Erin’s
Comments
(group member since Mar 28, 2017)
You're making pictures of our future,of the type of people we'll be.
I'm crafting poetry out of nature,
out of every broken thing I see.
You know just how to gather words,
how to gather every feeling off me.
I know how to adjust to the chords;
perfect things aren't always meant to be.
You're dreaming so wide,
believing in me and everything we could be.
I feel like a dizzy ride,
broken yet still wanting to flee.
You know that my heart beats,
that my mind over thinks.
I know your mind's imagination loves treats,
but I'm just a trick over the brinks.
You're going to break my heart,
shatter it into a million pieces.
I'll still love you for that poisonous dart;
you deserve only the best sacrifices.
WIP
cos everything feels like
it's spinning out of control,
like days could pass
and it'd all feel the same,
like I could just lay here,
and my existence would eventually fade
This game of charades will eventually end.
This game of pretend will eventually end.
So I'll eventually end, too,
and so will you
But that doesn't mean
we have to throw it all away,
that doesn't mean
it's over before we even get started,
and that doesn't mean
nothing matters because
everything matters when it comes to you,
when it comes to you and me
You and I have a whole other world to see,
dimensions to travel, universes to create.
You and I have an entire adventure to share,
won't you let me tag along on your quest,
your quest to save yourself, to love yourself,
because I have the same purpose as you do,
so won't you let me tag along?
I swear I'll write us a victory song
and the universes will sing along.
WIP
I'm holding on for you,
begging myself to stay strong for you,
wishing on the clouds above for you,
Wondering
How much deeper will I go
I don't know
You've consumed my mind with your words
like I was afraid you would someday.
You've promised to stay by my side,
help me mend these broken parts.
And here's what I don't really ever say;
I'm ready to walk away, end it all,
give up everything, leave you behind
all I ever say is I can't breathe anymore,
I can't do this anymore
and then I do
and I dedicate it all to you
Dedicate it to every word you say
Every reminder of okayness you send
and you don't know and you don't know
Do You?
Do you ever think about the stars,
the ones that no longer shine,
the ones that are no longer quite bright,
the ones that have burned out?
Do you ever think about the world,
how many people and beings
have come and gone,
how many are still here,
and how you're just one in millions,
how you should feel
so insignificant and small?
Do you feel so insignificant, so small?
Do you? Do you? Do you?
In a crowd of millions
and millions of people,
what do you see,
to whom do you plea?
In a crowd of hundreds
and hundreds of people,
is it still the same,
does it ever change?
In a crowd of ten
and only ten people,
who do you see,
to what do you plea?
In a crowd of one
and only one,
does it remain the same,
will you ever change?
and then they was gone
and I was gone too
we never made a promise to stay
and yet our fingers were always crossed
did you know,
did you ever know?
Did you ever look and see
the monsters we swore we were
but you refused to see?
Did you, did you, do you?
In a crowd of millions
and millions of people,
what do you see,
to whom do you plea?
In a crowd of hundreds
and hundreds of people,
is it still the same,
does it ever change?
In a crowd of ten
and only ten people,
who do you see,
to what do you plea?
In a crowd of one
and only one,
does it remain the same,
will you ever change?
and we tried to warn you,
how cruel the mind could be.
and we tried to warn you,
just how broken broken could be.
and we tried to warn you,
how we weren't good,
how you couldn't rely on us-
don't tell us that we saved you.
We really really didn't,
yeah we really really didn't,
No,
cuz sacrifices are only sacrifices
if the sacrifice doesn't want to go
and we all want to go
we all wanted to go
and so we go and so we went,
won't you go too won't you won't you
don't you please don't go too
I'll ask again,
In a crowd of millions
and millions of people,
what do you see,
to whom do you plea?
In a crowd of hundreds
and hundreds of people,
is it still the same,
does it ever change?
In a crowd of ten
and only ten people,
who do you see,
to what do you plea?
In a crowd of one
and only one,
does it remain the same,
will you ever change?
At night time, she would let her guard down. She would forget that she was supposed to act fine and strong and brave. She would forget that she wasn't supposed to show that she was weak and that she was hurting and that she was lost and that she was so very confused. She forgot that she was just supposed to act like an actress and that all of the problems and the futures she could see weren't real and that she made all of it up. She forgot to not think and she forgot to get outside of her head.
At night, her neighbors remembered her existence and they'd huddle together in their houses and hold onto each other tight, wondering what horrid things she was seeing. Even the drunk father would put down his bottle for just an hour and hold his children, care for his children, thinking of his wife he’d lost a month ago. He knew that the future telling girl had known but he didn't hate her because of the scream he'd heard her give the night before his wife died. It hurt the little future telling girl, too.
At night, her visions of the future came like movies instead of just glimpses. She saw the entire thing go before her eyes. She saw proposals. She saw sudden death. She saw who got stoned in who's basement. And who decided to scream about overdosing on the rooftop before they overdosed. She saw who tried to kill themselves and failed and succeeded. She saw who cheated on who. What leader had done something illegal.
At night, she couldn't control what she saw. She saw anything that was just happening to pass by. She saw everything in seconds. She felt feelings she couldn't think about. She had no time to mourn or smile or laugh or sigh of relief. It all just kept coming and it was like she was chasing all the answers but also trying to escape from the answers. She was stuck in a nightmare and all of it was real. Yet she would still wake up the next day and tell herself she was not crazy. She would cry in her sleep and she would scream and she bled, but she was not crazy.
At night, she was gone and out of control. She wasn't herself and yet she was also more herself than ever. She would get up and sleepwalk, but she would still be screaming. She was dangerous to herself at night. She hurt herself at night. Grabbing things, whatever she could reach, just to leave a message. One night she'd grabbed a knife and cutted a message into her arm. Another night she used paint and wrote all over the walls. This was why she wasn't allowed outside. Who knew what else she would do?
“I want to see the stars.” She whispered softly, her eyes trailed my face as she looked for any sign of life. She frowned slightly because she knew things that nobody else knew. There wasn't any sign of life.
“You can't.”
She allowed her eyes to walk all over my suit of armor because it wasn't my suit of armor; it was so much more and and so much less. It was a cage and I locked myself in.
“Do you want to see them, too?” She asked me.
“We can't.”
She stood up from the couch and started walking toward me, her arms wrapped around her waist as if she was trying to close in on herself but also trying to stop herself from wanting to close in on herself.
“This will be our last time to see them. We're both dying. Please.” Her voice was soft and begging and tears were in her eyes along with fear. “Please,” she said again.
“I'm not- we're not dying.”
She looked startled for a minute. “What did you think this was?” She demanded, her voice all of a sudden angry. “Does anyone think anymore? Your mission is to die, not to watch me. Never believe what they say. You were their last chance. You were my last hope. Did it ever occur to you why your fate was so common?”
“No. People don't choose their fates.”
She grabbed my hand suddenly. I didn't feel a thing. “Solve the riddle before it's too late. Hurry.” She said, her voice panicked.
“What riddle?”
“Stars. Common. All of it. I can't do this anymore. I can't hold on.” Her breath was starting to sound heavy and she let go of my hand.
“What's happening? What's wrong? Bain!”
The girl was exhaustion. She made everyone around her tired. She, herself, was tired. She wore herself out. It was not her fault. Or maybe it was. Stories have theories and maybe this one does, too. She was glass, broken and yet sharp. Her family had stopped visiting her long ago because they had grown weary of the sick way she held herself and could no longer bare to see her in pain that she refused to look at, that she refused to acknowledge had an existence. She would never admit to herself or to anyone else the complete truth of why they left, of why they stopped coming around. Not only was it too painful for her to think about but it was also real and the reality of her imagination would only allow her to go so far. The real reason they left was because there was an accident and they seeked safety and she wasn't safety. Bain Taylor was anything but safety.
For the first couple of months, I was always supervised with Bain Taylor. They always had someone behind the camera; it was always the same person. It was Mr. Bossman, my boss. Bain Taylor did the same thing every day and eventually he got bored. He'd been watching her routine longer than I've been. I guess he figured that since I was here and that everything would be recorded nothing would go wrong. And by guess, I mean that's exactly what he was thinking because he told me.
The first night that we were left alone something odd and unusual happened. Bain got up from her spot on the living room couch where she’d been typing on her laptop and walked over to where I was standing against the back wall. She stared at me, or well the suit of armor as if inspecting it. After a few minutes, she finally turned away and started to leave the room to go to the kitchen. Instantly, I started to move to follow her, having no control over where I moved. Bain laughed at me as she saw me following her. “Of course! You never could give a girl privacy, huh, Earl?” She asked through a fitful of laughter. I felt my face go red, thinking of all the times I've followed her to the bathroom or followed her when she said she was going to go change. Fortunately, I was able to look away from her each time because Mr. Bossman wasn't a complete freak. As for why she called me Earl, well, girl's got humour. She likes to mock me.
As we entered the kitchen, she automatically started getting plates and pans out and I took my place against the wall to stay out of her way but also to be able to see everything she's doing. After Bain finished getting out all the things she needed to cook with and on and serve with and on, she began to take out all of the ingredients she needed. Whenever Bain cooked, she overdid it. She looked over at me when she finished getting out all of her ingredients, flashing a smile. It surprised me so much that she had paid me anymore attention. She usually didn't.
“I have a personality, you know. I just wanted to bore Mr. Bossman so I could get his eyes off me. He creeps me out.” She said as if sensing what I felt. “Not that he won't end up seeing all this later when he looks at the recording. Though maybe he'll get bored enough with my routine that he'll trust the recordings more and won't watch me as much in hopes of getting more interesting clips. Of course there comes our once a month interviews, but maybe he'll trust you to do those too. Maybe he'll trust you to do everything. We can only hope.” She waited a moment as if expecting a response before she began to put ingredients together.
She was mumbling something to herself as she worked, her lips continuously moving but not making any sound. She was baking a lot. Cakes and pies and cookies and chicken and hamburgers and fries and muffins and spaghetti and laszonia and just so much more than usual. When I wrote that she overdid it before, I meant that she always made a full course meal. Not that she made multiple meals. When she finished cooking which took a couple of hours, she opened up one of the cupboards and pulled out a few baskets that reminded me of Easter. She then split the food into little bags evenly and all portioned out between four different baskets, filling them full. She also opened up a jar in which I remembered that she had candy in and grabbed a handful for each of the four baskets. She then grabbed each of the four baskets and began to walk out of the room.
“Come on, Earl!” She called over her shoulder without looking back. “We've got things to do.” The suit of armor had already begun to follow her. We went back into the living room where she sat each of the baskets on the center table. She then walked over to the corner of the room where she had stuck a large package she'd received from the mail earlier in the day and brought it over to the couch. She went into the kitchen to go grab a knife so she could open it and I, of course, followed her in there and then followed her out where I returned to my place against the back wall.
She sat down on the couch, pulling the box to her lap and cutting the knife down the middle where it folded. She then opened the box and started pulling out it's contents. It was Easter. I'd been right. She took out chocolate bunny rabbits, Easter eggs, more candy, lots of candy, and giant eggs with paint sets, and a bunch of decorations. She began to decorate the living room and then the kitchen and then the bathroom and then the bedrooms and then the ballroom and then the library and she took her time with decorating, applying each one with caution. When she finished decorating the house, she began to fill the Easter eggs with candy. When she finished filling the eggs with candy, she looked at me and sighed.
“Can't you be helpful for once?” She questioned. “I'm tired of your countless staring.” Her voice did, indeed, sound tired but I couldn't do more than stand there.
I shook my head despite knowing that she wouldn't be able to see me. “I'm sorry.” I said out loud, knowing she'd be unable to hear me.
Bain slumped back into the couch, her eyes still fixed on me, on my suit of armor. “Sometimes this place gets lonely. It used to feel so alive with mom and dad and my sisters and my baby brother. We would all play games after dinner and we'd all help to prepare dinner and we'd all read books together and we were all so happy, you know?” She asked as if she was trying to talk directly to me. I felt a tear go down my cheek, a single tear, because the truth was I didn't know. My father was always working and my mother died before I could remember her. When I lived with my uncle he refused to talk to me more than he had to and I know it was because I reminded him of my father. My aunt was more welcoming but that might've been because she couldn't have any children. I didn't know what it was like to have a happy family. “It all changed when I received my fate. I was told I was the teller of the future. I could tell the future. Nobody had ever had a fate like mine, it was unusual. Fates were the future, nobody was supposed to tell the future. The government was on edge by me. They wanted to put me under house arrest but they wanted to take me out of my house. I refused. I said I wanted to stay in my house. To stay with my family. What I wanted didn't matter. My parents could agree for me to stay at the house and for them to leave, or they could agree for them to stay and me to leave. My parents chose for me to stay, saying it'd most likely make me feel more comfortable giving out the future. Telling them the information that they wanted. I'm not sure if that's what they actually believed or if that's just what they wanted them to think and me to think or if they just wanted to get out of this house because they believe that I've made it impure. It seems stupid to have these thoughts against your family, doesn't it? But how can I have anything but these thoughts when the people who were supposed to care about me and who were supposed to protect me sold my soul away as if it was being given to the devil? In a way, my soul has been given to the devil. Your soul is being given to the devil as we speak. Your life will eventually be gone with it.”
I felt tired. I wasn't supposed to feel tired but I did. Her words were surprising and they hurt and they made so very tired. I wanted to sleep for forever. I was going to pass out. I couldn't pass out inside this armor. I can't pass out inside this suit of armor. I can't black out. I can only write. That should be the only sign that I'm alive. I write and I write and I write and I wrote because I am a storyteller and for once the story came naturally. As natural as breathing.
She was not okay. She ate a healthy breakfast every day. She was not okay. She had the highest grades in her class. She was not okay. She smiled a lot at her reflection in the mirror. She was not okay. She laughed at her own jokes, at her mistakes, at anything she thought was funny. She was not okay. She danced like nobody was watching. She was not okay. She painted pictures of the beauty in the world. She was not okay. She was in love with someone that made her feelings go deeper than the ocean. She was not okay. She was an artist. She was not okay. She loved to rant about anything that was on her mind. She was not okay. She stood up for herself, even though she was trapped in a cage. She was not okay.
She's a song. Not one of those ones that are actually famous enough to get on the radio and be overplayed a lot, but the ones that don't get played at parties because nobody really pays attention to them, even if they think it'd be weird if that song just wasn't there. Imagine the whistling of the wind along with multiple birds of a different variation singing different tunes and the sounds of a cricket at night and the strumming of strings and the sound of ocean waves crashing against one another. Imagine a woodpecker pecking wood, a squirrel scurrying up and down trees, the sound of a thousand ants marching to the human ears, a fangirl screaming. She's not a sad song because her story isn't all about the sadness of her life and the bad things that have happened to her. No. She's an emotional song that explores the ups and downs of life. Don't you dare say that everything she was and is and will ever be is just sadness because she is so much more than that. She is real and full of emotions. She's human, too.
I was nineteen when I received my first mission. When I turned nineteen and every day before I turned nineteen I didn't know what missions were. I never even imagined being chosen for one like apparently most everyone else around here does. I think that even now as I know what these missions are I would never think about wanting to actually be apart of one and not just required to be. It wasn't something that I wanted. Also, unlike everybody else in this dreary town, I wasn't always in this town. I was born here, yes, but I was three years old when my father and I had moved out of this place after my mother's death. When I was fourteen years old, my father was killed and I was forced to move back here, to the only family I have left where in less than a month of my arrival my fate was given to me. My fate was a storyteller like my aunt and my grandparents from both my mother and my father's side of the family but unlike my mother who was a traveler and my father who was a healer.
I listened to my family's advice and I read books and watched movies and watched TV and talked to strangers and I listened to my surroundings and observed everything around me and I wrote whenever I could, but storytelling never came to me as naturally as it came to them. I guess that's why they were so surprised when I got a mission and none of them had, especially at such a young age. I suppose that nobody told them or anyone else that missions were for the dammed, for the lost, for the broken, for those who didn't follow the rules, for those who were too thoughtful, too artistic, too creative, for those who couldn't get their fate to be their fate, for the stories of the people who were meant to be forgotten but instead became the required bedtime stories for future generations who were left with nothing but nightmares and promises made out of fear.
My mission was, of course, Bain Taylor. I was supposed to observe her the way I observed everything else and I was supposed to tell her story. Bain Taylor also had a mission, although it'd been unknown to me the way mine was unknown to her. I wasn't supposed to talk to her and she wasn't supposed to see the real me. I was only supposed to observe and watch to see who she was in contact with and what she did during the day. Here's how this worked: the one who selected me for this mission put me in a statue of armor and hooked it up to my senses along with a bunch of cameras so that everything Bain Taylor did would be recorded from my perspective, so that they'd be able to see all of it as well. Surprisingly enough, I was able to move around inside the suit of armor because of some technology that they told me they weren't allowed to explain because it was what the designer requested. Inside the suit of armor I'd be unable to feel things like hunger and fatigue and the need to go to the bathroom. Therefore, I'd be unable to use sleep as an excuse on why I might've missed something important. They were also able to control my movement if she was doing something and I wanted to look away but they didn't want me to. The suit of armor was also inclined to follow her wherever she went by some movement I couldn't control. The only thing I could really control was my hands so I'd be able to jot notes and write.
One of the worst things about being stuck in the suit of armor was time. At first it seemed to pass by slowly but over time it seemed to quicken and I lost track of how long I'd been there. Bain Taylor became my life obsession as quickly as she became my life mission. I started to forget who I was, that I was anything more than this mission, anything more than this suit of armor. I was lost in my work the way I was supposed to have been lost with my words a long time ago. It was scary because sometimes at night when I was forced to watch her sleep I would get this overwhelming sense of panic because there were things from before that I couldn't remember, like my name for example. My name was lost in a very windy breeze and a storm of destruction and I'm afraid that I'll never get it back. I tried to tell this to my boss, the one who selected me and could hear my thoughts with a push of a button, but he just shrugged my concerns away. He told me that it would all come back in the end when I was no longer in the suit of armor. I stopped worrying about it, or at least I stopped thinking about how I was worried about it. I decided to keep focusing on my work. I guess that was the proper way of thinking because after I made that decision I also wrote some of the best things I've ever wrote.
She was damaged before she got the chance to feel whole, a broken child with a prophecy much bigger then she was and way farther than she could see. She was destined to die, and not in the way where every single person that you'll ever get to know or pass will one day die, but as in she was raised as if she was preparing her own funeral which her parents made it very clear that she was. It was her duty to die before she knew how to live, before she could define herself as a human being, before she could even attempt to understand herself. Her name was Bain Taylor, and like she was destined to die, I was destined to tell her fate. However, I advise you to proceed with caution as like most tales where someone is meant to die because dying is never fun when you know who it'll happen to. That doesn't go without saying that it's any fun when you do know who it'll happen to either.
Perhaps I should restart because this beginning doesn't feel right. They said that it would come to me as naturally as breathing does, but it hasn't, so does that mean that I am not breathing right? Or does it mean that for once they got it wrong, that this isn't my real fate, though as far as I know those are just stories. The more I try to write this story, however, the more I'm beginning to doubt if they really are just stories. Let me tell you this before I proceed: this is more than just a story. This is a life that intertwines with mine, and a source of all things good and bad. This is a story of the future. Shall we begin?
Once upon a time there were two friends with two minds, two very different minds, and they longed for adventure. The two friends always dreamed that their story would begin with once upon a time, like a fairy tale, even if it was certain that their story wouldn't end like one. Isn't that how most realistic fairy tales work in the real world anyways? With the start of hearing once upon a time being read to you and in the end with nobody standing by a deathbed and telling you happily ever after. Perhaps people do that at other occasions in life but that never really made sense to me. I mean, how could you tell someone happily ever after when the end game is that they'll die? They never did quite meet their endings in fairy tales. Perhaps I'm just odd. Well, of course, I'm just odd. However, that isn't really the point at this time.
I guess that my point is that it’s not an easy task to die without meeting death. It was not to be encouraged. And yet in the town where everything was in shadows and where everything looked dreary, it was very encouraged. There was hope for change in that encouragement, and although it was uncertain whether that change was a good change or a bad change, it was still hope. Hope wasn't a common thing in this little sad town, you see. Hope was like an extinct dinosaur. It was all gone except for it's remains. Remains were a start to a discovery, even if it's unclear how far that discovery will lead.
I'm not supposed to think that way. I'm not supposed to make points or over think the differences between our town and other places. I'm not supposed to go looking for clarity and defining hope. We're supposed to feel hopeless, not encouraged to solve puzzle pieces. My mind is different and beautiful and stunning is what I've heard from multiple friends but all their complements do is remind me of how divided we are. My mind can be all of those things, yes, but it can also be scary and unstable and completely untrustworthy at times. While they tell me that I'll end up okay, I tell them I'll end up dead. While they try to be positive, I shut them down with negativity. When we were coming of age are fates were selected for us like our elders that came before us. Mine was as rare and as unusual as my mind. It's easy to want to push your friends away when you know the future. Soon they're all going to leave me. I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt. It hurts a lot.
Oh, I'm sorry. I almost forgot to introduce myself, although I'm sure you already know who I am. Isn't that right, Mr. Interviewer? Well anyways, my name is Bain Taylor. I'm an eighteen year old girl who is homeschooled online because the government of this damn town doesn't think it's proper for the future to be in a public school around real people who have human flesh and personality despite the fact that I'm part of their same species and population. And because I already know that you're going to ask me to clarify my fate for your tape in which you'll play the script of mine as a prologue for your book because I'll ask you to do so, I was given the fate as a teller of the future, an oracle without a base. I guess I should thank you for allowing my story to begin the way my friend and I had always dreamed, so thank you. And now let the story unravel….
Chapter One: The DreamI peered out the door and instead of seeing the tom cat I saw Santa Claus. At first I thought it was my imagination so I shut my eyes and opened them and hoped that when I opened them Santa Claus would be gone. No such luck. He had only got closer to me.
"Hello, Alana." He said, with a huge grin addressing me. I thought for a moment or two about how to respond.
"Christmas has passed, you know?" I said, rather bluntly not knowing what I was going to say before I said it. Santa looked confused for a minute then put his grin back on. There was something about that grin that made me feel so comfortable.
"Ah, yes. My appearance." Santa Claus replied, a little disappointment showing on his face. "I thought in this form I would be less likely to scare-."
"Are you real or is this just a dream?" I asked, interrupting him. I didn't know what was wrong with me usually I knew how to hold my tongue.
"Both I suppose. I am a real person who is using an illusion as a disguise. How would you like to go on an adventure?" The man who appeared to be but, was not Santa Claus asked.
"With a man who uses Santa Claus as a disguise? No, thanks." I said, with a voice that lacked interest but, the truth is: I was really interested. All my life I had been waiting to go on an adventure and to travel but, I've never had a chance. When I asked my parents about me going on an adventure even, by just a small walk outside they said no. They never let me outside ever since that day. Cue the flashback. Just kidding instead I'll just tell you later when it's more convenient.
"Suit yourself. I guess I was wrong to have chosen you. The lyrics you write can come in handy as can your other abilities." He said, with a shrug and a slight frown.
"How do you know about my lyrics? I don't tell anyone about them and what other abilities?" I asked, suddenly wanting to ask millions of questions.
"I know about all kinds of extraordinary things." He said, putting his smile back on but, a second later it vanished. "But you don't like adventures so you wouldn't want to know-."
"Hey!" I interrupted, getting really offended. "Just because I said no doesn't mean I don't like adventuring."
"Why else would you say no?" The imposter dressed as Santa Claus questioned.
"How about because I don't know you! Or the fact that this is just an illusion inside of a dream. We can't actually have an adventure anyway, right?" I asked. "This is all just a dream."
"Yes and no. This really isn't 'just' a dream. I'm actually a real life living pers-."
"Well, duh. Your Santa Claus." I interrupted sarcastically.
"My name is Ryan." He continued, through gritted teeth. "I specialize in many different types of magic. If you say yes to this adventure I'll send someone to come and collect you. On your way to me you will experience an adventure together but, when you get to me you'll have an even better adventure. So, what do you say?" When he asked this the tone of his voice sounded almost too convincing.
"Are you using magic to try to convince me?" I asked suspicious.
"You're catching on fast. Yes, I was." He admitted. "It's just that your magic is so strong and it can do so much good. Please consider joining the mission, joining the adventure."
"I don't understand. I don't have magic. What are you talking about?" I asked confused. Sure, I've read tons of books with magical parts and people in them but, I never once believed that me, myself could possibly have magic and powers and such.
"You have more magic than you think." He spoke this in a whisper after a few minutes of staring at me and thinking. I still do wonder what he was thinking. I stayed silent for a minute, processing what he had just said.
"So, why me? You could have chosen someone skilled with their magic but, you chose me. Why?" I wondered out loud.
Ryan took a deep breath and sighed. He looked at me with a twinkle in his eyes and simply stated, "Because a skilled wizard is no fun." I waited for him to explain further but he said nothing.
"Earlier you mentioned a friend of yours would come and get me tomorrow, why don't you just get me?" I questioned after a few minutes of silence.
"Oh, that's because it's far more easier to send her. Her name is Bea." Ryan answered.
"Okay." I said, believing what he said was enough for now. "Why wait until tomorrow?"
"So, you can finish your last day of school without teachers worrying about where you are and calling up your parents." Ryan said in a sarcastic tone although, I don't think he was joking.
"I'm homeschooled." I corrected.
"What? You are?" Ryan asked astonished. "How could I miss that?"
"Yes, I am. I have been since I was younger." I affirmed.
"Why?" He asked.
"They didn't want me outside." I explained. "They were scared and didn't trust what I would do."
"What did you do to make them so scared?" Ryan asked.
"I went to the carnival-" I started to say and even though I was being serious and telling the truth for some reason, I still don't know why, Ryan started laughing uncontrollably.
"What's so funny?" I demanded." I'm done with everyone laughing at what I've been through before they even understand it. All I said was where I was. I hadn't even gotten to your question yet."
"I know, I know. I am sorry. Do you forgive me?" Ryan apologized again.
"Okay, I'll forgive you. I'm sorry for flipping out on you. It's just that the carnival is an emotional thing to me and nobody ever believes me. Most people think it's a fun story that I made up." I explained.
"What do you do about it? About the feeling that nobody understands you? How do you handle it?" Ryan asked sternly, staring down at me through Santa Claus.
"I keep quiet. I don't do anything." I stated.
"Liar!" Ryan accused. "You do something! I know you do! Now tell me what it is that you do." The word do seemed to echo in my mind getting louder as it repeats. I thought about it for a moment unsure of how to say what I need to say.
"When I'm alone I think to myself that no matter what everyone says I'm not insane because what they say can't change who I am or what I am. I think to myself and I cry to myself. I comfort myself so I have a reminder that I will be fantastic one day and forget about this pain. For one day, for one moment. I hum and I sing and then I write lyrics." I paused here and took a deep breath. I looked away from Ryan and stared down at my hands in my lap.
"I write lyrics not only to escape but, because I'm inspired. I write about my pain but, also my happiness. I write about things I care about because I care about them. You wanna know what I do? I do many things. You wanna know how I handle it? I move on." I finished.
"I'm sorry I snapped I was just trying to get you to see how important your lyrics are." Ryan apologized once again.
"You think I don't know how important my lyrics are? I do. They're the most important thing to me." I said.
"As important as your lyrics are to you they are just as powerful. Your lyrics might be the only thing that can save others." Ryan continued.
"What others?" I stumbled to find words.
"People like us. Magicians." He answered. "So, what do you say? Alana? Alana!"
"W-what?" I stuttered because I had stopped paying attention.
"What do you say about joining the adventure?" Ryan asked patiently but, from the look in his eyes you could see he was annoyed.
"Okay." I replied casually.
"Okay?" He asked, looking confused.
"Okay." I repeated.
"Is that a yes?" He questioned.
"Yes." I confirmed.
"Really?" He asked curiously.
"Duh, I said yes." I replied sarcastically.
"Okay, tomorrow Bea will be there at night." He said excited.
"Okay, then." I said as Santa Claus, I mean Ryan, started to fade.
"It's time for you to wake up. Bye now." And just like that he was gone and I opened my eyes to see the morning light peering in through the window. I silently rolled out of bed and walked into the bathroom to take a shower. While in the shower I hummed a tune that was stuck in my head. When I got out of the shower and was dressed I brushed my long, thick black hair.
As I looked in the mirror at my reflection I thought about the dream I had last night. Is it actually real? Could it possibly be true? I would know before the night ends.
I walked down stairs and saw neither of my parents. I went into the kitchen and to the fridge to get something to eat. On the fridge I saw a letter it said:
"Dear Alana,
Your father and I have been called into work earlier than we expected. We'll be back later. Follow our usual rules and don't go outside.
-Mom"
I opened the fridge and grabbed the milk and the iced coffee. I sat them on the table and grabbed a cup, box of cereal and, a bowel from the cabinets. I poured the ice coffee into the cup and was about to make a bowl of cereal when the doorbell rang.
I panicked, not knowing what to do because it was a rule to not answer the door but, then again nobody ever actually knocked before. The person knocked again. I was about to just ignore it and follow my parent s rule when the door unlocked.
I watched carefully as a shadow came into the house. The shadow stuck to the wall and moved into the kitchen. The shadow emerged from the wall taking form of a girl. She had short, choppy white hair and grey eyes.
"Hey." She whispered, walking to the cabinet grabbing a cup and joining me at the table. She grabbed the ice coffee and poured some into her cup, then she drank some of it her eyes brightened. "I'm sorry I've never had ice coffee before this. It's fantastic!"
"May I ask who you are?" I asked, staring at her astonished. She never had ice coffee, how?
"Oh, how rude of me. Sorry." She apologized and, then set her cup down which is now empty. "I'm Bea."
"Woah, you are?" I asked before thinking of a better thing to say.
"Yeah. So you've heard of me?" She asked.
"Yep, how'd you know?" I replied.
"You seemed surprised. It was from Ryan, right?" Bea narrowed her eyes, reading me.
"Yeah." I answered, getting a drink of my ice coffee.
"You should eat before we go." Bea said.
"Your early." I stated.
"Who says?" Bea asked.
"Ryan said you'll be here at night." I answered.
"I don't listen to Ryan. Plus, your folks are gone right now." Bea smiled. "So eat and then lets get you packed."
I poured the cereal into the bowl and then the milk. I grabbed a spoon and started to eat. I looked over at Bea who seemed really thin. She stared at me when she saw me looking at her.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" She asked.
"I'm sorry." I apologized. "Would you like something to eat?"
"I could eat." She replied, getting up and going to the cabinet to get a bowl and to the drawer for a spoon. She came back to the table and made a bowl of cereal. Then she poured another glass of iced coffee. We ate together in silence not saying a thing. When I finished eating I drank the rest of my ice coffee and put everything away.
"Let's get you packed. Here. " She offered me a brown satchel. "This satchel can carry anything no matter how big or small so go upstairs and pack/ Don't forget to pack every single one of your song books."
"Okay." I said, walking upstairs. I went into my room and went straight to where I kept most of my songs; my desk drawers. I took them all out and put them in the satchel and then grabbed the ones underneath my bed that couldn't fit in my desk drawers. I kept grabbing things that I thought I would need when I came across an unopened package. I remembered exactly when I got it.
Once upon a time there was a guild who had only five members. Nobody new ever wanted to join, nobody new was ever allowed to join. Everyone in this guild had this one special thing in common; their belief to change the world. Their belief to change the world is what made any new comers afraid to join them because by changing the world in to fit their beliefs meant to kill all those who did not own the sacred magic. Sacred magic is a type of magic that only certain people can use. You can learn how to use his magic but, it is very complicated. It takes years and years to be able to master without killing yourself sometimes, even more. The people in this guild possess sacred magic and because people who don’t have sacred magic try to imprison, hurt, or kill people with the sacred magic they believe that they should use their magic to what they think is for good but, is not.
The people in the guild go by these names Purity, Hora, Coal, Lios and, Aeria. Nobody knows if these are really their names or if they’re nicknames that they gave each other. Purity has Water Magic and is peaceful and calm like the ocean but, then attacks viciously when she needs to. Coal has Fire Magic and is an impatient, hotheaded person and often found himself bursting in flames with rage but, his Fire Magic is quite deadly even when he can control himself and his attitude. Lios has Earth Magic and is kind to his magic because he’s not only using plants for attack he is being a friend toward them but, even threw his kindness he is prepared to kill if he has too. There is a rumor going around that it was Lios who built the guild that they lived in. Aeria has Air Magic and is as free as the wind also, Aeria is very calm even when attacking but, her attacks are very effective toward enemies. Hora has Time Magic and can both control and manipulate time.
A historian went there to find some answers about them and found many things that gave many clues as to what happened and why. Also, in doing so the historian uncovered a story which I shall now share with you.
A long time ago on September Twenty Third in an island called Roselake a war started between those who carried sacred magic and those who had none. The war lasted thirteen years and it ended when one male and one female stood before all of them and shouted that the fighting had to end.
The male had no sacred magic and the female did. They thought that if they used each other as allies maybe, just maybe they could get the fighting to end. They were married and had a daughter who was five years old at the time. She would have sacred magic like her mother as there were a few incidents with her turning time forward and buildings start to age and crumble.
“We should not be fighting against each other. We must stick together to stay united!” The female yelled among the crowd.
“Why should we listen to you because as soon as we sign the peace treaty you're going to command us with your sacred magic!” One person shouted.
“Yeah, we shall fight for our freedom!” Another shouted.
“You are free. There is no reason to fight. This war is pointless. Listen to us for once.” The male told the crowd.
“Why would we listen to you know when we ignored you before?” Someone from the crowd asked.
“Because you don’t want to fight. You want freedom but, killing each other isn’t freedom!” The female replied.
“Kill her! She’s manipulating us with magic!” Someone screamed, causing people to try to charge at her and then others come near to protect her. The person who had screamed that before turned to look at the male and shouted up at him, “Don’t you see that you wife is fooling you?”
“You are the fool! You are blinded by your arrogance. Why do you fight sacred magic?” The female said, before the male could open up his mouth to say anything.
“Because you used it to threaten us.” Someone spoke up.
“No we don’t!” The female argued. “And I promise that as long as I live I will not let anyone I see who threatens your kind be unpunished as long as you promise to do the same and not imprison them just because they have sacred magic. Do we have a deal? I’ll allow you all to talk and form a decision together with your people.”
The crowd murmured things to each other. Everyone was making a decision. The husband and wife’s daughter stood next to them but, was silent like they had asked her to be. They didn’t want her interfering with what they were trying to say. After an hour all the murmuring and the occasional shouts had stopped and there was complete silence. It seemed like even the birds had stopped their singing and hums and that the wind had stopped it’s howling just to listen to what the outcome of this would be.
“Has both the people of sacred magic and non-sacred magic made their decision?” The husband had asked.
“We have chosen.” One voice alone had said from one side of the room.
“As have we.” Another voice said but, this came from the opposite side of the room.
“Non-sacred magic folk what is your decision?” The wife inquired.
“Deal as long as you stay true to our agreement.” The voice that had represented the non-sacred magic folk from before spoke.
“Sacred Magic folk what is your decision?” The husband continued.
“Deal as long as they stay true to the agreement we just made.” The voice that had represented the sacred magic folk from before replied.
“There it is. We have settle the arrangement. Everyone go home and get some rest tomorrow we’ll worry about fixing the town.” The wife had concluded.
“Goodnight, everyone.” The husband had added as he took his daughter's hand. His wife took their daughters other hand and they walked back home together. Late in the evening after they had gone to bed their daughter woke up to a loud sound. She went to her parents room and found her mother dead and her father gone. Her father had killed her mother and ran away. Ever since that day the daughter had wanted revenge on all those who did not have sacred magic and, the daughter's name was Hora.
Hora spent years training and forming a team strong enough to defeat the unsacred people of the town and in doing so she formed The Guild. The Guild didn’t have a name or at least not one the historian could find. Perhaps, they just called themselves The Guild. When Hora turned twenty she had had fifteen years of training along with the others who joined her at first sight. AT first word because they too had lost someone important to them that night.
After years of training and fighting they went to the kingdom and attacked. They killed all those who didn’t have sacred magic. You would think that the people who held Sacred Magic would be happy but, they weren’t. They had grown used to Unsacred and they were sad that they were gone and so, they fought The Guild. They did not win. All of them were dead and The Guild took the Kingdom for it’s own.
The Guild had thought that killing and taking back the kingdom would make them feel better but, it didn’t. They thought and thought about what they should do next and turned to Hora for a plan. Hora had a plan alright. To kill all those in the other kingdoms unless they agreed to allow The Guild as their rulers. They attacked seven other kingdoms with success of all of their death. Not one kingdom on Roselake Island agreed to allow them rule.
The Guild continued to fight kingdoms and win them over until there was none left to win. Lios as the rumor says built the palace in the middle of the island. The palace was the biggest building on the island and is where The Guild lived.
One day while exploring the Guild came across four people. These four people were the people that Hora, Coal, Lios and, Purity lost. They all recognized them as soon as they saw them. They all turned to Aeria to ask her where her’s was but she was gone. The Sacred that they lost, that they thought were dead killed them. One moment before they died they saw Aeria sitting on a beast's shoulders. Not just any beast though, a demon. A demon that was sent to be locked away on this very island.
Aeria told them, “Thank you for killing all those people. Rage, hatred, fear, vengeance was all my father needed to be set free. I took the people you loved and used them as puppets of the wind. Your dying because you can’t fight the one’s you love.”
Those were the last words they heard. They fought for revenge on someone who was gone and they wouldn’t let go of the past that was theirs and because of that a demon took their soul and they were betrayed by a friend they called their own.
Love is the connection you have with someone.Not just any connection, but the deep connection you share.
Whether it's with family, a friend, or a lover.
Love is the question of what if, what next,
The endless fear if you're good enough.
The constant thoughts that keep you up at night.
Love is a struggle, a problem.
It's complicated and it's hard to handle.
It's full of risks and dangers, making you be vulnerable.
Love is a story.
A story that isn't easy to write down or speak.
A story that gets told by the value of affection.
Love is painful.
Love is beautiful.
And love is another lesson, that everyone at one point learns.
Love.Yes, I love you
And I tell you it everyday
Because it's so so true
You smile at me, you say "Thank you"
But never once did you say "I love you too"
Time passed
And my patience turned into longing
I wanted so badly to hear you say the words
I began to fear that my "I love you's" weren't enough
Like some overplayed song that got too old
More time passed
And my longing turned to anger
I tried so hard to be patient,
Tried so hard to be kind,
But I got tired of waiting,
What felt like an endless wait
I was tired of not feeling good enough
I was tired of trying so hard
I was tired of caring, of loving
And feeling like the only one who does
I confronted you.
I yelled. You said nothing.
I screamed, "SAY SOMETHING!"
We fought.
"I'm sorry. Thank you."
Was the last words I heard you say
And what felt like an endless wait
Turned quickly into a forever goodbye.
It comes quickly,Like poison spreading through skin
Unable to breathe,
Panic starts to consume the mind
"I'm fine."
Gets repeated so many times
"I'm fine."
Gets told as a lie.
Hands are shaking,
Looking down at them.
I'm fine, I'm fine
Repeat it until ya believe it
Hold on, don't cry now
Hold on, act like your fine now
It was as if a gun just suddenly fired from behind
The bullets hit, not bullet proof
I'm fine, I'm fine
Words are rushing out
Not making any sense
As if this was the last breath.
Wanting and Loving,are not the same thing.
When you want you
Can easily unwant.
When you love
It's so much harder to stop.
You see when it comes to wanting,
The thing that your wanting becomes unwanted,
As if they were just a toy you got tired of playing with.
And with that comes the unwanted feeling of loneliness that
Drives the mind mad.
Well, madder than it already is.
And you see when it comes to loving,
It's nearly impossible to stop and
Sometimes even when you wish you could you cannot
Because loving someone is hard.
Both stopping and starting
But if you really loved someone you
Wouldn't mind it.
Here I'll post songs I write. Feel free to give me feedback.
Here I'll post my poetry. Feel free to give any feedback.
