The grayness had finally covered the whole sky, but was quickly covered by the darkness of the late hours.
It had being raining - sprinkling, little drops here and there. My friend and I had found ourselves on the top benches, catching what drops we could.
Then it begun pouring. Heavy, cold, fat drops of water fell and stained their clothes with dampness. The bagpipes began to play. An ugly sound playing a sad song. An Irish funeral song, I figured.
This was the last walk of the evening: the Silent walk for the deceased.
"You know," I started, "They say if you lay your palm out, you'll never get a raindrop in dead center." The conversation was weak, ill-fitting for such a time. But with the silence came the bagpipes and the walking, and with that came the memories I didn't want to think about.
My friend didn't offer any words, she nodded her head in acknowledgment and stuck her hand out next to mine.
She gave a heavy sigh and drew her hand back to her side. She checked her phone quickly and I did the same. A distraction was always welcome.
She cleared her throat, "Doesn't this make you sad?"
"Well, yeah." I answered. "My grandfather had cancer. So did my grandma, too."
She nodded, offering an almost mandatory apology for my losses. I accepted it gratefully and let her continue.
"I kind of hate this walk," She admitted. I motioned for her to go on with my hands.
She adjusted her sitting position on the hard wood, "There's this long line of people in my family with cancer...I'm in the running for it, I guess you could say." She paused and wiped some water off her cheeks. If it was the rain or her tears, I couldn't tell.
"Sometimes," Her voice broke and she cleared her throat again, "Sometimes it feels like one day...I might be walking with that purple shirt on. Or maybe this walk will be in memory of me. It's scary and a horrible thing to worry myself with, but..." She shrugged.
I drew up my most comforting words. "Well...my whole family has asthma but me. Sometimes you don't inherit things just because a lot of people in your family had it."
Her friend opened her mouth to say something but her phone's ringing cut her off. She talked with someone for a while before hanging up.
"My mom wants us back. She says the rains only going to get worse and that we should go to the tent."
"But I love the rain," I sighed.
"We'll get sick."
Something about the statement scared me, so I got up and carefully made my way down the wooden benches. We walked with the other people for a little while before we got to the tent. We drank hot drinks and put on heavy sweaters.
It still felt different, long after the bagpipes had stopped. It still left a heavy sadness in the air, even when the Cotton Eyed Joe came on and they danced.
They were silent the rest of the night.
-----
Complete crap.
Second piece today.
Ending sucks.
kthx
-Mari.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Silence
It was warm and the right side of the sky was sunny - which was quite a juxtapose with the dark clothing they wore. They walked mostly in clusters, family members close by with helping hands and watering eyes.
The left half was slowly turning gray - it would storm later in time for the second Silent walk.
It was quiet except for slight sniffles of the on-lookers and the padding of the walkers' sneakers on the track. As they turned the corner and walked in front of us, I lifted my hands and started clapping lightly, the coins in my hands clattering in time with the clapping from other watchers.
The clusters slowed down and became fewer and fewer. Now there was only three people at most walking together. I felt my eyes sting as I saw elderly people walking with limps or plastic tubes connected to their body. They were dependent on whoever was walking with them, unstable by themselves.
It was far worse when a child was there - wearing the baggy purple "Survivor" shirt that marked the walkers. They were usually on the shoulders of their parents, their big, wide eyes looking around and perhaps wondering why everyone was clapping. Had they won something?
After the first lap the Survivors continued some of them chanting things like "We did it!" or "We beat it!". The children didn't chant with them - most of them were too young to move their mouths in the rhythm of the chant.
Just thinking of what these people might have been through made my throat lock. The treatments. The hospitalization. The pain.
I wiped at my eyes before the tears had a chance to fall - truthfully, I didn't expect to be this effected. I knew the disease claimed lives, but I was usually almost stoic, holding my emotions under a cover of mild-sadness when inside the tears were already falling.
Finally the second lap was finished and we were allowed back on the track. The DJ started up some remix of a trashy pop song and the teenagers started dancing again. Me and my friend started walking again, but it didn't feel the same.
Every time I saw a purple "Survivors" shirt I was reminded of the silence. The walking. The clapping. The stinging.
My friend pulled on my arm and I remembered that being sad for these people wouldn't do anyone any good. So I just settled with promising myself I would come back every year to keep encouraging the Survivors.
---
crapcrapcrap.
I fail.
Couldnt think of how to end
Dear god how bad is it?
Ah.
:/
-Mari.
The left half was slowly turning gray - it would storm later in time for the second Silent walk.
It was quiet except for slight sniffles of the on-lookers and the padding of the walkers' sneakers on the track. As they turned the corner and walked in front of us, I lifted my hands and started clapping lightly, the coins in my hands clattering in time with the clapping from other watchers.
The clusters slowed down and became fewer and fewer. Now there was only three people at most walking together. I felt my eyes sting as I saw elderly people walking with limps or plastic tubes connected to their body. They were dependent on whoever was walking with them, unstable by themselves.
It was far worse when a child was there - wearing the baggy purple "Survivor" shirt that marked the walkers. They were usually on the shoulders of their parents, their big, wide eyes looking around and perhaps wondering why everyone was clapping. Had they won something?
After the first lap the Survivors continued some of them chanting things like "We did it!" or "We beat it!". The children didn't chant with them - most of them were too young to move their mouths in the rhythm of the chant.
Just thinking of what these people might have been through made my throat lock. The treatments. The hospitalization. The pain.
I wiped at my eyes before the tears had a chance to fall - truthfully, I didn't expect to be this effected. I knew the disease claimed lives, but I was usually almost stoic, holding my emotions under a cover of mild-sadness when inside the tears were already falling.
Finally the second lap was finished and we were allowed back on the track. The DJ started up some remix of a trashy pop song and the teenagers started dancing again. Me and my friend started walking again, but it didn't feel the same.
Every time I saw a purple "Survivors" shirt I was reminded of the silence. The walking. The clapping. The stinging.
My friend pulled on my arm and I remembered that being sad for these people wouldn't do anyone any good. So I just settled with promising myself I would come back every year to keep encouraging the Survivors.
---
crapcrapcrap.
I fail.
Couldnt think of how to end
Dear god how bad is it?
Ah.
:/
-Mari.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Plot penguin.
New story idea.
It might be called 'Exclude' but I don't know.
So basically the story is of a family. Mom, dad, only child. It's set in the U.S - present time.
"As the economy plunges down and millions of American families go down with it, Alyssa is surprised to see her family staying submerged. In fact, her father's business sky rockets, bringing the family to the Upper High Class, which in these times is considered quite well off. But the people of her town aren't quite as jovial about this fact. They start to exclude her family in their spite and envy. Then things take an even worse turn when tragedy strikes for Alyssa's (last and only) best friend, Ella. Her family supports Ella, and the town gets even crueler. What will they be forced to do, in a town where people are either being cruel or ignoring them?"
Yes. I am SOOOO EXCITED.
Basically, that would be the summary. The tragedy is that Ella's single dad kills himself out of stress - and that has really happened, I'm not making that up - and then Ella moves in with Alyssa for support. The girls are about 13-14. And then, a huge riot happens in the town and the family is forced to leav, and go to another town, and when they get there things aren't much better. But then the people of the new town figure our how well off they are, and they use them. A sister and brother in the town trick Alyssa into dumping Ella for a friend, and then they break into their house, steal everything valuable, and burn it down. Luckily her dad has lots of bank accounts and things, and they move again, but this time completely out of the U.S. And that's when the story ends.
What do you think? I think I like this one better than Mysticism, and I want to write it for NaNo.
(Opinions?)
-Mari.
It might be called 'Exclude' but I don't know.
So basically the story is of a family. Mom, dad, only child. It's set in the U.S - present time.
"As the economy plunges down and millions of American families go down with it, Alyssa is surprised to see her family staying submerged. In fact, her father's business sky rockets, bringing the family to the Upper High Class, which in these times is considered quite well off. But the people of her town aren't quite as jovial about this fact. They start to exclude her family in their spite and envy. Then things take an even worse turn when tragedy strikes for Alyssa's (last and only) best friend, Ella. Her family supports Ella, and the town gets even crueler. What will they be forced to do, in a town where people are either being cruel or ignoring them?"
Yes. I am SOOOO EXCITED.
Basically, that would be the summary. The tragedy is that Ella's single dad kills himself out of stress - and that has really happened, I'm not making that up - and then Ella moves in with Alyssa for support. The girls are about 13-14. And then, a huge riot happens in the town and the family is forced to leav, and go to another town, and when they get there things aren't much better. But then the people of the new town figure our how well off they are, and they use them. A sister and brother in the town trick Alyssa into dumping Ella for a friend, and then they break into their house, steal everything valuable, and burn it down. Luckily her dad has lots of bank accounts and things, and they move again, but this time completely out of the U.S. And that's when the story ends.
What do you think? I think I like this one better than Mysticism, and I want to write it for NaNo.
(Opinions?)
-Mari.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Tried
You always looked at me with your
silver disappointment. It bore into
my back in the halls and into my
eyes anytime else.
You always told me it was my fault
that we'd gotten to this point. It was
my "careful words" and "gaurded
eyes."
You always looked away when you
managed to mutter something to
me. You choose to focus on the brittle
walls and discolored paint.
I always tried to mend the broken strings
of our relationship, but you choose to ignore
the attempts in your contempt. I always
told you I'd try.
You always told me you would, too, but the
promised words changed. Now you tell me
that you'll never change this opinion, and
I believe everything you say.
---
How crap is that?
-Mari.
silver disappointment. It bore into
my back in the halls and into my
eyes anytime else.
You always told me it was my fault
that we'd gotten to this point. It was
my "careful words" and "gaurded
eyes."
You always looked away when you
managed to mutter something to
me. You choose to focus on the brittle
walls and discolored paint.
I always tried to mend the broken strings
of our relationship, but you choose to ignore
the attempts in your contempt. I always
told you I'd try.
You always told me you would, too, but the
promised words changed. Now you tell me
that you'll never change this opinion, and
I believe everything you say.
---
How crap is that?
-Mari.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Graveyard Muse
The dead grass crunched under her sneakers as she trekked through the foliage. She skipped lightly over the roses and flowers laying on top of the new dirt. She knew that these places had been recently dug, and she didn’t want to shame them with imprints of her footsteps.
She walked further, to the older tombstones. She ran her fingers lightly over the patterns chipped into the stones. She read the names out loud to herself, using the way they felt slipping off of her tongue to choose.
“Vanessa Wright,” She read. She decided she liked this name the best out of the ones she’d passed.
She folded her legs under her as she sat beside the grave. Her pen slipped out of her hand, landing in the dirt next to her. She picked it up again, using her teeth to remove the cap. With the pen poised over the fresh sheet of paper, she asked, “So, Vanessa, what’s your story?”
It was quite strange - when her stories felt dead she came to this place, where dead people are buried.
She was there, at the graveyard, at least two times a week. She’d pick a stone, choose a name, and then fill in the rest of the blanks.
“Vanessa, let’s say you worked s a model, because I imagine you’re as lovely as your name.” She paused, “But the pressure to be thin was too much, and you were so thin you collapsed.” She smiled to herself, jotting the details down. When she felt the familiar wave of excitement wash over her, she flipped the pages in her notebook to the unfinished short story in the back.
The faint scratches of the pen on the paper made her grin. When she felt like it was finished, she got up, waving at the grave.
“Well, thank you Vanessa. You’ve been a great deal of help. And don’t worry, I’ll finish your story, too. I’ll just need to find more characters…” Her eyes took on a glassy quality as she thought. “I’ll come back to visit, I promise.”
{*}{*}
It's short, yeh.
Opinions?
-Mari.
She walked further, to the older tombstones. She ran her fingers lightly over the patterns chipped into the stones. She read the names out loud to herself, using the way they felt slipping off of her tongue to choose.
“Vanessa Wright,” She read. She decided she liked this name the best out of the ones she’d passed.
She folded her legs under her as she sat beside the grave. Her pen slipped out of her hand, landing in the dirt next to her. She picked it up again, using her teeth to remove the cap. With the pen poised over the fresh sheet of paper, she asked, “So, Vanessa, what’s your story?”
It was quite strange - when her stories felt dead she came to this place, where dead people are buried.
She was there, at the graveyard, at least two times a week. She’d pick a stone, choose a name, and then fill in the rest of the blanks.
“Vanessa, let’s say you worked s a model, because I imagine you’re as lovely as your name.” She paused, “But the pressure to be thin was too much, and you were so thin you collapsed.” She smiled to herself, jotting the details down. When she felt the familiar wave of excitement wash over her, she flipped the pages in her notebook to the unfinished short story in the back.
The faint scratches of the pen on the paper made her grin. When she felt like it was finished, she got up, waving at the grave.
“Well, thank you Vanessa. You’ve been a great deal of help. And don’t worry, I’ll finish your story, too. I’ll just need to find more characters…” Her eyes took on a glassy quality as she thought. “I’ll come back to visit, I promise.”
{*}{*}
It's short, yeh.
Opinions?
-Mari.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Winning
I love that feeling
the rush that I get.
When you know you're right
but they keep trying.
Winning, succeeding
that's all I really need.
the rush that I get.
When you know you're right
but they keep trying.
Winning, succeeding
that's all I really need.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
It Was There
It was there, in the cold touches and hesitant smiles
It was there, with the lingering looks and 'stay a while's.
It was there, in the harsh fingertip brushing
It was there, with the soft, small hushing.
It was there, in the minor but meaningful contact
It was there, with the guarded words and senseless tact.
It was there, in the light teasing and laughs
It was there, in the secret smiles and happy eyes.
It was there, but it got lost.
{*}{*}{*}
I wrote this a while ago...not too happy with it. Opinions?
-mari.
It was there, with the lingering looks and 'stay a while's.
It was there, in the harsh fingertip brushing
It was there, with the soft, small hushing.
It was there, in the minor but meaningful contact
It was there, with the guarded words and senseless tact.
It was there, in the light teasing and laughs
It was there, in the secret smiles and happy eyes.
It was there, but it got lost.
{*}{*}{*}
I wrote this a while ago...not too happy with it. Opinions?
-mari.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
