I have an ambition to write, when I go to college I want to major in teaching and English classes so I can become an English teacher, and side for an author šš and I love everything cute lol flowers, animals, anime āØšš
I have an ambition to write, when I go to college I want to major in teaching and English classes so I can become an English teacher, and side for an author šš and I love everything cute lol flowers, animals, anime āØšš
He sat by his window and watched the seasons He sat and watched fall bleed into winter And loved this view, for so many reasons But quite to soon after, winter became spring So the boy covered his head, as his ears started to ring He covered his head as spring breezes slowly ended, and summer teases His house was now full of blistering heat, So he laid on the floor, like his heart stopped itās beat But as he lay miserable in the floor, he realized then that fall was soon to come, so he sat in his chair and took a swing of rum, Fall came quick, the boy thought it quite bold, the boy realized maybe time past quicker since he was now old But he looked at the sky in disbelief The sky full of stars seemed dead and cold; a place once full of magic now hurt to behold It was dark Very, unsettlingly dark And the boy realized He covered his eyes and waited for the sky to be bright He neglected his eyes and never sought light Now the boy cannot see his beautiful sky The boy who sat now cold, a person of magic now hurt to behold A boy who sat now dead and cold In a place once with magic, now hurt behold
Does anyone remember the acronyms we had for school as children? Like seven cruel hours of our life. Funny, huh? Not until itās true. I graduated just 7 years earlier before revisiting. The place was closed down just 2 years after, and then burnt after 2 of being closed. Outside the school, everything seemed great. The lawns were lush, everything was nice and tidy out by the front, the signs letters were all even. Everything seemed so symmetrical and perfect. The innards of the school resembled a dark cave. The desks were rusty, our synchronized footsteps echoed in the halls. The lights were yellow and dim, blinkering every so often. Every color was monotone and washed in the sickly color of the overhead lights. Classes were worse than the setting, the carpeted rooms have stains that could only be described as blood. The parents had no idea of the torment that went on in the place. All they knew is the children never came out the same. Soon after leaving Iād been hooked up with a therapist, and prescribed THC products to treat my PTSD. It was my therapists suggestions that I come visit the remains of hell. It sends me into flashbacks of going to testify at court of the horrible things that went down in here. Not everything that happened in here I can say without scaring someone. I just know that the remaining grounds are going to be eternally haunted, and the liters of lighter fluid were necessary for the vengeance of this school.
She lived down by Bombardon bay She fell for a new man each day A married woman with a ring Does not belong in a fling But she took nothing seriously She never acted precariously Until a day when a man had told her something To others it mightāve meant nothing But he told her that he knew a man of faith A man with a soul A man who loved her A man who wanted to make her a mother And she realized that man was her husband And she confessed to her wrongs and asked to make amends And he forgave her He knew if he hadnāt, no other man would save her So he made her a mother indeed From there on, thereād be no other man sheād mislead
I was never an early riser For I had no motivation Before you I always tucked my sheets tighter So I had a comforting sensation
But we brought you into this world My sweet sleeping child And thereās nothing nicer to see you curled After a WHOLE day of you being wild
Rest now my sleeping baby It is only early morning Soon youāll grow into a lady Without much forewarning
Mariana is the most beautiful girl in the town. No sheās not blonde like the rest of the Aryan beauties of the town, and her nose wasnāt thin, and her eyesight was quite poor, but to me her black hair, her button nose, and her oversized glasses were beautiful to me. Mariana wore red, and the others wore blue and pink, Mariana had grey eyes, while the others were blue and brown, Mariana had high cheekbones rather that a pure soft look. Marian looked fierce and smart, while the others looked pure and Christian. I am a man who could steal anything I want. As I walk past the bakery, and take all that I needed, and the next morning heād greet me as if I was his pal. You see, nobody grudges me here because of my charm. I admit itās almost manipulative, but I mean no harm, and I never take more than needed. I help the children, I talk to the mothers, I never make love to a taken woman, Iāve never disrespected a good man or father, never have I burned a bible, or complained about a dry meal. Thereās only one thing I cannot possibly steal. Thereās a boy named Dante, blonde, tall. Very shy, pale, with big brown eyes, freckles, and money. Heās king though, and artistic, the woman usually donāt go for someone like unless they want money, no offense to our starving woman. And he feeds them, he has no filter, heāll tell them he knows what they want, not out of rudeness, just mistrust. And he gives them it too. If he sees a sickly pale or thin woman, whoād like to clean for him or give him favors, heād say āno needā, and give them food or shelter. Heās a good man, but I can never like him. Because Mariana looks to him like heās golden. She craves him just as I her. Every time he walks into town, and I see that look on her face when she eyes him, a part of me shatters. You see, I am nothing but good to Mariana. I love her, and she doesnāt know. Mariana comes to me one day, one terribly humid morning. āClyde, help me Clyde!ā She says excitedly. Her smile is huge and her eyes are wide, I almost canāt tell if sheās in shock or overly joyous. āYes Mariana? Whatās the matter?ā āIād like to make a confession to Dante,ā she replies. I look away so my heart shattering doesnāt reflect in her glossy eyes. I turn back to say āwell of course Iāll help you,ā. I sound soft and raw, I almost donāt know itās my own voice. āCould you buy a flower for me? And I do mean buy, Clyde,ā she tells me sternly, although I see her holding back a giggle. āOf courseā I reply. I go straight to the towns circle, where theirs carts selling anything from painted pebbles to shoe laces, anything to make a quick penny. I swoosh past the flower cart with a few peonyās that fit into my tattered jacket, and spin to act like Iām looking at the assorted buttons on the cart right next to it. āNow donāt take anything Clyde!ā Warns Mrs.Weary. āOh Mrs.Weary, my love, donāt you worry about me, you see, today is a good day, now may God bless you and your buttonsā I say to her, I watch her eyes soften and walk away with six buttons and the peonies. I come back to Mariana and place the flowers next to her, writing viciously on a yellowed parchment. I decide to leave the town for a while, to think about if thereās anything I could steal that would replace and fill the hole that fell out of my heart. I realized this day I couldnāt steal her heart, instead she stole mine. A thief rubs off their skills on people they like, I suppose..
(Me trying not to recreate les misƩrables)
2050, the government had been broken up a few years before then. All foreign countries had been blocked out do you the start of a new year. Walls surrounded the countries and stated. They all led like paths to one, discrete, grey building. The inside was just as monotone, for those who have entered. And who has entered exactly? Children of course, all children, ages 0-17 in the year 2050. The politicians preached that it was for their safety, some parents let them go because the children would otherwise starve or freeze to death, others just were to exhausted to keep them either way, money was tight to give them the benefit of the doubt. What they did with the children, well only the children knew. The ones who had turned 18 had stories to tell, that were never told. Some would come back to their homes to inform their parents that they could not tell what goes on behind the walls of the impossibly large building. Others would break down at the mention of it, and others wouldnāt speak at all again, no matter how extroverted they were before it. There was a daring few however, that had unleashed some stories, or more so horrors. They had tested the children, put them in immense trainings, for the only obvious reason. Parents with children a month or so older than 18 were well aware that their children would not come back, and people with children any younger had no idea if their children were dead, or preparing for the next world war. WW3 was indubitably nuclear, but what chaos is the American bringing for it, that had to do with the children?
Oh sweet diary,
Today me and my girlfriend had a dinner party with some friends. I know them from somewhere, I just donāt know how. One of them a been around before, Iām dazed, I canāt remember her name, but I know she has dark brown hair, eyes to match, and sun soaked Indian skin. All of them were laughing and having fun, but it all seemed so eery.
I try to remember diary, but Iām not exactly sure what went on, it was odd indeed. Me and my girlfriend had some coffee after they all left, and then as if the effects were reversed, I knocked out. How strange? I remember a feeling in this sleep. My arms were pricked, liquid seeped through into my veins. I woke up, for 2 days and thenā¦
No I went to sleep again, but I donāt remember waking? Then how could o be writing. If I looked into the mirror, would my reflection look back? What has become of me. Am I alive even? How could I be asleep and yet write in here, dear diary, how is this possible. Whereās my mother and father? 4 hours is a lot of time to ask if Iām still awake or asleep..
(I based this off the crime of Joe Clinique, feel free to research his tragedy)
āEren, itās time for bed dear!ā
My mother is incompetent. My bed time was exactly 47 minutes ago. āYes mother!ā.
Im not exactly sure how I came out the way I am being raised by someone so.. not intellectually equipped. But I love her anyways.
I walk into my bedroom and-
Im falling, and falling and then SPLAT.
Concrete?
āFelix, are you ready? What are you doing in the floor?ā
āIām Eren..?ā
āFor Christ sake, your a philosopher not a comedian! Felix.. these people read your books. They listen to you. The pope seems to have not affect on them.. please, mention our savior when you walk out on that stage, will you?ā
Stage? Meaning of life? Philosopher? Ohā¦ I must be dreaming.
āI donāt believe in God,ā I say as I walk to get this foolish dream over with.
Thereās a lot more fear than Iād expect from a dream walking onto a stage in front of a crowd. Does this mean I have stage fright?
āSo.. the meaning of life is what you askā¦ and an answer you shall receiveā I say stalling to think of something. I think for just a second before realizing what I believe in.
āHonestly thereās no meaning of life, only yours,ā. Silence from the crowd.
āWhat I mean is, my life has a different purpose then yours. I suppose if Feli- I am a philosopher my purpose is to teach, and therefore my meaning in life is to help others,ā.
āFelix, I am poor, I have no job, what is mine?ā A voice from the crowd asks. Itās sweet and feminine.
āYou have a sweet voice, you should just talk to people.. maybe your purpose is to sound like an angel?ā.
The woman smiles. āBut Felix, what about humanity as a whole?ā.
āHumanity as a whole? Weāre just here. Do you not understand? Thereās no meaning to life, thereās just life, and your life, together we all help each other, we help each otherās lifeās with our āpurposesā and āmeaningsā and all that junk. But besides that, there. Is. No. Meaning. Got it?ā
The audience seemed stunned.
I turned around to walk back through, I eyed the man clutching his bible and looking at the ground, never meeting my eyes, and then-
I was falling, and falling, and SPLAT.
Carpet feels so much better.
But if that was a dreamā¦ why would I wake in the floor..?
The first bloom of the season Sheās the prettiest flower of the branch The honey bees become in treason And fly to her from all corners of the ranch The next flowers pop up Just as beautiful as the last The honey bees honey now fills cups And they all taste the same way as the mast But as the season starts to fade One last blossom must come though Just as spring is about to wade The most beautiful blossom comes true The first blossom grieves As she cannot be so pretty like the last But all flowers wilt, and she believes Next season sheāll wait longer to cast
āAnd this award goes toā¦. Me?
How could this be? All I ever do is speak for this damn show. Never ever have I done a single good thing. I was born, raised, and put on television. First cereal commercials at age 7, then to those girl diary collections at age 13. Next to the announcer for children actor awards on Blue channel, age 16. And the age 23, I was moved to channel 86, Celebrity channel. All I do is say āthis award is forā and āthis award is forā.
This isnāt what the receiver is supposed to say, huh? Well, thank you for whoever decided to give me this reward. Thereās women who promote anything to body love and mental health care. Men who save lives and help just out of the love of their hearts. But no, itās I who get this.ā
āArenāt you grateful for this Alie?ā Mrs. Chicago asksā¦.
āYes, but Iām done with television I thinkā
And I leave the stage forever.
