Life Lesson

Wake up late on the weekends; never wake up parents when they are asleep, they'll end up scaring you just as much as you scare them; never call teenagers at 10 o'clock in the morning; watch out for falling anvils, they'll squish you into a pizza; let people give you compliments and don't be modest; make bird calls in the middle of the winter and see what you get; hold a toothpick lightly between your fingers and see how heavy it weighs; use said toothpick to make a sculpture; let yourself get soaked to death in the rain; don't wear white T-shirt's to gloomy Badminton tournaments; don't worry about getting cold on snowy days, there's always a warm place for you to return to with tasty hot chocolate; don't bring home marigolds, you never know who's allergic to them; blow all the puff plants you can; don't worry about who's watching; life's not about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain; let yourself be crazy; don't threaten the faeries that life in your room, they don't respond well to anger; make sure you know where all your things are so that the faeries can't take it; leave a bowl of milk outside a cottage in the hot summer to see what comes to drink it; don't live life with regrets because at one point everything you did was what you wanted; hold tight to trees near a lake, or else you end up messing up your shoes; act crazy all day; say yes to anything someone asks of you for a day and see how optimistic you become; make up things to tell your sisters to see how gullible they are; don't mess up someones dreams because they could intercept yours; live, laugh, love; nobody said that your dreams would be easy to achieve, they just promised it would be worth it; if you love somebody let them go because if they return they were always yours, if they don't they never were; don't be afraid to let people talk behind your back because it simply means you are two steps ahead; tell stupid stories and make weird noises; never be afraid of something; don't let someone tell you you're stupid; hold life by the reins and take it for a ride; love the people who treat you right and ignore the people who don't, chances are, they're just jealous.

Hunter

There was the sound of laughter that echoed throughout the night. It pierced through his ears, made his face twitch with uncertainty. Was he ready for this?
He shook his head, running his long fingers through his hair and over his face. His already pale skin was accented with swirling tattoo's like runes that made his skin almost blend into the night.
There was the scent of lime and lavender, a strange smell to say the least, and he knew it was the signal.
With grace no one but himself and his line of blood could contain he sprung from the tree branches to the ground just from the patio where the loud party continued to go on. Oblivious to the danger lurking not five feet from them.
He took another breath and looked up at the coldly twinkling skies above him. The moon was full tonight, casting shadows and containing his collegues who looked on with sober and serious expression. None of them liked to do it, but for the sake of the world around them, some things had to be done.
He made signals with his hands to those who lurked in the shadows and they moved closer. Though it was rare, there was an occasion weakling that made an escape and those that did never reached help.
Something hissed through the air just an inch from his left ear and he jerked back and dropped, making sure that he wasn't hit.
This was his warning.
The party light still glinted in the air. They threw more light than shadows and he caught a glimpse of a new one cringe back from the light. He didn't have the protective gear that the elders did and therefore his skin burned with light and the happiness and obliviousness of the weakling humans.
He opened the front door, closing it quickly behind him and stalking through the shadows until he got to the main room. With more hand signals, the air crackled around him, causing some hair to stand on end.
Only then did the humans notice something was not quite right.
A few furgitive looks were cast around, searching for the cause of the disturbance. But they were blind to everything around them, and their gazes raked blindly over him.
A blue light, visable to only him, appeared in the static air. It grew and grew until it was so enlarged it encompassed the whole room.
With a single twitch of his fingers, the room imploded, not even leaving time for screams.
He cringed from the debris that flew and then let himself heave a sigh.
But, just as he was leaving, there was a tiny whimper from the top of the stairs.
His head shot to the staircase to see a tiny girl with a worn teddy bear clutched in her arms.
Her eyes were wide with fear and latched on him.
How could this girl see him? It was impossible and had not happened in 200 years.
"Take me with you." she said as he moved toward the door. He hesitated. Should he? The clan leaders would kill him if he did, but many others would be angry that he had let himself be seen and had not taken the child with him.
With another heavy sigh he turned and grabbed the girl from the stairs, bringing her with him. She stiffened, but relaxed and clutched to him with dear life when he saw the eyes that peered out of the night.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Laney. What's your name?" she asked.
He was startled. He hadn't had a name in forty years and he struggled to remember.
"Liam. Liam Contoct."

Wrap Around

The loud children's eyes had weakness like strength. The dying plants held summer rain with uncertainty. As the sting of pebbles in teh hazy, dying light rained down with nightly runes, the young watched nights like Romeo watched Juliet.
"Living. We win battles with rules harder than our enemies weaknesses."
Wars, games, rules, rides. Crazy things like loud voices and tawny-eyed boys. Towards the horizon, crazy and dying, one stand hazy like the livng were meaningless.

Shadow Creatures (F-short story, A-teen, T-horror)

You rush through the darkness, paying no heed to the things around you. You can understand that trees whip past on either side of you and that the pounding of your feet is on paved ground, but other than that, panic has taken over. 

A red alert screams through your mind, silent on the outside but setting off warnings every step you take on the inside.

Something warm and stinging drips into your eyes, and you wipe it away quickly, picking up your pace as you run. You can hear it behind you, calling; calling out your name. Nothing more than a dark shadow darting around the trees, catching up with you even though you started running a good half hour before it did.

You just can't seem to break through the thick vegetation, and a vine or two catch your feet. Eventually, you tumble to the ground--your foot caught by a protruding root. The shadow thing behind you makes euphony to others of its kind. Although it is a sound that makes you want to run towards it instead of away from it, you've heard it far to many times for it to have any affect on you.

Tearing and ripping with your bloody nails, you finally get your foot uncaught and take off running again. A stitch has built up in your side--so much so that it hurt to take even the smallest of breaths. 

Eventually, you run to a stop and double over in pain. You can hear the whispers of the beings around you, surrounding you, suffocating you, destroying you; and your eyes become wide with fright. It has suddenly become much darker and you whimper where you stand, too afraid to look up. You know that if you looked up, you would have probably died from fright.

"Elizabeth." the thing says, in its hoarse and whispery voice. Your name seems to echo around you, but you know it is the others of the things kind that are whispering it in the exact same tone and voice. 

Your stomach heaves as they draw closer, making you retch into the rotting leaves at your feet. They only draw nearer, feeding on your pain and fear.

You let out a colorful stream of curses that would make a sailor blush.

But they only laugh, throaty and disgusting. 

"You can never escape Elizabeth. We'll have you forever." they all whisper at the same time, making you feel like you were listening to a horror movie with surround sound.

"Get away from me." you say, courage coming to you in a strange burst hidden somewhere in the back of your mind. 

They only close their ranks, inching closer and closer.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" you shout suddenly, coming out swinging. Your hand and arm pass right through them, but your courage and strike surprise them enough that they can break away.

"You will never escape Elizabeth." they say, their voices fading into the darkness as the illumination of a street lamp comes into your view.

A sigh of relief rips through your body and you feel almost as if you want to break down and cry as you run past the lit up houses, running towards yours. But you keep it in, never looking back.

For now you are safe.    

Rainy Days

The fog rolled over the coast line to the little village. Everything was quiet as it snaked between the houses and slipped through wooden cracks into the living room of every house.

There was a creak in the floor and the fog scattered then settled again as a small figure pattered down the stairs to stand quietly near the large window that dominated the front of her house. 

She stood there, her face pale white with large black eyes and waited. 

Soon, every window in the village was occupied by some kind of little figure, and even the older brothers and sisters of some were holding a baby with them. 

Again, everything was silent until. . . 

The sound of a rickety old cart made it's way down the cobblestone street. The old woman who was pulling it and the cart itself was not there when the fog rolled in, nor were they anywhere near it. Only the children could see this old woman and her cart who rolled in with the fog. 

Finally, when the woman was in the town square did she stop. 

Every child moved from their homes to witness what she brought and who she would take. 

Those who were wise enough for their seven or eight years stayed away; moved to the back of the crowd and watched with a careful eye to make sure none that were too small or too weak where thrown into the carriage and wheeled away. 

Only a couple of small ones stepped forward to offer the witch a trinket or toy and in exchange, she would take both the child and the toy and throw them into her carriage.

And when the exchanges were made and the witch was satisfied, she gave a great bellowing yell and the crowd parted around her and watched her disappear into the fog. 

The fog receeded with the witch, enveloping her in a cloud of white. 

If you had blinked, you would have missed the departure of the witch. 

And those that were taken were never again seen.

Thus is the tale of Runaway Isle.

Coincidence

What is coincidence? Is it the fact that you're friend calls you just before you're about to call them? Or

is it the fact that you're thinking of something and then all of the sudden, it happens?

It's a hard thing to fathom. Hard to think of because so many people are diverse in their though process

and how they say things. No one thinks exactly the same, no matter how much that it appears that it does. 

So, are these things coincidence's, or is it some greater power? Some other force that is causing these 

things to happen for a greater purpose? Perhaps. Many people want to believe that because of the comfort

it brings. To think that this is part of a great plan that whatever creator there is has set. It is believable, 

because what do we known if their is a greater force?

I believe that some things are coincidence, and some things are due to a greater force. Coincidence is

only when you're father calls you down for dinner, just as you were about to go down yourself. Or when your

friend calls you just as you are about to call them.

A greater force is when you're good friend is killed in an accident, but it turns out that he was a serial 

killer who hunted down children at night and buried them in his backyard. Not saying that that is true, but

trying to give some kind of example on how a greater force could work. 

And then there are times when nothing just doesn't make sense. Like when a pet is hit by a car, or 

someone you know ends up getting terminal cancer in what would be their peak of life. Or if you're sister 

is raped. 

I couldn't say from experience. Not many things have happened to me that are coincidental. Most of

the time its something like a friend calling me just as I'm about to call them. It might be why I don't notice

it most often. But I know it's there. I don't think "seeing is believing" is a proper statement. You just have

to believe it with all your heart.

That's was makes many things right.

Avarice, one of the Seven Deadly Sins. There's actually a series of pictures like this; if you type in Seven Deadly Sins under images on any search engine, you will find the series.

Sins included Avarice(Pride), Envy, Lust, Gluttony(Hunger), Wrath, Vanity, and Sloth. 

TXTING

It's hard to imagine that once we were speaking in Shakespearean terms with each other; with our families, friends, and colleagues. Now a days we get by by sometimes not even saying a word at all a day, just texting or e-mailing. The language has been lost to make way for easier ways of saying things because we humans are lazy things. Isn't it easier to say one thing instead of three to get your meaning across? Of course it is. It's just how things are. 

Now, it's not much different that texting is making way for the new millennium. It's not necessarily destroying our language in the first place, because I have heard on many occasions people using bigger words than they had ever thought to ever existed in their vocabulary, but then again, I have heard people use "lol" or "rofl" or "ttyl" in conversations with normal people. Texting hides who you are. You can't tell when someone doesn't like your choice in words or if they don't want to speak with you at all. Its almost like living behind a mask. Without facial expression, you can't tell if the person's serious or sarcastic. Annoyed or being funny. It's a deterrent to a conversation you're having with someone. On one occasion, two people I had known had gotten into fights with each other because they couldn't determine if the person was messing with them or not. 

Then again, texting is convenient. You can speak with your friends or parents about something that popped up during the school day, or even during the working day. Instead of going through the whole procedure of talking to the person on the phone and risking someone overhearing your conversation, you can text them instead. No one can really know what you're talking about and most times private conversations are meant to be kept just that. Private. It can be used to have short, quick conversations with people and does not really need a phone call. Like if you're discussing someplace to meet, you can ask "Meeting @ park?" and the person whom you are addressing can respond with a "Yeah". Things like that, in my opinion, do not need to be graced with the procedure of a phone call. 

Some may argue that texting had ruined our culture. Others can say that texting has nourished it and revived it. Whether your opinion may be for or against texting, it will become a part of life. It already has become a part of life. And you can choose whether or not you want to use it. But it will always be there, ready for your fingers and minds to use and latch onto   

Rooms

I think rooms show our personality better than anything. If you really take a look at a room, I bet you'd be able to tell what the person likes, what they hate, and their interests. 

My sister's rooms are almost identical, with my littlest sister trying her best to decorate what she can under mom's supervision. A dog poster there from my inhabitant in the room is the most she can get away with.

My other sister. . . . well, let's just say she's a usual pre-teen with the pictures of Zac Efron, the Jonas Brothers, and Miley Cyrus on her walls. It almost makes my eyes burn to walk into her room and see all the fake smiles and gel-styled hair. Make up that she doesn't use strewn on her counter, like she actually uses it. More like a prop put there on purpose to explain. She likes to pretend. 

My parent's don't seem to have a taste at all. The carbon copy from a home make over magazine with the perfectly made bed, and the throw pillows just right. The big expansive walk in closet and the large bathroom and glass shower. Not that it's not beautiful just. . . . . predictable. There's no real taste in the decoration, just something to look at. 

In my room, well, if you knew me, you could laugh and say it looks just like a room I would have. The large 6 foot bookcase pushed up against the wall that connects my bathroom and closet. 108 books so far. Pretty impressive, huh?

The various pictures from my childhood that my mother insists on keeping up to 'remind me of my past'. Though the fairy pictures are fairly recent. I think I'll keep them. 

Then my bureau with the large mirror that covers half-my wall and the little lights that decorate the outer rim of it. They were made by myself on Halloween watching 13 Night's Of Halloween on ABC Family from 3 years ago. It was a distinct memory in my mind. 

Then the file cabinet and my desk. My desk holds a non-working computer, while my file cabinet holds all the works I've created, more reliable than a computer. Scattered here and there with random scraps of paper, wires, cups, pens. My mother likes to call it a mess; I like to call it eclectic. And no matter how many times I tell her, she continues to try and clean my room, resulting in a minor heart attack on my part when I can't find anything. She calls my stuff 'junk'. I call it brilliant works of art. She likes to call it 'dirty'. i call it saving everything. She likes to call it 'useless'. I don't really think she knows what all my 'useless, dirty, junk' means to me. It's my personality. And if she likes to portray a woman who never makes mistakes and is perfect, good for her. 

I prefer to be a unique spaz.  

Apple Picking

The air smelled like apples, and though disoriented for the fact that we had parked atop a hill, the sight was beautiful. 

Rows down you could see different apple trees; some laden with ripe fruit, and others picked dry. 

My littlest sister so overly excited, letting out little screams and squeals of joy and as soon as I hand her a bag, and she's off running to the closest tree she can find. 

"Abigail! Stop! You need to wait for the rest of us!" I call to her, being her caretaker for the moment for the fact that our parents were busy getting out extra coats and other paraphernalia from our car. 

She stops in her tracks and looks back at the rest of us, impatient in getting to her picking. 

Finally, with the final slam of a car door, she takes off again, force me to chase after her as our father yells at her to stop.

October was apparently not the best time to come. All of the fruit closest to the ground was picked already, requiring my dad and myself to grab the fruit from the highest branches, or holding down the branches themselves so that Abigail wouldn't lose interest or become frustrated.

My mother is driven to find the Golden Delicious apples, and as we all pile back into the car--my bag the fullest while my sisters have only two or three--we try to find the lanes that the apples are supposedly on. 

"We have to find Sauce Lane, then look to the left." My mother murmurs to my father, steering in him in the right direction. 

But the farther we go along the road, (well, it's more like a gravel strewn giant pothole) we find that all of the Golden Delicious are nowhere to be found. 

"Where are they?" Abigail asks, peering out the window, eager to start her picking again. 

"They're all hiding from you." I said. 

"Hey!" she cries to me, knowing I'm joking but taking it as an insult. 

I just roll my eyes at her, but she's already preoccupied in where my dad has parked where the allegedly seen apple was hanging. 

We all pile back out, wandering aimlessly through the fruitless trees. 

"There aren't any here!" I cry across the field. 

"We'll find some!" my mother calls back, somewhere northeast of me. 

I roll my eyes at the air, knowing we won't find any for the simple fact that the signs posted on the trees tell us that they were ready the second week of October, meaning that they're already long gone.  

Finally, my mother gives up when my sister Abigail gets frustrated without the apples, and we head back to our original spot, or the spot closest we could find. 

My sisters and I stumble upon a good fruit tree, but it's up high enough that I scale the tree to grab as many as I can within my reach. 

"I need a bag!" I called down. 

Just as my mother reaches me and I throw them in, she turns and stumbles. 

As she's trying to catch her balance, and apple is thrown from under her foot and she falls. 

Although shock contorts my face because I was convinced I would have been the first to fall, my mother starts cracking up as my father helps her up. 

"That's the second time you've fallen?" he asks, a smile on his face. 

"The second time? Where was I the first time?" I ask, jumping from the tree. 

No one pays any attention to me as we head to the next tree. I jump to grab an apple for my other sister, Olivia, then stumbled and land on my side. 

Just like a fat person in a movie, I roll down the hill and land on my butt, with all the apples I had gotten still in hand. 

I'm laughing and so is my whole family around me, my mom the hardest of all because she had seen the whole thing. 

"You okay?" She asks, just short of my dad asking me the same thing. 

"Fine." I say, as my mom helps me up. 

I brush myself off, happy I hadn't gotten any crushed apple in my clothing or hair.

After things are all said and done, we climb back into the car with two bulging bags of apples and head down to the little town and village they had set up. 

Most of the buildings were built in the 1800's, and the woman's bathroom was even a horse stable. It showed because the bathroom stalls had the doors you see in old western moves for the bars, except it only swung one way--outward. 

After we were finished, my mother decided she just had to go into the 'Country Store' and look around. 

After ambling around for a while, she ended up getting apple butter, raspberry preservatives, an apple cutter, a box of apple crisp, carmel apple makings, and four bags of apple chips. 

My sister started to get antsy, so I brought her out and sat her on the benches that line what looked like an entertaining center. After sitting there for a good ten minutes, we grabbed lunch and headed back to our car, eating it on another bench that sat just beyond the apple groves. 

Before this day I had always assumed apple groves were a thing of fantasies. Other families did it besides us, and mysteries clung to the dew drenched apples. Where wonderful things happened with only the muted apples for witness. 

And perhaps, if nothing else, the apples made something happen that day where everyone got along and there where no harsh, raised words spoke. 

Maybe the apples gave their own sprinkle of magic in things we call good luck. 

Worry About Being A Adult

Do I worry? Not so much now. There are years between adulthood and myself that I have many other things to worry about--like the present. Getting through school and other stresses that throw themselves up in my face at the last minute. Assignments that seem so monumental now, but are really minuscule in the grand scheme of things. But there are times late at night or times when there is a lull period that my mind wanders to other things that are lodged in my subconscious.

Times when I think about moving out and and paying taxes on my own like my father has done on so many late nights. Times when I find myself thinking about the stress that my parents go through for us; running around and getting to places that we think are no big deal. Times when I realize that one day I won't have my parents to lean on for support and money and clothing, food and shelter. Where I will have to make my own money and find the time to pay my rent or house payments or credit cards. 

Sometimes after I pay heed to all these things, I wonder if going to live in the forest as a hermit would permit less stress. Of course I would have to buy necessities before leaving. Then hunt my own food and find adequate plants to eat so I didn't end up poisoning myself. 

But then again, I wonder how I would keep in touch with my family and friends. Silence would eventually drive even the sanest person crazy.

But for now, I don't have yet to worry about those things. I do have apprehension for the future--who wouldn't?--but I don't let it plague me until I go crazy myself. 

Before that happens though I usually switch off my light and lull myself to sleep with promises of tomorrow, and of the fact that my life has yet to come to that cross-road.