So Thessen fixed our rage in class today. I’m too lazy to get too into it, but just take my word for it that it was good. She understands our rage and has redeemed herself (although I still think she doesn’t provide us with enough actual constructive criticism on our assignments). ANYWAY. The critique for my story went very well. It was nice to hear so many good comments :o I’m stoked about trying to turn it into a novel. I’d like to get started as soon as possible. The end of the term is sooo neeeaaaar. Not close enough!
D&D is off this week. It has been replaced by Starcraft.
I seriously don’t know what I’m going to do for a job this summer. My schedule has made it so that I can’t really work at many places because they close too early and require a minimum length of four hours for a shift. I’m going to see if the school has any job openings or something so I could maybe work there in the mornings and pull some money in. I just know that for sure if I don’t get a job soon, Dad might kill me. And, y’know, I’ll run out of money.
I thought I had more to say, but I don’t?
Uhhhhh.
Ayup.
OH.
I rewrote Satan’s Sibilance, which has become The Sibyl’s Sibilance because I added an extra stanza so that there could be six words in the first line with six lines in the first stanza and a total of six stanzas (666 :o ). I didn’t quite know what to make the new stanza about, and for some reason the name Sibylla was floating around in my head, so I decided to make it about a sibyl. Named Sibylla. Apparently one existed… before Christianity, so it doesn’t quite make sense, but I suppose it can suggest an archaic idea of Christianity, or represent it before Jesus. Or something. Yeah. Anyway. Here’s the new version.
———————————————————————-
The Sibyl’s Sibilance
Sinister visions spiral sporadically, scorching stoic
Seers snared in solitary secrecy.
Sibylla sliced her skin
Slowly, silently spilling
Small scarlet
Shadows.
Snakes slid surreptitiously sideways, surrounding
Several self-sustained lacerations. Seizing
A seeking serpent,
She sighed
Serenely.
The snakes spoke, seething
Sadistic sentences from
A single
Soul:
“Sister of Eve,
Seek you,
We
Sons of
Sin.”
Silence.
———————————————————–
I also altered some stanzas in Gravity of War but they’re rather unimportant, so I won’t repost it. Time to make some changes to Murder at Sunset. MAAAAN I just wanna write that story. Rahrahrah.
Anyway. Wew.
[10:31pm]
Finished doing some editing on Murder at Sunset. I still haven’t received my critique from the professor yet, so I don’t know what she’ll have to say. But I’ve made the bulk of the changes so it’s mostly portfolio ready. Just need to write up the two exercises now and my portfolio is finished. SUUPAA.
I miss my brotha. My bru. He’s gone is, an’ I don’ like it.
Kyuuuuuu~
:(
[11:44am]
Cool. Christine Schreyer (my sociolinguistics prof) knows Trevor Boris (comedian, often seen on MuchMusic). She trained him as a tour guide and used to work with him before he got famous as a comedian. She used to scold him for making up scary stories to tell the kids he was showing around. Awesome. I like Trevor, he makes me laugh.
[11:58pm]
K so I give up trying to fix this creative writing assignment. We were supposed to describe a scene from a TV show, movie, video game, book, etc. that strongly effected us as children (<14). We were to describe the scene and our feelings with as much detail as possible in 500 words or less, which is super hard for me because I tend to be very, very descriptive. Anyway. Here it is. Not wild about it (I am wild about Ico, though). Uhm, if you care, it’s about the end of the game, so there are spoilers, if you can figure it out. Also, while this scene was really powerful and awesome when I saw/played it, I super exaggerated my feelings for this story because if I didn’t, it wouldn’t have been nearly as effective. Anyway. Woo.
———————————————————————————
Ico
The young boy’s weary arms hauled his body up onto the top of the cliff. He was alone and damp from the moisture flooding the air.
His hand was empty and cold.
A pang of abandonment pierced through my heart. I hesitated then, my fingers freezing on the controls, afraid of what this familiar dreadful place would bring. I knew there was only one course of action and that neither he nor I could go on without her.
Suppressing my fear, I watched as he reentered the vast chamber. My eyes swept the endless rows of sarcophagi lining the walls of the daunting crypt, halting for a moment on the single pod that had tumbled out of line. The looming dark lying in wait inside his former tomb stared back at me, pulling at the lock that caged my fear. I breathed deeply when his feet carried him forward, pushing the unpleasant reminder of captivity out of my field of vision.
A new darkness stood in front of him, festering atop a pulpit on the other end of the oversized mausoleum. I wished he would step back and leave that place, but a presence among the shadows pulled us both closer. She was there, immobilized in stone: her fragile form frozen during the desperate attempt to stop his fall, her hand still outstretched for his. The shadows danced about her. My heart caught fire at the sight.
His blade cleaved the shadows like a beam of sunlight.
I watched mournfully as he vanquished the tormented puppets; their small, horned figures faded into nothingness. The pang of abandonment in my heart resurfaced, branching out and transforming into sympathy for the lost souls of the previously sacrificed children. He realized, too, the similarity between himself and the shadows – the dreaded horns protruding from his own head had condemned him to suffer the same fate.
His weapon continued to free them from their prison.
A large mass of shadows converged on a throne behind the pulpit. In an instant, he charged the stone seat, plunging his sword into the dark abyss. Thrown back, he landed hard on the ground. His horns snapped off on impact, the pain causing him to lose consciousness. Fear broke its lock and flooded my thoughts.
A dark figure scooped him up, carrying him close to its chest and keeping him safe from the now collapsing building. His body slid gingerly from the specter’s arms into the boat outside the monstrous building.
He awoke on a beach.
His hand was empty and cold.
I folded underneath the returning throb of abandonment. He wandered the sand, hope welling up in my chest. I pitied his solitude.
A lifeless figure revealed itself over the horizon as he wandered. He approached her livid faerie form.
She laid there, the sun transmuting her luminescence into a gentle glow. Her fingers twitched and curled.
His hand finally found hers.
The corners of my mouth curled up and a tear rived a path down my cheek. I released the controller and sought the comfort of my mother’s hand in mine, filling it with guiding warmth.
[4:55pm]
I don’t know how to be anything other than a student. Going to school is all I’ve done. :/
It just occurred to me. If/when Shane and Trece get a divorce, how will he live there? He’s not a citizen. He has no rights under the Patriot Act. His green card expires in nine months. :/
[6:55pm]
My dad just accused me of never being stressed. I’m sorry, but excuse me? Just because I don’t seem stressed doesn’t mean I’m not. I try not to appear stressed to other people because nobody wants to deal with someone who’s constantly whining about how stressed they are. I acknowledge that I’m stressed, decide that being a grumpass about it won’t do me any good, and make the decision to be in a good mood because it makes everyone feel better. And when I told him that yes, I do feel stressed, he just wrote it off as nothing and said that I was lying and that, again, I never get stressed. It’s like he doesn’t even acknowledge or see all the work I’ve been doing and how hard I’ve been working.
Well you know what, Dad? Fuck you.
[9:31pm]
I’m angry at you.
The private detective wrapped his dark khaki trench coat tighter around him and secured a knot in the waist strap. He stood tall for a rabbit, measuring in at three and a half feet, and filled out his soft linen form with perfectly distributed amounts of cotton stuffing. He walked to the door, pausing to crease the rounded end of his arm around the edge of the dark brown fedora that hung on the worn wooden coat rack. Using his other arm, he smoothed back his long white ears, repositioning them flush against his head and chased it with the fedora.
The city’s perpetual sunset washed over Detective Lapin as he walked along the busy streets, his hands buried in the pockets of his coat. The colossal city of Barrowset knew no other quality of light. He was given an address by an old woman who claimed that her neighbor was acting strange as of late. He seemed to be under the impression that she was just an old woman who had nothing better to do than snoop on her neighbors, but he wasn’t one to turn down a paycheque. It was only a few blocks from his office, so he decided to walk; it was mid afternoon and traffic would be hell.
He had travelled about a block and a half when a strange sound coming from an alley a few paces ahead reached his keen ears. He slowed his pace as he drew nearer, picking out the individual voices of children.
“Poor lil’ Squeaky Silus, where were you goin’ in such a hurry, huh?”
The leader.
“Hyugh, hyugh, yeah, Silus Squeaky Squirt, what’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
Second in command most likely. The third did nothing but laugh.
“He was prob’ly tryin’ to run away from those stupid squeakers in his feet,” the leader’s jeer was interrupted by a soft thump and a muffled ‘oof’, “stupid Squeaky Silus, you can’t run away from your feet!” His minions chuckled uncontrollably.
Lapin stopped at the edge of the alley. There were four children – a small, dirtied kitten curled over on the pavement while a tall colt, a short, hefty piglet, and a thick, sturdy puppy towered over him. The kitten’s foot squeaked as he tried to stand again. The threads of Lapin’s hard boiled eyes tightened as they narrowed, staring at the jagged old stitches on the inside edges of his own feet.
***
“I keep tellin’ ya, ya can’t run away from yer feet, stupid Lapin!”
A heavy volume of The Early History of Barrowset struck the side of the small kit’s head, causing him to stagger. Each squeaky step he took to regain his balance evoked a roar of laughter from his classmates. He could feel a few small fibers of cotton slide down his head from the impact of the book’s corner with his temple. The boy ran home, cursing the squeaks that chased after him. When he arrived, he grabbed the first knife he could reach in the kitchen, taking it to his room. He sat on the floor and stared at his feet.
***
Lapin tilted his head toward the alley slightly as his leg shot out to the side, kicking a nearby dumpster. The vibration caused a sturdy pipe that had been leaning on it to fall to the ground with a loud clang next to the children. The combination of sounds caught their attention, drawing their gazes to the stoic detective. Silus dragged the pipe toward him while the others were distracted and took a squeaky, defensive stance. Lapin’s eyes met briefly with the kitten’s before he resumed his commute.
***
The large apartment building’s architecture had a gothic feel to it, stretching high into the sky and coming to severe peaks. Unfortunately, the inside didn’t live up to the first impression. Drab wallpaper lined the hallways and a dirty, black and coffee-colored checkered floor followed it. He made his way to apartment 103.
Lapin was poised to knock on the dark chestnut door when a draft moved it slightly, a small creak sounding from the old hinges. He cautiously pushed the door all the way open and took a step inside.
The cotton was everywhere. He walked slowly into the room, making sure to avoid the large deposits of cotton caught on the rough edges of the floor’s wooden surface. He moved around the large desk near the window from where the cotton seemed to have come. Lying behind the table, he found the body of what Lapin could only guess was once a sultry dame. The knife still lodged in her had made quick work of her lustrous silken surface.
He heard the startled stumbling of a pair of heels in the doorway. The detective turned to see the spitting image of the murdered dame standing silhouetted in the doorframe. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he noticed that the likeness was not exact – this new visitor’s silk was a gentle pink while the victim’s was a purple lilac color.
“Wh…what’s going on here? Where is my sister? Who are you? Who… who’s cotton is this?!” the heeled feline questioned hysterically.
“The name’s Lapin. I’m a private detective. I received information of a disturbance. Other than that, I don’t know any more than you, toots,” Lapin explained nonchalantly. He noticed a small stitchbox sitting on the corner of the desk. He picked it up, recognizing the logo of The Grizzly Arms pub on the back. He slid it into his pocket.
“My sister… this is her cotton, isn’t it?” she asked quietly.
“‘Fraid so, Miss…?” he paused, waiting for her to fill in the blank.
“Oh – Uh – I’m sorry. My name is Chatille. I’m Celeste’s – err – my sister…” she took a breath to compose herself, “this is my twin sister, Celeste’s, apartment.”
“And you were just passing by?”
“I came to settle some… business with my sister,” she explained. Her demeanor flipped like a switch at this as she crossed her arms loosely in front of her and leaned against the door frame.
“Business? Of the peaceful kind, I’m sure.” Lapin didn’t try to hide the skepticism in his voice.
“Please, as if I would be so coldhearted as to murder my own twin!” She cried, mumbling an afterthought under her breath. Lapin’s brow lowered into an inquisitive glare. “She had it coming,” Chatille muttered, realizing her tone of voice shortly afterward. She flashed an apologetic look at the detective. Lapin waited for her to explain. She reached into her purse and pulled out a spool and lighter. She ignited the end of the spool and lifted it to her mouth, inhaling deeply before continuing.
“She was always getting mixed up with the wrong men. Looks like it finally came back to bite her in the ass,” she said mournfully, staring out the window behind Lapin.
“I see. I’m going to leave my number with you. I’m sure you’ll need some time to… collect yourself after this shock. Call me if you remember any specifics about anyone who might have wanted to harm Celeste,” Lapin said as he approached her and handed her the card with his number on it. She pulled her own small card from her purse and slipped it into his hand.
“What will you do?” Chatille questioned, surprised at his sudden announcement of departure. He stopped in the doorway next to her momentarily before continuing out of the building.
“My job. You should call the police. This is a crime scene.”
***
“I’ll take a scotch, old man,” Lapin chirped at the broad back of a large, brown bear.
“Now that’s a particularly pugnacious voice that I haven’t heard for a while,” the owner of The Grizzly Arms replied without turning around.
“‘Pugnacious’? Reading the dictionary before bed again, Oursin?”
“Very funny, sir,” Oursin patronized while placing a one-cup thimble of scotch on the counter, “what can I do for you today, old friend?”
“Wondering if you’ve seen this lady around,” he paused to slide a picture he nabbed from a side table on his way out of the apartment, “real pretty dame. Nice pair of gams. Great silk.”
“Definitely saw her just a couple of days ago.”
“Definitely?”
“No man forgets a pair of gams like that, Lapin.” The detective smirked.
“Anything about her seem suspicious?”
“Mm. Sorry, can’t say there was anything out of the ordinary about her. Just came in for lunch the other afternoon. Picked up a stitchbox while she was here, if I remember right. Why, she in trouble?”
“She’s dead.”
“Rough.”
Lapin gripped the thimble between his nubby arms and brought it to his mouth, draining it of any remaining scotch. He placed the thimble back on the counter and stared at its bottom, lost in thought.
“I need your phone, Oursin.” The large bear lumbered to the back counter and retrieved the simple phone, placing it in front of Lapin. The detective adeptly dialed Chatille’s number and waited for an answer. It never came. He slammed the receiver onto the base and stood purposefully.
“Where’re you off to now?” Oursin asked Lapin haphazardly.
“They’re twins. They’re almost identical – almost – but an ignorant oaf would never notice the difference in their silk. She could accidentally become a target,” Lapin thought out loud, pulling some buttons from his pocket and placing them next to his thimble.
“Whatever you say, Lapin. But be careful, women are bad news.”
“Yeah. Say hi to the missus for me.”
“Heh, sure thing. Your change for this scotch is going toward my son’s college fund,” Oursin joked. Lapin threw an arm up in farewell.
***
Lapin examined Chatille’s card. Another large apartment building towered in front of him – completely opposite of Celeste’s dispiriting home. The interior was brightly lit and the walls were painted with a pleasant pastel blue.
He ventured to the apartment with her name on it and readied himself to knock. For the second time that day, the door creaked open before his fist could rap upon it. He stepped in slowly. The already dim sunlight from the windows was even fainter with the onset of evening. Lapin slid his arm along the wall until he felt something that felt like a light switch and flicked it up.
Chatille lay sprawled in the middle of the living room floor. Cotton had spilled from the side of her head onto the rug, the fibers intertwining with it and staining it with a snow-like sheen. His eyes moved from the cotton-stained rug to a long, silver object nearby. An object with cotton fibers caught on the rough edges. A murder weapon. A pipe.
Lapin’s mind raced to find a connection, eyes scanning the room. An overturned picture on the mantle of the fake fireplace caught his eye. He crossed the room with as much care as he had at Celeste’s apartment and sat the frame so that it was upright again. He studied it only for a moment before turning abruptly and leaving. The frame contained a picture of Celeste sitting on a park bench with a young kitten in her lap.
***
Lapin stood in the doorway of Celeste’s apartment. A small figure sat on the floor next to the desk. He stepped into the room.
“Why’d you do it, Silus?” Lapin directed his question at the small body in front of him.
“I saw her. She killed my mum,” Silus whispered. The story began falling into place.
“So you killed Chatille for revenge,” Lapin filled in the gaps for the boy.
“She’s always had everything, auntie Chatille. But when Mum finally found someone she loved, she got jealous.”
“It’s not worth killing over.”
“Auntie Chatille always said that Mum didn’t deserve a rich man like that because she lived such an ‘irresponsible life’,” Silus began to weep.
The distant sound of sirens drew nearer in the silent minutes that passed between the two.
“I’m sorry, kid.”
—————————————————————————————————————–
Well, there’s my last submission for creative writing this term. I loved the idea of it, it was very fun. I just wish I could have made it longer. It felt like I couldn’t do it justice in seven pages. It needed to be at least twenty, but whateverrrr, it’s the best I could do. Unfortunately, I found two or three typos after I submitted it, but whatever, it’s not that big of a deal. I really do love Barrowset City, though. <3
Anyway. Tyler and Danny came over today. We tried playing a game of Starcraft, which was VERY FRUSTRATING AHHH. The fucking Terran WOULD NOT LEAVE ME ALONE EVER and I was playing as Zerg, so obviously it was like fighting my antithesis. Anyway, went to Sarika’s house just before 6. FINALLY SEEN SARIKA’S HOUSE. It is a very nice house, I like it a lot. And I am super jealous of her bay window. I miss mine. :( Anyway, we played more D&D. Again, hilarious times. Left around 9:30 to take people home because we were all very tired. And now? Well… now I’m doing MORE HOMEWORK! Jesus, it just never ends. -sigh-
For some reason, I always start feeling like my stories suck after I’ve submitted them. I still think I capped out at my very first story. Ah well. Whatever. WHATEVER. Back to work.
Two new poems for my poetry submission that was due today (Saturday).
The Gravity of War
A triad of waves glazed the shore,
The morning light inflaming the crags
And washing away the dust of yesterday.
You perched on the highest precipice,
Regarding the foaming depths of the bay
While a seagull haunted your half-eaten brunch.
I clung to the tail of a wisp of wind
And fled the coast with the ocean’s breeze
That carried the shadow of your scent.
We met at noon in the orchid field
Two miles outside of our new station
Where you found me bathed in violet.
Our fingers waltzed between the petals
As they wrapped around a common bloom,
The gravitational fields of our hands colliding.
We walked along the beach at dusk;
My agile fingers coiled through yours
And we created a new body of gravity.
We pried apart the folds of twilight
And retreated to the nurses’ compound;
The grass licked my legs when we sat.
My temple kissed your collar bone
While your nose explored my hair;
Our gravity drew in the cover of dreams.
The following morning stalled in the sky
As metallic hawks preyed on the silence,
Steel screams splitting the atmosphere.
A triad of waves assaulted the shore,
Fulgent explosions igniting the flora
And concealing the beauty of yesterday.
Satan’s Sibilance
Snakes slid surreptitiously sideways, surrounding
Several self-sustained lacerations. Seizing
A single serpent,
She sighed
Despairingly.
The snakes spoke, seething
Sadistic sentences from
A shared
Soul:
“Sister of Eve,
Seek you,
We
Sons of
Sin.”
Silence.
————————————————-
I figured since the two shorter ones were kind of… not happy, I should write one that was kind of happy. Even though the ending was actually horrible. I’m such a bad person :( Anyway. I kind of like how they turned out. Sibilance was kind of hard. No, really hard. And I’m not sure it turned out how I wanted it to. It was super difficult. But I don’t mind how it ended up. I’m sure if I had a couple of more days to look at it, I’d figure out something better. Who knows.
Saw Watchmen last night. I didn’t like two things, mainly, about it. I understand why they changed one of them, although I don’t like how it changed the meaning. The other part, I don’t understand why they changed at all, they could have kept it the same. They totally took away a huge chunk of meaning by changing it (kidnapping scene – I figure saying this much doesn’t ruin anything really). But, overall, I did like the movie. They did the best that they could with such a dense and heavy story and stayed fairly faithful to it.
In other news, I had to wait an hour and forty minutes at the clinic today before I could go in. I was only going in for a shot that takes 20 seconds. -.- So annoying.
Gotta write my sociolinguistics analysis tomorrow, as well as a Japanese blog. I also need to organize the picture prints Mum picked up on Friday. And do my taxes. Urrrg busy busy.
[1:01am]
I just noticed two big problems I should have fixed before submitting. I used a cliche (totally didn’t notice until now) and I used the word “fingers” three times in two stanzas. Damnit. Why can’t I notice these things before I submit?
Grinding my shoulder blades against
A brick wall
And claiming to be framed
Probably wasn’t the best approach in diffusing my
Doppelgänger.
If I could ask her why her breasts are so
Large
And her dress is so
Revealing,
I imagine I’d only be met with
A sultry stare and feigned
Innocence.
Her skulking form behind my
Mirror’s image
Winds its way around my
Conscience
To remind me what she’s done.
My splintering reflection
Quivers with the
Collapse
Of my barricade
And the image of my deviant shatters
With the police bombardment of
My front door.
First poem for my next Creative Writing submission. It makes a little more sense if you have actually seen Who Framed Roger Rabbit. I’m actually a little pleased with it, which is nice because I’m not often pleased with my poetry anymore. It does follow a fairly rigid storyline/message, though you can interpret it as something else. It does have a primary interpretation, though. If you really want to know, you can ask me about it. I’m interested in hearing what initial interpretations are before sharing what it’s supposed to be.
Snow crunched underneath the feet surrounding me; everyone was beginning to slow their march and fan out. Sliding my stomach down the last small mound of snow, I stopped my feet from propelling me over the frozen land and touched my beak to the ground. The muscles in my neck tensed as I righted myself with ease. I followed the others into the large basin of snow and ice, taking care not to stray too far from the group.
Half of the others moved to the perimeter of the area that was to be our home for the next six or seven months. They stopped once they had a sufficient view of the whole colony and turned around to face the rest of us. One by one, they bowed their heads low to their chests, the long, streamlined onyx in piercing contrast with the soft white of their torsos.
A chaotic chorus of noise erupted from the bowing sentinels. Their cries resonated throughout the basin and fell on the rest of us like a torrential rain. We began to shuffle, lending our ears to the courting songs, waiting for the tune that harmonized with our hearts. The singing barricade circled around us as they too searched for their other half.
It was during my second shuffling venture that I heard it: the perfect melody. My heartstrings reverberated to his voice. My beak sliced the air as I snapped my head to the side, searching for the origin of the call. He stood with his head bent low on the outskirts of the colony. He wasn’t particularly unique at first glance and I thought that I may have been mistaken, but I heard the call again.
I knew.
I closed the distance between us as quickly as my short legs would allow; for once I wished my firm wings could carry my weight through the air.
I stopped inches in front of him. His song ceased when he saw that I had answered his call; his eyes locked with mine as he raised his head from his chest. We shifted closer, crossing our beaks like dueling swords and sliding against each other slowly as the song in our hearts was played lento. Our heads climbed to the sky; our necks arched and we joined as one, the tips of our beaks resting upon each other.
We waltzed without stirring a single snowflake.
Cold water dripped from the jagged ends of her hair. It coated her skin in a lustrous shell that slid down her body, cleansing everything in its path. The fragile little hand she held in her firm grip had finally stopped trembling, causing her to shift her gaze down to the small black orbs to her right. She wasn’t certain if the boy’s tears had stopped flowing or if the rain was simply washing them away.
He took a shaky step forward, pulling her with him. They passed through the rows of cherry blossoms like phantoms. He stopped when he reached the shattered gate, halting her progress behind him. The sky was alive with the pale glow of dawn, the sun laboring over the horizon.
Freedom was a kiss hiding in the corner of her mouth; its tenderness caressed her lips while its cost chained her to sorrow.
***
She stood with her back against the thin door which had been left open to let in the pleasant scent of the afternoon. Muffled voices travelled through the hallways and reached her ears.
“Daiki, you must listen to reason. We are samurai. Our lord’s orders are our life. The daimyo cannot condone your behavior; there are many fine Japanese servants you can take into your household. You must discard these impure refugees. This is the last warning you will receive,” the visitor said sternly. Her body shuddered involuntarily; the voice grated on her nerves.
“Reeeera! Come here! Oi! Rera!”
She was startled out of her concentrated eavesdropping.
“Eh? Well, okay, but be quick!”
The young boy spread his mouth into the widest grin he could muster. His incomplete rows of teeth peeled back his lips to exclaim their own satisfaction of commanding Rera’s attention.
“Well? What’d you want to show me?” Rera questioned impatiently, rapidly closing the distance between her and the boy.
“Follow me!”
“What could possibly be…” she trailed off as he snatched her hand and led her around the side of his home. They passed between the modest servants’ quarters and the elegant edifice that housed Rera’s master. She stole a glance over her shoulder into one of the open doors of the home, slowing to a stop; Ran sat stiffly upon her zabuton, the thin cushion hugging her shins and allowing her to float upon the woven rush grass floor. Sitting nearby was her husband, legs crossed in front of him and palms grasping his knees; his fully extended arms caused him to square his shoulders and his projected chest demanded respect. They sat across from three men of whom Rera had never before seen. She caught the eye of the man in the center and a chill snaked up her spine that caused the hair on her neck to stand to attention. Her hand received an unceremonious tug.
“Goemon! Don’t pull so hard!” Rera whispered sharply to the boy. Ran shot a quick glance at the children. Rera and Goemon both received the silent message that Ran directed at them and silently walked out of her sight.
“What are you doing, Rera? You’re going to get us in trouble,” Goemon whined over his shoulder.
“This was your idea.”
“Yeah, yeah, just follow me, ‘kay?”
“Alright, but hurry up. I need to wash Lady Ran’s clothing.”
“Mother washes her own clothing.”
“Well today I’m helping her. It’s the least I could do.”
“We’re here!” Goemon cheered. They had entered Ishikawa garden, the private Eden of Goemon’s family. The afternoon was quiet in the manicured grounds. Rera rarely ventured into this area out of respect for the privacy of Ran and her husband, Daiki. She relished an opportunity to admire the lush green trees trimmed to a round perfection. Everywhere she looked she found bright, blooming orchids reaching out to the sun. The only sound reaching Rera’s ears was the gentle tapping of the garden’s souzu as the water from a nearby fountain trickled into a long bamboo shaft, the weight forcing the opening down to the ground. The rhythmic landing of the bamboo and the lazy flow of the water washed away the tenseness left behind from her brief eye contact with Daiki’s visitor. Goemon’s voice broke the silence.
“I have a present for you!” he exclaimed.
“A present?” Rera shook her head and took a small step back.
“Don’t be so stingy,” the boy sighed. Rera held her hands up apologetically.
Goemon snatched her hand again and led her to the back of the garden. She saw an object on the ground surrounded by tall, blooming snowbell trees; the white blossoms hung from the branches and bared their souls to anyone who would look.
Goemon ran to the white linen-wrapped package and picked it up, about-facing and presenting it to her with a look of immense pride. Rera took the gift from him with a small bow of her head and began to slowly unwrap it. She let the linen fall to ground as she unfolded the vibrant fabric contained within. She gaped incredulously at Goemon.
“I can’t accept this!” she squeaked. The silk was splashed with shades of red and orange and dotted with patches of white.
The beaming boy let out a gleeful puff of air and grinned at his deed.
“It’s for all these months that you’ve helped us!” he explained.
“Goemon… just living with you and your family is enough for me,” Rera reassured, “I’m Ainu. My people aren’t welcome among yours, you know that. I’m so happy that Lady Ran and Master Daiki let me stay here, even though it’s a risk to your family and everyone who lives here. Your hospitality is more than enou—”
“You! Girl! Where did you get that?” interrupted a booming voice. Rera turned quickly, dropping the fine silk. Goemon snatched the billowing fabric from the air so that it wouldn’t be soiled by the earth. Rera clasped her hands in front of her and bowed deeply, staying silent.
“I asked you a question, Ainu girl,” he spat again with as much disgust as he could muster. He stood in the doorway of the house that opened up into the garden.
“Mr. Yamamoto, she was just cleaning—” Goemon tried to protect Rera.
“I am not talking to you, boy,” the agitated man shouted.
“Yoshi, please do not yell at my son. A gift is his to give if he so wishes it,” Daiki stepped in.
“That Ainu girl is a disgrace, Daiki. You cannot keep these displaced… creatures in your home as servants,” Yoshi criticized. “It is unbefitting of an honorable samurai such as you.”
“I am well aware of your thoughts on the matter, Yoshi,” Daiki countered.
“Then you are also aware of the daimyo’s conclusions on the matter,” Yoshi cautioned.
“My answer has not changed, Yoshi,” Daiki turned to face his guest, “I will not turn away a child in need, especially when it is we who take everything away from her. Our lord must understand this.”
“…Very well then.” Yoshi turned away from his host and started toward the exit. Daiki followed behind him, escorting him to the door.
He returned moments later and stepped down into the garden. Rera and Goemon still stood where he left them, their feet planted into the ground. They didn’t dare move.
“Father – Master – I’m sorry – this is not Rera’s fault – please don’t blame Goemon, Master,” Goemon and Rera simultaneously unleashed a torrent of apologies. Daiki held his hand up to demand silence.
“Calm down, you two, I don’t blame either of you, you did nothing wrong,” Daiki chuckled in an attempt to calm their nerves. He knelt down and took a corner of the fine silk in his hands, examining it. He looked up at Goemon and smiled, “a fine choice, my son.”
The children smiled.
***
A loud crash startled Rera from her sleep. She tried to blink the grogginess out of her eyes as the crashes became louder and more consistent. She slipped out from her futon and crept to the door of her quarters. She slid it open a crack and peered in the direction of the noise.
A scream.
Another scream.
Figures darted in every direction. Large figures, small figures, dark figures, light figures.
Armed figures.
Rera slid the door closed and turned quickly to rest her back against it. She breathed deeply, her eyes darting around the room. Panic rose up in her throat, threatening to burst; she swallowed it down and slid to the ground to regain her balance.
Another scream, followed by a short, valorous cry.
Rera froze. Her body moved before her mind could comprehend what was happening. She threw the door open and stepped down onto the cool ground. Ran stood with her back to Rera, her naginata held defensively in front of her; small rivulets of crimson crept down the long polearm.
“Rera! Run, now!” Ran commanded. Rera couldn’t say anything. Her limbs refused to move. Her brain refused to think. Her eyes glazed over with memories of her village – the heat of the fire, the clash of metal, the screams of her family – her eyes slammed shut and her hands moved to cover her ears.
She cracked her eyes open in time to see weighted white silk dancing through the air toward the ground. A deafening scream pierced through her protective hands. She gasped for breath when the horrible sound had ceased. Her hands shook against her head as she realized that the noise had come from her own mouth. A hollow clang rang out as Ran’s weapon fell next to her body. Rera scrambled to Ran’s side, her hands hovered hesitantly over the bloodstained silk.
“There! The Ainu girl!”
“The daimyo will reward us well!”
“Back, you fools, she’s mine.”
Rera’s head snapped up. She knew that voice.
“Not so comfortable without your master now, are you, girl?” Yoshi sneered down at Rera’s huddled body. She looked up into his eyes: two small, empty organs that seemed to look right through her. They were the same eyes as before.
A flash of silver approached from the right and collided with Yoshi’s weapon. Rera followed the silver blade to find its source and saw another armored man.
“Run, Rera!” Daiki yelled from behind his armored mask. His red armor glowed in the cool moonlight.
She balled her hands into fists and shifted her weight onto her toes. Gathering what energy she could muster, she sprang to the left, rolling along the ground and rising up when she regained footing. She ran at top speed between the two buildings and into the garden. Instead of following the path, she turned sharply to the right and crouched low to the ground. She dove head first under the raised flooring of the Ishikawa house.
The clash of metal and the occasional scream resonated throughout the crawlspace. Rera drew her legs close to her body and hugged her knees to her chest. She waited until silence descended across her home.
***
The sky wept. Raindrops fell from their celestial thrones to the fetters of the earth, losing their souls to the impact. The wind retreated into the deepest crevices of the land, creating a silence disturbed only by the soft pattering of the rain.
A small figure slowly moused across the soil toward a patch of weathered armor and limbs. Her arms clawed at the damp foliage, digging her fingers into their firm roots to pull her weight across the ground toward the others; the rain stung her skin with every desperate strain of her arms. A quick survey of the two sets of armor told her that they housed the soft bodies of Daiki and Yoshi. She clambered over to the red form, who still labored for breath. Running her fingers along the smooth metal plates, she worked at the bindings underneath the helmet.
A figure darted across her peripheral vision. Rera’s hands shot toward the katana lying discarded on the ground. She stood in one fluid motion as she took the sword up in both of her hands and faced the ghostly figure standing in front of her.
The katana fell to the earth with a metallic thud when she saw the familiar face. Goemon ran toward her, throwing his arms around her torso. She held him tightly before prying him off by his shoulders so that she could return to the helmet. Goemon realized what she was doing and bent down to help frantically with the stubborn knot.
The cords finally came loose and Rera eased the helmet off; Daiki peered up at the children. He struggled to lift his hand to Goemon’s face, wiping away the rain and tears from his son’s cheek with his broad thumb; Goemon held the large hand to his face, sobbing into it. A tremor ran through Daiki’s body as he coughed. He turned his head to look at Rera and cleared his throat so that he could speak. Rera bowed her head low so that she could hear.
“Now you are free,” he muttered. His eyes flickered and went dull.
“Father? Father? Where are you going? Father? Rera? Where is he going? Why doesn’t he want you here anymore? Rera? Rera, where is Father going?”
Rera hid behind the curtain of her hair.
“To the Land of the Gods,” she whispered.
I stole the idea for the first poem from some that Kevin showed us in class. I liked it and thought it was neat. The second poem is comprised solely of lyrics from two songs. I’unno. Not the best, but I kinda like it. I like the first one better, but yanno.
Immortal Beloved
The First Letter
July 6, in the morning
My angel, my all, my very self – Only a few words today and at that with pencil (with yours) – Not till tomorrow will my lodgings be definitely determined upon – what a useless waste of time – Why this deep sorrow when necessity speaks – can our love endure except through sacrifices, through not demanding everything from one another; can you change the fact that you are not wholly mine, I not wholly thine – Oh God, look out into the beauties of nature and comfort your heart with that which must be – Love demands everything and that very justly – thus it is to me with you, and to your with me. But you forget so easily that I must live for me and for you; if we were wholly united you would feel the pain of it as little as I – My journey was a fearful one; I did not reach here until 4 o’clock yesterday morning. Lacking horses the post-coach chose another route, but what an awful one; at the stage before the last I was warned not to travel at night; I was made fearful of a forest, but that only made me the more eager – and I was wrong. The coach must needs break down on the wretched road, a bottomless mud road. Without such postilions as I had with me I should have remained stuck in the road. Esterhazy, traveling the usual road here, had the same fate with eight horses that I had with four – Yet I got some pleasure out of it, as I always do when I successfully overcome difficulties – Now a quick change to things internal from things external. We shall surely see each other soon; moreover, today I cannot share with you the thoughts I have had during these last few days touching my own life – If our hearts were always close together, I would have none of these. My heart is full of so many things to say to you – ah – there are moments when I feel that speech amounts to nothing at all – Cheer up – remain my true, my only treasure, my all as I am yours. The gods must send us the rest, what for us must and shall be -
Your faithful LUDWIG.
I Kissed a Girl Playing Dead
Play dead again.
It just might stop before the end.
This was never the way I planned,
You’re my experimental game:
The fractured soul that I can’t mend.
Remembering through fading sparks of memory,
It felt so wrong.
It felt so right.
Escaping right through me,
For you, I believe not.
“I Play Dead” by Demon Hunter
“I Kissed a Girl” by Katy Perry
I’ve had a giant kid attached to me for the past four days. That’s about it. GO TEAM.
Speaking of which, here are my poetry submissions for creative writing this week.
Brevity
When it rains on the sun
The sky flees beyond the boughs
Of the outreaching pine.
The crest of each mountain
Lets the fire run.
Reigning flames seek the heart
Of the freezing clouds
Closing in, the borders shine
And thin the darkness
Of the tsunami’s start.
Passion reaches climax.
Cold fury collides with inferno.
Shadows seal the fault line.
Clapping fills the void
And forces the stars to relax.
The aqueous blanket yields to the ocean,
Embracing the piercing white.
The light explodes like a mine
And the sky stretches its wings
To continue the never-ending motion.
Ashen
Imprints left by inflictions of choice
Plague our grassy knolls
With the forced downfall of coagulated rain;
Might well be acid sweat from coals
Coerced from the miasma of our Ash King’s voice.
Feathered beasts die and the snow falls grey,
Had we not fled, a descending corpse may’ve been our doom;
But now we know, death may be preferable to the monochromatic pain.
The sense of sight offended by sun and raped by moon;
The aural sentiency craving the comfort of unruly fray.
Increasing savagery in the remaining creatures amplifies ferocity;
In this world we kill to live and we live to kill.
The flakey remains of deterioration house the slain,
Leaving the living to ponder the will
Of the King in reverie, too fearful to display curiosity.
The water runs black in our Ashen land,
Seeming obsidian, as our rivers’ currents have been stolen.
Though we live and breathe on our own, we believe we are feigned-
To think we are the liquid to His permeability, though He is hidden.
Awake from our delivering dreams, we live under the nightmare of the Ash King’s hand.
Little Miss Muffet
Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet,
Eating some curds and whey.
Along came a spider
That viciously bit her
And there in convulsions she lay.
Down from the rock flew the hawk,
Starved from days without food.
It plucked out her eyes
To eat all her lies
And found her mind to be crude.
Out from the plants crawled the ants,
Ready to gnaw off her tongue.
Together they ate
And thought it was great
Until her neck had been wrung.
Swift from the fog had come the dog,
Craving its share of hide.
It tore at her neck
‘Till it was a wreck
And, separate, her head did slide.
From the side of her mother came her brother,
Curious to see her fate.
He kicked at her body
And realized her folly:
Her curds were poisoned with hate.
This one kind of sucked to write ’cause it made me really sad. But it’s the best event I could think to write about. None of the others were flowing out, they were awful. So… yeah. Kind of nervous about sharing this one with the class. But it’s all I have to turn in and I worked on it for a really long time. Kevin’s going to hate me for writing another sad piece.
The bell finally rang. The familiar Christmas break rush flew to my heart, letting warmth branch out to the rest of my body through my veins. As much as I enjoyed the excitement on my socials teacher’s face as he flailed his arms in explanation, I was ready for a reprieve. I packed up my books and tossed them carelessly into my backpack, which Tyler would always tell me was so huge that it stuck out further than I was tall.
It wasn’t a particularly dismal winter day; in fact, it was one of the sunniest I had seen for weeks. While I was glad to see the sun again, I was slightly saddened at the thought that I wouldn’t get picked up on my long walk home by Mom. She usually gave me a break when the weather wasn’t cooperative and picked me up along my path home, but didn’t do it so much if it was nice out. Trudging through the snow in my oversized pants and equally oversized backpack, I walked along my usual route, making it home in a record-breaking 26 minutes.
I threw my front door open and hauled my bag haphazardly over to the chair next to my computer area, determined not to look at its educational contents until at least after Christmas day. As the only difference between this day and any other was that I wouldn’t have to go to school for two weeks, I thought it best to settle into my usual routine of booting up my computer and seeing what was new on the Internet. Sometimes I wish that I never did.
Things were normal at first. I signed on to my chat accounts and began musing with my friends about the approaching holiday. What were we going to give people for Christmas? Who had what kind of family members visiting with their new annoying children? What kind of homework were we assigned for the break? We tried our best not to focus on the last question as it was just taboo to do so. Hours passed in this manner; the bright sky had faded into a moonless winter night and the air had chilled to a frigid -18°C. As was custom in my house, the furnace was set to turn on only when the house had reached a balmy 16°C as an attempt from my parents to conserve as much energy as they could. This meant that I had learned the most efficient way to wrap myself up in my signature blanket so as to stay as warm as possible, effectively earning me the nickname Linus.
I had noticed that one of my friends hadn’t signed on yet, but thought nothing of it. I assumed he was probably busy celebrating the Christmas season as he was known to do. As the night wore on though, I grew increasingly more concerned. It wasn’t like Grant to stay away from his computer for so long. He wasn’t a diehard nerd but he did enjoy his computer’s company. The distinct sound of Grant’s personal logon tore through the thoughts in which I was lost. I sent him a message asking him what he had been up to all afternoon but received no immediate response as I normally did. When I finally did get a response, it wasn’t one that I expected. I knew Grant had a fair sized extended family but I never knew any of them personally. It appeared that his cousin, Chris, had hijacked Grant’s username from his own home because that’s who I had unknowingly greeted. I didn’t know he would crush my world.
He told me I needed to go to the hospital. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, I felt fine and even if I didn’t, I had no idea how he would know. I didn’t even know how he knew who I was. The more I thought about what he said, the more I realized: he must be talking about Grant. After that, the only thing darting around my mind was the search for one answer that would resolve many questions. What’s wrong? What happened? Why is Grant in the hospital? What’s going on? After asking myself a million questions, I discarded my blanket, grabbed my winter coat and leapt out the door.
Pulling in to the hospital parking lot sent my heart into my throat. I could feel my pulse behind my eyeballs and my lips were sealed together. I didn’t want to breathe, speak, or even see until Grant was in front of me. I walked stiffly into the hospital and went straight for the front desk to inquire about his whereabouts. The nurse behind the desk looked at me with a sadness that she tried to hide in the corner of her eye. She wrote down the room number and directed me to the right hallway. I pushed the heavy doors out of my way and stared down the hallway. I felt like I was in a horror movie; the hall was devoid of life and the never-ending white surrounded me. It wasn’t the same as my warm blanket in my chilled home. This was a blanket made of ice that froze my bones and aged my joints so that I couldn’t move. I was terrified to take a step down that hall because it would bring me one step closer to the answer to my questions.
I stopped in front of the eighth door on the left. I saw his name on the chart next to the door. The doorknob to his room froze my hand when I touched it, making me withdraw my arm in fear. I was afraid to open the door and see him lying there surrounded by machines with mechanical hearts. I took a strangled breath and reached for the doorknob again, this time taking a firm grasp of the handle and pushing down with authority. There was a bed surrounded by a variety of beeping and pulsing instruments with tendrils coiling down to Grant’s flesh. My mouth gaped open a bit as I took in his appearance. If it was a different situation, I’d have joked with him that he looked like Hell had just shat him out. He’d agree and we’d both laugh. But there wouldn’t be any laughing coming from him now- his breathing was deep and his eyes shut. He didn’t even know I was there.
I took a step forward. I heard shuffling from the corner of the room and turned my head in that direction, but never did I take my eyes from Grant’s face until it was physically impossible for me to keep him in my sights. My eyes finally caught up with my head and I found that I was looking at his father. Derek stood from his chair and awkwardly walked toward me. He put his arm on my left shoulder and began to explain what happened. Grant was driving downtown because he was doing some last minute errands for the family. They were going to have a big dinner the next night to celebrate the reunion of their family for the first time in years. He wanted everything to be perfect so he went downtown to the finest bakeries and meat shops. By this time, any snow that had melted had begun the freezing process once again. The roads were slick and the night was a dark abyss. Grant was a careful driver, always taking special consideration of the weather. He was at the intersection of 83rd and Beaumont, waiting for the light to signal his turn to cross the street. When the light turned green he proceeded as normal, aiming to go straight through. He didn’t see the car on his left speeding toward him with no regard for what the streetlight was telling the driver to do. What Grant did do was hear the sirens pursuing the speeding monster. Looking left and realizing what was happening, he smashed the gas with his right foot. His tires whirred on the freshly iced intersection, unable to get the proper traction required for the speed he demanded. The first car clipped his back end, spinning his car around so that it faced the way he had come. The ice had affected the police as well; they were unable to stop in time to avoid Grant’s vehicle and the lead pursuit car smashed into the passenger side of his car, sending it rolling sideways for what I’m sure seemed like eternity.
I blinked to bring myself back to the room I was standing in. I had unconsciously dug my fingernails into the back of my left hand as Derek was explaining what happened. I hid my hand behind my back so he wouldn’t notice- the last thing he needed was another worry. I pulled up the only other chair in the room next to Grant’s bed and planted myself in it. I ran my hand across the fabric covering his body and thought the coarse fibers were too harsh. He was always such a baby when it came to bedding that I knew if he were awake, he wouldn’t approve of his sleeping arrangements one bit. I followed his arm down to his hand and slipped mine in his. His hands were much larger than mine and he always made me feel like his baby sister when we held hands because they so completely eclipsed mine. I was determined to stay with him so I closed my eyes and laid my head down gently on his left breast, listening to the slow beating of his heart. I heard the sound of quiet feet shuffling in and out of the door every once in a while as I dozed, not paying them much attention. After the shuffling had ceased, I succumbed to my exhaustion.
At around one in the morning I felt a gentle hand on my head. The fingers branching out from the palm snaked their way through my hair and rested lightly on my scalp. I opened one eye slowly, almost immediately regretting it as the blinding white of the room shot a dull pain through my head. Working up the motivation to ease both eyes open, I looked straight ahead into Grant’s face, only this time, his intense blue eyes were looking back at me. I shot up immediately and kissed his forehead.
“You’re awake!” I squeaked excitedly.
“So are you,” he replied in his typical sarcastic tone.
Having realized that he had been awake longer than I, I asked, “what did I miss?”
“Nothing too much. Just the doctor coming in with his big important stethoscope and being all ‘hurrrr I’m a doctor’. He said all this stuff with big words that I couldn’t understand so I kind of just ignored him. You were snoring, anyway. I think it was distracting him,” he mused.
“Well I was tired, geez,” I retorted, embarrassed. Hearing his voice again was nice, it made me forget for just a moment that he was hurt at all. I was quickly reminded when pain crept into his eyes and he winced. I squeezed his hand and demanded, “what’s wrong?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he reassured, “my head just hurts a lot. They say I’m going to get a lot of headaches.” I frowned slightly, decidedly unhappy about this new information. I saw the bandage around his head but was hoping it wasn’t a serious injury. I’d heard too many horror stories about head trauma. He closed his eyes in another wince but this time he didn’t open them again. His grip on my hand slackened and I began to panic. Standing up in full force and knocking my chair back, I called for help frantically. Derek happened to be coming through the door at the time with a fresh cup of coffee, looking alarmed at my outburst. I explained what had happened and relief crept over his face. He explained to me that what Grant hadn’t told me was that he was also extremely susceptible to random black outs. It had something to do with the trauma to his head. I felt a bit of calm wash over me as I heard this information. I fixed my chair’s position next to Grant’s bed and replaced my hand back in his and watched over him. Sleep swept over me again.
I woke up again an hour and a half later to pressure on my hand. Grant was awake again and there was a grimace on his face. I concernedly clasped both of my hands around his and held it to me as if I could stop his physical and spiritual being from leaving that place. I could hear the doctor talking to Derek in the hall.
“…… too severe… treatment is impossible… time… spend… his side,” I struggled to hear what the doctor was telling him. I had heard enough to piece together the situation.
Unfortunately, Grant had also heard the exchange and figured out what was going on. He looked at me and smiled sheepishly. I didn’t return his smile.
“Hey, it’s alright,” he whispered, trying to lift my spirits, “who wants to live forever, anyway?” He knew that was the wrong thing to say the minute he looked at my eyes. Trying to repair the damage, he added, “I’m really glad you’re here.”
I didn’t know what to do, so I did what came naturally. I shifted him in his bed so that I could wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and cradled him in my arms like a mother holding a sick child. My mind was as blank as the sky that night. My tongue refused to move and my vocal chords refused to vibrate against each other to produce even the smallest whimper. He grabbed the pad of paper and pencil that was sitting on the side table and began to draw random doodles along the margins. I watched him in silence as tears rolled down my face and soaked his hair. My exhaustion struck once more and swept me away into a dreamless sleep with Grant as my blanket.
Not more than an hour passed before I was shaken awake. The white light assaulted my eyes again. I realized that the warmth of Grant’s body was being pried away from me. I didn’t understand what was happening and I clung tighter to him. As my vision cleared, I realized that the nurses were the ones taking him away from me and Derek was the one pulling gently at my shoulders. Understanding balled my heart up in its fist and filled my eyes with tears. Derek softly lifted me up by the shoulders and directed me out of the room. We stood in that suffocating white hallway and I sobbed on his shoulder. After what seemed like hours, Derek pulled away and handed me a folded up piece of paper. He said that there was one for both of us. I took the paper and turned around. I couldn’t stand to be in that freezing hallway. I walked listlessly through the hall, across the front area and out the front doors. I stood in the parking lot letting the warmth of winter embrace me and opened the folded piece of paper. I saw the doodles he had started before I dozed off filling the margins; there were silly things like unicorns, dinosaurs, and castles. I sniffled and smiled as I turned the paper to look at the pictures. Straightening the paper again, I began to read the text:
Hey Dawnster.
You’re kind of falling asleep and your chin is digging into my shoulder, but I’ll let it slide. I’m not really good at this sentimental crap, but I just don’t feel good about leaving without saying anything. Yeah, I know that kind of sounds like I know I won’t be waking up this time, but it’s just one of those things that I just kind of… know. Y’know? I don’t want you to feel bad, though. I mean… you can feel sad. Asking you not to is kind of insulting and I know that. But you’ll move on eventually. I know I’m amazing but you’ll just have to get over me, darlin’. In all seriousness, though, I really do like you. And I’m sorry that we’ll never have a chance to see where that takes us. But hey, who knows, maybe we would have ended up hating each other and then I wouldn’t have gotten to draw all these awesome masterpieces (my personal favorite is that wicked awesome Yoshisaurus in the bottom left corner. I mean, c’mon, what’s cooler than an anatomically correct Yoshi?). Anyway. I’m kind of running out of paper here. Gonna be writing on Sir Piggy’s face soon here, so I guess I’ll wrap it up. I’m so thankful that you’re here with me now. It means a lot to me and to my dad, too. I wouldn’t have spent my night with anyone else. Keep your head up. It may seem like the end of the world, but it’s nowhere close. You’re asleep, so I’m going to pretend that I’m hugging you right now. I mean, it’s close enough. Thanks for everything and I love you.
Grant
I folded the paper back up and looked at the black, moonless sky. I hugged the note to myself as the last drop of sadness crept from the corner of my eyes and leapt from the tips of my eyelashes into the remnants of the never-ending white light on the pavement.
