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Aug. 26th, 2009

Just a little something....

The Logic of a Broken Shoelace

It seems to me that a shoelace is, in itself, just a particularly thick string that whether frayed or weathered, ripped or singed, will all but fail to perform its intended function. In my first year of grade school, I met a girl who wore the same white skechers as mine on her feet, yet a slightly different disposition in her mind, but that in no way kept us from being best friends for 4 years. Her skechers usually lay neat and tidy under white or flowery skirts, while I wore mine untied, unkempt, under a shaggy umbrella of jeans, until Grade 2, the year that the reason for my constant blunders became apparent and so came the decision to tie my shoes and live up to my name. This was most likely the same year I broke my shoelace. I don’t know if she noticed the state of them, but all I can really remember is the constant attention they required despite games of dodge ball, tag, and hide-and-go seek with my best friend. Then I remember the beginning of a week became the beginning of her absence. I remember listening to a Britney Spears song and I remember the Wednesday of notification. She’d been in the car when it happened. Bumped a little too hard from behind by a driver with a beer bottle and little regard to the human condition. I remember the composure and the eventual disbelief. I remember the tears that gave way to regret and I remember a fearful acceptance. And now, as years and years have gone by, I look back and I really wish I’d tied my shoelaces a little tighter. That way, I might have remembered her smile.

For Christine

Jul. 16th, 2009


Hi hi hi there! i would like to say ive just read A Clockwork Orange and it is officially my favorite book! if you havent read it i really press that you must! On a different note, this is the story i wrote to enter into the annual F. Scott Fitzgerald Short story contest. Im not sure what i think of it so im interested to know what you do think of it. And keep checking, o my brothers, becasue i have some good stuff to post soon! So sayonara, enjoy, and i will viddy you all later :)

Something in the Food By GEB

Timmy Braden (He was only Timothy when his grades were poor or his chores undone), was a small boy who, being the street sweeper in a very large family, was easily content to be by himself. Sunday afternoon, Timmy would often read in a poorly lit corner of his living room, secure in a tattered sky blue and pink armchair that contrasted the living room drapes, disturbingly enough, to his mother. Timmy’s mother, portly woman that she was, always filled out a sleeveless, all-cotton summer dress, no matter what the occasion. On these warm Sunday afternoons, she bustled back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room; swiftly gliding through the living room in white, almost visibly worn, 4-inch wedge sandals (she feared her heels might scuff the floors). They didn’t acknowledge each other as she passed by. After all, she was busy and he was preoccupied. Tempus, the housecat, trailed behind her expectantly until she disappeared into the kitchen, the poor cat eventually grasping the weak possibility of any affection coming its way. Ultimately, the cat’s eyes seeked out Timmy, to placate its hunger for a friendly hand, as it climbed into his lap. Its back automatically convulsed as if it were ingrained the precise place where Timmy’s hand should meet the cat’s fur. After ages of fur-stroking, Tempus finally settled in Timmy’s lap like a warm ball of dough where it stayed as Timmy continued to read. For the next few peaceful moments, Tempus napped tranquil and still lay oblivious as the kitchen door was hurled open accompanied by a shrill scream and Mrs. Braden, hopping through the doorway, each step a hurdle. Only until Timmy’s reflexes were initiated and he leapt from the chair did Tempus spring off of Timmy’s lap, onto the floor and into the shellshock of the moment.
“Oooh! Oooh! Mice! Ughhh!” she squealed, clutching her faux pearl necklace with one hand, her other hand flailing wildly as she tensed her upper body over and over in disgust. “Timmy,” she said, breathing deeply through her mouth, “Tim, honey, the Hendersons will be here in two hours”. She rested her right hand on Timmy’s shoulder, ruffling his hair in an affectionate-sort-of-way, with her left hand, and then letting it fall to his other shoulder. “And I need you to kill that…thing in the kitchen so I can finish cooking. Can you do that for me honey?” A clattering sound in the kitchen startled her as she jumped up and made for the stairs. Before disappearing behind the stairwell, she reminded Timmy not to leave the body in the kitchen when he was finished.
In the living room, all that remained was a frazzled and cranky cat, a kitchen door shut in haste, and Timmy, stranded with a most unlikely, not to mention, unattractive, responsibility.
Timmy pushed open the kitchen door with extreme care so as not to make a sound. As he scanned the room, a tiny rapid motion caught his peripheral and moving closer, he saw a small gray mouse on the kitchen counter, nibbling on a crumb. Its tail was three pale pink inches long, its fur the color of a storm ridden sky. The little ears moved slightly as the mouse gobbled its prize. Timmy couldn’t see its face, for the mouse was faced the opposite way, so he snuck his way closer to the oblivious mouse, and discreetly curling his hand around the handle of the nearest broom. He kept his eyes pinned on the mouse’s back where he would strike. As he advanced, Timmy heard a small ‘meowww’, and turned around to find Tempus squeezing through the kitchen door behind him. As soon as the door closed behind Tempus, the cat leaped up onto the counter, snipping at the mouse with its teeth, making the mouse spring up unexpectedly and scurry along the counter, closely followed by Tempus and a trail of small red specks on the counter, making it evident that Tempus had almost gotten the best of the little mouse. The mouse made his escape by jumping off of the counter and onto the floor underneath the kitchen table. Tempus reached the edge of the kitchen counter and looked over the edge, eager to make his jump and catch his prey, but the floor was too far down. Pacing reluctantly along the counter, Tempus eyed the mouse on the floor, scheming how to complete his mission, when he slipped into the sink and into Mrs. Braden’s soaking vegetables. Water splashed all over the counter as Timmy sighed heavily lifting the thrashing cat out of the water and putting him down outside of the kitchen, not wanting to deal with two trouble causing vermin. Reentering the kitchen, Timmy knelt down, peeping underneath the table. The mouse was squeaking incessantly, and Timmy noticed that the mouse’s leg was bloody and the poor thing was clearly unable to move. So Timmy reached out his hand towards the mouse only to be met by the mouse with a small attempt at biting the end of Timmy’s finger. His hand quickly retreating, Timmy crawled to the other side of the table and this time grabbed the mouse’s tail quickly and stood up, holding it an arm’s length away. He noticed small crumbs stuck to the mouse’s whiskers and he smiled to himself about this, almost giggling. He heard fingernails drumming on the doorframe behind him and turning his head, his own eyes met his mother’s, who raised one recently plucked raw eyebrow and simply said, “Finish it up.”
Not that he was extremely fond of mice, but instead not so fond of ending the poor things life for the sake of pork chops and boiled vegetables. As soon as his mother disappeared to set the table, Timmy dropped the mouse in his mothers money jar for safekeeping. Once everyone had retired to their rooms for the night, he would remove the mouse and set it loose outside and nobody would be any the wiser. His mother wouldn’t have any reason to dip into the money jar between then and after dinner as far as Timmy could see, so it was a perfect plan. As Timmy exited the kitchen, Mrs. Braden finished her cooking and was wise enough to close the door in the kitchen that lead to the Braden’s backyard.
About fifteen minutes later, the Hendersons did in fact arrive at the Braden household equipped with empty stomachs and neighborhood gossip for all. A little earlier than that came the rest of Timmy’s family, including his father, home from a day’s work, his three older sisters, only sisters in blood, and his three older brothers, who all were the quintessential sons and could always play up their charisma anytime they felt. Before dinner, they all munched on small crackers with bits of cheese on them as they made polite conversation that would hopefully lead to intense discussion among the men or chitchat, jam-packed with anecdotes, among the ladies. During the small talk that transpired in the living room, Mrs. Braden emerged from the kitchen, greeting everyone once or twice on her way to the chair where Timmy had quietly set himself. She leaned forward and whispered that there was not enough pork chops for everyone to have one to themselves. Timmy was admittedly confused as to why she was telling him this, but then she began to design her real motive. She asked if Timmy wouldn’t mind having spaghetti instead of a pork chop like the rest of the people that would be joining them at dinner. Timmy didn’t mind at all and he told her so, leaving her with a seemingly resolved look on her face. Before turning away to put food on the dining room table, she told Timmy she would place the bowl full of spaghetti on the table for him under the guise that he had chosen to banish his hunger with the noodles rather than a pork chop. He smiled, safe in the knowledge that although he was the one who had all but benefitted from her poor counting, he was a little more in her eyes than an exterminator.
Without a bit of hassle or chaos, both families, consisting of fourteen people altogether, seated themselves at the dinner table. They all helped their plates to the arrangement of food on the table, hands and arms becoming entwined in a blur of bowls and silverware lifting food onto plates. As expected, the conversation turned from inquiries involving school and work to more devastating, yet admittedly entertaining, topics of conversation. Timmy was only faintly listening to the intense banter until he caught a snippet of the lighthearted exchange of words occurring between his mother and Mr. Henderson.
“Well, that was a long time ago. You should have let me pay you back,” she playfully chided, then thoughtfully added, “As a matter of fact….”, she rose from her seat and headed towards the kitchen, calling back to Mr. Henderson asking him to remind her how much it was he had let her borrow, despite his polite objections. Timmy’s body tensed slightly as he prepared for his mother to meet the money jar with quite a shock, or worse, for her to reach inside the jar to find more than just bills. He didn’t face the kitchen in fear that she would scream and once again run from the room, but to the surprise of Timmy’s nerves, there was no scream at all. She simply came from the kitchen back into the dining room, waving a 5 dollar bill. There was nothing but smiles all around except for Timmy, who ate thoughtfully, wondering what had happened to the mouse. Maybe she simply hadn’t noticed it. Or the mouse had escaped from the jar. There were so many possibilities, Timmy began to convince himself that whatever the reality, he needn’t worry himself about it, for his mother was unbothered and that was the goal. Finally content, Timmy felt a warm sensation at the bottom of his leg, and looking down; saw Tempus rubbing up against him. Then, as Tempus slipped away, Timmy noticed a piece of pink spaghetti hanging out of its mouth, and couldn’t help but wonder how he’d managed to swipe it.

Jun. 7th, 2009

vignettes 2

so i created another set of vignettes. these arent amazing. i actually dreamt the idea then followed through with it. ive just written it and read it over so its not perfect but it is finished which is kind of a first for me. i may change them up a bit but for now....enjoy!

I remembered her, but I didn’t think that she remembered me. My friend Samantha had tried to hook us up a few weeks earlier, but I never followed through because I wasn’t interested. Seeing her in the grocery store made me wonder, how had I missed those beautiful brown eyes? Her lips were full and rosy, her hair long and dark. Somehow she looked better in the toilet paper aisle than in English class. I watched her reach for the Charmin and realized how beautiful she actually was. Chris nudged me in the side. “Go talk to her”. I began to turn a little red at the thought of confronting her. “Dude, no. I’m not going over there.”
“Come on. I saw you looking, just get it over with.”
“What are you talking about, you don’t even like her.”
“Dude, obviously you do. Get over there.”
“No. I already blew it once.”
“Maybe she doesn’t remember.”
I sighed and walked slowly towards her. Maybe if she didn’t look up I could walk right past her like I didn’t intend to talk to her. She looked up at me with a confused expression as I walked up to her. I managed to choke out a ‘hey’, hoping to God that I wouldn’t be embarrassed. She replied with a tentative ‘hi’. She didn’t remember me. Before I had a chance to introduce myself, she began to speak again.
“Hey, you look familiar. You go to my school don’t you?”
“Yeah, we’re in the same English class,” I said with a chuckle.
“Oh right”, she smiled. Just when I thought she couldn’t get anymore beautiful. “I’m Alex”, I said. She held out her hand, “Lela”, she said, still smiling at me. I couldn’t believe I’d gotten this far. Suddenly, Chris came up beside me. “Lela”, he said. Her smile faded into an indifferent stare. “Hello, Chris”. I decided to interject before Chris could manage to ruin everything for me. “Um, so Chris and I are going to get some ice cream. Would you like to join us?” She looked up at me and smiled bigly, agreeing to join us. The three of us walked past the register and out the grocery store. Lela was on my right while Chris was on my left, a few feet behind us. Everything was going amazingly until we got to the edge of the sidewalk to cross the street.

John the bagger
I knew something was up the minute I saw them talking to each other. Three teenagers unsupervised is never a good thing. Then they left together! A girl that looks like that interested in two boys like that? I don’t think so. I’ve seen a lot of things while bagging groceries and this store and if you still aren’t on my side, listen to this. They spent more than ten minutes in that toilet paper aisle, and didn’t buy anything! Not one thing! Not even gum! Kids love gum! That poor girl. She obviously didn’t know what she was getting herself into. Those two boys were up to something, no doubt about it. That girl was beautiful and had no business with those hooligans. That’s the only reason why I noticed. She was pretty. And when I saw the three of them standing at the street corner, I knew only bad could come of it. They stood there, the girl next to the one with the dark hair and the blonde one a few steps behind. She was smiling and they were laughing as the cars went by, waiting for a chance to cross. And then all of a sudden, just as a white hummer sped its way down the street, the dark haired boy took one step forward, grabbed her arm and pushed her right into the street! I couldn’t believe what I had just seen! I ran out the door of the store and saw that the driver didn’t have time to stop. The sounds of her body being crushed by the van were monstrous. I realized I’d forgotten how to breathe. My head felt light. Then, everything went black.
I actually don’t remember why I was in the grocery store. To be honest, I was seriously deprived of sleep. Id left the house a few hours earlier to get some fresh air and decided to walk down to the grocery store to see if they had any energy drinks that would keep me awake. The only reason I had trouble sleeping was I couldn’t stop thinking. Not necessarily about anything in particular, I just have constant thoughts running through my head. That’s how I justify my being an insomniac. So, I wandered around the store, partly delusional, partly waiting for something interesting to happen, when this kid from my school walked up to me. He was kind of cute but mainly he was a sweetheart. I could tell he was nervous around me, but it was charming in a way. Plus, just the fact that he had the audacity to say anything to me when he probably knew his friend hated me is fairly reputable. So we talked, and he was sweet. He asked me if I wanted to join him and his friend for ice cream, and since I was bored, I figured id put on my flirty face and go along with it. When we walked outside, the sun burned my sleep bereft eyeballs as we walked down the sidewalk. We stopped to cross the street when Alex said something about the sun being beautiful. I smiled and he told me I had a beautiful smile, which made me beam even more. He started to laugh and compliment me more as I looked toward the sun, blushing. I began to notice that he was very right. The sun was beautiful. I took a step toward it, not realizing I was stepping off the curb. Alex suddenly leaned forward to catch me and grabbed my arm. But, he lost his balance and fell with me. Then he let go of my arm and used his hand to catch himself, but I continued to fall. I let out a scream and heard a collective gasp I went down.

Jun. 6th, 2009

story that will hopefully turn out well

i have a habit of not finishing stories... this particular one i intended to use for the f scott fitzgerald short story contest, but i dont have an ending or a middle, for that matter. um any ideas for development are , of course, welcome. and i hope you enjoy it. there is a little quirk in the point of veiw that its written from, but i dont want to give it away. hopefully you get it when you read it.

He thought of it often. Did he regret not finishing high school? Sure. But being a 35 year old janitor isn’t the worst thing that can happen to you. Plus, he got the chance to work in a beautiful church where all his work was appreciated. The hours weren’t great but would he be doing if he did have any free time? This particular night though, this Friday night, he would be in for a surprise, as were the other inhabitants of the church who would have fared better had they spent their night at the movies.

“How long will your meeting last tonight”
It would take two hours, tops.
He would lock all the doors and windows for the night except the front door, so they could leave of course. But until then, anyone could get in.
So Mr. Janitor went about his business as they carried on their meeting.

The church had a main room that included the pews, the podium and various statues of St. Mary. The carpet was blood red. A pretty color but how dreadful if it got stained. There were 8 rows of pews and 5 columns going around the room. Behind the last set of pews in each column there was a curtain that led to a hallway that ran along the back of the entire room. There was a slight draft that placated the unbearable and stagnant heat that filled the air. No one pondered where the cool air originated from because the result of a broken air conditioner removed any curiosity that would have surfaced under normal circumstances.

Eager to finish his duties for the night, the janitor emptied as many as three trash cans into the garbage at a time. It was quite ignorant of him not to notice the beautiful paintings that adorned the hallway he frequented back and forth while doing his job. But then, hast inspires oblivity. And then he saw it. The painting of St. Mary was sideways. Her eyes looked up at him curiously. He knew for sure he hadn’t touched the painting. So who did? He stood completely still as if one twitch would warp him back into reality. He began to mentally retrace his steps, wondering if he he’d bumped into the painting. But he would have felt it. All he could recall was the repetitive going up the hallway, dumping the trash, down the hallway, dumping the trash. He hadn’t touched it. Then he realized. It was a joke. It must be a joke. There were probably some kids bored and jaded with their privileged lives so they came into the church to misappropriate public property. He swiveled around, ready to scold any wrongdoers.
“Who’s out there?’
“Hey! Answer me! I know you’re there! This is a church, you know! Not a place for your foolish shenanigans!”
More silence. He figured they’d gotten the message and left. Crazy kids. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew. He was completely alone in that hallway. There weren’t any kids. There never were.

“Since when are church funds to be used on bouncy castles? Poor young children dream of home and warmth and food and family! Not a moon bounce…“ Jonathon leaned against St. Mary’s plaster robes as he listened to the fat woman drawl on and on. The only reason he came to these meetings was to, with his own logic; dissolve the inevitable arguments that arose among various members of the committee every few minutes. And as the priest’s son, he felt an authority to keep an eye on things. He began to doze off, putting more pressure on the statue as he leaned further back. Jonathon was unaware that he was causing the statue to gradually tip over until he was shaken awake and began to lose his balance. He was completely awake and alert when he heard the sudden shrill chattering of young Amanda.
“I can’t find my hamster! He’s gone!”
“What?!?!?” her mother screamed, “I told you not to bring that thing!!!” Daniel sighed. He was started to get irritated and just wanted to go home. He wandered away from the rest of the group and found himself walking aimlessly down one of the side hallways where he was finally all alone. As soon as he was secure in his solace, he heard a crashing noise. The lights began to flicker incessantly as the sound of footsteps began to crowd Jonathon’s eardrums, getting louder and louder. He began to walk nervously, hoping the sound of his own shoes would drown out the other noises. Just as his heart was ready to erupt from his chest, he found himself face to face with the janitor.
“Are you turning the paintings?”
“You heard.”
Recovered from the shellshock, Jonathon felt ashamed having reacted in such a stupid manner to the sounds of a man who dumps the trash. Looking down, he replied, “Look, sir, I honestly don’t-“At the same instant, they both noticed how the light cast a strange red shadow on the tile floor. Except it wasn’t a red shadow, but a thick red line smeared like a meridian strip down the middle of the entire hallway. Their eyes followed the trail till they were looking at the skewed painting.

Mar. 21st, 2009


Jim sat up in the car, adjusting the seat back to the upright position. He looked around outside through the windshield. He heard another crash and saw a cat leaping from a metal garbage can. Jim glanced at the clock. 11:45. He had another 15 minutes on duty. The moonlight soothed him and he wondered if he could get in another 10 minutes of his nap. Nothing was happening anyway. Jim had been a police officer only for a little more than a month, and after finally overcoming the constant anxiety of putting his life in danger daily, he was switched to a night shift. Being on patrol at night made him feel nervous once again and he learned to placate his anxiety by listening to jazz on the radio as he sat alone in the car at night. Unfortunately, he frequently fell asleep on the job due to his setting being like a narcotic. But, it was a way to pass the time as well as
quelling any anticipation of something actually happening. As soon as his lids began to grow heavy again, Jim heard a crackly voice on the police radio. There was a potential shooting at Galleria mall. A streak of panic shot through him. He was 3 minutes from the mall and the closest officer on duty. Could he be the hero? He’d never even stopped a robber before, how could he even dream of going up against a man with a gun and intent to shoot? He reached for his own gun, and the cold steel reminded him of all his training. He tentatively grabbed the walkie talkie and replied that he would confront the situation as he stepped on the gas.
The automatic doors could not part fast enough as Jim flew into the mall, his boots skidding on the floor. He heard a scream coming from a small shop that sold fried foods and followed the gaze of a frightened teenage girl to the food court. There were two young men, one of which held a revolver at arms length pointing it awkwardly at the other boy as if he were in a rap video. He yelled obscenities at the sobbing boy that had no weapon and laughed hysterically between threats. The taller one appeared more menacing by far as the extra-long sleeves of his blood-red plaid jacket slid down and covered the butt of the gun he pointed at the other young man, who looked only about 17, in shorts and a red summer camp t-shirt that had STAFF printed on the back in white letters.
“I’m gonna kill you!!!”
“Just do it!!!”
The boy in the plaid cocked his gun. Jim himself had his gun at the ready, still running toward the food court, trying to get in a few words over the boys shouting. The young man fired the gun and before a body had a chance to drop; Jim aimed at the shooter and pulled the trigger….

There was blood everywhere. I couldn’t stop my nose from bleeding! And I had to be at work in 10 minutes. That was my afternoon. After failing two tests at school, falling down the stairs, and getting the worst paper cut of my life, my day went from bad to worse. I arrived at work 10 minutes late at 5:10, and after a speech from my boss, was watched over like a hawk while I worked until my break, which couldn’t have come soon enough. But, after my break, I was informed that I would be working late and I would have to close up the store that night at 30 minutes after midnight. At about 9 o clock, I began to get drowsy from frying and battering corn dogs all evening. Around 10 o clock was when all the kids from Galleria middle and high school came to Galleria mall to fool around and avoid doing their homework. One reason I hated working late was exactly that: having to deal with other teenagers, mostly guys, who wanted someone to mess with. Tonight, though, was a fairly quiets night and I felt my luck was beginning to turn. The only other people I could see in the mall were a few groups of people across the way in the food court and even those people began to thin out after a while, until the only thing I had left that was even close to company were two boys in the food court talking excitedly to one another. Although they were all the way across the mall, it was comforting to see them there, just because then I knew I wasn’t entirely alone. Somehow it made me feel a little better. I continued to scrub the fryer so that I would be ready to leave right at 12:30. I began to hear loud talking and when I looked up, the two boys in the food court were yelling and the taller one was beating the other one violently with a black object. When he backed up and pointed the object at the boy, I saw that he held a gun! The unarmed one shielded his face with his hands and began to weep. I was horrified and knelt below the counter, frozen with fear and incapable of any rational thoughts. Somehow I found the sense to rip my phone from my back pocket and call 911. After placing the call I sat hyperventilating under the counter, covering my ears so as not to hear the obscene noises of the violence that went on in the food court. Through my hands, I heard running and looked up over the counter. I heard a gunshot and inadvertently let loose a scream that surprised even me. I immediately covered my mouth and then I saw a police officer running toward the boy with the gun. Then there was another gunshot.

Tim and Andy
“Shut up.”
“No, you shut up.”
“Dude….Bound to the Floor is a great movie-“
“Yeah, ok, but the best scene is when the guy gets shot in the head and there’s blood everywh-“
“No, no! It’s the one when the dude is like, beating the other guy with the knife and then he holds him at gunpoint and the one dude is cryin’ and stuff, haha.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
That was a typical conversation for Tim and Andy, two boys who had jus recently graduated from high school with nothing better to do than watch trashy action movies with nothing but blood and gore. They wandered around the small town of Galleria, they talked about their favorite movie, Bound to the Floor, which they both loved but frequently argued on which scene was the best. As they wandered down the street, they ended up going to Galleria mall around 10 at night. It was a Tuesday night so not many people were there except those that either worked there, or had nothing better to do, like Tim and Andy. They sat at the food court and argued for a while over what the best scene in the move was. Tim was a few inches taller than Andy and wore an oversized plaid sweater. Andy was the smaller one, wearing a red t-shirt and khaki shorts even though it was the very end of fall. He was known for being a bit dramatic and eventually agreed to say that Tim was right about which scene was the best and that he would continue to agree with him if they could act out the scene. They did this sort of thing often, but at first Tim was apprehensive about performing in the middle of the mall. After he was convinced nobody was in the mall but them, they slipped in and out of the toy store after purchasing a very real looking toy revolver that even made a loud bang sound when you pulled the trigger. Later they retreated back to the food court, remote from many of the stores in the mall. After taking a glance around to confirm nobody was there, Tim put his foot on one of the chairs and pointed the gun at Andy, then began quoting the movie.
“No, no, dummy,” Andy interjected, “First, he yells, ‘You’re nothing to me!’, and then he BEATS him with the butt of the gun.”
“Ok, ok dude haha, let’s start over.”
Tim started to pretend to beat Andy with the gun as Andy cowered and laughed, breaking character a little. Then, he put on a sad face and used his acting abilities to force a stream of tears as Tim shoved the gun in his face and “threatened” to shoot. They reenacted the scene from the movie, yelling and getting more and more carried away until Tim was standing on the table and pulled the trigger of the toy gun, emitting a dramatically loud BANG. He heard a high-pitched scream and looked over to see a combat-booted police officer sprinting right toward him.

Dec. 30th, 2008

i gave up on the last one so im tryin romance....

i wrote this rly fast haha cuz i got an idea so i had to right it as fast as possible. just note that yes i am writing as a dude. and also i know it needs revision and a middle lol and an end but wth its my attempt at humor

I was walking down the hall towards the bathroom when i heard a faint melody coming from inside the bathroom. I slowed my pace when the door opened and Molly came out, eyes closed, head tilted upward, with a toothbrush in one hand, tapping a rythym onto her other hand. "...i thought i was a fool for no one! but ooh baby, im a fool for youuuu-" She stopped when she saw me and stood there, shocked, until her mouth formed into a broad smile, after recovering from the shellshock.
She rolled her eyes, still smiling, "You caught me singing"
i laughed, "Dont worry about it, youre good"
I could tell she was nervous about us spending our first night together. Me and molly had been dating for two months of our freshman year in college so i brought her home for christmas. She wasnt nervous at all by nature. She had just turned 18 a few months ago but she still acted about 10 years old. Right before thanksgiving, i bought her a plant. She loved it, and was so happy that she ran to her dorm room to plant it on the windowsill ans she was so excited that she slipped and almost fell. I laughed till i almost cried and the best part is, she laughed too. She always seems to have enough energy for the both of us and shes jus basically insane. I love her so much and im always trying to find new ways to show her. We arent a very publicly romantic couple. Some of the best times weve had together werent characterized by how much we made out. And anyway, she would never kiss me full on in public. She swears its tacky. Except for one time when Joe Frankl doubted our relationship. He was the only guy on campus that had dated the whole cheerleading team. At the same time. He had gotten very druck and slobbered over to me and molly, inquiring about what was in her skirt. I got mad because he then continued to say i wouldnt know would i? well, that was none of his business bcuz she's my gf. Is she now? Yeah she is. Well then, what color is her underwear right now, huh? ......... You dont know?Psh. i doubt youve even kissed her, fuckin prude. This is when molly jumped into my arms and kissed me right then and there in front of everyone for what seemed like 10 full minutes. When she stopped, i was shocked and by the look on her face, she was too! Everyone started cheering and yelling but after their attention spans had run out they were back to drinking and dancing.

any ideas ppl...?

Dec. 23rd, 2008

freewrite poem

this poem has a rly bad form and all. i dont know if you could even call it a poem haha but i think its enjoyable for reading so i hope you like it.

The first time i woke up, i had freedom.
Somewhere along the way, i grew up a little.
I learned a little,
and i have to be responsible.
I also had fun.
I also had sadness.
With wisdom came loneliness.

Now, I'm an anxious puppy
waiting for my cage to be unhatched.
My cage of responsibilites
is a prison.
A prison of expectancies

Outside the cage lies true beauty
and not a fabrication meant to placate the urges of a young dog into planned adulthood.

Dec. 13th, 2008

i dont know where this is going so suggestions please

my new story but only a beginning b/c i dont know where to go with it.

The baby pink polish on her nails was faded. She painted over the faded bits with a bright metallic pink in hopes of brightening her mood. but, colored cosmetics did nothing to alleviate her pain. She was emotionally sickened by the impermanence of the polish. It seemed the lighter the color, the less time it lasted, which coincided with her frame of mind. her more blithesome times seemed to keep her happy but dwelling on them only lessened her ability to keep them as memories. Her ability to overimagine fates that didnt exist engulfed her sanity at times.

newspaper articles(ch-ch-check it out)

alrighty this next thing is some articles i wrote for a newspaper in my tech class(which i very much dislike) so i went all out with the articles and im quite proud of them so here they are(the date i used btw was may 23, 2009)

Fall Back, Spring Fashion Forward! by GEB
With winter gone and out of the way, people are starting to ponder, "What new, revealing spring apparel will replace the poofy coats and fluffly lines snow boots this season?" When asked, most teenage girls replied along the lines of, "whatever is the most revealing without revealing too much, you know?", and few said with a giggle, "whatver my boyfriend likes..." But amdist ambiguous teenage twaddle is the desire among girls under the age of 20 for the latest in spring attire. What they call the "boy-friendly bikini" is reallly a pink and white polka dotted two-piece. A classic bathing suit that doesn't leave much to the imagination. It makes those of us that are too old to even consider exposing an inch of midriff wonder, "what will the come up with next?"

Music Scene by GEB
Have you ever thought to yourself, "Every artist out there sounds the same?" Have you ever felt like you were trapped inside a radio station that plays the same melody over and over and over? Apple Records has the sound that you've been waiting for. In the form of two guitarist and a female vocalists comes the sound of The Band, whose debut album comes out on June 30th. Their CD provides the listener with a mix of reggae, rock and rap all in one. Whoever said it couldn't be done was dead wrong and The Band proved it!Expected to be one of the most popular breakthrough albums of 2009, Mixed Colors by The Band will aim to please listeners of all ages. The revolutionary sound has already been released in the East and has been hailed by many Eastern papers as an amazing sound that could match the timelessness of The Beatles. The Blue Robin Newspaper described Mixed Colors as, "...amazing...something that came out of the blue...you can expect this album to do exceedingly well amongst all age groups."

They're Escaping! by GEB
It's that time of the year again when chemistry books are put onto shelves, not meant to be used until September. Imagine children bursting from the school doors in a rush to get to their neighborhood pools and do anything but homework. This is the reocurring dream for all students around this time of the year. To be free from the confines of periods 1-7. but how long does this "freedom" last? Most schools break lasts a little more than two months, but many students beg the question,"is that really enough?" This question becomes increasingly apparent on August 26th, the day before the first day back to school. Does the two months of solid "no work" really, in the end, feel like a break? Some teachers are obligated to give packets of work over the summer to insure that important lessons are not forgotten during the break, which of course, are deeply loathed by students who feel like they work so hard over the school year, that summer work barely constitutes a break. When taking a look at students who attend year-round schools, studies show that theyre more satisfied with the time that they have to and dont have to spend in school. In the end, public school students will have to deal because summer break isnt getting any longer, anytime soon.

commments are sooo very welcome!!!

it's difficult to type with gloves on

i realise i havent posted anything in many moons so heres a quick update on things ive written since then.

ok this is a poem i wrote only about a few weeks ago when i was upset about something but the backround to this poem isnt really important b/c i tried to detatch myself from it as much as possible to give it a more general feeling. when i write, especially poems, i try not to write about love or being depressed becasue its so difficult not to be cliche so u only end up with millions of platitudes that mean nothing to your audience. sooooooo, this poem is about misfortune but i tried to displace the unhappiness.

A love,
not lost,
but simply misplaced.
the potential kiss
left unperformed
sneakened glances give way to the intentional looks that gave way to the inviting stares.
All of which seemed to say;" This is my way of luring you in, to entice your presence into my life, so step across this implied yet unreal threshold into my arms"
A satisfactory beginning
but sudden misfortune misplaced this love
that had always been assumed by fate.

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