"Lay off your rhetoric, sir, please, your flattery is lost on me."
Okay, so this is another one of my "life" posts, so brace yourselves. Things have been kind of stressful for my lately, and this would be completely normal, really, if it were different circumstances. But it's been bugging me, even though I'm not really involved. At least, I don't think I am.
Anyway, recently I've been hearing a lot of junk about my friend, who, let's face it, can be difficult. She can be very difficult. She's a hard-headed, sarcastic, stubborn as hell chick with a horrendous attitude when it comes to lack of sleep and food. She's been like this for as long as I can remember, and I thought people had learned to put up with her after all these years.
I was wrong.
Truly, I thought that, after middle school, the drama would finally end, but it's still here, always tugging at the back of everyone's minds. And finally, FINALLY, people are showing their true colors on how they feel about this girl. And I hate the results.
Most have told me that they're sick of putting up with her, how her sarcasm "hurts their feelings"(-.-), how she's never kind or anything, and how she's a horrible friend. I get the feeling that, from what I've heard, I'm being expected to choose between her or these other people. That, or I should feel stupid for being friends with her.
Well, guys, guess what. THIS IS STUPID. When did this become such a big deal? She's one person, she can't ruin your life, and besides, I don't think she cares to. No offense or anything, but she barely gives a crap what other people think of her.
While I'm at it, let me tell you something. Yes, maybe you have your feelings hurt when she's joking around, but she has feelings too, and I bet talking crap about her behind her back hurts those feelings a teensy weensy bit.
Sorry, but I'm not choosing between anyone. I don't care if you hate her, that doesn't give me a reason not to be friends with her. That doesn't mean I can't be friends with you, but if my being friends with her bugs you, then sorry, but too bad. If that kind of thing bothers you, that's really childish. This entire ordeal is childish.
If it clears anything up, I have something to say about it. Yes, everything I said about her being stubborn, cranky and sarcastic is true, but that's what makes her amazing. She doesn't pretend to be kind when she doesn't want to be kind, she doesn't create that constant facade of a normal nice girl who's always polite and junk, she's just herself. And she's my best friend. Yes, she's sarcastic. Yes, she can be mean about it. Would you like to know why? Most likely, it's not because she hates you. This may be the case, since she doesn't particularly like a certain many people, but she's trying to protect herself.
She doesn't want to be hurt, and I believe she lives in constant fear of it. So she puts up walls that make her emotionless to what other people think, and I don't think she can trust anyone. One really can't ever trust another, because anyone can be a traitor. Anyone can say that one thing, spread that one rumor, and a friendship can be lost. She's had so many people like this in her life, people that pretend to be her friend and then completely blow her off, so please, go easy on her. As one of the people she can always trust, I can't, and won't, be separated from her.
She's my best friend. She's a good person, and yet you guys make her out to be this horrible person who can't have any friends. What do you think she views you as when you think like that?
Please let all of this go. Because, trust me, when you hurt her, you hurt me as well. If you want to do that, fine, but know that if she goes down, I'm going with her. It's your choice.
It's a simple choice, at that.
Song: What Is Rational? Artist: Hot Hot Heat
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Young Blood;
"Put on your war paint..."
If there's one thing I hate, and know that I despise a great many things, it's transferring schools mid-semester. I already hate transferring schools, which I've had to make a habit of due to my dad's work, but doing it in September is worse. I don't even see the point of it, as I take extra classes online, mostly because of what I miss moving from school to school, but my dad insists. I'm pretty sure it's part of his curriculum of screwing up my life. And no matter how much I argue, I'm always right back here, sitting in an office chair waiting to be handed my schedule. I sigh and hug my backpack to my chest, resting my chin on it's button-clad fabric.
"Miss Kiselev?"
I look up at the secretary standing in one of the doorways and slowly raise my hand. She smiles mechanically and hands me a sheet of paper. "Here's your schedule, locker number and password. Don't lose it, now."
"Thanks," I mutter, not really meeting her eyes.
"Do you need a guide to help you to class?"
I glance at the sheet. "I think I'll be alright."
With that, I leave the office, letting the door shut soundlessly behind me. I wander the halls, looking for the room my third period class is in. Luckily, my flat-soled converse make almost no noise at all against the floor, making no echo to float down the eerily comatose halls. When I make it to the room, I peer through the thin rectangular window set into the wooden door. I see the teacher, a man probably in his early thirties, talking at the board. Not good. I hate disrupting the class. Not because of the fact I'm disrupting, but because when I do all eyes are on me. Taking a deep breath that suffocates me anyway, I turn the knob and open the door.
Bam. As if a bomb goes off when I open the door, every head turns to me. The teacher, Mr. Penman, looks surprised for a moment before softening and asking, "Are you our new transfer student?"
Trying not to look at the rest of the class, I nod and hand him the pass the office secretary had given me before I left. He looks at it, then smiles and says, "Welcome to Brierfield, Miss Kiselev. You can have a seat over there by Mr. Kendrick."
I face the class and panic for a moment before a boy near the back of the class raises his hand in a sort of half-wave. I don't look at his face, only clutch the corner of my schedule and make my way down the aisle to the desk I'm assigned. I sit, and finally the weight of the eyes on me lifts, and I take a deep breath and try to let the fluttering in my stomach settle down. Mr. Penman has started teaching the class, informing at me without turning from the board that the class is studying the fourth chapter of a book called The Great Gatsby. I feel a wave of relief when I realize I had read that book already, having read many of the books typically read by high school classes. I don't have the book with me, but after hearing a bit of the teacher's lesson, I realize where they are in the book and know what's going to happen next, so I relax in my seat and study my schedule. I glance from it to the clock and back, and I notice that there's only five minutes left of third period. I sigh softly at the fact that I'll have to do all of that again fourth period, then fifth, and so on.
Someone taps on my desk, and I look to see the boy Mr. Penman had identified as "Kendrick". He smiles at me, and I think I try to mirror it but I'm not sure how it looks because the nervous butterflies are back. He points to my schedule, and I realize he wants to see it. I slide it to him, and he lays it on his desk and reads it. I focus on my desk for the last few minutes of class. When the bell rings, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and get up from my desk. The Kendrick boy does at the same time, handing me my schedule.
"Alright, you win the prize of 'most difficult names'," he says, still smiling. My face feels hot, but I manage to ask, "Why's that?"
He points to my schedule, where the name "Athanasia" is printed. My name. "Oh, that."
"I don't even know how to pronounce that."
"It's not that hard. Ah-thahn-ay-see-uh."
He raises an eyebrow at me, and I shrug. "My dad calls me Sia."
His smile widens. "Much easier."
He holds out his hand. "Colin Kendrick."
I manage a wholehearted smile and take it. "Sia Kiselev."
He shakes his head, still smiling. "That's one crazy name. Anyway," he starts toward the door, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. I find myself following close behind him, "We actually have a few classes together, including fourth period. I can walk you there, if you want, and show you around the rest of the school."
We're in the hallway now, and he's turned to face me, that never-faltering smile still on his lips. He has nice, thin lips, and dark blue eyes widened under black shaggy hair. He's a good foot taller than I, but that's not surprising since I'm generally short for my age. I give him a small smile and say, "Sure."
He gives a small breath of happy laughter and tosses his head, motioning me to follow him. I trot the short distance to his side and match his pace as he starts a conversation about me.
Where am I transferring from? A public school in Michigan.
Why the sudden transfer? My dad's work causes us to move a lot.
What's my dad do? He's a sort of scientist. Computer science or something like that.
I don't know what kind for sure? He doesn't like to talk about his work, and he's busy a lot, so when we do talk, that's not the desired subject to talk about.
Colin thinks about that for a moment, then says, "I know how that is."
I cock my head at him, but he just continues with questions.
"Do you do any sports?"
I shrug. "I'm good at sports, I guess, but I don't participate in any teams. I like watching."
"Sweet!" He says, grinning, "Maybe you can come see my baseball game Thursday? It's one of the last ones of the season."
"Sure, I'll try to make it."
He stops in front of a classroom and bids me enter. I smile and walk past him, and I take a look around for two empty seats. There, two rows back, near the window. I motion for Colin to follow me and weave my way through the desks before taking a seat. Colin sits to my left, but there's still an empty seat to my right. Colin continues talking to me, but I'm too busy smiling to reply. I feel awesome! I've finally managed to make something of a friend on the first day of school. I laugh at something Colin says before I hear someone move into the desk beside me. I turn and see a boy there, setting his backpack against his seat, and he catches my eye. He nods to me, smiling slightly. Colin leans around me to see the other boy. "Oh, hey Elliot. This is new girl, Sia."
The boy, Elliot, straightens and holds out his hand to me. "Elliot Hynes."
Just like with Colin, I took his hand and shook it. "Sia Kiselev."
He has a nice smile, not constant like Colin, but nice. He let's go and turns to the front of the room, and Colin goes on to tell me that Elliot is on the baseball team like him, then quiets as the teacher walks in. I'm silent through all this because I'm wondering why, when I shook Elliot's hand, he was intent on staring at my arm.
((Author's note: Hey y'all! Just a little something I whipped up when I was bored. Funny that inspiration finally comes at the beginning of the busiest school year ever. >.< but I'm actually having a really good time. It's nice to finally be an upper classman, and going off campus for lunch is thrilling -even if it is only a few minutes down the road to where we eat. Anyway, just a little snippet of a story I intend on continuing :) thanks for reading. Comments are welcome. ))
If there's one thing I hate, and know that I despise a great many things, it's transferring schools mid-semester. I already hate transferring schools, which I've had to make a habit of due to my dad's work, but doing it in September is worse. I don't even see the point of it, as I take extra classes online, mostly because of what I miss moving from school to school, but my dad insists. I'm pretty sure it's part of his curriculum of screwing up my life. And no matter how much I argue, I'm always right back here, sitting in an office chair waiting to be handed my schedule. I sigh and hug my backpack to my chest, resting my chin on it's button-clad fabric.
"Miss Kiselev?"
I look up at the secretary standing in one of the doorways and slowly raise my hand. She smiles mechanically and hands me a sheet of paper. "Here's your schedule, locker number and password. Don't lose it, now."
"Thanks," I mutter, not really meeting her eyes.
"Do you need a guide to help you to class?"
I glance at the sheet. "I think I'll be alright."
With that, I leave the office, letting the door shut soundlessly behind me. I wander the halls, looking for the room my third period class is in. Luckily, my flat-soled converse make almost no noise at all against the floor, making no echo to float down the eerily comatose halls. When I make it to the room, I peer through the thin rectangular window set into the wooden door. I see the teacher, a man probably in his early thirties, talking at the board. Not good. I hate disrupting the class. Not because of the fact I'm disrupting, but because when I do all eyes are on me. Taking a deep breath that suffocates me anyway, I turn the knob and open the door.
Bam. As if a bomb goes off when I open the door, every head turns to me. The teacher, Mr. Penman, looks surprised for a moment before softening and asking, "Are you our new transfer student?"
Trying not to look at the rest of the class, I nod and hand him the pass the office secretary had given me before I left. He looks at it, then smiles and says, "Welcome to Brierfield, Miss Kiselev. You can have a seat over there by Mr. Kendrick."
I face the class and panic for a moment before a boy near the back of the class raises his hand in a sort of half-wave. I don't look at his face, only clutch the corner of my schedule and make my way down the aisle to the desk I'm assigned. I sit, and finally the weight of the eyes on me lifts, and I take a deep breath and try to let the fluttering in my stomach settle down. Mr. Penman has started teaching the class, informing at me without turning from the board that the class is studying the fourth chapter of a book called The Great Gatsby. I feel a wave of relief when I realize I had read that book already, having read many of the books typically read by high school classes. I don't have the book with me, but after hearing a bit of the teacher's lesson, I realize where they are in the book and know what's going to happen next, so I relax in my seat and study my schedule. I glance from it to the clock and back, and I notice that there's only five minutes left of third period. I sigh softly at the fact that I'll have to do all of that again fourth period, then fifth, and so on.
Someone taps on my desk, and I look to see the boy Mr. Penman had identified as "Kendrick". He smiles at me, and I think I try to mirror it but I'm not sure how it looks because the nervous butterflies are back. He points to my schedule, and I realize he wants to see it. I slide it to him, and he lays it on his desk and reads it. I focus on my desk for the last few minutes of class. When the bell rings, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and get up from my desk. The Kendrick boy does at the same time, handing me my schedule.
"Alright, you win the prize of 'most difficult names'," he says, still smiling. My face feels hot, but I manage to ask, "Why's that?"
He points to my schedule, where the name "Athanasia" is printed. My name. "Oh, that."
"I don't even know how to pronounce that."
"It's not that hard. Ah-thahn-ay-see-uh."
He raises an eyebrow at me, and I shrug. "My dad calls me Sia."
His smile widens. "Much easier."
He holds out his hand. "Colin Kendrick."
I manage a wholehearted smile and take it. "Sia Kiselev."
He shakes his head, still smiling. "That's one crazy name. Anyway," he starts toward the door, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. I find myself following close behind him, "We actually have a few classes together, including fourth period. I can walk you there, if you want, and show you around the rest of the school."
We're in the hallway now, and he's turned to face me, that never-faltering smile still on his lips. He has nice, thin lips, and dark blue eyes widened under black shaggy hair. He's a good foot taller than I, but that's not surprising since I'm generally short for my age. I give him a small smile and say, "Sure."
He gives a small breath of happy laughter and tosses his head, motioning me to follow him. I trot the short distance to his side and match his pace as he starts a conversation about me.
Where am I transferring from? A public school in Michigan.
Why the sudden transfer? My dad's work causes us to move a lot.
What's my dad do? He's a sort of scientist. Computer science or something like that.
I don't know what kind for sure? He doesn't like to talk about his work, and he's busy a lot, so when we do talk, that's not the desired subject to talk about.
Colin thinks about that for a moment, then says, "I know how that is."
I cock my head at him, but he just continues with questions.
"Do you do any sports?"
I shrug. "I'm good at sports, I guess, but I don't participate in any teams. I like watching."
"Sweet!" He says, grinning, "Maybe you can come see my baseball game Thursday? It's one of the last ones of the season."
"Sure, I'll try to make it."
He stops in front of a classroom and bids me enter. I smile and walk past him, and I take a look around for two empty seats. There, two rows back, near the window. I motion for Colin to follow me and weave my way through the desks before taking a seat. Colin sits to my left, but there's still an empty seat to my right. Colin continues talking to me, but I'm too busy smiling to reply. I feel awesome! I've finally managed to make something of a friend on the first day of school. I laugh at something Colin says before I hear someone move into the desk beside me. I turn and see a boy there, setting his backpack against his seat, and he catches my eye. He nods to me, smiling slightly. Colin leans around me to see the other boy. "Oh, hey Elliot. This is new girl, Sia."
The boy, Elliot, straightens and holds out his hand to me. "Elliot Hynes."
Just like with Colin, I took his hand and shook it. "Sia Kiselev."
He has a nice smile, not constant like Colin, but nice. He let's go and turns to the front of the room, and Colin goes on to tell me that Elliot is on the baseball team like him, then quiets as the teacher walks in. I'm silent through all this because I'm wondering why, when I shook Elliot's hand, he was intent on staring at my arm.
((Author's note: Hey y'all! Just a little something I whipped up when I was bored. Funny that inspiration finally comes at the beginning of the busiest school year ever. >.< but I'm actually having a really good time. It's nice to finally be an upper classman, and going off campus for lunch is thrilling -even if it is only a few minutes down the road to where we eat. Anyway, just a little snippet of a story I intend on continuing :) thanks for reading. Comments are welcome. ))
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Numb.
"I've become so numb. I can't feel you there."
Being totally honest here. I suppose I need to re-think my friends list. I'm not really sure what I expect of other people, of what my future will be. When I think of a friend, I think of someone always there. Loyal, like our ever-present, if constantly annoying, hufflepuff. Why can't everyone be a hufflepuff? There, like, the perfect companion. Loyalty. Is that so hard to come by these days?
I try so hard to be the person people can go to when they need advice or caring or prayer, and I hate to say it, but what do I get in return? Boring summer days, each one like the last, spent watching TV or writing stupid posts, or wandering around outside until I get sunburned. I talk to people, talk about all the things we can do this summer, and yet none of it ever happens. I know I won't be going to Wet-N-Wild with that person, or having a movie marathon with another, and at this point, I don't even know if I'll be able to celebrate his birthday with him.
I'm tired of being 'that person', only talked to when someone is sad or bored. I'm tired of being ignored when I really want to talk about something but don't know how to bring it up, afraid of losing a friend or something.
At first, I thought the title of this post was just random, but it isn't. I really do feel numb. I realized that about ten minutes ago, when I cut myself for the first time. Now I'm crying, not really from the pain, but cos there is none. I don't want to waste my time anymore, not with people who only want me when they need me.
Honestly, I don't even think anyone is going to read this, or if they do, even get what I'm talking about or feel what I'm feeling. I don't expect anyone to pity me. I'm only writing this because it's better than thinking about it over and over. And keeping it locked in my head or my computer does nothing. It's only when I publish it that it really makes me feel better.
I'm just sickened by everything around me, including myself, and it pains me to know that there's nothing I can do about it. It makes me wonder how much a difference a little hufflepuff can really make.
~Liz
Being totally honest here. I suppose I need to re-think my friends list. I'm not really sure what I expect of other people, of what my future will be. When I think of a friend, I think of someone always there. Loyal, like our ever-present, if constantly annoying, hufflepuff. Why can't everyone be a hufflepuff? There, like, the perfect companion. Loyalty. Is that so hard to come by these days?
I try so hard to be the person people can go to when they need advice or caring or prayer, and I hate to say it, but what do I get in return? Boring summer days, each one like the last, spent watching TV or writing stupid posts, or wandering around outside until I get sunburned. I talk to people, talk about all the things we can do this summer, and yet none of it ever happens. I know I won't be going to Wet-N-Wild with that person, or having a movie marathon with another, and at this point, I don't even know if I'll be able to celebrate his birthday with him.
I'm tired of being 'that person', only talked to when someone is sad or bored. I'm tired of being ignored when I really want to talk about something but don't know how to bring it up, afraid of losing a friend or something.
At first, I thought the title of this post was just random, but it isn't. I really do feel numb. I realized that about ten minutes ago, when I cut myself for the first time. Now I'm crying, not really from the pain, but cos there is none. I don't want to waste my time anymore, not with people who only want me when they need me.
Honestly, I don't even think anyone is going to read this, or if they do, even get what I'm talking about or feel what I'm feeling. I don't expect anyone to pity me. I'm only writing this because it's better than thinking about it over and over. And keeping it locked in my head or my computer does nothing. It's only when I publish it that it really makes me feel better.
I'm just sickened by everything around me, including myself, and it pains me to know that there's nothing I can do about it. It makes me wonder how much a difference a little hufflepuff can really make.
~Liz
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Far From Farewell...
Hey, y'all. Just a quick little post here. Not that it really matters, but I'll be at camp for the next week, starting tomorrow, so I won't be posting anything. Hopefully I can think of some new stories to post when I get back. Anyway, my boredom has increased from Photoshop to coloring (yes, it's that bad). But I'm pretty proud of the one I've been working on. I haven't finished yet, cos I'm really nervous about their eyes. I may put it on here when I finish. But here's one that I worked on for a while, and I like it a lot.
Before:
maybe
Before:
After I got my hands on it:
As you can see, this is what I've been doing for the past week. I need serious help. >.>
Love you guys,
and see ya next week
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
RANDOM PHOTOSHOP
This is what happens when you leave me alone with my laptop.
Be warned.
Probably more to come, cos I'm really bored.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
shadowing SUNS;
"Who would dare to love again,
if all cuts and every burn should awaken
and open wide the wounds again."
There were two of them, one boy the perfect replica of the other. Both had the same pitch black hair and striking green eyes, the same narrow, beautiful features. And both were fawned over by their father. Just before he died, he split the kingdom in two, and allowed each boy to rule over his own half. Excited, the boys rode off in their own direction, both eager to scout what their father had given them.
The eldest brother was thrilled at his findings. He gained rolling hills and streams, and prosperous villages filled with fascinating creatures. The people of his kingdom accepted him with open arms, and built him a tall castle of pale white crystal. The brother was glad to rule over them.
The younger brother, on the other hand, rode until it grew dark, but he still remained in the thick wood that occupied his half of the kingdom. When it finally opened, the brother saw dark, soaring mountains, a black ocean, and various plantations harvested by strange beings. They called themselves elves, fairies, demons, and they, too, welcomed him happily. They taught the boy, who had grown up in the safety of his father's castle, how to harvest crops and climb trees. They built him a huge castle of black stone, set into the side of the mountain. Over time, they taught him their tricks, how they would often deceive those who dwelled in his brother's neighboring kingdom by stealing crops and material, like the glowing crystal they cherished so much. The boy was fascinated and hung on their every word.
There passed some time that neither brother spoke to the other, for they were too busy ruling their new kingdoms, and trouble spread in areas between the two lands. The dwellers of the first kingdom told the eldest brother that those in the neighboring kingdom had stolen a great supply of their precious crystal with no intention of trading or buying for it. This, of course, was the truth, and he believed them. The younger brother knew of the trouble as well, for it was his plan to steal the crystal in the first place. Seeing that it would help his own kingdom, he felt so sympathy for the loss his brother's land suffered.
Tension laced between the kingdoms, and, fearing unbalance, the eldest brother requested a meeting with the younger. Out of sheer curiosity of what would unfold, the younger agreed.
~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~~
He was early.
He sat on his horse on the stretch of dirt road that ran between his kingdom and his brother's. On his right, a long plain was splayed under the dark night sky, and tall stalks of corn reached up towards the stars. On his left, a barrier of trees rose and thickened like a wall that ran for miles and miles, and their branches reached further than the corn stalks, but still could not catch the sky. The brother was not looking right or left; he was staring straight, right up the dirt road toward the enormous castle that sat there. It wasn't long deserted, yet cobwebs gathered in the corners of the dark windows. Vines crept along the side wall in thick tangles. He had lived there not four years ago, but the sight gave the boy chills.
"Brother."
The boy turned his head to see a figure on a horse approaching. His older brother was clothed in fine clothes of white, gold and green. On his head he wore a golden crown not unlike the one their father used to boast.
The younger brother nodded in response and greeting to his elder. "Brother."
He had hoped to see something. After not meeting for years, he had expected his older brother to be glad to see him, but he couldn't spot even a ghost of a smile. Then he cursed himself silently for being disappointed. He guided his horse over to the wall of trees.
"Cyprian-" his older brother started, as if he feared the younger planned to leave. But Cyprian only slid down from his horse and tied the reigns to one of the lower branches. He turned back to his brother and straightened his cloak, which hung like a black blanket around his body. "You wanted to discuss something?"
Cyprian crossed his arms as he waited for his brother to respond. The older boy climbed down from his saddle, but held the reigns in his hand. The horse made no move to leave her master's side.
"Yes," he answered, "I'd like to address the thefts occurring in my kingdom, the same thefts that I'm told are caused by your villagers."
Cyprian thought of how to respond to this. "Are your people suffering from these thefts?"
"Are you saying your villagers aren't responsible?"
"I'm not saying that at all," the younger brother smiled slightly, "simply that if they do not suffer, the crime isn't too great."
"You're wrong," the older boy said.
Cyprian's smile faded. His brother was serious, he knew, and couldn't know that it was he behind the attacks.
"What do you want me to do, Stephen? Hold a hanging?" He was joking, of course, for he would do no such thing. He was appalled when the older boy replied,
"Perhaps it would be best."
Cyprian met his brother's hard gaze. "Stephen, what a thing to say! I've never known you to so easily condemn a man."
Stephen remained cool. "As I have never known you to host a den of demons. But I'm afraid we are both aware of new knowledge."
Cyprian scowled. "Well, perhaps my people would not have to steal if yours would not deny our trades."
"They deny trades because they don't care to barter with trickster fairies. There is no right to the thieving."
"My people need to survive! Why else do you think father gave me the land? I'm to ensure their safety and health."
Stephen looked over to the castle and mumbled, "I wish he'd never given it to you in the first place."
Cyprian blanched. How could his brother be so selfish? "Why do you say that?"
Stephen shot his brother a dark look. "Don't you see what's become of you? Father most likely left them to you so you could change them and make them better, but instead you became as bad as they are!"
Cyprian was shocked at his brother's harsh words, and anger boiled inside of him. "So, do you think your land would be better off without mine?"
Stephen said nothing, but he didn't need to. Cyprian knew the truth. Scowling, he pulled himself onto his horse and galloped into the trees, his brother left silent and seething behind him. Cyprian rode back to the villages and spoke with his people. He watched them chatter amongst themselves, then, with grand smiles, the fairies and demons taught Cyprian how to make weapons.
((This is really just something random I came up with to pass the time. I'm not even going to bother reading over it, but yeah. Hope you enjoy.))
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
WE ArE tHe ReCkLeSs
"And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones.
'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs.
Setting fire to our insides just for fun."
(I didn't even edit this or read over it, so it's whatever.)
~Squiggs
I don't remember a lot of the specifics of how this happened to us. A few things I remember, I guess, but not enough to decipher the cause or even the reason for it. There was nothing different about this day. Absolutely nothing. And I remember just how it started.
I wake early, just as my mother shoves aside the thick curtains and lets in the sunlight, insanely bright despite the thick glass.
"Rise and shine," she says, not exactly the voice of joy. When I don't move, she tugs at my covers, but I hold tightly to them, keeping them up to my neck.
"Raiden," she scolds, then sighs, "Well, at least I know you're alive. Breakfast will be ready soon. You have to be dressed in time for the line."
I mumble something into my pillow. I wait for the door to close, then I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. After approximately three seconds, the dull cream color grows boring, and I decide getting ready for school may be more enjoyable.
Maybe.
I shrug into dark jeans and slide a violet tank over my head. Deciding that bangles are evil, I strip a thick leather band to each of my wrists. I pull a hairbrush through my through my dark waves of hair until they are at least a little bit bearable before wrapping a strip of leather around the lot.
"Ray!"
I slide on dark brown boots and sling my shoulder bag across my back. "Coming!"
I bolt out of my bedroom and would've passed right by the kitchen if my mother hadn't yelled, "BREAKFAST FIRST!"
I shove a piece of toast into my mouth and try to ignore the lack of butter. My mother frowns, then goes to the counter and fixes a paper bag for my lunch. "You need to eat more," she states.
"I eat enough."
She shoves the bag in one of my hands and hands me two pieces of bacon. "Eat."
"I have to go. The lines gonna start anytime now."
I wrap the bacon in a paper towel and slip it into the outside pocket of my shoulder bag.
Then I grab one of the black cloaks hanging on the wall by the door. They're all the same, and simple, and they cover us from the head to the knee. I pull the hood down so that it covers my forehead, but my mother instantly pushes it aside to kiss my temple. "Have a good day at school."
"I will."
She smiles at me, then turns, glaring at the empty hallway. "CYRUS! IT'S TIME FOR LINE."
My younger brother instantly emerges from his bedroom and into the kitchen. He grabs breakfast and a paper bag from the counter, then joins me by the door, munching on a strip of bacon as he shrugs his cloak over a black t-shirt and blue jeans. My mother stands watch, hands on her hips. When he's finished the bacon, Cyrus leans in and kisses my mother on the cheek.
"See ya after school, Ma. Come on, Ray!"
And like that he's out the door, me at his heels. We keep our hoods over our faces as we walk under the long canopy that stretches over the alleys between houses. Cyrus finishes his breakfast and starts to dig into his lunch bag for more food.
"You'll get fat if you eat so much, Cy."
He doesn't look up from his search. "No, I eat food that's healthy for me. If you don't eat, you'll never grow."
I scowl at him. I'm older than him by more than a year, and already he's a foot taller than me. Before I can retaliate, he nudges me and nods to a group of people crowded under one of the larger canopies. "That's your class. You'd better get going."
Before I turn to go, I reach up and pull his hood further over his head. "Be safe," I tell him.
"You too."
I jog over to join my class. My teacher, a thin woman, and looking even thinner in her own cloak, hands me a strip of cloth like the ones we get every morning and afternoon.
"Form a line, everyone!" She shouts to the class, "Stay behind the person in front of you at all times, and don't remove your blindfold!"
I reach up and tie the fabric over my eyes. I've been doing this for my whole life, ever since I left the neighborhood, and I remember, when I was small, what my mother said when I asked her about them.
"We wear them because the sun is bright, blindingly bright, and we aren't able to look at it, so we cover our eyes."
We cover our eyes. As I walk at a steady pace in line, I see only darkness, feel only a dull heat on my arms and back, but I know there's light surrounding us.
"Ray!"
I slide on dark brown boots and sling my shoulder bag across my back. "Coming!"
I bolt out of my bedroom and would've passed right by the kitchen if my mother hadn't yelled, "BREAKFAST FIRST!"
I shove a piece of toast into my mouth and try to ignore the lack of butter. My mother frowns, then goes to the counter and fixes a paper bag for my lunch. "You need to eat more," she states.
"I eat enough."
She shoves the bag in one of my hands and hands me two pieces of bacon. "Eat."
"I have to go. The lines gonna start anytime now."
I wrap the bacon in a paper towel and slip it into the outside pocket of my shoulder bag.
Then I grab one of the black cloaks hanging on the wall by the door. They're all the same, and simple, and they cover us from the head to the knee. I pull the hood down so that it covers my forehead, but my mother instantly pushes it aside to kiss my temple. "Have a good day at school."
"I will."
She smiles at me, then turns, glaring at the empty hallway. "CYRUS! IT'S TIME FOR LINE."
My younger brother instantly emerges from his bedroom and into the kitchen. He grabs breakfast and a paper bag from the counter, then joins me by the door, munching on a strip of bacon as he shrugs his cloak over a black t-shirt and blue jeans. My mother stands watch, hands on her hips. When he's finished the bacon, Cyrus leans in and kisses my mother on the cheek.
"See ya after school, Ma. Come on, Ray!"
And like that he's out the door, me at his heels. We keep our hoods over our faces as we walk under the long canopy that stretches over the alleys between houses. Cyrus finishes his breakfast and starts to dig into his lunch bag for more food.
"You'll get fat if you eat so much, Cy."
He doesn't look up from his search. "No, I eat food that's healthy for me. If you don't eat, you'll never grow."
I scowl at him. I'm older than him by more than a year, and already he's a foot taller than me. Before I can retaliate, he nudges me and nods to a group of people crowded under one of the larger canopies. "That's your class. You'd better get going."
Before I turn to go, I reach up and pull his hood further over his head. "Be safe," I tell him.
"You too."
I jog over to join my class. My teacher, a thin woman, and looking even thinner in her own cloak, hands me a strip of cloth like the ones we get every morning and afternoon.
"Form a line, everyone!" She shouts to the class, "Stay behind the person in front of you at all times, and don't remove your blindfold!"
I reach up and tie the fabric over my eyes. I've been doing this for my whole life, ever since I left the neighborhood, and I remember, when I was small, what my mother said when I asked her about them.
"We wear them because the sun is bright, blindingly bright, and we aren't able to look at it, so we cover our eyes."
We cover our eyes. As I walk at a steady pace in line, I see only darkness, feel only a dull heat on my arms and back, but I know there's light surrounding us.
~Squiggs
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