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It is 6:00 AM and my sister screams "SNOW. SNOW" And so my first reaction was to watch the snow and run towards here and tell you all about it.
I think it's sort of magical in a way. December first makes way to snow. And now it's all sparkling white (Though it didn't snow much) with little strips of rebellious grass poking through. Foot prints are crunched and recorded in the whiteness, and when you breathe you can see little puffs of air.
I have high expectations and hopes for this month. I do.
Once upon a time when the earth was the colour of Liesel's eyes, and the stars could be seen in the sky, a meteor hit the earth and wiped out all sentient species and the only survivors were cockroaches. They went through an evolutionary process and were able to become bipedal and they wore top hats and said things like "What, ho!" and "Pleasant weather we are having!"
Okay, no. I'm lying. Cockroaches don't wear top hats.
Once upon a time it was once upon a time. And Rudy's hair was the colour of the sun.
Little puffs of air take shape in the cold air. The sky is gray, and no yellow sun is poking its way through the dark. The sun cannot break free of the clouds that layer the sky in thick blankets. Tiny white snowflakes fall from the sky and melt on the dying grass. It is bitter cold, the chill that runs through your bones and causes red noses and pale faces.
I am loving it.
Sydney looks up at the sky bitterly. "I hate this." She says.
"I love it." I say.
"And use pencil. And yellow highlighters. and blue. Blue skies. Blue water. Blue-"
"No. Overrated. Blue eyes used to be pretty. and now I look everywhere, and SHA BAM. Blue eyes. Everywhere. Not special."
"Did you know that blue eyes are actually forms of genetic mutation?"
"No, I didn't, actually."
"Well. Now you do."
"It's cold isn't it?"
"As Decembers tend to be."
*exhale* "I don't know anymore."
"None of us do, love."
"So we are all lost. Great."
1. None of my conversations are real. Oh, they happen, all right. You hear me speaking. But I'm never
2. I have exactly 109 books in my little tiny library and I love them all.
3. I don't like you, Laura. In fact, I cannot stand you. You're over controlling and conceited, and the only reason I listen is to be polite.
5. I skipped 4 on purpose.
6. He keeps me alive.
7. I don't recognize myself in the mirror any more.
Some more secrets:
1. I should be studying.
2. You don't understand. I'm not comfortable with my body. I only tell you to irritate you as much as you hurt me. In reality, I wish I could wither away.
3. His wife is dead. Her husband died 2 years ago but still speaks of him in the present tense. His father committed suicide a month ago.
4. (The first two hurt my heart, but the last one makes no mark, and that hurts the most.)
5. See? I kept 4.
Grab my long skirt that picks up dust as it skims the floor while I run. Put it on.
Tug on Large black coat and finger hugging gloves. Button all the way.
Black buckle boots (alliteration!) and step out into the snow.
Breathe in the smells. Pine and bitter cold ice and watch as my breath takes shape.
Fall over. Sink into the small layer of snow. Watch as snow falls on your face and smile softly.
We have semester midterms next week.
I am scared.
Not because I haven't taken any big exams before. No, not at all. But because there are new formats to this one. My old exams made sense. These are filled with gibberish and poorly phrased sentences to make reading confusing.
(And also I am not really stressed and that fact makes me stressed)
I used to be the smartest one. The 4.0. The artist. The reader. I'm not seen like that anymore. No. My spots are occupied by so many other people
They are both standing in front of the tombstone. The words on them say "Loving Mother, Aunt and Wife." And she stares at the rock that is supposed to represent her mother.
He also stares at the burial site, but glances quickly at her from the corner of his eye. Her dark hair hangs over her face and she has her arms crossed tightly over her stomach, head bowed slightly. Others may think she was praying.
(He knew better)
He reaches out his hand.
(And she actually takes it)
I think that, maybe, I should get a Twitter. Or a Facebook. I feel somewhat disconnected, seeing as I have neither. Not to communicate with school friends, though. Just to, you know,
it, just in case. Isn't it weird that Facebook doesn't count as a real word? I think it's weird.
Exams start on Monday. Goddamnit. I'm not prepared. True, I have all weekend to study. But the girls in the class above me said the Bio test was brutal, and I already have a B- in that class, so...
This is unnecessary.
* I'm sorry. The person you are trying to reach is currently unreachable. This may be because she is trying to study. Or having a mental breakdown. Or coming up with ways to save the planet. She may be getting a haircut, or falling into the deep pit of despair (which is 3 miles deep) or walking into a cloud. She may be about to die, or finally learning how to live. She may have stepped in some gum, or learned something new, or witnessed a terrible thing . In any case, please leave a message after the beep*
It's 6:14 PM here now, the day before the Biology exam. I have been studying non stop since Thursday, and the probability of me getting anything higher than a B- is slim. This is terrible. I don't give a damn about Evolution (I don't believe in it, anyway) and the Nitrogen Cycle can die off. The only thing I completely understand are the different weather zones, and God knows that probably won't even appear on the test.
I'm extremely tired. And I just realized that ranting about not having enough time is probably a waste of time.
*chomp chomp bubble pop snap*
"Is that necessary? To chew your gum. Right now?"
*one nod. Then snap chomp blow bubble. Bigger bigger pop!*
"You know, I'm already somewhat scared, considering I'm being held up at gun point, and the fact that the one doing so is chewing gum (and being quite noisy, in fact) is somewhat disturbing, rude and hurtful all at once."
"You're a bastard."
* Stops chewing an cocks head in thought. Nods. Chew chew. Lower gun.*
"You're completely right."
Practice (Oh, and the Biology exam went swimmingly, thank you for asking)
You: "Bonjour! Ca va?"
Him: " Ca va Comme ci, comme ca. Et toi?"
You: "Ca va bien! Mais, Je suis tres faim!"
Him: "On va dans un cafe?"
You: "Oui! Merci!"
Garcon: "Bonjour, Monsieur et Madam! Vous Desirez?
Him: Je voudrais une limonade, et un sanwhich au Jambon, S'il vous plait!
Garcon: Pour Vous, Madam?
You: A life.
Garcon: ...Excusez moi?
Remarks heard at school:
"If I wanted to watch you two play tonsil Hockey, I would have bought tickets. Now get the hell away from my locker."
"MY INNOCENCE. Gone."
"I find it amusing, rewinding those video tapes that show the process of giving birth that they show to students. Their expressions when they see the whole process backwards is PRICELESS."
"That's right! She's PREGGERS."
"Is stupidity contagious? If so, I should leave. Those two seem to be diseased with it."
"Did you eat a dog at Thanksgiving?"
"What's your favorite number?"
I blink. The question seems to pop out of the blue, and the fact that it's the middle of French class (albeit a slow one in which we're merely playing french games) is even more surprising. I look at J.
"What's your favorite number?" He says again, looking at me weirdly.
"8" I reply easily this time, the words slipping out of my mouth.
"It's symmetrical, whether you cut it vertically OR Horizontally." I grin a giant grin.
I finally watched Inception today.
Yeah. I was late. But I still enjoyed it. Leonardo's character pissed me off, though, and so did Mal. But other than that, it was good. And Yes, I freaked out at the ending.
I particularly liked Arthur the most, though. I guess I do like Jordon himself, so it's a biased opinion. But his character was balanced, and also he was sort of romantic in a non-romantic and sudden way and that made me laugh.
Also, his ears are sort of huge. Which is hilarious and adorable.
For the rest of the month, I'll write entries based on randomly selected themes. Alright? Here we go:
The hospital sheet was white to a fault and the room smelled like bleach and Doctor. She stared at the tray that sat on her lap. Creamy chocolate ice cream, Strawberry Jello, vanilla pudding, and chocolate milk. A supposed 8 year old dream dinner. She was supposed to drool, and inhale the treats in front of her quickly, grinning the entire time.
Instead she swallowed painfully and glared at the desserts.
The box read "Sunshine" and the unnatural blonde on the cover grinned with dazzling white teeth. "I have awesome hair." She seemed to be saying. "Also, I don't eat." Jane looked at the blonde, and then glanced at the mirror. Her previously black cropped hair now looked a dirty butterscotch color. Random strands of hair stubbornly stayed the natural black, and her hair looked filthy and vomit-worthy. She sighed, and picked up another spare box of dye.
The lady on this one laughed through her aquamarine hair. Jane grins.
Blue it is.
Cold air cut through her skin and whistled in her bones. Her eyelashes were coated with thin layers of snow and the tear that slipped a few minutes ago froze on her cheek. A small ice snapshot of weakness that slipped through the cracks she tried so hard to board up. All duct tape, super glue and everything, too.
She looked at her fingers. They were slowly turning the blue that warned of frostbite, and a small choked scream climbed up her throat, but she swallowed it.
And fell asleep in the snow.
The only thing that made her cry were old Disney movies and the deaths of Literary Characters.
The death of her Grandmother brought no response other than a small, truthful "Oh, no" upon hearing the news, but she cried into
shoulder like a baby while watching Tarzan. She screamed when she fractured her wrist, but no tears escaped. Fred's death resulted in hours of sobbing.
He was used to it by now, and was always there, but secretly wished that he would be the first person she would cry over.
I find it relieving that there is no "Second page" option on this site. You know, how when the space on the page runs out? And you click 'Next Page'?
I never liked that.
It seemed sort of hurtful. "You're post/drawings/thoughts were not important enough for the first page. So keep clicked 'Next' to find it."
That's stupid. Your thoughts aren't any less important, Your voice is no quieter, nor should it be so easily ignored.
Just one full page. Filled with all the thoughts. Of everyone.
"I forgot what day it was today."
"When I first heard 'Swine Flu' I thought it was a joke."
"I wear mismatching socks everyday and no one notices."
"I like drawing eyes."
"I'm a terrible person once you get to know me."
"My bookcase is filled with poems."
"I hate odd numbers."
"I hate even numbers."
"I hate numbers in general."
"Laughter doesn't help. Not at all."
"I love you."
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He fiddles with his tie. A few minutes before, it was comfortable. Loose, even. But now it feels as if its strangling him, and he's having trouble breathing regularly.
It was just the annual palace dance, wasn't it? And he was with the daughter of the king and queen, of all people! Why should he be nervous? What he doesn't know? He isn't. He's just-
"Hey." Her voice cuts through the crowded noise, and her hand outstretches in front of him as she smiles warmly . "Dance?"
She sits on the swing and pushes her self lightly, sailing quietly in the air. Her head is upturned, eyes feasting on the sight that is the cloudy sky, and the little sliver of sun that rebels, continuing to shine. She gives a small smile, and then feels a tug at the swing. The smile slips off her face for a second and she sighs, and her feet soon land on the earth. Her face is still upturned.
"You didn't write about the Holidays." He says. "So?" She asks, and begins to swing once more.
"I'm sick. And Tired."
"... actually. That's it. I'm just sick. And Tired."
"Oh? No dramatic reason? 'Sick of the world.' 'Tired of myself, and my ignorance.' 'Sick of life and the unknown known?'"
"I'm tired of you! *pause* "But, no. Just tired-n-sick. For no apparent reason."
"It tends to happen to a lot of us."
"To you, too?"
" 'Course. But I never say it out loud. I'm the quiet one."
Despite what you may think, the colour of someone's eyes has nothing to do with their personalities.
Artists don't think so, of course. Pure and innocent characters have light blue eyes. Harsh evils have black, almost red. And main characters rarely have normal coloured eyes. (Or, if they're normal now, they weren't normal then.) But things don't work that way.
Innocent people have greenbrownbluehazel eyes. Bad guys have greenbrownhazelblue and every other imaginable coloured eyes. Sometimes, a personality matches with eyes. But never on purpose.
No eyes are ever the same.
Another year is almost over. It really puts a perspective on things, doesn't it? The fact that, no matter what happens, the world keeps moving. Time keeps flying by, not taking into account whatever happened to you, her, anyone. If Time was a person, they'd be that apathetic bystander. The one that, if you were hurt and dying inside, and you saw them, you'd tell them to get the hell away from you. To mind their own business.
(Here's a secret: Time never leaves.)
But when you're content, you're glad to share the moment with it.
In all seriousness, this year's been strange. Celebrities showed up in meat costumes to major award shows. Colbert introduced a major rally in Washington. Toy Story 3 finally came out! And so did other brilliant animated works, such as How to Train your Dragon and Tangled.
I had this whole list of memories that came out of this year. All planned out in a 100 word format, too. But once I started typing, that just spewed out. Kind of shows how much media influences stuff, eh?
Blech. I'm hoping next year will be better.
My family isn't big on celebrating New Years Eve. The most we've ever done is watch the ball drop on T.V. This year'll be no different ( Except I probably won't watch. I heard
would be in it. What is this world coming to?)
NEWSFLASH: Apparently, she won't be. Good. (I'm still not going to watch the ball drop, though.)
I will, however, stay up until next year arrives. It gives me a small, silent satisfaction when I click the little calendar at 12:00 and it reads "2011".
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