Young Blood; Part II

              "Yeah, I think I'll pass on that, thanks."
     Colin frowns at my response and whines, "Come on, Sia!"
  It's seventh period. The teacher, Mr. Brunren, finished his lesson early and let the class spend the last twenty minutes as study hall. So really, everyone is just talking or doing homework for other classes. I sit all the way in the back corner, just behind Colin, who has turned in his seat to face me. Under other circumstances, I'd think it was cute that he always turned to talk to me, even though I'm sure he has other friends in this class, but at the moment he's not at the top of my favorites list. Mainly because he's trying to talk me into befriending someone, something I'm not very good at.
      "Just give her a chance. She's pretty awesome, really!"
    I shake my head. "I've been here two days. Can I at least have a week to decide who I want to have as my friends?"
      "No. By then it'll be too late."
      "And why's that?"
 He flashes me a grin. "Because then, you won't be the new girl anymore. You have to make your friends soon, cos right now, you've got everyone's attention."
    I shrink a bit in my seat. "That's the opposite of what I want."
   He gives me a look that tells me he wants to take back what he said. "I mean, people want to know you now. Later, they may not be interested. No offense."
     "None taken," I mumble, straightening and making a pained face. "She's a journalist?"
  "You say it like it's a terrible thing," Colin notices. "Besides, she's just...head of the journalism team. It's not that big of a deal."
 I scratch gently at my arm absentmindedly. "If she's the head of a club, wouldn't that make her popular? She should have a bunch of friends."
   He gives me a pleading look. "She's just...she can sometimes seem a little overwhelming, that's all."
"Great," I mutter.
   "She's just forward," he finishes, "She's not that bad, I promise. Just give her a shot? This afternoon, at the game."
      The bell rings. While students wander out of the room, I swing my bag over my shoulder and look at Colin. "Promise me that I'll like her?"
    "Of course not," he responds. We walk into the hallway together and he faces me and begins to walk backwards. "See you at the game!"
    "How am I supposed to find her?" I call after him.
He grins and winks at me. "Don't worry about that. Let her find you."
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     This is why I hate baseball games.
 Well, sports games in general, really.
I'm surprised to find a reasonably sized set of bleachers along the gated field, probably enough seats to hold around two hundred people. At the moment, half of the seats are full. Who knew baseball was so popular? This school is weird.
    I maneuver a ways past the student section, which is pretty packed, even though it's half past five on a Thursday. I find a row of empty seats and sit myself on the end of one, trying to blend in with the metal. Bad day to wear red, I tell myself, glancing down at my white sweater adorned with cherry-colored stripes.
   The home team emerges from their dugout, and I notice a familiar face. Colin scans the bleachers as he walks into the field, and his eyes find mine. He smiles and pulls his white baseball cap over his dark hair before winking at me. I give a small wave before placing my hands between my knees.
  "Kendrick!" Someone yells, and Colin breaks eye contact with me and rushes to the coach's side, along with the rest of the players. The other team has appeared from inside visitor's dugout and they walk onto the field. Figuring the game won't really start for a couple more minutes, I take a chance to look around.
  This is the first time I've been this far from the school building. Between this ball field and the main building, there are a few separate fields, most likely for football and soccer and stuff like that. Beyond the baseball field, woods stretch a mile or two. In the distance I can see the aligned roofs from a neighborhood along the outskirts of the forest.
  Even with Colin's helping me learn the campus, I'm still really overwhelmed. My dad always prefers me attending large schools, but this one is by far the most impressive. The whole school is enormous. I almost got lost on my way to the classes I didn't share with Colin, those classes being the first, second, and sixth periods. To add to that, there's a large number of students in each class. Even so, I didn't have many people offering to befriend me. Well...that's not necessarily true.
  When I wandered into second period this morning, I was surprised, and pleasantly so, to say the least. Second period is elective period, and at the extensive list of activities, I just picked one at random and ended up with wood shop. Now, I'll never say I'm terrible at constructing things made out of wood. I've built many a birdhouse in my day; I'm pretty sure I can handle some nails and a hammer. I'd never taken wood shop at any of my other schools, so I was kinda embarrassed when I walked into room R23 and found it almost only occupying teenage boys. Around twenty of them, actual, when I took the time to count, and four girls, including myself. When I walked into the huge warehouse that served as their workroom, the whole class was milling about large constructions of wood and metal. "Perfect timing, you getting here," the shop teacher told me, glancing at my schedule, "We're building the sets for our fall play. Hope you're handy with a drill."
  I wasn't. Whenever I tried to drill on part of one of the sets, the drill would shake violently in my hands. I was about to give up when someone behind me spoke.
 "You've gotta put more pressure on it. You can't hold it so loosely."
   Elliot moved beside me and took the drill out of my hands. "Here." He placed the tip of the device onto the screw and pushed hard, and the screw rotated easily into the wood. "There. Now you try."
       A blush comes to my cheeks as I recall this morning. I shake my head. Sure, Elliot saved me from total embarrassment, but that didn't make him my knight in shining armor. Just...an opportune hero, of sorts. I focus back on the game that's about to start. Brierfield players are in the outfield, while Woodrow Academy is up to bat. I watch a boy in pale blue step up to the home plate. He taps his bat against the side of the white plate, a grin on his face. Out in the field, I spot Colin, the shortstop. He leans down, elbows on his knees, eyes on the pitcher, waiting for him to pitch the ball.
  "Oh good, I haven't missed it!" I turn my head as a girl falls into the space beside me. She sets her messenger bag on the bleacher seat and lets out a relieved sigh before tucking a strand of lavender-streaked blue-black hair behind her ear. She grins at me. "You're alone, so you must be Sia. I'm right, aren't I?"
   She holds out a hand clad with a good number of silver-banded rings, and I take it. The rings are cold against my skin, but her palm is warm.
   "Yeah," I tell her, "Colin didn't tell me your name. Apparently, it would 'ruin the experience'."
She laughs. "Colin. Correct, as always. Denison Hill, but most call me Deni. Please to meet you."
  I take a moment to study her. In her lap she sits a large black camera bag, most likely one she borrow from class. There's her journalism side, but I have yet to discover the stuck-up prick side that I'd been expecting. I figure Colin has enough character to know a cool friend when he sees one. From the looks of it, she's the kind of person that warms up to anyone. Heck, she's the only girl I've been comfortable being around in who knows how long. If Colin is such good friends with her, then I can do the same, right?
    Deni turns to the ball field, where the game has started without us. The batter from before is now on first base, and another has taken his place at the bat. Colin is in the same position as before, close to the ground with his catcher's mitt almost touching the dirt.
  "So, you didn't to sit in the student section?" Deni asks, bringing my attention back to her.
I shrug. "I don't know. It seems a bit overwhelming. The whole school is, actually."
"I prefer the term 'extraordinary'," she says, laughing after the words leave her mouth. I peer around her and look at the student section, where students sit calmly, watching the game. It's almost amusing how intent they are towards a silly game like baseball.
   "Come to think of it, why are so many students here, anyway?" I ask, straightening back up and looking at Deni. "I didn't think baseball was ever that big of a deal, especially in high school.
   "Oh, they don't come all the time. On any other day, there wouldn't be nearly this many. But this isn't any other day."
  I blink at her. "Why do you say that?"
"Because we're playing Woodrow, and they're known for pitching fast and far. There's this one batter that almost always sends the ball over the fence." She gestures to the tall wooden wall, the same dark green as the Brierfield uniforms, marking the barrier of the ball field. "They're one of the best teams we've ever played."
  I roll my eyes. "They came for that?"
"Not for that, Sia," Deni winks at me with lavender iris' that are too insane to not be contact lenses, "but because we have the coolest outfielder in the universe."
  I immediately assume she means Colin, but then she points far out on the field to the edge of the back wall, where another boy stands. His right hand casually grips the gloved left. He has his head bent, but as the cracking sound of tough leather against wood splits the air, his head snaps up. The baseball flies nowhere near him, keeping low to the ground on its way towards the space between first and second base, but before he can focus on the pitcher again, I get a look at his face.
  The 'coolest outfielder' just so happens to be Elliot.





((Wow I didn't mean for that to seem so suspenseful, but daaaang. Haha corny, I know, but it gets better, trust me. I didn't originally want Elliot to be the 'mysterious hottie hero' cliche, and I don't even think I want that now, but a girls gotta write what her brain tells her to write. So apparently I started working on this shortly after I posted the first part, which makes me feel pretty terrible, since that was so long ago. >.<  But it's here now! Hopefully I can keep it up. School has gotten pretty stressful, though, sucking up my inspiration and such. Wish me luck!
~Squiggs))

Please don't hold this against me...

"And I wish all my friends could all laugh with each other,
and all my friends could all cheer with each other,
and all my friends could all forgive each other."

      I hate high school.
     I guess there's a reason everyone says that junior year is the hardest year. At first I thought they meant it was difficult keeping good grades. But honestly, my grades have been better this year than they have since middle school. No. Grade-wise, this year so far has been fantastic. I wish I could enjoy it, but I can't. Want to know why? Because the majority of my friends...I'm not even sure if they're my friends anymore. And sure, it's probably my fault for not coming to lunch anymore, but honestly, why would I want to? All that has to offer me is drama that I don't need and that I definitely don't want. Most of my so-called-friends don't even talk to me, or all they want to do is talk trash about one of my real friends. I'm so sick of the drama. Is it even right to call it drama? It's freaking childish. So what's-her-face told that guy you "liked" him. Oh noes, your life is over, better change your name and move to Australia. Suck it up and move on. It probably wasn't meant to hurt you.
     It's either stupid kid-fights like that, or something serious. Like, super serious, that I want to help with, but I truly do not know how. Scratch that. I do know how, and it'd be freaking easy. But it would also be costly. But honestly, what's more important to me? Someone's friendship, or someone's life.
     In short, when this song came on one of the fan-mixes I was listening to, it really got to me, enough that I almost started crying. I don't want the reason I hate school to be my friends, or lack there of. But I can't deal with this stuff. I can't deal with stupid drama and someone's suicidal thoughts that bring me to tears every time I see that person. I can't deal with the knowledge that if people just get their minds out of the gutter that it wouldn't have to be like that.
      So listen up. I'm done with everything from the past. I'm done holding stupid grudges that meant nothing then and mean nothing now. I'm done holding back when seeing a friend being hurt. I'm done letting people talk crap about the people I care about. I don't care if people don't want to hang out with me anymore. That's their choice, not mine, and I guess it means that I never meant anything to them in the first place. But from now on, I'm not gonna start drama, I'm not gonna be a part of the drama, and I'm not gonna sit back and let it run wild. I want to do everything I can to stop it. Because honestly, I just want us all, all of my friends, to get along, and I don't see why that can't happen. Call me naive, whatever you want. That's just what I want.
~Squiggs

Song: we are not friends      Artist: S

It's Not Just In My Head [Part One]

                      Dev

   When I wake, I'm staring at a blank white wall. I have my arm tucked under my head to serve as a pillow, since the bed I'm lying on seems to be absent of one. Gathering my thoughts, I attempt sit up, and immediately regret my decision. Pain lances through my head as I try to lift it, and I collapse back on the bed and lie still. After a few moments of taking several slow breaths, I try again. Successful this time, I straighten and lean against the wall that the bed is pushed up to. From this position, I can see the entire room.

   The room itself is relatively small, with eggshell-white walls and an pale gray-colored carpet. In the corner parallel to the bed is a single window. It has no drapes, and the blinds are shut, the cracks letting in only thin lines of sunlight. Across the room is a heavy door painted a metallic gray. On the floor lies a pillow, the one that I assume belongs to this bed. "Could I have thrown it while I was sleeping?"

   When I move to go to the door, something stops me. I look down at my body and find myself clothed in a pair of blue jeans and a simple white t-shirt. My feet are bare, and a bit cold now that I'm no longer under the sheets, but that isn't what catches my attention. Two things adorn my arms: on one wrist there is a thick cuff of dark, worn leather, an item that seems familiar to me, though I can't think of why; on the other there is a thin white medical band. 

   My chest tightens. Finding it a bit difficult to breathe, or to function in any way, I lean my head back against the wall and stare at the ceiling. "I'm in a hospital?"

   Suddenly, I hear a click, and the door opens silently. A man steps into the room and pauses when he sees me. Then he smiles, turns, and shuts the door behind him. Uneasy, I straighten and keep my back against the wall, my legs up on the bed with me. Even in my nervousness, I try to look casual. 

   The man walks to the window, still smiling, and takes a chair that stands under the windowsill. Then, setting it down in front of me, though still a safe distance away, he sits and looks at me. "Good morning...or rather, afternoon, I should say. I didn't think we'd be seeing much of you for some time. Don't take it the wrong way, though, I'm quite happy you're awake."

   I stare at the man. He seems decent enough. He has a nice smile, I think. His smile made his eyes look thinner, just slivers of hazel shadowed by dark eyelashes. His hair is a near black peppered with silver and gray and brown. A white coat is draped over his shoulders, showing up strongly against the dark plaid shirt he wears fastened up to the top two buttons. When I finish studying him, I realize he's looking at me in the same way I'd just been staring at him. He smile falters only slightly and he shakes his head before grinning. 

   "Sorry, I guess you don't know me." He holds out his hand. "Dr. Sherman, but you can call me Andrew." 

   Hesitantly, I reach out and take it. "Dr. Sherman," I reply in a polite yet bold voice. He nods in understanding before take his hand back and looking at his clipboard. "Devon Blake. But I hear you prefer being called Dev, is that correct?"

   When I don't answer, he moves on. "Sixteen years old, going into your junior year of high school, good grades, no past experiences with severe illness or injury-."

    "Then why am I here?" I cut in, my voice quiet but urgent enough to stop him. 

He looks up at me, and his eyes, I'm surprised to see, are sincere. He lowers the clipboard and leans forward. "Dev," he says, and I try to mask the irritation I feel when he calls me by my nickname, "sometimes things go wrong, and in some cases, we can't explain them, and neither can we understand them."

   He takes a deep breath. "We don't know what happened to you, what went wrong. But believe me when I say we are trying to fix it, and we think it's working. Your condition is improving."

   "I think I understand that," I say, "but what caused the problem? Why do I have to stay here if I'm better? Can't I go home?"

   He purses his lips and looks down at his shoes. "I'm sorry, Devon. I truly am. But right now, the best thing you can do is be patient and wait for everything to fall into place. That's the least you can do for your family."

  He lays a photograph on the bed, and after a moment, I reach for it. On it is a colorful shot of four people in front of a cheerful looking house. The couple in the photo is smiling and stands behind two laughing boys, the older with his arm hooked around the other's shoulders. I focus on the younger of the two, who smiles sheepishly compared to his brother's wide grin. 

  "Your parents, your little brother Tanner," Sherman continues, "they're counting on you to be strong for them."

  I meet his eyes. "Will I be able to see them?" I ask hopefully.

    He smiles. "When your condition improves, perhaps. But I don't think it will be long."

  He reaches towards me, and I can't react fast enough to pull away before he gently tussles my hair. "For now, you need to keep your strength. Get some rest, Dev. I'll have a nurse bring up some lunch, and we'll talk a bit after, yes?"

  With that, he stands and waits for me to lie down before walking out. I hear the click of the lock and feel a pit form in my stomach. An odd silence settles in the room. I can feel my heart beating steadily, and I try to focus on that as I shut my eyes tightly. Clutching the photo, I try to fall asleep, with no success. 

  



Author's Note: 
More drabble. At this point, I'm done questioning what pops into my head. I can only hope something more happens with this story. 
~Squiggles

We Can Be Ghosts Now

She felt different.
   Of course, she realized that everyone probably thought themselves different at some point in their life. So she dismissed her thoughts for a while. But each time they came back. She couldn't understand why she felt this way. Isn't that how human beings are meant to be? Are all human beings desperate, and lonely? Desperately lonely. And lost?
  Not lost-in-the-grocery-store lost. No, she was always lost. She could be in the middle of a crowd of people she knew and she would undoubtedly still feel lost.
  Everything made her curious. And her curiosity frightened her. She would find herself wondering strange things, thinking thoughts that she couldn't imagine crossing her mind. When they surfaced, though, oh, how she would wonder. She could just sit and stare at something - the ceiling of her bedroom; the moss-encrusted bricks of her porch; the sky - and not be bothered by anything.
  She loved music. She could get lost in a song as swiftly as taking a breath or blinking. When something unpleasant was happening, such as a fight in between family members or her younger sibling causing a ruckus on a road trip, she would simply turn up the volume of her iPod to drown out the noise. Music was her escape, her inspiration, her muse. She wanted to drown herself in it. She wanted to share her findings with others, but no one ever seemed interested, so she kept to herself. Who cared if no one else heard the music? She listened to it, and she loved it so very much, and that's all that mattered to her.
  Sometimes she thought she saw things. Shapes. Dark figures that appeared for just a moment, just long enough for her to glimpse them. She saw them everywhere, and every time she did, she would stand still and wait for them to appear again, and when they didn't, she moved on. These phantoms intrigued her the most. She wondered if they were real. And if they were real, were they coincidental, or did they mean something?
  She wanted more in her life. She was afraid of living only a mundane, ordinary life. Screw ordinary. She was sick of it. She was already the plainest of the plain. Brown hair that never looked right; it was always too wavy, or too flat, or too frizzly. Her eyes, that could be described as somewhere between light and dark blue. Freckles, braces, boney shoulders. What on earth made her special?
  She had friends, if you could call them that. She cared for them, each one. But she felt like many of them were absent-minded towards her. And who could blame them? She didn't. If they felt like that, it was obviously something to do with her. After all, she was quite strange. The things she enjoyed -anime, various TV shows, books, music- they all affected the way she was presented to people. And some of them chose to stay away because of her interests. Or because of the way she acted, or the people she hung out with. She understood. But that didn't mean she had to like it. They were her choices. And she hated feeling like she chose wrongly.
  She was always afraid. Not of certain things in particular, like the dark, or scary movies, or monsters. She was afraid of being alone. To put it plainly, she was afraid of being abandoned. After all, how easy is it to forget about another high school girl, the one who watched that TV show, who wore the fandom t-shirts, who wrote those weird stories and drew those pictures. She felt like a wallflower. She was at an impasse: she was loud with friends, but dead silent with strangers. She was terrified of being introduced to people. She believed that everyone had walls, and if she crossed them, she would regret it. She was never too forward, because she was afraid of hurting people.
  But sometimes she could be brave. She felt brave with him. She would dare to let her knee touch his, or to lean against him on the couch. She would rest her head on his shoulder for brief moments. She would hold his hand, and she wouldn't move away when he put his arm around her. She talked back to him and teased him, as he did to her. When others would attempt to make a move on her, she would tell him to show where he stood, and this would draw him to do things that made her heart flutter. She would grin when he fought for the seat beside her, and apologize when she failed to save one for him. But even in everything he did, the little things that could pass as hints, she had her doubts. Why? Why would he act like that and do it all for her? Compared to the other people he knew, the other girls he was close to, she felt insignificant.
  She knew that some people cared about her, cared about what would happen to her. At least, she thought that some people did. She hoped so. But even in everything that gave her strength, everything that made her laugh or smile or hope or dream. Despite everything that should show her how much she should mean to the world and the people around her.
Despite everything, she felt small.

"Meet me in the white light as the city slowly lifts away.
We can be a ghost now, 
with the memory of another day."

Song: We Can Be Ghosts Now       Artist: Hiatus (feat. Shura)

Who'd Have Known...?

    WARNING: Contains mixed feelings, confusion, and stuff that might make your kokoro go   doki-doki. Take heed.

 I can't wrap my mind around the idea that school starts back in less than five days. Like anyone else, I love breaks from school. I enjoy having freedom to sleep in and not having to do any homework or worry about the presentation I have to give the next day or week or month. The thing I hate about breaks, though, is the fact that everyone leaves.
    I'm kind of afraid, and selfishly, I'm afraid for myself. I've talk before about the guy I like, that I've liked for ages. To me, it seems so real, like everything can really happen like I've thought it through, and that he is the one person for me. There is no future guy. Just him. And I'm afraid this is simply a facade that I can only dream about. I can't imagine what he possibly sees in a person like me. And it hurts my heart to think this is only happening in my head.
    I'm not sure what I want. I love being friends with him. I love that he's teaching me to play League of Legends and helping me out in Black Ops Zombies, even though I constantly die in both games. I love him being there. I'm constantly in love with the idea that I can walk over to his house if I want to see him. I love that he gives me a hug when I walk in the door and another when I walk out. I love the Doctor Who stocking and the scarf and the Thor poster he gave me for Christmas. I love his smile, his corny jokes, his letting me sit right up against him when we watch TV or play on his laptop.
    But I still want there to be something more for us. And I'm scared of it never happening.
    I realized that I still haven't made a post about the dance. Oh, the dance. I thought about writing one right afterwards, but I was so overwhelmed at the time that I couldn't. Now, though, I might as well try.
    Long story short, it was bloody fantastic. Truth be told, I can't dance at all, but that didn't really matter; nobody really could. Most of the time the crowd was just a series of squirming blobs of teens moving to songs everybody knew. But there were two songs in particular that I remember very, very fondly.
    The first slow song, if I remember correctly, was When I Was Your Man by Bruno Mars. If I haven't said before, this guy, let's call him Drew, can sing about as well as I can dance. He knows it, and even so, he insists on singing every chance he gets (another thing I love about him). When the song started, I moved to put a hand on his shoulder and hold his other hand, just as we danced at last years party. I freaked out when he stopped me. Then he wrapped my hands around to the back of his neck and held my waist. I almost died. I remember looking around a few times to see if anyone was watching (and hoping to God they weren't), but most of the time I held his gaze, the two of us singing the song to each other until it ended.
    After a series of other preppy songs, the second slow song came on: 1000 Years. I put my hands around his neck again, and we danced. Throughout both slow songs, he would twirl me under his arm, and I liked how the skirt of my dress would twirl as well. We weren't the most graceful couple on the dance floor, though I didn't watch to compare us to anyone else. At one point in the song, he tried to twirl me with his right arm, but he held it too low, and I hit my head against his arm. I had already put my arms around his neck again, but we were both laughing so hard, and he laid his head on my shoulder for a fraction of a second, but to me, that fraction was like an entire minute. I still can't believe he did that. My Drew putting his head on my shoulder in public. I almost died, hoping nobody had seen, but at the same time hoping some had seen.
    But I'm still scared. I mean, he could just be an affectionate person. He could act like that with all his friends who are girls. What on earth makes me the one he deserves? He's...in short, he's the most amazing guy I've ever known. I can't imagine being with anyone else. I'm just afraid of screwing up. Cuz I really can't afford losing him.
    Sorry for the weird post. I didn't really know what was gonna happen when I opened this window, and I apologize for what occurred.
    I need to start posting stuff again. Even if nobody bothers reading it, it makes me feel good getting my ideas and feelings out.
BTW: not bothering editing this.

Transcendence

Transcendence- Chapter One

       The woman stood by, staring in silence at the landscape. From where she was, so high up on the mountain, she could see everything so clearly. Neighboring mountains walled in the valley, opening a good ways off to the ocean that spread far enough that no land could be seen on the other side. The rolling hills dipped down to meet the villages that dotted the valley floor. Even now, so early in the morning, the woman could see wisps of smoke reaching out of the stone chimneys of the cottages below. She was warmed by the sight, the sight so familiar that she should be comforted. But with the warmth came the memory of the strange things that had recently befallen her. She turned away from the valley and instead looked up to the very top of the mountain she stood on, staring at the snow-capped pines that dotted the tip, creating a bright white to glare against the dark of the barren trees. Feeling a sudden but subtle lurch in her stomach, the woman lay a hand on her belly and shut her eyes. That's when, against the dark night sky, an even darker shape appeared overhead. Opening her eyes, the woman's eyes flew to the air above her, wary of the monstrous shadow. Then someone, or something, spoke to her.
     "Zara," it said, barely above a whisper, and sounding as though it was being spoken directly into the woman's ear, "time to wake up."
     Though the push on her shoulder was gentle, the woman, startled, fell onto her side, landing in the dirt and staring straight ahead as a giant being landed on the ground beside her.
     "Zara!"
I wake from my dream, no longer the woman on the mountainside. I find myself still on my side, but in my own bed. I can feel a cool air on my neck where a light sweat still lingers. Where the being should be, instead, I find the complete opposite. "Jamie," I groan, "Worst. Timing. Ever."
     My twin brother grins at me before softly patting my head. "Was is the dream again?"
His hand is warm against my forehead, and it seems to soothe away the tension that followed my dream. Though younger than me, even if only by a few minutes, Jamie always acts like a big brother to me. He takes charge of the important things like cooking meals, keeping the house straight, and making sure the both of us get to school on time. With me, though, it takes a good amount of effort.
      "When isn't it?" I ask, rolling from under his hand and turning over to face away from him. "I don't feel like school today."
      He settles beside me on the bed. "How bad was it this time? Did you get any further than usual?"
After a slight hesitation, I shake my head, then press my cheek into my pillow. Understanding, as he always does, Jamie begins to smooth my hair again. He doesn't speak; he simply waits to see what I will do next. After a few moments, I say softly, "I think there's something wrong with her."
    "With who?"
"Me." I shake my head. "I mean, the woman. The one I become in the dream. It's the way she reacts to the thing approaching her."
    Since I began having this recurring dream seven months ago, Jamie and I have discussed it in great detail, making predictions about. For instance, why is the woman away from her village in the first place? Why does she seem so nervous? And the million-dollar question, just what is the shadow in the sky?
    "Did she seem especially afraid of it?" Jamie asks encouragingly.
The tremor of her heartbeat. The lurch in her stomach. The way she collapses at the slightest wind.
    "She's always afraid," I answer in a hushed whisper. Then, I sit up and scoot past him and off the bed. Remaining where he's settled, Jamie watches me as I go to my dresser to pick out an outfit for today. Then he says something I've never dreamed about coming from his mouth.
    "We don't have to go in today, if you don't want to."
Stopping short, I stare at him through the mirror hanging above my dresser. He meets my eyes. It makes sense that we're considered identical. We both have the same messy, bluish-black hair, his cut just below his eyebrows and above his collar, mine left long, stopping halfway down my back. Our faces are similar, as similar as they can get without seeming unnatural. The only difference between us is our eyes. While his are a dark blue, framed brilliantly by his long dark eyelashes, my eyes are a pale green, like sea glass. We like to pretend he got his eye color from our mother, and mine are like our father's. While we have no proof, it made us feel good when we thought it up as children. Even now, the idea has a nice glow to it.
    "You're serious?" I ask incredulously. "Ditch school?"
He shrugs. "Maya doesn't have to know. If she finds out, I'll say you got sick, and that I didn't think to call her to inform the office."
    I turn from the mirror and face him, smiling and crossing my arms. "Where on earth has my brother gone?"
   He grins, rising and taking my hands. "Get dressed. Breakfast in ten. If you're late, don't expect any sympathy."
   With that, he exits the room swiftly. I catch the door before it closes, calling, "Jamison Cadmus, you've gone mad!"
    Already at his own room, Jamie turns to me, smiling, and says, "That makes two of us", before shutting his door. Shaking my head in disbelief, I turn back into my room to get ready for breakfast. I expected nothing more than a fun day spent with my brother.
   If only a good day would last.





((((Oh my goodness, an actual story?! Don't get me wrong, I'm surprised myself. But it's a nice change of pace. After so long of ranting and suffering from writer's block, it feel fantastic to have a little mojo left in me. Can't promise much of this, as it was just something plaguing my mind for a bit, but hopefully I can make something cool out of it.
Btw, y'all like my totally creative title? -.- don't judge, I couldn't come up with anything better. It will probably change later, but who knows. We shall see. Plus, didn't even read over this twice, so don't judge for errors. G'night!
 ~Squiggs))))

Life, Scars, and Apologies

I don't know what else to do.
I know I'm not the best friend. Lord knows the many times I've said this, and the thousands of times I've thought it. I still can't decide if this is realization or naivety.
Everyone is not the same. This contradicts what I wrote about earlier, but it's true. I'm still tired of being grouped in with people. Why can't I be my own person? I wish I could be that one friend that likes everyone. Cuz I do like everyone. Hell, I love everyone. But I'm still pushed away. Do I not try? I think I do. Am I a nuisance? Probably. But I do try. At least, I did.
I'm not gonna be that girl anymore. And it wasn't the preacher on the TV telling me that my sins shouldn't hold me down. It wasn't the outline of Psalm 51 that I wrote last night for Bible class that told me I should repent my sins and ask for cleanliness. It was a song.
When this song came on my 8tracks, I stopped to listen to it, which is strange because I usually just let the music play in the background. But I listened, and I began to cry. Not because the song is sad.
But because it made me feel strong.

I'm tired of being pushed around. Tired of being judged by actions that aren't my own. I still feel like I'm being grouped in with other people, people who aren't like me. Sometimes groups are okay, but this is different. I'm being judged because of other people, and I'm sick of it. But why should I change because of it?
For you out there, if you read this, you know who you are. I'm the same as you. But you're stronger than I am. I gave in. But don't treat me like them. Please. I don't think I deserve that.
For anyone out there, anyone I tried for, I'm not sorry for trying. I don't regret it. But I'm tired of being ignored for pouring my heart it to you. I feel like the best thing to do is simply curl in on myself, because that seems like the only solution at this point.
I'm still going to love everyone. I don't think I'll ever stop. I want to be everyone's friend.
But I guess that depends on them, not me.
I can't add a link, but please listen to this song. You don't have to, of course, but it really helped me, so maybe it can do the same to someone else.

Dear X, You Don't Own Me - Disciple