Wild Island Woman
I knew she was bad news the first time I laid eyes on her. There she was in the little reggae haunt in the islands, whirling and swirling, drawing all eyes to her bounteous rounded body, lost in her own world with eyes closed in the heat of the moment. She never stopped dancing, virtually thrusting her body out for all to see, going from man to man in her frenzy. It wasn’t that she was beautiful since her face was slightly off kilter, her body was lusher than the slender norm and she didn’t create the impression that she belonged to the real earth. She had all the earmarks of being slightly disoriented as if she were not of this world but that the cosmos was of her, trying valiantly to please her.
I was mesmerized as I watched her white teeth with their slight overbite, latched wantonly onto her sensuous full red pouted lips, promising rapture. Her coffee with cream skin took the spotlight in the dimly lit bar as I realized that she was an amalgam of many races making it difficult to determine her heritage. Green slanted flirtatious eyes showed glints of yellows and browns. Wild curly hair with auburn flecks floated around her, hanging to her waist. Globular breasts peeped from her blouse that was only partially buttoned, having come undone as her spirit kicked its heels to the sound of the band.
I was so drawn to her fire that I knew that I had to have her in my life even when a little nagging murmur at the back of my skull warned me to ignore her magnetism. Alas, the pull of her hypnotic embodiment was too much to resist as I strolled in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner toward her, trying to disguise my eagerness to become one with her.
She turned her voluptuous body toward me and said that she had felt the charisma of my presence from her vantage point but that there were a few things I had to give the green light to if I wanted to play the game with her. “You cannot tame me for I am like a wild bird. I am my own person and come and go as I please,” she mouthed in her animalistic manner.
Against my better judgment, I reluctantly agreed to her terms. She grabbed my hand, led me to her motorcycle parked outside the bar and we roared off into the dark and promising night. As we entered her cozy little apartment above a noisy restaurant, I was enveloped so fully by her aura that outside sounds ceased completely as we gave ourselves to each other with complete abandon. She threw her clothes off where they landed on the brightly hued carpet. I grabbed her naked body and began caressing and savoring every inch of her charms with my eager mouth and wet tongue before unzipping my pants and throwing her onto the rug where we ravished and consumed, crested and fell, over and over, until we were sweating and exhausted. Falling asleep for a little while, we awoke to blooming urgency, the like of which I had never known. This desperate need continued through the balance of the night before we fell into a deep slumber. I awakened with the knowledge that I could never be without her again.
In the month ahead, our climatic passion continued but I woefully noticed that she would absent herself from me from time to time. “I need my space,” she said, “you don’t control me.” For a while, I accepted what she was willing to give me because I was so engrossed in the gifts she was bestowing upon me as I became needy. I had to have her and if that took sacrifices on my part, so be it. I ignored the fact that I was becoming less of a man by accepting her terms. When she snatched herself away from me, images of her filled my existence as I became more and more dependent on her benevolent donations. I tried to avoid seeing her casting her glances at other men, negating my suspicions as to what she was doing in her absences.
A few days later, she tore off on her motorcycle leaving me alone to wander down to the soft comfort of the beach, where I daydreamed about her bounty. Returning a little early from my soothing sojourn, I was shocked to hear moans and groans coming from her abode. Flinging open the hurt door of my love, I was confronted by her and another man in our promised bed.
Embarrassment was absent in her demeanor as she said, “I never promised you that I would be faithful. Would you like to join in?”
Devastated, I limped sorrowfully out of our little love nest, catching the next plane to leave the islands of my dreams and jetted back to the emptiness of my life on the mainland. Try as I might, I could not put my little island maiden out of my mind. When I returned to the islands years later to seek her out once again, she was gone as was my yearning soul. I never saw her again.
Me, the punchline.
I was just hitting puberty when the "Internet" became a big thing, brought to millions of American homes by AOL...
Chat Rooms where all the craze (before I found text-based roleplay) where strangers from all over the country could "communicate" back and forth in one computer window, under an array of usernames/handles/ScreenNames.
Being phonetically challenged and naive, I turned to my older sister to check my spelling before creating mine.
If I'd spent more time with a dictionary and less time playing with extreme temperatures, I might not have set myself up for such embarrassment. Alas, hallow confidence in a "cool" ScreenName I poked around several of the chatrooms until I saw one called "Ask Me Anything"
What pre-teen wouldn't jump into that chatroom?
Online Host: FlammingIce323 has entered the room
"FLAMMINGICE323 WHAT'S FLAMMING?"
"Hey u flamming ice r ya?"
"Who taught u how to spell?"
It took me a moment to adjust my eyes to bright colors, bold fonts and tiny but punctuated fonts. Sadly, it wasn't until one of them questioned my spelling that I realized they where mocking me, so I grabbed a The Dictionary.
Flaming. The word I was aiming for was "Flaming" and for some reason I thought it looked more correct with two M's.
It wasn't the only time I put myself in the line of fire like a neon sign that said "cannon fodder!" Yo-Yo-ing through emotions I didn't understand, in a family I didn't relate to, I was inspired to give into what I considered morbid humor.
Call me foolish
This time, I made sure I spelled it correctly, and this time when I entered the "Ask Me Anything" room, I was certain no one would ask such stupid questions.
Online Host: Call me foolish has entered the room
"how foolish r u?"
Before I could even answer the first and only question asked of me since I entered, there was a bomb of foolishness thrown at me-- which I missed because I was typing, a reply others missed in the debris because I hit "enter" in the middle of the explosion...
Call me foolish: Depends on who's asking.
"WHY U WANT TO B CALLED FOOLISH?"
"IGNORE _so-n-so_ they r just a troll scrolln"
While I'm trying to re-type my answer, with an answer for the second question, I notice someone else telling me to ignore the person who keeps typing "foolish" and entering it into the chatroom because they're "just a troll." As I'm hunting for this "ignore" feature (which hadn't been incorporated yet) I see the "foolish" posting continue.
"UR BOTH FOOLISH"
I don't even get a chance to reply, the seemingly endless string of "foolish" created some kind of glitch which crashed the room.
How was I supposed to know the internet came with Trolls?
--and how did a Troll type so fast? Or crash the chatroom?
|| another_proser ||
38 Things I Learned when I was 38
1. A lie is sometimes easier to believe than the truth.
2. When the terrible things that have turned you into a victim cause your voice to tremble and hands to shake....attempting to explain yourself is futile.
3. The scariest lie is one that the liar has convinced himself is true.
4. Some men consider it their duty to deliver punishment when they feel betrayed.
5. Blood is NOT thicker than water.
6. When someone asks how you're doing, they usually don't care. "Fine" is the answer most people are looking for.
7. A pat on the shoulder and the condescending promise to "pray for you" is a polite way of saying "Wow, you've really lost it."
8. Pretty blue eyes that sparkle so enticingly can easily hide true intentions, until you don't know if you're moving up, down or spinning in circles.
9. Promises whispered at 3 in the morning are easily broken in the bright light of day.
10. Words screamed in anger are usually more truthful than words that have been carefully considered.
11. People will sometimes hold grudges like a drowning person holds a life preserver.
12. Keeping silent to spare the feelings of a child will most likely backfire.
13. Children can be hurt with the truth, but will be more damaged by the attempt to keep it from them.
14. If you remain silent, and do not defend yourself against malicious rumors, people will inevitably draw their own conclusions.
15. If 1 party loudly denounces the other, people tend to believe the party yelling loudest.
16. Silence is seen as guilt, and used as justification by gossiping bitches who enjoy stirring drama.
17. People will rarely give the benefit of the doubt when a lie is so much more titillating.
18. A person with no conscience can ruin lives without remorse.
19. A person who uses insults and violence against someone they claim to love doesn't really understand what love is at all.
20. Being human means we all fuck up sometimes. There is not a person alive who can claim to be perfect.
21. Everyone of us is broken in some fashion, adulthood cannot be achieved without scars.
22. When your significant other hurts you in the same way your parents hurt each other...it feels right, as if the stars have aligned to create for you a perfect and miserable home.
23. Pain makes it real.
24. The rejection of a child cuts deeper than any romantic loss, or unexpected death ever could.
25. Mothers are held to a much higher standard than fathers.
26. Hurting myself is the only way to silence the demons that hide under my bones.
27. I'm terrified those demons live also in my son.
28. No amount of liquor can make me forget how I became this way.
29. I can smoke, snort, swallow or inject every drug I get my hands on, but still, I will ache for my boy.
30. I can bring a different man to my bed every night, but still, I will be empty and unfulfilled.
31. Most friends will give up on you once you've given up on yourself.
32. A person who uses a child as a weapon against the other parent is the human embodiment of evil.
33. A manipulated child is destined to become a really fucked up adult.
34. The abused are terrified to see the cycle repeated with their children as victims. It's 100 times worse when the children continue as the abusers.
35. Begging for forgiveness will have ZERO impact a stubborn child whose been systematically poisoned against you.
36. Expecting a new love to save you from your own life is not only unfair, but completely ridiculous.
37. A woman without her child desperately longs for someone who will accept all of the maternal attention that she needs to give. She will allow herself be taken advantage of just to feel needed again.
38. There are mind-fucks that cannot be untangled, bones that will mend crookedly, and wounds that will bleed and bleed but never heal. Learning to live with these makes you a fucking warrior.
Chased by a Photographer
"Shoot!" I yelled as I ran out of math. The fourth period had just begun and I was finishing up my warm up. Today we were learning about linear equations but, I could care less. Math was easy but, my laziness affected my grade in the class, earning me a 98 and a G instead of the stereotypical 100% Nerd Grade. Earlier today, I was starting off with my normal and typical day. Go to school at 6: 35, meet my friends and talk to Nya about the plans for the middle school yearbook. Today was a bit rambunctious.
"Nya!" I slightly yelled at her in anger. I held a tight glare as I looked up at her. Her height may have intimidated me nearly ALL of the time but, it was okay since I knew how to scare the heck out of her. "Why haven't you finished those spreads?" I continued as I slightly groaned at her, "It October but, we need those spreads in before April!"
"Loosen up Allina," Nya said as she sighed, "We have 6 months. We have a ton of time."
I groaned and suppressed the urge to smash her face onto the cold hard concrete. I inhaled a deep breath and grabbed the yearbook camera that was slung over my shoulder. "Here," I began, "It's your turn to take care of the camera Nya." She nodded and I placed it on the benches nearby. "Remember," I continued, "Take care of it Nya."
"Loosen up Allina," Nya groaned, "Trust me for once."
I rolled my eyes. "I trust you," I said, "I just don't trust you with the camera." Then I turned my around and began to walk to my first class of the day, English. I kept on reciting, 'Please God let her take good care of the camera, Please God let her take good care of the camera,' in my head. Not the most efficient way to prevent a disaster from occurring but, it's a start.
Later in 4th period...
"YOU WHAT?!" I screamed at Nya, "YOU DIDN'T TAKE THE CAMERA?!" Tears fell from my eyes rapidly. I was hyperventilating. Nya looked at me shocked and scared.
"I THOUGHT YOU TOOK THE CAMERA?!" Nya said. She looked as if she was going to hyperventilate as well.
"I- You- We l-lost a one the-thousand dollar piece o-of e-equipment," I stuttered. I looked to the ground and nearly lost it. I punched the table. "Dammit," I cried. Immediately, I walked to the teacher and asked if could search for my camera. Luckily, she said yes. Then we were off.
I ran like the wind out of the class in my wedges. And yes, I, Allina the tomboy was wearing wedges to school in order to participate in some stupid school spirit day. I'm part of the yearbook committee so I technically had to try my best to take part in ASB activities. Yay? More like nay.
The first place that we hit was the benches, where I placed our camera. Was it there? You bet it! It was right...
It wasn't even there.
I could've sworn that I saw the animated lines that animated shows would have to indicate if something was missing. The white lines on the missing object made my eye twitched. I inhaled a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. Soon enough, water was dripping onto my white button up. I hiccupped and began to cry. I bawled right in front of Nya. She started bawling with me. We were both a mess. A terrible screwed up mess.
"What are you girls doing out of class?" I heard a feminine voice call out. I looked at the adult with dark skin and black hair. This woman, I think, was the vice principal of MHSMSU, Malstone High School Middle School Unit.
"I-I'm sorry M-Ms. Kloven," I cried as I looked at her, "M-My friend and I were a-allowed o-out of class t-to find o-our missing c-camera a-and when w-we came b-b-back it w-wasn't there." My tears fell from my eyes faster. For some people this may have been normal but, for me, it wasn't. I wasn't the type of girl to cry unless something really REALLY bad occurred.
She sat beside us on the benches and calmed us down. She told us that she'll help us find our equipment. It was a long process... very long process... After many calls, tears, runs, jumps, and hugs, we found out where the camera was. Apparently someone brought the camera to the Photo/ Image class.
Nya and I ran out of the office as soon as I was told where the camera was until I was stopped by a boy with puffy hair and a clicking camera. I stopped for a moment, as well as Nya.
"You mind if I take you picture?" the boy asked.
"No," I immediately said, "No." Then I continued running, with Nya's footsteps trailing behind me. I groaned in annoyance when I heard the sounds of the boy's camera shutters. "Stop taking our pictures!" I yelled in annoyance. I continued to run to the Photo/Image class, I was so happy. I ran up to the teacher and hugged her with gratitude. Nya did the same, and the three of us had a long conversation about how we should be more careful with our equipment.
When we met up with the high schooler that returned the camera, I was ecstatic. I was so happy that I hugged her as soon as we got the camera back. I also hugged the other people who assisted us in finding our equipment. Oddly enough, some people were shocked. I guess it was because they knew that I was the infamous Allina Porter who hated hugs and drugs. I'm kidding. They weren't surprised.
As we walked out of the office, after hugging everyone, Nya and I heard shutters. Welp. It's the Photographer. I ran as fast I could away from him but, it was no use. As I rested near the trees by the science classes, I saw him by the trees.
"Why," I groaned, "Why are you chasing us?" He shrugged.
"I want your guys' pictures," he said. I rolled my eyes and sighed in defeat. I looked at Nya, who was following me the whole time.
"If I do it," I asked, "Will you go away?" The boy smirked and nodded. I smiled as if the heavens praised my dead soul. "Okay," I began, "but, Nya is suffering with me!" I pulled her closer to me and smiled when I heard her groan. The boy laughed.
"Okay!" he said and told me where to stand. As he looked into the camera, he seemed so serious. I was a bit amazed by that to be honest.. really amazed. "Smile?" I heard him say. I nodded and smiled at the camera. The sounds of the shutters alerted me that I was done.
"Your turn Nya!" I said. She nodded and rolled her eyes at me. She got her picture taken and shrugged it off as soon as she was done.
"What's your name?" I asked as the boy was scrolling through the pictures,
"Scott," he said as he continued his work.
"I'm Allina Scott," I began, "And this is Nya. We're part of the middle school yearbook."
"Oh!" he said, "So you're to two kids that lost their camera." I looked at him sheepishly and nodded. He laughed.
I rolled my eyes and we began to walk away. "What grade are you Scott?" I asked.
"10th," he replied nonchalantly.
"You're just 2 years older than us!" I said with annoyance. He chuckled.
"Yeah but," he said, "You're in middle school so you're still considered a kid." I rolled my eyes then sighed. Then we both began to go back to class.
"It was nice meeting you, Scott!" I said as I waved at the boy who continued to scroll through the pictures. He looked up and waved back with a smile. My eyes widened as I saw his smile. His smile...
"Come on Nya," I said, "We're going to be late."
The End Of Me
The water from the fountain trickles over the jade green ball that sits upon it. I can hear the clickity clack of busy fingertips on the black keyboards, of the computers ahead of me. Voices carry across the room, and here I sit with coffee, cookie and pen to paper wondering what to write. I could write about the cute blond-haired little boy. Completely in awe over the magic water fountain, and how he just has to touch it. How I miss the magic I used to feel when things were new, where did it go? Seeing this little boy made me realize that the magic didn’t go anywhere. My ability to see them has all but vanished. Maybe one day I’ll get to feel it once again, as I did before I died. I always try to forget that day but how could I forget the day that I died and rose again.
It was New Year’s Eve of 1999. I had just turned 21 and was out with the girls for a few drinks. The bar had that rustic feel to it, with it’s rusty colored brick walls and scuffed up wood floors. The band was playing loud and full of energy. The dance floor overflowing of people dancing and having a good time. My girls and I sat at one of the tables lining the back wall. Just talking, and laughing, living it up, welcoming in the new year with cheers. The night had been great, that was until it was time to leave. I had only lived a block from that bar and so I started for home. The girls insisted on walking me home but I assured them that I would fine and would text them as soon as I walked in the door.
A stranger a foot taller than myself, with locks the color of gold and eyes a light silver blue, approached me. Insisting that a lady should not walk home from the bar by herself. He introduced himself as Eli Mills and walked me home. He was charming and witty and I found myself enjoying his company a great deal. So I invited him in for some tea to warm up with. As promised, I texted my friends assuring them that I had made it home. Brought tea for Eli and myself into the living room. Soon enough it wasn’t just talking that we were doing. We left a trail of clothes behind us as I led him to my room. His lips kissed me from head to toe, his hands caressed every curve of my body. Then when I thought we had finished he started kissing on me again. This time, he stopped at my inner thigh and bit down harder than before. I in complete ecstasy from intoxication of both alcohol and lust. I didn’t realize that he had drawn blood and I soon passed out. When I woke the next morning my body was aching, my stomach twisted in pain of hunger that I couldn’t quench...
THATS A TOUGH ONE
Something which is not a poem. I am so obsessed with writing poems I think going on and on without making a single stanza is gonna be some task. Well, sometimes I've tried writing stories also. But I need some help with that!
If you're reading this then give me some advice. I want to write a story now. This challenge of not writing a poem has got some ideas in my head, ideas of trying out different styles of writing other than poetry.
Let's just take a moment to thank this challenge. I never knew how many ideas I have in my head which I always use for poetry. I'm not saying that ideas becoming poetry is a bad thing. I'm saying that some ideas could have been great stories too, only I always find a way to make a poem. I love writing poems so much. Geez. Thanks for rising a storywriter in me.
I JUST WASTED 160 WORDS
So, I've got this idea about writing a story about a girl who is in a very confused state of life. She is sad, depressed and confused on what she should do. Then as the story progresses, she finds her way out of the grasp of life. I'm going to make up the various twists that happen in the story that help her get out of the darkness and find her way out of the tunnel.
I got this idea because I've known many people who have given up and considered ending their life. I want to show the world there is always hope for everyone, there is always light at the end of the tunnel.
There are so many reasons people are losing all hope. My character shall go through as many as I can possibly put in the story and she shall always see a way out, showing everyone that they can fight against life's challenges and come out shining.
I'm sorry this is so sad. If I'm putting you down, just stop reading. I just needed some help in helping people see light. I'm going to try and make an amazing book on this and hopefully I'll be able to give people some hope. But I got no right to make you sad.
Please please please give some advice on how I can make this book a nice one. I've always wanted to write a book but I've never really succeeded.
I just need some ideas. Bullying, physical abuse and perhaps even mental abuse are some of the things I'd like to make a way through, help people see hope and get help.
Is this even a good idea? Am I just highlighting the bad aspects of life and putting people down? Should I even write a story like that? Should I focus on easier topics? I want to help sad people, but not by making life look bad.
Please advice! Should I go for this idea? Should I try to spread this? Should I just leave this idea because it's too hurting? And if you think I should go ahead, then could you please give me some more ideas to add to the book? Help!
Why did I write this in the first place? Oh yeah, the 'not a poem' challenge. I've even crossed 500 words (wow)
It didn’t matter that the sun was out, the muffled laughter in the stairwell made the world dark. Walking down the stairs as quiet as I could, trying to get to the next floor without incident, all I wanted to do was get to class. As I reach for the door, someone grabs at my wrist.
They came from downstairs, attacked from behind. My books were smacked out of my hands; they crashed and rolled away, down to the first floor. I was being pushed in the same direction. Clutching onto the handrail, I avoided a concussion, but there were too many of them.
They pulled at my jacket, took my shoes and disappeared in a rush. Their laughter echoed. A security guard was yelling.
He picked me up from the ground and marched me to the principal’s office. He was saying something as we walked, but I wasn’t listening. Slamming me down on the bench just outside the main office, he dared me to get up again.
I breathed deeply, trying to stay calm. Clearly, I was fighting a losing battle. One of my teachers happened to be passing by. He approached the guard.
“Is he okay?”
“He was playing in the stairs! I’m waiting for the principal, so that we can expel him from the building. I’m getting tired of these hoodlums. One by one, we’ll get rid of them. Mark my words.”
The teacher stepped into the main office. An eternity later, he and the one in charge stepped out into the hallway. They asked me to step inside with them.
As I walked into the inner office, away from the administrators, secretaries and the clerks, the principal spoke with the security guard. My teacher, a hand on my shoulder, whispers,
“It’s going to be alright.”
We sit in the principal’s office for a time. Both quiet. I stare at the floor noticing that my shoes were missing.
Outside the phones were ringing and conversations were being had, while I remained deathly still. I was convinced that today was the last day of school for me. I wondered how I was going to get along without a high school diploma. Maybe I could find a job as a dishwasher. My cousin, who lives in the Bronx, maybe he could help me. He washes dishes. How hard could it be?
The principal returns with my books. The security guard throws a pair of huge shoes at my feet, barely trying to miss me.
“Thank you. You may go now.” The guard leaves in a huff.
“I’m sorry that the shoes don’t fit, but at least you don’t have to walk around barefooted. Take this jacket for when you leave today. Just return it tomorrow morning. The teacher will walk you to your next class.”
I finally look up at them. A tear escapes with one of my sighs. They must have seen my surprise!
“Don’t let them change you. Keep fighting for good grades. People like that in the end have nothing,” the principal said.
My teacher places his hand back on my shoulder and we step out into the hallway. One of the secretaries, her brow furrowed, stares. Her disdain leaks from her pores…
A New Year.
College is supposed to be exciting, right? New school, new people, and the chance to reinvent who you are. I know, totally amazing.
Well, college was exciting.
About a year ago.
Now, going back seemed more like a chore than anything else. Classes were a lot more complicated and the professors were stricter. To make thing worse, I got to kick-start my brand new year with 'Microbiology.' Not exactly the most exciting subject, but hey. You work with what you get.
I'd rather be taking the fundamentals of theater than this. Even though I was a theater geek in high school, I gave it up last year to do something serious with my future.
I currently am planning to be a writer, and also get a degree in English Literature and become a teacher. Writing is my passion, so why not turn it into a lifelong career, and write books on the side that I will probably never publish? Oh yeah, right! The world revolves around money and everything cost money, so you need a steady job to take care of yourself and families.
The world is pretty crazy, dumb, and just trashy. Worrying about 18 year-olds dating 27-year old rappers. Though, the real thing the news needs to focus, or magazines do, or the press on is the real crisis of our world. Like wars, ISIS, or something else more important about the Kardashians and Jenners.
Though, my opinions won't ever matter. I am a 19 year old college student. No one knows who I am. I can't change the world for the better. All I can do is pick up litter every now and then off the streets, or hallways of my college.
Oh well, mine as well try.
Sorry if I go off topic, I'm kind of a spazz on the inside, but on the outside I'm a scared little chihuahua that shakes and won't even bark. Or talk to anyone.
But let's get to the interesting part of the story.
When I walked into the classroom, everyone had someone to talk to. Everyone. And guess who sat in the front, all alone, with no one to talk to? Yours truly, Mady.
I mean, not that I mind. Trying to communicate with a complete stranger? That's not exactly my forte. It was a mystery how I made friends at all. I was always the one who would buy something out of the vending machine, like a dollar cereal bar and diet cherry coke, and then go eat lunch by myself in the bathroom for the time being.
I still even do it in college half of the time, because I am just that bad at communicating with people. I only have one friend in college and she followed me from back home, you know long term bestfriends that set goals and go to college together. Well, that was us. Until I actually learned the hell of college, I thought I could be more social and open, turns out people are just as worse here.
The endless partying, gossip and stupid people bumping into you all day. I literally wish I could lay in bed all day, but I do need an education.
I heaved my bag onto the tiled floor and looked around. The walls were a nice shade of burgundy, making the room seem a lot bigger than it really was. Trust me, it wasn't that big of a room at all. Most of the shelves were bare, collecting dust. Other than the long rows of seats, the only other thing in the classroom was a large, wooden desk.
"He-llo." A nasally voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned and came face to face with a skinny dweeb of a guy. He ran a hand through his flimsy blonde hair, staring intently at the area below my neckline.
"Do you need something?" I asked.
"Uh.." He seemed to come out of a daze.
"Well, what is it?"
"Can I, ah... Can I butter your muffin?" I nearly laughed. Here I was thinking that someone was actually interested in making friends. "Is that all?" I basically choked from his stupidity.
His smile wavered. "What'd you say?"
"Not interested." I turned back to the front. "Bye."
He sighed in mock exasperation and stalked off to another victim. I didn't have too much time to worry about it when the door slammed open and a man walked in. He was nearly as tall as the door, and not too hard on the eyes if you get what I'm saying.
"Good morning, everyone!" He spoke over the small chatter, a collective 'hello' following.
"Oh, you're alive!" A few chuckled. "Now shut up."
"My name is Mr. Stalzman. I'm here to be your teacher, and your teacher only. I have rules, and if you don't feel like following them, I can assure you there will be consequences." He swept a loose strand of chestnut hair out of his face. "Cell phones are not allowed in my class. Neither is passing notes, if you're planning to go retro."
I wasn't paying too much attention, I'm a little ashamed of admitting that. His face was practically flawless, mind the ring on his hand that kinda threw me off. I mean, not that some of the girls would care, I'm sure, about him being engaged or married.
"We're going to go around the room and introduce ourselves." Mr. Stalzman continued, pacing in front of the classroom, eyeing us all. "Starting with..." He looked around and turned his attention to me. "You. Tell us your name and what you hope to accomplish this year. Your life goals, if you're comfortable with that."
My face flushed red. "D-do you want me to stand up?" I stuttered.
"If you don't mind."
"O-okay.." My legs started to shake. I cleared my throat and got to my feet.
"Um, hi. I'm Mady, and this year I just want to learn?" Some giggled at the obviously fake answer. "And, ah, I wanna be a writer." I quickly sat down and sank into my seat.
"Okay." Mr. Stalzman smiled. "Anyone else?"
The rest of the period went in the same way. Mostly everyone introduced themselves. More or less of the same crap. Aspiring computer programmers, wanna be models, a few 'musicians,' and plenty of guys just looking for hookups. Isn't is sad how god gave a man both a brain and a penis, but only enough blood to work one at a time? And it's really sad how young men can't control themselves. Oh well.
Then one guy had the audacity to whisper behind me, "See that girl?"
"Which one?" He friend asked.
"The one directly in front of us." He whispered.
Oh no. He was talking about me.
"Oh yeah!" He finally realized. I'm not surprised since he probably has the brain of a walnut.
"She's clearly a virgin and I'm totally going to take it from her." I nearly gagged from laughter, and a mixture of pure being grossed out. I pursed my lips to stop from laughing.
"I wanna be next. She looks like a nerd, but it's hot on her." I nearly just stood up and walked out when the walnut brain said that. I just put my hand on my forehead and rubbed my temples.
The year was already looking bleak, and we were only an hour in.
That's just wonderful.
College is going to be absolutely WONDERFUL this year.
why is this on t.v.
some side effects may include:
lack of empathy
disillusion of grandeur
coveting useless objects
parents asking why you dont have a girlfriend/boyfriend
holding in pee
peeing yourself when laughing at jokes you did not understand on "the big bang theory"
any number of sexually transmitted diseases
hypochondria of sexually transmitted diseases
love of Richard Nixon
knowing all the lines of episode 157 of "law and order s.v.u."
unnatural and unsafe body image problems
skewed seance of morality
cheering for "the bad guy"
the urge to read books written for 13 year olds
buying into the extreme left/right of (insert political hot button topic here)
nostalgically miss remembering how good "Thunder Cats" was
being to lazy to make your own food
over drafting your bank account because of ordering dominoes pizza delivery
missing work due to ongoing bowel issues form eating dominoes pizza delivery
singing "sheriff dont like it, watching some NASCAR" to the rhythm of a song by "the clash"
prying that someday it will turn out not-left
thinking about space jam
watching space jam
laughing at "Tim and Eric show"
buying a shake wight
using a shake wight
watching "braking bad" and thinking "meth cant be that bad"
becoming addicted to meth
having a intervention about meth
keeping up appearances with your family while secretly doing meth
recovering from a meth addiction
starting a class action law suit against AMC
watching the "walking dead" and wanting a crossbow
buying a crossbow
shooting a homeless person with a crossbow
being the first person to win a court case using the "AMC defense"
realizing your only halfway done with your list and 500 words is a lot more than you first though it would be in list form
seriously is anyone even still reading this
i mean its defiantly not a poem
realizing that your still going to have to go back and spellcheck and proofread this hot mess
thinking of just copy and pasting in the lyrics to the song "pepper" by "the butthole surfers" to meet the word count. seriously is anyone still reading this ... would anyone ever know?
thinking that the joker got his pencil trick from the new "batman"move from the cover of a butthole surfers c.d.
realizing you may overuse parentheses
not caring that you may over use parentheses
looking up and realizing that you haven't been paying attention to the hyp-no toad on the tv and having to restart the episode
thanking your chosen deity that Tivo was invented
watching old documentary's made in the 90s and realizing how much they got wrong
watching new documentary's and being sure that there defiantly 100% correct
realizing the book was better
realizing the book is always better
realizing the audio book is always better
discounting your previously held notion that the audio book is always better when the third book in a trilogy your where listening to gets a different narrator that the first two books and is utter garbage at there job and pronounces all the names wrong
realizing you passed 500 words awhile ago but had to finished your though processes
anyway thanks for sticking around. this is my first day here and my 3rd post overall its nice to meet you all and i hope to entertain you. that's what I am writing for anyway. be it the lyrical rhymes of poetry or not so much. heck even lists can be interesting if you approach it from the right angle.
I've spent a whole lot of time worrying about silly things. Let me reiterate. Silly to me. Anxiety tends to get the best of me, especially when it comes to my responsibilities. When I should be holding on steadfast, I loosen my grip too much. It costs me, sometimes a great deal. I used to think that it was my appreciation of unstructured time (but to be lazy would honestly be a comfort). As it turns out, I am deathly afraid of succeeding. I think this is due to my conception that 'If I can succeed, there is the possibility of failure'. I know that I am more than capable, but I falter whenever something goes wrong. I treat that as the norm instead of the statistic anomaly. That's what hurts. Anything beyond my front door seems to be the possibility of failure. What if I say something that isn't socially acceptable? What if I do something that is counter-intuitive to my career field? What norm do I paint for them? Do I become the statistical anomaly? Even this seems silly, it seems like it shouldn't be a fear. I shouldn't have to live day in and day out in this condition.
Those who depend on me, I can't help but feel like I owe them an apology. They have wasted so much time and effort on me. How do I continue to strive, to live, feeling like I have always received the ugly end of the stick? I know full well that others have it worse than I do, but self-pity tends to breed selfishness. That is how I end up feeling after I come to the conclusion that I am wasting my breath. I am selfish. I pity myself and do so without any consideration to others. Is this passiveness supposed to be so irritating? I feel like I could really drag others in the dirt around me if I wanted to build that throne. However, I don't feel like I could go through with it in the end. Ha, indecisiveness. That clearly defines me. I am indecisive to the core. I want to succeed but I don't want to fail. I want to pity myself but I don't want to be selfish. I want to drag everyone down to the earth, but I feel too sheepish. It's ugly, it's morose when one takes a moment and studies it. Pathetic, it is truly pathetic. I am scared of my own ability to be responsible for myself. Where do I get off thinking I should hold any more granules of sand in my hand compared to the next person? It is a shame that I want to be so careful, and not experience life for its possibility, and instead, I experience the statistical anomalies. I focus on them like they were the entirety of my life. Dismiss the great things I have now, and focus on the horrible, grueling, morbid curiosity that is my inability to be self-satisfied.