Announcements, Short Stories

Graduation

Ah, the week has finally come. I have worked twelve long years to reach this week. Graduation! How sweet the word sounds when I say it, except for when I think about the ceremony I have to attend to get it over with. My graduating class is made up of about 420 other nervous, motivationless teenagers like myself. I think the part I dread most about the whole thing is that, because my last name starts with a “V”, I have to sit in a chair, my heart racing for eternity, while I wait to be called. I know I’m getting a medal at graduation. Will I trip on the stage? Will I look a complete dork when I walk across it? Will I be able to stand my principal long enough to let him hand me my diploma? Will I cry? I can see all of the worst-scenario events happening.

Granted, I’m probably making way too big a deal out of this, but it is probably the biggest event I’ve ever been a part of, and I want it to go quickly and according to plan, whatever the plan may be. Also, my school colors are purple and yellow, and my gown is a giant purple blob. It is not a dull purple either: more like a neon purple, if there is such a thing. I feel like a giant eggplant going to sing in a choir when I wear it, minus the green and the choir book. Oh well, no one said I had to look pretty. Who came up with the acceptable graduation attire anyway? You’ve got to admit, graduation caps look pretty silly if you think about it. Who just decided that wearing a giant, cardboard square on the top of your head was attractive, or that it marked scholarly achievement? I just don’t understand it.

Well, I imagine I’ll be able to tell you all about how it went in a couple of days, if you’re interested, so stay tuned. There’s sure to be wonderful tails of embarrassment coming! :p

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Short Stories

Children

Children are certainly one of life’s most interesting wonders. They are all very different, but somehow manage to also be very much alike.

For example, almost all of them have disgustingly repulsive habits, are remarkably rebellious between the ages of two and four, and have very strong opinions about which food should be considered untouchable, and toxic to the human body. Their differences are much more profound. Some children I’ve met are undoubtedly more intelligent than I, and are happiest when left alone to observe the world around them. Others, well… sometimes I wonder if they were born without a brain. Usually they grow one, but sometimes kids are just space cadets.

Here are two real-life examples of kids that I have known, kids who I would venture to say are polar opposites. The first, a girl, was around eight years old when I made her acquaintance. She attended the same K-12 school as I, and, since there were only about ninety students, I saw her often. She had frizzy, dark brown hair, some sort of skin condition that caused her to contract acne-like bumps around her mouth, and a princess-like demeanor about her that suggested that she thought the world revolved around her. So far, she sounds about normal right? Just you wait.

Every Friday before school began, our entire student body would gather in a half-court gym and listen to a bible study that our principal would deliver. It was specially tailored for the attention span of adolescents and small children, and our principal did his best to allow time for interaction with the audience. He might ask a first grader to answer a question, then move on to a high school student for some deeper insight.  Now that you have a better understanding of the circumstances, enter stage right the little girl I told you about just a moment ago. My principal loved to ask her thought provoking questions, because she was what one might call a mind-wanderer. It was as if her thoughts were not linked to the information being presented to her, and she would answer the questions with answers that were as random as they could possibly be. For example, my principal may have once asked if being asked by God to stand in front of a giant like David was would have been scary, she might have replied,  “We got a new cat, and she likes to purr!”

There is one other such instance which I can remember quite clearly concerning the little girl. She was on her way to the restroom, which wasn’t very much of a way to go, considering that our entire school consisted of one hallway with two branches. However, on her way there, she turned and began to study the wall and talk to herself, then began looking up at the ceiling. One of my teachers asked her what she was doing, and she promptly replied that she had gotten lost. In short, this little girl most definitely fits into the category I label as “space-cadet”.

The other child I would like to tell you about is a boy. He is seven years old. I was in charge of babysitting him one evening, as I am so often assigned to do, so I decided to make the best out of it and get to know him. Upon having only a brief conversation with him, I realized that he was brilliant. His vocabulary well exceeded his years, and he used the words with perfect understanding of what they meant and where they were to be placed in conversation. I was, to say the least, impressed. At some point in the evening, I told him how old I was. He looked at me as I told him, and nodded his head. Later, I put on a movie that I had a great fondness for, as it was one that I watched several times when I was little. I told him that it had been the first movie I ever went to see in theaters and gave him a year to go along with it. He averted his gaze from the movie and, within thirty seconds, had done the math in his head to be able to tell me how many years ago it had been since I first went to the movie theater. He is only seven! Needless to say, this kid is practically a genius; hence, he falls into the smart-kid category.

That is all I have to share with you today, but I do hope you enjoyed my insight on children, and hope that you’ll let me know if you did. Also, please, if you have any ideas for blog posts that you’d like to read, let me know. Have a great Sunday!

Short Stories

If Only I Had Known

Yesterday, when I went out for lunch, I met the love of my life. I was hardly anticipating her arrival, but then again, a beauty like this one didn’t come around often enough to be expected. She was unmistakably attractive, although her behavior suggested a rough exterior. I thought I knew better. If I could only get close to her, I knew I’d come to find a soft and gentle interior, capable of melting the heart of even the strongest man. Even the way she smelled attracted me. It was when she floated by my table that I caught the faintest hint of her seductive aroma and felt myself drooling over her. Trying to resist, to compose myself, I stayed in my chair. Only with time would she be ready for me. I attempted to keep my eyes off of her, to act nonchalant. Before long, however, I gave up; I just couldn’t look away. Every sound she made, every adornment that she wore, all of it was perfect. I even felt myself becoming jealous when I noticed another man looking at her. In a burst of emotion and without a second thought, I rushed to her side and grabbed her. I carried her to my table, speaking softly to her of all the plans I had in mind for us. As she stared up at me, drinking in every word, she beckoned me closer, eagerly displaying her sharp cheddar cheese, her juicy tomatoes, and her well-seasoned salami. Longing in my eyes, I stared back at her, reluctant to destroy the beauty in front of me. She began serenading me with her sizzling, a song filled with emotion and loneliness. She cried to me, pleaded with me to save her from the savages around us, to embrace her and savor her. I looked around. Was it possible that she belonged to another? No one came to steal her from my grasp. I slowly lifted her to my lips, pausing for just one moment more to drink in the lovely perfume that she was wearing. I knew then and there that I would not cease to protect her with my life until she was safely tucked away. No one else would touch her; but oh, if only I had known that the love of my life would leave so soon, maybe I would not have rushed things so. Yes, my lovely Grilled Cheese, if only I had known.

Short Stories

The Sleepwalker

Have you ever seen a sleepwalker in the middle of their trance? It’s probably one of the creepiest things that I’ve ever experienced, so, just in case you’re wondering, I’d like to tell you about it.

It was 9:30 p.m. My parents were out on a date, and I had put my little sister to bed about an hour before. I was lying on the couch, watching TV, and minding my own business. You can imagine how horrified I was when, after hearing the slightest sound, I turned to see my sister’s head hovering above the couch. She was looking at me without really seeing me, like I was transparent. Her hair was a mess, and her face was crimson and covered in sweat. Taking a moment to catch my breath, I studied her more still. She just stood there, looking through me with that creepy, vacant stare.

I asked her what was wrong. No reply. The creepy vacant stare continued. Then I told her to go back to bed, hoping that would be the end of it. Still no answer, no movement, nothing. I couldn’t help myself; I started laughing at her. It was just the weirdest thing I had ever seen. Suddenly, she got angry at me for laughing. She yelled,  “It’s not funny, Cori!” and stomped back to her bedroom.

Trying to recover from the strangeness of it all, I listened for a moment to make sure she had safely returned to bed,  then returned to watching my television show, just a little bit wiser on the subject of sleepwalking.

Do you know a sleepwalker? Someone who walks down the stairs when they’re not awake? Someone who yells at you in their sleep? Tell me about if you want me to write about it. 

Short Stories, Writing Prompts

Heal

Had she known that he was going to die today… things would have been different. She would have called, would have asked forgiveness, would have… There were so many things she would have said. Now, she was staring at the the answering machine, wondering if what she’d heard could really be the truth. She didn’t really feel any emotion, only shock, wonder, a hollow emptiness in her heart where the bitterness had once been.

Amy and her father hadn’t spoken in two years, and neither of them, to be blatantly honest, really knew why. Both were just too stubborn to admit that they were wrong. To Amy, the distance hadn’t been one so much of anger, but of awkwardness, a resistance to listen to each other. Granted, Amy had made some decisions that her father hadn’t agreed with. She had fallen madly in love with a military man, and as a result, moved across the country with her new husband. Sure, she could have called, written, sent birthday cards, but she had been so absorbed in her new life that she couldn’t seem to find the time.

Truthfully, she hadn’t been the only one to make a few mistakes. Amy’s dad had left her three siblings and her mother when she was just nine years old, and that was something that she had always resented. He had never requested to have her visit, that was just part of the deal that her mother made to get some time away from the kids. When she did spend the weekend at his house, they didn’t go to the park, or attend church, or watch movies together. No, her father worked later hours than usual, just so the kids would be in bed by the time he got home.

So who had the most fault in ruining their relationship? Amy couldn’t decide. For the first time, she felt guilty for not caring, for not trying when she had the chance. She felt a dam crumble inside of her; the tears soon followed. She didn’t know if she could live with knowing that because she shirked her responsibility as a daughter, she hadn’t been able to say goodbye. As the sobs got louder and louder, the pain only grew. Through the tears, she emailed her boss, telling him she needed some time off, that she couldn’t function like this. She cried herself to sleep.

She went on like that for two weeks, could hardly eat, was too tired to think. She felt like a shell of what she used to be, empty. It was as if all of her emotion had been destroyed. No one tried to console her anymore; she supposed they all thought she was a lost cause. Though she didn’t show it, she desperately wanted encouragement, someone to tell her that everything would be alright, that she had done what she could, that she wasn’t to blame. One day, she got a text from an old friend, someone else she hadn’t spoken to in a long time, years in fact. It was Pat Greshman, a former high school friend, that was, before she became… strange. Pat had been her best friend until she “found religion”. That was when she told Amy that she couldn’t hang out with her anymore because she was “too holy”. At least that was what Amy heard. She knew it wasn’t true that Pat didn’t care for her anymore, it was just that, well, something had changed her. She didn’t depend on the drugs or the guys or the parties anymore. It was as if she had finally found what it was she was looking for, and never wanted to leave it.

Amy remembered all this as she stared at the solitary little text message. It said, “I know that you’re hurting, and I just wanted to remind you that God is listening.”

How did Pat know about her dad? Amy hadn’t told her. She hadn’t updated her Facebook account in three months,  and no one she knew associated with Pat. Strange. “God is listening”… Amy had tried the whole talking to God bit before, but she had always felt like no one was listening, or maybe that she didn’t pray correctly. She deleted the text and went on with her day, depressed as usual.

But the text kept nagging her, repeating in her mind over and over. She was on her way to the grocery store for some pain reliever,when, almost involuntarily, she veered of the main road into an empty parking lot. She felt an urge to let everything she’d been holding onto go, all the guilt, and the pain, and the lies that she kept telling herself. It was time to heal.

She cried to the God she had always known existed. Tears flooded her car, as she screamed about all the things she’d kept bottled up inside, how she’d never felt good enough, or wanted, or loved. Suddenly, her phone lit up. Another text from Pat. This one read,  “I created you, I have loved you from the start, and you know something Amy? I forgive you. -Jesus” Amy let out a deep sigh and wiped the tears from her eyes. For the first time in a long time, she felt a sense of peace, of freedom, of healing. Clutching that feeling with every fiber of her being, she started the car, and drove home, questions stacking up in her mind. She would have to call Pat; there had to be a way to feel like this all the time.

via Daily Prompt: Heal