It's exam week, the week before winter break sweeps us off our feet and puts us out of our minds from the madness of the holidays, and nobody I know is very happy about it. Most of my classes consist of a boring review that I have already completed to perfection, in the case of science, or boring reviews that require more skills to focus on the assignment given to us, in the case of math. And then there's those easy, test-free classes that let us do whatever we fancy in the hour and a half given to us, where we'd rather go home and take a nap, but maybe that's going to remain in our heads for the entire week.
Several of my friends at school have been pestering me to read my stories that had yet to be printed, but by tomorrow, my best friend will have the ten pages worth of short stories that she has heard of but never has been able to read until now. I had them sent through the printer, finally, and rifled through the drawers of the computer desk in order to find the stapler, which immediately collided with the corner of the stack of work. If I cared about it looking good as much as I do about the opinions of my audience, then I would probably go look into the crafty closet and find some pretty little ribbon to tie a bow on the other side of the papers, but I don't, so it will remain the paper and ink creation that it is. And I am proud of it, baby.
For the past few days, I have been experimenting with the many clothes that were sent to me in an enormous box from my grandmother, and I have been pairing the multiple scarves she gave to me with the other shirts and sweaters that have been pulled from the depths of my closet. Let me tell you, I have been rocking the whole scarf look all weekend, and a little while before that; I think that all of the scarves in the world were made just to be worn around my abnormally pale throat.
I have also figured out that I suffer from awkward panic attacks whenever I have to speak or act in front of a large crowd, and my theory has been definitely been proved more than once, the first time being when I had my in-class assignment for theatre that two other classes plus the entire S.T.A.R.S. class performed with me, and I had a nervous breakdown behind the stage curtain that involved a hyperventilating Sierra and several concerned looks when I learned that the scene I was in was not prepared with the necessary props that it required, and I had to pantomime the entire thing with my heart beating in my throat. The second time was when I was asked to give a talk in church, and not even the long, eight minute kind, and had to write it myself with barely any help at all at the last minute the day before, just before I went to bed that night; the very next day, I tried to calm myself down by talking to one of my friend's younger sister who was giving the prayer in opening exercises and who happened to be sitting next to me, even though I knew that nobody really listens to the talks in opening exercises, anyway. I am obviously not a natural-born public speaker.
I have been trying to find a way to get into the S.T.A.R.S. class ever since my best friend brought up the subject, considering that she has been talking with our counselor and our theatre teacher in order to see if she can fit it into her schedule. I have been dying to get into that class, even though I never bothered to find out when the auditions were last year, and I had taken the theatre class for the first semester, and I had probably been long forgotten by the teacher so I couldn't have been accepted anyway. I look back on this now and am thankful that I did not try out, because I was not how I am now last year, and I feel like I would have done a horrible job trying out then, versus now when I am much more confident in myself, and the fact that the teacher and I are closer friends now than we were then is just a bonus. I have gotten the counselor to look over my schedule to see if I am allowed to take it, and am still awaiting the answer eagerly.
Controversial to my fear of public speaking, I have been having really out of the ordinary dreams in which I am on the same stage that I performed my last two plays with, with a few of my other friends whose faces are blurred out, but I can still tell that it is them, and I'm reading from a thick black and white script that is weighing heavily in my hand while everyone else is saying lines that they have committed to memory. There is no audience, but I feel a thousand pairs of eyes staring up at me as if I am in front of a huge crowd. I also had this other dream where I was whisked away and took up the occupation of being a model, where they fixed my hair in really funny Dr. Seuss-like styles, and made me wear a pink dress with funky looking high-heels. I don't know if I've ever mentioned this before, but I really hate the color pink, so this came as a surprise to me in the dream when I actually looked good.
I have also cleared out my playlist of over 150 songs on it and cleaned it up; I narrowed it down to only fifty-three, and I feel a great sense of accomplishment. My grades in school have been going up, and I'm understanding some of the curriculum a little bit better than before, and some of it is actually being absorbed, or at least the boring classes are, anyway. I've started to read a few more books than usual, and I'm slowly working my way through a few of Neil Gaiman's novels, having just finished Coraline, I immediately plunged myself into the middle of The Graveyard Book. I like the style of his writing, and a lot of the plots and twists in his stories are really appealing to me; I'm attempting to find other things to read while I bite my nails anxiously while I wait for the last Hungers Games book to be released in August.
There's nothing quite like an interesting book to keep your inner bookworm satisfied...
Monday, December 14, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Hey, Miss Murder
Hopefully you all know that it eats me alive when I haven't posted for so long.
I have no idea what to post about, since I've sort of become less obsessed with Helena Bonham Carter, Alan Rickman, etc. but not Tim Burton, who remains on the pedestal of awesome in my head, while the other two step down quite a bit...
...While Miss Emily Browning steps up to take her place beside Tim and (a few steps below) Helena! Emily first caught my attention in the A Series of Unfortunate Events movie with Jim Carrey alongside her, when I thought she was the best thing in the world, and I recognize her again for her awesome talents. She's supposed to be something like twenty-one, now, which makes perfect sense, because when she did the first movie she was fourteen.
And yet, she is almost as amazing as Helena Bonham Carter.
My mind seems to be walking a tightrope of undecided uncertainty. Odd, isn't it?
I have been meaning to post two of my newest short stories that have been resting in my short story project Authentic Iris on WeBook, both of which have to do with the dead, of course.
The two that I have decided to share are Drop Dead Gorgeous, which should have been on here in an instant weeks ago when I first wrote it, and Stain Me Scarlet, my newest addition that came out yesterday.
I was experimenting with a doctor's name and came up with a particularly average, which, ironically enough, is the first name of my best guy friend and the last name of my all-time best friend combined.
There's a few more on the project, but I would most definitely be looked down upon for having them on here, considering a reasonable amount of readers aren't interested in hearing about dead affairs between a demented teenager and Hades in the Underworld. Especially when it's split into two little sections/parts, or 541 plus 2091 words altogether, and there's really odd themes running through it,and if you've read it, you know exactly to what I am referring to, *maniacal laughter*. And I don't think it helps that the Disney version of "Hercules" has been coming on lately, wink, wink.
This is probably one of my all-time favourites; let's here it for Drop Dead Gorgeous!
A beeping sound filled the room as the heart rate monitor showed the steady beat on the otherwise black screen. Several doctors and nurses in lab coats stood throughout the room, some going back and forth between a shiny table with fancy equipment and a metallic chamber near the door.
"She's breathing, but we're losing her, doc," said one of the nurses anxiously, and the attention was turned toward the chamber and the monitor. The doctor that had been watching the monitor for the past few minutes pushed a few keys on a keyboard, which opened the chamber with a whirring noise. There on a hospital bed concealed within the giant machine lay an adolescent girl looking to be about fourteen, sprawled across the cold table with her hair hanging off the sides, her forehead glistening with beads of sweat.
The doctor leaned forward and felt the girl's chest, which was rising and falling rapidly, as if she was having a particularly horrible nightmare. Her heart was much too fast for anything to be done to slow it down to a normal rate, but the man began pumping his hands on her stomach, fingers up, palms laid out flat as he counted out loud.
"One, two, three, four, five, six..." he said in a nervous, strained voice as he continued to push on her as fast as his hands would allow him to do.
"Come on, let's hear that heartbeat of yours, sweetie," muttered another doctor who stood a few paces away from the scene, keeping his eyes locked on the monitor, which was glowing green and starting to have the sharp arches jerk across the screen. The beeping noises were louder than ever now, and as several of the assistants and others murmured words of confusion to each other, the doctor hushed them.
"Do you hear that?" he asked, and a hushed silence befell upon the room. A low note that was issuing from the monitor filled their ears with the sound of realization: the girl was dead.
"She's gone," whispered the nurse who had been watching the attempt to save the girl closely. Another murmur went through the short crowd, and the doctor who had tried to bring the patient back to life threw a sheet over her head and walked out the door. He hadn't even bothered to close the chamber, which remained wide open and was still making the odd whirring noises it had been before. The doctors and nurses rushed out the door a little too eagerly, and within seconds, there was a block in the line, and four or five people tripped before getting back up and brushing off their uniforms.
One doctor still lingered in the blank-walled operating room; the doctor that had hushed the crowd when he had heard the dead heart on the monitor. He walked over into the chamber, up to where the patient lay on the gurney, and took her gently by the hand. It felt cold and clammy to touch, and her skin was stained a sickly pale yellowish color from her body's response to the medicine that she had been given an hour ago, but he did not let go. His fingers rubbed small circles in-between her wasted ones, and he got almost an immediate reply: her fingertips twitched as her muscles spasmed, and her hand regained control of itself. Her body seemed to reactivate from the doctor's contact with it, and it jerked a few ways as her arms, legs, hands, and feet awakened from its dead state. The current of energy moved up through her to her neck, and the last thing that registered to regain consciousness was her brain and head, and a split second later, the girl gasped in a breath of oxygen through her thin lips. Her eyes, a faded grey from being dead, lit up with a small sparkle of color as they blinked, her thick, brown eyelashes lightly touching her eyelids. She lifted her head up slowly, and the doctor helped her sit up straight, pulling her into a fetal position, her arms falling limp at her sides. Her hold on the doctor's hand lingered longer than it should have, but she dropped it, frightened by the contrast of their skin temperature.
"Nell?" asked the doctor.
"How do you know my name? The pain medicine...they didn't listen to me, but I tried to tell them that I was allergic to it--" said the girl.
"No, you weren't allergic to any pain medicine, but you certainly were dead."
"I was dead?"
"For a few minutes, anyway."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I, really," said the doctor, and he crossed over to the table on the other side of the room and picked something up, returning to the reincarnated girl with a quiet noise of falling footsteps following him. He held out the item he had retrieved to her, a mirror, and she examined herself in the glass. The doctor couldn't suppress a smile as Nell gasped at her image.
He continued with his explanation.
"But all I know is that you were out cold, and put into this chamber, where several scans, DNA tests, all of that fun stuff was done while we were all out here, waiting for the results. They put you on some morphine, I think, but that's all they did to you before your heart rate went absolutely insane. The head doctor tried some ridiculous thing on you, the Heimlich, or some other thing we learned way back in high school, very basic stuff, but he was too late, and then I heard the monitor. Before we all knew it, you were dead, and everyone else that was here left, except for me. I held your hand for a few seconds, and then your body decided that it was time to regenerate."
"Oh," said Nell, and as she handed the mirror back to him, she dropped it on the floor, where it shattered into a million tiny fragments of glass. The look of pure terror on her face was enough to send the doctor into a fit of laughing.
"I'm so sorry!" she cried, and she bit her lip as she looked into the doctor's face.
"That's all right, just an accident," he dismissed the broken mirror with a wave of his hand. "Have you ever died before?"
"I don't think so, this would be my first time. I didn't know that I could come back to life."
"It's unusual; I've never seen anything like this in all my studies."
Nell remained silent.
"Close your eyes and try to relax, Nell." said the doctor, and the girl rested her head against the top of her knees, shutting her eyes and taking a slow, deep breath. The doctor watched for any signs of life after a few moments, and just as he was about to look away, Nell dropped to the floor, limbs unrecognizing that she had fallen over. She lay there, looking close to how she had when she had been dead on her gurney previously.
The doctor bent over, his fingers probing around her neck, wrists, and cheek for any sign of a pulse. Nothing.
He pushed gently on her face and watched amazed as her body began to work again. Nell was sitting on the floor, eyes wide and mouth set in a frown, a moment later.
"How long was I out for?" she asked.
"About four or five minutes," said the doctor. "I think you have an odd ability that allows you to drop dead for a short period of time, my dear girl."
He grinned at this and extended his long-fingered hand out to Nell, and she gratefully accepted it, standing up for the first time on the cooled tiled floor. Her feet landed in the broken glass on the floor, and wherever she stepped small cuts appeared on them, and her foot was bleeding slightly as she moved forward hand in hand with the doctor. He walked her to the exit, which was a large, grey door with a small, eye level window in the center, and swung the door open, ushering her out into the hallway.
The doctor paused, barely catching the door as it shut as he regarded the rare event that had just taken place. A girl back from the dead? It had happened before, when they had gotten her heart back up again, but the patient had always died again, slipped under all of the medicine and other techniques the doctors used to help them. This was different, nobody died in a hospital only to wake up from what seemed to be a dead slumber a few minutes later, let alone be able to regain any control over their body and walk away from their gurney.
He ran his fingers through his thick, dark locks once, and then moved his hands down to adjust his rectangular pin on his left coat pocket. There on the pin, which was glinting in the bright light of the hall, set in a plain, all-capital letter engraving was the doctor's name.
Dr. Andrew Pierce.
If that didn't put you to sleep, or send an odd feeling shivering down your spine, then you might want a shorter story, which came to me in a sudden hurricane of ideas.
Stain Me Scarlet, a name that I had been planning to use for something good, and did:
She was seated with her back straightened up against the church bench, a lacy handkerchief dabbing at her heavily shadowed eyes as a few stray tears fell out of the corners, unaware of the bloodstains that dotted the fabric with their deep red color. She was dressed in a strapless dress with scarlet lace lining the top and bottom, which brushed her skin just below her trembling pale kneecaps, and her feet had been fitted in tight, black ballet shoes that didn't even pinch her toes despite what everyone else had told her. Her dark hair was twisted up on her head, with several loose curls draping down her shoulders, while a short, black veil fluttered right above her thick eyelashes.
"Well, aren't you all dolled up?" asked a low voice, and she turned her eyes to meet the man who had just taken a seat next to her. He was wearing a plain grey suit, the only one in the church who was refusing to wear black just like everyone else. He looked confused when she didn't say anything, but noticed that she had been eying his awkward choice of funeral colors.
"Oh, this? I don't believe in wearing black, so I did the best that I could." he said, pausing for a brief moment before he reached into the inside pocket of his coat. When his hand withdrew, she couldn't stifled the gasp that escaped her lips at the sight of the blade, shining innocently in the dimming bright lights above them on the wide ceiling. The man smiled, and moved his hand toward her thigh, dropping the blade on the ends of her dress before getting up again to occupy himself elsewhere.
The knife lay in front of her, resting just within her eye level in such a way that it taunted her, almost playing with her decisions as she moved her handkerchief to just her left hand, holding it by her eyes while she took the dagger in her other hand. After a moment's hesitation, she pulled up the folds of her dress with a few of her fingers slightly until she caught sight of her albino skin above her knees. Driving the point of the blade into her skin, she began carving out letters in her skin, wincing horribly into her handkerchief at the excruciating pain. Five letters later, she traced a loopy border around the name as she examined the six large letters in her now wounded thigh.
GERARD
She dropped the dagger on the floor, where it fell, with a muffled smacking noise, onto the hard tile beneath her, before burying her expression inside of her handkerchief, sobbing uncontrollably at the name that had made such an impression in her mind.
A coffin sat on top of a float-like block towards the front of the church, surrounded by the bundles of flowers that people had brought to the church in order to pay their respects, the lid wide open so that everyone present could see the departed life laying inside. The lifeless form of a man with long, black hair and a pallid expression on his face could be seen from where she was sitting, and the corpse had been dressed up by a less-than professional in a collared black shirt and pants with a blood-red tie slung around his neck. His eyes had been closed, but had they been open, she would have been able to see the dark brown color in his frozen irises, staring blankly into space.
Another man approached her, and pulled her to her feet by her wrist while he led her toward the open coffin. She lowered her handkerchief to her side as she saw him in front of her, and when the man let go of her wrist, she was standing directly in front of the corpse, on the verge of hysteria, fighting back even more tears that ignored her wishes as they poured from her dark eyes. She fell forward, pressing herself against the dead body, falling apart at the seams as she began sobbing again, taking his cold, lifeless hands in her own. She could feel something paper like crumpled into a ball inside his fist, and she removed it quickly, taking care to read it to the best of her ability with the saltwater blurring up her vision before she threw it behind her, weeping all the more onto his dead form.
Anyone who had been close enough to the two would have been able to read the short note that had been scrawled across the paper in black ink and had the common sense to pick it up and keep it in their pocket until they met the girl again.
Helena,
I love you.
Gerard
Oddly enough, they both end in a few italicized words at the end.
Thanksgiving was alright, my parents invited several families from church over to our house, with everyone bringing some kind of food, which was super delicious and had me being thankful for thinking of not eating anything but a glass of water, gum, and a few cookies throughout the day until people started showing up.
After the party had been going on for a few hours, all of the girls decided to go to the craft store which shall remain unnamed because of the coupon that Sis. Boyce had. Eight of us piled in Sis. Noah's car and we drove to the store, later sharing the little 25% off coupon, while I hid my laughter behind the group, finding it easier to stifle because of the adorable penguin ornament that I found and was able to get while I was there.
I hadn't really tasted pumpkin pie before Thanksgiving other than one time at school, which I don't think even comes close to counting, and as soon as I had some, I piled it high with whipped cream. I regretted my decision of eating more food about five minutes later.
I was surprised how weird but funny my mum could be when she was with her friends.
But then again, aren't we all?
I have no idea what to post about, since I've sort of become less obsessed with Helena Bonham Carter, Alan Rickman, etc. but not Tim Burton, who remains on the pedestal of awesome in my head, while the other two step down quite a bit...
...While Miss Emily Browning steps up to take her place beside Tim and (a few steps below) Helena! Emily first caught my attention in the A Series of Unfortunate Events movie with Jim Carrey alongside her, when I thought she was the best thing in the world, and I recognize her again for her awesome talents. She's supposed to be something like twenty-one, now, which makes perfect sense, because when she did the first movie she was fourteen.
And yet, she is almost as amazing as Helena Bonham Carter.
My mind seems to be walking a tightrope of undecided uncertainty. Odd, isn't it?
I have been meaning to post two of my newest short stories that have been resting in my short story project Authentic Iris on WeBook, both of which have to do with the dead, of course.
The two that I have decided to share are Drop Dead Gorgeous, which should have been on here in an instant weeks ago when I first wrote it, and Stain Me Scarlet, my newest addition that came out yesterday.
I was experimenting with a doctor's name and came up with a particularly average, which, ironically enough, is the first name of my best guy friend and the last name of my all-time best friend combined.
There's a few more on the project, but I would most definitely be looked down upon for having them on here, considering a reasonable amount of readers aren't interested in hearing about dead affairs between a demented teenager and Hades in the Underworld. Especially when it's split into two little sections/parts, or 541 plus 2091 words altogether, and there's really odd themes running through it,
This is probably one of my all-time favourites; let's here it for Drop Dead Gorgeous!
A beeping sound filled the room as the heart rate monitor showed the steady beat on the otherwise black screen. Several doctors and nurses in lab coats stood throughout the room, some going back and forth between a shiny table with fancy equipment and a metallic chamber near the door.
"She's breathing, but we're losing her, doc," said one of the nurses anxiously, and the attention was turned toward the chamber and the monitor. The doctor that had been watching the monitor for the past few minutes pushed a few keys on a keyboard, which opened the chamber with a whirring noise. There on a hospital bed concealed within the giant machine lay an adolescent girl looking to be about fourteen, sprawled across the cold table with her hair hanging off the sides, her forehead glistening with beads of sweat.
The doctor leaned forward and felt the girl's chest, which was rising and falling rapidly, as if she was having a particularly horrible nightmare. Her heart was much too fast for anything to be done to slow it down to a normal rate, but the man began pumping his hands on her stomach, fingers up, palms laid out flat as he counted out loud.
"One, two, three, four, five, six..." he said in a nervous, strained voice as he continued to push on her as fast as his hands would allow him to do.
"Come on, let's hear that heartbeat of yours, sweetie," muttered another doctor who stood a few paces away from the scene, keeping his eyes locked on the monitor, which was glowing green and starting to have the sharp arches jerk across the screen. The beeping noises were louder than ever now, and as several of the assistants and others murmured words of confusion to each other, the doctor hushed them.
"Do you hear that?" he asked, and a hushed silence befell upon the room. A low note that was issuing from the monitor filled their ears with the sound of realization: the girl was dead.
"She's gone," whispered the nurse who had been watching the attempt to save the girl closely. Another murmur went through the short crowd, and the doctor who had tried to bring the patient back to life threw a sheet over her head and walked out the door. He hadn't even bothered to close the chamber, which remained wide open and was still making the odd whirring noises it had been before. The doctors and nurses rushed out the door a little too eagerly, and within seconds, there was a block in the line, and four or five people tripped before getting back up and brushing off their uniforms.
One doctor still lingered in the blank-walled operating room; the doctor that had hushed the crowd when he had heard the dead heart on the monitor. He walked over into the chamber, up to where the patient lay on the gurney, and took her gently by the hand. It felt cold and clammy to touch, and her skin was stained a sickly pale yellowish color from her body's response to the medicine that she had been given an hour ago, but he did not let go. His fingers rubbed small circles in-between her wasted ones, and he got almost an immediate reply: her fingertips twitched as her muscles spasmed, and her hand regained control of itself. Her body seemed to reactivate from the doctor's contact with it, and it jerked a few ways as her arms, legs, hands, and feet awakened from its dead state. The current of energy moved up through her to her neck, and the last thing that registered to regain consciousness was her brain and head, and a split second later, the girl gasped in a breath of oxygen through her thin lips. Her eyes, a faded grey from being dead, lit up with a small sparkle of color as they blinked, her thick, brown eyelashes lightly touching her eyelids. She lifted her head up slowly, and the doctor helped her sit up straight, pulling her into a fetal position, her arms falling limp at her sides. Her hold on the doctor's hand lingered longer than it should have, but she dropped it, frightened by the contrast of their skin temperature.
"Nell?" asked the doctor.
"How do you know my name? The pain medicine...they didn't listen to me, but I tried to tell them that I was allergic to it--" said the girl.
"No, you weren't allergic to any pain medicine, but you certainly were dead."
"I was dead?"
"For a few minutes, anyway."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I, really," said the doctor, and he crossed over to the table on the other side of the room and picked something up, returning to the reincarnated girl with a quiet noise of falling footsteps following him. He held out the item he had retrieved to her, a mirror, and she examined herself in the glass. The doctor couldn't suppress a smile as Nell gasped at her image.
He continued with his explanation.
"But all I know is that you were out cold, and put into this chamber, where several scans, DNA tests, all of that fun stuff was done while we were all out here, waiting for the results. They put you on some morphine, I think, but that's all they did to you before your heart rate went absolutely insane. The head doctor tried some ridiculous thing on you, the Heimlich, or some other thing we learned way back in high school, very basic stuff, but he was too late, and then I heard the monitor. Before we all knew it, you were dead, and everyone else that was here left, except for me. I held your hand for a few seconds, and then your body decided that it was time to regenerate."
"Oh," said Nell, and as she handed the mirror back to him, she dropped it on the floor, where it shattered into a million tiny fragments of glass. The look of pure terror on her face was enough to send the doctor into a fit of laughing.
"I'm so sorry!" she cried, and she bit her lip as she looked into the doctor's face.
"That's all right, just an accident," he dismissed the broken mirror with a wave of his hand. "Have you ever died before?"
"I don't think so, this would be my first time. I didn't know that I could come back to life."
"It's unusual; I've never seen anything like this in all my studies."
Nell remained silent.
"Close your eyes and try to relax, Nell." said the doctor, and the girl rested her head against the top of her knees, shutting her eyes and taking a slow, deep breath. The doctor watched for any signs of life after a few moments, and just as he was about to look away, Nell dropped to the floor, limbs unrecognizing that she had fallen over. She lay there, looking close to how she had when she had been dead on her gurney previously.
The doctor bent over, his fingers probing around her neck, wrists, and cheek for any sign of a pulse. Nothing.
He pushed gently on her face and watched amazed as her body began to work again. Nell was sitting on the floor, eyes wide and mouth set in a frown, a moment later.
"How long was I out for?" she asked.
"About four or five minutes," said the doctor. "I think you have an odd ability that allows you to drop dead for a short period of time, my dear girl."
He grinned at this and extended his long-fingered hand out to Nell, and she gratefully accepted it, standing up for the first time on the cooled tiled floor. Her feet landed in the broken glass on the floor, and wherever she stepped small cuts appeared on them, and her foot was bleeding slightly as she moved forward hand in hand with the doctor. He walked her to the exit, which was a large, grey door with a small, eye level window in the center, and swung the door open, ushering her out into the hallway.
The doctor paused, barely catching the door as it shut as he regarded the rare event that had just taken place. A girl back from the dead? It had happened before, when they had gotten her heart back up again, but the patient had always died again, slipped under all of the medicine and other techniques the doctors used to help them. This was different, nobody died in a hospital only to wake up from what seemed to be a dead slumber a few minutes later, let alone be able to regain any control over their body and walk away from their gurney.
He ran his fingers through his thick, dark locks once, and then moved his hands down to adjust his rectangular pin on his left coat pocket. There on the pin, which was glinting in the bright light of the hall, set in a plain, all-capital letter engraving was the doctor's name.
Dr. Andrew Pierce.
If that didn't put you to sleep, or send an odd feeling shivering down your spine, then you might want a shorter story, which came to me in a sudden hurricane of ideas.
Stain Me Scarlet, a name that I had been planning to use for something good, and did:
She was seated with her back straightened up against the church bench, a lacy handkerchief dabbing at her heavily shadowed eyes as a few stray tears fell out of the corners, unaware of the bloodstains that dotted the fabric with their deep red color. She was dressed in a strapless dress with scarlet lace lining the top and bottom, which brushed her skin just below her trembling pale kneecaps, and her feet had been fitted in tight, black ballet shoes that didn't even pinch her toes despite what everyone else had told her. Her dark hair was twisted up on her head, with several loose curls draping down her shoulders, while a short, black veil fluttered right above her thick eyelashes.
"Well, aren't you all dolled up?" asked a low voice, and she turned her eyes to meet the man who had just taken a seat next to her. He was wearing a plain grey suit, the only one in the church who was refusing to wear black just like everyone else. He looked confused when she didn't say anything, but noticed that she had been eying his awkward choice of funeral colors.
"Oh, this? I don't believe in wearing black, so I did the best that I could." he said, pausing for a brief moment before he reached into the inside pocket of his coat. When his hand withdrew, she couldn't stifled the gasp that escaped her lips at the sight of the blade, shining innocently in the dimming bright lights above them on the wide ceiling. The man smiled, and moved his hand toward her thigh, dropping the blade on the ends of her dress before getting up again to occupy himself elsewhere.
The knife lay in front of her, resting just within her eye level in such a way that it taunted her, almost playing with her decisions as she moved her handkerchief to just her left hand, holding it by her eyes while she took the dagger in her other hand. After a moment's hesitation, she pulled up the folds of her dress with a few of her fingers slightly until she caught sight of her albino skin above her knees. Driving the point of the blade into her skin, she began carving out letters in her skin, wincing horribly into her handkerchief at the excruciating pain. Five letters later, she traced a loopy border around the name as she examined the six large letters in her now wounded thigh.
GERARD
She dropped the dagger on the floor, where it fell, with a muffled smacking noise, onto the hard tile beneath her, before burying her expression inside of her handkerchief, sobbing uncontrollably at the name that had made such an impression in her mind.
A coffin sat on top of a float-like block towards the front of the church, surrounded by the bundles of flowers that people had brought to the church in order to pay their respects, the lid wide open so that everyone present could see the departed life laying inside. The lifeless form of a man with long, black hair and a pallid expression on his face could be seen from where she was sitting, and the corpse had been dressed up by a less-than professional in a collared black shirt and pants with a blood-red tie slung around his neck. His eyes had been closed, but had they been open, she would have been able to see the dark brown color in his frozen irises, staring blankly into space.
Another man approached her, and pulled her to her feet by her wrist while he led her toward the open coffin. She lowered her handkerchief to her side as she saw him in front of her, and when the man let go of her wrist, she was standing directly in front of the corpse, on the verge of hysteria, fighting back even more tears that ignored her wishes as they poured from her dark eyes. She fell forward, pressing herself against the dead body, falling apart at the seams as she began sobbing again, taking his cold, lifeless hands in her own. She could feel something paper like crumpled into a ball inside his fist, and she removed it quickly, taking care to read it to the best of her ability with the saltwater blurring up her vision before she threw it behind her, weeping all the more onto his dead form.
Anyone who had been close enough to the two would have been able to read the short note that had been scrawled across the paper in black ink and had the common sense to pick it up and keep it in their pocket until they met the girl again.
Helena,
I love you.
Gerard
Oddly enough, they both end in a few italicized words at the end.
Thanksgiving was alright, my parents invited several families from church over to our house, with everyone bringing some kind of food, which was super delicious and had me being thankful for thinking of not eating anything but a glass of water, gum, and a few cookies throughout the day until people started showing up.
After the party had been going on for a few hours, all of the girls decided to go to the craft store which shall remain unnamed because of the coupon that Sis. Boyce had. Eight of us piled in Sis. Noah's car and we drove to the store, later sharing the little 25% off coupon, while I hid my laughter behind the group, finding it easier to stifle because of the adorable penguin ornament that I found and was able to get while I was there.
I hadn't really tasted pumpkin pie before Thanksgiving other than one time at school, which I don't think even comes close to counting, and as soon as I had some, I piled it high with whipped cream. I regretted my decision of eating more food about five minutes later.
I was surprised how weird but funny my mum could be when she was with her friends.
But then again, aren't we all?
Saturday, November 14, 2009
A Mouse in a Sea of Black
It is practically eating me alive that I have, in my mind, had nothing to blog about in forever, even though so darn much has happened since whenever my last post was.
Which to speak of first?
The play that I got to be performing my six lines of glory in was a complete success, for both Cast B and Cast A, which I was in as the cafeteria lady sticking her head through the door to flirt with the new substitute teacher. Which happened to be one of my new best guy-friends, so I had to keep telling myself that it was 'just acting', despite what my other best friends said about me totally flirting with him anyway. If I did do any of that, then it was entirely subconsciously.
Didn't my mum say something about being voted biggest flirt in whatever grade?
As well as be in Cast A, I got to play with the lights backstage and do some tech work, meaning that I worked with Tristen (whom I mentioned earlier) and Benjamin to make sure that we had every single prop in its place, and to find it if we had lost it which, of course, we didn't for the most part. Every time the stage lights went off, I had to unplug the other ones on stage left, which became my instant hangout, or "The Crew's Party Room" as I told everyone else. It was a whole lot of fun to perform on stage, even if it was barely any time at all, and Cast B did fantastic, especially when Reshma forgot her lines and started ad-libbing, which the audience totally loved.
I got to wear an ugly black wig which reminded me strangely of a younger, less awesome Captain Hook, and had Abby fix my makeup for me, or some of it, anyway, because I really don't think that the audience wants their eccentric, desperate-for-love Miss Mush to be copying Gerard Way's style of black makeup.
Plus, their wasn't any.
So, I had on purple-lavender eyeshadow, black and bright, bright lime green eyeliner, excessive amounts of blush, and this bright pink lipstick, which I thought was so adorable.
Other than that, I had no costume on except for my school clothes that I had been wearing for the entire day. Fun, right?
The second thing that I would love to mention in all of the short news it is would be that for English, we got to pick our top 4 books out of an assortment of them before getting put into groups by the ones we got. My first choice, The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo, was given to me, and I was put into a group with Britley, Sophia, Sydney (who wasn't so intent on getting her book read), and Kaci, who turned out to be an amazing person that I should have known beforehand. It turns out that she agrees with me when she told us that she'd rather "stay inside writing on her blog than going outside with people".
I practically fell out of my chair, right there in the library.
Kaci also shares my love of blogging, and whenever I get the link to it from her on Monday, I'll be sure to have it on here.
Halloween was also a whole lot of fun, even though a post on that is way overdue, and I got to be with most of my friends while I was in my mourner's costume, walking around at night and demanding candy from random strangers. When we ended and went back to Ashli's house, we ate pizza probably the size of my face and drank cans of Pepsi, all the while screaming and singing on her American Idol Karaoke game. There was lots of foolishness and silly dances that a few of us did, such as when we picked Eye of the Tiger, and practically everyone jumped up and started dancing.
My candy was the last one standing at our house, lasting for maybe a week and a half if not longer. Three words for you: Best. Halloween. Ever.
I'm hoping to make it in to our next school play, which is Romeo and Juliet, which I still haven't heard the story of, much to the surprise of my mother. There should be much longer lines, and bigger parts to fill, not to mention that it's only one cast, so the odds should even out in my favor.
I watched Les Miserables the other day for the second time in a long time, and ever since then have become an insane Victor Hugo fan. The movie is seriously awesome, even though I hate the ending for only one reason, and that is because I feel like there should be MORE to the movie, seeing as it CAN'T end there. When I watched said title again, I realised that Claire Danes was playing Cosette, whom I remembered was in Little Women, another movie that I adore.
Speaking of movies, I've been trying to find out when I can see 9 again...
That was probably the creepiest, most suspense-filled, coolest movie by Tim Burton that I've ever seen, which isn't too many, by the way, but I love it to pieces anyway.
I can barely start to imagine what his next one will be like in March, Alice in Wonderland, which is one that Sophia was planning on writing her own play on. She also asked if I was interested in being involved in, whenever she had gotten everything together with my other friend, Angie. I suggested we start an acting troupe, which turned several jokes about naming it "The Olafs" after Count Olaf and his acting troupe in Lemony Snicket's books. Hmm, an acting troupe?
One can only dream....
Which to speak of first?
The play that I got to be performing my six lines of glory in was a complete success, for both Cast B and Cast A, which I was in as the cafeteria lady sticking her head through the door to flirt with the new substitute teacher. Which happened to be one of my new best guy-friends, so I had to keep telling myself that it was 'just acting', despite what my other best friends said about me totally flirting with him anyway. If I did do any of that, then it was entirely subconsciously.
Didn't my mum say something about being voted biggest flirt in whatever grade?
As well as be in Cast A, I got to play with the lights backstage and do some tech work, meaning that I worked with Tristen (whom I mentioned earlier) and Benjamin to make sure that we had every single prop in its place, and to find it if we had lost it which, of course, we didn't for the most part. Every time the stage lights went off, I had to unplug the other ones on stage left, which became my instant hangout, or "The Crew's Party Room" as I told everyone else. It was a whole lot of fun to perform on stage, even if it was barely any time at all, and Cast B did fantastic, especially when Reshma forgot her lines and started ad-libbing, which the audience totally loved.
I got to wear an ugly black wig which reminded me strangely of a younger, less awesome Captain Hook, and had Abby fix my makeup for me, or some of it, anyway, because I really don't think that the audience wants their eccentric, desperate-for-love Miss Mush to be copying Gerard Way's style of black makeup.
Plus, their wasn't any.
So, I had on purple-lavender eyeshadow, black and bright, bright lime green eyeliner, excessive amounts of blush, and this bright pink lipstick, which I thought was so adorable.
Other than that, I had no costume on except for my school clothes that I had been wearing for the entire day. Fun, right?
The second thing that I would love to mention in all of the short news it is would be that for English, we got to pick our top 4 books out of an assortment of them before getting put into groups by the ones we got. My first choice, The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo, was given to me, and I was put into a group with Britley, Sophia, Sydney (who wasn't so intent on getting her book read), and Kaci, who turned out to be an amazing person that I should have known beforehand. It turns out that she agrees with me when she told us that she'd rather "stay inside writing on her blog than going outside with people".
I practically fell out of my chair, right there in the library.
Kaci also shares my love of blogging, and whenever I get the link to it from her on Monday, I'll be sure to have it on here.
Halloween was also a whole lot of fun, even though a post on that is way overdue, and I got to be with most of my friends while I was in my mourner's costume, walking around at night and demanding candy from random strangers. When we ended and went back to Ashli's house, we ate pizza probably the size of my face and drank cans of Pepsi, all the while screaming and singing on her American Idol Karaoke game. There was lots of foolishness and silly dances that a few of us did, such as when we picked Eye of the Tiger, and practically everyone jumped up and started dancing.
My candy was the last one standing at our house, lasting for maybe a week and a half if not longer. Three words for you: Best. Halloween. Ever.
I'm hoping to make it in to our next school play, which is Romeo and Juliet, which I still haven't heard the story of, much to the surprise of my mother. There should be much longer lines, and bigger parts to fill, not to mention that it's only one cast, so the odds should even out in my favor.
I watched Les Miserables the other day for the second time in a long time, and ever since then have become an insane Victor Hugo fan. The movie is seriously awesome, even though I hate the ending for only one reason, and that is because I feel like there should be MORE to the movie, seeing as it CAN'T end there. When I watched said title again, I realised that Claire Danes was playing Cosette, whom I remembered was in Little Women, another movie that I adore.
Speaking of movies, I've been trying to find out when I can see 9 again...
That was probably the creepiest, most suspense-filled, coolest movie by Tim Burton that I've ever seen, which isn't too many, by the way, but I love it to pieces anyway.
I can barely start to imagine what his next one will be like in March, Alice in Wonderland, which is one that Sophia was planning on writing her own play on. She also asked if I was interested in being involved in, whenever she had gotten everything together with my other friend, Angie. I suggested we start an acting troupe, which turned several jokes about naming it "The Olafs" after Count Olaf and his acting troupe in Lemony Snicket's books. Hmm, an acting troupe?
One can only dream....
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Empty Windows to a Vast Black Hole
It's been more than a week since my last blog post, and I am literally having my brain cells melted because I need to post soon. And soon would most definitely be now.
Halloween was coming up faster than I could think of a costume, so here was my state of mind on Saturday: "As for my Halloween costume ideas, I'm up for a mourner, as found in the Helena music video with the handkerchief, arm-in-arm with Ray...?, lovestruck Cupid, a depressed soul, or something that just came out of the death closet, meaning my hair ruffled with my makeup smudged all down my face."
Of course I went with mourner, because that was the first thing that I had come up with, until Elizabeth Eldridge suggested that I be Sally, from Nightmare Before Christmas. To use her words, "You could, like, wear raggedy clothes and draw stitches on your face, and straighten your hair!" This was a brilliant idea, but an idea that I will be saving for some year in the future. I'm sticking with my "Gerard Way version of a hopeless Helena mourner with depression issues". Or just the Gerard Way version of someone in mourning. Hopefully my mother will fashion some sort of long, draping white scarf for me out of fabric like she said she would, because that's the missing piece to my ensemble. If you know me at all, then you will most likely NOT be surprised that I will smear and smudge makeup all over my face and wear the darkest maroon-red lipstick that I can find, plus the best hat in the world that I discovered after my brothers dumped the Halloween costume box out on their floor, having already dragged it out of the attic.
Recently, I've been drawing, doodling, and sketching like crazy. It's addicting. It keeps my attention focused, like it did today in Spanish and theatre (in which I had substitutes in both), when I was bored out of my mind after I was done with everything that had to be done. I ended up drawing hearts on wires, and a fallen bouquet of flowers with a fail drawing of a leg with a random shoe on either side, which was my attempt at drawing people, and a fishing hook, complete with a heart that sported a dead heartbeat. These all looked like book covers, which I've been really into drawing. I even took all of my old doodles and artwork that were cluttering up half of my binder and put them into a separate one, entitled "Sierra's Art Portfolio; aka Butterscotch Cookies, Scarlet Eyes, and Passionmouth".
I'm out of books to read. I've already run through both books of the Hunger Games series, and am eagerly awaiting the next one that's most likely coming out next year, if not later. I was thinking of reading Alice In Wonderland, because, hey, man, the classics are great. (Right, Emily?)
I'm going to be attending a Halloween costume party on Saturday, which is, as I surely hope you know, Halloween. Everybody I know is invited, and most of them are going, including Britley. I get to go and hang out at Andrew's house while we all wait for everyone to get there, and then trick-or-treat to Ashli's house, partyin' till we're purple all night long, or at least until the party ends.
I'm pretty sure that it's safe to announce, now, but my aunt Brenda and her friend Pat are visiting us for Halloween, and should be getting here about nine tomorrow morning, or a little later, while I'm at school, desperately trying to break free to escape the madness and come home to the OTHER madness that is my family. They'll be here by the time I get home, which means I might possibly get to celebrate Halloween with them by making a cake, or at least something that contains a lot of sugar. Can you not tell that I'm extremely excited?
Last night, for mutual, we went swimming so everyone who wanted to could take the swim test for the camp out in about three weeks. I would love to shock you all and tell you that I actually took the stupid swim test, but I refused, calling myself a rebel, "making a statement", and being "absolutely too cool for the swim test". Plus, I didn't really care for looking ridiculous in front of everyone, but many people DEMAND to differ, because according to them, I wouldn't look stupid, but I didn't care, I was all right talking to Sis. Whitley.
I wasn't trying to find out what happens next in her story, if that's what you're thinking.
And I most certainly didn't hear about some mythological creature with a hundred heads and arms. Definitely not.
In Life Management, we're making cakes for our cake decorating lab, and she's experimenting with fondant for the first time, so of course it's got to be me who makes the whole thing disastrous. Our teaching apparently doesn't like it when you act like you're sick and tired of scrubbing sticky marshmallow stains off of the counters, even if you're KIDDING. Angelica and I made the cakes, greased the three pans, and left the fondant making to Ashli, who got to class much later, but just in time to do what she needed to do with the lab.
For future reference, it would have been so much easier if we hadn't used three little circular pans and wax paper, and if we didn't have to have every dish that was covered and stuck with marshmallow goo clean before the bell rang.
So, yes, I was late to English, because our teacher did not write Angelica and me a pass, even though we have the same first two classes together.
This better be over soon, orSweeney Todd will have his vengeance I will have my revenge on those delicious bakery pastries!
I've also had to read Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None for English class, which was pretty interesting, except for the fact that my teacher made us take notes on chapters, make a diary entry that is worth pretty much half of our total grade for the year or something, and write questions, become the character, etc. But I have to admit that this book was so much more enjoyable than last year...The Hobbit, ugh...
Halloween was coming up faster than I could think of a costume, so here was my state of mind on Saturday: "As for my Halloween costume ideas, I'm up for a mourner, as found in the Helena music video with the handkerchief, arm-in-arm with Ray...?, lovestruck Cupid, a depressed soul, or something that just came out of the death closet, meaning my hair ruffled with my makeup smudged all down my face."
Of course I went with mourner, because that was the first thing that I had come up with, until Elizabeth Eldridge suggested that I be Sally, from Nightmare Before Christmas. To use her words, "You could, like, wear raggedy clothes and draw stitches on your face, and straighten your hair!" This was a brilliant idea, but an idea that I will be saving for some year in the future. I'm sticking with my "Gerard Way version of a hopeless Helena mourner with depression issues". Or just the Gerard Way version of someone in mourning. Hopefully my mother will fashion some sort of long, draping white scarf for me out of fabric like she said she would, because that's the missing piece to my ensemble. If you know me at all, then you will most likely NOT be surprised that I will smear and smudge makeup all over my face and wear the darkest maroon-red lipstick that I can find, plus the best hat in the world that I discovered after my brothers dumped the Halloween costume box out on their floor, having already dragged it out of the attic.
Recently, I've been drawing, doodling, and sketching like crazy. It's addicting. It keeps my attention focused, like it did today in Spanish and theatre (in which I had substitutes in both), when I was bored out of my mind after I was done with everything that had to be done. I ended up drawing hearts on wires, and a fallen bouquet of flowers with a fail drawing of a leg with a random shoe on either side, which was my attempt at drawing people, and a fishing hook, complete with a heart that sported a dead heartbeat. These all looked like book covers, which I've been really into drawing. I even took all of my old doodles and artwork that were cluttering up half of my binder and put them into a separate one, entitled "Sierra's Art Portfolio; aka Butterscotch Cookies, Scarlet Eyes, and Passionmouth".
I'm out of books to read. I've already run through both books of the Hunger Games series, and am eagerly awaiting the next one that's most likely coming out next year, if not later. I was thinking of reading Alice In Wonderland, because, hey, man, the classics are great. (Right, Emily?)
I'm going to be attending a Halloween costume party on Saturday, which is, as I surely hope you know, Halloween. Everybody I know is invited, and most of them are going, including Britley. I get to go and hang out at Andrew's house while we all wait for everyone to get there, and then trick-or-treat to Ashli's house, partyin' till we're purple all night long, or at least until the party ends.
I'm pretty sure that it's safe to announce, now, but my aunt Brenda and her friend Pat are visiting us for Halloween, and should be getting here about nine tomorrow morning, or a little later, while I'm at school, desperately trying to break free to escape the madness and come home to the OTHER madness that is my family. They'll be here by the time I get home, which means I might possibly get to celebrate Halloween with them by making a cake, or at least something that contains a lot of sugar. Can you not tell that I'm extremely excited?
Last night, for mutual, we went swimming so everyone who wanted to could take the swim test for the camp out in about three weeks. I would love to shock you all and tell you that I actually took the stupid swim test, but I refused, calling myself a rebel, "making a statement", and being "absolutely too cool for the swim test". Plus, I didn't really care for looking ridiculous in front of everyone, but many people DEMAND to differ, because according to them, I wouldn't look stupid, but I didn't care, I was all right talking to Sis. Whitley.
I wasn't trying to find out what happens next in her story, if that's what you're thinking.
And I most certainly didn't hear about some mythological creature with a hundred heads and arms. Definitely not.
In Life Management, we're making cakes for our cake decorating lab, and she's experimenting with fondant for the first time, so of course it's got to be me who makes the whole thing disastrous. Our teaching apparently doesn't like it when you act like you're sick and tired of scrubbing sticky marshmallow stains off of the counters, even if you're KIDDING. Angelica and I made the cakes, greased the three pans, and left the fondant making to Ashli, who got to class much later, but just in time to do what she needed to do with the lab.
For future reference, it would have been so much easier if we hadn't used three little circular pans and wax paper, and if we didn't have to have every dish that was covered and stuck with marshmallow goo clean before the bell rang.
So, yes, I was late to English, because our teacher did not write Angelica and me a pass, even though we have the same first two classes together.
This better be over soon, or
I've also had to read Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None for English class, which was pretty interesting, except for the fact that my teacher made us take notes on chapters, make a diary entry that is worth pretty much half of our total grade for the year or something, and write questions, become the character, etc. But I have to admit that this book was so much more enjoyable than last year...The Hobbit, ugh...
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Can We Settle Up The Score?
Normally, when enduring something for YWs, I do as little as possible (which, I think I get from my mum, as well as everything else about me), and am not one for having a whole lotta fun with them. But, we went to camp over the weekend, and heck, I had the time of my life canoeing, making s'mores, eating food, walking everywhere up to a total of ten miles, and treading through mud and getting all of my clothes dirty.
I am not the kind of girl who is athletic, outdoorsy, or has a love of nature. Besides rain.
So you can only imagine the pure terror I felt when I walked all through camp in my sturdy school shoes and found myself splashing in a huge wet, muddy puddle that came past my ankles.
This happened several times, except you slid on all of the mud if you tried to go around it, and we all were caked in the stuff. My shoes kept drying, then getting wet, then drying, and getting wet again...
Emily and I got the chance to get in a canoe over by the lake, and we circled the whol body of water a few times, meeting up with some of the other people in their paddleboats and other canoes. It's actually very hard to remember which way you paddle if you want to go the right direction, because you have to know when to have the two people switch sides and if you go backwards or forwards or if you're turning. Overall, the lake was a very fun place to be at, especially when we had an awesome instructor named Ana who was spunky, funny, and basically just reminded me of my mum when she talked, who made sure we didn't fall over, or have to get our feet completely enveloped in lakewater, which I did anyway.
The fact that it was practically 99 degrees below zero (exaggeration) last weekend while we were up there wasn't very helpful or pleasant, either, even though I was eagerly awaiting the season of Fall. I love Fall. Fall is great, because then it's cold, and I like the cold.
Besides that, I got to paint faces for the Fall Festival at church for Mutual, in which I used acrylic paint and the tiniest paint brush that I could find to paint random butterflies, flowers, and hearts on willing people's faces...plus purple swirls on my mother's cheeks.
I have to admit, the whole face-painting thing looked so much better in my head than in reality. I could see the picture of what I wanted it to look like, but when I attempted to paint it, I failed. So, I really don't have the skills that I thought I did to master the art of painting little kids' faces. Oh, well, I had already admitted to Stephenie that I would most definitely NOT pursue that as a career at any point in my life, and no matter what the circumstances may be. Okay, maybe just once, but only because Celeste was the one who painted Sis. Whitley's face, and I was so jealous, and claimed that it was against the rules to do so. I didn't like it one bit.
Speaking of jealousy, I also have another case of jealousy TO THE EXTREME because my mother gets to go to my uncle and aunt-to-be's wedding in California, and I don't. I am particuarly mad about this because I've met Jessica via texting from my grandma's cell phone in her car on vacation in New York with her this summer, but other than that, I know nothing about her, besides the fact that she's basically me, in the future, some years from now. She likes Tim Burton, My Chemical Romance, etc. etc. etc. She's pretty much like my twin, personality wise. Creepy, huh?
What else should I blog about? Oh, there was this thing at lunch today, where I was sitting at my typical spot at my lunch table, and I'm on the nerd-ish side, talking to the nerds, which are all guys, and are really funny to talk to and all, so Britley comes up next to me from the other side of the table and tells me my 'fate' that she now sees for me: I'm going to marry Daniel, have one kid, then divorce him, marry Josh, then have three kids, and then have an affair with Casey, and have six kids. This made me laugh hysterically, as did everyone else at the table, because Britley's one of those jokesters that I love like a sister. One explanation why she would say this: Britley was obviously exposed to some kind of whacko fumes. *Maniacal laughter* Not really, she was just kidding and teasing me about being all more involved in their weird conversation (today it was about zombies) than usual. Yeah, good times, good times.
Oh, I have also forgot to keep you updated on what happened to Marionette from Doll In Her Death Cell! I'm a little more than halfway into writing the third chapter, but for now, here's the second, and I hope you enjoy! :)
Hope that's morbid enough, for ya, Emily! :)
I am not the kind of girl who is athletic, outdoorsy, or has a love of nature. Besides rain.
So you can only imagine the pure terror I felt when I walked all through camp in my sturdy school shoes and found myself splashing in a huge wet, muddy puddle that came past my ankles.
This happened several times, except you slid on all of the mud if you tried to go around it, and we all were caked in the stuff. My shoes kept drying, then getting wet, then drying, and getting wet again...
Emily and I got the chance to get in a canoe over by the lake, and we circled the whol body of water a few times, meeting up with some of the other people in their paddleboats and other canoes. It's actually very hard to remember which way you paddle if you want to go the right direction, because you have to know when to have the two people switch sides and if you go backwards or forwards or if you're turning. Overall, the lake was a very fun place to be at, especially when we had an awesome instructor named Ana who was spunky, funny, and basically just reminded me of my mum when she talked, who made sure we didn't fall over, or have to get our feet completely enveloped in lakewater, which I did anyway.
The fact that it was practically 99 degrees below zero (exaggeration) last weekend while we were up there wasn't very helpful or pleasant, either, even though I was eagerly awaiting the season of Fall. I love Fall. Fall is great, because then it's cold, and I like the cold.
Besides that, I got to paint faces for the Fall Festival at church for Mutual, in which I used acrylic paint and the tiniest paint brush that I could find to paint random butterflies, flowers, and hearts on willing people's faces...plus purple swirls on my mother's cheeks.
I have to admit, the whole face-painting thing looked so much better in my head than in reality. I could see the picture of what I wanted it to look like, but when I attempted to paint it, I failed. So, I really don't have the skills that I thought I did to master the art of painting little kids' faces. Oh, well, I had already admitted to Stephenie that I would most definitely NOT pursue that as a career at any point in my life, and no matter what the circumstances may be. Okay, maybe just once, but only because Celeste was the one who painted Sis. Whitley's face, and I was so jealous, and claimed that it was against the rules to do so. I didn't like it one bit.
Speaking of jealousy, I also have another case of jealousy TO THE EXTREME because my mother gets to go to my uncle and aunt-to-be's wedding in California, and I don't. I am particuarly mad about this because I've met Jessica via texting from my grandma's cell phone in her car on vacation in New York with her this summer, but other than that, I know nothing about her, besides the fact that she's basically me, in the future, some years from now. She likes Tim Burton, My Chemical Romance, etc. etc. etc. She's pretty much like my twin, personality wise. Creepy, huh?
What else should I blog about? Oh, there was this thing at lunch today, where I was sitting at my typical spot at my lunch table, and I'm on the nerd-ish side, talking to the nerds, which are all guys, and are really funny to talk to and all, so Britley comes up next to me from the other side of the table and tells me my 'fate' that she now sees for me: I'm going to marry Daniel, have one kid, then divorce him, marry Josh, then have three kids, and then have an affair with Casey, and have six kids. This made me laugh hysterically, as did everyone else at the table, because Britley's one of those jokesters that I love like a sister. One explanation why she would say this: Britley was obviously exposed to some kind of whacko fumes. *Maniacal laughter* Not really, she was just kidding and teasing me about being all more involved in their weird conversation (today it was about zombies) than usual. Yeah, good times, good times.
Oh, I have also forgot to keep you updated on what happened to Marionette from Doll In Her Death Cell! I'm a little more than halfway into writing the third chapter, but for now, here's the second, and I hope you enjoy! :)
"Marionette! Do you want to make Alexei a silly puppet on strings? Don't you want him to suffer for all the things he has ever done to you? Don't you want to make him pay for his crimes? To get your revenge, girl, is what you deserve."
"It isn't right, but he does need to be punished..."
"All right then, pathetic doll, grab his arm!"
"He won't stop moving, why won't he listen to us? Alexei, I'm going to tear your limbs apart, and remove your eyes out of their sockets, so you better stay still!"
"That's right, little girl, tell him."
"Wait...no, Beale, I can't do this! Wait!"
"No, darling dearest, you need to do it and have your moment of sheer victory before the anesthesia stops working!"
Marionette woke up screaming again, but this time she was not safe in the dungeons as she was before. She was surrounded by crumbling rock and cement, and there was a thick layer of dirt covering up the opening where she had come through in the first place to get to her hideaway. The cold slabs of stone beneath her were rough, and when she rapped her knuckles on the cracked ground, it made a metallic rocky sounding noise. It reminded her of the sound Alexei's head would probably make if she hit it just right. Wait, Alexei wasn't around here, and she wasn't on her rickety metal gurney...Had she fallen asleep inside her hiding place? Terrified that she could have been forgotten by everyone or worse, Marionette crawled toward the entrance, her small body feeling exceptionally stiff from lying on the freezing floor, sleeping through the remaining hours of the night since she had had her last nightmare. She felt along the dirt with her minuscule fingers, trying to push against the wall to break through, but found that she was not going to escape easily with the mound of dirt that thick.
After a few tries of pressing against the filth, she gave up, and turned her ear against the newly formed layer, trying to listen for any sounds outside. Marionette was sure that she heard heavy breathing on the other side of the dirt. She decided that it was nothing but the wind, and tried again, beating her fists against the hardened earth, until she finally knocked it down and launched herself through headfirst, rolling down the slope of the hill quickly, taking careful not to scream or open her mouth, should mud find its way there. Marionette tried to stop herself from the force of gravity that seemed to only apply to her at the moment which was becoming a little annoying, but as she was picking her feet up in the attempt of standing up, she found herself stopped by the large foot of a stranger, whom she didn't recognize until she looked up at the face, and then she realized that she was staring at the dreadful features of one of the guards of Beale, the head demon whom was only notified of anything immediately threatening or troublesome, or if something wrong was going about the demon world.
Beale was up in his own portion of the demon castle, at the topmost tower, where lightning struck almost instantly every time it came down, and that was where he made plans with his demon army, and figured out what the next move was to attack the human side of the war. This particular guard that Marionette had the unfortunate chance of meeting was covered in a grotesque mask made of some thick black fabric, which was fashioned so the only thing you could see of his face was his two beady eyes that were wide with a sort of emotion that was similar to a smirk, which, if you were to pull back the mask, is probably what you would have seen upon the guard's face. The same fabric covering the demon's face was the same material that was what the rest of his misshapen body was clothed in, and his feet were several times bigger than Marionette's fragile ones, and he carried a certain aura of fear and intimidation about him, which Marionette could feel instantly as she met the guard's gaze.
"What are you doing out here, little girl?" asked the guard.
"I...I fell asleep...in the rain...and--" Marionette tried to explain without succumbing completely to the fright she was experiencing before she was cut off.
"Why were you away from your watcher?"
"Alexei? I...He...I had a nightmare--"
"A nightmare?! That's no excuse. Do you know where you are living, or not living, little girl? You're in the demon world! You shouldn't be running away or having any nightmares, especially if you are who I think you are! Anything to say for yourself before I take to to Beale?"
"Beale? No, no, it's not that serious...Why do I--"
"Little girl, you come with me right this instant, or I will personally see to it that your head is ripped from its place on top of that pretty little neck of yours." spat the guard, catching Marionette by her hand and dragging her up to the cement hallways, despite the pops and cracks of the bones in her forearm and wrist as he began to march up the hundreds of short steps to the tallest tower in the castle.
Hope that's morbid enough, for ya, Emily! :)
Friday, October 2, 2009
You Know Me, Sir?
I have had too many projects going on. I have Doll In Her Death Cell, Creep (to be renamed), The Day Sweeney Stopped Breathing, Faux Punk For Tea, Violet taskish, if you ask me, and at the same time, I'm on tinypic making bookcovers and posters and crap for all of these, while listening to my playlist. I have reached a conclusion: I have no life.
Beside art and writing. I have been caught in the habit of doodling randomly over all of my school papers, including the spare bits of paper or space I happen to find. Most of these doodles consist of either eyes, puppets, dolls, or Juliet, which is the little girl I draw sitting down outside with a flower next to her, and I also change her into a butterfly, moth, a firefly, and a spider by using her face and head on their bodies. It's actually quite fun.
Somehow, I'm also really into acting. Not only am I doing the Wayside play, but in theatre class, we are doing an end-of-the-semester play with all of her Theatre I classes, in which we read through some of the script, meaning the first six pages. I was the first to volunteer, with my eyes. I looked her straight in the eyes as she was talking like I always do no matter what when someone is speaking, and she picked me and Elizabeth to do the first scene, and every single line of our back-and-forth script conversation was one word. This is also very fun. I'm glad I have something to do with my life, even if it is only three or four things.
Hmm, I don't think that many of the projects I listed above were announced at all. I'll begin slowly, starting with The Day Sweeney Stopped Breathing. The overview: Sometimes life isn't worth living. Sometimes you have to hold your breath. What Sally never realised was that her true love was the man that was meant to kill her and her all the life around her, including her relatives, friends, and innocent bystanders. The very same man has kept watch over her, waiting for the opportune moment to end her life, but at the same time, he was digging up her personal file, researching everything about her, what she did, who she knew, who she interacted with...and even who she was; he learned every possible thing he could, and got her in deep trouble with the law, framing her for crimes that she did not commit. When Sally hears all of this, she runs straight into the trap that he wanted her to run into, and finds herself in the hands of her own murderer.
Aww, isn't it so sweet, falling in love with her own murderer....it's so sweet!
What I have so far: Sally found herself being spun around the room by one of her best friends in a mask, wearing a red formal gown, and dancing in his arms to a song being played by the man behind the computer above them on the stage. Raymond had finally gotten up the courage to ask Sally to dance, and he had become less nervous as the music progressed. The deejay seemed to be enjoying the sight of everyone in Sally's college spinning around the room, every girl had been dolled up, and all the boys had been dressed fancy for their dates and friends. It was the annual Spall College dance, the night where everyone freaked out about what to wear, who to bring, what to do, if they had to dance, why they were worrying about all this, and what music was to be played. At the moment, it was something by Owl City that everyone seemed to know by heart. Sally moved forward, stepping on her friend's foot, and hurriedly taking a step back while laughing as he winced slightly before joining in her laughter. The song came to a close, and everyone clapped and cheered, loving how the party was going, and cheered even louded when they heard the next song, a somewhat loud song with a faster beat than its predecessor, which was immediately identified by a group of students closest to the deejay.
All seemed to be going to perfection, until suddenly, several people screamed, and Sally and Raymond looked at the far door on the other side of the large room, watching in awe as punch bowls and tables crashed away and some collegers ran to different sides of the dance hall. Sally saw what they were running from: a man, dressed up in black-tie event attire himself, just like the rest of the partygoers, complete with a funny white mask on his own face, with a gun in his right hand, presumably loaded, pointed at anyone who was in his way. He walked toward Sally, and her facial expression was in such shock that Raymond pulled her away, but she seemed to be frozen in place as he turned back quickly to pick her up off her feet, away from the new arrival. The man followed, and as Raymond moved in front of her, the man pushed him aside hard, and he fell to the floor, and the man grabbed Sally's wrist and dragged her away, through the large crowd of people, through the dance hall doors, and out to a car...
If you are questioning why I bothered to put Owl City in there, it's because my mother got me into them. I almost added something about My Chemical Romance, but that would seem a bit obsessive. *cough* Gerard Way *cough* Demolition Lovers *cough* I'm Not Okay (I Promise) *cough* and every other song they have *cough*
Thank you, mother, for getting me COMPLETELY HOOKED on the song Fireflies by Owl City.
I'm also in the mood for bragging, in which case, I will say that I have officially earned the honor of TOP WRITER on WeBook, which is a bit more than difficult to get. I don't even know how I got it, all I know is that Sis. Whitley only got TOP REVIEWER, which I completely understand. It's all right, you're better than me anyway.
Aauugh! One of the groups I'm in has 63 members, and my pathetic little waste of space only has 5! Probably because I forgot to invite all of the writers. How stupid of me.
Another thing I'm obsessed with would probably be listening to the Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street soundtrack, because it is a work of genius, plus I love hearing the singing voices of Johnny Depp, Helena Bonham Carter, and Alan Rickman. I also like looking at my few awesome pictures of Mr. Sweeneh and Missus Lovett, because there's my all time favourite one that is when Helena's singing By The Sea, I think, and it's her singing about marrying Sweeneh and all that, and the picture has her in a wedding dress and Sweeney kissing her. It's pretty sweet. There's also another one where their at the beach, and Mrs. Lovett's super happy and Sweeney is just all depressed and angsty. I love it.
I cannot stop listening to Metric! They're just so good! I am officially recommending my second favourite band to all of you readers! Especially Combat Baby, that's my Lovett/Todd song.
So now that you're done listening to crap about me, how about you read the song/retarded poem I wrote out of stuff I scribbled all over my agenda and put together to make a somewhat sense-making thing?
Your stage is But a Horrific Memory Fading
I can't remember his name, nor yours, are you the same person, are we the same, wade me out of this deep misery when I'm broke, the rain starts coming down in your eyes.
Fragments of nature, we are so bittersweet, this is what's going through my head, you know they already hate me, so it doesn't matter, concert tickets sold out, I guess we really are great.
Your mother gave me mercy to Julienette, I like your brother better, tell me how you plan to rescue me from my fate when it's sealed, when your caught, fragments of nature, we are so bittersweet.
Handwriting Like Your Mother's
Nobody tell lies, but the truth is so far from just what they say to you, oh, essays for love, wounds just don't stop bleeding, I don't think so, hearts just don't stop bleeding, paint it all violet, crimson toes, no, I just can't use you.
I'm the cause for cancer, the reason the world got sick, how the universe stops spinning, spitting like a cat with no claws, a girl without a tongue hopelessly knows.
I can't take your love, you are not mine to give, you're breathing stopped, we are just not gonna live, are we going to make it out alive, I think we all had our hearts stop beating, but mine is still beating for you!
Sometimes I wonder if that clock will ever stop, tragedy and sin, poison for pills, if my mind will ever go, it's not him, it's you.
As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, I suck at writing poetry, only fragments of songs and poems, and the only skill I have is to put the random writings together in a string of lameness. This whole thing is lame, isn't it, though, the fact that my life is so boring that I have nothing to stinkin' blog about....
Oh, and today is my dad's birthday, so Happy Birthday to you, dad, if you even read my blog, which I'd be surprised if you did, because nobody really ever does.
Beside art and writing. I have been caught in the habit of doodling randomly over all of my school papers, including the spare bits of paper or space I happen to find. Most of these doodles consist of either eyes, puppets, dolls, or Juliet, which is the little girl I draw sitting down outside with a flower next to her, and I also change her into a butterfly, moth, a firefly, and a spider by using her face and head on their bodies. It's actually quite fun.
Somehow, I'm also really into acting. Not only am I doing the Wayside play, but in theatre class, we are doing an end-of-the-semester play with all of her Theatre I classes, in which we read through some of the script, meaning the first six pages. I was the first to volunteer, with my eyes. I looked her straight in the eyes as she was talking like I always do no matter what when someone is speaking, and she picked me and Elizabeth to do the first scene, and every single line of our back-and-forth script conversation was one word. This is also very fun. I'm glad I have something to do with my life, even if it is only three or four things.
Hmm, I don't think that many of the projects I listed above were announced at all. I'll begin slowly, starting with The Day Sweeney Stopped Breathing. The overview: Sometimes life isn't worth living. Sometimes you have to hold your breath. What Sally never realised was that her true love was the man that was meant to kill her and her all the life around her, including her relatives, friends, and innocent bystanders. The very same man has kept watch over her, waiting for the opportune moment to end her life, but at the same time, he was digging up her personal file, researching everything about her, what she did, who she knew, who she interacted with...and even who she was; he learned every possible thing he could, and got her in deep trouble with the law, framing her for crimes that she did not commit. When Sally hears all of this, she runs straight into the trap that he wanted her to run into, and finds herself in the hands of her own murderer.
Aww, isn't it so sweet, falling in love with her own murderer....it's so sweet!
What I have so far: Sally found herself being spun around the room by one of her best friends in a mask, wearing a red formal gown, and dancing in his arms to a song being played by the man behind the computer above them on the stage. Raymond had finally gotten up the courage to ask Sally to dance, and he had become less nervous as the music progressed. The deejay seemed to be enjoying the sight of everyone in Sally's college spinning around the room, every girl had been dolled up, and all the boys had been dressed fancy for their dates and friends. It was the annual Spall College dance, the night where everyone freaked out about what to wear, who to bring, what to do, if they had to dance, why they were worrying about all this, and what music was to be played. At the moment, it was something by Owl City that everyone seemed to know by heart. Sally moved forward, stepping on her friend's foot, and hurriedly taking a step back while laughing as he winced slightly before joining in her laughter. The song came to a close, and everyone clapped and cheered, loving how the party was going, and cheered even louded when they heard the next song, a somewhat loud song with a faster beat than its predecessor, which was immediately identified by a group of students closest to the deejay.
All seemed to be going to perfection, until suddenly, several people screamed, and Sally and Raymond looked at the far door on the other side of the large room, watching in awe as punch bowls and tables crashed away and some collegers ran to different sides of the dance hall. Sally saw what they were running from: a man, dressed up in black-tie event attire himself, just like the rest of the partygoers, complete with a funny white mask on his own face, with a gun in his right hand, presumably loaded, pointed at anyone who was in his way. He walked toward Sally, and her facial expression was in such shock that Raymond pulled her away, but she seemed to be frozen in place as he turned back quickly to pick her up off her feet, away from the new arrival. The man followed, and as Raymond moved in front of her, the man pushed him aside hard, and he fell to the floor, and the man grabbed Sally's wrist and dragged her away, through the large crowd of people, through the dance hall doors, and out to a car...
If you are questioning why I bothered to put Owl City in there, it's because my mother got me into them. I almost added something about My Chemical Romance, but that would seem a bit obsessive. *cough* Gerard Way *cough* Demolition Lovers *cough* I'm Not Okay (I Promise) *cough* and every other song they have *cough*
Thank you, mother, for getting me COMPLETELY HOOKED on the song Fireflies by Owl City.
I'm also in the mood for bragging, in which case, I will say that I have officially earned the honor of TOP WRITER on WeBook, which is a bit more than difficult to get. I don't even know how I got it, all I know is that Sis. Whitley only got TOP REVIEWER, which I completely understand. It's all right, you're better than me anyway.
Aauugh! One of the groups I'm in has 63 members, and my pathetic little waste of space only has 5! Probably because I forgot to invite all of the writers. How stupid of me.
Another thing I'm obsessed with would probably be listening to the Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street soundtrack, because it is a work of genius, plus I love hearing the singing voices of Johnny Depp, Helena Bonham Carter, and Alan Rickman. I also like looking at my few awesome pictures of Mr. Sweeneh and Missus Lovett, because there's my all time favourite one that is when Helena's singing By The Sea, I think, and it's her singing about marrying Sweeneh and all that, and the picture has her in a wedding dress and Sweeney kissing her. It's pretty sweet. There's also another one where their at the beach, and Mrs. Lovett's super happy and Sweeney is just all depressed and angsty. I love it.
I cannot stop listening to Metric! They're just so good! I am officially recommending my second favourite band to all of you readers! Especially Combat Baby, that's my Lovett/Todd song.
So now that you're done listening to crap about me, how about you read the song/retarded poem I wrote out of stuff I scribbled all over my agenda and put together to make a somewhat sense-making thing?
Your stage is But a Horrific Memory Fading
I can't remember his name, nor yours, are you the same person, are we the same, wade me out of this deep misery when I'm broke, the rain starts coming down in your eyes.
Fragments of nature, we are so bittersweet, this is what's going through my head, you know they already hate me, so it doesn't matter, concert tickets sold out, I guess we really are great.
Your mother gave me mercy to Julienette, I like your brother better, tell me how you plan to rescue me from my fate when it's sealed, when your caught, fragments of nature, we are so bittersweet.
Handwriting Like Your Mother's
Nobody tell lies, but the truth is so far from just what they say to you, oh, essays for love, wounds just don't stop bleeding, I don't think so, hearts just don't stop bleeding, paint it all violet, crimson toes, no, I just can't use you.
I'm the cause for cancer, the reason the world got sick, how the universe stops spinning, spitting like a cat with no claws, a girl without a tongue hopelessly knows.
I can't take your love, you are not mine to give, you're breathing stopped, we are just not gonna live, are we going to make it out alive, I think we all had our hearts stop beating, but mine is still beating for you!
Sometimes I wonder if that clock will ever stop, tragedy and sin, poison for pills, if my mind will ever go, it's not him, it's you.
As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, I suck at writing poetry, only fragments of songs and poems, and the only skill I have is to put the random writings together in a string of lameness. This whole thing is lame, isn't it, though, the fact that my life is so boring that I have nothing to stinkin' blog about....
Oh, and today is my dad's birthday, so Happy Birthday to you, dad, if you even read my blog, which I'd be surprised if you did, because nobody really ever does.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The Face of Rejection
Dang it, why couldn't I NOT get in the play so that I could have a long, endless rant on why the play was so stupid and how I didn't make it in...but unfortunately, that post will most likely never come, because, hey, man, I got a part! And a voice-only part at that! Oh, happy day...
If you missed the news of the previous few posts, I auditioned for the play Sideways Stories From Wayside School, aka Wayside, and I saw the cast list yesterday. Sorry I couldn't blog then, I didn't know what to write about. (Stupid, eh?) I got the part of Miss Mush, which is the cook that you hear but don't see, which means all the less memorization for me! We have our first rehearsal on Thursday, and two more (that I have to go to) in October, and that's just the first four weeks of practice.
I know that I suck at blogging because nothing awesome happens to me in my boring, boring life, and that I am so much more fun on the internet, and I sometimes post random stories on here, but...
Here's a nice little chapter of a new project I'm starting on WeBook, called "Doll In Her Death Cell". Don't even ask me about the title. Anyway, here's me making some progress, aka why I never get off the computer after five hours of typing madly away on the keyboard. (Thank you Draculine for inspiring my project!)
PS-I know this may be one of the most morbid things you might read before shutting down your computer, screaming and running for the nearest flight to Japan, far, far away from the story, but, hey, I got bored, and this seemed like a good entertainment for me, especially when some other people are going to write this as well.
You're never going to make it out alive, little girl...try as you might, you will fail....Good will prevail, and it will be the fault of you...and all of the demons you know will be released upon you tenfold and henceforth, you will be damned....
Marionette uttered out a blood-curdling scream, opening her eyes wide and shivering as she awoke from the nightmare. She was covered in sweat, her heartbeat was racing, and her hair was tangled. Had she had the same nightmare again? That was impossible, she's already dreamt of that for three days straight! She sat bolt upright on her stone cold bed, which happened to be an old rusty gurney, and scanned everything around her, checking to make sure none of her dream was real. Nothing. Just her and Alexei, confined to the dungeon.
Alexei was a demon who had decided that he would never let Marionette out of his sight for one moment, and he always told her what to do, even if it was wrong. She listened to him...most of the time. Sometimes she felt so bad about doing whatever it was that she did what she thought was right, and Alexei didn't like that. Marionette was scared of Alexei, as most young children would be terrified by the sight of his gruesome features: dark, bloodshot eyes that were as mysterious and as menacing as a never-ending pit into the center of nowhere, and his hair! Oh, his hair! What was left of it on his head was long, greasy, black-green strands that reached the consistency of yarn, trailing down past his elbows in an oily wave. In short, Alexei was downright creepy looking. Well, as was the rest of Marionette's world.
The world she lived in was barely tolerable to even deserve to be called a world at all. It was disgusting, molting, dirty, and evil. Marionette lived in what was like an underworld for demons, and she herself had been raised by a few who had been so kind enough as to take her in when she was young. Her mother had died, she had been told, and had died in such a horrid way that they could not retrieve her body to show any evidence that Marionette had even had a mother in the first place. Marionette didn't like these stories, but she did like killing whatever she needed or wanted dead, and she used this as a way of venting these feelings toward all of the things that everyone had said that she somewhat believed. Marionette wanted the truth, but her demon heart didn't care, and this contrast between head and heart was so great that she sometimes exploded with anger, or some other powerful and overcoming emotion. She couldn't help it, she was only six!
Despite being so sad and miserable, she was, in fact, almost like a demon child, who couldn't control herself very well, and listened to nearly everything anyone happened to tell her. She was not pure evil, because of her human head that kept her from going totally insane, but was evil enough that she murdered, stole, and tortured people for fun. That was her mission, one of the reasons that the demons kept her alive. She was only there to help them take over the other side of the world, the good side, anyway, which was winning at the time against the seemingly endless battle of demons and humans. The humans were learning how to block out nightmares, and some of them even liked all of the madness, writing, performing, and watching things all related to the horror that the demons were causing to them. It was almost...entertaining to them. That was not a good thing for the demons.
Marionette stopped thinking for a second, suddenly searching the room frantically for Alexei's sleeping figure, which was no longer clumped in the corner as it had been a few minutes ago. Then where was--
Long, bony fingers grabbed Marionette by the shoulders, and she screamed as she was violently jerked around to face...Alexei.
"Are you really that easily scared?" he asked, releasing his tight grip on her as she pushed his hands down.
"It's not funny, Alexei, and you know it."
"Oh, it's pretty funny. Did you have a nightmare again?" said Alexei, saying the last sentence in a mocking baby type of voice.
"Yes, I did, but it doesn't matter because you won't help, anyway. Leave me alone!"
It was silent for a few moments, and then Alexei began, in an inquisitive sort of voice:
"What was your nightmare about, anyway?"
"Fine, I'll tell you," said Marionette, staring off at the walls.
"We were all fighting, you know, all of the demons here, and I was there, too, and then a few of us killed some people. Then all of the people saw what happened and then they came at us, but they were winning! And nothing we could do made them stop, they kept hurting us, and then I was one of the only ones left...and then I heard a voice in the background that said that good would prevail or something, and it was all my fault. And then the voice said that all of the demons would be released on me, but I don't want that to happen, but how can it, if all of the demons were dead..."
"That's it? That's the thing that scared you?" said Alexei.
"Yes, I told you that you wouldn't care."
"Go back to sleep, silly baby, we are going to win. Now shut up, because I'm still tired!"
Alexei turned away from Marionette and lay back down in a crumple, hands laced behind his head, staring at her. Marionette still sat upon the freezing gurney, staring back, before finally giving up and lying her head back down, cheek against the rusting metal. Alexei stopped looking at her, and threw a dirty, moth-eaten sheet over his head before tossing over to face the wall. All was quiet for a short time, until Alexei began snoring hauntingly. It was then that Marionette had an idea of what she could do besides sleeping. Carefully, she sat up and dangled her short legs over the edge of her gurney before pushing herself forward off of it, checking to make sure the noise of her feet didn't disturb Alexei's slumber. It didn't. She ran a few paces past the giant entrance, which, coincidentally, had been left wide open, and stumbled into the mud. It was raining brownish-grey drops from the stormclouds surrounding the demon world. Just my luck, thought Marionette, diving into the nearest puddle and sliding down a sloping rocky hill into a small gap. She remembered discovering this secret hideaway when she went looking for her ballet shoe a few days ago, inbetween the slabs of concrete and stone that were lying by some old pillars a distance from the dungeon, but the shoes had remained lost since then. This was the first place she thought of to come. This was her only haven away from everyone else, where she could be whatever she wanted, even for a small child.
She crawled into the entrance, touching more moist mud on the way through the passage, and sat down, promising to return to the dungeons by morning. Alexei, I'm going to sew your face shut, thought Marionette, just after I stay outside in the storm, but if only it could rain faster. Her wish had strangely been granted, because, sure enough, the black clouds surrounding the demon world where Marionette was began pouring down buckets of icy cold drops, and she stopped wishing and leaned back, closing her eyes and tried to dream a better dream.
She couldn't manage it.
I don't know what I'm going to do about Death's Elizabeth...the storyline faded, and my characters ran away, so...can I just announce the entire thing dead? (Same thing with Composition, that can be dead, too, for all I care!)
Speaking of writing, I have declared today (or, rather, this morning) that I am going to write a collection of works, entitled "Murder-Flavoured Ice Cream", because that's my completely copyrighted phrase, and I told this all to Britley while we were in the library, and I said,
"Well, why don't you, me, Reshma, and Cecilia all write this, then?", so we might actually end up writing it. So far, Reshma and Cecilia don't even know about this...but it'll be fine with just Britley and I for now. We shall call it, "Murder-Flavoured Ice Cream, a collection of works by death". Britley suggested that we have a theme of death, horror, or just tragedy happen in every story/poem/whatever we happen to write in it. Good? Maybe. It could work, so we'll see how it goes, or if we even write anything or not.
I also have to mention that this is my 63rd post. Sixty-three! Woo-hoo!
If you missed the news of the previous few posts, I auditioned for the play Sideways Stories From Wayside School, aka Wayside, and I saw the cast list yesterday. Sorry I couldn't blog then, I didn't know what to write about. (Stupid, eh?) I got the part of Miss Mush, which is the cook that you hear but don't see, which means all the less memorization for me! We have our first rehearsal on Thursday, and two more (that I have to go to) in October, and that's just the first four weeks of practice.
I know that I suck at blogging because nothing awesome happens to me in my boring, boring life, and that I am so much more fun on the internet, and I sometimes post random stories on here, but...
Here's a nice little chapter of a new project I'm starting on WeBook, called "Doll In Her Death Cell". Don't even ask me about the title. Anyway, here's me making some progress, aka why I never get off the computer after five hours of typing madly away on the keyboard. (Thank you Draculine for inspiring my project!)
PS-I know this may be one of the most morbid things you might read before shutting down your computer, screaming and running for the nearest flight to Japan, far, far away from the story, but, hey, I got bored, and this seemed like a good entertainment for me, especially when some other people are going to write this as well.
You're never going to make it out alive, little girl...try as you might, you will fail....Good will prevail, and it will be the fault of you...and all of the demons you know will be released upon you tenfold and henceforth, you will be damned....
Marionette uttered out a blood-curdling scream, opening her eyes wide and shivering as she awoke from the nightmare. She was covered in sweat, her heartbeat was racing, and her hair was tangled. Had she had the same nightmare again? That was impossible, she's already dreamt of that for three days straight! She sat bolt upright on her stone cold bed, which happened to be an old rusty gurney, and scanned everything around her, checking to make sure none of her dream was real. Nothing. Just her and Alexei, confined to the dungeon.
Alexei was a demon who had decided that he would never let Marionette out of his sight for one moment, and he always told her what to do, even if it was wrong. She listened to him...most of the time. Sometimes she felt so bad about doing whatever it was that she did what she thought was right, and Alexei didn't like that. Marionette was scared of Alexei, as most young children would be terrified by the sight of his gruesome features: dark, bloodshot eyes that were as mysterious and as menacing as a never-ending pit into the center of nowhere, and his hair! Oh, his hair! What was left of it on his head was long, greasy, black-green strands that reached the consistency of yarn, trailing down past his elbows in an oily wave. In short, Alexei was downright creepy looking. Well, as was the rest of Marionette's world.
The world she lived in was barely tolerable to even deserve to be called a world at all. It was disgusting, molting, dirty, and evil. Marionette lived in what was like an underworld for demons, and she herself had been raised by a few who had been so kind enough as to take her in when she was young. Her mother had died, she had been told, and had died in such a horrid way that they could not retrieve her body to show any evidence that Marionette had even had a mother in the first place. Marionette didn't like these stories, but she did like killing whatever she needed or wanted dead, and she used this as a way of venting these feelings toward all of the things that everyone had said that she somewhat believed. Marionette wanted the truth, but her demon heart didn't care, and this contrast between head and heart was so great that she sometimes exploded with anger, or some other powerful and overcoming emotion. She couldn't help it, she was only six!
Despite being so sad and miserable, she was, in fact, almost like a demon child, who couldn't control herself very well, and listened to nearly everything anyone happened to tell her. She was not pure evil, because of her human head that kept her from going totally insane, but was evil enough that she murdered, stole, and tortured people for fun. That was her mission, one of the reasons that the demons kept her alive. She was only there to help them take over the other side of the world, the good side, anyway, which was winning at the time against the seemingly endless battle of demons and humans. The humans were learning how to block out nightmares, and some of them even liked all of the madness, writing, performing, and watching things all related to the horror that the demons were causing to them. It was almost...entertaining to them. That was not a good thing for the demons.
Marionette stopped thinking for a second, suddenly searching the room frantically for Alexei's sleeping figure, which was no longer clumped in the corner as it had been a few minutes ago. Then where was--
Long, bony fingers grabbed Marionette by the shoulders, and she screamed as she was violently jerked around to face...Alexei.
"Are you really that easily scared?" he asked, releasing his tight grip on her as she pushed his hands down.
"It's not funny, Alexei, and you know it."
"Oh, it's pretty funny. Did you have a nightmare again?" said Alexei, saying the last sentence in a mocking baby type of voice.
"Yes, I did, but it doesn't matter because you won't help, anyway. Leave me alone!"
It was silent for a few moments, and then Alexei began, in an inquisitive sort of voice:
"What was your nightmare about, anyway?"
"Fine, I'll tell you," said Marionette, staring off at the walls.
"We were all fighting, you know, all of the demons here, and I was there, too, and then a few of us killed some people. Then all of the people saw what happened and then they came at us, but they were winning! And nothing we could do made them stop, they kept hurting us, and then I was one of the only ones left...and then I heard a voice in the background that said that good would prevail or something, and it was all my fault. And then the voice said that all of the demons would be released on me, but I don't want that to happen, but how can it, if all of the demons were dead..."
"That's it? That's the thing that scared you?" said Alexei.
"Yes, I told you that you wouldn't care."
"Go back to sleep, silly baby, we are going to win. Now shut up, because I'm still tired!"
Alexei turned away from Marionette and lay back down in a crumple, hands laced behind his head, staring at her. Marionette still sat upon the freezing gurney, staring back, before finally giving up and lying her head back down, cheek against the rusting metal. Alexei stopped looking at her, and threw a dirty, moth-eaten sheet over his head before tossing over to face the wall. All was quiet for a short time, until Alexei began snoring hauntingly. It was then that Marionette had an idea of what she could do besides sleeping. Carefully, she sat up and dangled her short legs over the edge of her gurney before pushing herself forward off of it, checking to make sure the noise of her feet didn't disturb Alexei's slumber. It didn't. She ran a few paces past the giant entrance, which, coincidentally, had been left wide open, and stumbled into the mud. It was raining brownish-grey drops from the stormclouds surrounding the demon world. Just my luck, thought Marionette, diving into the nearest puddle and sliding down a sloping rocky hill into a small gap. She remembered discovering this secret hideaway when she went looking for her ballet shoe a few days ago, inbetween the slabs of concrete and stone that were lying by some old pillars a distance from the dungeon, but the shoes had remained lost since then. This was the first place she thought of to come. This was her only haven away from everyone else, where she could be whatever she wanted, even for a small child.
She crawled into the entrance, touching more moist mud on the way through the passage, and sat down, promising to return to the dungeons by morning. Alexei, I'm going to sew your face shut, thought Marionette, just after I stay outside in the storm, but if only it could rain faster. Her wish had strangely been granted, because, sure enough, the black clouds surrounding the demon world where Marionette was began pouring down buckets of icy cold drops, and she stopped wishing and leaned back, closing her eyes and tried to dream a better dream.
She couldn't manage it.
I don't know what I'm going to do about Death's Elizabeth...the storyline faded, and my characters ran away, so...can I just announce the entire thing dead? (Same thing with Composition, that can be dead, too, for all I care!)
Speaking of writing, I have declared today (or, rather, this morning) that I am going to write a collection of works, entitled "Murder-Flavoured Ice Cream", because that's my completely copyrighted phrase, and I told this all to Britley while we were in the library, and I said,
"Well, why don't you, me, Reshma, and Cecilia all write this, then?", so we might actually end up writing it. So far, Reshma and Cecilia don't even know about this...but it'll be fine with just Britley and I for now. We shall call it, "Murder-Flavoured Ice Cream, a collection of works by death". Britley suggested that we have a theme of death, horror, or just tragedy happen in every story/poem/whatever we happen to write in it. Good? Maybe. It could work, so we'll see how it goes, or if we even write anything or not.
I also have to mention that this is my 63rd post. Sixty-three! Woo-hoo!
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