That summer,

I opened my eyes and closed them on my own terms & every waking felt different.

I worked in short spirals

And laughed into long, echoing weeks.

I found new ways to talk to God.

Somehow I bumped into (H)im along the dark path I had been walking and discovered that we'd become strangers,

And our brief talk brought me into a place of warmth I cannot begin to describe,

A place where sunlight fell from the trees indefinitely

And every time it fell on me.

That was the first and last time I remember being really spoken to.

Eventually, this light faded,

I lost things I never knew I had

And I found myself caught up in a circle I couldn't escape from.

When you're in a dark place, everything looks the same

And blessings can seem like nothing more than oddly shaped shadows

Dancing along the walls of my bedroom-

The monsters in my closet can crawl under my covers

And God, God can fade away entirely into the cracks in my walls

That I trace with my fingertips when my insomniac mind refuses to grant me peace.

That winter,

There were days when I couldn't open my eyes in the morning.

But I did anyway.

And I'm here now

And I'm not leaving anytime soon.

Okay, so this is definitely going to sound at least a little lame, but here goes.

It was around New Year's last year. I'd just gone through my first break-up with a guy I really liked (and, well, that came back to haunt me, but that's another story), and I was just sorta having a tough time, because teen drama and angst and all that. It was fun.

So, I was lying awake one night, and I just had a ton on mind. I wanted to vent really bad, but nobody was awake, so I was just on my own to steam and feel awful. I ended up picking up a pad of Discovery Channel-brand note paper and just venting on there to myself. You know, though, you get lazy and you just write fragments and stuff when you're writing on paper, so that's what I did. I got pretty into it. I experimented a little with rhymes and then was all "naw", and I wrote my first poem. It was a basic free verse thing called "My Mistress is Loneliness". It was pretty melodramatic, as younger me was (and present me is), but I was proud of it.

I wrote a few more, and it was a bit easier to sleep then, so I did. The next morning I discovered my first writing community platform: Teen Ink (which I now sort of have a love-hate relationship with). I posted my poems there. They didn't get any fanfare or anything on the site, but I felt really, really proud of myself for putting myself out there.

Suddenly, I started carrying a notebook with me everywhere. I wrote and posted some more stuff, and I even entered a few poetry competitions (which I lost, but again, still fun).

And, well, that was when I figured out that I wanted to be a writer. One thing led to another, and now I'm here. It felt like my whole life just unfolded in front of me after those first few poems. I finally realized what I wanted to do with my life.

Still haven't written anything that good, but I'm getting there. And I'm still content with that.

Once her friend told her, "No matter how much you accomplish, more desires will follow. Having every desire fulfilled is not the answer but to savour what you have and keep working towards your bigger goals without expectations."

Only then she realized, she had never loved her life. She had always waited to be someone first and then would love herself. Apparently, she will never get satisfied with the someone she always has wanted to become.

The day she decided to cherish the life she has, she became that someone.

It was some drug I had not taken. It took me, carried me far beyond the turquoise sea; my friend was mad or sad that night, but she was experienced and I was new; maybe that's why I only felt love. Pure, purest love. I travelled far above the highest layer of the universe, the dancers pumped and jumped in red blue and green; a colour prism converged in me. I was a momentary chalice. Some night club in Athens. The walls breathed and sighed as I climbed so high. Tears streamed. I understood the web of life in one instant.

#prose #challenge #lovelife #reallifeincident

There was only darkness, besides my conjuring thoughts of world inquiries placating my allayed mind. The evening stars had ventured far into the expanse of dusk and slept alongside the weeping moon, full and wan.

Resting my head amongst the glass window, my aunt at my side, I pondered of our earlier adventures that lead our day to its end.

Buying books at a local store, chuckling whilst recalling past experiences as we fueled our ravenous stomachs, and then proceeding towards home in silence.

The thin trills of melodies rang in our ears from the radio like warbled voices of morning birds. Though I paid no heed to the nonchalant tunes and could only stare pensively at the world outside.

Ah, what a beautiful night it was.

Though upon passing over a railroad track I halted my breath.

Light.

A peculiar light in which took to the other end of the metal path began to blind my senses and run my body cold.

“There was once a girl in my school whom-”

No, I thought.

Such couldn’t happen to me.

It was only coincidence, wasn’t it?

I was not to die as she had.

That was simply a story that my aunt had reminisced grimly upon on one of our nightly drives.

The story of the high school girl whom died from impact of a running train.

This was where she was killed, she said.

My stomach lurched. I was paralyzed from the thought of a train ramming and pressing into my body, from the idea of my life being claimed, from the accident flashing on the news like a red banner, from the departure and anguish I might leave to my family.

I could no longer move.

Though, with a summed strength I could not comprehend, I cried, “THE TRAIN!”

With eyes locked in a sudden fear and hands now gripping the wheel as if a lifeline, she deepened her foot on the pedal and sped across the track before it could hit.

Upon continuing our route home, the silence filled with our concern of the incident that could of happened, my heart fleeting with an inexplicable adrenaline, sped with relief knowing I could return safe.

I was reminded of my waning life and dangers the openness of the world posed that day, as well as that I was indeed alive.

(Note: Though such may not pose an immediate threat or perhaps wasn't nearly too intense as described (Though it most certainly felt like such to me), truly this incident brought to mind of both the chaste and malice in living.)

The day was humid and glum. The sky was overcast, a gray that could only be illuminated by the adventure in our hearts. It was my eighteenth birthday. My friend, Jacey, and I were headed to the Bluffs. Determined were we to make this weekend, amoung the rocky edges and towering pines, unforgettable. Below our site was a rushing river, its waters swirling and crashing, and its color took on the gray of the sky. "Should we go?", asked Jacey. Although the weather was far from ideal, we set off to the lodge. There we would hand over a Jackson in exchange for a pair of charcoal-black, rubber tubes. Carrying our tubes, we trodded down the steep gravel road to the bottom of the bluffs.

Here we met a scruffy old man leaning against a rickety blue Chevy. Attached to this chevy was a trailer with wooden seats. This would bring us through the deep woods to our starting destination. A sudden roll of thunder sounded in the distance. "Hello sir, is it supposed to storm?" I asked. "The forecast says light showers, but nothin severe." said the man. I gazed upon the sky, and studied its shades of gray. Jacey and I glared at each other, answering the question unsaid.

As we rode along we listened to the thunder in the distance, with an uneasy feeling we refused to acknowledge. When we reached the point, we carried our tubes to the waters edge. Behind us the truck drove away, and we knew there was no turning back. The water's depths looked cold and black, hiding mysteries below its surface. It had an energy to it, a mind of its own. As we stepped into the water, our feet sank in the gunky mud. The water was cold enough to raise goosebumps on your arms and shivers in your bones. The current grew stronger, and the water deeper, as we walked to middle. We reached a point where we could no longer touch the bottom, and could only imagine what lay underneath.

Ten minutes later we were still floating along. We passed fallen branches and mini waterfalls. The bluffs were giants gazing upon us. It started to sprinkle, and we let out girly screams and laughed at our circumstances. We were the only people on the river, and we knew why. The sprinkling stopped. "Hey, to think we weren't going to come!" Jacey exclaimed. The sprinkling began again. "Yeah, this aint nothin." I replied, but I had spoken too soon. Suddenly, it began to rain harder. This time we let out real screams. "Its okay!", Jacey yelled, trying to calm me, and herself. But the rain seemed to intensify as the time ticked away. "WE HAVE TO GET OFF", I screamed. "HELP, HELP", we screamed. Then the wind kicked in. Our tube felt as if it were being lifted beneath us, and we couldnt see a damn thing. In that moment I didnt just see my life flash before me, but I felt it in every sense of the word. From the comfort of my mom's warm sweater, as I hugged her at Christmas, to the familiar smell of baked goods at Grandmas, to brushing the lush lips of the man I love for the first time. It was my whole life, and it was wonderful. Suddenly, a force drove my legs into gear. Jacey and I grabbed hands, and we kicked with everything we had. The current was fighting us, but it didn't have our drive to live. Eventually, we managed to grab onto a fallen branch, and hoist ourselves up a tree. The branches scratched our raw legs as we climbed. Reaching the top, our last obstacle was to conquer a slippery mud slide that led to the camp site. It was then I had reevaluated my purchase of a glistening white bikini. After we crawled our way to the top. we appeared as if we got attacked by a bear. People rushed to us when they saw, and we took shelter under a friendly stranger's tarp. I called my mom and told her we were okay, and it was a good thing I did. She later told me she saw an empty tube floating down the river. While I was standing under the tarp with my best friend, on my birthday, in the pouring rain, I realized life is precious. Not only precious, but wonderful, and completely worth living.

Snow doesn't descend down the folkloric streets of Mexico City. Instead, a gray-colored sky —joint by a undecent fog— crawls into the bones of old inhabitants of the neighbourhood during Christmas Eve, and forces family into uniting over dinner and regret the elegies they have taken over the year that has passed. However, 2017 came to bring a new ghost, who floated over the mouth-transferred stories that reigned over this town. Eugenia, Petén, Medellín, Álvaro Obregón; these Mexican streets held a new kind of monument that had been recalled by older generations yet remained ignored during the new millenium: debris. Imponent buildings that held the memory of an entire borough and the home of various families were reduced to dust. The blocks they lay on before now were completely abandoned, while over the debris, every other toy, yearbook or piece of clothing would show up over it. Some families dared to visit them to point them out in the name of amaze and post-traumatic shock, but in reality, they treated the sites the same they would treat touristic attractions.

For they forget the rumble that only scared them enough to post a dramatic statement on social media, yet shook the life of an entire universe that lay in between the apartments of a condo. For they forget how even the ground they relied on shook in an intense and sudden manner, threatening the confidence we have on our own existance's importance. For they forget that there was acutal suffering beyond their basic amaze, for they forget the unknown tragedies that occured just a few blocks away in a walking distance. For they have no respect for the boy that was crushed by a crumbling building while trying o get his boy back, the freshman student that watched his school fall apart, the parent who never saw his children again, the names that would be forgotten to become statistics.

Don't point out what happened in September the 19th, honor it through silent prayers and respect the grief that created these new monuments. But most of all, go on and enjoy the tiny existance that was brought to you to live. Because anytime, the September 19th demos may come back, and haunt the lives of yet a whole new generation to come... once again.

Love. It is all I ever knew from her. Her bright blue eyes, a shade that could rival the afternoon sky. Laughter and happiness, joie de vivre. Looking down at me with pride, looking up at me with sadness. The last time I saw her, the car was pulling away. I glimpsed her slight figure behind the window, hidden in the shadows and memories. Looking out to catch the last glimpse of me as I caught the last glimpse of her. Eyes hidden in the shadows, eyes that knew we would never meet again. Even though our time here has ended, our adventures through crystalline memories have only just begun. Thank you for sharing your happiness and making me who I am.

it happened on the day of my last exam when i had a rough night. when i woke up to get ready for school, mother and father told me that they were going out of station and will be back the next day, i had to hail a taxi. the moment it stopped outside the institute i opened the door and was about to get out when my cell phone accidently slipped from my hand and slid under the seat. i bent down to retrieve it and was about to step out of the vehicle when when a bike crashed into the open car door. the rider on the bike collapsed on the ground and his bike's peddle hit his calf which caused him to limp. there in front of my eyes were the bike and the taxi driver lashing each other with i could not guess what for my mind had gone numb. if i had come out at that moment i would have faced an entirely different fate. consequently, the warden came to resolve the situation and i took it as my indication to leave.

that day, i do not know what i wrote in my exam. when i came out of the exam hall, my friend engulfed me in a hug. we had not had a chance to talk since the finals had neered and it was about three week ago. sho noticed my tense stature and raised her eyebrows asking what had caused this mood of mine. i told her and what she said next made me realize how grateful i should be to the creator for granting me this blessed life.

she said, "then i think i'll have to tell the world how gratefull i am for you being part of me for there will always be a part of you in me. always"

that day i realized how much i have loved and should value my life.

Everything seems fine

stuck in traffic

sipping coffee

listening to the radio

no idea of where you’d be in a minute:

on the ground

unconsious

helpless

surrounded by fire

broken glass

screaming people

phones calling ambulances

tears falling

noses snuffing

mouths gasping

in a moments notice, the life you loved slipped out Your grasp.

The candlelight that represented your life flickered...

But didn’t go out.

recovery

sipping stew

moaning groans

painful therapy

good days

bad days

good days

good days

you gained a match and lit your candle, burning brighter than ever.