Post by behindTHEmask on Nov 21, 2005 16:57:41 GMT -8
So, we definately had to take an element and write a story with it. No limits. Here's what I came up with. It's due tomorrow, November 22nd, but I'd still like to see what you all think. It will help me set myself up for whatever grade.
The Waves Change Time
Sometimes life hits you with unexpected turns. You think you’ll end up somewhere great, somewhere so amazing you can’t even stand it. You get sick of the dingy walls, the dirty streets – the people looking down on you like you don’t have any class. Their eyes are telling you they’re better than you because of those gaudy shoes and the ornate jewelry strangling their neck. It’s a polite way to say, you suck.
Mathew Getten sucks.
This wasn’t always him. He didn’t always find himself taking lost adolescents under his wings. He wasn’t always Mg – magnesium. They just told him he was like the element, and it stuck. It stuck like your shoes to the pavement as they walk over gum. They were related, really – Matt and magnesium. Those gray eyes glossed with a silver gleam, that reactive tempter; they seemed relevant (Knapp). It seemed together, jointed.
But maybe all this was just an illusion.
When you stand out in the sun long enough, delusional conclusions formulate.
Maybe Matt just lost control of his life, so he decided he could control others. Put what he could have done, into someone else’s doings. At the age of 12, he decided that would be his number. Twelve would be the representation of greatness. Others have tried it, why not Matt? Twelve friends – people he never met, even. He’d be the center of them all (Knapp). He’d lead them to the top.
He’d be their savior – their Jesus.
But was this really how he felt?
Who knew? It didn’t exactly matter.
They called themselves the Alkaline Earth Metals; AEM for short. One of the kids, The Chemist, came up with the brilliant idea. He explained it to Matt as irony, the relationship between magnesium and the group. “It’s a family,” The Chemist stressed. “We’re a family” Matt just smiled nonchalantly, blowing a cloud of smoke in his face. It was better than anything he could come up with – catchy, even. “AEM high. No cheap shots. Fight like nothing else is left” nothing else. They were a congregation of people, two different gangs together, trying to fall into the same category with the same goal. The s-block is where they spent their time meeting, discussing topics, plans so they never ran into each other – so their ideas never clashed (Bentor).
“Rainy days could clear the sky,” Matt tossed his cigarette out into the water, “and I’d still be standing in the pouring rain alone.” He did have a softer side, a poetic side. He wasn’t all a hard metal, a hard leader. That was just for show, an act to illustrate the world he had control of it. Special wasn’t exactly how he was labeling it. He wasn’t an original masterpiece or anything. People classify themselves into different groups, into subgroups. Personalities and gestures, jobs and school degrees – anything and everything anyone could ever think of or want. He was 8th out of them all. Practical, yeah, Matt was real practical.
The water washed around his ankles. It fell back into its home a different color – a different life. The essence was changed with his sins, his hate, his passion. It clung to the water, never wanting to let to – begging to subside there. It hardened its feel, unpurified itself for society. Matt was corrupting his surroundings by giving his emotions to somebody who shouldn’t have them, someone who doesn’t deserve them. But that’s just how Matt got rid of his problems. They were never solved, just handed to the ones with nothing – the unfortunate (Knapp).
He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and made his way away from the water. His body was cleansed for the day. The sun could go to sleep somewhere else and the night could be lived with no regrets. He was purged of everything that brought that glossy shine over those gray eyes, those dark charcoal circles lining his pain – the story of his regrets. A gust of wind swept chunks of brown across his forehead. The day was acting out to make an impression, to leave everyone in awe. The sun will pull away the clouds and the bright blue skies will streak themselves with the transition of red. Apparently, tomorrow was supposed to be a good day.
Matt disappeared and reappeared under the fading streetlights. It felt like he was born years ago – 1800s, 1808. People seemed more into the world then, discovering things for their greatness, out of pure curiosity. Now, all anyone ever wants is money. They say it’ll get you far, but it wasn’t going to make anyone happy. Take away the two things weighing Matt down, and it’s positive he’d find joy, pure happiness. Simplicity just appealed to the boy, though everyone thought owning the world would make him happy. Creating airplanes to attack, and missiles to launch; everyone was plain mad.
He was beginning to discuss himself about these assumptions people thought. Honestly, Matt wanted to do well by the world, become their savior – their compensation. Rage began to swim through his bloodstream as the looks of the fearful glanced at him, cowering. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, he though to himself. People weren’t supposed to fear me. He shook his head lightly, feeling his body temperature rise as his finger swept brown locks off his forehead. 650.0 degrees Celsius and he was melting. Emotions were clashing into a pot of realization, and he could only blink. 700 degrees Celsius, coins were creating a rhythmic pattern with his steps and heartbeat. They were banging against his leg, begging for him to stop. 900 degrees Celsius, they noise was getting to himself. He couldn’t hear his thoughts clashing. He couldn’t hear himself coming to the conclusion AEM wasn’t the operation he’d been after. 1107.0 degrees Celsius, his thoughts were boiling.
“Mg!” A voice was yelling from behind. Footsteps seemed to be smacking the pavement for, well, who knew how long.
Matt turned to the side to glance over his shoulder at who was screaming to him in public. These outrageous displays never set well with him. Business was supposed to be handled in a corporate matter, not in idiocy.
“We’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you!” The boy’s name was Kyle. He was declared the lackey, being too young to join such a prestigious group of gentlemen. True, the boy knew every event taken place, but they all knew Kyle would be too scared to open his mouth and become a rat.
“Is that so?” This was pure amusement for Matt. He got a kick out of the enthusiasm Kyle gave.
“Yeah, the Alkali’s are telling us they’ve got a job down by the oil tanks. They want us to protect ‘em as they go –.“ Yes, the story was cute and everything, but Matt really had better things to do.
“We’re not interested.” The bluntness ran dry off his tongue. Kyle really needed to get more friends. Matt wasn’t really too crazy in being one.
“But the pay?” Kyle whined like a child.
“The pay’s got nothing to do with it, Kiddo. We’re not interested. Tell everyone to take the night off, live a life other than AEM for the night. Alright?” Matt turned into a grocery store to lose Kyle. He didn’t want to have anything to do with anyone tonight. Air needed to be breathed. Time needed to tick alone. Was it that complicated to understand?
There were scales all over the produce section with no one around. No, he hadn’t planned on stealing anything, he just wanted too know the burdens that were weighing him down. He wanted to release everyone’s problems he carried with him.
Change ran into lighters which ran into cigarette packages. Matt waited patiently for the digital numbers to read 24.305.
“What’d you do, rob a homeless guys pockets?” The feminine voice was talking onto his neck. The air reeked of a womanly scent, like one had just walked by a Victoria’s Secret.
“Something like that.” He grinned lightly, turning around. “And if I did, who’d be there to tell on me?”
“I could name a few people; teacher’s, mostly.” Blue eyes ran over his figure. He’d seemed to change a lot since their previous encounter, but then again, that could have been months ago. You don’t see a lot of someone after they graduate, hiding behind the people they control.
He scooped up his possessions, ignoring the comment. “So how’s being a big shot at Stanford?”
“It’s better than being a no shot down here.” Her sarcasm could always counteract with his. Unlike him, she had a harsh edge.
“I never asked for you to talk to me, so if you’re going to generate these wonderful, but bitter comments, then I’ll just be on my way.” People started ease dropping on the two’s conversation. They’d slow as they would pass. A boy and girl arguing, it always had to be the end result of some sort of romance.
“Well excuse me if I actually wanted to see how you were.” She shook her head in disappointment. “Is it wrong for someone to actually care about you, Matt? It’s not a sign of inferiority, you know.”
“No, it’s a sign of ignorance, Holly.” He pushed beside her, throwing his hands deep into his pockets. It was a habit he had when he was nervous or angry. It stopped him from throwing a punch or shoving through crowds. The doors opened, and he peacefully stepped out.
It wasn’t that easy to escape her. Matt was being too hard headed. All she wanted to do was see how his life was going. Apparently, it wasn’t going too well, so she followed. “Maybe it’s time to grow up,” she stated. “Better yet, revert back to the time were you actually worried about what was happening to you.”
“Time doesn’t go back, Hol. It’s the only thing that constantly changes.”
“But the minutes play again the same time each day.” She crossed her arms over her chest, taking bigger steps to match his. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk, but more obvious that he was holding everything back.
Aggravation was kicking in. “What do you want, Holly?” An eyebrow lifted in annoyance.
“I want to know what happened to Matt; the kid who grew up with a family who didn’t care, and was discovered by Sir Humphrey Davy, the only teacher who believed in him. I want to know what happened to the kid who used to thrive on aspirations, and not get kicks out of watching other people take his problems away just to make him happy. You used to take joy in seeing emotions. You used to use them to create such greatness. Where did it all go?” She titled her head, eyeing him, and looked towards the ground.
A cocky expression etched the lines of his face. “That boy ran away to the place where he felt at home, where he originated, Magnesia.”
“I’m trying to be serious, Matt.”
There was a silence in the air. The wind changed directions and people began to drop there stares. A spotlight shined on him out of the darkness, and it felt as though he and Holly were the only ones in the street. He shivered for a moment, but blamed it on low density. Always, Matt gave his reasons to something other than himself. “I don’t know. I wanted to change the world, and I ended up fighting against it.”
“There’s always time to change, step in a different direction.” Gently, she placed her hand on his shoulder. It trembled with his body, but she didn’t pull away. “These kids you’re around now. These s-block children don’t have anywhere to go in life, no potential, but you have the world, Matt. It’s still there, waiting (Benton).”
“So you’re saying I should just drop everything I’ve created?”
She nodded, “Yes.”
“And just walk away?” He stopped walking, standing just after a streetlamp. His figure could be vaguely established. Only the moon let his outline.
“You can’t change the past, Matt, but that shouldn’t stop you from bettering your future.”
The lights went out in the city, blinding the town and the people of their mistakes, and giving them a glance of what their future could hold. Change saves one from a short circuit.
Matt smiled with a nod. “I’ll remember that.”
At these unexpected turns, you lose people. You lose sight of yourself, blinded by the glory given through praises of whom you’ve become, praises from people who never mattered and never will. These people judging you on your appearance never knew who you were, but by the way you’re carrying yourself, they have a right. They have the right to make an assumption, to be worried by a boy walking with a cigarette, with a look in his eye that says never. Never can you go back, but you can always go to your future.
The Waves Change Time
Sometimes life hits you with unexpected turns. You think you’ll end up somewhere great, somewhere so amazing you can’t even stand it. You get sick of the dingy walls, the dirty streets – the people looking down on you like you don’t have any class. Their eyes are telling you they’re better than you because of those gaudy shoes and the ornate jewelry strangling their neck. It’s a polite way to say, you suck.
Mathew Getten sucks.
This wasn’t always him. He didn’t always find himself taking lost adolescents under his wings. He wasn’t always Mg – magnesium. They just told him he was like the element, and it stuck. It stuck like your shoes to the pavement as they walk over gum. They were related, really – Matt and magnesium. Those gray eyes glossed with a silver gleam, that reactive tempter; they seemed relevant (Knapp). It seemed together, jointed.
But maybe all this was just an illusion.
When you stand out in the sun long enough, delusional conclusions formulate.
Maybe Matt just lost control of his life, so he decided he could control others. Put what he could have done, into someone else’s doings. At the age of 12, he decided that would be his number. Twelve would be the representation of greatness. Others have tried it, why not Matt? Twelve friends – people he never met, even. He’d be the center of them all (Knapp). He’d lead them to the top.
He’d be their savior – their Jesus.
But was this really how he felt?
Who knew? It didn’t exactly matter.
They called themselves the Alkaline Earth Metals; AEM for short. One of the kids, The Chemist, came up with the brilliant idea. He explained it to Matt as irony, the relationship between magnesium and the group. “It’s a family,” The Chemist stressed. “We’re a family” Matt just smiled nonchalantly, blowing a cloud of smoke in his face. It was better than anything he could come up with – catchy, even. “AEM high. No cheap shots. Fight like nothing else is left” nothing else. They were a congregation of people, two different gangs together, trying to fall into the same category with the same goal. The s-block is where they spent their time meeting, discussing topics, plans so they never ran into each other – so their ideas never clashed (Bentor).
“Rainy days could clear the sky,” Matt tossed his cigarette out into the water, “and I’d still be standing in the pouring rain alone.” He did have a softer side, a poetic side. He wasn’t all a hard metal, a hard leader. That was just for show, an act to illustrate the world he had control of it. Special wasn’t exactly how he was labeling it. He wasn’t an original masterpiece or anything. People classify themselves into different groups, into subgroups. Personalities and gestures, jobs and school degrees – anything and everything anyone could ever think of or want. He was 8th out of them all. Practical, yeah, Matt was real practical.
The water washed around his ankles. It fell back into its home a different color – a different life. The essence was changed with his sins, his hate, his passion. It clung to the water, never wanting to let to – begging to subside there. It hardened its feel, unpurified itself for society. Matt was corrupting his surroundings by giving his emotions to somebody who shouldn’t have them, someone who doesn’t deserve them. But that’s just how Matt got rid of his problems. They were never solved, just handed to the ones with nothing – the unfortunate (Knapp).
He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and made his way away from the water. His body was cleansed for the day. The sun could go to sleep somewhere else and the night could be lived with no regrets. He was purged of everything that brought that glossy shine over those gray eyes, those dark charcoal circles lining his pain – the story of his regrets. A gust of wind swept chunks of brown across his forehead. The day was acting out to make an impression, to leave everyone in awe. The sun will pull away the clouds and the bright blue skies will streak themselves with the transition of red. Apparently, tomorrow was supposed to be a good day.
Matt disappeared and reappeared under the fading streetlights. It felt like he was born years ago – 1800s, 1808. People seemed more into the world then, discovering things for their greatness, out of pure curiosity. Now, all anyone ever wants is money. They say it’ll get you far, but it wasn’t going to make anyone happy. Take away the two things weighing Matt down, and it’s positive he’d find joy, pure happiness. Simplicity just appealed to the boy, though everyone thought owning the world would make him happy. Creating airplanes to attack, and missiles to launch; everyone was plain mad.
He was beginning to discuss himself about these assumptions people thought. Honestly, Matt wanted to do well by the world, become their savior – their compensation. Rage began to swim through his bloodstream as the looks of the fearful glanced at him, cowering. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, he though to himself. People weren’t supposed to fear me. He shook his head lightly, feeling his body temperature rise as his finger swept brown locks off his forehead. 650.0 degrees Celsius and he was melting. Emotions were clashing into a pot of realization, and he could only blink. 700 degrees Celsius, coins were creating a rhythmic pattern with his steps and heartbeat. They were banging against his leg, begging for him to stop. 900 degrees Celsius, they noise was getting to himself. He couldn’t hear his thoughts clashing. He couldn’t hear himself coming to the conclusion AEM wasn’t the operation he’d been after. 1107.0 degrees Celsius, his thoughts were boiling.
“Mg!” A voice was yelling from behind. Footsteps seemed to be smacking the pavement for, well, who knew how long.
Matt turned to the side to glance over his shoulder at who was screaming to him in public. These outrageous displays never set well with him. Business was supposed to be handled in a corporate matter, not in idiocy.
“We’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you!” The boy’s name was Kyle. He was declared the lackey, being too young to join such a prestigious group of gentlemen. True, the boy knew every event taken place, but they all knew Kyle would be too scared to open his mouth and become a rat.
“Is that so?” This was pure amusement for Matt. He got a kick out of the enthusiasm Kyle gave.
“Yeah, the Alkali’s are telling us they’ve got a job down by the oil tanks. They want us to protect ‘em as they go –.“ Yes, the story was cute and everything, but Matt really had better things to do.
“We’re not interested.” The bluntness ran dry off his tongue. Kyle really needed to get more friends. Matt wasn’t really too crazy in being one.
“But the pay?” Kyle whined like a child.
“The pay’s got nothing to do with it, Kiddo. We’re not interested. Tell everyone to take the night off, live a life other than AEM for the night. Alright?” Matt turned into a grocery store to lose Kyle. He didn’t want to have anything to do with anyone tonight. Air needed to be breathed. Time needed to tick alone. Was it that complicated to understand?
There were scales all over the produce section with no one around. No, he hadn’t planned on stealing anything, he just wanted too know the burdens that were weighing him down. He wanted to release everyone’s problems he carried with him.
Change ran into lighters which ran into cigarette packages. Matt waited patiently for the digital numbers to read 24.305.
“What’d you do, rob a homeless guys pockets?” The feminine voice was talking onto his neck. The air reeked of a womanly scent, like one had just walked by a Victoria’s Secret.
“Something like that.” He grinned lightly, turning around. “And if I did, who’d be there to tell on me?”
“I could name a few people; teacher’s, mostly.” Blue eyes ran over his figure. He’d seemed to change a lot since their previous encounter, but then again, that could have been months ago. You don’t see a lot of someone after they graduate, hiding behind the people they control.
He scooped up his possessions, ignoring the comment. “So how’s being a big shot at Stanford?”
“It’s better than being a no shot down here.” Her sarcasm could always counteract with his. Unlike him, she had a harsh edge.
“I never asked for you to talk to me, so if you’re going to generate these wonderful, but bitter comments, then I’ll just be on my way.” People started ease dropping on the two’s conversation. They’d slow as they would pass. A boy and girl arguing, it always had to be the end result of some sort of romance.
“Well excuse me if I actually wanted to see how you were.” She shook her head in disappointment. “Is it wrong for someone to actually care about you, Matt? It’s not a sign of inferiority, you know.”
“No, it’s a sign of ignorance, Holly.” He pushed beside her, throwing his hands deep into his pockets. It was a habit he had when he was nervous or angry. It stopped him from throwing a punch or shoving through crowds. The doors opened, and he peacefully stepped out.
It wasn’t that easy to escape her. Matt was being too hard headed. All she wanted to do was see how his life was going. Apparently, it wasn’t going too well, so she followed. “Maybe it’s time to grow up,” she stated. “Better yet, revert back to the time were you actually worried about what was happening to you.”
“Time doesn’t go back, Hol. It’s the only thing that constantly changes.”
“But the minutes play again the same time each day.” She crossed her arms over her chest, taking bigger steps to match his. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk, but more obvious that he was holding everything back.
Aggravation was kicking in. “What do you want, Holly?” An eyebrow lifted in annoyance.
“I want to know what happened to Matt; the kid who grew up with a family who didn’t care, and was discovered by Sir Humphrey Davy, the only teacher who believed in him. I want to know what happened to the kid who used to thrive on aspirations, and not get kicks out of watching other people take his problems away just to make him happy. You used to take joy in seeing emotions. You used to use them to create such greatness. Where did it all go?” She titled her head, eyeing him, and looked towards the ground.
A cocky expression etched the lines of his face. “That boy ran away to the place where he felt at home, where he originated, Magnesia.”
“I’m trying to be serious, Matt.”
There was a silence in the air. The wind changed directions and people began to drop there stares. A spotlight shined on him out of the darkness, and it felt as though he and Holly were the only ones in the street. He shivered for a moment, but blamed it on low density. Always, Matt gave his reasons to something other than himself. “I don’t know. I wanted to change the world, and I ended up fighting against it.”
“There’s always time to change, step in a different direction.” Gently, she placed her hand on his shoulder. It trembled with his body, but she didn’t pull away. “These kids you’re around now. These s-block children don’t have anywhere to go in life, no potential, but you have the world, Matt. It’s still there, waiting (Benton).”
“So you’re saying I should just drop everything I’ve created?”
She nodded, “Yes.”
“And just walk away?” He stopped walking, standing just after a streetlamp. His figure could be vaguely established. Only the moon let his outline.
“You can’t change the past, Matt, but that shouldn’t stop you from bettering your future.”
The lights went out in the city, blinding the town and the people of their mistakes, and giving them a glance of what their future could hold. Change saves one from a short circuit.
Matt smiled with a nod. “I’ll remember that.”
At these unexpected turns, you lose people. You lose sight of yourself, blinded by the glory given through praises of whom you’ve become, praises from people who never mattered and never will. These people judging you on your appearance never knew who you were, but by the way you’re carrying yourself, they have a right. They have the right to make an assumption, to be worried by a boy walking with a cigarette, with a look in his eye that says never. Never can you go back, but you can always go to your future.
