My heart doesn't break, just goes out on vacation
It doesn't shatter into a million pieces
Or turn to dust as it beats
The sense that it's there simply ceases
Where does it go on these vacations?
Japan, England, and Italy are all bets
Or is it somewhere closer,
Just the beach while the sun sets
Does it take planes, cars, or trains
To get where it goes?
Or simply spread wings
Made out of our woes?
My heart isn't broken, just on vacation
Seeing the sights and hearing the sounds
Maybe taking a tour someplace
Where it can't be found
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Friday, January 12, 2007
Breakdowns, Hurrah!!
I think I'm one of those people who would choose truth over happiness. How sad that is of me. I used to think about how silly people were to do that, and now I may be one of them. Huh.
In the meanwhile, my class will be debating fairy tales and toys and their influence on children's lives this Tuesday. I can't wait. I was the only one is my small group discussing fairy tales who defended happy endings. I asked each and every one of them if they could go back in time and change what their parents said to them, would they? Only one person wasn't sure, the rest were more sympathetic. I love fairy tales. They create this safe little environment for kids where there are always happy endings despite hardships. Yes, we have all who've been told fairy tales or watched Disney had to face disillusionment. When we find out Santa isn't real and Pocohontas died of small pox, it hurts. But is it really all that much of a price for growing up believing that there was inherent good in the world? Not for me, at least. And I cried hard when Santa became myth.
I almost had a breakdown last night. Scratch that, I did have one. I was so close to telling Melissa what I've wanted to tell someone for nearly two weeks now. I've wanted to tell her about my dad's cancer and what I felt and how I'm really not nearly as well on the inside as I look and say. It was all right there, about to be confessed, when she confessed to me that ever since she got sick and was distant from Julie and me she feels almost responsible for the really rough times we're having. At the moment the words dried up in my mouth. To rant to her then would only make matters worse and I know that Julie will be ranting to her on that end and that Melissa should only have to handle one friend's life falling apart at a time, right?
So I get home, have a brief conversation with my mom, and then, like the little emo kid I am, go to my room, watch television for an half an hour and then just break down and start crying. And me, when I cry for good reason, I cry for real. I'm talking the snot was arunnin' and my face all red and my eyes all swollen. I felt like screaming, but realized there was no point to it.
I have this rational side of me, this cold and cynical persona I developed strictly for me back when my brother and my parents fighting used to make me cry a lot. That rational persona has the habit of kicking in, telling me of how foolish I am, and that crying will solve nothing so it's useless. That's my back up to the jester defense, where I start making jokes at myself to force me to smile. I smile a lot when I cry, and it creeps even me out.
So I'm lying on the floor crying, cradling my cell, and knowing that out of my three best friends, one I won't talk to because it'll be too much her burden, the second I won't talk to because I've burdened her so much in the past and present that if I can keep any of my problems from seriously reaching her, I'll sure as hell try, and then the third one, who's my only hope.
And, as always, he's not there. He's never there when I want him or when I need him or just about any time in between. I call him about four times at half hour intervals. After each time I feel like an idiot for trying to run for him though I should know those doors are closed. He hasn't even called me since I told him about my dad having double cancer and admitted out loud for the first time I was scared. It's been about four days. Nor has he returned any of my four calls from last night.
Finally I forced myself to get the hell over it, stop being a sop, and get to BED. It was like midnight by then and I had school the next day. I slept with my favorite toy from when I was little though and I swear to you that I rested really well for once.
In the meanwhile, my class will be debating fairy tales and toys and their influence on children's lives this Tuesday. I can't wait. I was the only one is my small group discussing fairy tales who defended happy endings. I asked each and every one of them if they could go back in time and change what their parents said to them, would they? Only one person wasn't sure, the rest were more sympathetic. I love fairy tales. They create this safe little environment for kids where there are always happy endings despite hardships. Yes, we have all who've been told fairy tales or watched Disney had to face disillusionment. When we find out Santa isn't real and Pocohontas died of small pox, it hurts. But is it really all that much of a price for growing up believing that there was inherent good in the world? Not for me, at least. And I cried hard when Santa became myth.
I almost had a breakdown last night. Scratch that, I did have one. I was so close to telling Melissa what I've wanted to tell someone for nearly two weeks now. I've wanted to tell her about my dad's cancer and what I felt and how I'm really not nearly as well on the inside as I look and say. It was all right there, about to be confessed, when she confessed to me that ever since she got sick and was distant from Julie and me she feels almost responsible for the really rough times we're having. At the moment the words dried up in my mouth. To rant to her then would only make matters worse and I know that Julie will be ranting to her on that end and that Melissa should only have to handle one friend's life falling apart at a time, right?
So I get home, have a brief conversation with my mom, and then, like the little emo kid I am, go to my room, watch television for an half an hour and then just break down and start crying. And me, when I cry for good reason, I cry for real. I'm talking the snot was arunnin' and my face all red and my eyes all swollen. I felt like screaming, but realized there was no point to it.
I have this rational side of me, this cold and cynical persona I developed strictly for me back when my brother and my parents fighting used to make me cry a lot. That rational persona has the habit of kicking in, telling me of how foolish I am, and that crying will solve nothing so it's useless. That's my back up to the jester defense, where I start making jokes at myself to force me to smile. I smile a lot when I cry, and it creeps even me out.
So I'm lying on the floor crying, cradling my cell, and knowing that out of my three best friends, one I won't talk to because it'll be too much her burden, the second I won't talk to because I've burdened her so much in the past and present that if I can keep any of my problems from seriously reaching her, I'll sure as hell try, and then the third one, who's my only hope.
And, as always, he's not there. He's never there when I want him or when I need him or just about any time in between. I call him about four times at half hour intervals. After each time I feel like an idiot for trying to run for him though I should know those doors are closed. He hasn't even called me since I told him about my dad having double cancer and admitted out loud for the first time I was scared. It's been about four days. Nor has he returned any of my four calls from last night.
Finally I forced myself to get the hell over it, stop being a sop, and get to BED. It was like midnight by then and I had school the next day. I slept with my favorite toy from when I was little though and I swear to you that I rested really well for once.
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
I Always Loved 'Ira'
So, as the small print says, this is pretty much a journal for my daily stuff and the holding place for my brainchildren. I plan, someday, to make up a code, like an asterisk next to the title of a post with a short story and so on, but I doubt I'll really need a system. It's just out there in case I ever do. This is where I will be writing things or addings things I've already written, and I invite anyone and everyone to comment and critisize. Without much more 'splainin' stuff, here's a bit I've done...
This is the prologue of a story I'm thinking of, a good way to kick things off, I think. Before I start pining between the works, anyway. =D
People made a big fuss of being dead. Sarah didn’t. She’d been dead for six months and had the corpse to prove it. Of course, Sarah would have a hard time explaining why exactly her spirit still inhabited said corpse, but that was the way things were. She was dead but she wasn’t. She still ate. She still drank. She still breathed. Yet she could remember clearly being held at gunpoint. She could remember the bullet inches away from her eye. It was going to blow her brain out of her head, she had been so sure. But she’d awoken the next day, cold, covered in blood, but not dead. Nor was she decomposing, come to think of it. Only one thing had changed since than, one thing that marked the difference between her life before and her life after. Now she saw the other dead too.
Now, not all of them were so immaterial as people liked to think. Sarah saw plenty of pale dead luring victims and taking their life to sustain their wretched existence. She saw the shadowy wraiths that entered a room and sucked a little of the life and laughter from the room. But Sarah was none of these things. She was as human as she was before. She just had died was all. These dead things didn’t notice her either for the most part, spirits drifted onward, shadows dissipated, the pale frights eventually faded. She was alone. But not for long.
He was one of the pale frights Sarah thought of. Though he’d once been alive like her. They had all been, once, but it had been a long time ago for him. Sarah’s appearance had not been as lost on others as she may have thought. His master was nervous. He didn’t know where she stood. Ira’s master didn’t like ignorance. So it was that Ira was assigned the task of finding out just what was Sarah’s purpose.
Sarah looked up from her coffee to find a young man sitting across from her. He was one of the pale, and Sarah’s heartbeat quickened, she knew their horrors, even if she didn’t know them. Ira smiled, hearing her fright; she had some sense then. Or she was faking it, a possibility he couldn’t rule out.
“What are you?” Ira never could be said to mince words.
“I could ask the same of you,” she answered quickly, watching him intently.
Ira let a smile flicker across his countenance. “Fair enough. I am a vampire. You’ve seen us around. We’re dead. But so are you. And we don’t know exactly how that works. Dead, says our vampire senses, but alive says the rest of our senses. So which is it?”
“I was shot six months ago, but I can’t tell you what’s kept me going.” Sarah had no reason not to be honest. “I’m just as human as I was before, just not as ignorant.”
Ira leaned back, frowning; he hadn’t anticipated her not knowing. She wasn’t lying as far as he could tell, he could sense a note of fear in her voice. She was afraid of what she had become. Good, it would make her easier to control. Ira invited her back to the haunt of his particular people. Perhaps someone else could help her, someone would have to know something. Hell, they were some of the oldest folk around, someone had to have heard of what she was.
With Sarah’s agreement on Ira’s insurance she would be safe, the two left for the lair of the pale frights that killed in the back alleys at night and dined in the best houses the next evening.
Though Ira took Sarah to everyone he knew, and though Sarah complied with every question she was given, no one seemed to know the answer to the dilemma. Ira was at his wit’s end, he couldn’t believe it. For all the things his people had seen it seemed absurd that something like this could escape their notice. Perhaps Sarah was a first. The first of a new race to come. Considering that end, they would probably have to kill her. Ira didn’t want to admit it, but he had come to enjoy Sarah’s company. When they weren’t desperately searching for the answer to her riddle, the two of them talked about many things. Sarah was human but inhuman, the perfect companion to understand all of Ira’s thoughts and feelings. Slowly, he began to fall in love with her. As it was with slow love, it deepened over nights and days until he at last proclaimed that he didn’t care who or what she was, he would have her as his companion for eternity. Sarah was surprised, but very pleased, as she told him she had come to love him too.
It was shortly after this that a very old vampire stumbled into the lair. Most old vampires go mad and this was no exception, though he had his occasional moments of clarity and consciousness. Ira’s people, out of pity, agreed to put him up until he was completely mad and fit to end his immortal life.
But there was a problem. The old man soon started going into fits, screaming and crying and trying to kill whoever was at hand. In one instance it was Sarah, and Ira was forced to injure the man seriously to subdue him and lock him up.
That morning, as they lie awake in bed, Sarah in Ira’s arms, Sarah shifted close to Ira’s ear. She snuggled against him and slept. When Ira awoke the next morning, he knew in a terrible instant that every immortal life protected under this roof had been slain. He could smell their blood coating the walls and the floors, and he groped for Sarah even as he knew her weight wasn’t there. Panicked, he rushed out the door to find Sarah, covered in blood, cradling the corpse of one of the friends she had made while she had stayed here. She looked up at him, tears shining on her cheeks. Ira rushed to her, and took her in his arms. Again, she snuggled into him, racked with sobs, close to his ear.
“It never goes away,” she whispered.
“What? What doesn’t go away?” Ira asked, concerned.
“The hunger,” she replied, and Ira felt the fatal sinking of teeth into his neck. He didn’t know if he cried out or not as the woman he loved began to suck his life from him. But information flowed between the two and he understood in a terrible moment what Sarah was and had always been.
“I’m the next evolutionary step in the ladder,” Sarah spat, standing. Ira didn’t know when she had stopped drinking, but he couldn’t move, he felt light-headed. “It’s about time vampires had a predator all their own. It’s a shame really, you were so cute too.” Sarah reached down, stroking the side of Ira’s face. “You said you loved me no matter what I was. Look around you Ira. Look at my slaughter. Do you still love me with what I am?”
Sarah didn’t smile, neither did Ira. The world was growing dark, and Sarah once more stroked Ira’s face. “Do you still love me?” Her face swam before his vision, her mouth obscure through his smeared blood. And then Ira saw no more.
This is the prologue of a story I'm thinking of, a good way to kick things off, I think. Before I start pining between the works, anyway. =D
People made a big fuss of being dead. Sarah didn’t. She’d been dead for six months and had the corpse to prove it. Of course, Sarah would have a hard time explaining why exactly her spirit still inhabited said corpse, but that was the way things were. She was dead but she wasn’t. She still ate. She still drank. She still breathed. Yet she could remember clearly being held at gunpoint. She could remember the bullet inches away from her eye. It was going to blow her brain out of her head, she had been so sure. But she’d awoken the next day, cold, covered in blood, but not dead. Nor was she decomposing, come to think of it. Only one thing had changed since than, one thing that marked the difference between her life before and her life after. Now she saw the other dead too.
Now, not all of them were so immaterial as people liked to think. Sarah saw plenty of pale dead luring victims and taking their life to sustain their wretched existence. She saw the shadowy wraiths that entered a room and sucked a little of the life and laughter from the room. But Sarah was none of these things. She was as human as she was before. She just had died was all. These dead things didn’t notice her either for the most part, spirits drifted onward, shadows dissipated, the pale frights eventually faded. She was alone. But not for long.
He was one of the pale frights Sarah thought of. Though he’d once been alive like her. They had all been, once, but it had been a long time ago for him. Sarah’s appearance had not been as lost on others as she may have thought. His master was nervous. He didn’t know where she stood. Ira’s master didn’t like ignorance. So it was that Ira was assigned the task of finding out just what was Sarah’s purpose.
Sarah looked up from her coffee to find a young man sitting across from her. He was one of the pale, and Sarah’s heartbeat quickened, she knew their horrors, even if she didn’t know them. Ira smiled, hearing her fright; she had some sense then. Or she was faking it, a possibility he couldn’t rule out.
“What are you?” Ira never could be said to mince words.
“I could ask the same of you,” she answered quickly, watching him intently.
Ira let a smile flicker across his countenance. “Fair enough. I am a vampire. You’ve seen us around. We’re dead. But so are you. And we don’t know exactly how that works. Dead, says our vampire senses, but alive says the rest of our senses. So which is it?”
“I was shot six months ago, but I can’t tell you what’s kept me going.” Sarah had no reason not to be honest. “I’m just as human as I was before, just not as ignorant.”
Ira leaned back, frowning; he hadn’t anticipated her not knowing. She wasn’t lying as far as he could tell, he could sense a note of fear in her voice. She was afraid of what she had become. Good, it would make her easier to control. Ira invited her back to the haunt of his particular people. Perhaps someone else could help her, someone would have to know something. Hell, they were some of the oldest folk around, someone had to have heard of what she was.
With Sarah’s agreement on Ira’s insurance she would be safe, the two left for the lair of the pale frights that killed in the back alleys at night and dined in the best houses the next evening.
Though Ira took Sarah to everyone he knew, and though Sarah complied with every question she was given, no one seemed to know the answer to the dilemma. Ira was at his wit’s end, he couldn’t believe it. For all the things his people had seen it seemed absurd that something like this could escape their notice. Perhaps Sarah was a first. The first of a new race to come. Considering that end, they would probably have to kill her. Ira didn’t want to admit it, but he had come to enjoy Sarah’s company. When they weren’t desperately searching for the answer to her riddle, the two of them talked about many things. Sarah was human but inhuman, the perfect companion to understand all of Ira’s thoughts and feelings. Slowly, he began to fall in love with her. As it was with slow love, it deepened over nights and days until he at last proclaimed that he didn’t care who or what she was, he would have her as his companion for eternity. Sarah was surprised, but very pleased, as she told him she had come to love him too.
It was shortly after this that a very old vampire stumbled into the lair. Most old vampires go mad and this was no exception, though he had his occasional moments of clarity and consciousness. Ira’s people, out of pity, agreed to put him up until he was completely mad and fit to end his immortal life.
But there was a problem. The old man soon started going into fits, screaming and crying and trying to kill whoever was at hand. In one instance it was Sarah, and Ira was forced to injure the man seriously to subdue him and lock him up.
That morning, as they lie awake in bed, Sarah in Ira’s arms, Sarah shifted close to Ira’s ear. She snuggled against him and slept. When Ira awoke the next morning, he knew in a terrible instant that every immortal life protected under this roof had been slain. He could smell their blood coating the walls and the floors, and he groped for Sarah even as he knew her weight wasn’t there. Panicked, he rushed out the door to find Sarah, covered in blood, cradling the corpse of one of the friends she had made while she had stayed here. She looked up at him, tears shining on her cheeks. Ira rushed to her, and took her in his arms. Again, she snuggled into him, racked with sobs, close to his ear.
“It never goes away,” she whispered.
“What? What doesn’t go away?” Ira asked, concerned.
“The hunger,” she replied, and Ira felt the fatal sinking of teeth into his neck. He didn’t know if he cried out or not as the woman he loved began to suck his life from him. But information flowed between the two and he understood in a terrible moment what Sarah was and had always been.
“I’m the next evolutionary step in the ladder,” Sarah spat, standing. Ira didn’t know when she had stopped drinking, but he couldn’t move, he felt light-headed. “It’s about time vampires had a predator all their own. It’s a shame really, you were so cute too.” Sarah reached down, stroking the side of Ira’s face. “You said you loved me no matter what I was. Look around you Ira. Look at my slaughter. Do you still love me with what I am?”
Sarah didn’t smile, neither did Ira. The world was growing dark, and Sarah once more stroked Ira’s face. “Do you still love me?” Her face swam before his vision, her mouth obscure through his smeared blood. And then Ira saw no more.
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