September 27th, 2015

Hello again! How were all of your days? Hopefully good, but if they weren't then please stay determined! If you do, there's no doubt that you can do whatever you needed to do. 

My day was fine, if not strange..? My mom got me a new blanket and it's SUPER SOFT. IT'S GREAT AND I LOVE IT.

Then she did my nails and I feel cute! There's always something about doing something about yourself that always makes you feel better. Though it's strange to have such round nails, it makes me itch a bit.

Oh! I also found the best song to listen to for inspiration, though I will not disclose it to you. It makes me embarrassed to think about someone listening to it because of me. ///////

I'm restarting the Imperial Princess series, so perhaps look forward for more of that in the near future? Though I can't be sure I could even work on it this week, because my slots are full with one of my creative writing assignments. 

I'm making a interactive webcomic! I might send a link when I'm finished with it.

Though, perhaps I won't. I keep wondering about updating this blog too much, since I was kind of teased for being up to date about it. It discourages me whenever people do that. Just because it's an assignment doesn't mean I can't enjoy it!!

Ah, I made myself sad again...

The Return

Hello! I formally apologize to all who followed this blog. I really didn't expect for the lack of posts, but it just sort of... happened? I feel into a slump and got into a rather unhealthy routine over the summer. However! Worry not! I am back, but I suppose not too long.

See, I haven't been feeling as "uppity" as of late. Several times I found myself crying for no reason and have short periods of distaste for my own self.

But I'm gonna be okay. I'm pretty okay now, I would dare say.

So hopefully I can enter a healthier life cycle soon. After all, I don't enjoy crying or the drama that comes with it.

I do hope you all have a spectacular day though! If you're not, then remember what you're going on for! If not for yourself, then another person, or even life itself You're gonna be okay, I just know it!

June 29th, 2015

WOO! It's been awhile! How are all of you faring? Well, I can't help but hope. My summer vacation is going onto a small, almost agonizing start. However, I am planning onto doing some of my summer homework for future classes.

This can prove difficult, as the men in my family tend to hog the computers whenever I'm ready to write. Unfortunately, I have enough willpower to write entries and fiction literature, but I cannot bring myself to do an essay just yet. Hopefully my dear brother can shine some examples to me before I stress anymore over it.

Summer hasn't been all that bad in comparison to the Spring prior. The weather here is almost humid, but with the variety of winds passing through, everything is chilly. This, however, does not seem to stop my house from baking like a potato under the sun's heinous rays. Quite a dreadful thing, you may imagine—

Ah, pardon the delay. I just had to do a fair bit of chores. My hands are awfully soaked from the sink's water. I fear that the clacking of keyboard is not to be admired in this situation, as my nails are awfully... hm... bendable. It's quite disgusting in my eyes. Thus, I must bind you adieu, if only to let my hands dry.

June 20th, 2015

I ended school yesterday and I'm really tired. I don't why, but I am. Exams are over though, so that's a good thing. Yet, why do I feel so pathetic? Probably because I'm not doing anything and simply just doing nothing. I also cannot hang out with friends because literally all of them are introverts. Aaaaahhhhh...

I'll try to do something productive, but with how most likely I will perish, it's not very likely though.

Childhood Summer

Some kids live out their single digit years in a nice neighborhood. They would live behind a white picket fence, ignorant to the whole world. Behind their white coated walls and their heavily decorated rooms, they begin their curiosity in narcotics and a blurred line between morally right and wrong.

Some kids live out their childhood in just that, a hood. They are surrounded by gangs, murders, rapes and robberies. Their parents drill into their heads to be better; to look for a bright future; to chase after their dreams, because the adults couldn't. The blame is put in delusional teenage fantasy and a white stick with a pink cross decorating it. Sometimes, these kids do overcome all of their obstacles, taking all of the hard ways, to earn the good ones. Sometimes, they try an easier way out; quickly following their parents' depravity.

Some kids live out their entire life in different homes. They've seen humanity's nature far too close for anyone's liking. Sometimes, they wish for better but they must hold their tongue. They are force upon this characteristic of self loathing; no one wants them. Their ego is smashed to pieces, and sometimes... they don't bother to pick it up.

Some kids live their school days hating their body, because they don't match up with the trend or they just don't quite fit. They hate themselves, hate their life, and their angst is practically fuming from their musk. They just can't quite see yet, and perhaps they never will.

Some of them drown themselves on electronic waves and fake names. I want to be someone other than me. Anyone, really. These thoughts run through their mind as they lie, and lie, and lie until their throats are sore and someone shuts them up. Though an unlikely encounter, there is always that misfortune. That is why parents try to warn them, but they don't see with their disabled eyes.

Some kids don't fit in these categories at all. They just live day to day, waiting for something amazing or outrageous to happen to them. They're always waiting.

What is your memory?

Black Dog - Excerpt II

He walked slowly towards his mother, and he bent down to hand her the pink medicine. When he was giving the medicine to her, she immediately stood up and towered over him. He sweated as she opened her mouth to speak.

“What are you doing in my clean kitchen? Out, out you go!” She screeched. He yelped, placing the medicine on the counter before turning around to flee. The woman had yelled after him, but didn’t bother to follow as his feet carried him upstairs to his shared room with his older, twin brother.

As he entered the room, Cain looked at him dubiously. Abel took a deep breath and stumbled near Cain’s bed, nearly collapsing next to his brother’s feet. Though his face was buried in the fluffy sheets, he could hear his brother scoff and look at him with disdain.

“Honestly, if you’re so scared with dealing with Mother, what’s the point?” Abel shifted his face to look at his brother.

“If I don’t deal with Mother, who will? Surely not you, not our neighbors, nor her friends that come to visit.”

“Those are not her friends.” Cain snapped at him. “They are only fellow cultists looking for a place to reside their base.” He looked away from Abel to continue his reading. The younger of the two shifted his spot from the floor to flop onto the bed. Cain growled, but seem to allowed Abel to curl within himself. A strong sense of sleep was fogging the edges of his eyesight. Yet, his mind didn’t want to follow as he kept staring at his brother, who pretended to not notice his presence.

June 10th, 2015

School is almost over I just need to last like three more days, not including the testing day next Friday. Hopefully everything will be fine.

Anyway, I'm working on a sort of 'choose-your-own-adventure'. It's pretty fun so far, but I wonder if it's funny enough for my tastes. Oh well, we'll see when I test play it before presenting it to my teacher for extra credit.

Speaking of, I need to work on it. Talk to you all later!

June 9th, 2015

For the next three days I will be stuck in testing for at least two different classes, so apologies in advance for garbled social updates.

The school year is ending and I am, again, reminded of the period of time in Summer where I will be extremely bored. Hopefully, I'll find other things to do other than write, read, eat, draw, and play video games.

Well, we'll see won't we?

June 8th, 2015

Happy National Best Friend's Day!

I hope you all have people outside your family close to your heart that you would allow a scene of vulnerability with. If you do not, than that is okay.

Today has been a fair day for me, nothing much to say. I am probably set for my regents tests, however, I am fearful for my geometry. I don't know why, since math comes almost naturally, but this class isn't the exact best. Hopefully, this feeling will be eradicated when I actually partake in the test.

I'm currently with my family at the moment and we're bonding over the food network shows. Currently, it's triple d's and we're just watching people make food and watching Guy eat them. It's funny how entertaining it is.

Though, my mom is going back to vlogs about food.

Now they're arguing about whether or not my brother can watch a horror movie. He probably can't but whatever.

Have a nice day guys. Bright skies or beautiful clouds and whatnot.

June 7th, 2015

A thought has just occurred to me in my almost silent musings. The aspect of which I need to be fearful of the future. Though there are many things that warrant my fear for the next day, the unknown so to speak. Yet the most prominent reason for this fear to bog up my senses is humanity itself.

Humans are scary creatures. They kill things, sometimes their own kind, because something is not going their way. That something is abnormal. That something is wrong, in their eyes, and must be extracted.

The realization that there are people who wake up in a beautiful day thinking "I'm going to kill someone" is completely terrifying. There are also people who wake up and think "I'm going to put someone in their place" as well, and that is also terrifying.

There are so many assumptions upon many things; so many stereotypes, that I fear that humanity itself is becoming ignorant to the world around them. Though, of course, there are some people who are abnormal is this sickening normality and are trying to help fix what has been broken. However, which each birth and death, there are thoughts to be said out loud for clarity:

when had the ignorant began to outnumber the educated?
when had the grotesque began to outnumber the accepted?
when has supposed normality become abnormal?

It's such a trifle thing about society. Some people strive for the plan to utopia, for a perfect world. Yet, they do not see the ultimate flaw to a perfect society: man. Because of such different ideals and different minds, there is no such thing, as the word utopia suggests.

We want change, but how are we going to get it?

June 6th, 2015

I wonder what would happen if all of my choices that I've made were reversed. That would be pretty weird.

Ah, well. Thought process is weird.

Anyway, good morning/afternoon/evening! How are you all? Good, I would hope. A lot of rain has stricken us, and unfortunately that means accidents and thunder, ugh. I hate thunder. I do like rain though, and it is quite unfortunate that the thunder makes my heart stop.

It's barely summer, actually. Yet, it's super hot. Though, with the city I live in, it might be short lasted.

It's the anniversary of D-Day, apparently. The news says, anyway. To be honest, I really don't trust the news anymore. The media always gives me anxiety. America news is just death, death, death, and more death. It's insane, but with the nature of the nation, it's not unbelievable. Sad, really.

You know, I wonder how I would be as an adult? Would I change, or stay the same? It's really perplexing to think about the future. What did you think you would become when you were young? Who do you think you will become later? A good question to leave this off on.

Hope you all have a good day!

Black Dog - Excerpt I

“Abel, grab your mother some medicine. You know, the pink pills?” His mother calls from the kitchen. Abel nods obediently, treading over the wooden planks and following the white paint into the sparkling bathroom. He could smell the bleach evaporating from the room’s pores and it was mixed with the acidity that came from the freshly painted walls. The room was filled with the sense of nervousness and uncertainty, as if it disliked the taste of the newness that surrounded its insides.

Abel opened the medicine cabinet. He scanned over the yellow bottles with white caps and read through the gibberish and randomly placed letters to find one specific pattern. In bold, roman letters, LITHIUM could be read. Abel opened it, making sure the pink pills were indeed pink. Pink they were, so he closed the bottle and clutched it tightly in his hand. He walked over the wooden planks and followed the white paint back to his mother. He could practically feel her tremors from where he was, and hurried to her side.

He approached the kitchen with a silent anxiety welling in his stomach. Poking his head through the door, Abel saw his mother curled on the floor; her entire body shaking. The boy could feel the perspiration falling from his brow as a new sense of fear replaced his anxiety. However, knowing his duty far too well, he shed his cowardly skin and placed a courageous facade.

June 3rd, 2015

My eyes are tired, my nose is stuffed, and my body feels like it has endured too much with its weather-teared skin. I've cried a lot in my life, but hopefully I don't cry as much as I did the night previous. I rather not disclose it, as it is far too personal than an online diary can handle.

However, I do believe it is safe to say that I do not see anymore conflicts or unwarranted and awkward conversations in the future, hopefully.

It is a cold, sunny day in the month of June. I have finished taking a dreadful test. The end of the school year steadily approaches, and I am tired.

How are you?

June 2nd, 2015

I had to take the Geometry Common Core test today and it wasn't that bad, if you can take away the questions which weren't taught, that is. I feel like I passed it, but I'm unsure whether I succeeded in obtaining a grade satisfactory. I can't really say "as long as I past, it's okay" since it wouldn't be okay if I get lower than my expectations.

Other than that, I played games in my club. There was this one game, Machi Koro. It was really fun! I actually might bring it home with me, I'm not so sure. I just like playing it, as it brings me entertainment.

Though, I'm unsure if I could play with anyone else. Who knows?

Again, I have to suffer two more weeks (not counting this one, I would presume) until I'm out of school ad lazing in my bed. Now, as we hit closer to the end mark of school, I am unsure how I feel about it. I know school is a repetitive sequence that irks me at times, but I really have nothing to do during the summer time. It really is a predicament I'm in with my mental state. Be bored together with everyone else, or be the only one bored at home?

Quite a heavy thought, in my opinion.

100 Things to Do When I'm Alone

1. Do the Air Guitar
2. Sing along to a Katy Perry song
3. Drink some water because of Katy Perry songs
4. Try to write a letter to Grandma
5. Throw out the letter because I can’t write Vietnamese very well
6. Draw on the wall
7. Panic about drawing on the wall
8. Paint over the drawing (no one will ever know)
9. Try to build a birdhouse
10. Drop it because I can’t make a birdhouse 
11. Write
12. Get stumped on writing and throw the notebook across the room
13. Contemplate what I’m living for
14. Slap myself because I’m stupid for thinking about that
15. Make costumes with the leftover yarn
16. Drop it because ow, ow my hand.
17. Think about robbing a bank
18. Watch a Tom & Jerry show about robbing a bank
19. Watch cartoons
20. Wonder if I’m too old to watch Cartoons
21. Screw society’s standards, old people can watch cartoons. Everyone can watch cartoons. 
22. Watch cartoons on the internet
23. Start drawing
24. Stop drawing because IPad is overheating
25. Go back to traditional and draw on paper
26. Drop that because lead is sticking to my hand
27. Paint
28. Stop Painting because Acrylic Paints are a stupid thing to exist but I love them so much
29. Start reading
30. Punch myself for taking the creative writing course because I can see the mistakes
31. Drop the book and start a bonfire
32. Contemplate if my neighbors think I’m crazy
33. Wonder if I can buy some fireworks, legally
34. Ask my mom if she can buy fireworks
35. Walk the dog
36. Make sure I don’t pass any black people because dog is racist
37. Trip
38. Make sure dog doesn’t lick my shin because I’m not risking that
39. Bring dog home
40. Wash his feet
41. Be pawed in the face because he hates the bath tub
42. Avoid dog
43. Remember to brush the dog
44. Don’t brush the dog
45. Remember to clip his nails
46. Avoid the dog like a plague
47. Wonder where my pencil is
48. Find it after twenty minutes
49. Dog steals tissue
50. Chase after dog
51. Call out to dog
52. Remember that he only knows Vietnamese
53. Speak heavy accented Vietnamese
54. Yell when he rips the tissue up
55. Avoid dog’s mouth to avoid bite marks
56. Grab tissue and throw it out
57. Wash hands
58. Shun dog
59. Ridicule dog
60. Get phone call from mom to set food out
61. Figure out what she means when she says “the thing”
62. Figure it out
63. Make rice
64. Make rice for like thirty minutes before actually putting it in the pot
65. Wait
66. Get anxious
67. Start cleaning room
68. Finish cleaning room
69. Laugh at sexual jokes
70. Move into living room 
71. Decide not to clean it and go clean the bathroom
72. Clean bathroom
73. Find a spider
74. Have a battle to the death with the spider
75. Kill spider
76. Feel remorse
77. Wonder if that spider was a dead relative
78. Have viking funeral for spider
79. Wonder if I would get in trouble for walking to Cobbs Hill to conduct said viking funeral
80. Walk back home
81. Avoid creepy men on the sidewalk
82. Ignore racist slurs
83. Get angry when someone asks me if I’m anything other than Vietnamese
84. Remember that one guy working in the corner store who thought I was Korean
85. Reinforce the fact that I am not white and pasty 
86. Go to Spot and grab a macaroon
87. Eat it slowly and wonder if I should’ve bought another
88. Decide not to because it was $2.15, what a rip off
89. Go back home, again
90. Turn on the TV
91. Watch whatever is on
92. Avoid Uncle Grandpa because show is horrible and shows bad morals
93. Pray for the next generation
94. Wonder if mom is proud of my productiveness
95. Hope that she’s happy
96. Wonder why I’m so weird
97. Figure that people aren’t weird enough
98. Take a nap
99. Wake up and notice nobody's home yet
100. Party

UPDATE June 1st, 2015

I finished that stupid Spanish homework, huzzah! 

Now all I have to do is worry about if I'm going to die from starvation. Or testing. Whichever comes first.

My teeth kind of hurts, kind of worried if I have a cavity.

I also wanna punch this guy in the face but he's probably gonna cry and I will feel remorse. I don't want to feel remorse for trash.

June 1st, 2015

Two more weeks! Two more weeks! Two more weeks! TWO MORE WEEKS!

I'm so ready.

Anyway, as per the usual, I am doing quite pleasantly. However, the loom and doom of tests make me quite anxious as of late. It's quite... discouraging.

Though, I have been trying to choke down that anxiety by watching cartoons. It has been a great stress reliever. However, some moral episodes of the shows somewhat hit close to home and I am... quite off put by that. It's whatever though, things happen and there's no way to protect yourself fully from society's poor discretion.

I have some Spanish work that is causing me great irritation. Not because I don't understand it, heavens no. Rather, it's a bit too much for my brain as of current.

Sometimes I don't think people realize that there are times when my brain shuts down and it dwindles just by a thought of work. However, with my raising, I am forced by my own body to do it as soon as possible, as to get it away quicker. This homework, though, is a tedious crossword that irks me to the core. Most likely because it has less pictures to assist me to solve it quickly, but the look of it is also very... eh.

Appearance shouldn't be the first thing I can think about when viewing homework, but I apologize if my aesthetics are priority when I am delivered an assignment to work at home. If I have to work on homework for ten minutes of my time, when I could be doing something else, then I at least have to enjoy looking at the paper while doing my work. It's simply how it works.

Well, not for everyone... but hey, everyone's different.

Pardon my rudeness, as I terribly forgot during my rant about aesthetics, but how was your day? Is it gloomy? Shiny? Is everything black and white or full of color? I do hope you are faring well, as you are a person, and you should desire for a good day. Even if you're an ass.

May 31st, 2015

Today is the last day of May, and yet only gloomy skies await us for the 'morrow. For June is the month of the dreadful tests, but brings the light of the tunnel closer than it ever could; freedom. Soon, and all I need is to last like two more weeks before I'm out.

How about you all? Are you faring well on this evening? I, for one, am feeling adequate. Nothing much has transpired on this gloomy day, but I have to say it wasn't too bad. At the very least I managed to scrape by without anymore awkward conversations.

My fingers are getting terribly dry though. It's a very uncomfortable feeling. I should probably put some lotion on it later. However, it discourages me as the skin is slowly peeling off its origin. Very disgusting and very worrying as well. I do hope that I do not have dry hands for this tempered summer.

Gluttony's Party - Excerpt I

A third eye.

A third eye.

Samantha Abner, on August 14th, saw herself in a mirror. She saw, in that pocket reflection, an abnormality; an abnormality that shouldn't have come to be. Her brain was scattered, trying to think of a logical way for this to be explained.

Yet, she couldn't. Her thoughts were empty, and no light bulb could help them succeed.

She tried to ignore it; disregard its existence. Yet, nothing helped, and she was found out.

Her parents' reactions were from from her expectations, but they weren't the ones she had hoped for. Their eyes were piercing, almost touching her skin; almost drooling in Greed.

It gave her a fright, the bumps rising on her skin rising, when her eyes were shut tight.

So began Samantha's journey into Greed, and no it wasn't pleasant. At the very least, she was able to recognize one thing from this dreadful and terrible tragedy: humans are conniving beasts, that did not deserve all the rings, nor have choirs singing their name. They deserved nothing, nothing other than what Fate wished to serve.

That was what Samantha decided one day, tired and dazed from the visions that were laid into her brain that bright hour.

An abundance of options, yet so little time. She had to be quick, if her plan were to thrive. Though she loved her parents, she knew it was time. Tick, tock, went the clock to her parents' demise.

Gemini - Excerpt III

(chapter II)

“He has a crush on the Dorito’s brand.” Mabel immediately joked and her brother choked at the thought. “He loved it so much that he made himself that persona so that he could conduct sort of imaginary cannibalism.”

The teen took a deep breath, trying not to laugh too loudly. “Yeah, I bet.”

“I’m not done yet! I bet you, after the incident, he’s gotten so masochistic that he probably draws his persona chewing on its bricks or something.”

“Wait, wait I thought he made it into a triangle.”

“He is! It’s just that he has bricks that taste like spicy Doritos.” She said in a goofy voice, snorting as she tried to imagine the scene.

There was Bill (his persona, mind you), in the middle of its lonely house (because it was so lonely), watching who knows what. Probably reality t.v shows, because violence.

Then, it had a sudden, crippling sensation. It was so lonely, so much so that it began to cry from its one, girly ass eye. (Her twin had laughed at that one especially hard.) In its sudden mourning, it had pulled out a brick from its delicious form and began shoving it (the brick) up its eye—(“Wait, why is he shoving the brick up its eye?” Her twin asked with a smile and a raised eyebrow. “Because I don’t know if it has a mouth. William never draws it” He had roared with laughter after that, gesturing her to quickly continue.)—and tasting the succulent-ness of the rush of flavors coming from the small, bright brick. Its tears turn into tears of joy as it finally tastes the joy of spicy Doritos. What a weird triangle thing.

The car veered into the driveway when she was done with the tale of sad triangle thing eating itself to taste the wonderfulness of human created Doritos. (That was probably the title she would give it if she were to ever make it a book. He encouraged her to do so.) Mabel exited the car with a hop, skip, and jump to her feet and crashed the door into the car.

Imperial Girl - Excerpt III

(chapter VI)

It’s now a year after, and many things have changed after that bastard Oracle's mouth went loose. Morgiana hummed as she struggled to dig new spaces for the flowers with the princess. Though quiet, her company was welcomed into the attendant’s arms. She watched out of the corner of her eye as the quiet girl poured the water onto the flowers and whispered to them with a small smile. Morgiana’s heart bloomed as she continued digging into the dirt with her bare hands. It seemed that the more flowers were decorating the manor, the more bright the princess would become.

Since the royal hasn’t been out lately, Morgiana was silently grateful to prince Koumei for recommending outside activities to cheer her up. It seemed that everyone was aware of the princess’s sadness, and a few went out of their way to cheer her up. (Though Morgiana would figure that her brother would bring a smile to the princess’s lips with just his appearance any day, but he was out on another campaign it seems. A shame, really.)

May 29th, 2015

Today was a bright, sunny day. Also very hot. Also I wanted to punch someone's face. Also I lost faith in my nation.

Hello? My European followers? Take me with you.

Honestly, America is so... ugh. I can't even bear to explain it.

I mean, why can't we just past a law against gun control? "We have to protect ourselves!" Um, you do realize that the majority of the cases where you need to "protect yourselves" is because someone is holding a gun legally.

Okay, okay I'll calm down. Deep breaths... happy thoughts... phew.

How was your day?

Wistful Visitation

If I were to go to any place, I would go straight to my house, go up my room and enter the wardrobe. If my allusion didn’t quite inform you specifically, I would like to go to Narnia.

I wish to visit the magical world that lured me to sleep every night during those hot summers with my grandmother. I want to see what the world was like as it was governed by the characters. Narnia is a world that brought color to my eyes and words to my lips. It was what started my desire to place ink on paper.

Now, it may seem like a milk dream; an unachievable goal. After all, isn’t Narnia a fictional place that actually doesn’t exist? Yet, everyone can visualize it in their minds at the mention of the name. You can see the wardrobe, you could see the Ice Queen’s castle, you can see the characters wandering throughout the land. If you can see it, if you can connect it to another object that exists, doesn’t it mean the place exists?

The thing about fantasy worlds within books, you get to travel those lands with the characters and have the adventure with them. You feel their emotions, and then you empathize with them as they struggle throughout their conflicts. In reality, you have lived with them through their adventures, and if this logic applies, I certainly can go and read the books again to go back to those adventures. Yet, how do we bring it to life in our own lives? How can we place a magical place to a part of own mind that shows we’ve been there? Simple, we retell the story.

Whenever someone visits a certain place that creates an impact for them, they tell it. They tell it to their friends, their estranged family, they tell it to all that wish to listen. How many times have you heard someone start a sentence with “I went to” whenever they come back from a trip? To create a place for that fictional world in reality, the only thing someone can do is to write their own land of wonder. You retell the morals, the lessons, the themes you obtained from the fictional land and implement it to your own writing. To retell the story is to teach others those repetitive lessons and engrave it to their skulls of the importance these lessons bring. To bring the same color and life to their eyes and encourage them to continue the lineage.

So, if I were to go anywhere. I wish to go back to Narnia. To go back to the tales and stories that sweetened my heart, and retell them. To continue their great legacy until someone else resumes it in my place when I’m gone.

May 20th, 2015

I cleaned the entire house yesterday. It was sort of stress-relieving, but all the dust got to me today and my nose is stuffed.

The school year is almost over, and it almost feels... empty, almost. This year went by fast with its own problems and issues. A lot of crying on both ends and a lot of resentment after.

However, I can't repeat time, and I don't want to. You allow your mistakes to past and continue on. Because that's life.

Asthma

Allergy season is ruthless against my lungs. Day in and day out, my asthma breathes its foul stench into my organs and my heart goes pitter patter in quick tempos as it tries to keep up with the darkened air. The throat clenches as the mixture of poison in the air is tugging at my lungs.

Asthma. The curiosity of Asthma.

The coughs grow heavier and heavier as a hand wounds itself to my chest. Collapsing to the floor, a slow, burning hatred is apparent in my mind as I gaze out the window. I see the specks of pollen clinging to the window, and watch with disgust as I cough again.

Nature is cruel, but the insides of a body are far more cruel.

Chance

A thought had just occurred to me that is both strange and absurd. Perfect for this blog of mine.

Have you ever wondered about parallel universes? About how one single decision can lead to such a darker, greater outcome? Think of it as this: someone asks you a 'yes' or 'no' question. You chose either of the choices, and you'll go through the conversation in a breeze. The question here is what would've been the other choice's conversation? Would it lead into something else; a new outcome? Or would it lead to something disastrous; a destroyed friendship?

These thought intrigue me in a way that makes me question my own existence. Just think about it, with the right train of thought, you could control human nature within itself. Starting with you.

The percentage of chance is such an easy concept to think of. A half chance is 50%. A quarter is 25%. Yet, if you put that in the logistics of life, it becomes so much more. In fact, it could even be a manipulative tool for someone to use to create chaos everywhere.

But hey, it's just a thought.

Gemini - Excerpt II

She left quietly as she figured she would let the boys have their fun. Tip-toeing up the stairs and going up to the attic, the girl quietly made sure that no triangle-like shapes were out in the open. When Mabel opened the door, she was greeted with the quiet, shared room between her and her brother. She eyed the new posts on her brother’s bulletin board, keeping note that he was researching about the sphinx. Though, the girl knew that there were only manticores residing in the town, she supposed she would keep that quiet. He would find out eventually.

Like how he would eventually know what Mabel has been doing during their past five summers here.

She shook her head and frowned. She shouldn’t think too much about it. She prompted instead to fall among her stuffed animals and closed her eyes. Mabel was tired, and so she slept. Despite knowing what was to come; more whining from a triangle and more nightmares from said triangle when she refused.

Gemini - Excerpt

Mabel was running. She was running amongst the trees and forestry and everything was happening so fast, so fast. Her lungs pounded in her chest as she forced her legs forward and darted back to the house; the only haven from the forest. Her breath escaped her in shaky, short pants. Yet, it wasn’t enough to fuel her legs to go faster. Faster, faster, faster, she needs to go faster. The growling from behind her also served no help in quickening her pace, no matter the extreme motivation it gave to not die.

She huffed as the clearing of the Shack entered her vision and she further pushed her muscles to reached over the rock line. Come on little Mabs, you can do this! I won’t ask you to do anything this drastic anything again if you don’t let us die!

She took a deep breath and dove into the grass. Mabel ignored the throbs that the action gave to her knees and prayed to the one watching over to keep her alive. She didn’t want to die, just yet anyway.

May 11th, 2015

God, Beat Drop by Simon Curtis has been in my head for the entire day.

May 9th, 2015

To sum out my day in a nutshell:

WHY IS MY KNEE THROBBING????????????? MAKE IT STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

May 8th, 2015

GOD IT IS HOT OUT.

WINTER BABY PLEASE COME BACK.

No, but in all seriousness, it is indeed strikingly hot outside of my so-called 'air-conditioned' educational building. Blergh.

Anyway, apparently, I am the top extreme in my creative writing class. I'm unsure whether or not it's a good thing. Though, at least I'm occupied with my several various outside-of-school writing projects.

There's also my habit of binge reading as of late. After all, I finished about two books about 370~380 pages long just yesterday. The reason for disbelief from my family is that I had only started the books around, oh, fifth period in school. Though, I can understand their disbelief had they not looked and/or glanced at me as I read both books.

It's a hilarious situation either way.

Imperial Girl - Excerpt II

(currently on Chapter Five; excerpt skipped to chap.V from previous post relative to this)

A few days after the explosion accident caused by Morgiana and her dear brother, Kougyoku has made sure that they haven’t had any close contact since then. Honestly, she should’ve known the atrocities they would’ve caused in each other’s company. Today, Kougyoku had hoped that she would succeed in preventing Morgiana to have contact of any one of her brothers, However, this proved difficult as Morgiana had seem to grow out of her ‘follow-every-one-of-Kougyoku’s-steps’ phase and went to ‘oh-look-a-butterfly-I-must-follow-its-journey-huzzah’ phase.

All in all, Kougyoku was completely done with life at the year of nine.

May 5th, 2015

Happy second Star Wars day! Oh, and Cinco de Mayo.

So far, I am quite allergic to the blooming plants (yes, they decide to bloom in May) and my throat is dry and my nose is stuffy.

Screw you, Mother Nature.

In other routine, I am quite hungry at the moment. However, I was able to whip up that hint fiction that amuses me greatly. Think of it! A protagonist that was female and a cannibal! Scandalous!

... Perhaps I might actually make a story for her. HMMMMMMMMMM.

Hint Fiction

Dinner Date

         It was my first date. He was amazing. He was funny, smart, pretty, and delicious.
         Thanks for the meal!

April 29th, 2015

Fun fact, I'm not dead! Sorry for not posting, I've been busy-busy with school things. There's also the fact that I might not be graded for this that might be the main reason why I'm so lax on my posting now. Heh.

Anyway, I've been faring well, just a tad bit drowsy from some medicine I took last night. Jeez, I'm probably past out on the keyboard if this continues.

Curse the flowers and the increasing dust in my room. Curse them!

Crystal Cave - Exerpt

“Abel, grab your mother some medicine. You know, the pink pills?” His mother calls from the kitchen. Abel nods obediently, treading over the wooden planks and following the white paint into the sparkling bathroom. He could smell the bleach evaporating from the room’s pores and it was mixed with the acidity that came from the freshly painted walls. The room was filled with the sense of nervousness and uncertainty, as if it disliked the taste of the newness that surrounded its insides.

Abel opened the medicine cabinet. He scanned over the yellow bottles with white caps and read through the gibberish and randomly placed letters to find one specific pattern. In bold, roman letters, LITHIUM could be read. Abel opened it, making sure the pink pills were pink, as mother had said. When it was deemed the truth, he closed the bottle and clutched it tightly in his palm. He walked over the wooden planks and followed the white paint back to his mother. He could feel her tremors from where he was, and hurried to her side.

As he approached the kitchen with a silent anxiety welling in his stomach, he poked his head through the door. He saw his mother curled on the floor; her entire body shaking. Abel could feel the perspiration falling from his brow as a new sense of fear replaced his anxiety. However, knowing his duty far too well, he shed his cowardly skin and placed a courageous facade. He walked slowly towards his mother, and he bent down to hand her the pink medicine. When he was giving the medicine to her, she immediately stood up and towered over him. He sweated as she opened her mouth to speak.

“What are you doing in my clean kitchen? Out, out you go!” She screeched. He yelped and placed the medicine on the counter before turning around to flee. The woman had yelled after him, but didn’t bother to follow as his feet carried him upstairs to his shared room with his older, twin brother.

Blood Red - Excerpt II

She jumped over roots and dodged branches as the pit of her stomach hissed with rage. All she could see was her namesake when she darted towards the end of her grandmother’s territory. As Red ran to the end, she caught sight of a opening to a cave. It was tall and gray with ambiguous intentions, harboring a criminal in its silent caves. She bit back a growl and ran inside, unsheathing her sword.

She was about to yell, but remembered that she had given the Witch her voice. In fuming silence, she walked deeper into the cave. As she walked, the darker and darker the cave became. When the cave was completely covered in darkness, that’s when she heard it; a wolf’s howl.

She gripped her sword tighter, keeping it close to her left. Her right hand went to the wall as she followed the sounds. The closer the noises were in her ears, the more light began brimming the edges of her eyesight. When her hand had lost the safety of the wall, she was greeted with a hole. Red kneeled to look what was outside of the entrance.

Scanning the area, she saw the grey tuff that only belonged to Big Bad. She gritted her teeth as she watched his shoulders move, devouring his dinner. She slowly moved out of the hole and kept her sword from hitting the floor. As she was climbing out, Red heard the beast growl. Cursing inwardly, she quickly rushed to hide behind a heap of bones, shifting her weapon to both of her hands. As the enlarged wolf sniff and growl, the girl kept her breaths short. This was all in vain as Big Bad smashed her porcelain cover.

April 17th, 2015

Good morning one and all! Or afternoon, or evening. Whichever suits your fancy.

Anyway, I am here to tell you about the thing that created the blog; my creative writing class! It is finished and we're moving into the 4th quarter, meaning the end of the school year.

Now, I mean, even after this class is done, I'm still probably going to continue this blog. Maybe open up a tumblr for my art and literature, even. It seems interesting enough, but I'm probably just going to stick to this. For you guys, I'm pretty sure I can do it.

Number of Ways Poem

Seven Ways of Looking at Dice

I
Within calloused hands
and sweaty palms,
folded over each other
in a sense of
desperation.

II
To the greedy and the sinful,
the transparent cubes
covered in dots
were their savior
soon to be robber.

III
To a family of four
across the table, a board
decorated in designs and
colors. Dice in chubby hands.
The word
Jinx
floats in the air,
wordless as the cubes fall
to the board
and jump to life.

IV
For a crossroad of fates,
dripping in
perspiration and tears.
Hope is alive
within their shared gazes.

V
“Why did you bring dice?”
She would ask me every day.
“Something for when the rain comes.”
I replied, not wanting to
talk to her about
bright lights and the smoky air.

VI
The Cheater’s Dice are concealed
under cups. And when
the game had started,
the cups moved too quickly
for the player’s eyes
to catch the dice
hidden
within his sleeve.

VII
The only souvenir
that he brought back with him
was a pair of dice
engraved with her name.
She rolls with abandoned purpose,
waiting on that white
tiled
floor.

Horror Story - Exerpt

In a far time and a far place, there was once a quaint town. In this town, was a forest called the Schlack Wald. Said forest was heavily feared by the residents and many adults had warned their children of the malevolent spirits looming in that area. Every child was told, except for Little Boy Barry.

Little Boy Barry was but the age of twelve. Yet, for his age, he had encountered many travesties. By the age of three he had become motherless due to a thick plague of disease. Then, he was left fatherless two years after because of cowardice. He was then situated in a small orphanage that was utterly horrible for a weak boy such as he. However, Little Boy Barry was determined to continue on, for he was solemn that it would be the correct thing to do. However, the other children made it difficult to keep that ideal. Many jeered him for his parentless state, or on his small frame and slow uptake on conversations. The children were ruthless to Little Boy Barry, but Little Boy Barry was foolish to forgive them every time.

The most interesting part of the tale of this boy begins when the children had one day decided to play a trick on the poor child. They had called out to him in the town plaza one day and ask him to fetch an apple from one of the stalls with some money they gave him. The poor boy didn’t know what he was getting into, and accepted the quest.

Little Boy Barry walked through the marketplace to see that there were no such apples in the area. He was fearful that if he didn’t complete the job, the children would not accept him. So he continue on, this time he asked around for apples for the quite heavy bag. Unfortunately, no one possessed such things. So, he walked back empty-handed and head down in shame.

The children, of course, knew of this, but still scowled at him in rage. They looked at the pitiful boy in a condescending stare, before they huddled up and seemed to be discussing. Little Boy Barry could only watch as they whispered in soft voices.

In those whispers, one boy had said, “What should we give him as punishment?” quite loudly. Little Boy Barry shivered to think of a greater punishment than the last (it consisted of being in wet clothes for an entirety of a week, dreadful it was) and twiddled his thumbs and he continued to listen.

A girl had whispered, at the same volume as the boy. “Maybe we should let him roam about with only a dress and take him to the drunks!” She giggled playfully. Barry didn’t like that option either, he thought with a shiver.

“No.” The leader boy had chimed in. “Why don’t we let him find apples in the forest.” He said with a grin. Barry had thought none of it at the time, and failed to see the relevance of it. However, before he could hear their agreement, the leader had walked to him in a steady face.

“Alright Barry,” He said with a smug grin. “I have deemed you worthy of redemption. Therefore, your new task is to find apples in the forest at the edge of town.”

Little Boy Barry was a bit curious to the task, so he asked, “Why in the forest at the edge of town?” The leader had frowned.

“No questions!” The boy had said in a growl. Barry had yelped and back away a little, shriveling in his boots.

“Right!” He managed to stumble out. “No questions! Get apples from the forest! I got it!” The other children silently giggled from behind the taller boy in front of him. Little Boy Barry chose to ignore it and start walking, or, more like jogging to the forest before the other boy had called to him again.

“Don’t come back until you get us that apple, you hear?!” Barry had called out something that wasn’t that audible and rushed into the slender trees.

April 13th, 2015

IT'S GOING TO BE 76 DEGREES FAHRENHEIT WHEN I LEAVE THE SCHOOL OH MY GOSH THIS IS AMAZING.

Ahem, pardon my excitement. See, I live pretty far north and we have totally crazy weather. Like, in early April, it was snowing. Snowing. But now!!! It's!!! Sunny!!! And actually!!! Warm!!!

Life is great.

Blood Red - Excerpt

Red readied herself to slam her shoulder on the wooden door. As she retracted, her muscles tensed and she ran to it again. The saying “third time’s the charm” seemed to apply to her case as the wooden door shot back and opened.

The hooded girl immediately grasped at the hilt of her sword, eyes darting to and fro around the entrance before stepping inside. She stood in the room for a moment, examining for anymore signs of strangeness. Red frowned when she noticed marks on the floor. She bended down, touching the scars gingerly.

The girl straightened herself and quietly walked deeper into the quiet house. She turned doors, looked under tables and flipped open cupboards. However, there was no sign of her grandmother. When she was finished searching the house, careful not to touch things with her bare hands, sirens were in the distance. At the sound, Red poked her head out of the window to watch as the blur of red and blue flooded the forest’s natural dark green and eerie brown.

As they pulled up, the girl walked out with a slow stride. As the police pulled out of their cars, she bended down to talk to the chief, Detective Gumshoe. The detective was about half her height and was adorable with his new seasonal coat and was coated in the pink of his land. The bear was adorable in all ways but one, his face was stern and tired for all the hourless nights he has to stay up for.

He greeted her with a nod. “Red, what’s goin’ on?” He mumbled, taking a puff out of his cigar. Red ignored the dreadful smell and pointed at her grandmother’s house. He said with a raised eyebrow, “Witch stole your voice again?”

Red nodded, but furrowed her eyebrows at him. Though he had no business in her life, there were more impending problems than a little town gossip. She forced his small head to the wooden cottage, pointing her hand to it with as much of a serious face her permanently neutral one could muster.

“Alright, alright!” He growled, trying to shake her hands off. “Your granny’s missin’ again, huh?”
She nodded, furrowing her eyebrows again. He seemed very nonchalant about the whole situation. She tilted her head at him, raising an eyebrow in the process.

“Hm? What’s got your dress in a twist?” She frowned. “Okay, okay. Just joshin’. You probably think I’m being too nonchalant about this, right?” She nodded. “Well, here’s the thing kid, your granny tends to go “missing” a lot. I’m sure she’s just visiting the fairies or somethin’.” Red frowned, picking the bear up.

He growled and snapped at her, yelling and screeching something about his rights. Red rolled her eyes, stomping back inside the wooden home. The detective went quiet as she walked into her grandmother’s room.

April 12th, 2015

You know, I've been thinking a lot about life. (Shocker, right?) And I'm really thinking about how human nature works as in, if human nature was a toy, what would it be like?

I honestly don't know how to really think about it without filling half of the blog of theories, ramblings, and sentences that even I wouldn't understand.

It's just... A really strange thought to think about human nature as an entity, and why is human nature so vile in certain ways and accepted in others.

Like, people accept that people can be kind. However, when that kindness resembles something humans are entitled to themselves (selfishness, greediness, lust, etc.) people attack that and say how vile that person is for allowing themselves to be... well, human.

I really don't understand why humans are like the way they are. Yet, there are people who make so many excuses for the things they do. It's like a murderer saying that they're just sick in the head; that they should be excused for their actions. But there's that undeniable fact that they still killed a person, and nothing is going to bring their victim back.

Humanity is scary, and it's so strange to see humanity's true nature in front of your eyes.

Fear of Nothing - Excerpt

The noises and the voices were so overbearing that it practically burst decibel levels. The forest was talking, so rapidly and so softly that the words flowed into Persephone’s head. Most of it was gibberish, but she made three words.

Party. Fiends. Time.

Persephone shuddered at the last drawled out word. She clasped her hands over her ears as it was the best way she knew to block these repetitive words. In the dark of her room, it was her only comfort.

Happiness is fiction. Fiction is imaginary. Imagination is life. Life is terrifying. Party to death. Party to death!

The phrases were strange to Persephone's ears. ”How strange those words are.” She sat up from her bed, feeling her body flinch as her eyes searched around the darkness. “But it is stranger to fear the dark.”

The eight year old was no stranger to fear. She found Fear itself as a dumb imaginary force inflicted on children for its own sick fun. She refused to be seen as a child with fears, but here she was being influenced by them.

Party to Death! Death is Partying! Party! Party! Party!

Shut up. She thought bitterly. Persephone was already tired of these voices that echoed into her head. She knew the new house was strange, but she hadn’t expected harsh voices that cheered every night. They cheered every night until the sun rose, as if they were preparing something.

The girl lifted her feet to the edge of the bed. She had to go to one of her sisters’ rooms to ease her worries. She stood straight as her feet touched the floor.

The wooden floor was chilly, but Persephone’s bare feet could handle gliding over them. She walked along the floorboards, each of her steps patting along to the wood. With a quiet breath, she twisted the doorknob and opened the door. Outside was even darker, the walls and floors illuminated with a blue glow.

Persephone shivered when a gust of wind blew under her nightgown. The temperature between the hallway and her room were vastly different. Persephone continued on, searching around the halls.

It always had been a habit of hers, wandering around the house during nighttime. Her phobia of the dark, nyctophobia, was strange. If she focused on something else, she could ignore her constricting stomach, the spread of Fear.

With quiet noise that came from the collision between flesh and waxed wood, Persephone put one foot after the other in silence. The young girl had to walk further before she could get to one of her sisters, but nothing could get stop Fear from following right behind her.

She flinched. “Why do you run?” The shadows crept and crawled on her feet. “What use is it to try and ignore? Face me.” Its voice rose. “Face me!” It screeched. She was scared, she was really scared.
She had hoped it would stop crawling her feet as she fasten her pace.

Then Persephone heard a slam and she ran. Her eyes filled with water and her stomach boiled. She made a sharp turn at the first corner before turning around.

There behind her, the shadows had become something else. Before she could make out what the shadows were turning into, Persephone’s fear had spiked and she made way to go up some stairs. Before she knew it, she closed the door connecting the hallway to the attic.

Sestina Poem

Set In Stone

A grand stand for a pyramid of cards
stumbling and twitching like
the little sliver of life.
Yet, it will still stand
tall as she crosses
little cards like legs.

The tiny little legs
tremble as she lifts up a card
for another row. Which crosses
over the blue backs, like
a king’s stand.
The pyramid would last such a short life,

but that doesn’t deter her away from creating its life.
With those little legs,
and with that king’s stand,
the cards, like the Emperor card,
can be more than what fate tells. Like
a pharaoh king bearing his crosses.

The arms of a pharaoh that bears his crosses
is where the girl’s life
intertwines. As if she is like
the pharaoh; her legs
wrapped together and imprisoned just as the face in the king's card.
Yet, she remains unphased. The royal’s stand

is still high above all, the stand
is still bowed to, still decorated with crosses;
nothing changed. Just as the king’s card,
her influence will be set in stone. The pyramid is the anchor in life,
dragging her down with the tiny legs
that hold the white pyramid like

her own. It’s like
her imagination wants the stand
of the king so that her tiny legs
are not so tiny. That the crosses
in her hands can really give life
to something as simple as a card.

The tarot cards in her hands are like
life where there is only one stand
for one king that bear his crosses and stands tall on his legs.

A Haiku

Because I feel a bit of a poet today.
-

scarred hands—
My grandfather
chops the duck head off

Reincarnation

(the sequel of The Suffering Body)

I pick up the book
gingerly;
sweetly.

Words that bring memories
lost in time.
My lips are sore
from the strange words
that I don't want to utter
anymore.

I feel at home,
with this book in hand.
My lips are calm,
not trembling,
not shaking,
no stutters are
present when I speak.

I come back home
to Grandma
and speak with
my found soul.

She laughs,
and I smile too.
I have reborn again
back to the life
I once knew.

The Suffering Body

(the sequel of The Curl of Lips)

I speak with shorten sentences,
immediately avoiding "l's" and "r's".
I hate them
so much.

I hate them
because when I speak
I want to cry.

I hate this
I hate this
I hate this

The others joke
and mean nothing to me
but it still hurts
when I realize
I'm an alien
to those that are supposed to be

people who relate to me.
They're horrible,
I'm horrible.

I don't understand Grandma anymore,
forcing her to speak the same
strange and alien
to her aged lips.

I hate this
I hate this
I hate this

But I bear with it
to survive
in a cruel majority.

My lips are tired
but they do not remember
anymore.

The Curl of Lips

Pearl lips are twitching when
they form new words
that are strange to me.

And when she asks me to repeat,
I can't bear myself to do it.
I feel like a traitor scorned.

I remember my Grandmother
when the woman is pulling at my face,
"Just try to say it,
it's easy, don't you see?"

—is what I understand now
but thought only of monstrous
garble
when the words first evaporated into air.

"Can you say it?
Say your name."
Her hands are off me now.
"I won't laugh; promise."

I curse her in the language
of kings; of me.
She frowns,
the lines of her face
deepening.

"Why are you so shy?"
Why are you so insistent?

Years later,
I regret my choice
in leaving
my soul
behind.

April 7th, 2015

I actually haven't been working on much writing projects, despite my multitask disposition. To be honest, I haven't been really all up and beginning to write something rather than continue one.

In short, I'm still working on the third chapter for Imperial Girl. Woo. I say that with less enthusiasm.

I tried to begin another small short story about accents, as mine is especially strong. I actually wanted to write the difficulties about how weird it is to speak English rather than another, more comfortable language. Perhaps I should write a poem. Yeah, I think I'm going to do that.

Thanks? I guess, since I figured it out while typing this.

April 6th, 2015

Hello, it is school and I am typing this. It is great.

Well, minus the event of outrage of me keeping this blog nice and rambunctious. It's whatever, as I am far down in an apathetic well that I don't really care. Though, I do like to ramble about it for a few minutes.

Sometimes I wonder who I would be without my mother's morals implemented in my brain. Probably the person who would chose politics rather than the science person I am. It's strange, to think of the multi-verse theory and think of how I would become with one single change made.

But really, what choices do we have in life? Humans have a way to escape fate through uses of denial and perception, but what about people such as us who are normal in every way, shape, and form? How do we escape fate with the minimal utilities we are given? Trick answer to the rhetorical question, there is no such answer. The mysteries of life are intertwined and too unpredictable of a realm to delve into; to really understand. It's a process which I think about time to time, but you shouldn't think too much about it.

After all, I am one person of a growing population.

Adopted - Excerpt

A eleven-year-old Shintaro groaned as he turned around. In front of the doorway was Mary. The petite girl looked at him shyly, holding up a DVD. He rubbed his eyes, bleary from the computer, and motioned for her to come over. She beamed, almost skipping over to where he was and dragging a seat to sit near the computer. Shintaro sighed at her excitement and pressed a button and place the disk in.

As he leaned back, he saw a cold cola pressed against his cheek. He blinked before looking over to his white-haired companion. She was looking away as she held out the cola can and he laughed. He took it from her hands and pressed the spacebar to initiate the video.

“You sure do know how to bribe me.” He laughed and Mary punched him in the arm.

Now that Shintaro was thinking about it, it’s been a couple of years since Mary came to their house. It was around the time when his mother had to get her appendix removed when his dad came into the hospital with the girl on his shoulder. Of course, his mom was currently in surgery and didn’t know of Mary at the time, but Shintaro was sitting in the waiting room. He was astonished that his dad would just save a girl around fourteen years on impulse. However, he didn’t have time to argue as his dad rushed to his mother’s hospital room to give her support.

Momo had been four at the time and was at a sleepover or something while Shintaro was there in place of his father. When he was given Mary he didn’t know what the fuck to do, but just had the girl sleeping on him for most of the time. He figured he would ask questions later.

However, it seemed that even his dad didn’t have any answers. He had replied to Shintaro that she collapsed in the park and the man thought otherwise to leave her in such a state. Shintaro then turned to the girl, Mary, who also had no answers for him. It had irritated him that his family adopted Mary into his family, but now he was her companion and vice versa. She wasn’t like Momo who whined and complained and disliked the time he spent with her. Rather, Mary was a goddess from the heavens that was sent to him in return for giving Momo to him.

Well, not really. Shintaro loves Momo as he loves Mary, but it was just how she was quiet like him. She didn’t press when he didn’t talk, and he didn’t press when she remembered something from her past. They knew each other’s lines and knew very well not to cross it. That was their thing.

Fireworks - Excerpt

There was noise on the field and I craned my head to look over. Mother was holding to me tightly, her gaze seemed set on the royal family. I held a sigh as I shuffled away from her arms. The fight was almost painful to watch, as the two opponents were hardly right to fight each other. One was a trembling slave that hardly had enough fighting experience. On the other hand was a noble who was smug and surely had enough fighting experience. I walked down the steps to stop the fight, ignoring my mother’s protests.

It seemed I obtained a sufficient amount of gaze as I withdrew a sword from a nearby guard’s sheath. I continued walking towards the fighting duo and entered the stage. I pull off my shoes and heavy robe, letting them fall with a loud “thunk”. It seemed now that I obtained all eyes on my person, and I held a grin.

“Oracle.” The noble bowed down to me. “What is it that you’re doing?” I could practically hear his gritted teeth. I allowed a small smile to my face before having it vanish entirely.

“I’m replacing your opponent.” I walked towards the pair, moving in front of the slave while doing so. “Let’s see how strong you really are.” I laughed and moved into position. The noble’s face morphed into a panic one, but he tried to keep his composure.

“My Lord, don’t you think you should sit this one out. I do not wish to harm you.”

I laughed with a easy gaze. “Relax, I’ve participated in more war campaigns than your years on this earth,” he was twenty-six. “I think I can match my tempo to yours. Now, stop stalling.”

“A-Alright.” I could see his quivers. I sighed inwardly; this wouldn’t be a fun fight.

We clashed at each other, my sure hold on an unfamiliar sword against his shaking grip on a too familiar sword. When he moved right, I lowered myself to counter left. He swung and I caught his attack. He folded over, raising his sword once more. I sighed, flipping my body so my leg would touch the flat of the weapon and twisted. He went to the ground and I stood standing. I watched as he hurriedly tried to swing at my feet, but I jumped, flipping over and going to his other side. I lowered my sword to his neck and he cried out.

“I give! I give!” I let out a puff of breath, bored with his easy submission. I lowered myself to his body and got close to his ear.

“Perhaps this is a lesson for you not to pick on someone far weaker than you, hm?” I smiled as he shook in horror. I turned my foot, feeling the dissatisfaction in my gut. I walked off the stage, making sure I grabbed my tossed clothing. I gave the guard’s sword back while walking up the steps to Mother. She was far from happy with my spectacular performance.

April 4th, 2015

Hello guys! How're you all doing this fine morning? Or night? Or afternoon? I hope you are all doing fine, and if you're not, then know that you're going to be fine later on.

To give an answer to the nonverbal question of why I was using different times then my own, it has come to my attention that I have other blog followers that aren't American. Yes, I'm talking about my European followers; hello! Yes, I know that you exist on some mysterious plane not to far from my own.

No, but really. It actually shocked me that I have Russian followers as well as French ones. I also miss my Polish follower, but unfortunately they have left my hold. Pity, I quite liked their company.

Anyway, I'd like to thank you all for bearing with me this past few months through my rambles and literature. I'm actually really astonish, also, for the immense like to the except of Imperial Girl. I might bring out some more of what I'm writing as of current, but I honestly didn't expect the popularity. Why? Simply because I wrote it in a way that was almost mechanic to my mind, and held no "oomph" for a story teller's voice. But hey, if you guys like it, I might as well show you more! Or not. Maybe I'll leave you to a realm of your mind where you question my true existence of whether or not I'm just a figment of your imagination. Who knows?

Dear, that was a lengthy paragraph. Anyway, moving onto what this was supposed to be (a daily log), my Spring Break is almost to its end and I have done nothing but sleep, eat, watch t.v, go outside to sit on the porch, and play video games this whole week. I most say it was the best waste of my time, but the sleep is greatly needed. My quirks of waking up at the same time in the middle of the night are occurring again, and I must say that it annoys me at times. My eyes also aren't pleased either, but hey, when the brain wakes, the body must do so as well.

I bet you really don't get what I'm trying to pass onto you through these electronics, but that's okay. I don't really know what I'm saying either. Just filling this blank page with English words.

April 2nd, 2015

To be frankly honest, I am quite tired with my itchy legs and headache. With the addition of my damnable soft feet. (Yes, I cut my foot again.)

Anyway, I was thinking of a hobby in animation. Why? Simply because I made a particular story that seems far better in an animation rather than a comic. However, like many of my other ideas, it may not see the light of day. I'm at an equilibrium with this, so it's really on impulse rather than importance.

Now that I think about it, a lot of things are done on impulse. Humans think of courage as something that's planned, that courage can be found in any person. I disagree, as only those impulsive enough to do things can be considered "courageous".  Now, this may not be a bad thing for some people, but in the views of society and their standards, it usually is.

You know, I'm gonna put lotion on my legs. GOD, they are so itchy.

April Fool's Day

The dog sniffed, watching the person cautiously. His almost-black eyes stared into hers. It was almost like a continued war that they had yet to finish. When her gaze left him, he decided best to enter the room at that moment and trotted over to the girl.

When he arrived to the bed, she was unfortunately covering the majority of the spots from where he would usually jump on the bed. In his frustrations, he settled to a spot next to the bed. The spot, however, was irritating to his stomach; the floor was rough and what seemed to make his owner's feet callous. He growled, standing over and spinning around the spot. He even pawed at it to make it more comfortable.

Unfortunately, many of his attempts to make the floor comfortable were to no avail. He barked his frustrations, but the human beside him just rolled her eyes at him. The audacity! He barked again and now was trying to jump on the bed. However, the height between him and the height of the bed was made difficult by the weight of his fur. After what seemed one hundred attempts he had finally conceded.

As he stalked out of the room, he gave one last glance to the winner of the small battle. Unbeknownst to his owner, he would strike again. When that time comes, he would take what was his.

March 29th, 2015

Well, today is a Sunday and therefore there is nothing to do except make food for the entire day and then eat it at the end of the day. It seems rather irrelevant for me to tell you this but at the time of 13:26, the majority of my family is asleep, and I have done all of my chores; I feel like it is.

 Sundays are lazy days.

If you could tell from the previous post, I'm working on things! What kind of things? Extraordinary things.

So, here am I being presented. Sitting at the edge of my bed typing away on a laptop practically scorching the chair I've set it upon. The only light available is the ones streaming form the open curtains and the bleary lights on electronics. Music is muffled from the white ear buds that are safely hidden away among strands of vibrant hair. Chapped lips are moving along unfamiliar syllables and eyes blink slowly at the white screen. The words are typed with dull motions without a hint of pausing. Everything is set out before her as she—

Oops, got a bit narrative there. Apologies are required but aren't taken accordingly, unfortunately. I've been in a writing mood for about seven hours and I've been writing for five. The urge is swiftly dying out, but it seems I have a bit more in my soul then intended.

I'm not quite sure why I started this post, and I don't quite remember the blurred out reason. Typically, I tell you about my day and how it's going and if I'm tired or in school or what not. However, it's Spring Break and nothing is happening that I am willing to speak about, so there shouldn't be a post at all. Yet, here it is, existing and I'm sitting here typing it.

I feel like I just had an out-of-body experience.

Imperial Girl - Excerpt

Morgiana could only think of fear, blood, and salt. She shivered in her small, dirty clothes as she heard the older man yell and scream at the crowd. There were screams of joy when the price stilled, but groans of frustration when the order heighten only grew as the minutes ticked.

The young girl had ceased her crying as the noises drowned out. When there was only silence that remained, she grew curious about what happened. With her weak legs, she slowly stood and peered through opening of the curtain in front of the metal box.

In the replacement of the strangers and the ravenous man, there was nothing but red. Morgiana yelped, closing the curtain and falling back into the little cage. She shivered, unsure what to think. By that time, she couldn’t process death— she didn’t know of it. The young girl knew that the sight of liquid wine, however, meant danger. All of her alarms went off in the consequence of witnessing such a party.

She felt the cage being lifted up. The girl scrambled for purchase, clawing and grasping at air. The cage was spun round and round until the door to the metallic box was pushed open and she fell out.

Crashing onto the wooden stage, she shivered by the dryness of the air. Morgiana’s body had pulsed in a rush of energy, her previously weak legs had lifted her up with ease. She had crouched down into a fighting stance with her knees bent slightly and her arms raised. The girl saw imperial soldiers shouting in outrage as they tried stabbing her with their pointy sticks. She flipped over all of them, easily evading them as if she was playing games. They crashed into each other as she spun around in the air, kicking them if they ever get too close.

When the brawl was done, she was the only one left standing. Well, not exactly. There was one more person standing in front of her, surrounded by non-human creatures. He was a not an adult, but rather he seemed older than her. His ruby eyes seemed to glitter with surprise from her, but dulled by a certain cloud that Morgiana was all too familiar with. They stared at each other for lingering moments

“Oracle.” One of the hooded figures called out to the boy in front of her. Morgiana flinched by the depth of the voice. “Do you wish to eradicate this one?”

The boy laughed. “No, but I do think I found that girl’s birthday present.”

The last thing Morgiana realized was a cold hand to her neck and she fell into the darkness behind her eyes.

Alter Ego

Duke It Out

She’s the pieces of myself that I’ve lost. With these pieces, she was able to become something else entirely. She was something unpredictable in my methodical life, and that scares me— terrifies me even.

She wishes for control, but I can’t give her that. I’m too afraid to lose myself in her. I don’t want to be pulled by the strong tides she creates, and she doesn’t want me to hide away.

She’s the embodiment of my patience, kindness, and a bit of my narcissism. She wants to do more things than what society’s standards enforce upon us. She wants out.

Freedom is always at the tip of her tongue, but I always sew it shut. She’s so stupid sometimes, always wanting to do things she knows we can never do. Yet, she searches for ways of how we can do them and when. She’s the adventurous spirit I had lost from when I was young.

Whenever I try to sit down, she wants to stand up. Whenever she wants to sleep, I have to do things outside. We take turns controlling the body, but I make sure that the mind is always mine. She can’t control my impulses, and I won’t let her. This ongoing war will surely end in my favor.

She tries so hard to retain control, but we both know that she can’t hold it for long. I will be the winner of this battle and the next few, this is a fact set in stone. She still tries, trying to break free of this shell I forced us into. It’s amusing at the least, to watch her scratch the walls and call out to me; to scream at me.

“It’s my body!” She would always shriek at me. Tears glistening in her eyes and hiccups escaping her mouth. I always stare down long and hard at her, something akin to a smile on my face. While I watch her squirm under my gaze, I’d whisper a single phrase that would break her every single time.

“It’s not yours anymore,” I cracked a grin, “it’s mine now.”

March 24th, 2015

As per usual, today is a lazy day. Not much happened, minus the shredding my dog did to our tissues. I'm sort of hungry, but not to the point of cannibalism.

Hopefully I won't reached the point of starvation to be passing the line of morally right and right for me. No one really knows when though, and that's kind of scary. The thought of eating someone, or eating yourself.

Apologies about those thoughts, I've been thinking about society morals lately. Like, things such as right or wrong; things like that. It's an interesting idea process that I go through. Unfortunately, they're not entirely pleasant. 

But hey! It's my mind, and it's probably what will destroy me. Happy thoughts!

It's 23:35; No Regrets

 The Reason

There was a time where he had to believe that everything was bad; that every single human was corrupt. That he, as the heir to the underground, was supposed to make those people face retribution.
It was supposed to be him delivering justice.

Now he's in jail and he doesn't know what to do. He's left to his cell as his subordinates try to worship a dead king. He has fallen; this he knew.

This didn't make him give up, rather, he had more of a motivation to keep going. To keep trying, and trying before his body will pass through this world like Heaven is to a simple Man.

He hatches a plan, a strange plan. He was a tactician at those moments, cutting off all loose ends revealed in planning. He'll use those pawns in his plans. Yes, this is what he'll do to gain back his throne. He's going to do anything he can to make sure he'll win.

Oliver Cross allowed the man to nearly crack his skull on concrete.

March 23rd, 2015

So, you know how when you want to play one video game and then you try to look for it? Then you realized that you probably lost it? Yeah.

Anyway, how are all of you faring this near of another month day? Wonderful? Wonderful. It's a strange day for me, but what isn't strange on this blog? Nothing, that is the answer to my rhetorical question.

I was thinking, the reason I possess this blog is to work on various writing assignments for my class: Writing for Publication. However, I am now all out of interesting prompts that I can make something out of. So, in conclusion, I'm sort of in a writing stump— but not really. It's quite a confusing affair.

Anyway, I wonder if you all would be interested in me writing reviews on things other than books. For example, video games. I'm not so sure. I guess if I really don't have writing that I can show you and if I already did this update on life thing, maybe I'll concoct one for you. Maybe you'll have fun with my desperation, I don't know.

Anyway, have a good day, I'm going back to writing.

For A Play - Poem

Won't really make sense if you haven't read the play Fences by August Wilson.

Open the Gates

Carry along dear Lord.
Carry along with the might of all the men.
Carry along with my Six Brothers.
I will come.

Lord of everything real and
everything imaginary.
Lord of all who stand and
All who fall.
Lord Almighty, It is time.

Time to see off the Trojan Man.
Pick him off of the fields of rye
Bring your hands to the sky and
call out to everything.
Everything that is all, and all that is everything.
It is time.

I hold my weapon of Heaven
I hold my stead.
I hold the fiber of my being.
I’ll bring it out of me.

I will Hope
I will Hope as much as I can
Oh God
The God over all that is Great;
The Mighty Being
To Give in Return of my Loyalty
Allow me to Open the Gates
For this Mortal Man.
The Trojan Man.

This Trojan Man
Is not a Trojan Man.
He is the Alexander of the Greeks
To me,
to him,
and him,
and him,
and her,
and her.
He is immortalized in our mind and hearts.

It is time send him away
Dancing along with the servants of Heaven.
Finally
Oh Finally
It is time to open the Gates.

I will lift my weapon
Like the Sword of Legend.
I will play
With the sounds of the Sea.
Dear Lord I pray to you.
Let him through the Gates.

"Steal A Line" Poem

Childhood

I remember you as you were last autumn.
Your crooked eyes matched
with your crooked lips
that shine so brightly.
Diamonds are stored in your gums.

You played with me in the gardens,
the kitchen,
the living room,
and your bedroom.

You blinked at me owlishly now,
unsure what to do with me.
Even if you don’t look at me,
even if you don’t let me be at your side;
I’ll still love you.

Even if you bring others to your life,
even if you bring needles to my arms,
and legs,
and head—

even if you let me rot inside
with moss and spiders;
I’ll still love you.
You will forget me, surely,
but I’m ready for it.

I was your first friend,
and you are my cherished treasure.
You’re forever in my memory
like a heart always being in your chest.

I love you so much,
but I know I’m just a toy to you.
Because even with my stuffed arms,
my stuffed body,
I can still hear you.

I can still feel you.
Hidden like a gem in stone,
I am your confidant,
hidden in this toy bear of yours.

Job Poem

After the Massacre

The pit is filled to the brim
with pieces of bones.
The survivors of disaster are pelted under the harsh rain,
memories of the lost make movement into their hands.
Humanity’s tears are silent winds chilling the hearts.

The scientist march in.
Heads held high,
but eyes filled with stones.
They carry out the bodies
and bow to the men and women and children.

To them. the lip is not the lip,
rather, it’s the curves, the crests, and the lines of  porcelain bone.
Covered in dirt and grime, white leaning over the mourning rain.

The scientists find these bodies in Death, painted in white.
and examine the the external, inferior, and the internal jaggers
in meatless flesh.
Many names have come to this place, a place of the dead.
(the names are left to be neglected under the lamps and heat).

Lights bleared and swayed under the shadows.
With just the forgotten and the unnamed, they find the grooves—
those uncovered passages
hidden in death.

They may find answers,
they may find truth.
They will.
All is the same between these monochrome children.
All is the same in life.

The scientist search,
in all black and in all white.
They chop the teeth,
stare holes into the human glass,
pity the cracks and shatters.

People are at the edges of their seats
to watch those adults with their straighten backs
and their high heads.
Their words are spoken in slow, delicate tunes,
their eyes fill with retribution.
The case has ended with the Goddesses of Judgement.

Day in and day out
they are surrounded by death.
They have to peel away the lies and find the words
(the very last words)
that were left behind
through the puzzles in the bodies.

Despite the stench and the weight,
they still find truth
they still give hope
in all black and white.
They continue the past and continue the present
in that transparent organ
left behind.

March 13th, 2015

It's my birthday! I'm older than the majority people in my grade! This is fantastic!

Minus this bug bite on my cheek. GOD IT IS SO ITCHY. These stupid bugs and this stupid coming season.

Honestly, March is this awkward season where it's just gross. Hopefully this thing'll go away.

Birthday Poem

Birthday Cake

Writing hides once every year
amidst the partying and the cheers.
My mind fogs in the candles blazing and twinderling on the cake,
the velvet frost evading the melting wax.
There would be songs all around,
 yet I found nothing in those lyrics.

I keep staring at the desolate colors, burning the entire room.
They chant to blow the candles
and I’m not so sure what to do.

It is a time of happiness,
so to say, but really it’s a countdown
until your days are fully numbered and
you go down the trap
which keeps you there until you feel needed again.

I blow the candles out.
The lights flicker on
and silver slices white.

Everyone cheers as the white coated cake
is passed about, like trophies to the underserved.
I stay silent,
trying to keep the smile playing on my face,
but the fog only entraps me more.

The clock ticks and the countdown has begun.
To a new time in a new age,
to a new life
(that only rejuvenates once every year),
and to luck
that might not serve me well.

Memory Poem

The Sage

When I was ten I saw the light of the fire,
glowing and fuming with blue screams.
Father had placed a shaking hand on me,
dubious of my attraction to it,

but asked me for assistance.
He gave me my sword of wood,
telling me to stir the monster from its wake;

I poked and prodded it,
unsure of the lumps and oozing liquids
that relaxed in the circular shield.

He laughed at my actions,
but told me in slow and delicate tones,
as if I were made of glass,
and guided me on this tutorial

that would surely help me in the long run.
His wrinkled hands,
(old with strain; young with age)
with pulsing veins seemed more pleasant
when he was tugging my smooth ones.
I stirred and stirred the beast until

all of his bubbles popped and the fire crackled.
He laughed
as one particular bubble popped
and hissed its venom on our faces.
Thankfully, we were courageous heroes
that were use to the spattings of angry beasts.

I looked at my Father,
no, I looked at the Sage;
old with his knowledge
and ready to hand it to me.

My clammy hands held the sword tighter,
we stirred the beast to its full wake.
The beast hissed and roared
with steam as its words

evaporated into the air.
Father had pulled me back;
it was now his battle.
He told me to wake my brother from his warm sickness,
I followed as told and yelled

inside that snoring room:
“Spaghetti is ready!”
I said with a laugh.
My brother exited, fatigued and dizzy;
never aware of this fierce battle
between Father, the beast, and myself.

Continuation Poem

Purity

Because in the previous years across that cement road
with the beastly family that secretly whispered and snickered;
the harsh sentences they spoke from their thin, cherry lips
were daggers under the pillows;
the words were imprinted into the children’s minds;
(what was happiness to them—)

and because in those years,
those children didn’t seem to understand what was said,
their naivety was overcoming the darkness of reality—
they grew into people that overcame those thoughts and secrets;
fighting against all the words and hissed whispers,
(—what makes normality and beauty—)

and because faced with more difficulties;
more gossip and more mouths,
it was then that it was right next to them,
reality’s venom trying to tear apart their limbs and bones,
they continued to grow even so—
(—who cares for the statistics and the reports; they were people—)

and because they retained such purity in life,
they overcame all those expectations,
they believed in themselves,
they grew into people that lived;
they became happiness itself—
(—and  people don’t matter, but then, with this realization,
they began to love; to realize what actual beauty is—)

and because they became happiness
they lived with painted smiles that crashed into life’s canvas;
despite all the struggles and the troubles,
(—the doubts and the fears—)
the tears and the woes,
the losses and the grievances;
with the odds against them,
(—it was the struggles in life,
the fact that they had survived,
was what made their lives beautiful—
it was the fact that
they still managed to live
that made beauty.)

Justice Poem

Themis & Dike

You were the wind at my back, holding me up to keep me tall,
the rapid hurricanes you gave me were a comfort at most.
The speckled dust clogged my eyes,
the seasonal winds tasted like spring in my throat,
the tornadoes roared in my ears,
and the air felt silk under my hands.

You smile to me,
as the winds roared along with you
 as you sing Latin
and tell me words in that soft language.

Aut viam inceniam aut faciam—
—I'll either find a way or make one—
you told me when we played amongst the flowers;
the rays dancing on our skin.

Yet, your lips were sealed,
those flat lips were silenced from their flesh,
sewed letters and phrases together into sounds
rather than words.

My right is your left so that means I always have the right.
Your way of Justice seemed to melt
into your way of Morals,
it never seemed quite correct;
always abnormal to majority’s views.

You were silenced,
shamed,
and depicted as strange.
It was as terrible as a drought
for both you and I.

However, the two Justices are by our side.
We can trust ourselves to live our lives
and make our own mistakes.

We were to live on,
day by day.
With the Heavens looking after us,
we were the clouds drifting away.
We were okay.

So, even if Justice finds a way out of your bones—
it’ll come back to you either way.
Even if your Morals are drained away from you,
you can get it back—
even as your winds die out
from behind me and turn back to air,
you will still be there.

Exception to All- Excerpt

A dinosaur out of context is like a character without a story. Worse than that, the character suffers from amnesia. —Jack Horner

I'm not quite sure where I am. I’m not quite sure who I am. I don’t remember much about myself. Although I am aware that I must’ve done something morally wrong as my face was being held against a cold surface. My arm was twisted behind my back and there was a numbing sensation that tingled from my forearm to my wrist.

“What d’ya have to say now, Oliver?” Snarled a rough voice from behind my head. I immediately had begun to panic. I struggled from the ground, useless. I heard the hearty laughs from behind me. It was then that a switch flipped.

My body had begun to move on its own. In a flash, I had found the ground spinning away from me as my body flipped over the mass above. Now, I was standing above the man who held me incapacitated and he was sprawled in pain.

I felt rough hands holding me back almost immediately afterwards.

“Damn it Cross!” Someone hissed into my ear. I was confused. Why didn’t they hold back the other guy when he was attacking me? I didn’t have enough time to ask as they push me into a white padded room.

“Hopefully,” The blue suited man sneered at me. “You’ll learn not to pick fights.”

He shut the door.

March 12th, 2015

My throat hurts but, hey, at least my birthday is tomorrow. As well as my luck is coming back. Pretty great day, I would say.

I really have nothing to say other than I'm going to post something soon for a thing I'm writing on the back burner.

March 10th, 2015

MY BIRTHDAY IS IN THREE MORE DAYS. I'M GOING CLOSER TO BE ABLE TO ADULT. THIS IS GREAT.

Well, not really. However, I am ready to play video games after I'm done with school. So ready for those games.

May or may not come back to give you an excerpt of what I'm writing currently.

The Weird Thing About Sleeping

I just obtained the weirdest thought. I do remember wanting to mention it at three in the morning, but I doubt anyone would've liked to stay up with me. So, here is this small thought about sleep.

We all know that sleep is needed for the brain to be healthy. You rest sometimes when you're tired or have nothing to do.We just sleep the day away.

However, the thought just occurred to me. We pretty much black out for a couple of minutes and wake up hours later. You miss life when sleeping, yet you experience it in your dreams.

Your mind just sends you to the parts of your imagination and leave you there until the body is fully regenerated. It has a clock, ticking and tocking until the alarm blares you awake.

Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock.

Then you wake up. Then you go back to what you were doing prior and do not bat and eyelash at the very thought that you simply blacked out of life for a few hours. Sleep is a curious thing, a curious thing that becomes apparent when there is a lack of logic in the mind.

I should really get more sleep.

Thoughts

YOU KNOW I JUST REALIZED SOMETHING LIKE, WHAT IF AREN'T ACTUALLY LIVING? LIKE, WHAT IF WE WERE IN LIMBO AND WE'RE JUST REPEATING EVENTS UNTIL WE DID SOMETHING IN OUR LIVES? IT'S CRAZY, BECAUSE IF WE'RE NOT ALIVE, THAN WHAT ACTUALLY IS?

WHAT F ALL OF THESE CONCEPTS AND THEORIES ARE PROVEN USELESS BECAUSE IF ONE THING ISN'T CORRECT, WE HAVE TO RESTART ALL OVER AGAIN?

I'M REALLY PONDERING OVER THIS YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND.