Azalea and the Chasing of Cloaks: Chapter 5, The Gunsmith

ஐ Chapter 5: The Gunsmith ஐ

Azalea stood near the entrance of the shop as she heard footsteps barreling down the stairs that sounded like they were in a back room of some sort. Azalea looked to the left, a woman, that she guessed must have been Sabrlyn, came through the door. “Hello there, welcome to the Osthill Gunsmith, how may I help you?” Sabrlyn asked. Azalea looked around her awkwardly as she tried to think of something to say. Sabrlyn continued to wait for her response. “I would like to have some basic gun training so I might be able to buy a weapon.” Azalea finally said. “No offence or anything but…how old are you?” Sabrlyn asked trying her best to be respectful. “Uh…I’m fourteen.” Azalea answered nervously. What if she was too young? “Oh…hm.” Sabrlyn muttered. She then told Azalea, “One second, I’ll be right back.” She ran into the back room and Azalea could hear her loud footsteps as she quickly ran up the stairs. Sabrlyn walked through the hallway and entered through the door to Nora’s office. “Nora?” Sabrlyn said breathing loudly as she had ran up the steps so fast, she needed to catch her breath. “What is it Sabrlyn?” Nora sat up in her chair. “How is the costumer?” “Uh…she’s fourteen and she wants gun lessons, and I’m not really too sure about- .”

Nora cut Sabrlyn off with a sigh. “Come on where do we live, Jedrijan? Give the girl some lessons, she’ll be fine.” “But…” Sabrlyn said as she was trying to think of a reply. “Well if you don’t want to train her, I will.” Nora said as she started to get out of her chair. “No, no! You don’t have to do that, I will train her…” Sabrlyn said anxiously. “Well then, go get her a musket, I’m trying to clean and reassemble this mess that some person calls a firearm.” Nora said as she turned back around to her desk, piled up with various bits and pieces. Nora grabbed a cleaning rod, a rod used to clean the bore of a gun, and started using it. Sabrlyn stood for a moment, not doing anything just standing, perhaps daydreaming. “Sabrlyn?” Nora said turning around. As soon as Nora started to turn around, Sabrlyn snapped back into reality and ran as fast as she could back down the steps as Azalea stood waiting patiently. Sabrlyn opened the door from the room leading to the stairway, then saying to Azalea, “How about learning how to use a Charleville musket?” Azalea smiled, “That sounds good.” “Do you see that door over there?” Sabrlyn asked pointing to the other side of the room. “That’s where our little shooting range is for lessons, you can just go out there and wait for me, okay?” “Sure.” Azalea replied as she started to walk towards the door. Sabrlyn responded, “Great, I’ll be right back.” She ran over to the area behind the main counter to grab Azalea a weapon. Picking up a musket, she walked to the door and exited, coming towards Azalea. The shooting range was fairly simple, there were three targets and a small painted white line to tell you where to stand when shooting. There were also a few chairs spread around and a small wooden table with a large number of other various guns, ammunition, and gun cleaning parts. Sabrlyn held up the musket and started explaining to Azalea how the musket worked. “Now Azalea, the Charleville has a 17.5mm caliber barrel, it’s smooth, sleek, and light to carry.” “I think it’s a good gun to start you off with, it’s not too expensive either, if you happen to become interested in purchasing it.” Sabrlyn said as Azalea took a good, long look at the musket. “This is also the newest model, we only recently got a stock of them to sell.” “I like the gun because it looks stylish and performs well.” Sabrlyn continued, “It fires two to three rounds per minute, which may not sound like much to you, but in the world of weapons it’s pretty great.” “It’s got an effective firing range of around one hundred to two hundred yards, but you’d only pretty much kill something if you’re around fifty to seventy five yards.” Sabrlyn walked over to the small wooden table that was piled up with bullets and cleaning tools. She picked up some lead musket balls, a cartridge of gunpowder, and a ramrod. “Alright Azalea, here comes the more tricky part, loading the gun.” Sabrlyn began, attempting to speak slowly so Azalea would learn more effectively. “First, you pour the powder out from this little cartridge.” “Make sure you don’t pour out too much…because you’ll probably die.” “Now pull the hammer part of the gun to half-cock before you pour the powder in, like this.” Sabrlyn said pulling the hammer as Azalea watched. “Now just pour the powder down the barrel of the gun.” Sabrlyn then ripped the cartridge open pouring the powder in. “Alright Azalea, now you just get this little musket ball here…” Sabrlyn said holding the musket ball in front of Azalea, twiddling it between her fingers. She then dropped it into the barrel of the gun, and grabbed the ramrod. “This step is simple, just grab your ramrod, and insert it into the barrel, so you compact everything in the barrel together.” After Sabrlyn stuffed the barrel, she continued to the last step. “The final thing to do is to just pull the hammer back, oh and make sure to close the frizzen.” Sabrlyn grasped the musket, aiming it at one of the targets. Azalea stepped back in caution. “Now you just aim and…Fire!” Sabrlyn shouted, hitting a few inches below the middle of the target. “Well, close enough I suppose.” She chuckled at herself. “Alright Azalea, do you want to give it a try?” “Um.” Azalea said quietly. Her face was plastered with a look of absolute confusion. “Come on, it’s not as difficult as it seems.” Sabrlyn said encouragingly. After a few more seconds with no answer, Sabrlyn put her hand on Azalea’s shoulder, “Do you want me to show you again?” “Oh no that’s fine…” Azalea said sighing. “I’ll try loading it.” “Fantastic!” Sabrlyn shouted. “Just walk over to the table and grab what you’ll need.” Azalea walked over to the table slowly as she tried to remember what she had to get. Looking down at the table, she moved her hand towards a musket ball and a packet of gunpowder, ever so carefully and delicately. “Don’t forget the ramrod.” Sabrlyn reminded her. Azalea quickly turned around to correct her mistake, grabbing a ramrod. She walked back to Sabrlyn, who was clapping for Azalea. “Spectacular!” She said as she finished clapping. “Okay, do you remember the first step?” She asked looking at Azalea. Azalea stood for a moment thinking. “Pouring out the gunpowder?” “Yes, that’s correct but what do you have to do before pouring it in?” Sabrlyn asked looking towards the hammer of the gun subtly trying to give Azalea a hint. Azalea stared at Sabrlyn blankly as she thought. “Do you pull that thingy that’s above the trigger?” Azalea asked nervously. “Yes you do, and that ‘thing’ is called the hammer, you just pull it back like this…” Sabrlyn said pulling the hammer to half-cock. “What’s next?” “Now I can pour the powder in.” Azalea answered grinning to herself as she realized that she now could remember some of the various steps to loading the musket. “That’s right, you pour the powder down the barrel.” Sabrlyn said pointing at it. Azalea poured a small amount of powder in the barrel, hoping that she didn’t pour too little or too much, she looked at Sabrlyn for approval. “That’s just about the right amount.” She said taking the packet back from Azalea, and stuffing it in one of her pockets. “Now I just have to put the musket ball in.” “You are indeed correct.” Sabrlyn said smiling as Azalea plopped the musket ball in the barrel. “Now I just grab the ramrod and stuff it all together.” Azalea said taking the ramrod and carefully wadding the powder and musket ball collectively. “Remember to pull the hammer back and close the frizzen!” Sabrlyn reminded her. Azalea finished, looking at Sabrlyn for the next step. “Well, now you just aim and fire.” Sabrlyn said, speedily teaching Azalea how to hold the gun, and aim it. Azalea held the musket up, very slowly aiming it, and fired. It didn’t even hit the target, but Sabrlyn was overjoyed. “stunning!” She shouted happily. Azalea rested the gun by her waist, “Really…I didn’t even hit the target thing.” “That doesn’t really matter, it’s your first shot of a gun…well to my knowledge at least.” “It was definitely spectacular!” Sabrlyn said smiling. “So Azalea, are you interested in purchasing this musket?” Sabrlyn asked. Azalea thought for a moment. Why did she even need a gun if she had such immense powers? Oh right. She didn’t know how to use them. But seriously, she could even at this very moment perform spells and more effectively protect herself than a measly weapon. Should she explain it to Sabrlyn? She didn’t even know the woman, though she seemed nice, it could just be a tactic for her to buy the gun. She didn’t want many people to know about her and her sister’s powers just yet. But surely the Malum were going to try and exploit Adrasteia’s powers somehow and then everyone would know. Also at some point people were going to find out, it was just a matter of time. Azalea looked at Sabrlyn for another moment, finally braving up, she started to explain. “Well, Sabrlyn, I’m not really sure I need a gun.” Sabrlyn looked disappointed, but she allowed Azalea to continue. “You see….I kind of already have my own powers.” Sabrlyn changed her facial expression from disappointed to bewildered. “Have you ever heard of ‘The tale of the two lost sorceresses’?” Sabrlyn slowly replied, “Yes…” “Well even though it’s kind of dumb to say, and hard to explain, my older sister and I are those two sorceresses.” Azalea said reluctantly. How else was she supposed to say it? She wasn’t in anyway clever at saying, Hey whats up thanks for gun lessons, Im a tremendously powerful magical being, bow down peasant. So what was she supposed to say? Dear mother of Dordale she was so cripplingly awkward. She just stood there, playing with her unloaded musket waiting for Sabrlyn to reply. Sabrlyn eventually after only a few seconds that felt like hours, changed her facial expression from bewildered to what seemed to be excited and extremely curious, but still reluctant and slightly confused. “I did have a weird feeling about you.” “Seriously, what in all of Aderarid was a fourteen year old girl from where-in-the-hell coming over for shooting lessons and to buy a weapon doing?” “But I need a bit more proof from you.” “My…well I’m not sure how many ‘greats’ it is but my great how ever many more greats aunt was part of the sorceresses guild.” “So…my question for you is this…” Azalea looked side to side worryingly. What was she going to ask? She was really a sorceress but she only knew as much information as Lindara had told her. “What is the Kerubung?” Sabrlyn asked looking at Azalea for an answer. Azalea’s eyes lit up. It was a question she actually knew the answer to. “Simple.” She began. “The Kerubung is a magical stone-of some sorts…” She paused for a moment. “It’s something that some people believe can give you magical powers, but most people believe that it only enhances magical powers that you already have.” “But the government of Keabeth believed that it gave you magical powers, and they wanted the Kerubung so that they could have that.” “They went after the guild of sorceresses to find it-but the sorceresses didn’t have it, at least that’s what they said.” “It’s rumored that the government killed most of the sorceresses off because they never got an answer for where the Kerubung was, the government then tried to make everyone forget about the Kerubung and wash out the guild of sorceresses as a whole.” Azalea inhaled after a long period of time without breathing. As she exhaled, she said confidently, “And that is what the Kerubung is.” Sabrlyn stood shell shocked at Azalea’s answer. “Well then…” She said blankly. “What about your magical capabilities?” “Show me a spell.” Sabrlyn said raising an eyebrow. “Well, great.” Azalea thought to herself. The only spell Azalea knew was that weird scarf spinning thing Lindara taught her as she was trying to prove that Azalea was a sorceress. “I need something first.” Azalea said putting down the musket and rushing quickly through the inside of the shop. She scanned the area for her bag that contained the little magic scarf Lindara had given her. She had left her bag on one of the chairs near the entrance of the shop. Azalea rolled her eyes at herself. “Not the best idea to leave your bag over there. Great job.” She muttered. She grabbed the bag off the chair and ran back outside to the shooting area. Swinging the bag onto her shoulder, she opened it as Sabrlyn looked at it intriguingly. Digging through the bag, Azalea eventually found the scarf that Lindara had given her. As she pulled it out of the bag, Sabrlyn raised her eyebrow again, “What is that, exactly?” “Uh….” Azalea paused. “What was this stupid magic scarf called?” Azalea thought. Why was she always so forgetful? Azalea stared at the scarf for a few more seconds, looking back up at Sabrlyn, she just decided to make a name up. But what if it was a trick question and Sabrlyn already knew what it was? Sabrlyn seemed to know a lot about sorcery. “It’s an…” “Uchawi.” Azalea was already regretting giving the scarf that name. What in all of Keabeth was an Uchawi? She didn’t know, but it seemed to be okay with Sabrlyn. “Alright then, so what do you do with it then?” “Right…” Azalea said. “It’s like a tool you use to perform rather simple spells…like something a beginner at magic would utilize.” “I see…” Sabrlyn replied taking a look at the Uchawi. Azalea then began spinning the Uchawi in a circular motion just like she did in front of Lindara. The air around them started to get windier, and some small pebbles and leaves started moving. Sabrlyn stared at Azalea with her arms crossed around her chest, watching carefully. As Azalea continued spinning the Uchawi, the wind became stronger. Eventually Sabrlyn shouted, “Alright that’s enough, you can stop now.” Azalea halted the spinning and put the Uchawi back in her bag. Sabrlyn looked at Azalea, faintly grinning at her. “Wonderful job.” “I suppose you don’t need a weapon after all.” Sabrlyn said picking up the Charleville musket and bringing it back inside the shop as Azalea followed her. Sabrlyn went around the desk and placed the musket back where she had it. “Where is your sister then?” Sabrlyn asked leaning her hands on the desk. “That’s the complicated part.” Azalea answered softly. “I understand.” Sabrlyn said nodding her head. “I can take complicated stories.” Azalea began to explain. As she clarified the kidnapping of her sister, and Lindara telling her about her powers, Sabrlyn changed her facial expression from curious to concerned. “But I have no clue really where she is and what the Malum plan to do with her.” “I’m just going where Lindara has told me.” Azalea said finishing her story. “Azalea…” “There is somewhere I would like to take you.” Sabrlyn said looking around her. “Where then?” “It’s hard to really put in plain words.” Sabrlyn answered simply. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to take you to a secret lair or something where you’ll have your organs discarded.” Sabrlyn said heading over to the back room. Azalea started to follow her, but Sabrlyn turned around to say, “No, you’re not going in Nora’s office, silly.” “Wait here.” “Who’s Nora?” Azalea asked. “She’s the Gunsmith of course.” Sabrlyn answered as she closed the door to the backroom and headed up the stairs. Sabrlyn walked down the hallway to Nora’s office knocking on the wall next to her door, which was never closed. Nora was still trying to clean and reassemble the gun that she was when Sabrlyn came in last time. “What is it Sabrlyn?” Nora said as she turned around in her chair. “Did the girl buy anything?” “No Nora, she didn’t.” “But I’d like to take her to the whitewood forest.” Sabrlyn said awaiting Nora’s response. “Ah, she’s that girl isn’t she?” “Yes, go ahead, tell her I’m a big fan of all that magic stuff and I don’t hate her so she doesn’t blow my head off.” Nora said turning back around to her desk, which was more like a workbench. Sabrlyn smirked at the ridiculously calm Nora. “Yes, I’ll tell her that you said that.” Sabrlyn said walking out of Nora’s office. Azalea was fidgeting with her bag’s shoulder strap as Sabrlyn opened and exited the back room door. “Alright then, off to the forest I suppose.” Sabrlyn said smiling. “What forest?” Azalea looked a tad bit uneasy. I mean what would you do if someone who you had only recently met wanted to take you to some mysterious forest? “It’s the Whitewood forest, it’s just a forest of, well Whitewoods.” Sabrlyn answered. “It’s only a few minutes away, we can just walk there.” Sabrlyn added. “Wait who’s going to take care of the shop while you’re gone?” Azalea asked. “Well honestly guns aren’t really the most popular thing here, so I doubt we’ll have many, if any costumers.” “But if we do, believe me, Nora will take care of them.” Sabrlyn said exiting the shop with Azalea. They didn’t go out of the front entrance though, they went towards the shooting area, where there was a small gate near the end of the vicinity. Sabrlyn pushed the gate open, which made an extremely loud, ear irritatingly terrible screeching noise as it opened. Azalea was tempted to cover her ears, but the noise didn’t last for very long. “Sorry about that.” “At some point we need to get that fixed.” Sabrlyn apologized. “No, that’s fine.” “The door at my house is just as annoying, just not as screechy.” Azalea replied. There was a long thin dirt path that oddly didn’t start from the gate, but instead after you passed an old weeping willow tree that was dipping down over top of Azalea and Sabrlyn’s heads. As they walked down the path, Sabrlyn kept looking all around her at the various plants and all of the squirrels running away from them. “I always love coming down here, it’s so quiet.” “Maybe the most quiet place in this whole city.” Azalea nodded. There wasn’t hardly any noise except for their own voices and the breeze. Oh and of course the sound of the squirrels dashing away from them. “I think there is a squirrel breeding facility here, because dear Aderarid there are so many of them here and in this forest.” Azalea laughed. There had probably been more than six squirrels that crossed their path in just the few minutes they were there. As they continued to walk, Azalea also started to appreciate the quietness of this area. It rung a bell in her head of the tiny wooded area in Dordale where her and Adrasteia would play and pretend to be animals, like rabbits or deer. Just like Sabrlyn had said, the forest was only a few minutes away. “Here we are.” She said pointing at the tiny rotting wooden sign that barely made out the words, “Whitewood Forest.” “Let’s go then.” Sabrlyn said beginning to walk as Azalea trailed behind her.

(c)2014 The World of my Writing. Please under no circumstance copy this work or claim it as your own.

ISEcover

In Society’s Eyes, Chapter one: The Battlegrounds

Introduction

……………

I am who I am. Nothing can really change that. I can act as if I am changed but I really am not changed at all. At least that’s what I thought. That’s what teachers, parents, friends, and family tell you. Be yourself. Love yourself.  I did that. I tried my best. But it’s difficult when you’re in a situation of a bunch of self centered teenagers who think the whole world revolves around social networks and popularity. I thought that I was different. I thought that I could never be changed to think like them. I thought everyone who thought like the kids at my school were brainwashed idiots…

But I found out I was wrong.

I was so wrong.

Humans are no different than wolves, or frankly any animal that is pack-orientated. We just want to stay with the pack, not be abandoned or become an outcast. Humans love the feeling of belonging. They love the feeling of mattering to other people. Being important. But sometimes in a wolf pack, there is a wolf that becomes a loner. He is kicked out of the pack, and runs away to start his own new life, all on his own. I thought I was like the loner wolf. I didn’t listen to what everyone else thought, and I was different. So therefore, I was exiled. I didn’t want to be a part of any sort of clique, or conform to the ways of the average teenager. I thought I was so special and unique to not be in a clique, and to not play the game like everybody else did. I was going to be the only one to go to a big university, get a good career, and everyone else was going to fail and realize how stupid they were. How dumb they were to mess with me, how dimwitted they acted about not talking outside of their cliques. I was going to prove them so wrong in the future.

But sometimes…

It’s hard not to conform.

When you see how happy the ‘normal’ people were.

When you sat alone in the back of the cafeteria, awkwardly eating your food as fast as you could.

When you see all the things you could be.

It just seems to matter so much.

And that’s what happened to me.

I used to be someone that tried my best to stay out of the groups. Stay away and be who I was.

But it wasn’t working.

Sure, I was happy about myself.

But nobody else was.

So I conformed. I joined a clique that I thought would bring me to the top of the popularity charts.

And it did.

And I became someone I never thought I would be.

I became so involved in my own little world, it was all that mattered to me.

I became my own worst nightmare.

But I enjoyed it.

I started to not think about how other people felt when I mocked them

I started to ignore the people that made me who I am today

I wasn’t myself anymore.

But I didn’t realize that.

Maybe it was because I was torn down for so long, and once I felt as if I had power, I went insane. I finally had the supremacy that I always secretly wished I had.

I was what they wanted me to be.

Not what I wanted to be.

But I blocked out my own voice, and instead listened to others.

Because in society’s eyes,

I was victorious.

Chapter one: The battlegrounds

I woke up to the sound of a fire alarm. Oh wait, it’s just my alarm clock. The loud reoccurring beeps made me want to punch it off of my nightstand. As I nearly started to raise my fist in anger at the continuous beeps, I realized my alarm clock wasn’t there. It was all the way across my room, on my dresser. Okay, now what on Earth was it doing all the way over there? I began to think of theories as to how my alarm clock had traveled all the way to my dresser. Some sort of clock-attracted rodent tried to drag it across the room to it’s secret territory? No, most likely not. It would have had to climb all the way up the dresser, re-plug the clock, turn it on, and reset the alarm to go off at 6:00am. I slowly climbed out of bed, crawling on the floor over to my dresser. Reaching my arm to the top of the dresser, pulling myself up on my feet and slamming the off button so hard that I shook my hand in pain afterwards. Scratching my head and sighing, I headed for my door. My door had this mirror I put on it when I was eight for whatever reason. It was covered in the leftover bits of boy band stickers that I had attempted to peel off in desperation once I realized how stupid it looked. Staring at the mirror, looking at the giant lump of brown hair that seemed to resemble an opossum infested nest, I took another long, angst-filled teenage sigh. Walking through the hallway and straight into the living room, I collapsed on the couch thanking whoever built our home that it was only one level. I would have most likely broken six limbs – probably more by now if I had to run down a flight of stairs every morning. Around four minutes later, I started to feel my half asleep body slowly fall off the couch. After realizing what was happening, I quickly tried to cling onto the couch cushion. It was as if I was falling off a cliff or something, because I was clinging onto the cushion for dear life. Finally, I let the laws of physics take me, and fell down onto the floor. Getting up, I decided that it was probably a good idea to start actually getting ready for the day. I headed to the kitchen, opening our tiny fridge that we’ve seriously owned longer than I’ve been alive, and grabbed a cup of yogurt. I didn’t really look at the label or anything, I enjoyed not knowing what the flavor of the yogurt was – because I suppose I just love living life on the edge. Tearing open the foil lid, and of course licking the yogurt off of it, I grabbed a spoon and enjoyed my mystery flavor. “Hm, tastes like mango.” I whispered to myself. After finishing the delicious mango yogurt, I tossed the yogurt cup into the trash and headed for the bathroom. Our house only had one bathroom. This was a problem. This is something I do not thank the builders of this home for. The door was closed and the light was on and I could hear my mother spraying her hair with a million pounds of hair-lifting chemicals. I knocked on the door, and shouted, “Yo, mama I need to piss open the door.” “Anna I’m nearly done just hold it.” My mom said, continuing to sprits the spray. “Sorry mom but you can’t tell my bladder what to do.” “Well if you’re really that desperate come in and pee while I’m in here – we’re family after all.” My mom said as I could hear her drop a now empty hairspray canister into the trash. “I don’t enjoy urinating with family.” I said, rolling my eyes. “Well no more worries sweetie, I’m done now.” My mom opened the bathroom door, laughing at the sight of the lump of brown on my head, and also most likely at the huge dark circles under my eyes. “Woo sorry honey, I should have let you in sooner.” My mom said giggling. I sarcastically laughed with her, she then told me, “Anna, you know how much I hate sarcasm.” “No I actually don’t.”  I said to her with an evil grin. “Ha, ha you’re so hilarious, get in there and pee you little brat.” My mom said in a louder tone walking away to the living room. As she walked past me I could smell the million pounds of hairspray in her bleached blonde hair, and as I walked into the bathroom, I could see the hundreds of makeup products lying all over the sink countertop. My mom was an absolute expert at caking on makeup. She hardly even allowed me, her own daughter, to see her without makeup on. The last time I remember seeing her makeup-less face was when I was nine years old and thought it was a great idea to try to make my own macaroni and cheese, it was a QuickMac, you just poured the macaroni in a bowl with water and put it in the microwave for three minutes. Simple for even a nine year old right? No. I forgot to pour the water in. So, after setting the smoke detector off and freaking the hell out, my mother ran out of the bathroom in the midst of taking off her makeup and carried the now completely burnt to black QuickMac and threw it outside onto our porch. Needless to say that wasn’t one of my fondest memories. After relieving myself of the two diet Pepsis I had before I went to bed – for whatever reason…I headed into the shower. I then heard a knock at the door. It was my sister. I had completely forgotten to wake her up. You see, Abbey’s alarm clock had broken after she had literally punched it off of her nightstand, so my mom told me that I was now the one responsible for waking her up. The slow, loud knocks on the door were scary as I could feel my sister’s rage through the door. “ANNA!” “You were supposed to wake me up!” My sister shouted at me angrily, then proceeding to uncontrollably yawn. You see, my younger sister likes to wake up as soon as the crack of dawn, so she can open her laptop and write poetry and work on her novel or whatever she does in her room, until I woke up and had to remind her that humans need to eat food so she would go and eat breakfast and get ready for school. But she now, thanks to me, had less than an hour to even write a small haiku. “I’m sorry okay, people forget things sometimes you know.” I said trying my best to apologize while shampooing my hair. “Whatever, just don’t do it again.” Abbey replied scoffingly. I could hear her footsteps as she walked into the living room, most likely to start complaining to our mother. After I finished washing out the leftover shampoo from my hair, I stepped out of the shower, putting my bathrobe on and brushing my teeth. Now that the shower water was off, I could perfectly hear my mom and sister’s conversation. “I need time to write.” I heard Abbey say, obviously referring to my tragic mistake of not waking her up. “I don’t think you should wake up so early anymore like you did before you broke your alarm clock.” My mother said. Raising my eyebrow, I thought to myself, “That isn’t going to go well with her.”  As I could hear the argument start to ensue, I turned on my blow-dryer to drain out the fighting. Even as I was about to turn off my hair-dryer, I could still hear them babbling. Still? I’ve been drying my hair for like five minutes. I turned the dryer off, grabbing my hair straighter from the cabinet below, I begun the long process of straightening my opossum nest. “You don’t even care about what I write, you never even want to hear it!” I heard my sister shout. “When did I ever say I didn’t like your writing?” My mom replied trying to defend herself. Even though what Abbey was saying was true. Our mom honestly didn’t care much about Abbey’s writing. Even though I quite liked her writing, and I am – even though I won’t admit it to her face, quite proud of my sister’s achievements. She’s won various young writer’s competitions, and online novel writing contests. She runs a successful blog where she publishes all of her poetry and she has nearly 2,000 followers on there now. But still, my mother always makes excuses to not listen to Abbey’s writing, and when she does say she has the time, and Abbey does read it, she interrupts her and doesn’t even listen. I rolled my eyes as I finished straightening my hair and their argument continued. I dipped down to the cabinets below the sink and grabbed my makeup bag. I don’t really wear much makeup – well compared to my mother I wear hardly any. I just applied a bit of foundation, concealer for my gigantic dark circles, some mascara, a tad bit of tope colored eye shadow, and some lip gloss. Nothing more than that. After I finished, I snuck into my room to put on some clothes, brushed my hair a tad bit and re-packed my makeup bag and carried it into the kitchen to put in my backpack. But wait, what was that? My mother and sister are still arguing? Yes indeed, their useless dispute is still going. I slowly snuck past them through the living room and to the kitchen where my backpack was lying. I grabbed it from the floor, and shoved my makeup bag into one of the pockets. I then looked around the kitchen for my lunch. But I couldn’t find anything. No paper bag, no lunchbox, no plastic bag with a sandwich and chips, nothing. I didn’t want to just randomly shout, “Hey where’s my lunch?” To my mother as she was arguing with my sister, so I just quietly grabbed an apple and made myself a cheese and ham sandwich. I looked up at the kitchen clock – 6:47am. The bus was due to arrive at around 7:00am, but Abbey and I always left early and came to the bus stop at around 6:50am. I looked back over to my sister, who was still shouting, and just decided to grab her attention by dropping her backpack which was left in the same spot as mine, on the floor. Both Abbey and my mom swept their heads around and stared at me. I said, “You’re going to miss the bus, stop bickering and get moving!” Abbey rolled her eyes at me and looked back at our mom in annoyance. She walked over towards me, grabbing her backpack from the floor and walking out not saying a word. My mom looked at me for a moment then saying, “Have a great day at school sweetie.” I looked back and forth awkwardly. “Yeah, sure.” I said as I rushed out of the door following Abbey. We only had to walk down to the nearest corner of our street to find a bus stop. We sat down together wordlessly waiting for the bus to come. No one ever talked to each other at bus stops. I’m not sure if it’s just my neighborhood or what, but as soon as you pass the bus stop sign it’s complete silence. It doesn’t matter if it’s just one person and their best friend or a whole big group of friends that are laughing and talking just seconds before entering the bus stop, they will stop talking. The absolute silence can be uncomfortable but is slightly calming sometimes as the bustling noises of high school can get pretty maddening. Despite these imaginary rules of silence, Abbey leaned over to me and whispered, “After you went to bed I slipped into your room and moved your alarm clock to your dresser so you would actually get up instead of pressing snooze ten times.” I turned over to Abbey, with a ‘Are you actually 100% serious right now?’ kind of look on my face. Abbey tried to hold back her grin as she always does, but after a silent chuckle she burst out in laughter, scaring the two people sitting near us at the bus stop. “Oh…my…god!” Abbey giggled as she struggled to continue making fun of me. “I just love it when you mock my face.” I replied sarcastically. “It’s just…the way you…BAHAHA!” Alright Abbey, my ‘are you kidding me’ face really can’t be that funny for goodness sake. I thought to myself as I rolled my eyes at her as she still was slightly laughing. I bit my lip in frustration as I blurted out without thinking, “Just shut up alright, you’re making everyone else uncomfortable.” The two people sitting near us just looked at me awkwardly and I could sense one of them scooting away from me slowly. My sister’s smile faded as she turned away from me, and as she always did when things got embarrassing, said nothing and twiddled her fingers around. I tended to do things like this lately, just outburst for no real reason. My mother blames it on hormones, my sister blames it on ‘anger issues’ and I blame it on stress. Stress from what? Everything. Managing grades and a busy social life. Not to brag but I have gained a lot of popularity throughout this last year. Yes, I’m that classic story of an absolute loser who was taken in by the popular girls, given a make over and became accepted. I admit, I wish I had more of an original rise to high-school fame, but I’m stuck with the Hollywood stereotype. After a few years of being this social outcast that didn’t want to be the typical teen, I began to have this longing for something to do, something to be proud of. My mom is a well-paid pharmacist who even being through a nasty divorce remains a successful single mother. My sister, like I mentioned earlier, is a wonderful writer who’s won multiple prizes and followers on her blog. But me? I like to read, and I play the piano sometimes. That’s pretty much it. Before my popularity gain, I was always bored, reading usually filled in that gap of boredom and dissatisfaction with my life. But eventually, I started to get bored with reading. I needed something more, something that made me feel like I was doing something useful. So, after a month of trying to break myself out of my shell of ‘I don’t want to conform!’ I finally convinced myself to attempt to join a group of people with certain interests or ideals – a clique. “It’s like a political party for teenagers…” I would tell myself again and again. I really wish I hadn’t treated it like some big deal, it would’ve saved me a lot of sweat and tears. So after months of planning one single attempt, I tried to find my way into a clique. Now I had always imagined myself in some sort of completely lame clique of some sorts but instead I ended up bumping into Kristen Wilson, the proclaimed leader of “The Q’s”. They are known as the distinctive “Most popular girls” clique. They’re called The Q’s because the first three self-declared member’s names all started with a Q. Qiara, Quinn and Quinnlee. Everyone acts like they are these ancient figures of history in spite of the fact that they only graduated like five years ago. So yeah, I bumped into Kristen – literally, I knocked her over. You can imagine how unhappy she was. As I apologized a million times, trying to remember what my ‘plan’ that took months to map out for if I ever ran into a well known clique member. It was most definitely not going well. She threatened to post a scandalous status update about me on Teen’s talk, another social network I never wanted to join. She did actually follow through with that threat, and my life sucked for like half a week but then the extraordinary happened – Kristen sent me a message on Teen’s talk. It was a hate-message sure, but it was the beginning of my rise to popularity. As we continued clashing back and forth, we actually begun to stop bashing each other, and just began having a normal conversation. We found a few things we had in common, one being that both of our parents had been through nasty divorces. Kristen then actually invited me to a social gathering, at a café. After that, she invited me to become a part of The Q’s. And that’s how I paved my start to social success. Kristen is actually quite nice, if you know her personally, otherwise she comes off as a total you-know-what. Suddenly, I felt my sister poking me as I was daydreaming about my trip to high-status. The bus had arrived. “Come on let’s go!” She shouted at me. I got up off of the bench and headed up the bus steps. My sister, being two years younger than me, had to sit a little bit further to the front, while I went further to the back. As I took my seat, I didn’t notice that Kristen was sitting in the seat across from me. She made me jump as she shouted, “Hey Anna! Did you see my new post?” “Uh post on what?” I asked as I pulled out my phone from my backpack. “Teen’s talk, duh.” She answered as she began texting. In reality I really didn’t give a crap what Kristen had posted, but because I’m a nice person, I went to it. It was just some random quote she probably got from Google images. I ‘hearted’ it anyway, and then put my phone away. I watched silently as Kristen speedily texted. It was kind of insane watching her thumbs move so rapidly, but it was also kind of mesmerizing. Kristen then looked at me and insisted I didn’t ‘spy’ on her conversations. See here’s the thing about Kristen; she always seems to go from being bubbly and energetic to being snappy and irritated. I suspect either she actually does have anger issues, unlike my sister’s untrue accusations that I myself have them. Or it’s because of Kristen basically not trusting anyone – except for her one very close friend Zanya, an Iranian exchange student who transferred here about two years ago. She’s the kind of person you would always want to go to talk about your problems with. I expect she’ll probably be a therapist in the future since she’s practically already Kristen’s. Zanya always has the best advice, and always invites us over to her house where her auntie and uncle that she lives with gives us like the best pilaf and kebabs ever. As I attempted not to ‘spy’ on Kristen’s ever so important conversations probably talking about how she’s going to go to our local Prada store and max out her credit card that she didn’t actually have, I pulled out my phone again and scrolled through the endless amounts of tweets in my Twitter feed. Finally, around ten minutes later I’d say, the bus stopped. Not for more exhausted zombie students to fill the seats, but actually stopping to unload the zombies. We had arrived at our destination. The battlegrounds of Ashland High School. It was time to get of the prison shuttle bus, and drag myself through the plain boring hallways to class. Kristen didn’t notice that we had arrived, so I had to poke her which of course made her give me a horrible dirty look as she put her phone away and headed out of the bus with me. It was always really creepy in the morning when all the students were walking sluggishly out of the buses. Because everything was so silent. Only about a couple dozen people would ever be peppy and energetic in the mornings, we liked to call them the caffeinated zombies, because in order to be so happy in the mornings, they must have had to drink at least 2 cups of coffee, plus a monster energy drink. But soon enough, they would crash and be miserable for the rest of the day. Kristen seemed to be like one of these caffeinated zombies today, as she started jumping up and down waving at what looked like to be a smiling Zanya waving back. Zanya then started to run unbelievably fast at Kristen and I, but mostly Kristen. Zanya gave a big hello to both Kristen and I, but again, mostly Kristen, and hugged Kristen as well. I just smiled awkwardly and followed them into school. Zanya has been accepted into the Q’s due to her longing friendship with Kristen, although she honestly does not fit in at all. Zanya loves food, sketching, languages, and studying. While most members of the Q’s seem to enjoy the generic popular girl kind of stuff. You know, shopping, fashion, make up, all that stuff. Zanya would probably fit in much better with the Indie/Hipster or more Nerdy kind of crowd. But you see, the invisible rules of law in this school dictate that only newbie’s and traitors speak outside of their designated cliques. So because Kristen wants Zanya by her side 24/7, she gave Zanya an honorary membership to the Q’s for being a good friend to her. See, Kristen and Zanya met outside of school. Because all of these “Only speak within your cliques” rules only apply within the school. That’s the way cliques are ever able to recruit members. Now this all sounds extremely clichéd but it’s very true. We are ridiculously divided in this school into cookie cutter categories. Oh and yes, you can call me a hypocrite all you want as I am the member of the designated popular girls clique that tends to oversee and enforce these rules but I honestly believe that if anything were to change this school probably would just crumble apart. We need categorizing and organization. People need to find other people like them. Now see this is the kind of stuff I would’ve never imagined myself saying not so long ago. But I’m over it now. It’s just kind of ridiculous to think like that and resist so much. It’s just kind of easier to accept things the way they are, you know? Just deal with things, and work with them. Now some stupid person who thinks they are witty or intelligent might say, “So people like Martin Luther King Jr. and Gandhi should have just dealt with everything?” No. They shouldn’t have. Because what they were going through was horrendous and needed to be changed. This is high school for God’s sake. Not British India or the Jim Crow era of America. In our school we have division between the hobbies and common interests of people, the way others dress and all that. Not division between the races for goodness sake. It’s not important. So anyway, after Kristen, Zanya and I entered the school, we bustled around for a bit between all the rest of the dead eyed teenagers to try and locate the rest of our friends. I saw a glimpse of Sasha Short, a prominent member of The Q’s and someone I would like to consider my good friend. Kristen and I always love to laugh at Sasha’s last name, because she’s actually really tall. Like 5”9. Plus she always comes to school rocking one of her five million or so pairs of amazing high heels, so it makes her look even taller. Oh and let’s not forget her big and proud Afro hair. I swear when it’s humid outside her hair nearly touches the ceiling. Plus Sasha is also monstrously fabulous. She has a great fashion sense, always looks like a boss, and looks good doing anything. I’ve never seen her do it but she probably looks great even on the toilet. Odd thoughts yes, odd thoughts. But seriously. I envy Sasha so much that when I joined the Q’s, I guess for whatever reason I believed that if I became her friend I could become her. It hasn’t happened just yet. It’s been a year and a half and I still don’t have as many shoes as she’s got, and my legs are still short and stumpy. In addition to the fact that my fashion sense still on it’s own, isn’t particularly wonderful either. Sasha spotted me and shouted a casual “Hey!” I waved back as I walked over to her. Kristen and Zanya didn’t follow me, they went off to find the Q’s other two major members, Noelle and Trinity. “So what have you been doing this past weekend?” I asked her. It was such an annoyingly small talk kind of question. “Well, my parents went on a cruise around the southern Caribbean and left me, so pretty much nothing.” Sasha replied sounding totally cool about how her parents just left her to her own devices while they went to go on a luxury cruise. “So, Anna banana, are you ready for some good ol’ education?” See this is why Sasha was so monstrously fabulous. She was witty as well as always looking great. “Uh I don’t think I could ever be prepared.” I responded, laughing a bit. But it was more of that like, ‘I’m laughing because it would be too awkward if I didn’t.’ Kind of laugh. “Ooh look, Trinity and Noelle are coming our way.” Sasha said smirking slightly. “It also looks like they’re doing the ‘We’re so amazing’ walk you see in every terrible high school movie ever.” I joked. “Hey, you two!” Noelle shouted, dragging the attention of many other students in the hallway. “You want to get to class or keep laughing on about stupid crap, eh?” Noelle said, giggling. Noelle’s laugh was so annoying. Every time I heard that little quack of a laugh I wanted to give her an uppercut to the face. Trinity gave Noelle a high five and laughed with her. I could also hear her mumble, “Good one.” Trinity loves to think of herself as so cool. The amazing side kick to Noelle, the what…third in charge of the Q’s? Wow, congratulations. What an achievement. See this is the thing. In these cliques, everyone is all like, “Ooh we’re so united and best friends forever yay.” When really, no matter where you put teenagers, especially insecure teenage girls, you will make enemies and fight within your own clique of ‘best friends.’ Not even just teenagers, but humans in general are just really good at tearing each other down. I strutted over to geometry class with Sasha by my side with Noelle and Trinity ahead of us gawking about whatever stupid boy they’re both in love with this week. Geometry class was a bore, as always. So was history, and biology, and math, and everything else. Nothing interests me anymore. I mean, biology slightly, but not enough for me to not just spend all of class doodling in my notebook and pretending to look like I was doing things so no one would disturb me. This school makes nothing interesting anymore. It’s just, here’s the thing we’re talking about today, here is a piece of paper to stare at, read these pages of this book, and we’re done. Congratulations children with whom I am responsible as a teacher to try and inspire you to do something credible with your life, you are done with class for today. Now do it all over again except with a different subject and different teachers that will drive you to have no more ambition than an unemployed 34 year old cocaine snorting disgusting dude who still lives with his parents. Go on, figure out everything you want to do with your life. Go to college and pay your taxes like every good citizen should, sorry we didn’t teach you what the hell taxes really were and how to pay them, but we’ve done enough for you already, haven’t we? Oh no, look at me I’m ranting. Anyway, there’s really no exciting things in school anymore except for when all of the Q’s members meet up in the theater’s projection room to have a ‘strategy meeting.’ Also known as ruining other people’s social lives to climb up another step in the ladder of high school fame and success. Now it was the time for that meeting. Goodie. We had it during lunch, all of the Q’s members brought their own lunches and snuck into the projection room for the meeting. Can’t bring your own lunch? Too bad. Guess you’re not for the Q’s. I caught up with Kristen and headed up with her to the projection room. A bunch of the Q’s members were already there, chatting and mostly all on their phones, probably checking out the trending subjects on Teen’s talk or some other social networking site. I sat down next to Sasha who was talking to Zanya. “So that’s how you fold it.” I heard Zanya say happily. Sasha looked fascinated. Zanya was a big expert at the head scarf thingy she wears. Sorry, I’m uneducated about religious stuff…so I don’t know what it’s called. Sasha had a head scarf on her, so I’m guessing Zanya was giving her some sort of tutorial. Even though Sasha’s catholic, but you know what, it’s alright. As I was admiring Zanya’s scarf skills, Trinity walked by and…oh God. What idiotic thing will she say now? Trinity paused for a moment before she said anything, like she almost had this conscious in her that she was about to say something stupid. But she of course ignored it. “So, like when you’re in the shower, do you take it off?” Oh Trinity. How ignorant you are. Even though I have no idea what the head scarf thing is called, I’m not like…that dumb…Zanya just kind of awkwardly laughed and replied sarcastically, “The Hijab? Oh no, I keep it on.” Sasha laughed with her. Well at least I now know what it’s called. Trinity then responded probably not even thinking about the sarcasm, “Doesn’t it get wet?” Dear sweet baby Jesus why? Zanya just smiled a bit and Trinity shrugged her shoulders and sat down across from us next to Noelle. Before I could start a conversation with anyone, Kristen shouted from the end of the room, “Welcome, fellow Q’s, to the daily meeting.” “I hope you’re all doing well, I’m going to go ahead and do the name calling now.” Everything Kristen says or does always seems so rehearsed, like she just walks back and forth in her bedroom practicing for the day that she’ll do the best name call of the Q’s strategy meeting in history. The name calling when down from A to Z until Kristen finally reached the only Z name we have in the Q’s, Zanya Attar. Zanya proudly raised her hand and said in her most confident voice, “Here!” And so the meeting finally began. Kristen started off talking about flu season and how much she wanted everyone to get the flu shot because she didn’t want anyone to get sick and miss a day or whatever. It then moved onto a shopping trip that we’ve been planning since last month. Tomorrow is November 11th,  Veterans Day. We get the day off of school, so naturally to celebrate the men and women who sacrificed their lives for our freedom, Kristen has planned a mega shopping trip with all of the members of the Q’s coming to shop till they drop. How amazing is that? I have absolutely no money to spend on, so I’ll just probably be with Zanya, who doesn’t wear make up or any of the other clothes that most of the Q’s like to wear, carrying everyone else’s bags. What a good day it will be to be a bellhop. I’m so excited. After half an hour, which is surprisingly all the time you get to eat lunch at my school, the meeting ended. Now it was time to head to Spanish class. I’m also so excited about that as well. The rest of the school day was equally as boring and full of non-interesting classes and subjects I didn’t care about. Finally the day came to an end. I walked to the bus with Kristen and planned on sleeping in the bus. Let’s go home, and soon enough, the entire thing can start over again. How exhilarating life is.

(c)2014 theworldofmywriting

Please do not under any circumstance, copy this work or claim it as your own.

TAKE HOLD OF THE NIGHT

Originally posted on keithgarrettpoetry:

Sun going down on another day, the breath of life lives,

The light in the sky survives just a little while longer.

Days are becoming shorter as they remain with hours of the same,

As the air grows colder then wood is gathered for that great fire.

Getting early evening things done before the setting of the sun,

A shower then dinner in the dark, some candles lit within the home.

Two whom can share all the beauty of a most precious given time,

Take hold of the night, may it last longer than what seems only a moment.

We have no idea that which is in store for us in the morning light,

Peaceful is the night, time for rest, take hold of the night, a piece of life.

Keith Garrett

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Stories

As I walk into a café, I look at a woman who passes. Who is this woman? I have no idea. I don’t know her name, I don’t know what she does, who she loves, anything really. But what I do know is what she is. She is a story. A book waiting to be discovered. Only a very select few get to read this story, and no one but herself gets to read the whole thing, as she holds the pen, and continues this story until her deathbed. But this is what I am amazed by the most. There are 7 billion stories in this world. Every one of these stories has layers to them, a timeline of memories, experiences, lifestyle, love, beliefs, and feelings. If I ever get the chance to hold a human brain in my hands, I would just stare at it in disbelief. How incredible it is that I am holding a person’s entire life, memories, aspirations, and emotions in my very hands. There are 7 billion stories in this world. Oh if only I could read them all.

 

“When you look at a person, any person, remember that everyone has a story. Everyone has gone through something that has changed them.”

-Unknown

MagiCal-CreAturE-magical-creatures-20004336-1600-1200

Murky Waters

Swimming through a thick pile of seaweed and garbage, I tried my best to find a spot to rest. I had scratched my lower leg in the process of trying to swim home and the scratch hurt very badly. Finally I found a soft bed of moss and plants to sit on. I leaned my hand down to the wound and winced in pain as I poked the cut with my long nails. I looked at the wound, it wasn’t as small as I predicted. Though it wasn’t anything to die from, it was fairly large and ghastly. I looked around me, trying to find something to cover my cut with. I pulled up some flowers and long grass, pressing it against my wound. After the blood began to stop, I started to wrap and tie the mixture of flowers around my leg to create a cover for it. I looked over to my left where I saw two little girls playing tag together. As they swam by smiling and playing, I couldn’t help but think about how odd it was for them to be out here, in the middle of nowhere. Well most places felt like the middle of nowhere. Everywhere I go, it feels cold, dark, and blurry. You’d have to have really good eyesight to see through all the hunks of waste and tiny green particles that resided all over this world. Most just stayed in their homes, that were more like big chunks of wood in random places. My friend Allie lives in what was once called a ‘ship.’ It’s what survivors used to use to float above the ocean. Some were very small, like Allie’s home, but others were humongous. What we like to call the community hall, used to be called the USS Enterprise. It was this huge ship that weighed billions of pounds and was used to transport ‘airplanes’, another thing the survivors used to use to get around the world. Thousands of us would meet in the community hall all the time. I used to go, but ever since my grandfather died, I just didn’t ever feel like going. My grandfather was a survivor and mostly lived in an air bubble in our home’s closet. He used to always tell me stories from when he worked on a ship and went out hunting for fish on his boats. Fish apparently were very common when my grandfather was younger, then they slowly just went away. Now there’s very few left. You always see them in big groups though, which makes them look not so scarce but the fish were just themselves scared and stuck together for protection. Just like us, some fish had developed a tolerance for the stench and the hazy green waters. I was like a fish myself, I have gills and my skin is sculpted to make is easier for me to glide in the water. So as I am like a fish, I don’t think I could ever harm one. As I thought of this, a small group of fish passed by me. They were small and grey with pink, almost red eyes. They rushed past me leaving a fast current behind. My curly blonde, but now stained green hair flowed up as they passed by me. I let out a small smile as my hair flung up in the water. I decided as I saw the cluster of fish go by me, that I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to see the world around me. Even though I couldn’t quite see much through the greenness, I just wanted to be able to explore. But before beginning my adventure, I looked up and squinted as hard as I could. “If only I could swim all the way to the top.” I thought to myself. But no, there was no top of the ocean anymore, it was endless. There was only left, right, forward, back and sometimes down. But no up. Nothing was there when you looked up. Just haziness and green. Not a faint of light would ever shine through for me to finally feel the light of the sun’s rays on my skin. Allie’s great aunt said that the sun was this huge ball of beautiful hot brightness that acted as a light for the world. I always wondered if the sun was still there, waiting for someone to give warmth to. But I can only ever see the sun in my dreams. I let out an exasperated sigh, and started swimming forward, farther away from my wooden home to search my real home, this never-ending ocean. I swam for about half an hour until I really had no clue where I was. I looked around me, and I swear I could see a faint, tall, grey shape in the distance. I stared at it for a moment, and like a frightened herd of fish, I burst forward towards the mysterious grey object. I had this desire to explore because my grandfather used to tell me about how he was so disappointed that no one ever really explored the survivor’s world to its full potential. Even though everything seemed dark and gloomy and boring, I wanted to prove my thoughts wrong and try to see what went beyond my own knowledge of my home. I eventually got close to the grey object, and I realized it was a rock. But this rock was different. It was engraved with letters, and some of the stone looked like a survivor’s body! “What kind of stone is this?” I asked myself, curious as to how such a beautiful thing could really exist in these waters. The rock looked like a female survivor, she was wearing a long beautiful dress and head covering, and her hands were put together in front of her. She had her eyes closed and head leant down. She looked so peaceful and beautiful, I almost didn’t feel like I could touch her, because if I did, she would open her eyes and move her hands, leaving her serenity. But I was just too tempted, and I slowly moved myself towards her and put my hand on her shoulder. After touching her shoulder, I began to gradually sit down beside her in fascination. This world, this ‘Earth’  that my grandfather spent hours talking about…it sounded amazing. A world not filled by gloom, trash, and water…But by ground, trees, planes, boats, and stone women. As I lay there by the beautiful stone woman, I fell asleep and dreamt about a sun-kissed sky thriving over top of beautiful lands, walking survivors, ships sailing over the tiny oceans and planes flying above them. Oh what a stunning world that must have been.

© 2014 theworldofmywriting

Please do not under any circumstance copy this work or claim it as your own.

This short-story was inspired by this image. The source of this image is unknown. I found it from here: http://www.fanpop.com/clubs/magical-creatures/images/20004336/title/magical-creature-wallpaper

MagiCal-CreAturE-magical-creatures-20004336-1600-1200

An introduction and a sneak peak to my newest story, In society’s eyes.

About a year ago, I was bored and decided I wanted to edit some random photos. I found some cool photos of eyes and then I put what I thought about when I looked into the eyes in the photo. This is how In society’s eyes began, with these. PhotoFunia-a2f16d 

jugement This photo is my favorite. 

I then began to build up the story. After creating the basis of the story, I didn’t know really if I wanted to write it or not. It seemed very challenging but I have now accepted that challenge and began writing the first chapter not too long ago. I don’t really want to tell too much about the plot because I’d rather it be a surprise. Plus, I’m really bad at making descriptions for my stories…

But I have this sneak peek for ya’ll, it’s an introduction/prologue kind of thing. Enjoy. 

I am who I am. Nothing can really change that. I can act as if I am changed but I really am not changed at all. At least that’s what I thought. That’s what teachers, parents, friends, and family tell you. Be yourself. Love yourself.  I did that. I tried my best. But it’s difficult when you’re in a situation of a bunch of self centered teenagers who think the whole world revolves around social networks and popularity. I thought that I was different. I thought that I could never be changed to think like them. I thought everyone who thought like the kids at my school were brainwashed idiots…

But I found out I was wrong.

I was so wrong.

Humans are no different than wolves, or frankly any animal that is pack-orientated. We just want to stay with the pack, not be abandoned or become an outcast. Humans love the feeling of belonging. They love the feeling of mattering to other people. Being important. But sometimes in a wolf pack, there is a wolf that becomes a loner. He is kicked out of the pack, and runs away to start his own new life, all on his own. I thought I was like the loner wolf. I didn’t listen to what everyone else thought, and I was different. So therefore, I was exiled. I didn’t want to be a part of any sort of clique, or conform to the ways of the average teenager. I thought I was so special and unique to not be in a clique, and to not play the game like everybody else did. I was going to be the only one to go to a big university, get a good career, and everyone else was going to fail and realize how stupid they were. How dumb they were to mess with me, how dimwitted they acted about not talking outside of their cliques. I was going to prove them so wrong in the future.

But sometimes…

It’s hard not to conform.

When you see how happy the ‘normal’ people were.

When you sat alone in the back of the cafeteria, awkwardly eating your food as fast as you could.

When you see all the things you could be.

It just seems to matter so much.

And that’s what happened to me.

I used to be someone that tried my best to stay out of the groups. Stay away and be who I was.

But it wasn’t working.

Sure, I was happy about myself.

But nobody else was.

So I conformed. I joined a clique that I thought would bring me to the top of the popularity charts.

And it did.

And I became someone I never thought I would be.

I became so involved in my own little world, it was all that mattered to me.

I became my own worst nightmare.

But I enjoyed it.

I started to not think about how other people felt when I mocked them

I started to ignore the people that made me who I am today

I wasn’t myself anymore.

But I didn’t realize that.

Maybe it was because I was torn down for so long, and once I felt as if I had power, I went insane. I finally had the supremacy that I always secretly wished I had.

I was what they wanted me to be.

Not what I wanted to be.

But I blocked out my own voice, and instead listened to others.

Because in society’s eyes,

I was victorious.

 

 

© 2014 theworldofmywriting

Please do not under any circumstance copy this work or claim it as your own.

WHAT’S OUT THERE?

daisycloud:

As I am still working on things like chap. 6 of Azalea and the first chapter of another story, I’ll just enjoy very much sharing this user’s poetry <3

Originally posted on keithgarrettpoetry:

 

Take a look up in the air, beyond the clouds, high above the blue,

If you can’t see that far then put to use your great Imagination.

What’s out there where we have never been, never seen or dreamed,

The moon stands out in the sky, the sun taken for granted as we assume it will be there.

With the naked eye Venus and Mars are seen every clear, beautiful night,

Every so often the night shows us a shooting star traveling across the universe.

There are many mysterious and unknown things not yet discovered through the cosmos,

Comets we can’ not put a number to or even imagine how far away they soar in the darkness.

Why is it that the sun lights up our days with warmth but gives no light to a spectacular sight,

We can only breathe the air up so high, beyond that tell…

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