REPORT A PROBLEM
XOXO Author Girl
How do you create a change? Are there rules? Do you have to reach a certain number of people? How do you know once youíve made a change? What if you can only do so many things? Well I want to make a change. I donít know all of the rules and regulations, but I will do it. I will change someoneís life, in the smallest or biggest way possible. Thatís my goal before I die. To inspire or change someones life for the better. Who knows who I will change. Maybe Iíll change me.
She crept through the forest, feeling the soft ground beneath her feet. The blades of grass tickled her toes, and the dirt felt cold and damp. She felt the small pieces of sun slipping through the trees, hitting her skin and warming her body. The deeper into the forest she walked the stronger the pull was back towards her home. She turned and looked over her shoulder, back to where she had come from, and where the pull was coming from. She though about turning back. Instead she kept walking forward. Walking forward to the future that she had chosen.
She hadn't chosen this life. She had dreamed of so much more for herself. But those dreams didn't amount to anything. They didn't give her anything except where she was now. Lying on the unforgiving ground, living in the city streets. She felt an aching inside her, and knew what was coming. She also knew that she had no way to fix that ache. She was getting past the ache by simply telling herself it wasn't there. But when you have that many aches inside of you it gets hard to ignore them all. She couldn't simply live without them.
The letter seemed to flow from his fingertips. Forming words, and then sentences. Eventually the sentences became paragraphs and ended in a story. They story was about nothing. He hadn't planned what to write, how he wanted it to flow. He had simply dipped his quill into the inkwell and began. He had placed the tip to the parchment and let his hands do the rest. The quill curled and slid across the surface. The words coming simply by chance. However when he lifted his quill back off the paper he saw a story. A story he began to read.
She opened her eyes, feeling confused. The sun shown bright on her, but she was laying in a bed. What was her bed doing outside? And there, A glass top at the end of the bed, why was that there? In an instant it hit her, she wasn't in a bed. She was laying in a glass coffin! Her seven brothers stood around her looking happier than ever, and the boy. The boy. She had seen him before! He had stood outside the castle one day! She had thought he was her prince. Then it hit her, and she knew.
Disney's Belle sings "I want adventure in the great wide somewhere... I want so much more than they've got planned" So this is what I ask. Is it so horrible to want something more? To want to get out of boring average life and go out and do something? To have some adventure in life? I think not. I feel the same way as she does. I want more than simply waking up in the morning and going through my daily routine, I want to go out and have an adventure of my own instead of only reading about them.
They stood at opposite ends of the Great Hall, trying not to look nervous. Things like this were great, if you were the winner, otherwise it tended to hurt, and you ended up in the infirmary. But the main rule was to have confidence. Better practice now and get good, instead of going out into the real world and get killed. As long as your opponent wasn't better than you, you saved yourself a lot of pain, and even gained respect and points. Because there is nothing in the world like casting spells to bring down your opponents at Hogwarts.
What keeps me going? I will tell you, but just know, I warned you first. You see whenever I feel like giving up I hear something. No it's not music, like you would expect, although that is a GREAT answer to the question. No, it's not music I hear, it's a phrase. That's it, just one phrase "Hey pipsqueak!" Just those two little words. But it's not the words per say that keep me up, it's the voice. It's the voice I never seem to hear anymore. The voice of the one I miss the most. Hope keeps me up.
I wasn't sure what the girl was doing. She sat across from me as the train rumbled across the tracks. She was writing in what seemed to be a journal. The ride seemed to be taking forever, with the conductor going across the loudspeakers every once in a while to say what the next stop was. I don't know why I couldn't have just taken a plane, this way was so much faster. I heard my stop finally come across the speakers and put my shoelace into the book to mark my place, preparing to stand up and get off.
No internet. It seems as if those two words now indicate the end of the world. We go into utter panic and can't seem to function correctly. But what about before we even had internet? Was it so horrible back when kids grew up playing outside in the dirt instead of sitting inside on a laptop? What about when teens actually went out and had get-togethers instead of just jumping on Facebook to talk? Was it so horrible? I grew up without all that stuff and I'm perfectly fine. So why all of the sudden is it so important?
I have always craved to hear my parents speak the words to me, but I recently realized how much it means coming from other people as well, especially someone you look up to. To hear your role model say that they are proud of you, is the best feeling in the world. You feel all warm inside and can't help but smile. You want to jump up and down and shout of rooftops. You feel invincible, like you could do anything. But most of all you feel accomplished. You feel like you have done the only thing necessary for life.
Our sense of taste. It's a very peculiar thing. How do you describe taste to someone who has no sense of taste? How do you explain something as amazing as cookies, cake, or cotton candy when a person doesn't know what sugar tastes like? You describe it through memories. A lemon, to me tastes like the tingling feeling of the hot sun on your skin in summer. Or a plum, which tastes like the last present you open on Christmas. Are memories enough to describe the unique feel on your tongue? What would it be like to not taste anything?
What would it be like to see through someone else's eyes. For instance, what would it be like to see the world from the point of view of someone with schizophrenia? Would things look different? Would we see things that weren't there, or not see things that were? Would we recognize our loved ones, or think we did those who we don't actually know? Would our world seem as if it had been flipped upside down, or would it be the exact same? How will we ever know how things really are for others unless we experience them for ourselves?
She brought out the roller and slowly covered what had once been visible. Was she doing this to forget, or to forgive? It seemed as if she was covering up her past instead of starting her new future. The beautiful teal-ish color reminded her of the beautiful ocean that she had visited as a child. She had never been much of a crafty person, but she was putting all of her effort into making this project perfect. She was going to move on, and push out all of those horrible memories that she had never wanted to see again.
I recently had an "epiphany" as some people might call it. I would simply say I came to a realization. Either way, I recently realized that even the things that seem so crystal clear, are rarely understood. Take people for instance, people who we think we know, can really be completely different on so many levels. We really have no right to judge, even those who are closest to us. Especially people! People can come from so many different backgrounds and histories, how do we know what their life is like? The truth is that we never truly do know.
When did everyone become so immature? Are we really so childish that we can't even deal with our own problems anymore? We have to get someone else to do it for us? That's so elementary! I'll admit I did it too when I was younger, but unlike you, I grew up. I learned how to use the courage I have to stick up for myself, not make others do it for me. Are we really so simple minded we have to make seating charts so we can avoid people now? My God, can you act your own age for once?
The water flows in small river across the pavement, it seems as if the world has become one huge air hockey table, except trillions of droplets of dihydrogen oxide are what keep the puck afloat. It's dark as night, like a cloak surrounding, protecting my body from harm. In the distance I hear the rumble like an african tribal drum that beats to it's own unique tune. But with the drum comes it's best friend, I see the sparks of electricity flow through the air as if looking through a microscope. The world around me has become it's own atmosphere.
Gossip. It sneaks up behind you and stabs you in the back. It creeps around hallways terrifying people and hurting other. It spreads like a wildfire in the middle of a dry forest, sweeping up anything and everything near it. It poisons those who are pure at heart, and eats away at those without, though they don't seem to notice until it is too late to stop it. It brings some together, and breaks others apart, ruining and building relationships at the same time between the most unlikely of people. It is the worst epidemic to ever sweep the halls.
I wouldn't exactly call myself a courageous person, I'm afraid of a lot of things; most of them don't make sense. I'm afraid of normal things like spiders, but I'm afraid of unnatural things too; like I'm afraid of the POP that my alarm clock makes right before it turns on the radio to wake me up in the morning. But I think the thing that I am afraid of the most is death. I've never liked funerals, and cemeteries give me the creeps. But what scares me the most about death is not having the chance to say goodbye.
I can't wait until the day that I turn eighteen. The first thing I'm going to do is pack all of my belongings into my car, and just drive away. I will go anywhere and everywhere, as long as it's not here. It won't be me running away though, it will be me running towards. Running towards a life where I am respected and appreciated instead of looked down upon by others. I'm going to go find the place where I belong and hold on with all of my might, without ever letting my past come between me and happiness.
A father. He holds all of his feelings inside, never wanting to let the outside in, fearing the fragility of being open. A mother. All she wants is happiness for her children, she wants them to have futures, and she wants the family to stay "together forever". A sister. Rarely seen now that she's old enough, only weak enough to give in to the mother, and avoiding the rest. Another sister. One who preys on the weak and innocent, putting fear and hurt into those who least deserve it. Me. The helpless fighter, just trying to survive this painful world.
What is a "birthday"? Is it the anniversary of our beginning, a day to celebrate who we are and what we stand for? To some, but to me it means so much more. It means one year closer. To what? To everything. One year, closer to death, yes. But most importantly it means that I am one year closer to hitting the day where I can finally go. Place my floor on the pedal, and never turn back, leaving my past and everything I was behind to start over. Have a clean slate, and a new beginning, one I choose.
I am so fed up with people. Would it kill you to actually try and put some effort into something for once in your short miserable life?! You can't just depend on everyone else to do everything for you! I promise, if you actually try for once it won't kill you. In fact you might like it, having the knowledge that you are actually capable of doing something. I completely understand that sometimes it can get stressful and confusing, but just think about how crappy that makes it for the people who have to clean up the mess you made!
I wake up in the morning with my eyes barely opening. The lids over my eyes feel as if they weigh thousands of pounds. It's like lifting an elephant up off your face, while you are the size of a mouse. But, with an elephant and a mouse all you have to do is scare the elephant away, but this is quite as easy as that. It feels as if I am fighting, and winning a war when I can successfully stand up as the sun peaks up over the horizon. It's too early to be greeting the world today.
The sun shown bright on the warm spring afternoon, filling the air with the feeling of summer. It shed light on every surface and brought into view things that had seemed to have been lost in the chilling sea of darkness once before. It cast lanky shadows to every object it reached, and blinded the eyes of those who dared look straight up. It sent a slight tingling sensation through the nerves, along the skin of the animals, and brought a slight curve to the lips on the faces it shown down on. And woke the world from its slumber.
The storm shook the foundation as the little girl slept. She slept on as a bolt of electricity lit the sky for milliseconds, bringing into view the droplets of water being pulled downwards by gravity. Then the world went back into a darkness that swallowed the girl into its inner most reaches. Bursts of air were pushed faster than a car towards the North, making the house feel as if it was sliding, and being pushed on. The dark clouds rolled and rumbled creating the sound of a large drum booming. Yet through all of this, the little girl slept.
She sat there staring at nothing, thinking about nothing, and seeing nothing. She couldn't hear anything except for the cruel voices and words that are swirling through her head, haunting and taunting her to do things. She can feel the tingling of the voices getting to her, feels their ideas entering her body, slipping and sliding up through her nerves. Causing her to move, yet she can't fight back. They whisper through her veins and creep up, and out, forcing their way into her organs. Starting with her lungs, saying things she shouldn't, then her heart, and last, her brain.
Her heart beats slowly, until she enters the room. Her pulse escalates faster than a cheetah runs, pushing blood through her veins at higher, and higher rates. Her lungs start to collapse, as her body pushes all of the air out of them. Her amazingly capable brain, slowly starts to narrow, shutting down until only one thing remains. She remembers every detail of every moment, like a film constantly being played within her head. But theres only one person at the theatre. She feels every possible emotion, all during the same millisecond. She feels only the truest kind of love.
As I am reflecting back onto what I did, I find that I actually learned something in Creative Writing class, something I can't exactly say for most others. I learned about a lot of writing styles but I think my favorite was poetry. I like poetry the best because there were options on both ends of the spectrum, with no wrong answers. I'm not really sure what other types of writing I would want to do though, because I haven't really been exposed much. I don't think I had a least favorite either because I really liked all of them.
What's hard is I love you. Is there really any other word for it? It's emotions that seem so sudden, yet like they have been a long time in the making; they seem new, yet natural. They seem to clog your mind so that you can think of nothing else. It feels as if your life is just beginning, yet the old will still exist. It is so complicated, yet so simple at the same time. And it's so hard, and so easy at once. Love is life's greatest contradiction. But what's hard is, I think I feel the same.
The Tip Jar