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Post by behindTHEmask on Nov 30, 2004 18:56:45 GMT -8
Amazing how things change so quick in one year. In the beginning, I imagined myself like everyone else; dropping school to start a life like an adult, as a mother. Half of my friends are at home right now, attending to their newborn child, while I’m here, preparing myself for the biggest step in my life, and they aren’t here to see my accomplishment.
Those kids, their kids, they took my best friends away from me. They’re needy, I know, but what about me? I need my friends just as much as they need their parents. I know it sounds selfish, but it’s the truth. I feel like I’m not all here.
I tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear as I watched the line sit down. Automatically, I sat with them. The cushion on the chair wasn’t much comfort; nothing was.
I drew attention to myself turning around, looking back into the audience. I squinted, scanning my optics over the crowd of thousands. It wasn’t easy looking for them, and even though I knew they weren’t there, I still had hope. It was the same hope I had on my fifth birthday when my mom told me dad was going to be there. He wasn’t and I knew he wouldn’t show up, but I still dreamed about it. I could see him breaking down the door, smiling that he made it. But I couldn’t find them. Not a trace, so I turned myself around, listening for my name.
I felt an elbow twist into my shoulder. “What the hell was that for? I’m paying attention, I swear I am.”
“GO!”<br> I looked at the man standing behind the podium. He eyed me displeased. Jumping out of my seat, I quickly walked down the aisle way, an embarrassed grin was plastered on my face. I gave the man a look of apology; I didn’t mean to ruin the moment, my moment to shine.
I adjusted my cap, and straightened out my gown. The eyes of the audience were glued on me. I licked my upper lip, setting some note cards on the podium. For a second, I thought I heard a door slam, but I was only imagining it. It was time to step up to the plate.
“In life, you meet those people who open your eyes above and beyond anything seen in reality. They take you beneath their wing and guide you, forcing you to succeed the unimaginable. Maybe that’s how I ended up in front of all of you tonight. I wanted to prove my guides I could be strong, even if they broke down while teaching . . .”<br> I could hear my voice echo off the paneling of the auditorium. This was the final time I’d see these walls. I was grown up, and being released into the world I’d yet to see. Everything would be different after I stepped out of the doors and on with my life. Everything was going to change.
My thoughts were disrupted by cheers. I must have finished my speech without knowing it. A warm touch hit my shoulder as I heard a mans voice announce, “And I present to you the class of 2004.”
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Post by behindTHEmask on Mar 13, 2005 12:05:47 GMT -8
Thank you, Sarah. That quote is beautiful.
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Post by behindTHEmask on Jan 6, 2005 18:17:58 GMT -8
I love it. I love the deaths. The suicide to come.
Wicked.
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Post by behindTHEmask on Jan 2, 2005 19:03:16 GMT -8
There will be. I write one each day.
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Post by behindTHEmask on Jan 2, 2005 14:20:17 GMT -8
The Runaway Part Five You are my forever. We weren’t walking home. I could tell from the street signs, the city lights, this wasn’t Kansas. I sighed in relief as my feet hit the puddles on these foreign sidewalks. I wanted to question him; ask where he was taking me, but I couldn’t get it out. I was crying again, whimpering at what he was doing. He was saving me from drowning under water. Yards lined up against the gray pavement. Some were designed for a desert look; rocks, cacti. Others were filled with grass and lush trees. The rain was feeding their spirits. The rain kept them alive. We turned onto a driveway, and I scanned over the houses familiarity. The one story was where I spent many hours of my time, many days, many weeks. It was almost my second home, if they were my family, if they were my owners, if I was their birth. I was comforted by the gust of warm air that blew into me as the door open. I once again felt safe inside stucco walls. There were people spread through out the home: his mother, his father, his brother, his dog. All of them were around doing their own thing. Everyone was relaxed. Everyone was home. His mother stared at me with a smile, as though tension was released. A sigh escaped her lips as her hands fell back into the soapy water, cleaning the dishes her family had destroyed. We walked further into his house. I sat on the floor, not wanting to destroy his bed with my wet body. He walked away, disappearing around the bend. I was cold now, but not physically. Emotions were isolating themselves, freezing like the tears on your cheeks when snow falls. My entire body shook like an earthquake had just cast itself through his bedroom. A towel fell over my head, blinding my vision. His body fell beside me as he placed a dry sweatshirt in my lap. I pulled at the towel, renewing my sight and smiled. I shook the towel into my hair, attempting to dry it. That attempt failed, but my emotions seemed to thaw themselves. I tore off the layers of my clothing like opening a banana. Each layer clumped together as it fell to his bathroom floor. The dark colors looked like muck as they laid there on the tile. I looked into the mirror a moment, etching out the lines of my face in my head. There are no wrinkles to show knowledge learned from youth, but the dampened fears show I’m waiting. His sweatshirt hung big on me, but it felt like a cloud was wrapped around my body. I shrank beside him on the floor, resting my head on his shoulder. His arm inched around my waist, and his chin rested atop my head. He kissed it, like your mother does before you go to sleep or your father when you tell him he’s the best daddy in the world. I melted. Right there in his arms, the world froze. Everything around us disappeared. Nothing mattered, and I was ready to return. He gave me something better then the locket around my neck, his love.
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Post by behindTHEmask on Jan 2, 2005 19:02:37 GMT -8
Thank you.
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Post by behindTHEmask on Dec 16, 2004 15:50:26 GMT -8
No comments?
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Post by behindTHEmask on Nov 18, 2004 17:37:37 GMT -8
((I cannot think of a title, so if you could be so kind as to help, it would be appreciated. I don't think the one it has, fits very well.))
The sheets became tangled around her delicate legs as she tried crawling away to hide from a mistake. Her heart stroke her chest as she moved with the silent, dark shadows creeping up the wall. Sweat fell off her glistening forehead as she recollected her memories. Blurred together, nothing could be pieced back together in a form she understood. But she had no time to worry about the past now. All she had to do was worry about her present.
His clammy hand pulled back on her frail wrist. “Breathe with me.” His wet voice made her freeze as she fell back into him. His hot chest pressed against her back. The skin of his cheek touched her tousled hair as he ran temptation over her shaking body. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”
Biting her bottom lip, she held in her breaths. It wasn’t necessary to breath intently when all he wanted was what he held in his hands. Those clammy hands, she hated them. Her passion for them was minimal. The only time she ever wanted them to grace her skin, was when she was staggering out in the dark mornings, looking for some way to get laid. She’d fall upon his doorstep, and he’d take her in with open arms and a devious grin. It didn’t matter to him how he got it. All that mattered was that for hours, she was his.
“Another round of this game?” He questioned running the palm of his hand over her chest. “I have a new position to try.”<br> A puff of air escaped her lips. No, she didn’t want to play again. She wanted to go home. Her head ached from chugging down a bottle of vodka to dull the pain inflicted upon her heart from her life. She wanted him to let go, giving her an option.
Quickly, he turned her to face him. His cold, dull gray eyes fixed on her fear. “Does someone have cold feet? This game isn’t just played when you want it, Sweetheart. I have needs too.” He pulled her closer to his skin. “Love me.”<br> Violently she jerked away. As hard as she could, she shoved him back off the bed, and onto the floor. Wrapping the sheet around her exposed body, she stared at him. He laughed. He laughed at her damn courage.
“Don’t do that. Don’t resist something you can’t.”<br> She shook her head, holding back tears like a cork in a wine bottle. “No,” she whispered softly. “No, you don’t do that.” Her voice grew to an audible tone. The grip that held up the sheet tightened as her courage grew.
“Excuse me?”<br> “Don’t take advantage of me.” Her heart pounded in her ears that strained to hear his voice.
“I didn’t take advantage of you. If anyone was taken advantage of, it was me. You came here to get laid, I just opened the door.”<br> “You could have kept it shut.” She insisted. “Or at least kept your clothes on.”<br> “But that isn't what you wanted,” he told her, running his eyes over the maroon sheet. It draped onto the floor, distinguishing she was only a mere 5’4”. “You wanted me to ‘pleasure’ you.”<br> “What I wanted was for someone to tell me everything is all right.”<br> “Everything’s all right.”
“It’s too late.” The cork flew off, and her knees buckled from underneath her. The sheet slipped from her grasp as she hit the floor. Tiny spots of a darker shade expanded on the cotton fabric.
His body crawled around the bed, sitting beside her. His stare ran over each line in her face. Each emotion it was made from. “You’re beautiful.”<br> “Get away from me.”<br> “I’m serious. You’re beautiful.”<br> “Knock it off, Dylan.”<br> “Can’t you take a compliment? I was just saying—“
“I know what you were saying, but don’t.” The annoyance in her voice was embellished by a glare. “I’ve got to go.” Picking up the sheet, she sauntered to her clothes in a pile beside the bed. Sitting, she bent over, grabbing her underwear.
“You don’t have to go. You’re just running away, again. Like you always do.”<br> “I’m late.” She stated, slipping the garment over her legs. Grabbing her pants, she quickly shoved them on.
“Late for what?”<br> “My date with destiny.” Pulling the shirt down over her breast, she exhaled slowly. With one blink, she let her feet take her out of the bedroom. She knew he was following her.
“And what does destiny have that I don’t?” He questioned, leaning his bare body against the stucco wall.
“My life.” The door shut behind her as the suns rays touched her skin. “Just another day, on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.”<br>
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Post by behindTHEmask on Nov 17, 2004 16:05:55 GMT -8
Not that I can see.
It all sounds pretty darn good to me.
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Post by behindTHEmask on Nov 15, 2004 19:44:58 GMT -8
That was so bad ass, it's not even funny.
Nice, nice work.
It was so wicked.
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Post by behindTHEmask on Dec 7, 2004 13:43:43 GMT -8
Wow, I'm glad you liked it. I'm glad you could identify with it--that;s what I want from readers. I want people to say "Oh yeah, something like that happened to me."
"it's a bond that was made on lies and things that were never really true." That's exactly it. Before we realize reality, we paint these fantasies in our heads. A bond grows on these lies and false assumptions. You are exactly right.
Thank you so much for commenting. I love when people comment.
You rock.
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Post by behindTHEmask on Dec 29, 2004 21:06:39 GMT -8
Oh, you just wait and see. It could be in a variety of sections. xD
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Post by behindTHEmask on Dec 29, 2004 14:12:06 GMT -8
Thanks, I just posted the second part.
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Post by behindTHEmask on Dec 28, 2004 17:02:43 GMT -8
The Runaway. Part One. Your screams are everlasting. The yelling, it’s just too much. The timing, it could be better, but sometimes you have to do what you think is right. You have to pick up your life, and place it somewhere else for your safety. In school they teach you running from your fears isn’t the answer—stand up for yourself, but this time, that’s not a choice. The wind outside blew strands of blonde hair into my face as I walked down the wet pavement. It had been raining all day, and now the sun was coming out—it showed itself right before its bed time. It appeared out of nowhere just to say goodnight. The canvas hat on my head kept me dry from any sudden sprinkles from the trees encasing the air above me. They weeped sorrows with me, or were crying from the laughter of my pain. Either way, I wasn't alone. It was a bit cold, but I made sure to bundle up; one sweatshirt, a long sleeved shirt, a wife beater, two pairs of socks, and pants. I was set until it began to rain again. Then I’d have to find shelter. Then I’d start worrying. Maybe then I'd find my way back home. I only grabbed whatever amount of money was in the box, maybe fifty dollars—if I was lucky. It wouldn’t last me very long, but it would get me far enough until they found me. By now, they had to be looking. The cops were probably phoned. My friends were out in their neighborhoods searching for me. I was like a prized jewel, stolen from the safest vault. I stopped when I eyed the end of the sidewalk. Cars whizzed through the intersection. My attention was brought to the sky. I never really saw the beauty of the pinks and oranges as the sun fell beyond the clouds, just above the roof tops. The colors streaked together like they’d been dragged with a paint brush, stroked to perfection. I got lost in the water colors that sat in the sky, but I was booted out of my fantasies by a loud horn. I didn’t know people had a fear of looking at art work. The soles of my tattered sneakers carried me across the intersection, to the other side. The sun was almost asleep; the skies were turning black, and all of the little children were being carried away indoors to be protected from prowlers. Tiny speckles flickered in the sky as I wrapped my arms around myself. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe they won’t find me. I couldn’t help but look behind me now and again. I kept hearing footsteps splashing in the puddles around me. It’s all a figure of my imagination, trying to tear me apart limb by limb. My body wants to return to the warmth of home, but my mind is feeling otherwise. I can’t go back. Not now. These bruises have yet to heal. My shattered dreams have yet to be mended.
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Post by behindTHEmask on Dec 27, 2004 18:01:11 GMT -8
Promises Aren’t Meant To Be Broken. Shut your mouth, boy. Save yourself from drowning. You kept telling me the same old story. You “loved” me with all your heart. You couldn’t live without me. I was the air you breathed—the attraction you needed to push forth to be better. You’d hold my head in your hands, gently running your fingers through my hair, telling me I was your angel. I was your god. Through the early hours of the morning, I’d sit awake beside you, watching you inhale. I’d remind myself what you told me. These bruises, on both my heart and corpse, were nothing more than a mistake—a lesson for me to grow stronger. I’d convince myself you’d never lie to me, that everyone else were the only mendacious ones. You’d turn over, mumbling something in your sleep, and I’d jump out of fear. You’d swing your arm around my waist subconsciously and I’d freeze. Every personality I owned was dead or on the verge of dying, and you were it's serial killer. It was a winter night; the snow was falling on the distorted pavement. Tears froze to my face, and all I could feel was your wet breath yelling into my ear. I’ve blocked out every word you said, forgetting why it felt like a bullet was stabbed right through my pulsating heart. You violently grabbed my arm, jerking me down the tile stairs, leading me down into the subway. The walls were sea foam green, and it smelt like dead bodies. The tears came down faster, stinging the cut on my cheek. I still can’t believe you did this to me. Your grip tightened on my bicep. “You fucking wench.” My forearms broke my fall. You were screaming again. This time you reached into your pocket. Your voice was telling me how I’d pay for what I did. I was being rude for not partaking in an event you planned for us, and now I was suppose to feel your anger. I felt it every time you slapped my face with the barrel of the gun. I tasted it every moment the blood from my forehead landed on my lips. I could smell that cologne I used to fall head over heels for become forced into my face. You stopped after my hair was caked in dirt—in my blood and yours. You looked at me with soft eyes whispering your apologies when you noticed my upper lip was swollen and my forehead looked like I ran my head through a paper shredder. Your fingers ran over the curves of my face, and your tears began to fall. I wanted to push you away, but you’d stolen my strength. You stole my capability to stand up for myself, so I let you hold me while I waited for another stole to step into the underground station. A man who would want all my belongings would be safer than you. I could be reimbursed for everything he’d take. But you, you took more than any insurance company can make up for. Ten years. Ten god damn years; wasted, and for what? I closed my eyes, saving up my strength as you whispered that your promises to never do this again in my ear. I wanted to scream you’re a liar. You’d do it again the next time I refused to be your whore or refuse to say I love you in return. It was a cycle you see; you were just too fucked up to see it. I slid my hands into the pocket of the coat you were wearing. I didn’t have one; you said all I would need was your arms. You told me they’d keep me safe. Ironic, isn’t it? Those safe arms were used to destroy me, to take everything I had away from me so all I’d be left with was you. All you ever wanted me to have was you. You were selfish like that. My slender fingers wrapped around the wooden handle. A smile crept upon my lips. I clicked it to see if it was loaded; you didn’t even blink. You were to caught up in the conversation of our future. We’d have two kids—Riley and Josh, and we’d live in a giant mansion. I wouldn’t have to lift a finger you said—at least until you wanted me for your personal pleasure. Well, I’ll lift my finger for you one last time if you promise to be quiet forever. The sound wasn’t as loud as I thought it would be. The mess was worse than I imagined. Your blood stained my blouse, molding it to my body. Your head fell into my shoulder, and I listened to your amount of breaths decrease. First they were fast, struggling for more oxygen, figuring it would save you. Then, you gasped loudly. Now you feel how I feel. You died in my arms, just as I had died in yours. Naturally, you won long ago, taking me as the prize, but realistically I am the victor. I got the last laugh, and you are the only one left suffering.
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