guess I just woke up. I stopped with the singing and dancing. I cut my hair short and I stayed home on the weekends, but something inside would always want some guy to come and sweep me off my feet. Some sweet way that would make me chuckle. I’m wishing…
****
Dear Diary, …
I set the black and white speckled composition notebook down and tried to come up with something witty to say. Something selfish inside of me always made me think that I’d be famous one day. Someday I would be long gone, and people would research me. Some historian would buy my diary off my kids for hundreds of dollars (maybe thousands due to inflation), and they’d crack open one of my dog-eared notebooks, and their eyes would be glued. There was a picture in my mind, like one you’d see in the Funnies, of my diary with hundreds of those black googly-eyes twitching around, glued to the cover. There’d have to be some cute, little kid making a comment like, “Gee, wiz!” And people would snicker and know whose famous diary that was. I’d kick Anne Frank out of the running someday.
But if people were going to read my diary, I needed to sound intelligent. They’d put my words of wisdom in fortune cookies and history books. They’d make dolls that recited passages. Yes. Someday I would be famous, and I wanted them to think I was nothing but amazing-ness in the form of a human girl. I was a wistful, thoughtful, intuitive teenager. I’d be nothing like the ones that do drugs and get pregnant their freshman year. No. I’d be the shiny penny in a bank of moldy, green ones.
That was just dumb. Did I pity myself? Most definitely. I reached across my bed to turn off the light on my bed side table. I needed some space to think and the clutter of my room wasn’t helping.
The darkness felt good, soothing almost. Ironically enough I could see so much clearer. But then again I couldn’t. It was all so distorted. Prejudice lined so many thoughts, assumptions filled the gaps, and pity rained down like confetti. I’d try to blow it away, but deep down, I knew I secretly liked the confetti that stuck to my face and made me cry.
I’m feeling horrible. I’m so angry and confused. I go to school everyday, and I’m myself, just like everybody always says to be. But I’m a people deterrent. They don’t like me…why? I wish I could say it was jealousy, but I don’t think that’s it. I wish I could talk to people. I wish I could be pretty and funny and rich, but I’m not. I’m awkward and quiet and I couldn’t carry a conversation even if it had handles. I’m pathetic. I’m scared though, too. Will I live my life alone? Without friends? Without love? Everybody finds love, right? My parents found each other and they’re just as awkward as me…but they weren’t always this way. I’m going to die alone and I can’t change that. I was brought into the world alone, and I’ll die alone. It’s who I am and I can’t change it.
I hate teenagers.
I shut the cover of the journal. I had enough pitying for one day. I knew it’d only make more angry.
****
Dear Diary, Why are people so cruel? Is it part of human nature to make people steal? Is it because of that damned Eve? Did she bite the apple and therefore give humans the ability to steal? What happened to the golden rule? Or is the golden rule now, ‘If it’s gold it’s anybody’s‘? Or ‘If it’s there, it’s yours’? No. that’s not the way it’s supposed to be.
And who would even have a need for a stupid beat up pair of converse? They’re not pretty or valuable or anything. They’re just some stupid teenager who thought it’d be cool to steal my shoes. Not even shoes. SHOE. They stole only one and left the other there to taunt me. That’s sick.
I whipped the book shut and stared around the room of my Spanish class. Although only two of them were in my gym class, I felt like they all had some sort of role in this grand theft game. They thought it’d be funny to pick on a loser. Here’s a little joke for you! “What’s funnier than a misfit? What? A misfit missing a singular shoe! Hahahahaha! Good one!” Not funny.
I moved my toes around in the huge air pockets in my hand-me-down tennis shoes. I hate tennis shoes. They’re ugly and uncomfortable.
****
Dear Diary, What would it be like to shoot someone, I wonder?
I stopped to stare at the words. If I got caught with that written down, I’d get sent to the guidance counselor…Or maybe even suspended…Good riddance. I decided to leave it there. It made me feel almost rebellious. Plus, time out of class was fine. The more the merrier!
It wasn’t until after school that my attitude changed. With my widowed shoe tied pathetically to the strap of my book bag, I slammed my locker shut and stumbled back from the figure that was standing less than a foot away. I kept my eyes down to the ground.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled and turned to get out of their way. “Hey.” An arm extended and held at the end, in all of its dirty glory, was my shoe. He grinned and cocked his head to one side. “Did you lose something, Cinderella?”
BURN-HAZARD · Tue Feb 03, 2009 @ 05:00am · 1 Comments |
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If you were falling, then I would catch you. You need a light, I'd find a match.
Cuz I love the way you say good morning. And you take me the way I am.
If you are chilly, here take my sweater. Your head is aching, I'll make it better.
Cuz I love the way you call me baby. And you take me the way I am.
I'd buy you Rogaine if you start losing all your hair. Sew on patches to all you tear.
Cuz I love you more than I could ever promise. And you take me the way I am. You take me the way I am. You take me the way I am.
So that song has been stuck in my head for awhile now XD It's pretty dorky, but somehow addicting. I just got my glasses, and I like them a lot in some ways, but then not so much at the same time. I have to start my XC runs...XPPP Jillian and I are going with Erica tomorrow morning and then Alex and I are gonna go to Tia's Alice in Wonderland rehearsal! WOOOOOT! I need to get my ticket tomorrow... Well..I have to get up early...night!
BURN-HAZARD · Mon Jul 07, 2008 @ 02:54am · 0 Comments |
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Playing Tektek wif mah avi! |
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To Hide Beneath The Wing of an Owl |
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There was a time, many years ago, when Witches lived among the people happily. The people came to them with their probelms, they asked for advice, for help, for magic. Each of the Wiccan decent knew of the great power bestowed upon them, and used their powers respectfully. But at times, their powers weren't enough. They could not return the parted from the dead. They could not grant the wish to fly. They could not create wealth from the petals of a rose. The people grew corrupt. They became so dependant on the power of the Witches, that they went to them for all the problems in their lives. And if the witch could not fix the problem, the person would become angry. And as the dependancies on the Witches grew, so too did the anger until one day, they seized a Witch and burned her alive. Each of the Witches of the country froze on that day, at that moment, feeling the pain of their sister. Many withered away simply from the pain of memory washing over them, but those who survived where hardened. They called a meeting to decide their next move. "Let us kill those who watched our sister die," one exclaimed, greif-ridden and full of anger from the murder of her sister. "No, let us kill ourselves. No longer shall we be tortured by the human race and we will once again be reunited with our sister," cried another one, depressed and lost. "No," started another one, her voice silencing the room. "We shall remain on earth, but not in the form on a human." And in the light of the moonlight, they changed. They impersonated animals, many of them birds, and many of the birds, owls. They returned to the human world, safe from harm. They helped those who seemed worthy. But humans are greedy. Many of the Witches who revealed themselves were killed, leaving the world with only flutter of wings or a swish of grass as a good-bye from her sisters. As more of the Witches were burned, the less they helped the humans, needy and selfish alike. They watched innocent women being burned and drowned, mistaken for Witches, but their hardened hearts felt no remorse. There was one remarkable Witch who was caught, a simple barn owl, and thrown into a cage. Her name was Jaanea. She was treated cruelly, even for an owl, because the man who'd caught her had seen her transform. He tied her head to the top of the cage so that she couldn't fly away without hanging herself, and she could not remove the tie without transforming. The man would come to her cage each night and pull her from it, squeezing her tight and removing the string from her neck. He'd stoke her feathers and whisper to her, "Reveal yourself to me. Show me your true form." She remained docile and dormant for many years, changing the man's mind. He began to believe she was just an owl. One day, he decided to set her free, though his suspicions remained. He lifted the lid cage from it's platform, Jaanea's head still tied to the top. She stuggled and fluttered, but refused to transform. The man untied her and threw her out the window. She coughed and gasped for breath as she landed in the dirt not far from the house. Looking over her shoulder, she did not see the man standing in the window. Her eyes darted to the other windows of the house, searching for the man, but he was nowhere in sight, so she flew away. But the man wasn't finished with her. Convinced a normal owl would not look back before flying away, he set off, stalking her in the night. She flew for many days, wanting to put as much distance between the house and herself as possible, never once suspecting the preditor lurking in the dark, silent as the wind. Once she'd flown as far as she felt comfortable, she came to a clearing and transformed. The man who'd been waiting for this moment, stuck out, grabbing her and pulling her arms behind her back. He stroked her hair and spoke in the same soft voice, "I knew it...I knew who you were. You should have transformed for me...Because now," His voice grew louder, and he threw her to the ground. "You will die." She transformed back, but it was no use. He'd already managed to tie another rope around her neck. With her owl's feet held to his hand, he took her to the nearest town. It did not matter that he was not from that area. He had a witch. He was a hero. He let her flutter to the ground, where she transformed back, gasping for air. "Let us hang her!" he yelled to the people gathering around. "Hang her and burn her body!" The crowd jeered and cheered. "Bring us a noose!" A woman broke through the crowd, a long length of rope at hand. She tied a complex knot in the rope for the noose. Dropping the hole around Jaanea's head, she turned to leave, but not before saying, "Fly." No one else heard the word, but Jaanea did. The sun rose higher into the sky, and at high noon, they pulled her from the cell where they kept her and dragged her to the tall tree where she'd meet her end. The noose was once again wrapped around her neck, and the length of rope was thrown over the bough of the tree. The faces around her were excited, smiling with demonic grins, all faces the same, but one. The woman at the edge of the crowd, who'd tied the rope. Her face was emotionless, yet intent, her blank eyes staring directly at Jaanea. "Hang the witch! Hang the witch! Hang the witch!" the crowd began to chant. The rope tightened at her throat. "ONE, TWO," yelled her capturer. The muscles of her body tightened, bracing herself. "THREE!" Her body was pulled into the air, and for a moment she struggled. She became light headed as her neck was pulled and her air supply dissapeared, but then something changed. The rope felt like it was unraveling at her neck before she dropped. Then the word 'fly' made sense. She transformed and flew into the air, the crowd gasping in surprise below her. She flew towards the woods, scanning the crowd below her for that woman. She was gone, but just before she reached the trees, she spotted the tail of a fox, trotting away from the crowd.
BURN-HAZARD · Mon Jun 30, 2008 @ 09:53pm · 0 Comments |
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Dreams Sewn With The Silver Lining of a Cloud |
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So I was just reading through all of my old journal entries, and a whole bunch of my old dreams, and how they'd make really cool short stories, so I might re-write them into short stories for fun XD YAY!
BURN-HAZARD · Sun Jun 29, 2008 @ 08:00am · 0 Comments |
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