it's personal discussion

This is where I'll be posting my writing that takes place outside of the roleplay group I'm primarily involved with.

Comments are more than appreciated!

She walks to her bedroom. She closes the door. And she takes the disk without further hesitation, the click of the DVD slot in her laptop a sound of finality. There is no turning back.

The hollow words travel into her ears as if modified by a cheap sound effect. Laughing and skipping accompany the hubbub. Physics turn red to blue, but there are still widened eyes and stifled gasps. Clearly, human eyes do not trust. Meanwhile, the energetic beat of the drum accompanies the disorderly, cut off words. The words of the four with enormous differences and rare unity. The four who will never assimilate in such a way again.

She recounts that day, with the trudging and the exhaustion and all that was taken for granted. There will be more, she told herself. This isn't the last time. It's just a time. All she had focused on was the laborious road and the steps remaining until it was done and could be archived, for the archives were never as painful. Oh, how wrong she had been.

After all, she'd just reached the end of an even longer road. Yes, a smooth road, but no road is without fault. She had no perspective, no inkling of the truth. Months remained until another road began. Yet she could feel none of her body's appreciation, only the sweat pouring down her forehead.

Laughs, laughs, and more laughs were exchanged, and tears spring to her eyes. She'd seen those laughs as trivial. All she'd wanted was to return to a pastime that never seemed to lose attraction. Hunger gnaws at her stomach, and there is no comfort food anywhere in the house. So she takes the hunger. The pain. The torture. The longing.

The curtains close. Once again, a sound of finality. The sound of a place that will exist only in memory. And if it only exists in memory, she reasons, thinking of Orwell's genius, then does it exist at all?

Her computer no longer whines. It blinks, and is silent. The eyes of the cat stare at her. Her gaze is riveted on them, and she can't seem to tear herself away.

Will she be able to?

No. Unless she accepts the idea of falling down.

And she will never accept that.

Just relax.
Relax and abandon the family that has served you for nearly a year while still being milliseconds away from them.
Relax and don't bother to let the notes ring because they'll only make you feel worse.
Relax, and be sure to waste away for the sake of productivity at a later time.
Relax because your emotions won't allow you to do anything else.
Relax because you're "deserving."
Yeah, all of that surely makes one deserving.
Relax for the sake of achievement.
In the end, nothing else matters.

As the intertwined but easily separable four observe from below, the participants are strapped in, ready to go.

They are inexperienced. They are ignorant. Yet they are confident of their own readiness.

A buzzer sounds, loud enough to make one of the four below jump and accidentally brush against one of her friends. She apologizes. And she watches.

Slowly, the unit begins to ascend. A thrill courses through the group; the thrill of discovery. The structure rocks back and forth, making some painfully squeezed by their harnesses. However, any pain might as well be nonexistent. It has no power against the adrenaline, the desire, the shock.

The unit halts abruptly. Each person ponders this and wonders if this is all. Four girls nod together. Not so bad.

No one witnesses the telltale smirk coming from the young guy at the side of the structure. All they feel is the interminable movement. Up, up, up. This is boring. Blood rushed to everyone's head. Up, up, up still. Laborious and painful. Perhaps this wasn't such a genius idea after all.

Then, it stops once again. Heads point towards the ground. Screams resonate through the group. They all clutch each other's hands. Yet they just dangle there. They don't recognize that they are still alive, breathing and all, for an extensive length of time.

Predictably, once this realization snakes its way towards the people, movement begins for the second time. Going the other way, back down. Laughs spread widely. It was all just a game. Of course they couldn't fall! Those complicated math formulas that they'd forgotten after high school ensured it. The blood redistributes itself throughout the body of each individual. They are united. They have just gone through it all. Together.

The structure stops. Each person sighs in relief. It's done now, and a memory is there to treasure. Forever.

Then one person speaks.

"What? Why are you people getting off? Again! Again!" they shout to the young guy.

The man is all too willing to oblige. He smirks evilly. Each person mirrors the eager smiles and shouts of the leader, the one that represents their thoughts. All the suffering is forgotten. All the boredom is forgotten. All the disappointment, it's all forgotten. They fall victim. Together.

By this time, three of the four girls are shaking their heads. This ride isn't for them. It's time to move on and find a gift shop to buy some juice or water.

The fourth, however, is not so easily dismissive. But she goes along, disregarding the clamor of voices from anyone other than the other three. It is too indistinguishable.

On the ride, the group of people grin. Their faces change, but they remain ever the same, ever so willing. The guy's face changes, too. It changes from an open welcome to a strict military face to a face that conveys every single one of its sick emotions. But it, too, is the same.

As the girl makes her way to the gift shop with her friends, she wants to yell:

Don't you learn?
You're repeating the past.
Always so willing to repeat the past.
The past doesn't always work, right?
Then why do you blindly follow?
Why are you so eager for the sudden change?
How do you not know that good changes can only be made on a gradual basis?

And I too hold on to the past.
I too am human.
But I try so hard
Not to get lured in by false hopes.

Guess what?
I don't get lured in by hate, either.
I don't.

I observe. And now I'm speaking. Except I'm not speaking.
I think I'm too young. I think I'm too dumb. I think I'm too ignorant to speak because I am, but I do nothing to counteract it. You all might be louder than me but I hate conflict as much as you. We go along together all too often.

Unity causes division.

Then she disappears over the horizon. Boards the ride back home, knowing all too well that it's the same structure. Has those same feelings of the blood rushing to her head but blames it on something else.

What use is an observer if she does not speak?

((I'm sorry that was really random))

(view spoiler)[ New Short Story obviously WIP

All I am conscious of, at first, is the heat on my face. I know it's coming, but I wait for it anyway... (I'll continue this more later)

The laughs of the judges suddenly morph into more human, more innocent sounds. My classmates. Coach Lilting glares down at me, her face purple as the outside of a plum. She tucks the Frisbee under her arm, resisting the urge to throw it straight at my face. "I don't know how your math teacher thinks you to be a perfect student," she snaps, shaking an accusing finger in my face. If I don't draw back, I can smell the sweet scent of begonia lotion on her sweaty hands.

Ekaterina smirks widely, batting her eyebrows at the woman in perfect time. "She can't stand a bad grade in an academic class, that's why," she says, nodding almost kindly. (hide spoiler)]

Repressed no longer
I am free
Free as a bird at sea
Pulled to the horizon
I will be
Everlastingly
Repressed no longer
Stifled no more
I am free

The phone and the brain may not last
But the impact on the world will
The memories of days past
Penetrate through the windowsill

And it twirls, and it whirls,
In chaos and confusion
And with repulsion it swirls,
Bringing no conclusion
But freedom brings its taste
So it is embraced
And I bind to it with paste

Pencil to paper, repressed no longer,
I am free, I am free,
The sky is the limit,
The only restrictions are inside of me...

But those might bring you down but I'll stand strong and try to be proud
But life might get in the way but I'll still have my say
For this art, this work, it is not play

Repressed no longer
I am free
Free as a bird at sea
Pulled to the horizon
I will be
Everlastingly
Repressed no longer...
Stifled... no more...
For I am free.

Those days where
You can't focus
You can't see what is...
Reality.

Those days where
Nothing matters
But the abstract
Possibility.

For no amount of fear
For no collection
Can pull you from your stupor

And the gold looms in front of you
There is nothing to do
But let it be...

Let it be, let it be
Forget superiority
Forget the self you've been bound to
Just let things be

Reach for the stars but don't
Fight wars
Aim for the skies but don't
Waste lives

Yeah
Don't worry about it
Watch it fly
Look at the stars
And dream so high
That you can't, can't, can't
Explain why

Let it be
Forget me
Forget thoughts of superiority
For this is what you were meant to see
Amongst the taint
Nestled in the hate
It's never, ever, ever too late

Work hard but don't bat an eye
Stay grounded but let yourself fly
This may well be a contradiction
But not when it comes to the world of fiction

This is you
Follow through
Do it simply to do
It's not being rude
It's just letting yourself move

Wow I literally forgot the name of this journal! :/

Red ink at the top
She wonders when
She'll get the other back
And if, then,
More will be present
None of this simplistic percentage stuff
She says that life will reward her
Even a bullhorn blasting the word 'enough!'
Can't halt her sprint

She knows that she's incapable
Of swimming against the current
She obsesses and laughs and observes
Writing awfully
She knows she'll look back
And say
That composition is floating in the sky
I'm spread eagled on the soil
Why
Why?

Sweat drips onto the monkey bar
She views the cushioned mat below
Climbing atop the structure
She orders for it to go

There's flame licking at the metal
Her well is drying up
Everyone says she'll touch it
But at 6'1, she's barely a pup

If one doesn't write they're not a writer
If one doesn't practice they may as well not be musical
And if one throws themself on top of their friends' bodies
They are alien

No smiley face
No happy place
No safe space
No one to chase

She climbs.

She ascends.

She cries.

((Poem about a friendship with an irl friend))

Me: Smoothie half-finished, set on the galaxy
Melting under the heat of the morning sun
Near tears when I departed
Until I saw the glass sitting there, reaffirming I wasn't yet done

Her: Melting under the heat of the morning sun
Vapor evaporating, floating off, swoosh of the backpack hoisted over shoulder
Until I saw the glass sitting there, reaffirming I wasn't yet done
Entered the room of practicality, got my assignment

Me: Vapor evaporating, floating off, swoosh of the backpack hoisted over shoulder
An empty auditorium, tickets needing to be purchased
Entered the room of practicality, got my assignment
The eyes flitting from side to side, trepidation in the face of relative familiarity

Her: An empty auditorium, tickets needing to be purchased
Maybe she'd like to buy one
The eyes flitting from side to side, trepidation in the face of relative familiarity
Her thoughts extend beyond the comfort of the wood, into the hot magma of Earth.

Me: Maybe she'd like to buy one
I've turned my back on the hair and voices of honey
Her thoughts extend beyond the comfort of the wood, into the hot magma of Earth.
Let's race, tortoise vs. tortoise, no need for any hare, not looking for money

First Piece of "Creative" Writing in another language
(Sorry, this is gonna be awful.)

Elle a cinq prénoms. Aujourd'hui, elle fait une promenade. Elle est une écrivaine. Elle n'écrive pas au lycée. Là-bas, elle parle et elle parle et elle parle. Sa copines mange chez elle... elles sont sympathiques, mais Alia, elle est difficile. Ses profs aiment elle, sa famille adore elle, et sa chat a besoin d'elle. Elle pense elle est differente. Elle est moins sportive que ses camarades. Elle est plus egoïste que ses amies. Elle est plus grande, mais elle ne joue pas au basket. Elle déteste le president. Demain, elle a trois interros. Son prof favorite est son prof d'anglais. Elle est triste. Elle ne parle pas français...

Les notes, c'est facile. Le monde... c'est très difficile.

((Blame grammar mistakes on my four hours of sleep))

end of the year

to be halted by the strength of your own momentum
to break from a hug and feel nothing as they leave
to stay up at night because there's always another worry
to be shocked by the vast nothingness of a day alone at home
to halt as you realize summer means nothing to you anymore
to forget it all, because nothing happened, right?
your friends said it
it was boring
nothing happened
nothing changed, the days rolled by without interruption
as if a bunch of people weren't killed at a school in our timezone
as if they never noticed the lack of caring
the lack of kindness
the lack of thoughts themselves
yeah, nothing happened
emailing teachers who saved you
just because; that egg was broken long ago, left behind
as an expanse of drooping walls, windows, shutters
because nothing really happened this year

i love your writing!

Aw thank you! :) I hadn't written in literally forever before that so I didn't know how good it was. XD

to some very influential people

I want to see you succeed,
the old, flawed structure uprooted
crushed by a wrecking ball, and in the middle of the destruction,
for your best qualities to be exposed
for the toxic old substances controlling you to be safely
carted away

I dream of a day when you'll take in my own changes,
awed, not at what I was, but how I gave that up
a day with exuberant support, mentorship, guidance
because even mentors need mentors of their own
and a day where the haters are unreasonable
because you have reflected upon yourselves
and changed.

I imagine a time when no one has to pretend, to lie
in front of you,
where you inspire and make people laugh
instead of crying, as some of you caused me to do
I imagine a time in which strong leadership and unity
propel you to the exosphere
to a mind you never knew you had.

And based on the latest happenings,
that time should come soon, very soon
The place will get a makeover
you will be released
into an era of success.

But until then
thanks anyway
most of you did something, at least
best of luck in your future endeavors
thanks to you, mine will be a step up
and I mean that in more ways than one.

The jokes that only we would understand
The complex number realm we traveled to in the closet
The forever-lost key
to a chair that would open up the portal to worlds beyond
I even half-believed it.

You reached out to me,
said you regretted never contacting me
for years on end.
Maybe I did too.
I was so wrapped up in my pathetic excuse for a class, and then in the delight of learning again
I forgot you.

Our words had the power to arouse a storm,
furious, destructive, rampant,
a storm of my own jealousy.
I desired more than anything to touch your hair,
look for your key,
know the secrets you wrote about.
The storm took out a desolate high school
thankfully deserted of even janitors.
I lived five minutes away.
It could have killed me instead.

When I wrote back to you,
when I stopped studying to pour out my heart for an hour,
I hoped you hadn't become one of them.
Of course, you had.
We all have.
I only free myself when I come online.
Otherwise, I'm just as integrated into the innocent, working, deceiving masses of the American upper-middle class
as anyone.

Clearly, your lovely but quietly demanding mother
had put those words into your brain
and you put them on paper.
Because I checked my mailbox every day for a month, and nothing.

I remain in awe of you
not at your obvious talent
but at your willingness to be the slowest runner on the track team.

You accepted imperfection.
You accepted the unknown.
You are college and career ready, despite your lack of a reply.
It's people like you who will go forth.