Intro. to my last Indept. Piece

I wrote this just before the awards night. I was hoping for it to be cancelled, but as of now, my mom is still making me go. Its hard to come up with ideas on what to write about, but recently i heard about this movie called bridges. In this film, a man set up a video camera and jsut filmed people walking off bridges. It was apparently very big, and very controversial. So, i decided to write a story about it. Maybe this is similar to one of their stories.

I was dead, lying above the end of the world

I stood before the edge, facing due north. If you let go just enough, the wind will hold you as you perilously dangle above the water. However, if the wind stops, you better hope that your reflexes work quicker than ever before. The wind was light today, it was brisk, slowly feeling my face as it passed. I glanced around, nothing was there. The bridge wasn’t crowded, of course at 4:37 AM, it wouldn’t be. This morning was different, I felt good. It was quick, and I was energized, I decided to walk those 43 blocks. I haven’t walked to work in ages, and maybe I shouldn’t have ever stopped.

This particular morning I couldn’t see that famous skyline. The sun was still in its waking stages, it made for a beautiful scene, but nevertheless, I couldn’t see very far. As I was busy ogling my view a man in full suit passed me. He quickly darted his eyes away, when I met his gaze, but I knew he would regret that later. He would even regret walking to work later.

No one realizes the scarcity of those little moments, you know, those little moments of self reflection, when rational thought leaves, but intelligence is still present. They’re not brought on by conscious thought, but rather when the mind realizes an opportunity to heal. As I peered into the parting darkness, I did not have one of those moments. But what I did have was something just short of a revelation. I stepped onto the railing. Perhaps I looked like Rose in that movie “The Titanic”, perhaps I just looked crazy, but when I looked down, I knew how I felt.

The plunge. Like a swan, ever so gracefully, I dove. My dress fluttered out as I went head first to my death. I was elated. Freedom had incinerated itself into my bones. I could imagine the man turning around and gawking at my bravery. My light brown hair was whisked away from my face as the wind whistled past me. Oh! The depths of darkness I was approaching would be magnificent! I could see the water below me. It turned from this blue to purple, eventually into black. I hit. The impact was shattering, with that the black engulfed me.

My wind had stopped.

Intro to Indept. piece #8

I was actually inspired by a song I heard, but the dad was a samurai, so it was little bit different. This story is, more or less, the epitome of dysfunction. Really, I think this story tells itself. There most certainly are parts I’d change, but I couldn’t get them right, so I let them be.

Independent piece #8- Miss. Humphrey, the beautiful Miss Humphrey

When my father would come home, he’d forget about the killing. Every time he walked in, the first thing he did was kick the dog. Its foaming mouth, a result of starvation, would snap out at his leg, but would always come up fruitless. “Get in bed!” he would bellow to us, as we ran away. We were afraid of him, terrified. His job was unbearable, and as a result, he took a heavy hand towards us. Me and my little brother often bore the remnants of his temper, but we could stand it, our youngest sister couldn’t. She was beaten to death 3 months ago. I loved my dad, I knew he loved me too, he just didn’t know how to show it, but it was okay. My mother, beautiful as she was, was now ragged and worn. At night I could hear her cry, and beg with my father to stop, stop what, I don’t know.

School was a sanctuary. My teacher was always so nice. She had wavy brown hair, and a gentle face. Her name was Miss. Humphrey, or Miss. Hum, for short. We were always allowed to eat in school, and we could play in the playground during lunch. One day she approached me, “Honey, I was wondering, where are those bruises on your arm from?” her face was mellow, but serious. “Oh, um, I’m not sure.” I replied. My eyes couldn’t meet hers. Her face grew taught and I knew I had upset her. “Would it be alright if I came over for dinner one night?” I smiled, of course! I shook my head, and a large smile plastered itself on my face.

The following night she came over, six o’clock sharp. She had on a maternal blue dress with some flowers, it came to slightly above her ankles. “Hi, Miss Hum! My dad will be home from work in a couple of minutes, but my mom is in the kitchen, c’mon!” I took her hand and gladly led her to the dank kitchen. Dishes were piled in the sink, and my mom looked sick. “Hello, Miss Humphrey, I’m Mrs. Gina Glen. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” My mother said. “Would you please excuse me a moment?” My mom walked away, half stumbling. I heard her go into the bathroom, she was vomiting.

Suddenly the front door thrust open. My dad let out an angry roar and searched for the dog, no where to be seen. He looked up and saw Miss Hum, falling back a little he bellowed, “Who the f*ck is this b*tch!?” startled, Miss Hum replied “I’m Miss. Humphrey, your daughter’s teacher. Nice to me-” my father slapped her. “Get the f*ck outta my goddamn house!” he began to charge towards her. A slight gasp escaped between her lips, as her eyes grew wide. He grasped her in his arms and threw her to the floor. She crouched in the feeble position and tried to ward off the blows to her stomach. “Daddy!! NO!! Stop, daddy, please!” I screeched. My feeble voice held no weight in his world. He wasn’t going to stop. “Mom! Mommy!? Mom! Help!?” she was no where in sight. I watched in despair as my father mercilessly pounded Miss. Hum, the beautiful Miss, Hum. Blood began gathering underneath her head, and I could see her body beginning to unfold with each blow. She was dead. I would never forgive my father for this. I would love him no more

Intro to Indept. piece #7

I just sat down and started writing. It began as a story about a girl, but ended up with a first person P.O.V., so, what are you going to do? It isn’t an autobiography, although parts of this might mimic some of my life. I wrote this keeping in mind “Catcher in the Rye”, because he was so emo and this girl seemed a little emo as well. I hated this book and began hating this girl as well. But I did like the end, with the girl just lying in the grass. I almost never give names in my stories, and that what I like. The friend in the beginning can represent tons of people, or no one. The main character can probably relate to a bevy of people. I wrote this piece as a way to let out more frustration than I actually have.

Indept Piece #7

Theres no title for this piece

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“Umm…ya. I don’t care. He can go f*ck her if he damn well feels like it. Whatever, I’m not going out with him anymore.” Her ignorance was overwhelming, she couldn’t tell that he really just wanted her attention. After spending 4 years of her life with him, she dumped him. “You’re retarded, you know that?” I laughed. It was nothing important, really, it wasn’t like she couldn’t get him back, in fact she could just about get anyone. Her face was flawless, and she had these big stunning eyes. “Ha-ha. I know.” She said, lighting a cigarette. We continued walking down the street, leaving a trail of smoke behind us. “So, uh, what are you going to do this weekend?” I asked, making small talk. “Oh you know, the usual” by that she meant going to some exclusive party, that I was never invited to, and getting high, or drunk, or a combination of both. “Sweet.” Another Friday night alone.

I came up to my house. The flowers in bloom certainly did exaggerate the features of the house, but they were gorgeous, nevertheless. “Mom!? I’m home!” I yelled up the stairs. She was in the back, probably wrapping presents for god-knows-who. “Okay! I’m going to run out to get bagels and pick up Sam from the gym. Later I’ve got to bring Couri, Sean, and Shane to boy scouts.” She yelled through the wooden door separating us. “Iight, do you know if I’m doing anything tonight?” I asked, opening the door to an explosion of shiny wrapping paper and tape. “You know, you can always have some friends over.” She pushed. Okay, sure, whatever, no. I walked to my room, begrudgingly weighing my options of activities planned for tonight. Bah, there’s nothing. No doubt all my friends would be out having a grand time with my other friends. I sat on my bed, and prepared to take a nap.

I’m woken up at 5:30, by my sister banging on the door. “Open up!” she blasted through the door. Ugghhh, I have a massive headache, it must’ve been the Bacardi I had before I went to sleep, a holocaust survivor once told me the best remedy is a sip of champagne, I think I’ll take her advice. I unlock the door to Sam standing there, “What did you do!?” she bellowed, what? What the hell is she talking about? “Cool, even when I’m asleep I still get in trouble.” I said. He seemed strangely startled, but moved past me. “Sam, what are you talking about?” She glanced in my direction, but said nothing. Okay, whatever. I left my room in a haze. The headache was getting worse and my hopes of doing something were slowly withering away. I’m such a loser.

I stumble to the computer, where I expect to waste away for the next couple of hours. I log onto aim, dozens of away messages pop up, “Out with mah peeps!”, “Going to party it up tonight!”, “With the coolest people, Eva!!! Ilu guyzz.”, etc. Grrreat. So now I will waste away, by myself. I don’t suppose it’s that people don’t like me, its just they like other people more. I enjoy being by myself most nights. Although I have no stories to tell, and no fascinating moments to revel about, I guess I’ll make do with my life as is. No emails, no comments on myspace, no messages on facebook. Cool, just awesome. I get off and walk to the T.V., don’t fail me now. Occupied, awesome, now what? There really is nothing to do in a small town, with limited activities. Sam and Casey were the only people home. Well, they’re not going to do anything tonight, I guess. I walked outside, and laid in the grass. The threatening onslaught of rain didn’t matter, I was going to stay out there if it began to rain, even if I had to drown. The wind moved past me, the chill crept into my bones, and the gray skies began to swell. An ant walked across my hand, and scurried off when I began to stir. Winter was approaching, it would be long, too long. I tired listening to the sounds of nature, but there was nothing to be heard. No birds were out, no field mice could be heard twittering, the world was dead. I was dead, lying beneath the end of the world.

microfiction- the sycamore forest

I was going through the great woods where the sycamore trees grow. There, I met a toad. I knelt down aside him, he saw me and croaked a thundering, drawn out, roar. He was sad. The golden rays of the evening sun illuminated his skin. With that, the wretched creature peered around the forest, past the dark trees. I hated him, so I killed him. It wasn’t anything personal, I just never took a liking for small creatures. When I was little, I had a bunny.

So I sat there, next to the newly deceased corpse. I was still, listening to the gentle crackle of the leaves, in the woods. If only I hadn’t killed the frog. Oh well, what’s done can not be reversed. For now, I’ll just indulge in my tranquil surroundings, where the pinewood grows fresh.

My gown fanned out beneath me, the lace now muddled with leaves and dirt. The white satin was stained brown from the soil of my mother’s garden. I was back in my house, my frog in the terrarium beside me, and the trees, gently rustling outside.