Moving Out and Onward

Hi all,

It’s been a while since I have posted anything (Iknow), but I just wanted to inform you in case any of you are interested that I have moved this blog entirely over to my personal blog myboringlifewritten (http://myboringlifewritten.wordpress.com/) which will now include all of my short storys, really short stories and crappy poetry as well as updates on my life and my personal shitty opinions on things.

Best regards

 

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Coming to Terms

This isn’t so much a story, I promise there is one on the way, as it is my thoughts, my therapy. Stay with me.

It is almost as though there it is one of those points in my life where everything is coming to an end. High school, slowly coming to a stop. Maybe I am not that sad to see it go but the things that come along with it, that security that there are always teachers there walking you through everything, helping you clean up your slip ups along the way. Parents, now it isn’t that you lose them persay but there is that growing up thing, you become responsable for you.

Friendships are ending as old friends move on to bigger and better things. Sometimes it feels like your stuck, no where to go yet all of the possibilities. These people that we have come to love and hate over the years are going and you realise that you will probably won’t ever see them again.

Maybe it is for the best. As more and more things end you have to remember that there will be beginnings, new experiences. It’s just a matter of time; 22 days to go.

Writers Block

 For those days where writers block never ceases, allowing ever unimportant, uninteresting idea float into your mind. It suffocates ever crevice of creative space that it can get its tiny little hands on leading you into an abyss of boredom and irritation. Only way to fight it seems to be with time but with time comes forgetfulness allowing the slide of fingers against a keyboard to feel foreign once again. But with foreignness comes a fresh feeling, outlook on what you are typing.

 So is writers block truly a friend or a foe? That feeling when you finally break it, an idea surfacing to your mind floating around, dragging as many ideas up with it as it can. It feels like a fountain and you rush to your nearest pad of paper or computer so that you can capture them all fearful that they might escape your brain, leaving its captivity; forever gone.

 I can’t wait for that moment of freedom, letting all of my creative energy go, share it with the world. Doesn’t matter if anyone is listening as long as it is out there, all of your work shouts, “This is me, I am here, I exist and these are my thoughts!”

 This is me.

The Shooting

So this is possibly the only poetry you will ever recieve from me because I can’t write poetry for shit, anyways this was a class project and the topic I got was a shooting that had happened in a university, the target was females because the male was unable to get into the university and he blamed it on the women because they shouldn’t be there… anyways here it is:

The peace

Normal class

No fear, no anger

The sadness of his decision

The confusion, anger and hurt

As the decision came into effect.

The loudness

Class disrupted

His anger, our fear

The need to find cover

We are his targets, as women

His decision to hurt us; shoot us.

The silence

Class quiet

I pray in fear

Anger gone, fear stilled

Breath stolen from the lungs of others

The eyes of my classmates dulled

He didn’t understand, so he hurt us.

Question Marks

Commas, question marks, periods, letters of all shapes and sizes all seemed to swirl and crash into each other colliding into what was supposed to make perfect sense. But on the page before her they all formed sentences to which she had no answer, making her stare blankly at the sheet before her unsure how to answer , sheet blankly staring back at her, mocking her with all of the hidden answers it holds. Panic sweeps across her body, over taking her, everyone else is beginning to stand up to hand in their finished work. Once the bell rings it is over, the clock is ticking.

Going Again

I stand in the middle of an empty field; no trees, bushes, flowers, animals or people. Completely alone in the boring unmoving world with the exception of black shapes floating around the earth like ashes caught in the wind, dancing its slow dance around me, caressing my body yet not touching it. I follow specific pieces with my eyes, mesmerized by its movements, caught in the ebb and flow as it falls near me and gets pulled away with a sudden quickness. My arms reach up making small movements over my head; a relaxed feeling comes over me as I feel the black dust run over me.

The edges of everything here are blurred, as if everything is uncertain of its own existence like it is up for interpretation. It haunts me as I sink to the ground, feeling the plush like grass around my knees while I move to lay on my back. It feels like an eternity that I have been laying here, watching the ashes fall slowly unto the earth completely entranced, my clothing speckled with the black marks of my new found interest. I contemplate my own existence much like my surroundings it is almost as though I am blurred too, a sudden panic falls upon me. Where am I? It almost feels like I have been in this place forever, like I belonged, like ending up here was inevitable yet as though my being here was not planned. There is uneasiness about this thought though because I know I haven’t been here forever. A pulsing pain comes over me, a tightening around my neck, I can’t breath, panic and realization strike me. At that moment of realization all stops and my body relaxes again.

I remember pulling that rope around my neck, pushing the chair to the floor so that my heavy body would drop taking my life from me. I lay back down, so this is what it is like…

I feel her presence before I actually realize that she is there, I let out a small smile as I watch the moon start to take over the sky quickly, the sun scurrying away like a shooting star, the black soot turning into stars crashing into the earth. “Hi,” my voice is barely there, I don’t turn my head to watch her, I know she is there in all of her beauty, she always knew where to find me.

“What are you doing here?” her voice is sad, but it still brightens everything around me hearing the musical sound of her voice once again. It has been two years since I last saw or heard her; I had longed and ached just to hear her again.

I reached down to hold her soft hand in my own but she pulls away from me, “I had to see you, Iris.”

She sits up so that I can see the back of her blonde hair reaching all the way down her back contrasting my own long brunette curls. Her shoulders are shaking and I can tell that I have saddened her. “Come with me,” her hand was reaching out in front of her to pull me up.
I try to look into her eyes but I cannot see, her hair creating a curtain around it, covering up whatever hides there. Grabbing onto her hands she pulls me up swiftly, my face inches from hers, I can hear her breath light against mine which has grown heavy.

“I’m so happy to see you again,” I start to feel more at ease having her hands in my own, I reach up to brush the hair out of her face so that I could gaze upon her once again but she moves promptly out of my reach dropping my hand. Moving forward towards the edges of the field she calls after me to follow, so I do.

We walk in silence, all I want to do is open my mouth, let the words flow between us like they used to but I can feel her disappointment in me radiating off of her. She turns slightly like she senses my sadness, reaching my hand out

towards hers, pulling my warm hand into her long since cold one, a small voice rising from beneath her covered face, “Kelly, you are here to early.”

I frown, “You should be happy to see me.” We walk into the woods, trees seemingly glowing from the moons light, a small pond ahead of us. Iris drops my hand, walking ahead of me she shakes her head slightly as she reaches the edge of the pond looking over it, “Not like this.”

I come to move next to her standing over the pond, I intertwine my fingers with hers. She lifts my hand to her lips kissing it, her lips were not as I remembered, warm and soft they had now gone dry and cold.

Iris leans over the pond looking into the water and I do the same, in the reflection I can see her face. I have to hold back a grimace as I gaze upon her, cuts and scrapes digging into her face, blood shot eyes, a wound on her forehead oozing blood, Iris looks the same as she did when I went to identify her after that horrible car accident. I squeeze her hand as her eyes catch mine; reassuring her that it doesn’t bother me. But her face hadn’t returned to the way it was and my own body was as it was before I took my own life, she is stuck here and I don’t belong.

She shakes her head pulling away from me slightly, but not breaking eye contact with me through the water reflection. “You don’t understand,” she sounds tired, “you don’t belong here.” I look down into the water, feeling her cold hand against my warm back, colour still present in my skin against her grey complexion, “I know but I need to be here, with you.”

She turns away no longer to look at me, “You made a choice to come here that wasn’t yours to make,” I feel a slight pressure on my back and I lose my balance falling towards the water, I can feel my heart beat stronger and stronger as I fall more slowly than I should, “come back when it is your time. I’ll wait for you.”