Little [Random] Things

Too many things lie between us, quivering, quaking in darkness like silence, or a laugh being shoved back down your throat. I press my cheek against the top of your head, your hair burning with the fidgeting fingers of the sun, listening to words that have no shape, or sound, or feel, just words that sit like fat potatoes between me and you, words that build up like gum under school desks and surround you. Tendrils, thin wispy letters, dig their way through your skin, overgrown bean plants. Everytime I try to pull one down, they rip at your skin and you cry out. Your silence floats like a feather, suspended below my mouth; when I speak it flutters with the fluctuations of my voice. Too many things hold us at a distance, two lone figures across each other, toes at the edge of a seemingly uncrossable gap. I heave stones into the darkness, my hand tight around yours, placing trust and love and faith and understanding like stepst...

Back of the classroom is a shadowy place, flickering edges and flimsy images- one, two, three, four, gone again. Five, six, seven, eight, fingers digging deeper, harder, tracing angelically- angel’s bruises. Chanting, what you don’t know will never hurt you, what you know stays forever, a lie, a fat, goose plump lie A hundred ways to say NO gather force, while fingers press harshly, rib after rib.

only when you've touched the sky when you've walked the world and coughed up salt water only when you've stepped into dawn to follow into dusk only when you look down at your hands and see so many paths taken so many dead ends only when the stars fall down and burn to death, when the clouds explode and the moon becomes a puddle of tears only when the people you love, let you go only when your hair falls out and your mind grows dark only when light blends into night and rainbows become black and white only when everything worth fighting for has fallen, dust to ashes and ashes to light only when fate taunts you, better luck next time only then can you please let go and listen to that one last heartbeat and wish it could have been ***I changed it...thanks Valerie ;)

Her name was Scarlet and there were certain things she knew and didn’t know. She was six years old. She did not have red hair. She did not know what her favorite color was and she did not think anyone liked her. Her middle name was Red because her father thought it was funny, and she guessed that was why her mother left. Her mother, Lucy, probably didn’t appreciate her father’s kind of humor, even though Scarlet thought it was quite charming and she loved it. Her father quoted her mother a lot, and that’s how she knew he still loved her. Well, that and also the fact that one bright morning, when she had been playing in the attic with her dolls, she found his pictures of her mother. Scarlet wasn’t even supposed to be in the attic, because the one rule her father kept in place was the attic-is-off-limits rule. But her father had been out at the hardware store looking for roofing nails, and Scarlet had stumbled upon the attic door hidden in the back of the hallway closet. There hadn...

Picture source:  http://pawon-webdesigntutorial.blogspot.com/2012/01/flower-and-tree-treatments.html

we buried the treasure box together- two dusty heads bobbing in the dirt hands scratching at earth and grime-caked nails, one for one and two for two: forgetting which fingers belonged to me shiny faces watching earnestly as the metal box slowly disappeared- rocks and grit skittering across the surface- you grabbed my hand and I touched the oozing soil around our treasure, the easy product of a six year old girl and boy who swore forever and ever * turning it over so that every scratched scar matches the wrinkles etched in my palms, not a more perfect fit than the way tears mold themselves to the withered lines down  my cheek alone I stand amid fresh laid earth I think to sit and tumble to knees hands catching fingers sinking nails deep- begin to claw through the tears until the treasure box falls deep within the tomb alone, one not two, sweeping dust over the metal lid- crooked back and withered frame time lost but time lost wi...

Here's a story I wrote for a competition (Scholastic Art & Writing Awards). I already submitted, but comment any suggestions anyways!     I feel like I should cry, but I don’t. My face dry of sorrow, I perch on the chair next to your hospital bed, wallowing in memories. The memories, sweet like sugar, warm me up and fill me like a made up reality.     I glance at your face. I should see your pale skin, your blue eyes closed, the veins trembling on your cheeks, but I don’t. Instead, I see your face, sparkling with happiness, the trace of cinnamon on your lip giving you away as the cookie thief. I see you laughing, dancing around the living room wearing fairy wings and a tutu. I am losing myself in all these Mariposas, each one the same and different.     The high sounding wails of the machine pierce into me, and the Mariposas fall out of my mind so quickly that I startle, feeling empty without them. Reality- and not my made up one- falls ...

From 7th grade...(2011) Unfinished...likely not to be finished...dedicated to my friends in Bar Harbor ;)  Comment any suggestions anyways!            Once upon a time, there was a very, very, large kingdom ruled by Prince Charming’s father King Wonderful. In this kingdom some things that lived here were: Cinderella, Nemo, Marlin, Prince Charming, Ariel, Flounder, Sleeping Beauty, and others.             Cinderella did not like Nemo. She did not like Nemo one little bit. She absolutely, completely, hated him. But that was only because Nemo abducted her glass slipper and ran away with it. So when Cinderella saw Nemo again, she grabbed Nemo and strangled him with her headband. Poor Nemo. Cinderella went home to her prince, Prince Charming. She cooked Nemo up with spices and smoked him in the oven. Prince Charming was very delighted with the meal and ate Nemo quickly, without leaving one...