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Trade MistakesOh god.
I roll my eyes. It's my friend. I know she means well, but it's annoying when people care too much sometimes.
"You need a job."
There is one problem with her suggestion. I already have a job. It's from when I wake up to when I fall asleep and it's called feeling sorry for myself. Yeah, it's a pretty demanding job. The hours are shit and so is the pay, but I am part of a million people strong network. Some people do it part time, others full time.
I work full time.
"I'll get one," I tell them. They mean well and I love them dearly, really. I mean if i loved myself as much as I loved them I would be the most concieted person on the planet. I love them that much. Maybe my love for them will pull me out of this rut and I ckinda hope it does.
Actually I'm kinda relying on that love.
Full time, kinda like my job. I think I mostly depend on their love though. When I really think about it. I need their appraisal. I need their smiles. I need the way they say 'it's ok
Anna MollySometimes I want to believe I'm different.
I brush shoulders with some girls from my school and they scoff. Did she just touch me? They're disgusted. Why? Why are they disgusted? I have the same anatomy as them. I just look different. They all look the same, like manufactured barbies that try too hard.
And physically I am.
I make my way past the different cliques and I wonder: how exactly do they look at me? Do they look at me like the barbies do? I can hear my feet, like a metronome. Clack, clack, clack. Or rather squeak, squeak, squeak because I'm wearing some worn out boots and the floor is wet.
I have never been a part of them. The cliques. I've always been alone. Yeah, I guess alone is a good word for it. I perfer self isolation. I think I gave up on humanity somewhere along the line. People were so selfish and so was I. I wanted to much more. I wanted to be different.
I was. Just not in the way I wanted to be.
I cross my arms like I'm holding up a shield because I'm starti
With A BangI don't think I'd ever meet anyone quite like her if she'd died that night.
She's sketching. I'm looking over her schoulder because I'm curious. I'm always curious when she'd doing something. It's always something incredible and fantastic and beautiful. She doubts these words when she hears them.
She's using red now. It's not bright red, or brick red, which is this weird orange-red that's just bullshit, it's this pretty scarlet red. Whatever she's drawing must be bleeding or blossoming and quite frankly it looks like both.
She's dyed her hair again. It's the same color as the crayola she's using. Her red hair goes in every which direction. It bobs with the way she moves and it expresses her firey soul which is quickly burning out. It's smoldering and I'm kind trying to bring it back to life, but it's hard.
I don't know if I can save her.
I really hope I can because it's such bullshit that someone who use to shine as bright as her is still so blinding as she's goin' out.
Let. Me. In.I put your work in my folder called home, because that's where you belong; in my heart, inside my home.
I think I found her"Who are you?"
It was a question uttered out loud in a disbelieving voice and it was a good question. Who was I? Why am I here? Who had I been? My eyes fell from her's and I kept asking myself. Was there an answer? A true answer? Not one of those cracker box answers that only gave a boring description. I couldn't give her one that was exciting either because I knew that was a lie.
"I don't know," I finally answered as I lift my gaze to see her. She looks familiar. Maybe I knew her once? She smiles at me for a brief moment and we look away. "You gonna be okay?" she asks, after a moment of hestitance of course.
"Yeah, I think so."
We share that mutual smile and I wipe at the mirror. "Good pep talk," I tell myself and she smiles again. I had lost her in a bottle of something bad. "Talk to you later?" She gives a slight bouncy nod like she's expecting me later and I smile to myself.
"I think I found her."
Game of WarI watch as the little boys play war in the front lawn of my friend's lavish summer home. Their mock sounds of pain set me on edge. A violent clash of toys imitate bombs and send the players sprawling a mere inch back, fingers and toes still intact.
Slowly I watch the little soliders seperate. The boys of today find their enemies of tommorrow in an almost indiscriminate way. "You're the bad guy!" August's boy proclaims and Martin's boy shoots back, "Why do I gotta be the bad guy!"
"Because you're the bad guy! Stop being such a baby!"
Their game is black and white. Bad is bad. Good is good. There is no detailing or shade of grey. No space for doubt in the war they play a part of. I scoff for war is no game. I can leave my home a hero possibly today and find myself to be my own enemy tommorrow for every bullet chamber I emptied into some unfortunate man's chest.
"Time for dinner!"
The little soliders march into my friend's blood money estate. I pretend to forget the game for war and all t
Black and White TragedyThe angel offered a forced smile at her reflection in the piano. It morphed slowly to show her a frown and she touched her face. No smile. She was losing her head again. Her eyes turned to the keys. Black and white. They were so simple in contrast to her reflection, vivid colors against the polished body of the piano.
Angel bowed her head respectfully as she looked down to look at her hands. They lay so gently on the keys. She took a deep inhale and closed her eyes. She pressed the first key. Off. A little too high. Her brows furrowed as continued to clink her way through the notes until she found what she was looking for.
A soft. Tadume. A noise she couldn’t describe with words or even a hum. Angel smiled a little as she tapped out a tune. Gentle and melancholy in nature and suddenly she stopped.
Her mouth opened hesitantly. What would she sing? Angel’s eyes opened and she could see Michael’s picture sitting on the piano. No care in the world. Just a big smile and bi
I was someone onceI was being born in reverse. Every nick and scratch that once made me, me, was gone. The memories. The people. Gone. I was freshly confused by my existence and instead of being conceived as a babe in my mother's womb I was born a young adult; stripped of personality but not of my worldly knowledge. Being left void of who I was made me cry out to the ears that would listen.
An Anecdote From the Attic The stack of dusty, aging postcards was just barely held in a bundle by several moldering pieces of fraying string tied around them, quartering the image on the top postcard in the stack. The bleached out color print of a Cape Cod lighthouse was easy enough to identify thanks to the caption, Highland Light ~ Truro, Massachusetts, across the bottom in simple, bold black script. What had once been Atlantic Ocean blue in the lower background was now faded close to white, almost matching the faint clouds above.
The old string didn't hold. Dozens of postcards spilled into sixteen-year-old Eric Kent's lap as he sat cross-legged on the floor in the attic of his family's home. He carefully gathered them up and set all but one aside, the one with the lighthouse on it. Eric liked lighthouses. He'd never been near to one, and he wondered why his parents had never taken him to see any of America's thousands of miles of coastline. The back of
AlwaysHe wanted to let go. He wanted it so much, every time he heard that a ship was coming into the docks, every time his lungs pressed up against his ribs and he drowned in his own heartbeat.
Always, always he rushed down to the docks, hoping that this time the ship that was coming in would bear his son. And always, always, it was empty, filled only with bland, neutral unknown faces that he hated with such vitriol that he would quite happily consign them to the bottom of the ocean if he could. They weren't his son, these faces, and their pity meant nothing to him.
Always, always he felt as though the wight of the world had landed squarely on his shoulders, driving him out into the cold depths of space. He felt the freezing bubble that built slowly in his chest until it ripped it's way out past his an incomprehensible scream. He did not know why he was screaming, or who he was screaming at. He felt that all it accomplished was to tear his vocal chords to shreds. Always, always, he would cry
Internal wounds are hard to healA beautiful young lady in her mid 20s has been very very sad. She and her family are about to lose everything they had in their life because they have no money and people complaining fraud stuff about them and their homes. The family doesn't know what to do anymore, no one wants to help them and they feel like EVERYONE hates them. The mid 20s year old girl just wished someone or at least several people help her and her family because she doesn't know who to go to.
Why So Nice? Lifty and Shifty were out on another heist, as you would expect. They were going to steal snacks and junk food from the residents of Happy Tree Town. They stole Cookies, candy, pastries, frozen foods, chips, soda, fruit punch, chocolate malt/hot chocolate mix, and as a healthier bonus, granola bars. They also stole ingredients to make their own sweets and eats. Luna was recently teaching the twins how to cook and bake, and Lifty wanted to test his basic baking skills.
It was nearly morning and Shifty loaded the last tub of ice cream into their van, which they kept air conditioned to keep the foods cold, and slammed the doors shut. Unfortunately, Lumpy was a cop on night patrol and Lifty and Shifty were in exactly the wrong place at exactly the wrong time. Without a second thought, Shifty hopped into the van and floored it while Lifty clung to the back of the truck. Suddenly, the van hit a pothole in the road, shaking the van and throwing Lifty off of his grip. He tu
Jealousy I stared at my plate, swirling my mashed potatoes with my fork. Nobody noticed my lacking appetite, which angered me even further. I vigorously stirred, desperate for a few precious seconds of attention, even if it was negative. However, my parents continued to ignore me. Well, that wasn't exactly true. My mother shot me a stink-eye every once in a while, and the message was clear: hurry up and eat your food so that we can talk in peace. It was always like that, with her saying 'we' to describe my older sister, father, and herself, as if they were an exclusive group.
“We're so happy to see you here! Miranda, you're glad too, right?”
“You're okay with eating lasagna for dinner, right? We decided it was nice for a change.”
Including 'we,' my mother always used the word 'right.'
Sometimes, I wonder how she would react if I just said, “No.”
Beth laughed loudly beside me,
Ross sighed as he looked out the window. He had marveled at the sight of blue, green and white on most days, but today he felt out of place.
Alone. His constant companions were occupied, doing their chores and observations.
Today was a hard day to be in Space.
Watching the Earth from his vantage point, he was separated from special people. His wife and son had to carry on without him on the surface.
These were the hard times his fellow astronauts and his support team told him about. The lonely moment when it was not enough to keep your mind focused on being a spaceflight participant.
Normally, his biology duties had him observing the specimens brought in special terrariums. Several species of arachnids, blattaria, and gastropods were to be viewed in a zero gravity environment, and his responsibility was to monitor their progress.
"John." One of his roommates called to him. "we're reaching orbit over Europe. There's a nice view of Italy and the mediterranean if y
A True StoryOkay. So this isn't like the usual Hetalia fanfics or anything. Like most of you probably read in that journal,I am going to be telling a real story. Something that actually happened to me. Don't worry,it's nothing horrendous or anything. It's just something I don't really tell people but I have a sudden urge to tell. Just going to tell you up front. It's weird. It's strange. And it probably seems pretty lame and stupid. But yeah. Sorta long so I'm sorry. ANYWAY let's just get started,shall we?
It happened a few years ago. My Dad and I went over to one of our old friends' house like we used to do all the time. The house was a small little apartment in a little complex,and it housed Marcy and Brian. Marcy was really old,not to be rude. But it was true. She was pretty sick as well,if I remember correctly. Brian was her...uh...Husband I think? I still don't understand what their relationship really was. But anyway.
Marcy had told us that she wanted to introduce us to one of
Love?Happiness is something that comes into our lives through doors we don't even remember leaving open.
A/N: Chronologically set after Chapter 6: Number One. I know I said I would try to stay in order but that sorta didn't happen after all. At least I tried. ^_^;
Children never charmed her. As far as she was concerned kids, more so babies, were nothing more than a distraction and a nuisance. Noisy ones at that. They were simply wailing little brats that, at the end of the day, were nothing but in the way. Incapable of taking care of themselves babies required constant supervision and care, both of which Emma had no time for. If she was to continue her life as a ruthless mercenary she shouldn't have found herself distracted by trivial things such as infantile bothers. Children would gain her no advantage in her profession. They were an utter waste of her space and, more importantly, her time.
So as she glowered at the toddler sitting on
Enter the Fluffy ThingIt had been raining for a week straight at this point. It was dark and cold no matter the time of day, and Chronos was just about done with being cold and wet as he went through work. They’d been on very active patrol lately, which meant that he and Seno were out in the rain just about daily. He’d been working a few extra hours a day to build up some more vacation time for when it got sunny again. He felt like they were over do for one.
He got home a little early that day. A sudden downpour had made it too dangerous to their health to stay out. Ryan was giving Dee a lift home so he showered and changed real quick before the other got home. He smiled as he came through the door and moved over to kiss him lightly.
“Hey,” he greeted.
“Hey,” Dee smiled. “I didn’t think you’d be back till dinner again.” He hung his jacket and scarf up and left his umbrella and boots by the door to dry.
“Weather got too bad,” he shrugged
Bullshit"I'm sorry that you're such a bullshit excuse for a human," I mused as I tried to eat my food. The girl across from me looks at me like she's fuckin' Bambi or some shit. "You're bullshit baby, all nice and full of it. You suck at art, you suck at fucking and you suck at life." Amused I watch her cry and I don't really feel anything because I can't. What happened to me? Why am I like this? "You're disgusting," I tell her, "Go fucking clean yourself up." I roll my eyes and leave my half-empty plate. I swear to God I use to be a good person. Then again I don't believe in that bullshit either.
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