Rain or Death
Rain pattered against the window, the day outside bleak and gray, and the girl sat in the window, a book in her lap and air pods in her ears. Blocking out the pouring rain; And the screams of her mother upstairs. The thump of something fell down the stairs, and the screams went silent, replaced by the girl’s shriek instead.
A set of dark, soulless eyes stared up at her. Her mother’s once lively eyes.
Jar of Secrets and Stories
There is a jar that sits on my grandma’s shelf. She never moves it, and we have never done so either. There are little pieces of paper kept inside of the glass, folded up, hiding the inside of each and everyone.
Fire roared in the small living room as wind beat against the windows and the jar finally came down. Tears welled in my grandma’s eyes as she set it on the pretty, carpeted floor, finally ready to unlock its secrets. The secrets revealed were like a gust of wind as the top of the Jar twisted off. Pictures and history of the family came flooding out, along with golden shards of smugglers coins.
“Our family history runs deep, layered with twisted secrets and hidden rumors.” Our grandma whispered, my siblings sitting beside me, all leaning forward. We knew something was coming, and we did not pass a story off. For any reason. Stories were precious.
“Secrets must need to be kept, and it is time for you to know them. For you, my children, will be next to keep your history in this Jar.”
To wake up under the bridge and know that thousands of people are walking overhead, and to feel the cold bite of the ground through your patched winter coat, which is all you have even in the summer. To match, or not match, with the old spotted pants that are too tight and worn.
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, one must be picked, since the others are non-existent, if you're lucky. It's a cutthroat world and all you have for support is the trash can behind the steak shop, the homeless shelter down the road, is over packed, too busy, and who would want to go there, when you can go anywhere in the world, just hopping on a train and going there.
Life is short, especially when winter comes, and the sting and the cold is too much when you have nowhere to go. The breeze that pushed the blizzards towards you is strong, forceful, the tree provided no shelter. The abandoned house has no room, for it is filled with bony cats and an old woman with a butcher's knife. There is no bridge, for there is no water, no cliffs. The ground is flat, unhelped by the war that winter pushes, growing stronger each year. You must move, push on, through the snow drifts, stumbling to reach the trains. They pull out, you head south, pushing through the borders of each state.
Until you are caught and dragged off to jail. No one, nowhere to go, until the young girl who looks like you walks in.
"carried slowly by a current of air or water."
To some it is true,
Those who have flown in a plane or taken a boat out to sea,
You're definition is probably much different from ours,
The ones who keeping hoping for that chance.
A drifting stream of consciousness,
Until you can wave a hand in front of our faces and wonder what we are thinking of?
The way to get a boy to like us?
The sports club after school?
The artwork we have planned,
The way we will go beyond?
We are the dreamers,
The ones who will save the world.
Eyes do everything for us, without them we wouldn't be able to see, especially the people we love. Sometimes I wonder though, why skin matters over eye color. Eye color isn't judged, it's just there. The clouded blue of the afternoon sky, or the rustic brown of a worn out barn in the foothills of Tennessee.
The black of the sky without stars, and the green of a forest in the summer. They can tell us what someone is feeling if we look close enough, and aren't we supposed to do that instead of hurting people out of disrespect? Yes.
Trash in Space
Absolutely not. We already have enough problems with pollution on earth, humans use too much and waste too much, but now you want to send it to space? It may save our problems for a little while, but what happens when trash starts to block the atmosphere of earth in a few hundred years? Not only is it an option that would take a lot of work and money. It isn't safe either.
What we should do instead is recycle more, use less, and be more careful about where we are throwing trash.
Mystery often lurked in the town at the end of the bike lane. Graffiti splayed over the buildings, like haunting faces jumping out at you. The way the wind blew down the main street of the abandoned town, sounded like a witches cackle, matching the figurative dust balls that made the town seem like the wild west.
Bikers never went farther than the rushing stream under the rickety bridge, especially the superstitious ones. Apparently rushing water kept ghosts away, and after the Highschool couple had gone missing three years back, on Friday the 13th, there were ghosts who lurked there. Or so some believed. No one had any proof, except for the old, crazy man who lived 5 miles down the road, and in the swamp. No one believed him, except the children, and once hearing of his rambling stories, as he stumbled through town, they couldn’t sleep. On nights where the moon was clear, and shadows were everywhere, no one could get their children to sleep.
It was too much, too much drama, and too much screaming at night. Having had enough, the teenagers from the Backwater Highschool snuck into the swamps late one night. There were three following gunshots, no one minded. They knew that there would be no more haunting campfire stories or days at the playground when the man stumbled up, his crippled leg keeping him from moving with any noticeable pace.
For those who felt like checking, all that was left of the old man was a few splatters of blood, not even a body. It had decayed long ago. For those in the village who continue to be suspicious, some say that at every full or new moon, or on days where the Friday the 13th tension is particularly strong, you can hear three gunshots, and then four shadows creeping out of the woods.
Although, some say the one has a crippled, hunchbacked, gate.
The used but forgotten letter,
Lurking just second to last,
But is it last,
Or just struggling.
Y is a Constant and a Vowel,
It is neither and yet both,
Used for both,
But if I must say,
I must agree that it is more a constant then a vowel.
The world has been filled with secrets and mysterious creations since the start. Hidden places where you can go and be alone. At peace with your thoughts. Magic and tales of long ago lurk there, waiting for those who are deserving to discover them. Yet there is also the places of wonder, inside, or just outside the bustle of everyday life. Where I go, and quite a few others, go when an adventure that we, ourselves, are not daring enough to partake on, yet are itching for.
The pages flutter and flap, the smell of paper wafting through the air, and for those who do not find peace here, I hope you find that sensation of hope and love somewhere else, for here is where the dreams are created. The wonder and life that fills the world, just a book cover away.
Lies that Disrespect and the Truth that Doesn’t
I don't know why I am writing this here, except for that fact that maybe someone will see this and read it. For the hopes that someone will understand, and for the hope that some of us may try to be our hidden self.
Too many of us try to be cool, to try and fit it. I do the same, I want to not be the odd person out, I want to have friends, I want to seem cool. But that isn't something I do, or anyone should do at the expense of others. And if I do, somehow, in a moment of trying to fit in, I feel terrible. For ages. The regret that pounds down onto you until one night it all comes out in the form of unending tears and the same hurt that that person probably felt in the moment.
When we look at someone and call them names, insult them, or in this day and age, we call someone racial, it is often to be cool in front of our peers or because we heard something our parents said. Younger children are free to think, they are the most productive thinkers in my opinion. Imagine not having your imagination or opinion worn down or changed by others. They are the ones that could change the world, or so it is until they start to have social media, to have their views changed by other people. Coolness starts somewhere, people didn't just up and decide to be cool one day to impress their friends. Break the cycle.
I see the news, the rumors, the hate. "Black lives matter, support Lgbtq." People, stop getting caught up in yourself because everyone has opinions. ALL LIVES MATTER, NO MATTER THE SKIN COLOR, NO MATTER THE EYE COLOR, NO MATTER WHO YOU ARE, OR WHAT YOU DECIDE TO BE.
Show some respect once in a while. If you don't show respect and deem yourself worthy of respect, from the people who you just glared at or called racial, you are deeply mistaken my friend. The only thing racial is, is the people who can't respect how other people are born and the decisions they try to make. It's their life, it's my life, if it isn't yours.... stay the fudge out of it.
I have good friends who are "different" who are "weird" who are lesbian or who are part of Lgbtq. I'm not going to lie, I myself find the whole thing weird and confusing. Why wouldn't you want to be who are you, are you not comfortable in your own skin, or is it just another part of being cool? But I respect them, it is their opinion on who they want to be and NOT YOURS. They are good people, you judge them, you clearly aren't, but man can't be judged by good and evil, cause it is other's opinions that affect our own.
Now this whole thing probably sounds biased, and it is. It is my opinion, also not yours so be respectful. But if you are going to call me racial or anyone else I know the same thing or some other disrespectful thing. Be prepared to deal with the regret and hate, because I'm not going to like you. And really, it does not matter your skin color. If I yell at you, it is because you got on my nerves and clearly are not a nice person. Skin does not affect personality. Yourself, your surroundings affect personality.
If you feel that you have to be cool around your friends to fit in. Get rid of them, please. They aren't your friends, and the aren't respecting YOU.
You deserve to have your opinions, and I deserve to have mine, so does everyone else on this earth. You want a better world?
START WITH RESPECT.