http://unitedway.kintera.org/student/acratiousmrrp
Be a supportive soul and help me survive this ordeal…
Nah, it’s not always about me.
Seeing as I can’t help even our next-door neighbour with their disastrous situation, I’d like to do as much as possible for my new home and new community. Something I never really did in Vancity to my great regret, and would like to make up for that here in the GTA :))
Besides, who wouldn’t want to witness my ultimate demise at step 10 of 1,776…
So… It’s been a year… Basically… Oops. I’ve recently felt the intense urge to write again, after so long. I’ve been doing a lot of fantasy reading, and I felt like writing. Mostly because I have a lot of stuff going on in life. I’d rather not talk about that. But there’s a lot.
This piece hurts a little. I don’t know where it came from, and it doesn’t reflect anything in my life. I don’t know why I’ve been feeling all emotional and lovey lately. I have no romance in my life and don’t really want any at the moment… Ha.
When her eyes land upon you, they immediately dart away. There is too much unsaid in that one quick glance, yet there is too much to be said if they were to linger any longer.
The clock ticks.
The next time you pass by, unsmiling, dragging a buggy piled high with crates and boxes, her shoulders scrunch up towards her ears. She lets her hair slide slowly to cover the left side of her face. A timid smile threatens to spread at the edge of her mouth. Still, she pointedly avoids looking in that direction.
“Hello!” she exclaims at the customer entering her station, the poor lad heaving a giant basket of goods onto the belt.
Upon your passing, a great sigh of relief makes its way out her system. She scans items much more smoothly now, as if this is what her life was destined to be. For a while, all is well. Until she realizes that her break is upon her, and your break was called not two minutes ago. Having to spend a half hour in the same room as you threatens to make her explode with fiery nerves, with an over-palpitating heart, with too much tension–at least in her mind.
Break is called anyways.
Everything continues at it should. She strolls towards the lunchroom, smiling with her sparkling eyes, ponytail swaying wildly, hands tucked in her pockets, swinging her hips, as if she was a model. No one need know about her sweaty palms.
The lunchroom is empty. Another sigh of relief overwhelms her, along with an unexpected wave of disappointment. At least she had the room to herself.
Break ends. Work begins. Shift ends.
Every day this happens. Every day she yearns for more, more of something, of anything. Her eyes linger a little longer every day, her smile widens a little more every time you make time out of your life to even pass your eyes over her. To no avail. She is fully aware of this, yet is fully absorbed in you nonetheless.
Months pass.
She leaves.
You open your mouth to say something to her for the first time…
You look at the station she once worked, taken aback. Her familiar smile no longer there, her casual stride no longer gracing the halls, her bright “hello!” no longer ringing through the store.
Reality strikes.
I have been SO BUSY AGH. School sucks. Anyways, I decided to try out some found poetry today. It was… Interesting. I took up Alice Munro’s book and just flipped through random pages, writing down the first word I saw. And then attempted to create something out of it using as few other words as possible. I did that three times… I have NO idea what my thing means.
Promises to come back
Were sent quite carelessly.
She said she would travel to the town,
Nodding,
Her smile like a morbid
Afternoon; windows covered with
Clothes spread far–
For your sake, she said.
Many decided she might walk in
To this house, twenty years later.
Picturing
Her scalloped neckline, describing
Her hold,
Able to tear out a heart with just her name.
It was only the beginning.
Been a while, hasn’t it? I’ve been really busy with school. Meaning, REALLY BUSY. Also, university applications have not helped. I think I’m stressing far too much over those.
Anyways, I saw this really beautiful image on National Geographic the other day and I thought I might like to write something inspired by the image. There are four points of view that I decided to take on here. I’m hoping they’re not too obvious, but still discernible…
She leaned over, trying to get a glimpse of the unknown below, knowing that with any wrong move, any moment could be her last. With her knack of tripping over herself, a powerful gust of wind may even do the job for her.
It wasn’t close enough.
Closing her eyes, she willed her pounding heart to ease. Deep breaths. A light breeze tickled her face, a strand of hair drifting into her eyes. She cringed, the breeze bringing the possibility of falling over––
She shook her head. What was the use of a hike all the way up here if she chickened out last minute? This was her reward. It was worth it. It was worth it. It was worth it.
Chanting that phrase in her mind, she cautiously unclenched her fists, released her gritted teeth, struggled to burrow her right foot into the rigid soil, and shuffled her left foot forward, millimeter by millimeter.
Not quite.
Almost there… The side of the cliff was starting to show…
Yes!
Barely an inch away from the edge, her heartbeat thumping out of her chest, her damp hands clutched onto the straps of her backpack, she finally got her wish.
And all the words forming on the tip of her tongue dissolved.
~
He groaned, his heavy feet impaled into the sand, the never ending nagging of the water chipping off his core.
Little. By. Little.
He often thought of the creatures who walked on his back. How were they so small, yet so much of his well-being depended on them? He couldn’t deny it: they treated him well. They massaged just the right places, as though they felt the tightness of his muscles in that one perfect spot. They routinely shaved his hair. They shooed away the troublesome pieces of debris that the wind spat onto his body.
Mind you, they were most likely the ones that fed the wind those polluted bits in the first place.
Sometimes, he pictured being in their position.
It would be rather unlucky, to be so miniscule, so vulnerable. The wind seemed as if it could whisk them all away in a matter of seconds.
Standing on the edge of his back was one of the creatures. If he could, he would have released one great, heaving sigh. How brainless they were. It was fortunate that the wind was so kind; otherwise, anyone else may have knocked the creature off already.
~
Creeping inch by inch down the layers, he paused. His asthma seemed to be worsening these days; it took him longer to complete the same small patches of territory.
Absolutely not.
It was not time yet.
He was halfway there. He need only endure two more feet of reaching out and folding his stalks around the jagged edges. The rock was icy to his touch, slightly damp from the waves’ persistent badgering, which––Ah.
Only now, it occurred to him that the rock may not have approved of this breach of privacy. It was such a routine in his life by now… He didn’t even think. A wave of shame swept across his leaves, rustling them a little. But how to apologize? Now that he had almost completed his path, there was no way to communicate.
His only hope was that the rock had forgiven this violation by now. There was no time to dawdle; time was a-ticking, and break time was over.
Taking a deep breath, he ventured forth.
~
What a naive fool, she thought, drifting in circles around the creature an inch away from the edge of the rock. She gave a little puff. The creature’s mane fluttered upwards a bit. It stiffened visibly.
Thank goodness she was in a satisfactory mood today; otherwise, she might have considered…
No!
She had to remember the promise she made to herself.
The mere thought of her actions, those weeks ago… It was horrifying. The absolute delight that filled her transparent heart, releasing great extravagant sighs along with her fettered emotions; the slow spread of panic at seeing the mass of creatures teeter and fall over the edge; the piercing screams that filled the air, echoing all the way down the pit; but mostly, the painful angles of the creatures’ parts as they lay on the rocks, red liquid oozing.
Suddenly aware of her breath getting increasingly labored, she bade herself to get it together. It would not happen again, she was sure of it.
This was boring. About time she left.
Okay, I don’t really know what this is. Also, it’s not very realistic, I don’t think. Like, that is NOT what most families are like. I don’t know where this came from, but I just sat at my computer, wanting to write something (since I hadn’t in a while, asides from my journal), and this came up. Does this say something about me? I hope not, because my family is definitely not this way. And I have no idea how drugs, pubs, shooting, hunting, gang fights work. So there. No absolute knowledge at all. I’m pretty sheltered.
She crouched next to the drawer, sorting through her piles of clothing, seeking the one that would most impress. (Calgary, Alberta)
He sat at the bar, beer balancing precariously in his shaking hand, roaring with laughter at his companion’s remarks. (Columbia, South Carolina)
She stood in front of the mirror, twisting her head to get a better view of the new crystal earrings recently gifted to her.
He dropped his body down on the couch in front of the television, legs and arms spread open, flipping through the channels.
She smiled as she watched her hair being curled handsomely, shooting out exact directions as to how it was to look.
He smirked arrogantly as he poised himself, preparing to shoot, aiming for the tiny red dot at the center of the target.
She giggled, reaching for the abominable mask and hat, and crowded into the photo booth with her friends.
He released a thick plume of smoke, watching it curl as it dissipated, before taking another puff from his cigarette.
She had the life she always wanted, with the unadulterated joy that never came with marriage.
He had the life he always wanted, chains of marriage no longer restraining his desire to do what he wanted.
But with the breaking of the marriage, they had broken the one thing that tied them together.
It smashed the mirror in its room, hating its life, hating the lady and the man, hating their rejection.
It entered the house late at night, eyes swollen and lip cracked, clothes covered with soot and grime.
It guzzled down the water, the three tablets sliding smoothly down its throat, unfazed though perfectly aware.
It watched, frozen-hearted, as the red and blue lights appeared in the distance, come to take the nothingness that remained.
Loooooonnnggggg one… I thought I was good at writing fictional stuff, but man it’s tough. I ended up ranting a lot. Oops.
Don’t know what person is going to read this whole thing, but… Enjoy. This was my final project for my writing course.
Also, the title sounds ridiculous, but I tried to make it connect to the story and the books…
“But at the beginning of the following summer, as he was on his march towards Rome and was beginning to pass the Alps, he had news brought him that his nephew Modred, to whose care he had entrusted Britain, had by tyrannical and treasonable practices set the crown upon his own head; and that queen Guanhumara, in violation of her first marriage, had wickedly married him.” (History of the Kings of Britain, Geoffrey of Monmouth)
Colton stared at the page, the words gradually being digested into his head. It was definitely time for a break. Some good reading was accomplished. This is what he called quality time spent well.
Standing up, he closed the book, placing it lightly on the couch.
What to do, now? Work didn’t start for another two hours. It wasn’t abnormal for Colton to find himself scavenging for something new, something interesting to do at the manor. He has moved furniture around too many times to count—yes, he does this himself—and he has explored the house so many times he could point out every miniscule flaw. Ever since Father died, Colton has found himself constantly reshuffling items, never satisfied. To his disgust, he continued to think back on Father’s layout, and how beautifully crafted it was.
No—it was a horror.
Perhaps a simple walk is good enough for me, Colton thought, shaking his head. He grabbed the keys to his quarters and proceeded forward, fixing his shirt collar before shutting the door behind him.
~
The walk served its intended purpose. He took note of several things: fixing some of the lights in the grand library, polishing the two candlesticks in the back of the dining hall, perhaps bringing in some new china…
Several workers also passed him by, huffing and puffing, each one looking rather exhausted. Each one, he asked if they were doing quite all right. They were doing spectacularly, each one said. Colton couldn’t help but notice that each one carefully looked anywhere that was not in his eyes, and that each one’s hands were trembling as they stood before him.
Of course, that was unsurprising.
As Colton was ruminating about these workers and how they pointedly avoided him, a door swung open to his left. Startled, he paused in his steps. He’d been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized he’d arrived to his sister’s quarters.
Celia looked twenty times as shocked as Colton, her eyes wide as a doe’s, her mouth hanging open. Or perhaps she was just much more expressive.
“You’ll catch flies, Sister.” Colton stated.
Her mouth snapped shut, before curling into a small, sly smile. “Why hello there, Brother. I’m pretty good, thanks for not asking. Come to see me, have you?”
“I didn’t think I was, actually,” he said. “But now I suppose so.”
If Celia’s smile would widen any more, it would split her face in two. She looks so much like Mother, he thought. An exact copy. It’s no wonder everyone takes to her. Somehow, though, she shone more brilliant than Mother, Celia a diamond and Mother merely a pearl.
Then, abruptly, her face fell. Beckoning Colton into the room, she told him they needed to talk. This was rather puzzling; it was rare for Celia to sound so serious. He followed her into the sitting room, and she motioned for him to sit.
“So, Brother,” she began, voice just barely catching. There was a silence. It affected neither sibling; silence was common among the two.
“So, Brother,” she tried again. “Before we have our deep, soulful talk, would you care for some proper builders tea? I know it’s your favorite!” She emphasized the last word, and then skipped out of the room, humming to herself and darting a wink at Colton.
He sighed. This was going to take a while.
~
“No.” The word rang out, loud and clear, echoing in the white silence of the sitting room. Strangely enough, this new silence made Colton a bit uncomfortable. It swam with tension.
“But—”
Colton shook his head, letting a hint of a sad grimace creep onto his face. “I’m sorry, Sister, but I must decline. This way, it will be better for both of us.”
The idea was absurd. Introduce him to her circle of friends? They were her friends, not his. Besides, Celia talked about them day and night; two of them work with her at Juicy Juice, and her boyfriend was some type she met at school. Colton essentially knew them already, so there was no need to meet them face-to-face.
Most importantly, however, he knew they would react the same way as everyone else he has ever encountered. Fear, creeping into their eyes, though they tried to conceal it. Dread, at having to face the spawn of a monster—it didn’t help that Colton looked identical to Father. Pain, knowing who this boy was. Oh, he was just like Father.
Celia was different. He made her swear, four years ago upon Father’s death, to tell no one who her family was. He made her recite, over and over again, who her new family was, down to the finest hair. To this day, she is known as the darling orphan girl who lives with her grandmother, whose older brother has departed on his travels.
“No, it won’t!” Celia insisted. “I want them to know who you are. They’re my friends, and they deserve to know the truth. You’re my brother, and you deserve to live a beautiful life—you’re 19, for goodness’ sake!—not one cramped up like you are in the manor.”
She was too noble for her own good.
Colton stood up, fixing a crinkle on his dress shirt. “I must pass, Sister. You know I want only the best for you, and this is the best.” He made to leave, stepping one foot forward.
“You know what, Brother?” Celia’s voice was quiet, too quiet, hardly a whisper. “I don’t think you do, actually. If you wanted the best for me, you’d do more for me. You don’t know what I do for you. I lie for you, every day. And every time, it hurts me a little more. If I could just tell the truth, I could probably live a decade longer. But for you, Brother, I keep our secret quiet.”
He didn’t turn around, yet he could feel Celia’s eyes boring holes into his back, could hear the disappointment screaming in her voice, could visualize her stiff, straight-backed sitting posture she used when she was angry.
“Only because you refuse to let it go. Why can’t you let it go? He’s dead, and you’re not him. You’re just too scared of becoming like him, but the more you think you’re becoming him, the more you will turn out to be like him. You have it in you to be good, you know, Brother. You know what—What our brother would say? He would—”
Colton whirled around, icy eyes piercing her so that she cringed the smallest amount. “You do not tell me what Cyrus would say,” he said, voice flat. “He is gone and dead, murdered by our dear father, and he will not be saying anything evermore. So you do not go and act like his spokeswoman.”
There was stillness, the air churning. One could almost see sparks flying. Celia smiled, a smile that reached nowhere near her striking eyes—oh, were they striking, drowning in hurt and disappointment—and pointed to the door.
“Out. Now.”
~
Celia had not spoken to him for days. In return, Colton had not bothered to speak to her either. He could not believe she introduced Cyrus in a conversation. Cyrus was dead. And Colton was turning into the man who killed him. What a disgrace. More than a disgrace, actually. What a nightmare.
Sometimes, he wished that Cyrus were alive; he would be able to fix Colton up, would be able to make him into a good man, a man like Cyrus himself. But Colton would rethink, and he knew he would never, never in a trillion years, want Cyrus to see him in such a state. Shut in the manor all the time except when going to work, speaking to no one and creating fear in people’s lives.
Oh, Cyrus, he thought. What do I do?
~
A week passed since Celia last spoke to him, and Colton was beginning to get uneasy. She had never been resentful for so long; though stubborn, she always ended up seeing the beauty in people, swiftly forgiving them.
They rarely fought, but this was ridiculous. He, however, refused to speak to her first. He supposed they both end up getting the stubbornness from Mother.
~
One month. One month gone by, and not one word from Celia. This was definitely a new record—Colton hadn’t thought it possible she could go one month being angry with someone. He, on the other hand, was not faring too well. As irritating as she could be, Celia was his sister, and he needed her endless energy. She lived so much in the present that she was even slightly contagious.
Colton reached to insert an encyclopedia back into its rightful place on the shelf, but dropped it at the last second. It landed with a booming thump, startling nearly half the library. A couple of the visitors turned to glare at him, but upon noticing who it was, they went back to work, panicked.
Muttering a quiet apology, he wedged the book back into its spot.
A pair of footsteps came up to Colton from behind. He kept doing his thing, shoving books back onto the shelf, pretending he didn’t notice a thing.
“I know ya know I’m here,” a deep, raspy voice whispered. “Play dumbs all ya like, boy.”
Colton turned around, shaking his head in amusement. “I just can’t fool you, can I, Mister?”
It was Mr. Hahn, the head librarian in his early forties, who seemed to know everything. They met about three years ago. He was also the one man Colton has met that was not frightened of him at first glance; he could distinctly recall Mister’s first gruff words to him: “Tell me ya fav’rite book, boy, and we’ll see if I like ya!”
Hopefully, he liked Colton. Mister never did say.
Mister was a rough man on the exterior, but he was sincere, really wishing the best for the staff and visitors of the library. His love for books was well known and respected all around the city, and no one respected him more than Colton himself—according to Colton, at least.
“Why ya droppin’ my books, eh? This’s a first. I ain’t ever seen ya drop ’em precious covers before.” Mister eyed Colton, one of his bushy caterpillar eyebrows raised high.
Colton had the sense to look ashamed. “I’m very sorry, Mister. I don’t know what I was thinking, really.”
“No, s’alright.” Mister cracked a grin. “Jus’ wanted to bother ya. What y’up to? I’ve noticed yar not lookin’ too happy, recently. Don’ worry,” he continued, sensing what Colton was about to say, “No one’s noticed, jus’ me. I’m quite observant, ya see?”
It was true. As strict as Mister was, he seemed to notice every slight difference in mood, minor differences that most others would not discern. It was rather remarkable.
“Well, I have been thinking—”
“Dangerous, m’boy, dangerous,” Mister teased.
Colton gave him a look of exasperation. “I have been thinking about the notion of friendship—and the idea of getting to know people. What do you think about it? Do you perchance know of any previous examples in history? I know of…” He paused. “Gaius Julius Caesar and Marcus Junius Brutus, Gaius Julius Octavius and Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa…”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Mister interrupted, scowling. Temper was not a virtue of his. “Well, I can’t say I know much ‘bout it from experience, but, ah, say, I’ve some more rel’vant examples—around recent years, I mean—in lit’rature, like, ah, Sam an’ Frodo—the Lord o’ the Rings, that is—an’, ah, Tom Sawyer an’ Huck Finn…”
He stopped for a moment, tapping his fingers on the palm of his other hand. There were probably too many examples to count; naturally, Mister knew of all of them, and only needed to decide which were books Colton might like to read.
“… Nick Carraway an’ Jay Gatsby—a rather unique case, I s’pose—Sancho Panza an’ Don Quixote, ah, an’…”
At some point, Colton must have tuned out, thinking about all the studying he would have to do regarding friendship. Next thing he knew, Mister was gone. Colton blinked several times, turning around to see a stack of books on his book cart: the three Lord of the Rings novels, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Great Gatsby, and around ten more.
This was a challenge, but a challenge he was willing to undergo.
~
“But you’ve left out one of the chief characters; Samwise the stout hearted. ‘I want to hear more about Sam, dad. Why didn’t they put in more of his talk, dad? That’s what I like, it makes me laugh. And Frodo wouldn’t have got far without Sam, would he, dad?’ ” –Frodo Baggins (The Two Towers, J.R.R.Tolkien)
The trilogy was rather fascinating; Colton could not believe he had put off reading it for so long. However, he zoomed in on scenes with Frodo Baggins and his gardener Samwise Gamgee. Samwise was unbelievably loyal to Frodo, and while Frodo carried all the heavy baggage, Sam brought hope and light everywhere he went. He was a rather simpleminded person, but a true person nonetheless. Was this friendship, then? Being loyal and supporting each other?
“She said all a body would have to do there was to go around all day long with a harp and sing, forever and ever. So I didn’t think much of it. But I never said so. I asked her if she reckoned Tom Sawyer would go there, and she said not by a considerable sight. I was glad about that, because I wanted him and me to be together.” –Huck Finn (The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain)
Colton was very much entertained by Thomas Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. They were very different people, with completely different lifestyles, yet they still managed to become friends. While not ‘best’ friends, their meeting each other was a very important part of their lives. Keeping this in mind, Colton realized that friendship was no small thing; it could change one’s life forever. That was an alarming prospect.
“‘They’re a rotten crowd,’ I shouted across the lawn. ‘You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together.’” –Nick Carraway (The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald)
The Great Gatsby was a striking book. The relationship between Nick Carraway and Jay Gatsby could be called friendship, though based on Colton’s definition of friendship, it was quite a ways off. Nick admired Jay Gatsby very, very much, and was influenced greatly by the man. Colton thought that this book might not be exactly what he was looking for, though he understood that respect played a great role in a healthy friendship.
~
He finished all the books a few weeks later, with not one peep from Celia the entire time—quite a feat on her part. Now, however, it was time for some action. The mere thought of doing this sent a bead of sweat sliding down his face. That was unnerving.
Noon swung by, which was Colton’s cue to proceed. Taking his old, creaky Mustang, he left the manor, heading towards the city.
~
The bell chimed a high reedy sound as Colton stepped into Juicy Juice. He had put on a pair of jeans and a thick hoodie to conceal his white hair as much as possible. Immediately, the smell of pineapple and mango wafted towards him, nearly stuffing his nose. He was definitely not used to so much exotic fruit—he would have loved some fresh, aromatic builder’s tea.
The place was empty, not what Colton would have expected. It was a small shop, and made for buyers to purchase a drink then leave. He imagined it was founded just for busy people.
A voice called out “Welcome to Ju—” before sharply cutting off. Colton did not look towards the counter, instead deliberately examining the rows of pineapples and mangos lined up along the window, as if they were some special clearance item. Yet, somehow, he could see her smile sneak onto her face, threatening to invade. He could hear her next words ringing in his head, all joyful and filled with pride. He could feel her entire body loosen all at once, radiating happiness. It was as if she was never angry with him.
What had he gotten himself into?
“Celia? Earth to Celia? You alright?” another voice, a male voice, asked. “I dunno about you, but I think it’s kinda rude to stare. Welcome, though,” he said, directed towards Colton.
“Oh, yeah, oops. Thanks, Roy. Anyways, how may we help you, sir?” Celia heavily emphasized the sir, her gaze never leaving Colton’s back. “I do believe it’s your first time here, is it not? Would you like some recommendations?”
“How do you know it’s his first time here?” asked the boy named Roy. “You’re not here every day.”
Colton turned around. “She is right; It is my first time here. A recommendation would be nice, as well.”
The boy named Roy gaped, mouth hanging open. He’s absolutely ghastly at acting, Colton thought. He could have at least tried to keep his mouth closed. Colton observed the boy: around the same age as Colton, with choppy, untidy brown hair and a tall, delicate frame. While Colton disliked the lack of properness displayed by this Roy, the boy looked friendly enough, with large walnut eyes that held bottomless warmth and unerring hope.
“You’ll catch flies, Roy,” Celia stated, echoing Colton’s words from weeks ago.
His mouth snapped shut, before splitting into a wide grin. “Welcome, Lord Eider! The name’s Roy Kerr. I s’pose it’s your first time, like Celia said. Today, we’ve got some wicked specials; let’s see, um, there’s the Sunset, with grapefruit, beet, lime and ginger, and the Fire, with carrot, orange, lime and ginger. Dunno why there’s so much ginger. Personally, my favourite is the Forest. It’s got pear, kale, celery, cucumber and lemon. Uber healthy, right?”
It was rather overwhelming, and definitely not what Colton anticipated. Roy talked about thirty times too fast for the ears, and there were far too many ingredients in the juices. Nevertheless, he blurted out the only name he heard on the list: “Forest, please.”
“Good choice!” Roy bustled off to fix up the juice. “You won’t regret it!” he called back. Then, “Hey, Ed, wanna grab me some pears and a lemon? Thanks, mate!”
Colton stood there, unmoving, still processing Roy’s words. He noticed Celia’s eyes on him.
“Have you told them?” Colton asked, already knowing the answer.
Celia shook her head, biting her lip. “I don’t know how.” She typed a couple numbers into the cash register, then announced, “8 dollars, please.”
Roy’s voice came floating in from the back of the shop. “No need to charge him, Celia! It’s on me!”
Celia smirked, rolling her eyes. She muttered something under breath that sounded suspiciously like, “As if. Course I’ll charge him.”
Colton raised an eyebrow, not knowing how to respond. Turns out, he had no need to.
Roy came back, holding a deep red drink in his hand. It was blood red, making Colton’s stomach lurch. An image of a monster flashed in his mind. It is a mere drink, he told himself. Get over it.
“One Forest for you, milord!”
To Colton’s surprise, another boy came out from behind Roy. How many workers did one need in a miniscule shop like Juicy Juice?
This boy emitted a completely different aura than Roy—he looked to be the type that was friends with no one unless he chose to be, much like Colton. Narrow green eyes, like a serpent’s, with a graceful edge to his prowl. Colton had no idea who this boy was, but he instantly felt a crushing, intense sense of both like and dislike.
The boy’s eyes shot straight to Colton, drilling into him, making him wince a bit. How unusual. Was this the effect he had on others, making them uneasy? They glared at each other, steely eyes to serpent eyes, for barely a second.
“Oh!” Roy said, seeming to have forgotten something, or perhaps merely breaking the tension. “How silly of me. Lord Eider, this is Edward Thomas, and Edward, I s’pose you know who Lord Eider is. He got my favourite drink after I recommended it to him? Isn’t that slick?!”
Edward reluctantly removed his eyes from Colton as he said, “Yes, Roy, it is, as you’ve asked many times now.”
Colton’s brow furrowed faintly. That was rather impolite, he thought. However, just then, he noticed a small smile on Edward’s face. Ah. So they were friends, then—Edward was joking with Roy, not being rude. Glancing at Celia, Colton could tell she was amused as well. Under the delight, though, he noticed a layer of anxiety. It was probably to do with him; perhaps he should be the one to reveal the secret. He opened his mouth, and—
“So, Lord Eider,” Edward went on, smoothly. He was the epitome of grace… “Your sister has been working here quite a while. It’s quite good of you to finally show up.” … As well as sarcasm.
There was a long silence, with only the clock ticking in the background.
It was Roy who spoke up first. “Ah… I hadn’t noticed…”
To press him on, Colton stared at Edward. The boy didn’t falter, though he firmly avoided eye contact. Eventually, he continued: “I didn’t know, before. I noticed just now. You two are pretty different in looks, but family members will always have some similar traits, no matter how small.”
Celia glanced at Colton. Unexpectedly, he felt as if a great burden was lifted of his shoulders—perhaps he had been making Celia hide it for too long. Shame filled him. He swore to make it up to her. He would probably have to thank Edward for this, too.
“Celia! You didn’t have to hide him from us, we’re your friends.” Roy looked miffed.
Colton put a hand on Roy’s shoulder. “It was I. How about we take a seat? I have quite a few things to say regarding our circumstances…”
~
Colton’s first experience with potential friends went infinitely better than he had expected. They treated him so… Naturally. As a matter of fact, this experience struck him so much that he returned to Juicy Juice nearly every day.
As he got to know Roy better, he learned that Roy was, in fact, dreadfully terrified of Colton the first time they met. Perhaps the boy was better at acting than Colton initially gave him credit for. However, unlike most people, his sociable, helpful nature overpowered all of his fears. Colton felt vastly thankful for that. The boy was a little bit like Samwise Gamgee, simple but genuine, bringing light wherever he went. While not the type of person Colton could have ever imagined being friends with, it looked as if they were on a path to friendship, the two of them.
Colton was also introduced to Roy’s girlfriend and Celia’s best friend Riza Manning, who also worked at Juicy Juice. Prior to their encounter, he had already heard more than enough about this girl from Celia. So he knew quite a bit about her, which was odd. She was not particularly stunning, not in the way Celia was, but the girl had a quiet, natural beauty deep within her that Colton supposed only Roy could truly untangle. They were an unlikely pair, Roy and Riza; yet, if asked, Colton thought he might not be able to picture the two of them otherwise.
To Colton’s dismay, he was also forced (by none other than Celia) to become friends with her boyfriend, Hunter Barnett. He looked to be a very well bred boy, with an impressive hairstyle and a clean outfit, but never have looks been more deceiving. This Hunter was a nightmare of slang and horrifying manners, and unlike Roy, did not have the clumsy kindness to make up for it. Colton had absolutely no clue what his sister saw in this boy. He supposed he would have to deal with Hunter, though, for Celia’s sake. Perhaps one day, they would become the type of friends Thomas and Huckleberry were.
Edward was the one who most interested Colton. The boy was far too observant and spoke words far too close to the target for Colton’s liking. Nonetheless, Edward fascinated Colton. From the first moment they laid eyes on each other, Colton felt a spark of respect for Edward; was this how Nick Carraway felt upon meeting Jay Gatsby? The problem was that neither boy spoke to each other unless required, as Colton refused to be the first to speak, and Edward… Well, Colton could never figure what that boy was thinking. They have yet to make a conversation last longer than ten seconds.
~
Colton often thought of his brother. What would Cyrus say if he was here? Even as an adult, Cyrus would likely have the same silliness as ten-year-old him.
“Brother!” he would probably say, pouting charmingly. “You never spend any time with me, anymore. Don’t you like being at the manor?”
Or, perhaps:
“Tell me everything about these new friends of yours, Brother. Have you got a girlfriend yet? I best be the first to hear the news if you do!”
Despite all the badgering, though, Colton could not help but believe that Cyrus would be extremely, irrevocably, proud of his younger brother.
And, to Colton’s own surprise, so was he.
Another poem. Yep. -cringes-
This one’s pretty random.
The Talent Show
The audience collectively held their breath
As she lifted his hands to slam the keys.
From the stage came the requiem of death;
The room seemed to freeze,
As if it dropped twenty degrees.
We noticed her dark frown, her angry brow,
But then she finished, seeming at ease.
And she stepped forward and took a deep bow.
~
The next boy was on before anyone could blink,
All rounded shoulders and bent back;
He peeked at the audience, seeming to shrink,
Before lifting his bow and starting with a smack.
Poor guy seemed like he might have an anxiety attack,
So we thought, we should support him, but how?
But he was done! We were rather taken aback,
And he stepped forward and took a deep bow.
~
A pair strolled on, singing already,
Staring into each other’s eyes;
Their voices rose like waves, rich and steady,
Soaring above and beyond the unknown skies.
When their voices faded, we saw the size
Of the emotion they felt, as if making a vow,
Before finally looking away, faces lit with surprise,
And they stepped forward and took a deep bow.
~
Finally it was my turn, as nervous as ever,
But I went for it here and now;
This was a moment I would remember forever,
And I stepped forward and took a deep bow.
Clearly, poetry is NOT my strong suit. I struggle a lot with poetry: from finding inspiration as to what to write about, all the way to actually being able to put words down in verses. I don’t know why. It shouldn’t be this difficult, because poetry and other forms of creative writing all come from imagination. And I seem to generally be able to do the other ones just fine.
Also, I suck at titles. Obviously.
Well, whatever. This was a random poem I wrote. It’s intended purpose was simple and very literal: because of the sizzling weather we’ve been having (compared to many places, it’s cold, but for us here in BC– maybe Canada, even– it’s a big change), there’s been a lot of forest fires. And therefore a lot of firefighters. I definitely went really extreme in the poem (like, a bit too far, I think), but I tried.
And that’s all that matters, right? :-P
The Man Who Transformed
When the haze covers enough to dim the world
And the sun pierces through, a bright red laser beam
Unable to diffuse its energy,
He will take his truck and he will ride. He will have his
Great orange jacket, the sweltering, thick coat,
Orange like the raging inferno he struggles to control
Day and night. This heavy burden
Constantly on his back and yet if this load is removed
He will fall; will succumb under the blaze, under the veil of darkness
That swallows it all up. It will leap and twirl,
And he will run,
Sprinting for his meager life, because this meager life
Was a life made for saving and worth saving. And every time
He will carry his burden and no one will know,
Yet they will. Because they will see
The shapeless, powerful form of resistance,
And the man standing at the end of it, dripping with
Dedication and strength and perseverance. And he
Will transform into something more. Within the destruction,
He will create a corridor.
Remember Colton, from a number of my stories? Yeah, for some reason, I really like using him. Probably because he’s been staying the same old nostalgic, sad guy who thinks and thinks yet never really acts on any of his thinking. He just keeps thinking about the past and about his dad, who’s been dead for several years now, and how he’ll never get over that. I’m sure he will… Eventually. It’s taking a while, mostly because 1. he has no friends and doesn’t try to get any, 2. people are scared of him, 3. he doesn’t know how to socialize properly and saw the right things based on body language/emotion, 4. he doesn’t know how to show body language/emotion himself, 5. he pushes his sister away even though he loves her, 6. he has like no hobbies, 7. he’s scared of the notion of forgetting, even if he doesn’t know it himself, 8. the list goes on.
I wrote a little poem from him to his sister Celia. When he asks Celia why she is so beautiful, it is not because he loves her romantically. He’s simply amazed as to how she can live life so purely. I would be, too. Maybe.
They come rushing back in a wave of pain,
Taught a long time ago to not show it.
Father commanded to never complain:
Even now his words affect me a bit;
But my responsibility comes first,
A job that will never be typical;
Sometimes, I think this family is cursed,
Yet, Sister, how are you so beautiful?
It is tough, when compassion seems to fail,
Especially when I try with my heart;
When people see me, they suddenly pale:
A splitting image with no brand new start;
As days pass, so do same daily routine,
So do I, you, no changes in between.
Almost the same as the last story. I basically used the same idea but made Neils a little bit smarter… Personally I like the first one better because the man was very interesting, but my mum likes this one being Neils is more intelligent. Different opinions, I guess.
Neils was drenched. He didn’t know why he rescued this man, considering the man was basically dead anyways. As he observed the man, however, a sense of unease fell over Neils.
A wheezing noise left the man’s lips. Neils looked down into a pair of dreadfully bland eyes, dull and emotionless. Immediately, a sense of alarm overcame him.
“Thank you, thank you sir. You’re too good,” the man stammered. “I don’t know where I’d be if you didn’t come along and save me!”
Neils eyed the man, noting his strangely rapid recovery from near-death.
The man didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he merely paused, thinking.
“How about this: as a token of my appreciation, wherever you’re off travelin’ to, I’ll be as much help I can be. Where you goin’?”
“Hawaii.”
The man grinned. Neils couldn’t help but twitch uncomfortably at the sight of it.
“Sounds great. Teach me how to fish, sir, for I’ll provide some delicious meat for the both of us.”
Neils nodded. It was a rather brilliant idea, actually.
“I’m Neils,” Neils said.
The man grinned again, making Neils shiver a bit. “Good to meet you, Neils sir!”
Days passed. Neils ended up having to fish, because the man turned out to be no good. Somehow, he never managed to catch any. Several times, he came close, but the fish flopped away again. The man was definitely good for other things, though.
One day, it was rather stormy and foggy. Neils was sure he put his compass on the wooden box on deck. When Neils went to look for it, however, it was gone. Immediately, he thought of the man.
It couldn’t have been, Neils tried to convince himself. The winds must’ve blown it off.
Yet he searched and he searched, and could no longer find the metal contraption.
The man came over, noticing Neils’ desperation.
“Neils sir, is everything quite alright?”
Neils nodded. “Yes, no problem at all. I’m just looking for an item I dropped somewhere, but it’s not that important.”
The man frowned. “If you say so,” he said, acting as if he didn’t care.
Neils paid close attention, however, and saw the flash of frustration in the man’s eyes.
More days passed.
A massive cargo ship came into view one day, and Neils took this opportunity to do what he should have done long ago.
As the man took his daily nap, Neils paid a visit to the ship. He begged the crew, the stubborn, unmoving crew, finally managing to convince them by agreeing to pay a small sum. They were a strong group, the crew; they could handle a tricky man.
Feeling like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, Neils whistled as he steered his boat away, back towards the islands. As a frequent sailor, he knew the waters better than he knew himself, and the route from Vancouver to Hawaii was a simple route.
From the distance, he could hear echoes of an irate voice, cursing him in several languages.
A couple of weeks later, Neils parked his boat on the coast of Oahu.
Standing up, stretching his arms wide above his head, he finally felt the excitement he had been yearning to feel for a long, long time.
He wondered what the man was up to. Ha, Neils thought. It wasn’t his concern. It was time to go.
“Onwards and upwards!”
cratious mrrp *☮to #y@u~♫ 